╣harrenhal does not hold the best of memories for me╠
The Lannister army was restless, Arya could feel it. Gendry told her not to worry, though what did he know? Tywin had been speaking of leaving for some time now. He was tired of staying in one spot and Robb's army was nearing the Twins.
Oh how she wanted to run away to Robb. He was so close. Not even a kingdom away from where she stood now. She wondered if Tywin would make a trade. Her for Myrcella or even her for peace. It was unlikely, but Arya was always one to daydream.
If the word which reached them was correct, Myrcella was carrying the future prince or princess of the North. Arya would be the aunt of a Lannister child. She shuddered at the thought. Myrcella was not Cersei though, she had to remind herself. She was not evil like Joffrey or arrogant like Jaime. She was like Tommen; small and kind and good. Myrcella wasn't a wolf, but she wasn't a lion either. She was a doe who would do good by their family.
Arya wondered if Robb loved her. She wondered if Myrcella loved him. She shook the silly thoughts from her head. And focused on Gendry before her.
The boy was hammering steel; weapons and tools for the Lannisters. Arya hated that his work went to destroying the North, but there wasn't much either of them could do about it. It was either this or torture.
"What are you thinking about over there?" Gendry called from his work.
Arya looked up and furrowed her brows. "Nothing you oaff." She called back. Gendry chuckled and stretched his back, looking up into the sky
"Good hells what is that?" he asked, pointing to the sky. Arya looked up as well and gasped. A comet made its way across the blue sky. Slowly, as if it was waiting for every eye to turn its way in awe. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It's a comet." Arya responded, remembering her lessons and tales from Old Nan. "Many in the North say it's a sign from the old gods, a sign of victory."
"But for who?" Gendry asked, invested in Arya's tales.
Arya stared up at the sky. "I don't know."
"Perhaps the Lannisters?" Gendry suggested gently. "It is red after all."
Arya scoffed. "Or the defeat of them." Arya said. "After all, it is just a legend. Who knows what the gods want with us."
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
Ban sat with Jojen in the Godswood, a regular place of discussion for the two of them. Meera sat a rock away from the pair, switching between sharpening a knife and reading a book, usually of the tales of female warriors; the only books that Ned had gotten Arya to read.
"Jojen, what is your purpose here?" Over the past few months, the Reed siblings did nothing but walk with Bran and keep him company. Any talk of his future was silenced when Maester Luwin began asking questions. Bran knew that he would send his mother a raven the moment any talk of leaving had begun. So, Meera and Jojen Reed were his companions, sent by their father to keep the young prince away from trouble.
"Our purpose here is to make sure that you complete your destiny. Wherever it makes itself known." Jojen's answer was simple and Bran almost laughed.
"How will we know when my destiny has been set in motion?"
Jojen did laugh. "We won't." He tore at a bit of grass which poked its way through the dusting of snow. "We will simply help you when the time comes." Bran was not satisfied with the answer but settled back into the wood of the wirewood. He knew that he would receive nothing more from the mystic boy.
Meera chortled from her spot on a rock next to the hot springs. "Jojen, aren't you a wonder with words." Bran turned to her when the feeling of her eyes became too hot on his skin. "Bran, we will help you with anything that you need. Time be it or not. We will stand by your side in the absence of your family."
Bran nodded in thanks and leaned his head against the ancient tree behind him. "Good gods!" He cried out, craning his neck to see through the leaves of the tree. "What is that?"
The Reed siblings looked up as well and gasped when they saw a red streak along the sky. Hodor even paused his carefree musings with a bunting bird which was perched on the rock next to him.
Only the fall of Jojen and the surprised gasp from Meera pulled them away from the great anomaly in the sky. Bran watched wide eyed as Jojen started to shake and seize on the ground. Meera pulled out a strip of leather from her furs and sandwiched it between her brother's teeth. Hodor didn't move but watched in fear, as did Bran who startled at the white which overcame the boy's eye.
"Meera?" Bran asked, frightened, trying to claw his way up the tree. "What's going on?"
Meera flicked a curl from her face with an annoyed huff. "Jojen is having a vision."
"How long do they last?"
"Not very long, don't worry little prince." Her voice was strong and Bran clung to it, letting her be the rock in his confusion.
Jojen finally stopped. His limbs stilled and his eyes were back to normal with a simple blink. "Jojen, can you see me?" Meera asked slowly. "Can you hear me?" Jojen nodded and sat up with his sister's assistance.
"Dragons." he said simply after regaining his breath. "There are four dragons across the narrow sea. They belong to the four remaining Targaryens."
Bran tilted his head. "But there aren't any Targaryens. King Robert drove their house to extinction."
Jojen shook his head. "We were, all of us deceived by Rhena Lannister."
"But she's dead. Father said so, they were friends." Bran's voice held the tone of a confused child who didn't really understand the weight of their conversation.
Jojen shook his head. "Well she's very good at faking her death. She has twin sons with her across the sea. They and her sister all have hatched dragons." Jojen locked eyes with his sister who's brow was wrought with worry. "They are coming for Westeros. They are coming from the throne."
Bran shivered at the heaviness of the words that settled over the godswood. "I suppose Rob's war will be the least of our problems then?" He suggested weakly, risking a glance back up to the red in the sky which reminded him far too much of dragon fire.
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
Jaime was not a fan of Brienne of Tarth. He thought her an ugly woman of far too large of shape. Her mind was too focused on duty and honor, a feature that reminded him of himself before the days of Aerys and his madness. And her white blonde hair reminded him too much of a wife long past.
Over the past month, his wrists had been rubbed raw by a rope, his shoes run ragged in the dirt, and his arrogance waning just the faintest bit. The wench called it a learning experience for him. He had laughed right in her face and declared her mad.
"We are a days ride to Harrenhal." She had declared an hour previous. "Two days on foot." Jaime's heart had frozen. His feet had as well, apparently, for only a harsh tug at the rope which bound him brought him out of his daze.
"Harrenhal?" He whispered. That place held too many memories, too many ghosts.
Brienne turned around. "I vowed to take you back to your family and your father is there. I don't really feel like walking half the continent to King's Landing if he's so close." She stopped when she realized he wasn't paying attention. "Oh what's got your trousers in a twist?" She asked annoyed, tugging once again on the rope which connected them.
Jaime looked up. "Take me to King's Landing. Please." He pleaded. Brienne startled at the begging voice. "I can't go back to Harrenhal." Jaime was surprised that the words even left his mouth and he stumbled back, eyes wide as he realized. "I-" He swallowed. "Harrenhal does not hold the best of memories for me."
Brienne rolled her eyes and turned back around. "There are very few places that do hold good memories for anyone." She scoffed. "I'm sorry that your happiness is in liberty." His feet finally started to move at a particularly hard pull by Brienne. Jaime shot her a glare filled with anger long kept locked in his chest.
Silence followed them for the majority of the day, for the first time since they had departed the neck. It was only when the sun had set and the birds faded into crickets that Brienne brought up the topic again.
"Would you like to talk about it?" She asked softly when Jaime was secured to a sturdy tree and a feast of stale bread and meat was laid out for each of them.
He stared at the dry meat in his hands, flavored only by his thoughts of the rich food which had been fed to him since birth. His chest barely rose with each breath and Brienne thought him too weak to answer when suddenly, he did.
"Harrenhal was the last place that I spoke to my wife." He whispered, as if revealing a secret long kept. "She was well on the way to the birthing bed, at least six months." Brienne's eyes softened. "We were so close, so close to escaping her father and returning to Casterly Rock." Unshed tears lingered in his eyes and he quickly sniffed and cleared them. "But as you said, best not worry over past events."
"Ser Jaime," Brienne started and Jaime jumped at the sound of his given name.
"What no Kingslayer?" He teased, avoiding his emotions at all cost. Brienne's face flushed and she looked down at her bread.
The two did not speak for the rest of the night and when sleep took Jaime, he dreamed of Rhena instead of Cersei for the first time in years.