Argella
Dawn came soon, a dagger of light. Argella woke aching and alone and weary; weary of riding, weary of talks of marriage and war, weary of duty. She wanted go home to Storm's End, back to the Drum Tower where she would dance with the storm and defeat the wind with her arrows, back to the Rainwood where the animals were her friends and the rain her constant companion. She wanted to go back to the apple tree where she had won her knighthood, the hunting trails which had been a part of her life and the crashing waves of the Shipbreaker Bay that break upon Durran's Point. She might never get a chance to see all that again once she weds Andrew Stark. It doesn't matter where I live or what I do, I will always be a Baratheon at heart, she thought.
Outside her tent, men were stirring. She heard the whicker of horses, her mother complaining about the camp followers and ordering the servants, Lord Robin Peasebury sharpening his sword and sharing a laugh with Ser Hugh Herston. Argella wished they could all go back to their homes as well. None of them shared her thoughts though. Even she wasn't so enthusiastic at the thought of staying at home while her father and brothers marched for war. She had been more than happy when they said she would be coming with them as well. As she neared Riverrun however the grave thoughts of future crept in.
It was just the stupid thought of marriage. I should never have agreed to this, Argella thought. She was made to ride free and wild like the storms from the lands she hailed, to be like her namesake, a storm queen. Argella had only wanted to show that she was not afraid of some man wearing a crown, that she was better and braver than her namesake, yet as she closed in even she wasn't free of those bothering thoughts about her future husband. She wasn't afraid of him, Argella told herself. Dragonslayer or not if he thought to keep her cooped up in some tower, she will make him all the more sorry for it.
Her fingers seemed more clumsy than usual as she fumbled on her clothes. Pulling on her bow and quiver across her back, Argella stepped out of her tent.
Outside, Jack was stirring some venison into a kettle, while Herbert sat roasting a quail over a spitfire. "My lady," he said when Argella emerged. "Would you fancy a roast quail to break your fast this morning?"
"I am not feeling particularly hungry this morning, Herbert," she said. "Thank you for the offer."
"As you will, my lady." He bowed his head.
"Found some nettles and brewed a tea," Herbert announced. "Will m'lady take a cup?"
"Yes, with thanks."
She cradled the tea in her hands and blew on it to cool it. Jack and Herbert were men of Storm's End. Argella had known them all her life. She had raced with them in the plains around Durran's Point, hunted with them in the woods around Storm's End and had talked and laughed with them together since she has been a child. As they made their way north, past towns and holdfasts and green and burnt fields, they had seen bands of mailed men more than once, and glimpsed smoke on the eastern horizon, but none had dared molest them. Once Argella had ridden out with Gendry and uncle Renly chasing out some outriders as they were crossing the Gold Road into the southern Riverlands.
Once past the Gold Road, the worst was in sight. The fighting in the Riverlands had been brutal. Remnants of the war could be seen all around once they'd come past the Reach. Only for the past four days, they had seen no signs of war. The King was here they said, the people from the lands as they gazed upon the banners of crowned stag of House Baratheon. Andrew Stark was in Riverrun, that's why there hasn't been any fighting here so close to where the Dragonslayer had made camp.
Argella had not expected to get this far without fighting any opposition. They'd heard of the Targaryen army encamped in Stoney Sept. The scouts had first brought news of them as they were still crossing the Blackwater Rush. That night her father had discussed with his Lords whether they should cross the town or go around it. "The Targaryens are well dug in within the walls of Stoney Sept," Ser Philip Foote who had come to Storm's End as her mother's guard had argued. "We will take many casualties if we are to storm and take the town."
Her father had looked at him unhappily. "There is no other way. It's either that or going around the town which will take more than enough time. I cannot waste anymore time. I need to take Stoney Sept if we are to march up north to link up with Ned's boy and Jon."
"But my lord the dragon?" That had been a surprise to her. No one had said a word to her of dragons in Stoney Sept.
"I cannot sit here at this godsforsaken place waiting for something to happen. The Dornish are loose on our back. Should they decide to attack whilst we sit here idle, there would be much more bloodshed."
"Take the Gold Road to the West," Ser Philip argued. "Join our strength with Lord Tywin's. We can break Prince Aegon with ease then or take the River Road straight for Riverrun."
Robert Baratheon shook his head stubbornly. "We are not going to go traveling around another kingdom, that's it. If Tywin Lannister was coming to aid us, we would have heard by now."
"We should wait for them. Or we should make turn."
"Our blood do not run cold at the talk of battle, Ser," Lord Bryce Caron said. "We storm lords embrace it."
"Aye." A dozen voices shouted, banging their hands on the tables. "We don't run away from a fight."
"They will be expecting us in Stoney Sept," Foote said. "Them and the dragon."
"Let them be," her father had said then, putting an end to all the curses and shouts and complaints. "I will show them how far their readiness can get them."
And so they took leave of the Gold Road and marched through the grass plains and farms to Stoney Sept. They had come there expecting a fight, but the town was largely deserted by the time they came there. The townsfolk had told them that Aegon Targaryen had left the town days earlier leaving only a token force to hold the town. And those men had fled when they saw her father's men coming down from the south. The townsfolk gladly opened their gates to them and Stoney Sept had fallen into their hands without any bloodshed. Lord Robert did not linger there for long. They left the town the very same day.
Fate drove her further north again and again, Ella thought as she sipped the astringent tea. Her journey wouldn't end there at Riverrun as well. She would have to turn north once again as soon as the wedding is done and it wouldn't end until she reached the frozen lands of the North and Winterfell.
She found her mother breaking her fast with Joffrey nearby her lavish pavilion. "We ought to reach the lower Red Fork today, my lady," Ser Philip was telling her mother as she sat down on the table. "King Andrew will not be far, if the talk be true." He eyed her with muddy brown eyes and turned away as quick as he had gazed her.
King Andrew. The man who was to become her husband. What should I tell him when I see him? That he was handsome and she was so honoured to marry him and be his queen? She did not relish this meeting. He would not get those sweet lies from her, nor would he get a blushing bride clad in a gown. As a friend she might have enjoyed the prospect of meeting the famed Born King who has come back from the dead.
"Ella, darling, we might come upon Riverrun soon," her mother said turning to her. "You might have to throw away these rags and change into a proper gown."
Joffrey snickered. "Aye, wouldn't want your husband to know that we are giving him a horsegirl."
"Shut up, Joff, before I give your wife a toothless man for husband."
"Laugh while you still can, sweet sister," her brother said. "I won't have to hear your laughter anymore once you are shipped off to that frozen wasteland you husband calls as his home. I heard that Andrew Stark is as frozen as those lands he rules. It wouldn't be long before your mouth freezes shut as well."
"Oh, you must stop," Argella said.
"Or what," Joffrey taunted. "Your threats don't matter much."
"You are such an idiot, brother."
"Go ahead, call me all the names you want," Joffrey said airily. "You won't dare when I'm with grandfather at Casterly Rock learning to rule. You'll have to bow to me then. You and that idiot husband of yours. He is an idiot, not me, a blasted idiot just like that idiot father of his. I consider you to be as foolish as your husband-to-be."
That was too much. Her hand clenched the goblet so hard between her fingers and threw the contents of the cup right at her brother's face.
Joffrey shrieked as Argella flung the goblet across the table. It caught her brother in the middle of the forehead and fell down with a clank.
Argella stood up and gave a flaunting bow. "Thank you," she said, "for your consideration." She walked straight away from the table without being dismissed.
Her mother came lurching to her feet behind her. "You are as wild as they can get. Run away to your lord father and I will make sure Robert hears of this!"
The hot tea was running down his face and Joffrey was shaking with anger. Her mother wiped it away with a napkin. "You're horrible," he screamed at her.
Argella smoothed her hair, set her shoulders back straight, and walked to the front lines where father had camped with Gendry. She knew she was going to be in trouble. Her actions had often infuriated Lady Cersei who thought that her willfulness and wildness would bring nothing but harm and contempt upon herself and the Lannister name. But this was much more than that. She would go to father without a doubt and Argella pitied her father for having to deal with mother for her mistakes.
Argella could hear the sounds coming from the front, before she saw them. She listened. Shouts, and the clash of steel, and cheering. She walked up a gentle slope toward a line of brightly colored pavilions on the height. As they passed between them, the press of men grew thicker, the sounds louder. And then she saw.
In the plains nearby the river, some of her father's knights were engaged in a morning spar.
A field had been cleared off, fences and tilting barriers thrown up. Hundreds were gathered to watch, perhaps more. From the looks of the grounds, torn and muddy, they must have been at it for some time now, from dawn maybe, but now the end was near. Fewer than a score of knights remained in the field, circling around and slashing at each other as watchers and fallen combatants cheered them on. She saw her father in the field fighting without his helmet, knocking down Lord Alesander Staedmon in a tangle of steel.
The press in front of them made further progress difficult. Argella squeezed through them and made it to the front where her brother was standing, watching that sparring. She spotted Ser Balon Swann with him, his doublet emblazoned with the twin swans of his House black and white.
A loud roar went up from the crowd as a helmetless red-bearded man with a griffin on his shield went down before her father. Argella spied Lady Brienne in the field as well, fighting in her deep cobalt armour and a sword, wearing a surcoat which displayed the quartered sun-and-moon heraldry of House Tarth.
By the time she arrived her brother, she was flushed and breathless. Gendry was standing on a small ridge where the elevated position gave him a full view of the field. He was watching the action, so absorbed that he seemed unaware of her approach until Argella leaned against him, placing her elbow on his shoulder.
Gendry gave her a curious look. "Shouldn't you be with mother working on your dress, little sister?"
Argella made a face at him. "I wanted to see them fight."
He smiled. "Come here, then."
Argella climbed up on the crate beside him, to a chorus of thuds and grunts from the field below.
"A shade more exhausting than needlework," Gendry observed.
"A shade more fun than needlework," Argella gave back at him. Gendry grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Argella flushed. They had always been close. Gendry had their father's hair and eyes, as she did. They were the only ones. Joffrey took after their Lannister mother, with his smug smiles and sunlight in his hair.
"Why aren't you down in the yard?" Argella asked him.
He gave her a half smile. "I have had more than enough time to hit someone with a hammer," he said. "I don't have anymore interests in doing that in the practice yard."
"Oh," she said surprised. Sometimes Argella thought that her brother did not fully use the freedom he had in his life for some reason. Had she been allowed to participate in such things, she would have done so without any second thoughts. She was a dozen times better than Joffrey and could hold her own in a sword fight. Gendry was allowed to do all that and more, but all he ever did was help out Donal Noye in the forge or go out to meetings with their father and uncle Stannis. She's done more than that even though half the things she has done had been improper for a lady to do so.
Argella turned to see the end of it. It had finally come down to her father and Lady Brienne and the Hound. She had seen Brienne fight, but her father's prowess in battle was legendary throughout the Seven Kingdoms and the Hound hadn't gotten the name just for the three dogs sported on the banners of House Clegane. He had a bite. Suddenly she felt actual concern for Lady Brienne.
They wheeled around each others watching every move. They leapt up to meet each other, swords flashing and hammer whirling. The clangour of steel on steel was so loud that it could be heard over the uproar. As the two survivors closed to either side of her father, Lord Robert backed hard, swinging his hammer both sides to keep the swords away. Ella watched him closely, he never missed a step and gave a hard blow to his challengers every time they missed one. When the Hound rushed too close in his overhand swing, her father stepped aside and brought his hammer so hard on the sword, rendering the steel useless and kicked the Hound away.
Brienne was upon him in the next moment, twirling and slashing. Soon, she was getting much the worse of it. Her father rained down blows on her head and shoulders. She tried to get some hits back with her sword, but whenever the sword came crashing in, her father deftly moved away or stopped it halfway with his hammer. When the warhammer caught Brienne's hand on the backswing and sent the sword flying from his grasp, the crowd screamed like a rutting beast. Lord Robert raised his hammer for the final blow, but it never came.
Instead he gave a booming laugh and lowered his weapon. He gave the Lady a hand and yanked her back to her feet. "Well fought." He looked around. "You too Clegane. Never knew why Thoros spoke so highly of you, but I suppose I do so now."
"As you say, my lord." Brienne bowed her head.
"Time to leave, sister. The show is done," Gendry said. He bent to pick up his helmet from the crate. "You had best run back to mother. It's not a good idea to have her come searching for you."
Argella punched his arm. "I don't want to go," she said.
"Well, if-" Gendry stopped as the voice of their mother could be heard above the tourney din. As Lady Cersei walked through the crowd, the men gathered split in her wake.
"Robert!" It was worse than Gendry had thought. Her mother was fuming. "Where is she?"
"Where is who?" Her father handed his hammer to the squire.
"Our daughter. I know she came to you."
"Calm down, Cers," father said. "I don't understand you." He went over to hug mother, but she backed away.
"You know what she did, don't you?"
"What did you do now?" Gendry asked, amused.
"Nothing," Ella said at once. "I was all prepared and ready for the march. Joffrey, he started being a little shit once again."
"That little fool," said her brother. "The world will be a lot better if only he could keep his mouth shut."
The watchers and bystanders had largely dispersed by then, leaving her alone to deal with it all.
From the side Argella heard her mother finish placing the complaints to her Lord father. "... she threw it right at Joff's face, hot tea and all."
Robert Baratheon laughed when he heard the tale. Mother tried to shove him away. "It isn't funny."
"Seven hells." He swore. "Cersei, look at her. She's only a girl. Damn it, children fight. It's over. No lasting harm was done."
Mother gave him a look and Argella knew what it meant. Father slid his arm around her shoulder, holding her to him. "Alright, I will have a talk."
That morning at the start of the march, she was summoned to the front to ride with her father. Father was alone. He seemed more sad than angry. That made Argella feel even worse. "Shall we go?" He walked his horse forward.
"I-" She lowered her head and followed him.
"Did you throw tea at your brother's face?"
Argella could not lie to him. She lowered her eyes. "Its not my fault. He deserved it."
"He may have deserved it, but he is still your brother."
"He called . . ." She paused, not wanting father to know what happened. "He called my friend as stupid."
"It is a noble thing that you want to defend your friends, but it's equally as noble to love your brother as well." He gave a defeated sigh. "Your mother is sick of this endless war you two are fighting. She fears that your wildness will lead you to do something worse. Would you throw tea at your husband's face when he bothers you as well? What sort of man would want a lady who throw goblets at their faces."
"I don't want to be a lady!" Argella flared. "I don't want to. . ." She stopped herself before the words could get out. She's already made a mess and she didn't want to make her father sad anymore than he already was.
Lord Robert saw through it through. "When I was your age, I used to think the same way as well," he said. "All I ever wanted to do was fight and hunt and drink. I didn't want to do anything with any responsibilities and gods know that my brother suffered for it. Then I learned from a wise man that having responsibilities only makes you stronger, not weaker. Then I met your mother and here we are now as a family."
"Joffrey is-"
"Your family, whether you like it or not. I will not have mine own family fighting itself when those who would do us harm are all around us. So if you must throw tea or put an arrow through someone's face, Argella, do it to those who would truly do us harm. I already have enough things in my mind to worry about and I don't want to add your mother to it."
He sounded so tired that it made Argella sad. "I won't," she vowed.
"Good," he said. "Now let's ride truly, shall we." He laughed and kicked the sides of his horse and rode away. Argella gave chase, all her worries forgotten for a moment.
They were still a half day's ride from Riverrun when they came upon the first sight of their allies. The outriders came swooping down on them, a hundred men splendid in silvery mail and long grey cloaks. They flew two banners in front of them; the direwolf of Stark flew from the high staff and the familiar forked lightning standard from shorter pole. The knight who led them stopped a few feet away from them. He took off his helmet and shook his bright red gold hair.
When he saw her father, Lord Beric Dondarrion trotted up to them alone. "My lord Robert," he called, "I am pleased to meet you. We've been waiting for you for so long."
"I came here as fast as I could, Lord Beric," her father answered. "It's good to see you here, my lord. I was hoping to meet King Andrew Stark."
"King Andrew is waiting for you in Riverrun along with Lords Arryn and Tully, my Lord," Lord Beric answered. "His Grace has sent his finest men to escort his father's closest friend and ally."
"Let's go, then." Her father urged his mount forward to join Lord Beric at the head of the column, leaving her alone surrounded by the northmen of her husband.
They saw the smoke of the camp's fires when they were still an hour from the castle. It was late afternoon when they sighted Riverrun, rising from the narrow point where the Tumblestone joined the Red Fork. The Tully castle looked like a great stone ship with its prow pointed downriver. Its sandstone walls were drenched in red-gold light, and seemed higher and thicker than Argella had remembered from the last time she had been here for her brother's marriage. Now it was for her wedding they had come here.
Thousands of cookfires filled the air with a pale smoky haze. The horse lines alone stretched out over leagues. A forest had surely been felled to make the tall staffs that held the banners. The steel points of pikes flamed red with sunlight, as if already blooded, while the pavilions of the knights and high lords sprouted from the grass like silken mushrooms. She saw men with spears and men with swords, men in steel caps and mail shirts, camp followers strutting their charms, archers fletching arrows, teamsters driving wagons, swineherds driving pigs, pages running messages, squires honing swords, knights riding palfreys, grooms leading ill-tempered destriers. The best part of the North and Vale and Riverlands had come together here to combat the dragons on the Iron Throne.
A dozen banners streamed from the top of pikes and long staffs, flapping and fluttering from the great silk banners that adorned lance and pike. Argella spied the dancing maiden of House Piper, Blackwood's weirwood and ravens or apples red and green, Lord Bracken's red stallion, black bats for Whent and many others.
Across them, the northern lords and the Knights of the Vale had raised their standards-Andrew's own bannermen, sworn to House Stark and Winterfell. Argella recognized most of the Valemen Lord Corbrays hearts and ravens, the runes of Royce, the silver arrows of Hunter and Lord Redfort's embattled fort, red on red. There were countless more that she hadn't been familiar with, borne by the small lords sworn to the bannermen, and by hedge knights and freeriders. Above them all flew the falcon of House Arryn soaring proudly in the air. And then there were the Northern shields which were strange to her. She could only tell the Merman of Manderly and the terrorising standard of the flayed man in agony which could only belong to Lord Bolton. There were dozen more, all sworn to the Starks of Winterfell who had come swarming to their King's call.
Andrew's own standard flew high over all. From the top of the ramparts of Riverrun streamed the King's banner, the purest white, with the racing direwolf of Stark grey upon it. Beneath it flew the falcon and trout of Arryn and Tully from the battlements.
They were welcomed into the castle with a loud cheer, old friends greeting each other and occasional shouts and roar of "Robert!" and "Storm's End!" They were waiting for them in the yard. Argella remembered them well. She recognized Lord Jon Arryn, the moon and falcon of his House spread across his pale blue doublet. To his left stood Lord Yohn Royce and old Lord Hunter. Then there was Lord Tully, standing with Lord Tytos Blackwood and Jason Mallister.
She didn't know most others standing there. But there was no mistaking the man she had been hoping to see for a long time. In their midst, stood a ghost in a crown engraved with ancient runes.
For once the tales had been true. Andrew was handsome as they had said; tall and broad of shoulder, with dark hair, fine and straight which had been slicked back on his head with the help of water and icy grey eyes filled with sadness. The slender circlet around his brows seemed to suit him well. It was dark iron and golden bronze, forged in spells and engraved with runes, with nine spikes set around the circlet styled as swords.
Argella thought he looked familiar, that somewhere that she had seen him before, but she couldn't place where. She was too much caught up with looking at her betrothed, that she barely remembered the courtesies they'd thought her to offer before a King.
She was still on horse, looking down at Andrew Stark even as her father and his lords and knights greeted their old friends and allies. Only when Gendry bumped his elbow at her thigh, did she remember where she actually was. She hopped down as her father pulled Andrew Stark in a bone crushing embrace. "And this is my daughter, Argella."
Argella stepped forward, dressed in her leather armour and carrying a bow and quiver of arrows on her back. She dipped in a small curtsy. "Your grace."
The King bowed his head lightly. "My lady, the tales of your beauty does no justice to your true self."
Argella almost laughed. He must have rehearsed that at least a dozen times before, just like she had done with the stupid curtsy. She gazed up at her betrothed and it was then she saw the large white wolf passing through men to come and stand beside him.
"Seven hells!" Someone swore and a horse screamed and reared. Ella went down to one knee in front of the white beast. "Hey, there," she raised her hand to touch the beast. "Aren't you beautiful. You are, you are beautiful boy." The white wolf gazed up at her with curious blood red eyes.
Argella looked up at Andrew. "He is a boy, isn't he?"
Andrew looked around at the great lords and knights around him for a moment. "He is," the King said after a brief pause.
Argella softly put her hand on the wolf's face and scratched him under the jaw. "Does he have a name?" She chuckled, rubbing the white wolf behind his ears.
"Ghost," Andrew replied, widening his eyes and taking a deep breath.
Argella cupped Ghost's face between her hands and rubbed the thick white coat on his neck. "Ghost," Argella said, hugging the wolf tight. The direwolf licked at her face with a warm tongue, and she giggled. "He is so cute."
"Is that how women in the south dress?" A large, bearded man standing behind her betrothed rumbled. He was so big that he would make the Hound look so little.
"This is how a proper woman would dress, my lord," Argella said getting up. "I suppose you lack such women in the North. If you had come to the south, perhaps you might have seen their like."
A sudden gasp erupted from the crowd which turned into a laughter and the big man laughed louder than all the others. Even the solemn faced King gave a small smile.
"She is as fiery and willful as she is beautiful." Someone else said.
"And wears a bow," the big man pointed out. "Does my lady know how to use it or is it one of your toys you play with?"
"I know enough about it to outshoot my Lord in the archery field," Argella bowed slightly.
"It seems like you have met your match, Umber," said one of his companions, patting Lord Umber on his shoulder. He wore a doublet with the white sunburst of House Karstark stitched upon his chest.
"Now that the meetings are done, shall we get back inside, my lords," Lord Hoster suggested. Argella nodded lightly and looked at her betrothed. She stepped back to her family and followed them into Riverrun and her new future.