Myra
The rains had set in again when Lord Karstark and his selected party set off after Jaime. He'd taken his other son and the best warriors of his household, and stormed off to the east at a reckless pace. The horses would never be able to maintain it, and one wrong step could devastate them, but none of the men cared. It was vengeance they wanted, and gods help the poor souls in their path.
Let him be far away, she thought. Let him be safe.
Nestled in the pit of her stomach, however, was the unsavory knowledge that Jaime's journey to freedom was far from over. But she had done all she could for him, given everything, and now was the time to focus on her own well being.
Her brother had yet to look at her again. When confronted with the fury in his eyes, she had turned away, utterly unable to hold his gaze. By the time she'd gathered the courage to meet them again, he'd gone, a series of shouted orders in his wake.
They were breaking down the camp. It was time to leave.
With practiced ease, she watched the men tear down the war camp. In a span of an hour, perhaps two, the tents and all their belongings had been packed away on carts, mules, or, in some cases, on their very person. There was little left to identify that they had ever been there, aside from the disturbed grass and burnt out campfires.
But the going was slow afterwards. Myra doubted there was a single roadway between them and the Narrow Sea that was solid and free of mud. Carts became stuck, soldiers lost boots – to the momentary entertainment of their companions – and one of the horses rolled an ankle on a hill. It screamed until someone took a dagger to its throat.
Her mother did not speak to her during the journey. Catelyn rode directly beside her, but felt a thousand leagues away, further than when she was trapped and thought to never see her again.
Robb rode in front, at the head of the column, flanked by Talisa and two guards. Though she could make out the occasional exchanged sentence, the two were mostly silent. She could tell how on edge her brother was simply by how he held his shoulders, rigid and tall – he had always been a terrible slouch otherwise. At least she could still understand that much about him, though little else it seemed. He felt impossibly further away than her mother, and Myra was not certain she could close that gap.
If loving someone means tearing half the world apart, perhaps you're better off without.
She'd meant the actual world, but clearly the gods thought it amusing to try for something of a smaller scale: her world, her family.
She'd done the one thing she had told Jaime she was against, but she didn't know.
How does one know when they are in love?
She had thought it was an emotion like any other. Sadness, joy, anger, people knew when they felt those things, but she had been utterly blindsided by her mother's words, and only in the light of that did she realize it herself.
It was not the sensation she had been expecting, but that might have been her circumstances. He was a Lannister and she was a Stark. These things didn't happen, and yet here she was, a foolish girl in the middle of a war contemplating her feelings.
For some reason, it made her think of Sansa's songs, and how totally unlike any of them her particular story was. The gallant knight was a kingslayer and the maiden a murderer, and rather than mourn his departure, Myra felt a sense of calm fall over her. He was safe, and if he did not see her again, that meant her family could not harm him.
In fact, the prospect of never meeting him again was not as daunting as she thought it ought to be.
She wasn't a complete fool. As misguided and one-sided as it seemed, Jaime's relationship with Cersei was what mattered to him. She was a traveling companion, a friend maybe – as if Jaime Lannister could claim he had friends – but she was not the sort of person he fell in love with. She was too young, too naïve, too...herself, she supposed, and the instant she realized her affections, she had resigned herself to that unrequited fate.
Leave it to her to apply logic to an emotion.
Myra had the memories, though. This isolated corner of her mind that no one would ever know, spare moments in time meant only for her, and the man she shared them with. It revolved around a cabin and a night of startling confessions, and it was that simple memory that kept her warm on the coldest of nights. It was where she could retreat and find a smile amongst the horrors of the world she'd found herself surrounded by.
Perhaps that was love.
"The lady appears amused," a calm voice spoke to her left.
Eyes widening slightly, Myra turned to see that both Roose Bolton and the Greatjon had ridden up the line to join her. Her mother, it seemed, had slipped away some time ago, joining Talisa in front of her, although both were currently trailing Robb.
"Perhaps you ought to share your secrets with us," he continued, face placid as ever, though she did not trust the look in his eyes. "The army could certainly use a boost."
Lord Umber snorted. "Bunch of summer children. If they'd seen a real war in the winter, they'd be dancing over fighting this one."
"Rather hard to dance when your boots are stuck in the mud."
Myra bowed her head, red-faced at how distracted she had been. "I'm afraid it won't be of much to help, Lord Bolton. Just simple memories of a girl happy to be with her family again."
Roose nodded. "It does seem that your brother's low point has become a high point for you. Relatively speaking, of course."
"Of course."
She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up, and a cold sensation crawling along her spine. Had she been on the run still, she would have drawn her dagger, but here she could only smile and play along.
Gods, no wonder Jaime always wanted to kill things.
If the Greatjon noticed anything strange passing between his traveling companions, he said nothing, but he seemed more content watching the roads and joking with the soldiers beside him. Lord Umber was a soldier's man after all, all fighting and swearing and coarse laughter, and utter obliviousness to even the smallest amounts of subtlety, which made her feel very much alone with a man who might know more than he ought to.
"You must forgive me, Lord Bolton," Myra added, if only to relieve the tension. "I don't believe I ever gave you the proper condolences for the loss of your son."
She thought, for a moment, that there might have been a break in his otherwise passive mask, but Myra was beginning to doubt that such a thing was possible.
"There is nothing to forgive, my lady. Your father expressed your concern well enough in his letter," Roose answered, staring resolutely forward. "Domeric was a gentle soul. He would not have taken well to this war."
Myra could not tell if he was disappointed by the idea.
Time passed slowly after that point, painfully silent in between outbursts of the Greatjon's laughter. Myra would smile in his direction every time, but was finding the façade more difficult to maintain after every attempt. She was terrible at it before because she did not know any better, now she simply did not wish to bother, but bringing more attention to herself was hardly going to help.
Was it wrong to miss being on the run?
As she mulled over the strange twists and turns her life had taken, Myra noticed a horse turn away from the column. Heart dropping, she realized her brother had pulled aside, and though he made no move to look in her direction, she knew Robb wanted to speak with her.
Her brother quietly greeted his bannermen, riding beside her for a few, short moments, though they stretched agonizingly slow for her. She wanted him to say something; she wanted him to say nothing. She wanted her horse to give out beneath her and provide them both with a relieving distraction, but the mare was a sturdy beast and would do no such thing for her.
"Ride with me," Robb spoke, turning away as soon as he'd said the words. He rode off over a low-cresting hill, flanked by several guards.
For half a moment, Myra considered not going, avoiding the inevitable for a little while longer. But even if his bannermen had not overheard, she would have gone after him. It would have been a slight not to, and no further help to her cause. She had released Jaime and it was time she stood up for that.
Myra briefly locked eyes with her mother before taking off. Strangely, she found her conviction growing. Not because of Catelyn's encouragement – there was none, only concern – but because she knew they were wrong. Love or not, Myra owed Jaime a debt, and she would die before claiming otherwise.
That was the sort of loyalty that always made him roll his eyes.
Two more guards peeled away from the march as Myra raced after her brother. It was strange to be followed by so many people. In Winterfell and King's Landing, she'd had relative freedom, and clearly over the last few weeks as well. Myra thought she would have loved being amongst people again, but there were times when she felt overcrowded, in desperate need of air. She'd always loved people. How had a few weeks changed so much?
Though, she supposed that part started with King's Landing, and the dissolution of her trust.
The ride was not a long one. It took them to the top of another, larger hill that overlooked the area. Myra could just make out the army through the small gaps in the trees, the constant movement making the entire forest buzz with activity. Even from their position, with the wind on the exposed hilltop whipping her hair about her face and the Stark banner held by the standard bearer coiling and snapping from sudden shifts, she could still hear the distant shouts of orders and the light tapping of drums.
Though the rains had moved past again, there was no break in the clouds. Instead, the wind had shifted to bring in cold air from the north. Crisp and light, it tasted like home, and days long behind both of them.
Robb said nothing at first, only nodded at his men. They moved some paces away to give them privacy, though Myra could keenly feel their gazes on her back.
Her brother wore a very somber look. It reminded her of their father. Perhaps too much so.
"If you tell me you didn't release him, I'll believe you," Robb said, his voice low. She could barely make out the words above the wind. "Look me in the eye, Myra, and tell me you didn't free Jaime Lannister."
Myra shook her head. To Robb, it might have sounded like he was giving her a chance, a favor granted from a brother to his sister, but she knew her brother better than that. He carried things with him long after they had been absolved. They were not necessarily grudges, but rather like little knives that he would stick someone with when they least expected it, emotional leverage for desperate times.
Lying would change nothing. It would only make the false calm that they fought to keep in place crack a little further.
"You know I can't do that, Brother."
She heard him inhale sharply, and wondered if he could hold his tongue long enough to calm whatever anger was simmering beneath, or if he'd finally shout at her the way he undoubtedly longed to.
When he said nothing, Myra began to think he'd just decided to never speak again.
"I could tell you all the things he has done for me. Tell you how many times you owe him for my life, but I suppose none of that matters. Once you've set your mind to something, you never were keen to change it."
"He tried to kill our brother, Myra. He crippled him," Robb replied, looking at her with such intensity in his blue eyes. "I don't care that he fucked his sister or fathered her children, but no word or deed can make up for his crime against our family."
"No, it can't," Myra said softly, trying to forget that morning in the cabin. "But you cannot go through what I did with him and look at everything the same way."
"You've known us your entire life, Myra!" Robb shouted, no longer caring for subtlety. "And in two months, you've decided that the Kingslayer is more important to you than us. You betrayed your family for a Lannister."
"And you betrayed your army for a woman."
A moment of silence passed before Myra realized what she had said. By then, it was too late to take back the words. She watched a surprised look cross over her brother's face, before a dark thing, an emotion she had no other description for, replaced it. She'd crossed a line that he did not allow anyone to cross, but in her own anger, she thought to go further.
"I'm not the only Stark who's made a decision in this war that hurts our family, but when I released Jaime, you lost one man and your pride. Remind me, Brother, what did you lose when you married your wife?"
Again, Robb said nothing, not for a long time, but he stared at her with a gaze that could level cities. Yet, she found herself unmoved by it. The angrier he became, the more her resolve hardened.
"I'll not tell the men what you've done," he said eventually. His words were hard, and almost sounded difficult for him to speak. "After everything they've been through, they don't deserve more terrible news. But when this war is over, this will be addressed."
"As my king commands."
Myra watched her brother blink, as he seemed to be taken aback by her words. Perhaps, she thought, he was simply trying to scare her into submission, but she was not the sister he once knew. After all the times she'd thought she was going to die, a few words from her brother were hardly going to stir any emotion in her.
If her family was unwilling to bend, then neither was she.
Jaime
"When did you first kill someone?"
He'd thought she was asleep, or at least at that stage in the evening when she was done talking. Neither of them slept much anymore, but pretending was better than nothing, he supposed.
But across from the dying fire, a pair of dark eyes watched him from beneath the cloak he'd placed on her some time ago. The flames danced wildly in her eyes, disappearing whenever she blinked. It was not often.
Jaime sighed. Though her mood had improved upon getting a horse, Myra still had her moments, especially in the dead of night. Now, instead of curiously looking after sounds before casually shrugging them off, she jumped at them, afraid of what lay hidden in the dark. He did not blame her for acting in such a manner; he just hated how it made that dagger in his chest twist and turn.
"I was younger than you," he admitted eventually, thinking that given the late hour, she might not remember half the story come morning. "It was against the Kingswood Brotherhood. Have you heard of them?"
He noted the barest movement of her head.
"No? Well, they were all bastards anyway. Best they be forgotten," Jaime continued, remembering that fight in the forest, his first real test. "I was a squire then under Lord Crakehall. We'd been ordered by the king to deal with the outlaws. They'd been terrorizing the nobility, and even had the gall to attack Princess Elia's caravan, so we along with Ser Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy marched into the Kingswood.
"I don't know the name of that first man I killed; I don't know anything about him. I recall thinking he was an ugly beast of a man. We fought, I saw an opportunity, and I took his head clean off with my sword."
"And that was it?"
Myra sounded oddly open and curious about the whole thing, but he chose to blame it on the lack of sleep. It slowed the senses and tended to quiet that part of your mind that told you to shut up when making a fool of yourself. He didn't think she was being foolish, but the young woman he'd first met might have.
"I didn't have time to think about it. The Smiling Knight attacked me not long after. I held him off until Arthur Dayne came to my aid. He killed the man with the Sword of the Morning.
"Then I got a good look at everything that had happened. I saw the blood, the bodies, and the large scratch across my breastplate," Jaime said, using his finger to demonstrate. "That was how close the Smiling Knight got to me. With that thought in mind, I got sick.
"I always wondered if I wasn't the first man knighted with vomit on his boots."
Jaime couldn't see her mouth, but there was an unmistakable crinkle around her eyes that told him Myra was smiling.
"You speak as though it is a fond memory."
To fight beside two kingsguard of legend while only a squire, and to then be knighted beside them? It had been a dream come true for him, and the proudest moment of his life at that point. There had been so much to look forward to then, so many opportunities in his life. The sixteen-year-old Lannister with a grin too wide for his face would have never imagined the life he'd receive instead.
"It is," he admitted, locking eyes with her. "Does that bother you?"
His voice was testy. Jaime thought he knew how she would reply to such an answer, with disgust and perhaps a little condescension, the way all ladies acted when hearing men speak of their war stories. Funny how they enjoyed a good sword fight, but when the battles were real, suddenly it was beneath them.
But Myra surprised him, something she was doing more and more.
"No, Jaime," she said, turning over to finally go to sleep. "I don't believe it does."
It had been days since they'd left the war camp, and Jaime still found himself unable to get used to the quiet. He'd grown used to the small conversations that he and Myra would share, little, meaningless things mostly meant to pass the time. But they'd become gradually warmer, where laughter filled the gaps between words rather than silence. It made him forget that every inch of forest they passed looked the same as the last twenty, and when the sun set in the evening, he wasn't as disappointed in the lack of anything that they'd found.
Brienne, however, was like talking to a rock, a large, ugly rock which had nothing better to do than be a lackluster escort for a wanted man. She'd finally taken to just ignoring his jabs and letting him run his mouth until he grew bored. Some part of him wanted to argue that insults weren't conversation, but Myra Stark had learned how to throw his words right back in his face, rather effectively too.
The two had been continuing on in that annoying silence when they came across a clearing in the forest, and the stench of smoke. They'd left the horses to graze in the shade of the trees while cautiously moving forward, swords in hand. There had been no need, however. No one was left alive to greet them.
Had the dock not remained untouched in the shallows of the Trident, Jaime might not have realized where they were.
The inn was no more than a smoldering ruin, a heaping mound of burnt wood and ash, its scent retaining the barest hint of bread. A few bodies were gathered outside, burnt by a separate fire, a mocking attempt at a funeral. The stables were gone as well, with one of the horses lying in the road, cut open and stripped of its good meat.
It could have been anyone, Jaime thought. The place was lucky to have survived as it had, but deep inside he knew that sparing Myra's life had damned theirs. Cersei never did allow any grievance to pass, no matter how small or who was to blame.
All the more reason to keep Myra as far from there as possible.
"What is this place?" Brienne asked, stepping beside him.
"This is where I killed the men sent to murder Myra Stark," Jaime said, walking forward. He kicked at a broken shield, half-heartedly attempting to identify it. "Funny how all my vows end with fire."
The wench smartly decided not to ask, though he could feel her gaze on him. It was rather like someone trying to shove a brick wall into his back, her curiosity was that intense.
"So, they burned it to the ground?"
"Chances are it was someone else," Jaime replied. "It's a war after all."
Brienne gave him a look. Seems neither of them believed that.
He circled the area, taking in the damage. Jaime didn't feel particularly guilty about the whole thing, but there was a curiosity that longed to see the extent of his consequences.
Jaime made a note to never tell Myra about this.
He conveniently ignored the idea of never seeing her again.
The log piles that had lined the back were hilariously still intact, though a few had rolled over. In the distance behind them, Jaime could make out a couple fresh mounds of dirt.
They'd actually buried those soldiers. It was far better than any of them deserved, and look what the people had wrought for their kindness. War was full of those silly ironies, and not all of them accidental.
"We should release the horses here," Brienne said when he'd made his way back round the rubble. She'd already gathered both creatures, each taking their turn to nip at the leads, neither particularly bothered by the carnage that surrounded them. "Send them down the road as a distraction. The smoke here may cover our tracks."
"Release them?" Jaime echoed. Of all the idiotic... "Those horses are the only things keeping us ahead of anyone who comes looking for us."
"They are also being tracked. Nothing but rain and mud for days, any blind man could follow us."
"All the more reason to keep them," Jaime countered, gesturing wildly to his injured leg. "I'm hardly in a position to fight off Stark soldiers should your plan go awry. And you...can you even use that thing?"
If she kept making that face at him, it was bound to stay that way.
During the brief pause in their argument, which Jaime could already feel heading toward the drawing of steel, a large figure emerged from the forest. The horses, used to the presence of direwolves in the Stark camp, had given them no sort of warning, so both warriors were left to stare rather foolishly at the large wolf that casually trotted between them.
How the Starks ever grew used to their monstrous creatures was something he'd never understand.
It was Brenna, Myra's actual wolf. Whether she'd sent the creature after them or it had come itself, Jaime admittedly felt a little better with its presence. At least something was bound to be enjoyable company.
That was until he got a good look at what Brenna carried with her.
Locked between her powerful jaws, the direwolf carried a hand.
Jaime blinked, suddenly noticing all the blood around her muzzle and paws. His hand reached for his sword again.
Not only were they being tracked, the party was gaining on them.
"Get back on your horse. Now."
Arya
The days had grown quieter between the four of them, but they weren't filled with uncertainty anymore. Jory could navigate the land well, even with his missing eye. He knew which roads they should keep clear of and which they could follow for a time, to put ease on their strained legs. When night fell, he would disappear and still manage to come back with meat to eat, which Hot Pie would cook in a way that really should not have been possible in the middle of the forest.
After some time, Gendry actually gathered the courage to ask Jory to help him practice. Having one expert swordsman wasn't going to be much help when there were four of them alone in the forest. Eventually, Jory agreed, slowly showing him the proper stances and walking him through the movements. Arya liked to think it was helping him adjust to missing an eye. She only wished it was her in Gendry's place instead, but given Jory's overprotectiveness of her, she knew that would never happen.
Sometimes she regretted not leaving with Jaqen H'ghar. Jory never would have left Gendry and Hot Pie alone. He was a good man, and would have taken them to her brother's camp, but she knew that her family had to come first. All her life, she'd always wanted things for herself. For now, she had to focus on everyone else.
Still, that didn't stop her from sneaking away with a sword when Gendry and Jory were fighting in order to practice. Water dancing was harder with the swords they'd stolen – what she wouldn't give to have Needle back – but it made her arm stronger and her wrist more durable. She had to look at the positive side of things.
The day things changed had started out like any other: with endless walking. Hot Pie had made a comment about them missing the Trident, which was immediately followed by a snicker on her and Gendry's part.
"Well, Hot Pie," Jory had started, glancing back. "Unless you can walk on water, I doubt you'll be missing it."
There had been a point when Jory tried to figure out Hot Pie's real name, but trying to get that out of him seemed to be a task even more impossible than escaping Harrenhal, so Jory put the idea to rest and awkwardly used his nickname from then on.
It was during the rare quiet that they heard the sound: someone was singing.
In an instant, Jory had shuffled the group off the path they had been traveling down, hiding them in the undergrowth beneath the road. Those behind them would have had to be very curious and keen-eyed to have spotted them lying in the vegetation, but Arya had a sneaking suspicion they would anyway. Stark luck, she was beginning to realize, was not the good kind.
As the voice drew closer, Arya began to make out the words.
The Rains of Castamere.
Lannisters.
Jory must have had the same thought, drawing his sword and looking ready to fight. Arya watched Gendry do the same as she grabbed for her own. Her father's captain gave her a look, but what could he possibly do about it? Disarm her and give away their position?
Suddenly, Jory froze, and a smile crept onto his face. He sheathed his sword and leapt out of the undergrowth, holding his hands high as he walked back onto the road.
"What's he doing?" Gendry hissed. "He's going to get us killed."
Arya couldn't even defend him at this point. From her end, it just looked like Jory had finally lost his mind and decided to end it.
The group came into view. It was a few poorly clothed men lead by one in red robes. Another, taller man had taken up his bow and was aiming an arrow straight for Jory's heart. Still, her father's captain did not seemed bothered at all.
"Thoros of Myr!" Jory shouted, lowering his hands calmly. He let his hands rest casually on the hilt of his sword, even as the bowman continued to watch him. "I seem to recall you singing that same bloody song on Pyke. Your voice has not improved over the years."
Arya inched up the incline, hoping to get a better look, even as Gendry grabbed the back of her collar to stop her. Thoros had been at the king's tournament. She remembered him fighting the melee with his flaming sword. It had been one of the greatest things she'd ever witnessed.
The man Jory spoke to now sort of looked like him. His clothes were dirtier and his was hair wilder, but he seemed about as drunk as he had been in King's Landing.
Thoros casually leaned back on his leg. "I fought with a lot of men on Pyke. Starks, Baratheons, Lannisters...don't seem to recall which one you belong to."
"Well, not all of us have a flaming sword to be remembered by," Jory continued, not bothered by the other's scrutiny in the least. "My name is Jory Cassel, Captain of the Guard to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, and still loyal to his household if you need ask."
The name gave Thoros pause, and he used a free hand to lower the archer's bow. He strode forward casually, rocking back and forth like a drunk man usually did.
"Let's say you are who you say you are. What brings a man of your station all the way out to the Riverlands while his lord and all his household are executed back in King's Landing? Stumble upon a twinge of cowardice, did you?"
It didn't matter that Gendry was holding on to her. Arya still managed to shoot out of their hiding place and onto the road, half dragging the boy twice her size with her. Hot Pie followed them slowly out of cover, if only so he wouldn't be alone.
"That's not fair!" Arya shouted, trying to step in front of Jory, although his large hand caught her by the shoulder and held her in place. "Jory has been fighting, and he lost his eye because of it! He was taken to Harrenhal and tortured, but they couldn't break him."
The men who had begun to chuckle at her outburst quieted rather quickly. Jory only sighed, having learned long ago that it was impossible to shut her up.
"And what have you been doing?" she continued, staring them all down with accusation. "I remember you. My father sent you and Ser Beric to kill the Mountain. He's still out there killing, and here you are laughing and drunk. Who's the coward here?"
Jory grasped her shoulder a little tighter. "I think that's more than enough, my lady."
Thoros took another step forward, regarding her curiously. He did not seem angered by her outburst, wounded perhaps.
"You're right. We were sent out by Lord Eddard to kill Ser Gregor. We tried, and we failed, but the Mountain's time will come yet," Thoros said, turning back to Jory. "But the young lady makes a fair point. Who am I to claim cowardice without knowing the full story?"
Jory met his gaze. "I was sent by Lord Eddard with his daughter to Dragonstone in order to retrieve the king's brother, Stannis. We, too, failed. Lady Myra sent me out to bring a message to her brother. I was attempting to make my way back when I was captured.
"She's on the run with the Kingslayer," he added, voice lowered. "Have you seen any sign of them out here?"
This time Thoros did chuckle, resting a hand on Jory's shoulder. "She's not on the run anymore. Come with us. We'll get you lot fed and caught up on what's been going on."
The Brotherhood Without Banners, that was what they called themselves. Fed up farmers, smiths, soldiers, and even knights, banded together against every army out there. They had no side because every army was more or less pleased with destroying the lives of innocent bystanders who'd only wanted to make a living for themselves. The common folk hadn't declared war, and more or less didn't care who sat on the Iron Throne so long as the taxes were fair and the times were plentiful, yet they were the ones suffering.
It seemed like a good and decent idea, but it didn't sit well with her that they believed Robb was like all the others. Her brother was a good man, just like their father, and neither of them would have wanted what was happening to the smallfolk. If some men from his army committed crimes, Robb could hardly be blamed for that, and she was certain that he would have punished them accordingly.
But Arya didn't say anything in her brother's defense. Prior to entering the tavern that the Brotherhood had more or less taken over, Jory had given her a long-winded talk about keeping her mouth shut about certain things. They were outnumbered, and did not to be on anyone's bad side right now.
Plus, it was hard to talk when she had been stuffing her mouth full of food.
Thoros and the others had watched on in amusement while they spoke of simpler things. Jory, Arya noted, had barely touched his food, choosing to speak with Thoros in whispered tones.
As time went on, men scattered, some going off to sleep, others on patrol. Gendry and Hot Pie had been granted a room for the evening, and both practically ran for it, eager to sleep on a proper bed again. Arya, however, had remained, eager to hear what Thoros knew about her sister. Never mind that the dark lighting and her full belly had her on the edge of falling asleep. She needed to know.
"We'd heard about the Kingslayer's escape some time ago, even sent some men looking for him, though they never came back," Thoros began, taking a long drink from his mug. Arya watched him, wondering how he would act if he was ever sober. "It was only when we caught a Lannister patrol also searching for him that we found out he wasn't alone. Seems Cersei found out about her brother, and was none too happy that he had a traveling companion. They, uh..."
Thoros glanced over at her, his hair slightly redder in the candlelight.
"My lady, you may not want to hear this."
Arya didn't hesitate. "When I was in Harrenhal, a man called the Tickler put his prisoners in a chair and tied a bucket to them. They put a rat in the bucket and lit the far end on fire until the rats chewed their way through the prisoner's chest. He did that every morning."
Jory blinked, nudging his ale cup in her direction. She took a drink, not minding how it burned.
"Right, never mind then," Thoros replied, taking a breath and then a drink himself. "The queen had orders for them to kill Lady Myra. I don't really see why but-"
"Because Robert Baratheon was obsessed with her," Jory said, staring at the tabletop so hard, Arya thought it might catch on fire. "And the Kingslayer had saved her from his advances."
Ayra blinked. "Is that why-?"
Jory nodded, and Arya found herself staring at the table as well. She wished she had a knife, and someone to stab with it.
"Jealousy then," Thoros concluded. "This war has a little bit of everything."
"You said she wasn't on the run anymore."
Thoros shook his head. "No, she isn't. Word is she reached her brother's camp roughly a week ago, maybe more. Robb Stark took Jaime Lannister prisoner, and by the next night, he was gone again. Word is some soldier from Tarth took him, though how someone from the Stormlands winds up with the Northern army is beyond me. People tend to get around when everything's gone to hell."
"Is that who you're looking for now?" Ayra asked, looking up from the table.
"It is."
"Are you going to kill him?"
Thoros gave her a knowing look. "We're going to bring him to justice. It is the Lord of Light who determines who lives and who dies."
Jory snorted. "You sound like that witch on Dragonstone. She'd all but ensnared Stannis Baratheon in her ways. How is your god different from any of the others?"
The Red Priest did not seem offended by the comment. In fact, he only grinned at it, the way a man who knew something the others didn't would when he was about to prove them wrong in every way possible.
"Come with us, and I'll show you."
The door burst open suddenly, sending in a rush of cold air and loud voices. Drunken men stood up from their chairs, swords half raised, while others started to rush out from their rooms.
Anguy, the archer who had been with Thoros earlier, was guiding a man inside with a bag over his head. A taller man himself, he seemed dwarfed in the presence of this one, and suddenly Arya felt her heart pounding heavily in her chest.
Thoros whistled, walking over to the group and casually exchanging a few words with them, but Arya couldn't hear anything over her heart. Even before he pulled the bag off the man's head, she knew who was in the building with them. She knew that armor, that height; she knew the man who stood before her now.
Had Jory not been there, she would have all but launched herself at the Hound as soon as he was unmasked.
Talisa
There was a time when she'd thought she had seen the worst humanity had to offer.
She loved Volantis with all her heart. It was a beautiful and brilliant city, vibrant and alive with colors that Westeros could only dream of having. The culture was magnificent, the songs and stories full and passionate, and the climate was warm and welcoming, never this dreary stuff that she had slogged through day after day in the Riverlands.
But, as with all things, Volantis had a darker side.
Slavery was commonplace. To own a slave gave a person status; to own several gave them power. She had never seen them as anything else, just objects in the household no different than a vase or piece of furniture. They were sold when not needed and replaced when broken, and there were laws in place should one man choose to attack your property, so as to protect one's investment.
Then her brother nearly drowned, and a slave had saved his life.
Suddenly living in a city where the rich stood on the backs of the poor so openly left a very bitter taste in her mouth.
Talisa thought that Westeros might bring a fresh perspective to her clearly one-sided lifestyle. She knew that slavery was outlawed in the country, so clearly they must have been ahead of the Free Cities in some respects. They clearly valued human life more than her countrymen did, thus they must have had more to offer.
But she had been wrong.
Slavery was a cruel, miserable thing, but being poor and free in Westeros did not seem much better. People starved and begged in the streets of the larger cities, cities that smelled of piss and shit and clearly did not take much pride in themselves. The laws in Volantis were much stricter, the consequences harsher, but when followed, the outcome was nearly pristine. And while slavery was still revolting, in the right hands, it was a better livelihood. Most owners treated their slaves kindly – though not all – and many had a good life. They raised families, many learned how to read, and though they were not paid, they did not starve either, and were given clothing suitable for the climate, because how a slave lived reflected on the status of the owner as well.
So, Talisa was left more confused than ever.
The war broke out not long after she had arrived. Even now, Talisa could not exactly say how she went from visiting foreigner to battlefield healer. She knew that at some point, she wanted to visit Oldtown. Her travels took her through the remains of a recent battle. A poor soul had cried out, and she had not stopped helping since.
War had an effect on the human body that the mind could scarcely imagine. From one trauma to another she went, first timidly and shaking, and then with the hardened ease of a veteran who had seen it all time and time again. Still, every time she had convinced herself that she had seen the worst wounds that weapons could inflict, a young, screaming boy would arrive with something that surpassed it, and not by a little, but in leaps and bounds. There seemed to be no end to it.
Yet what they found in Harrenhal was the most devastating by far.
Throats were slit, abdomens cut open, eyes gouged out, bodies burned, any possible way to kill a human being was used on the prisoners within the walls as the Lannister army fled ahead of Robb's. But it was the silence of the castle that disturbed her most of all. They'd found one man alive, one out of a hundred, two hundred, it was hard to say. Most of the prisoners were not even soldiers, but locals, and none of them were capable of harming anyone, and certainly couldn't give away any battle plans, yet all had been massacred nonetheless.
Dacey Mormont had told her the carnage belonged to none other than Ser Gregor Clegane, a man so large and fearsome that most had taken to calling him The Mountain That Rides. Wherever he went, utter destruction followed with no chance of reprieve. She also quietly informed her that he was the one who had killed the Princess Elia and her children during the last rebellion.
Even in the East, they knew that particular story.
After tending to the sole survivor, a quiet man who went by the name of Qyburn, Talisa found herself escorted to one of the still functioning rooms in the derelict castle. She had been so transfixed by the horrors around her, she had forgotten that they were staying in the ruins of what had been the largest castle known to man, burned down long ago by dragons.
When she was finally alone, Talisa got sick in a bucket and fell promptly asleep, and was still in that weary state when Robb all but kicked the door down.
Robb was not a violent man when angry, although his current state was certainly not helping his case. It was mostly furniture that had to look out when he was upset, and the local shrubbery. Sometimes his words got out of hand, but that usually broke up his emotions immediately as he rushed to apologize.
That was the thing about her husband: he was quick to anger, and quick to get out of it as well.
Though as of late, everything was angering him.
She sat up on the bed, watching Robb pace back and forth as his words struggled to keep up with his body.
"She did it," he spat, sounding on the verge of tears. "She actually-"
Talisa stood, quickly placing a hand on his shoulder. The touch calmed her husband greatly, and he paused long enough in his tirade for her to shut the door. There were too many ears, but at least now brick and mortar rather than canvas surrounded them.
Robb collapsed onto the bed, his legs unable to hold him any longer. He buried his head in his hands, and she imagined he was weeping.
"I knew she had, but I didn't want to believe it," he spoke, his words muffled through his fingers. "I gave her a chance to deny it, but she wouldn't. Of course she wouldn't. She hates lying. And Mother-"
Her husband looked up again, and the sorrow in his blue eyes broke her heart. It was like losing his brothers all over again, she could see that.
"My mother helped her. Should the others find out, they'll both be labeled traitors," he continued, voice taking a somber tone. "I started this war to free my father from King's Landing, and now I'm about to lose everyone I care about."
Talisa crossed the room, standing in front of him. She ran her hands through his curls as his arms wrapped around her waist. He buried his head in her stomach, softly sobbing into her dress.
"Don't leave me," he murmured. "I can't lose anyone else."
"I'm not going anywhere," she replied, moving one of her hands to his back. "You married me, remember? We're going to be stuck together for a long time, you and I."
"She mentioned that," Robb sniffed. "I said she betrayed us, and she accused me of betraying my men for you."
Talisa sighed. "She isn't wrong."
She felt her husband still. Then he looked up at her, not angry, only surprised. "Don't say that about yourself, about us."
Smiling gently, Talisa knelt down before her husband so that they were eye to eye. "You and I both knew what we were doing that night. We knew it was wrong, and now we are suffering the consequences for that, but I know that we are going to get through it, because I believe in you, in us, in your army."
"Our army."
"Your army. I'm not going to pretend that I know a thing about this, and neither should you," she countered, encouraging a small smile from him. "The point is: your sister did the same thing. She is here, suffering just as you are, afraid that she, too, is going to lose everyone she cares for. The answer to this seems fairly obvious to me."
"It's more complicated than that, Talisa."
"It really isn't," she insisted. "You're the king, Robb. You can either choose to do something about it, or to let it go. Lingering in anguish is not an option."
"Besides," she added, "you Westerosi are far too glum as it is."
Her husband almost laughed.
It was a start.
When she first met Myra, Talisa had been hard-pressed to find any resemblance between her husband and his twin. Their coloring was opposite, their heights were different, even their facial structure wasn't the same, Myra possessing a slightly longer face than her brother. But as time went on, she realized it wasn't about the physical appearance. If you watched the two of them long enough, it became painstakingly clear that they were siblings. Their mannerisms mirrored one another entirely, the way their voices dipped in conversations to emphasize certain words or phrases were exactly the same, and the two certainly had a way of acting off of one another that trained performers would find difficult to achieve.
And now, she realized, they both suffered through their anger much the same way: alone with the threat of going off at any given moment.
She'd laugh if the matter were not so serious.
"Do you mind if I come in?" Talisa asked from the threshold, glancing about the room Myra had been allotted. Candles lit every nook and cranny, forcing both windows open, though not to much avail against the smoke. Myra leaned against one of the window frames, glancing out at the castle grounds below, while at her feet, two direwolves were curled up. The largest one was missing.
Myra shook her head, allowing Talisa to slip inside and close the door behind her.
"Has he told you?"
Talisa slid into the corner across from Myra. "Yes."
Strangely, her good-sister smiled at that. "I'm glad he has someone to talk to. It's hard to be a ruler in the North, where everyone is supposed to be stoic and harsh. When you don't have someone you can tell everything to, it gets lonely very quickly."
"That used to be me," Myra added, her smile disappearing. "I don't suppose it ever will be again."
Talisa sighed, feeling uncharacteristically awkward as she picked at her fingers. "Myra...I know that you hate me."
The girl blinked, turning to her. "Hate you? How could I hate you?"
"Well, I did marry-"
"My brother, yes," Myra nodded, smiling again. "I admit, it wasn't one of Robb's brightest ideas. In fact, it was downright terrible, but...I can't hate you over that. You're kind, compassionate, and you truly do care about my brother, I can see that. Had we met at any other time, I should think that I would have all but pushed you in his direction.
"War changes so much, doesn't it? Every little move is measured and calculated, no longer by pride, but by lives. Having a heart during all of this seems like the worst thing a person can do to themselves."
Talisa smiled, observing her good-sister as she spoke. She was every inch the woman Robb had described to her, well-spoken, well-mannered, and intelligent, but there was something else to her, this vibrancy that she could not quite place. Perhaps this was the quality that attracted so many others to her, why all the bannermen seemed to light up whenever she entered the room. There was something about her that invited you to speak your mind, that said she would listen and she would care.
It was what gave her the confidence to speak her next words.
"You're in love with that man, aren't you? The one you released."
Myra seemed to shrink a little, and turned her gaze back to the window as she ran a hand through her hair. "Is it really that obvious to everyone?"
"Not to your brother, though he is a man, so I suspect he'd need it in writing," Talisa replied, stepping forward to lean against the window as well. "I just happen to be an expert at falling in love with the wrong person."
Her good-sister glanced back over. "I really wouldn't compare the two of us. Jaime Lannister is the man who-"
"Pushed your little brother, I know," she admitted, nodding.
A silence fell, and she allowed it to remain that way for some time, gathering her courage.
"Back in Volantis, my brother was saved by a slave, but in doing so, that slave put his own life at risk," she started, remembering when her simplistic view on life was shattered. "His owner discovered what had happened, and the consequences were severe. He was whipped, and beaten, and tied to a pole for passersby to observe and inflict their own atrocities.
"And I did nothing. Sure, I brought the topic up to my father once but...as soon as he told me the discussion was over, that was it. I didn't fight back; I didn't yell. I let that man die, and yet society told me that what I did was right, though deep in my heart I knew otherwise.
"We're all guilty of something terrible in this world. I think that having a heart in the middle of this war is the only way we'll get out of it."
Talisa wiped a tear from her eye, and saw that Myra was doing the same.
"You're really too good for this family, do you know that?" Myra asked.
"I don't suppose you could tell your mother that."
The two shared a small laugh.
Yes, it really was a start, and a good one at that.