The rest of that first day out from Winterfell was unutterably boring for Ranma. Robert was in an ebullient mood, telling war stories and holding court, as it were, and Ned had quickly indicated to Ranma that he had to stay close and listen. This was about as interesting to Ranma as watching trees grow. Ned, on the other hand, was in good spirits, sharing the tales of his youth with his boyhood companion.
For Ranma, the only amusing thing that first day was his partial attempts to warg with Fenris. It was only partial because he had to keep at least some of his attention on his actual body, ready to respond to a question during the conversation. It was well he had, because he was asked several times by Robert to tell him about hunts he had gone on with his friends.
The large direwolf pup loped at the side of Ranma's horse easily, with Lady by his side. Even as his body continued to sit on his horse, Ranma could sense his bonded direwolf's amusement at how slow and out of shape Lady was. Added to this, Ranma could somehow sense a bit of Lady's irritation with said amusement, through some kind of pack connection he supposed. This was much more interesting than listening to his father and Robert wax on about adventures from their time as wards in the Vale.
Inside the carriage the atmosphere had been rather stilted at first, but eventually Sansa became used to the Queen's presence and Cersei allowed herself to thaw enough to let the conversation move more naturally. After Sansa had finished the tale of how the children came to have such unusual pets, the Queen had mentioned how her father had once had a real lion in a cage at Casterly Rock when she was younger. Sansa then engaged Myrcella and the Queen about life in King's Landing.
Through this discussion, Cersei carefully plied the young girl with questions about her older brother, trying to sift for real information among the dross. Ranma was an enigma, and enigmas were dangerous, she learned that long ago. It turned out that Sansa believed everything she heard about him and, in fact, had seen Ranma perform some of the great feats of strength that local tales attributed to him.
Cersei knew to take those tales with a grain of salt but she remembered Jaime mentioning how Preston had died from having his chest caved in from what looked like a single kick, which also warped and crushed his steel chest plate. She decided, however, that the sister's perception wasn't the best way to figure Ranma out, too colored by a younger sibling's admiration. Cersei also knew that as a young noble lady, Sansa was not kept in the loop about important events outside Winterfell, such being the purview of lords and men, a way of thinking that Cersei despised.
The Spider too, was interested in Ranma, although in Varys' case, it was his his decision-making as well as his general character. What made him tick interested Varys rather than his physical skills, which the master of whisperers felt he had a handle on, though he in no way actually did. Varys went about his investigation with all his normal cunning, first attempting to ply the northern men-at-arms with drink and tales of his own, then listening intently, guiding the discussion with the ease of long practice to the topic of Ranma.
Yet he was unable to find as much information as Cersei had gotten. The men of the North were not the most trusting and all of them knew better than to be loose lipped or even drink that much. Their lord might have been at the head of the column and them near the back at that moment, but that didn't mean they were going to take chances.
What he did get was informative but not really what he was after. He learned more about the rather egotistically named wolf-sworn, the bond between heirs of the Northern noble houses that was so close. The soldiers from Winterfell told him that Jon 'Twinblade' was held in high regard among their number, higher than any save Ranma. He learned that the men of Winterfell trusted Ranma and Jon implicitly; both as warriors and as leaders and that the impression he got back at Winterfell was correct: the bastard born was treated almost like part of the Stark family by practically everyone at Winterfell. This was astonishing to Varys, given the history of bastards attempting to grab power from their better born brothers in the past. Bastards were rightly derided for their origins throughout most of Westeros and Essos and feared for the same reason.
In the North, it was slightly different. Bastards were somewhat more accepted in the North, where life was so much harsher, so much colder than elsewhere, where children were precious. Yet even here, bastards were almost never as welcomed as Jon was by the family. It was even more bizarre to give a bastard the power to direct a whelming like the Stark lands were in the process of doing. Catelyn's reaction in particular was astonishing in the extreme, not just in not protesting his being there at all, but in her treatment of Jon Snow.
For a woman to welcome her husband's bastard like that is unheard of save in cases where the woman is barren, but that is most certainly not the case with Catelyn. Indeed, the number of children she's had while still retaining her beauty is astonishing. It is easy to see why Littlefinger is so taken with her even to this day. Hmm… still, I'd best make certain that the boy and Lord Stark are not making a mistake there. Also, I need to figure out Ranma's place, in particular, in the great game. Lord Stark is predictable; his sense of honor makes him easy to plan for and, in some cases, manipulate. His son, on the other hand, surprised me several times while we were at Winterfell. The humiliation of Joffrey and the other three, the speed with which he responded to his brother's fall, his ease with the two younger brats, and his easygoing charisma; all of these I did not see coming before we arrived in Winterfell. There is nothing more dangerous in the game of thrones than a piece whose moves you cannot foresee, Varys thought.
That night, they were forced to camp out beside the road. Thanks to extra horses and pack mules plus fewer stops, they were making better time than the King's party had made on the way north. They hoped to shave at least five weeks off the trip.
The Queen had her own tent with three of her maids, all women who she knew and trusted as much as she trusted any. Myrcella, Sansa, Septa Mordane, and young Tommen shared one somewhat larger tent right next to hers. Joffrey obviously could not share a tent with his betrothed, no matter either child's feelings on the matter, so he bunked with his Uncle Jaime, an arrangement made by his mother. The King, rather obviously, had a smaller tent all to himself, well away from his family. While the children, the Queen, and Joffrey turned in after dinner, Robert and Ned spent several more hours carousing. In actual fact, beyond his normal carousing, the King was trying to take his friend's mind off leaving his family (the majority anyway) with some success, though not as much as he hoped.
Ranma was all for parties but when two girls who he had thought were maids arrived to join the king he retreated, as did his father. Ned withdrew to a tent with Ser Jory Cassel rather than with the king. Ranma, on the other hand disappeared from the camp entirely, showing a surprising amount of stealth, leaving with no one knowing he was there.
Fenris met him eagerly at the edge of the guard's patrols around the camp. The two of them stared at one another for a moment, as Ranma sat in the lotus position and Fenris sat on his haunches in front of him. "Alright Fenris, we've been circling around this whole warg thing, let's see how far we can go…"
OOOOOOO
Cersei never slept well when they were roughing it, although once she did get to sleep it took quite a bit to wake her. None of her children or Sansa snored and, even more fortuitously, her 'loving husband' never even tried to share a tent with her, so it was peaceful at least.
The morning, however, did not get off to a peaceful start for the septa and the kids in the tent next to the Queen. A maid, assigned to wake the children that morning, entered the tent and almost immediately gasped. "EEEK!"
That woke up Tommen and Myrcella both although Septa Mordane was only groggily aware of what was going on, not being of an age any longer where waking up was a simple process. Sansa woke up quickly then groaned aloud at the sight of what had caused the maid to gasp. "Fenris, Lady! You two shouldn't be in here! Bad dogs!"
Lying on either side of Sansa on the ground next to her cot were Lady and Fenris. Tommen woke up, rubbing at his eyes with both hands for a moment then looking at the large wolf lying there. Right inside the entrance, which was towards the foot of the cots, the maid stood with one hand on her chest as she gasped in air from the fright the direwolf had seemingly given her.
Sansa's Lady wasn't nearly as large as her litter mate, still looking like a largish puppy rather than being almost the size of a regular full grown wolf. She was on Sansa's other side from the maid, facing into the tent from the entrance flap, between her cot and that of Myrcella. The younger girl, too, had woken up at the maid's shout. Now she began to giggle, one hand rising toward the friendly and demure Lady to give her a scratch behind the ears. "Oh Sansa, Lady probably just missed you. Didn't you say she always slept on the floor in your room?" Lady's tail wagged, her head lolling to one side under the scratches, causing Myrcella to giggle even more.
"That might explain Lady's presence but not yours, Fenris." Sansa glared at the large direwolf, inwardly wondering how the wolf had grown so large so quickly. Ghost was larger than the others as well, but Fenris was going to be a giant if his growth didn't slow down soon. Sansa hadn't actually realized how large all of the direwolves were going to grow, but she was right: Fenris was going to be a giant even among his breed.
The direwolf looked at her with a surprising amount of intelligence in his eyes. With his tongue lolling out for a moment, he put his paws up on the cot and leaned in. Sansa gasped trying to back away but failing. "Don't you dare?!" Fenris ignored her and began to lick her face. "Gah, Fenris stop it! Get off you big lug!"
Tommen and his sister both laughed, then watched as Fenris backed away, huffing in such a way that it was clear he was laughing at her. "Grrr," Sansa growled a little, then got up. "I just know my brother is somehow behind this."
The maid had gotten over her initial moment of terror and now shook her head in amusement. "Don't worry about it milady, he seems friendly enough at least, not like the pets this one madman from the Summer Islands brought in once. Lizards, ugh."
Sansa looked interested but didn't ask any questions of the maid, who moved forward swiftly into the tent, picking out clothing for the three children while Septa Mordane finally finished waking up, now glaring at the two direwolves. She had never liked even Lady, feeling that a wild animal wasn't a suitable pet for a proper noble young lady. She had never gotten any headway in convincing even Sansa of that, however. The less said of Arya's reaction to that belief, the better.
With a final glare at the two wolves, Mordane pushed herself to her feet with a groan. When the three youngsters began to change, none of them saw Fenris turn away to stare at one of the tent walls.
Outside the tent, Cersei had finished the laborious process of waking up from the large, specially made, cot she used and, upon dressing for the day, exited the tent. As the cold of the morning hit her, she scowled. She hated being cold and, up here in the North, it was always cold. There was even some snow on the ground even in summer. She scowled further when she saw the Stark boy sitting in some odd pose in front of the children's tent. The sight of him simply sitting there, his eyes closed, taking away his most Tully-like feature, brought all Cersei's old hatred against the Starks roaring back to her mind. She moved forward to ask him what he was doing when his large pet rushed out of the tent, followed swiftly by the young Stark girl who proceeded to take him to task.
Ranma broke out of his warg state as Fenris ran up to him, idly cracking his neck, and, only then, began to tune in on Sansa's harangue, which sounded like she was trying to channel the septa, who stood behind her nodding her head with each word. "And it is utterly unacceptable to have your great wild beast in there with us! I know he isn't nearly as wild or dangerous as he looks, but still! And if you think you are going to simply loom in the background to try to scare the Prince off sitting outside our tent like this, you have another think coming!"
The eldest Stark sibling caught his sister's hand as she waved a finger in his face, kissing the back of her hand with a chuckle. If only you knew dear sister. Fenris's native abilities and the strength he seemed to have taken from their bond had made Fenris a very dangerous direwolf already, so much so he had taken out a medium sized bear last night by himself while Ranma was warging with him. A part of Ranma could still feel his teeth ripping out the bear's tendons, then the taste of its meat as it slid down his throat.
He shook it off however and simply smiled at his sister. "Heh, that wasn't my intention Sansa, but now that you say it…" Sansa glowered at him, fighting back a smile at his affectionate gesture and Ranma laughed. "Forgive your brother, dear sister. I'm not really trying to scare Joffrey off." Not really anyway, that just a pleasant bonus. "I just wanted to sleep out under the stars for the evening, and decided to sleep here, that's all."
Sansa frowned at him but Ranma stood up, rubbing her head for a moment. "Now, may I escort you three to breakfast?" Ranma turned quickly, having sensed someone else moving near his side. He bowed gracefully, smirking at the ground before lifting back up, his face composed. "My apologies, Your Grace, I, of course, would have included you if I had noticed you were awake."
Cersei nodded coldly at the boy, though inside she had softened slightly at seeing the two siblings together. Her eyes drifted over to Jaime, who had, as usual, been guarding her own tent during the morning and who was smiling as well. She scowled a little inside, she didn't want to like the Starks or to see them as people, as individuals, rather than the hated enemy. She knew eventually that it would get in her way and she could not afford that. "Very well young man, let us be off."
Ranma's eyes too, had tracked to the Kingslayer for a moment. His eyes locked on Jaime for a moment, sizing the man up, but the moment passed quickly. The two Baratheon children claimed a hand each when Ranma held them out. Sansa followed, walking alongside Myrcella demurely, looking around for her prince.
However, Joffrey had woken up but had not approached them, having been intercepted by his father, who had ordered him to once more ride over the princeling's objections. He was in a very bad mood because of this. After all he was a prince! He wanted to spend time with his fiancée in the carriage but his father had nixed that idea. He also knew that Ranma was somewhat suspicious of him, for some reason, and didn't want to come anywhere near Ranma until he had gotten control of his temper.
Later, after a rather nice meal, the party began to prepare to move on. This was an arduous process given the number of soldiers and servants in the party but still relatively quick, given how organized the servants were. The majordomo for the royal family was a very organized man and had everything running smoothly, despite Robert and his normal group of drinking buddies/hanger's on getting in the way. The Queen, too, got in the way more often than not, though in her case it was her attempts in trying to control the party. Cersei tried to order everyone around, but she ended up simply messing up the order of the packing and the party's controlled chaos.
Robert needed help getting up onto his horse but despite his habitual hangover his eyes were still sharp enough to notice that Ranma wasn't mounting his own horse. "What's the matter lad? Surely you don't need any help to mount, as young and limber as you are."
Ranma rolled his eyes at the question, looking over at his father, who sighed and nodded. "Yes, Ranma you may run."
"Oh thank god." Ranma actually sagged a little with relief. "My legs were going to atrophy at the speed this lot travels!" With that, he reached out, pulling his blade and sheath from his saddle, and strapping it to his back.
"What's this?" Robert asked, looking over at his old friend. He also noticed out of the corner of his eye that the young Stark also had a short hafted warhammer strapped to his horse's saddle. He resolved to see if the boy could use it later in this trip.
"My son gets bored easily and has rather too much energy, which we let him work off by running alongside us." Ned said resignedly. Of course this will also show my son's physical abilities. A show of force can sometimes dissuade your enemies before they act, and I am not so foolish as to assume that all in this party are allies. Most especially not after what happened to Bran and Catelyn!
Ned was, quite frankly, icily furious at the dual assault Ranma had interrupted. He was also grimly certain there was more going on than just his son seeing Greenfield's assignation with a married woman. He didn't honestly think that the Lannisters had anything to do with it. The Queen had too much to lose if she failed and turned the King against her, for no good reason that he could see. They had no real proof of a connection there, despite Lysa's nigh-on insane sounding letter. But Ned felt there might be something else going on, something he couldn't see, and he wasn't about to turn his back on any of the southerners.
"Hah, well, if you want to exhaust yourself, be my guest lad!" Robert laughed.
"You're joking, at this pace? I might just fall asleep anyway." Ranma shot back. Robert laughed again and set off, with the rest of the party starting off as well.
Four hours later, Ranma was still jogging along, easily moving in and out of the column. The reaction of the others in the party was split in vastly different ways along easily discernible lines. The Winterfell men took it in stride, calling him the Young Wolf and other nicknames, laughing and treating it like an everyday affair.
The men-at-arms from the south and the Kingsguard were astonished and amused in turn. Although as the hours wore on and Ranma showed no signs of tiring - or even sweating at all, that turned to more awe and shock. This amused Ranma, after all they were only traveling at a fast walk, which was a rather slow amble to him.
The knights in Lannister colors, however, scowled and muttered amongst themselves, remembering all too well the humiliation that Ranma had handed out on the training grounds to a few of their number. Even the Hound, a pragmatic, hard bitten warrior with no truck with honor or appearances, still seethed quietly from the memory.
The servants were also amused but they had gossiped with their fellows in Winterfell and simply took it in stride. Many of the womenfolk began to wonder about whether that endurance translated to other things, something that had become a favorite topic of speculation among the servants of Winterfell.
Jaime was amused, but not really interested, after all endurance wasn't everything in a fight. He would take speed of hand and eye over pure endurance any day. He resolved to watch the young Stark more closely, but that was all he thought, secure in his position as one of the best blades in the kingdom, a mindset he had fallen into shortly after the end of Robert's Rebellion.
His superior, in every sense of the word, Ser Barristan on the other hand was more observant. He saw the way Ranma ran, every step sure, every movement controlled. The older man simply added this to his growing list of observations. He wondered once more what it would take to get Ranma into the Kingsguard. It had become obvious over their stay in Winterfell that the youth had a lot to offer not just in terms of skill but also in his sense of honor and general demeanor.
Varys, too, watched this and wondered where the endurance came from but didn't care overmuch about it. He wasn't a soldier so didn't think of any of the implications of Ranma's endurance. After all, no matter how dangerous a warrior was, he could only deal with the physical dangers in front of him.
He moved through the column, moving toward where Ranma and his pet were running along easily along the side of the party. "So tell me, young Stark, are you sad to not get the chance to see if you could fill your father's shoes while he was gone?"
Ranma looked up at the fat eunuch on his horse and Varys started, realizing only now that he was close enough to see, that Ranma wasn't even breathing hard. "Not particularly, Varys, though I am more than a little worried that I won't be there to persecute the campaign I can see coming against the wildlings."
The eunuch smiled blandly, not responding to that. He had long come to the conclusion that the youth in front of him and his fellows at least believed the tale of something stirring beyond the Wall. If there was anything behind that, he had yet to discover it. "You must be jealous of your bastard half-brother then." Varys said, choosing his words with malice aforethought. "After all, he is back there getting experience in leading men that should rightfully be yours as he controls the whelming and even the supplies for the campaign. I hear that your father treats him as if he were almost your equal in any case." That part was a lie, there was no hint that Ned had gone that far, Jon was most certainly the follower of the two. But it was true that Jon was treated like part of the family.
Ranma cocked his head, looking up at the eunuch on his horse trying to understand what the man was getting at. "At this point without any chance of battle in the near future, there isn't anyone else I would trust to organize the logistics effort as much as I trust Jon. He's damn good with numbers, he's got a good grasp of geography, and our friends to help him, if he needs them."
"And you have no concerns or worries about him reaching beyond that scope of responsibilities?" the Master of Whispers asked. "There is no one so ambitious as those who stand close, but yet are not, nobility."
Ranma laughed. "Historically that might be the case, but I trust Jon, besides," he leaned forward a little lowering his voice low so that the soldiers around them couldn't hear. "He's absolutely terrified of my mom, we both are. She does this thing with her voice you know…"
Varys continued to listen, frowning thoughtfully internally at how he hadn't gotten much of an answer there. Yet the boy's relationship to his bastard brother was only a small portion of what he wanted to know. This was the first time he had gotten the boy relatively alone, so with the ease of long practice he moved the conversation back to the topic of what might be going on beyond the Wall.
Yet for all the eunuch's subtlety and probing questions, he didn't learn anything new. There was no hint in Ranma's manner that the buildup of the northern forces was for anything but what Lord Stark and Ranma had said from the very beginning, an attempt to reinforce the Wall against wildling invasion. It almost caused Varys to believe them, but he couldn't quite get over his suspicions, coupling the call to arms across the North with the reinforcement of the moat.
It wasn't as if Moat Cailin needed more reinforcement after all, the Spider thought to himself a little morosely. He was no general, but he had eyes and ears, and had heard Robert, Jaime, and Ser Barristan having a conversation about the Moat before they arrived there. Going by what those three said, I would rather take my chances against Harrenhal than attack the Moat. Harrenhal could probably hold out for far longer without reinforcement, yet that's the point, House Reed can reinforce the Moat no matter what an invading army could do. Harrenhal is designed to defend itself, Moat Cailin is built to slaughter any army attempting to attack the North. Why did they reinforce a position already so perilous rather than reinforce an actual weakness such as Deepwood Motte? There must be more to it than simply transport and money issues.
The Master of Whispers was paid by the crown to be mistrustful and this whole thing made him suspicious. On the other hand, the fact that Lord Stark and his heir were coming south actually lessened his suspicion as did the upcoming marriage to the royal family. Still, it worried him. The North hadn't really changed for so long, neither its power structure nor its people, and now they were changing in many ways.
He turned his attention back to the boy and tried to steer the conversation to topics about the boy himself, trying to get a feel for him beyond the tales, stories, and secondhand information he had gained previously. He came away with the impression that the boy had very little in the way of political acumen but he had a certain guile and cunning. Certainly, the boy realized what the Spider was fishing for and began to respond by changing the subject, not giving away any real, concrete information, save for that he was physically skilled above and beyond the norm by a wide margin.
He didn't talk much about the battle against the Boltons when Varys asked. Of his own part in the battle against the wildling ambush, he gave a very brief account while waxing poetically about his friends. Ranma was so adroit at dodging Varys' questions, in fact, that the Spider didn't even realize that there were very large gaps in the tall tale of the battle or that anything supernatural had even occurred.
Ranma looked up after fielding a question about Smalljon's injuries to see in the distance that Castle Cerwyn was now visible over the trees in the distance. "Excuse me," he said politely bowing his head, "but I have to speak to my little sister."
With that, he turned to race back down the column, moving towards the middle of the column where the coach carrying the ladies was moving in stately majesty, or as Ranma saw it, sloth. Ranma shook his head, if they were going to go at this speed the entire way the Kings Landing, it would take them months to get there. And I'll probably die from boredom about halfway, Ranma thought sardonically. I know armies are supposed ta go slow but, as many of us as there are, we aren't an army.
Ranma hadn't been very interested in, well, anything taught at school in his old world but he knew one thing hadn't changed between there and Westeros: the speed pre-industrial armies could move. A good, well organized, and provisioned cavalry unit this size with accompanying carts, which was what this cavalcade resembled, should be able to do sixty leagues a day. That was, of course, on a road like the Kingsroad for the carts, which here was an actual cobbled road with strips along the edge with soft ground for the horses' hooves, not the bare dirt path that it was from Winterfell up to the Wall.
He knew that speed was probably pushing things, but fifty leagues should have been doable, yet Ranma didn't think they were doing more than forty. Thus, a trip that would have taken him barely two hours had taken them two full days, traveling from before sunrise to just after sunset. He had been to House Cerwyn's seat several times so he knew that for a fact. The sun was going down now and they weren't quite there yet. So their speed wasn't bad but was in no way good for a group this size, a little under five-hundred people.
Ranma raced up to the side of the carriage, easily dodging around horses and carts. He ran next to the carriage for a moment, before reaching out to gently knock on the side of it.
One of the windows opened and the Queen looked out at him, one eyebrow raised in shock at seeing Ranma still on his own two feet and running easily. Before she could speak however, Ranma said, "Sorry, Your Grace, but we're coming up to Castle Cerwyn and I believe that Sansa has a present for the lady of the castle. I just wanted to make sure that she had it out and ready."
The Queen kept her eyebrow raised, then regally nodded and turned back to the interior of the coach. Sansa had heard her brother and reached underneath her seat, pulling out a square wooden box about the Queen's arm's length on a side and a hand's width deep. She opened it, and inside was what looks like a very nicely made and well embroidered dress.
Cersei estimated its worth in a single glance. While there were no gold or jewels involved and despite it being made of wool and cotton instead of silk, the work on it was exquisite, far better than she herself could've done, even better than most of the professional seamstresses she used in King's Landing. It was done in tones of light brown and red with white stripes here and there. It looked both warm and beautiful. "Did you do that all by yourself?" she asked, letting her mask of regal distance fall for a moment.
Sansa looked down shyly, but nodded. "I spent most of the last two months working on it and the month before that working on the design and gathering the materials."
For a dress of that caliber and only a single person working on it that was actually very fast work. Cersei nodded in approval. "It looks magnificent." She said candidly, for once not having any ulterior motive in complementing the girl. She was interested, however, to see how the gift was taken and what it meant. The young Stark girl blushed under her praise. They entered into a discussion on styles and materials with Myrcella joining them. Tommen fought back a bored groan, staring down at the small book of fairy tales he had read so often since this trip began.
Outside the coach Ranma continued on, easily catching up to the head of the column. He bowed his head to the King before taking his place next to his father. On the other side of the King, the Prince sat on his horse, trying to look regal and failing, in Ranma's opinion.
But then again, he wasn't really the best judge of such things and he had yet to see anything to make his suspicions about the boy have some basis in fact. I've heard a story once or twice from a few southern men-at-arms about Joffrey and some furry little demon, but they simply mentioned it once and then clammed up, as if it's a secret. Of course Ranma was still laboring under the mental problems caused by the Cat Fist so he had made tracks as soon as the word 'cat' was mentioned. I need something concrete to go with my feelings and the fact Fenris wishes to rip the boy's throat out every time he smells Joffrey if I want to convince Father to break off this stupid agreement between our families.
"Still going strong, lad?" Robert laughed. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it! We've been going since morning, the sun's nearly down now, yet you're still going on! Where do you get your energy?"
"Hard training, Your Grace." Ranma replied loping along easily with Fenris by his side. He shrugged. "Besides, this whole group is moving about as slow as molasses to me."
Robert laughed. "You best get used to moving slow. Large bodies of men always move slow, even if they can live off the land."
He didn't notice how Ranma frowned at that phrase. He knew that the phrase 'living off the land' meant taking what you could from the people who worked it. He also knew that, despite what the king said, an army living off the land actually moved slower than an army that could carry its food with it or supply itself through other means, such as river barges or partisans. Indeed, he had taken the time to work with the maester about logistics in depth and knew that his father had approved of that greatly, given his own experiences during the rebellion. Ned could only too easily remember the gaunt faces of children and other smallfolk who went hungry while his army fed on their fare.
However, what bothered Ranma most about the practice wasn't just the fact it left so many innocent smallfolk hungry if you practiced it but the atrocities that were committed along the way. Destruction of property, murder, and rape were all part and parcel of what occurred when an army had to forage for its own food, even in allied territory. When it was in enemy territory, it became far worse. Ranma had passed through China and Korea many times, after all, and had heard many tales about what the Japanese army had done during their occupation.
Rape was far more accepted in medieval times, such as the era he was currently living in, than in his previous life. But Ranma had not fallen into thinking in the same way as most warriors here. He loathed that act with all his soul, not just as someone who had once changed gender when he was splashed with water, but as a warrior sworn to use his strength to protect those weaker than himself.
"So how fast do you think you could get to Kings Landing alone, boy?" Robert asked, bringing Ranma's mind back to the here and now.
Ranma scowled at being addressed as 'boy', but let it slide for now. He counted on his fingers for a moment, trying to remember distances and geography. "I could probably get there by myself in about three weeks, Your Grace. As it is, it'll probably take us at best three months to get back. I just hope we can go faster, is all."
Robert guffawed. "Trust me lad, if you think the journey's boring, it's nothing compared to the destination. Too much damn talking, not enough drinking, or hunting in Kings Landing. Though, the variety of prey available to another kind of hunt is greater there than on the road!" Robert laughed again.
Ranma bit his lip to keep from saying what he wanted to say and looked over at his father, who sighed with a shrug. Ned, unfortunately, was far too used to Robert's personality quirks and hungers, so took it in stride rather than condemn him. That didn't mean he was going to watch however and had made himself scarce the moment the camp followers began to move towards Robert the evening before.
About two hours after the sun went down, they were finally in front of castle Cerwyn. The castle's gates were opened and the King and his party were greeted warmly, if formally, by the Lord of the Castle, Medger, his daughter, and grandson. His son-in-law was a Flint of Widow's Watch and was away visiting his family.
As soon as the formal part of the greetings was done, the Lord of House Cerwyn turned from the King, reaching forward clasp his Lord's arm. "Ned!" Medger Cerwyn was a slightly older man, four years older than Ned, and shorter with slimmer shoulders. Despite this, he wielded the axe that was a part of his family's symbol.
House Cerwyn and House Stark were so close together geographically both houses knew their friendship had to be strong and every Lord had made it a point to keep it that way. Thankfully their interests lay in different areas and their lands moved away from their castles in different directions. House Cerwyn was more interested in woodcraft, lumber, and moving into the wolfswood to the west. The majority of their holdings lay south and southwest of their castle while House Stark's land lay north and east of Winterfell. The houses did a brisk trade, which had been showing a marked profit from both houses for centuries. The profit had improved even more lately due to suggestions from Lady Catelyn and Ranma.
Ranma had come up with a few ideas of how to transport goods and a way to use water to power saws that House Cerwyn had grabbed with both hands since it had a tributary of the White Knife River only about an hour away from its castle. They used it to send lumber down to White Harbor, the seat of House Manderly and only real city in the North. House Manderly had built over a dozen new ships with the extra lumber, a fleet they added to their trade fleet as patrol ships and trade caravels.
"Lad." Medger reached out to grasp Ranma's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "You're looking fit, as always." He laughed, looking over with a wink at his daughter, Jonelle. "If only you were a few years younger, my dear, all this business about you going south for your bride wouldn't have ever come up, Ranma!"
Ranma blushed slightly but Jonelle came forward, smacking her father on the shoulder. "Enough of that." she said mildly. Jonelle was a comely woman, very much in the mold of a proper lady, with a gentleness about her that called to Ranma, speaking to him of memories of Kasumi. Thankfully, she was also married and happily so. Indeed, she was halfway through her third pregnancy. She had lost her oldest son as a baby to a wasting disease but her second son, Cley, was hale and hearty. Cley was of an age with Bran, and he stood next to his mother smiling widely at Ranma as he came forward to exchange greetings with him and Ned.
When Sansa and the Queen came out of the carriage, all of the lord's people bowed to them, somewhat more deeply than they had for the King. But it was very obvious to the Queen that their admiration and respect was charged with more than a little bit of affection for the Stark girl.
Sansa moved forward, exchanging welcoming kisses on the cheek with the lady of the house, nodding with a smile at Cley, who she had met several times. After greeting the lord of the house, she reached behind her to Jeyne Poole, her best friend/handmaiden, who was holding the box with her gift for Jonelle in it. "A, A gift Lady Jonelle, to celebrate the upcoming birth of your child."
The Lord laughed, looking at the dress his daughter held up, shaking his head in wonder. "I'll never get over how good you are with the needle, little lass."
One of his men, a heavily scarred man, yet, with a kindly smile on his face, laughed quietly. "A scarf from the lady is a treasure worth fighting for, but what should be said about a whole dress?"
Sansa blushed a little at that, even more so when all the men-at-arms from Winterfell and Cerwyn as well as the servants of both genders murmured agreement. It had been an idea of Ranma's to give Sansa something to actually do with her skills, and she had given her scarves and other works to many people as gifts and as rewards for outstanding deeds. These deeds were not just for acts of valor in battle, however, they were given to people of all walks in life for performing above and beyond, and had spread well beyond Winterfell. The men of the North disdained frippery and softness, yet Sansa's work was not only beautiful but practical, making them dearly coveted and her much beloved.
Needless to say, the Queen saw all this. There was honest affection there, both in the eyes of the men at arms and the Lords as well as the smallfolk. She had seen it in Winterfell, of course, that all the Starks were well loved by their servants and the smallfolk in the town about the Castle, but she hadn't thought it had extended elsewhere, believing that tale mere exaggeration.
Now, Cersei moved towards her son, leaning in slightly to murmur in his ear. "You see? The girl is not just pretty, the North seems to love her. Marry her, and the North will love you as well. And look at the smallfolk." She nodded her head towards the servants slightly. "If she can create the connection she seems to share with the smallfolk here elsewhere, then the common people will come to love you far more than they do your father." She had to work to keep the sneer out of her voice when she said that last word. After all it wasn't technically true, and, oh, how she loathed Robert.
Cersei had married the man with hope that the match would eventually be, if not love, then at least affection. She had even felt that, maybe if it did, she would stop sleeping with her brother, who she had loved since they had experimented with one another in their youth. She had even gone so far as to orchestrate Jaime's rise to the Kingsguard, so he would never marry and be available for her. But that dream of a true marriage ended swiftly. It ended on their very wedding night, when Robert called her Lyanna as he fucked her. It curdled further when he broke their vows within a week, and she welcomed her brother back eagerly into her bed in revenge.
That evening, while the others caroused and feasted with the King, Ranma and Eddard sat talking with Medger at his table, going over what Ranma had passed on. Of course, there was no chance of House Cerwyn not sending its troops North with those from Winterfell, as close as they were that just made sense. Medger was sending his right hand man, the landed knight Kyle Condon with them as their commander, though of course, overall command of the Wall's defenses would remain with commander Mormont.
Yet, it surprised Varys, who was listening in, when Medger didn't raise any objection to Jon commanding the logistics aspect. Medger seemed to catch his expression and shrugged, laughing slightly. "The Twinblade is well known to us and he's acted as Ned's voice several times. Not as often as this one," he clapped Ranma on the shoulder, "but enough times for us to be used to listening to him. Regardless of Jon's heritage, we trust him." That last was directed at Ned and Ranma, who both nodded.
The Spider frowned, then shrugged and decided to move on from that line of thought. It was obvious that the Northerners felt they had reason to trust the baseborn Jon. Whether or not they were right to do so was something that they would discover in due course.
Ranma wasn't concerned about that at all, of course. Why would he be concerned about what his brother would do, the person who he trusted with most of his secrets. Hell, almost all of his secrets save for the nature of his past life. No, what Ranma was worried about was whether or not Jon and Theon would get along or if Jon would simply kill the Iron Born if he mouthed off once too often. He'd thought of bringing Theon with him, but when he broached the subject with his father and the King, Robert had shot it down. The King didn't want one of 'those pirate bastards' anywhere near him for any long stretch of time.
He'd also brought up the notion of taking Dacey along, with the idea of leaving her with Sansa as a female guard, but his mother had shot that one down, staring at him with one eyebrow raised in such a way that Ranma decided not to bring it up again. It was obvious that Catelyn at least knew there was something going on between Dacey and her son, even if she had no proof. Bringing her along was in no way in keeping with the reason for Ranma's journey south.
House Cerwyn supplied the group with several more wagons, as well as drovers and teams of horses to pull them, greatly aiding their speed heading south to King's Landing. They would be turning back when they came out of the Neck, since here in the North, carts and the animals to pull them were important commodities.
The next morning the King's party set out quickly, giving their farewells and moving on as the sun was rising. Robert wasn't actually in that much of a hurry but Ned wanted to get to King's Landing as fast as he could, the better to begin his duties and look into Jon Arryn's death.
It was a cold morning of course, it always was in the North, but Ranma didn't seem to feel it, standing next to his horse, which again had his weapons on it. He looked up at the horse thoughtfully, then shook his head. He reached out and patted Fenris on the head, shaking his head again. I might have to ride when we get south of the Neck, I doubt southerners would take me seriously if I simply ran along as I'm wont to do, but before that I'm going to make do with my own two feet, thank you so much.
Robert looked over at him, laughing again as he noticed that Ranma was making no move to get into the saddle. He grunted a little as he himself slipped one leg over his mounds back. He nodded his head at the warhammer that hung from Ranma's saddle. "Is that just for show, boy, or do you use that as well as you supposedly can your sword?"
Ranma grimaced yet again at the 'boy' part in that sentence. Genma had called him that far too often, and there was too much of Robert that reminded him of the fat panda as it was.
Quickly he reached forward, pulling the warhammer loose from its holster and swinging it around. He moved to the side, away from the horses around him, and then he began to move. There was nothing in his motion that told of the weapons weight; there was nothing that showed the normal 'smash and bash' style most men who wielded warhammers or maces used. He almost danced as he wielded it, up, down, around, under, over, the warhammer making the air whistle as it moved through intricate shapes around him. Then Ranma stopped easily with the warhammer outstretched, his arm not even shaking under the strain of holding it there, before lifting it straight up then laying it on one of his shoulders.
He then handed it headfirst to Robert, who took it right behind the head, grunting a little under the weight in surprise. "Yes," Ranma said blandly, "I think I can."
Robert lifted the hammer and looked at it, laughing quietly, and then handed it back. "Hah, interesting display, lad, but there's more to the warhammer then being able to make pretty patterns in the air. Let me tell you, I…"
To the side of this, Cersei had watched, her eyes slowly going wider at the display. Jaime, at her side as always, smiled a little caustically. He had always felt that the warhammer was a weapon for those who couldn't grasp the subtleties of a blade but Ranma had made that thing sing, which gave his thoughts the lie there.
He moved forward, clapping Ranma on the shoulder, leaning in slightly so as to whisper, and not interrupt Robert's tale. "Once we stop for the evening, we might want to test those skills of yours. It might be interesting to have a new training partner."
Ranma looked over at Jaime, one eyebrow raised. Jaime somehow felt that the boy was taking his measure, but simply smirked roguishly back. Ranma eventually nodded. "That might be an interesting spar, yes."
He moved off quickly, however, to help the children into the carriage, grandly bowing in such a way that Sansa began to giggle along with Myrcella while Tommen grinned. Joffrey, who was nearby, once again on horseback, bit back a sneer at the sight. Instead he smiled, moving over as if to listen to his father's story, not saying anything but making it seem by his manner as if he felt Ranma and his antics were childish. Behind him loomed the ever present shadow of the Hound, who glared at Ranma, although inwardly he was hoping he would never have to face the boy in a real fight.
Soon the group set off, with Ranma once more easily loping along like the direwolf of House Stark's banner, waving farewell to House Cerwyn.
The cheers for the King and his family were intermingled with a few cheers of 'Young Wolf', and 'House Stark'.
Varys once more resolved to find out what levers the young boy had. It was obvious he was a symbol for the North and, if it spread elsewhere, he would be a powerful tool in the game of thrones.
Cersei heard all this from inside her carriage and frowned slightly. Legends could start anywhere and Ranma's physical skills almost screamed that he was indeed capable of becoming a legend. It remained to be seen what kind, but there was much she could do with such a legend. If I can somehow suborn him... It might be a long shot given he's a Stark, however, it would be well worth it. But first I need to learn why Barristan is so interested in him. If it's for the reason I think, it could represent both a major opportunity and a major danger.
The party continued on their way for about three hours, going somewhat faster thanks to the added carts and horses along with some rearrangements, but not fast enough to keep Ranma from getting bored with the whole affair. Hmm, if I'm bored, Tommy must be catatonic in there with only the girls and, ugh, Mordane the Uptight, for company. Oh, and let's not forget one of the girls is Jeyne the gossip queen. To cut down the number of carriages, which couldn't travel as fast as carts, they had gotten rid of one of the two carriages. Jeyne and Septa Mordane had moved in with the Queen and the youngsters while the other servants had moved to the new carts that House Cerwyn had supplied.
With that thought, Ranma moved backwards through the column, heading towards the carriage at its center. Once again he knocked on the Queen's carriage. The Queen looked out at him and Ranma grinned up at her. "I'm here to rescue your son."
"What?" Cersei asked coldly.
"Well," Ranma replied with a shrug, "he's the only guy in their after all, and I know my sister and her friend. He must be getting bored."
The Queen glared at him, not liking the idea of her son getting any more involved with Ranma, yet at the same time unwilling to shoot it down entirely, seeing it as a way to bring Ranma closer to her sphere of influence. Still, Cersei shook her head. "Under no circumstances am I going to let my son out of my sight."
"In that case, your grace," Ranma said bowing even as he continued to run along, "I'll stay right here beside the carriage."
Cersei looked over at her son, who had been trying and failing to look anything but bored. The girls had dominated the discussion from the beginning, which the Queen had rather enjoyed, especially since she had convinced Sansa to make a dress for her. The young girl had a true talent for it, and she was wondering what the youngster would do with southern styles. Cersei was slowly convincing the girl that she was her friend, to confide in her, and to listen to her while also gently steering the girl's infatuation with her eldest son. Whatever else she may be, Sansa was not a political animal nor was there much guile in her nature. Cersei fanned her infatuation with Joffrey easily.
Yet, Tommen was but a boy of seven, and he had read and reread the books they had brought with them. He was staring at his mother now hopefully. Eventually she sighed. "Very well, but will you be all right carrying him along while running?" Cersei rather liked the idea of a Stark being a beast of burden to one of her sons. Such was the way it should be, of course.
The door to the carriage opened while the carriage and the rest of the King's company continued to move. Tommen looked a little leery for a moment but Ranma quickly reached his hands forward grasping the youngster under both arms and lifting him easily while still maintaining his running speed and set Tommen on his horse, which he had been pulling along.
With that he swung up easily into the saddle, shaking his head down at Fenris. The direwolf was a little irritated that his bond-mate had once again begun to ride on one of those large edible creatures but Fenris put up with it for now.
"Now, Tommy, would you like to hear a story as we go along?" Tommy nodded eagerly. Ranma smiled then began this story as he did most of them. "In a land far away there lived a pigtailed warrior, whose father was not the most honorable sort…"
OOOOOOO
The moment that Ranma and the others were out of sight, Arya had turned and raced back into Winterfell, heading straight through the keep an up to Ranma's room to find the present he had left her. Jon had seen this and nodded over to Dacey. "We'll be right down, get ready to head out now. I doubt Arya's going to want to wait a single moment." Dacey nodded, sipping at a large steaming tankard of something, possibly some kind of tea, while Jon looked over at Theon. "Are you going to join in?"
Theon shook his head. "I volunteered to go out with the hunting parties to restock our larders." He laughed. "The King might've been fun, but he damn near ate us out of house and home."
Jon groaned aloud. "I know that well enough, I'll have to work with the seneschal and Lady Catelyn most of today to add up the cost of it all."
"Better you than me." The Iron Born said rather cheerfully, enjoying Jon's discomfiture.
To one side, Roger and Osha were on a pair of horses, both of them heavily armed. There had been some mutters about that, allowing a wildling spear-wife to go around armed, but the connection between the two of them was as visible as it was surprising. Osha sometimes muttered about it being against the wildling way for Roger not to have to steal her away but it was obviously a front. She seemed to greatly enjoy being 'romanced' by the younger man rather than ravished.
Jon smiled at the two of them. "So you're leaving now then? I would love to be a fly on the wall when you introduce your new bride to your lord father."
The wildling woman scoffed, muttering about silly soft squatter's ways, but she did so with a smile on her hard, experienced face. For whatever reason, the older woman was quite taken with Roger, possibly his youth and enthusiasm appealed to her, or possibly it was the fact he took the time to please her rather than take his own pleasure. Whatever the case, they were together, and still heading further south, which suited Osha just fine.
Roger laughed. "Ah, but as a second son, I can marry whoever I wish, my father will just have to lump it." He reached down to clasp hands with Jon. "I'll tell my father the tale of what we faced and, also, that our house isn't a part of the whelming. Regardless, if we can convince him, we'll be calling up our men-at-arms and preparing, just in case we are called upon."
House Ryswell was the noble house of the Rills, the somewhat verdant area between the barrowlands and the Stony Shore and they were looked to for protection from both those areas with the decline of House Dustin. With no issue or chosen heir, the future of Dustin had been in flux for years and Ryswell had grown in strength to fill the vacuum, since Lady Barbrey, the widow of House Dustin, was Lord Rodrick Ryswell's daughter.
Ryswell was known for superb light cavalry and decent heavy cavalry, matched in the North only by Houses Manderly and Dustin, the last of which could no longer field the numbers it once could. As such, even if called, they would be of little use on the Wall in the initial stages of what both Jon and Roger felt was going to be an extensive campaign.
"That's good to hear, but keep them home for now, I pray you." He paused, thinking how to put his feelings into words. "There is much opportunity in turbulent times. Ranma and I both got the impression that there might be… something going on down south, although we have no idea what. Keep them at home and ready, just in case, but don't be stuck on the idea of sending your forces to the Wall."
Roger blinked at that, not having spent much time in the presence of the southerners, outside of the nightly feasts. Still, he nodded. "I'll trust your judgment on that, but I don't think my father will be moved by vague warnings and feelings." With a final farewell Roger and his bride-to-be turned and rode out of Winterfell, making first for the town of Torrhen's Square, and then home to House Ryswell's seat.
Jon watched them go for a moment then walked away, entering the central keep. He paused a moment on his way after Arya to check in with Lady Stark in her vigil in the infirmary. Rather than the one guard or two that had been assigned there during the King's stay, they were four men at arms outside the doorway now. This might've been something like locking the door after the horses had all fled but no one was taking any chances with Bran's life or the life of the Lady and her unborn child.
Catelyn motioned him closer, her jaw was still sore so she was barely able to open it in order to speak and even that movement bothered the bruises she had taken to her face. "When you start your work with the seneschal, bring the work here and we will go over it together."
Jon bowed his head. "I'll do so right away." he said correctly interpreting her look as a 'this is something important' look. "I have one small task to do first however."
Nor was the King's stay the only drain on Winterfell's normal resources. They were also home, at the moment, to nearly two-thousand men-at-arms called up from around the family's lands and more from House Cerwyn would be arriving with Ser Kyle and Lady Jonelle tomorrow.
Rickon was looking forward to seeing Cley again, as well as seeing the Lady, understanding that she would be taking care of them for a while as his mother healed from all the bruises on her face. The sight of that had made the youngest stark very angry, which translated into Shaggydog being very angry, snapping at all and sundry, causing the other wolves to sit on him hard, literally, in Fenris's case when he was around.
With a final nod, Jon sped off, wanting to grab Arya before she could race off with her gift.
OOOOOOO
Arya had quickly made her way to Ranma's room, ducking underneath the bed, eagerly looking around, almost immediately finding what she sought. She pulled out a long slim wooden box, a little shorter than a grown man's arm. She almost bounced excitedly in her position on the floor as she pulled it out, opening the top quickly.
She gasped aloud at the sight of what lay beneath. Within was a sword, the style of which she had never seen bef