beyond that.
He had a tremendous amount of respect for Robert the fighting man, Robert the general, but he was quickly losing all his respect for Robert the man. It wasn't so much that he particularly liked the Queen. Even if Cersei had come over to his side on the issue of Fenris, she was too vain, too aloof, and too unthinkingly arrogant (above and beyond the whole flirting thing) but he still didn't like the way the King flaunted his infidelity front of her.
That was added to the fact of his drinking, something that reminded Ranma all too much of Genma, plus the fact that he didn't really seem to want to do anything but hunt and rut all day. Not once had he discussed anything about actually being king, taxes, laws, problems facing the realm, whatever. None of it seemed to matter to Robert, which bothered Ranma a lot, given the training Ranma had under his father and maester Luwin.
Ned and Ranma talked for a while that evening in their room, something they hadn't been able to do during the day for a while since Robert took all of Ned's attention and Ranma was perfectly happy to train with the troops or spend time with Tommy and the other kids.
Though honestly calling Sansa a child wasn't really accurate any longer. Ranma hadn't really noticed it back in Winterfell, in the familiar environs of home, but here on the road, especially since it had gotten so warm out after they had left the Neck behind, he could see Sansa was now a rather attractive young woman. Sansa had their mothers auburn hair and heart-like face, a thin waist, long legs, and had developed breasts at some point when Ranma wasn't looking, all of which her dresses were made to accent without putting her body on display. All in all, she was easily one of the prettiest girls/women in the party.
Her brother wasn't the only one who had noticed Sansa. The men-at-arms and Joffrey all had noticed. Of course, the troopers stopped after they noticed Ranma looking at them, his blue eyes dark with the promise of violence. Joffrey, however, Ranma couldn't stop from looking.
They stayed up late that night, talking about their impressions of the royal family, what they expected to be happening back home, and what they would find in King's Landing. Ned informed his son that he was going to try and find out what Jon was doing before his death. He was beginning to believe more and more strongly that, in at least one area, Lady Lysa was correct: Jon had been poisoned. "From what I have gathered from Robert, there was no lead up, no warning of an oncoming illness. One day Jon was hale and hearty, in command of all his faculties, performing his duty as Hand of the King, and not even two days later, he was dead. That speaks of someone having a hand in it, some poison or other. And if Jon was murdered, there must have been a reason. He had many enemies but I fear it was in aid of something more than a personal vendetta. If so, it is my duty, not only as Hand, but as a friend to the king to figure out what it could be."
Ranma shook his head. "We're going to be in a very tenuous position, father." he said critically then smirked a little. "I'm good, but this isn't my type of fight."
"Nor mine." Ned murmured, leaning back on the bed and smiling faintly. "Still, honor demands that I look into it."
Ranma nodded. "Of course it does, but I don't think you should look into it without guarding your own back. We need to think of a way of doing that. And I don't think we should trust anyone in King's Landing."
"Roberts all right," Ned replied mildly, though his face had closed down a little, knowing his son really didn't have the best opinion of his friend. "And I think your lady mother has a friend in King's Landing, a man Jon Arryn trusted as well. Hopefully… the master of purse, Petyr Baelish, is a childhood friend of hers, and I can hope for some aid from him." So long as he doesn't hold my brother Brandon's beating him in a duel for Catelyn's hand against me and my family…
Ranma waved one hand in a so-so gesture, unknowingly echoing his father's thoughts. "That's nice and all, but that was a long time ago. People change, and like I said, from what I've seen just from Varys, the King, and the Queen, this is a cesspit we're running into."
That remark brought to him Ned's mind what Howland Reed has said that evening at the moat, and he nodded slowly. "I will trust only what I see and hear, and I won't go anywhere without a guard. Will that do?" he asked rather jokingly, looking at his son. "Or will you be dogging my steps as well? You realize you're going to have to get to know your possible spouse after she shows up? Who knows, she might already be there."
"Oh, thank you so much." Ranma growled, "I was trying to forget that part."
Ned laughed quietly but warmly as was his nature in private like this. He reached over and grabbed his son's shoulder shaking him gently. "Give the girl a chance, you might be surprised."
Ranma chuckled, reaching up with one hand to grasp his father's where it rested on his shoulder. "So long as that surprise is a pleasant one, that's fine." With that the conversation turned to less serious matters such as what might be going on at home and whether or not Catelyn's latest child would be a boy or a girl. Still, both of them were worried about what they were heading into in King's Landing but were equally determined to do whatever their honor demanded when they got there.
OOOOOOO
That evening, Fenris lifted his head up from where it had been lying as the tiny made creature, the dog that was not natural, began its little yapping sound. No wolf would ever call that thing a dog really, it was simply too small, too tiny, not natural.
This time, the creature wasn't yapping at Fenris but three men dressed all in black who had stolen into the inn's yard. Rather than make for the doorway of the inn, which was closed for the night, they went straight towards the kennel. Something in their manner made Fenris stand up from where he had been laying, dislodging the female that had sidled up to him during the night. She smelled quite interesting, as if she was going into heat soon but wasn't quite there yet.
That was a pity, but for now Fenris shook off such thoughts, which he wouldn't have even been able to do if he was a regular dire Wolf and not a bonded one. His sense of self was odd, far more human than would otherwise be the case, even more so thanks to the odd energy that their connection carried to him from Ranma.
That was unimportant at the moment. Here and now, Fenris began to growl low in his throat, a growl with strange harmonics to it that should've sent anything evolved from monkeys up into their trees for protection.
The three men paused, showing they had some sense, then came on, showing that they didn't have enough. Two of them carried those long fangs of the men they called spears, while the third carried a shorter steel claw, a sword. Fenris's nose wrinkled, smelling the men from here, the same scent that had been on the men who had attacked his bonded master. Fenris backed away, growling somewhat louder as they advanced on the kennel.
Once they were close enough, the two men with spears thrust them through the kennel's fence, trying to stick Fenris. But Fenris dodged to one side, then with a lightning twist of his head grabbing the spear of one man, pulling him forward with a muffled whoop to crash into the fence. It rattled a little, and the other man barked out a whispered order in the man thing's tongue. Without Ranma warging with him, Fenris couldn't understand it but he could read their tone easily enough.
The other man with a spear tried to get Fenris in the side. He dodged away again, this time smashing out with a forepaw with surprising strength, breaking the spear halfway up its shaft. He swiftly grabbed up the pointed end with his mouth and threw it at the man who held a sword with a sharp twist of his neck.
Though he missed, that seemed to startle the man things, and they all backed away quickly. To heighten the effect, Fenris growled at them, his fangs bared, the noise getting louder and louder.
The three attackers seemed to think better of it at that point, and raced away out of the inn's yard as quickly as they had come. Fenris stood staring after them, growling still, as the rest of the dogs, who had been woken by the disturbance, looked around and made their yips or barks in turn for a time before Fenris turned and glared at them.
That silenced all of them, save for the small irritating creature. Fenris glared it into submission easily, however. He looked at the other dogs who all looked back at him backing away slightly as was proper in front of an alpha. With a huff of amusement Fenris laid down again, and almost immediately the female with the interesting smell nestled against his side.
He was unsurprised to feel his master moving toward him and the very brief sound of a door opening and closing heralded his arrival.
Ranma had felt his bonded direwolf's anger and irritation from where he had been falling asleep. He had woken up and snuck out, but by the time he had reached the front door of the inn, the excitement had been over. Now he looked down at Fenris, smirking. "Did you have fun?" Fenris huffed again, his tongue lolling out as smiled. "Ah, good, did you notice if they were wearing red?"
The direwolf looked at him askance and Ranma groaned. "Right, can't see colors, never mind." He reached down to rub Fenris' head once more, then turned and walked back into the inn.
Fenris snorted, then laid back down, allowing the female to rub her body against his. Yes, she did smell interesting…
OOOOOOO
Ranma froze halfway up the stairs to the second floor for two reasons. One, there was a candle casting a very low light from the central sitting area. And two, he had just gotten a surge of, of lust or something down his link from Fenris. Fucking hell! Okay, none of the texts that talked about warging ever mentioned feeling that kind of thing from your animal!
After a moment he continued on, wondering who was awake. He was surprised to see the Queen sitting there with a small slim novel in one hand and a glass of wine. Her hair was rather frazzled and she grimaced occasionally, as if she was suffering from a headache. She looked up as Ranma came up the steps. Ranma bowed slightly to her. "Your grace, are you feeling well?"
"A minor headache, young Stark, nothing more." In point of fact Cersei did suffer from headaches occasionally but she also was using this to see if she could overcome Ranma's self-control with one final push. "Was there something wrong with the dogs? Your Fenris acting up?" Cersei leaned back slightly, bringing attention to her chest, barely held within her silk chemise. "Come sit with me, I have been meaning to ask you some questions about my Tommen's training."
Ranma gulped, feeling a little more effected by Cersei's minor flirtations than he would otherwise have been because of whatever the hell Fenris was up to. Damn it, where's a fucking snow drift when I need one. Even so, he knew better than to bring up the little bit of excitement Fenris ran into. He also noticed, not for the first time, how possessively the Queen talked about all her children. "C-certainly your grace. And no, no problems, a small toy dog was causing trouble, which got the others all irritated, but I was able to calm them down. Now, maybe I'll be able to get some sleep."
He sat down across from the Queen, looking at her quizzically. "What did you wish to ask? I think Tommy's training is going well. He's slimming down nicely and putting on some muscles."
"That is precisely what I want to talk to you about." Cersei grimaced a little. At first, Ranma's informal manner had been amusing, but after so long it had begun to be irritating, yet she was more concerned her little lion. "You have him doing all these exercises at such a young age. I am worried it will stunt his growth in the future. I have often heard the maesters speak of too much exercise not being good for children, hence why sword training does not begin until ten."
"That is true, your grace. Some exercises, if taken to extremes, can harm you long term. But I am varying the exercises Tommy is doing so his body can adjust."
"Hmm… Well, that brings me to my other question. I realize that my Joffrey and you have… not been able to get along, but I was wondering if, if he comes to you, would you agree to train him again?" Cersei leaned forward, which allowed her décolletage to flop open.
In his present frame of mind, Ranma couldn't stop himself from looking. He saw the Queen's breasts, somewhat larger than they looked when she was dressed, full and ripe, capped with pretty dark red nipples the size of a silver stag. He groaned, a low, primal, sort of rumbling sound that caused a smirk of triumph to appear on Cersei's face for the briefest of moments.
Ranma very visibly got control of himself. Why the hell is she doing this? What does she have to gain? He suddenly snorted mentally, Fuck it, I was never one ta beat around the bush. He reared back, closing his eyes for a moment then opened them to glare at Cersei, ignoring her body for now. "Why? Why this…" Ranma gestured with one hand at Cersei. "Why are you trying to, to get a reaction out of me? What do you have to gain from it? I refuse to believe you're doing it just for fun."
Cersei actually blinked in shock at this direct question, then surprised herself with a very dry chuckle. "You are direct, young Stark." She paused for a moment, knowing now that she would never be able to control Ranma through his hormones like she had hoped to, which, surprisingly, saddened her, just a little. The boy had an iron self-control which was astonishing in one so young. "Such a question, and what it implies, could get you in a lot of trouble."
"You more than I, I think." Ranma riposted. "And speaking of which, wouldn't our current circumstances be damning enough, the Queen alone with a young man? Even if the King flaunts his indiscretions, it would be damning for you to do the same. Not exactly fair, but there you are."
"Too true." Cersei replied dryly, though that line of defense struck far too close to home. Robert was so egotistical he would dismiss any suggestion she might be unfaithful to him despite his own treatment of their so-called wedding vows, but Eddard and others would take it much more seriously.
She thought for a moment, then decided Ranma required some answer or he would become more suspicious of her, which she didn't want, most particularly in this direction. A bit of the truth would do. "Have you ever heard politics described as the game of thrones?"
Ranma shook his head, watching her closely, not even a hint that he thought of her as a woman.
After a moment Cersei went on. "It is called a game, but it is a most serious one, where families vie for power and the ultimate goal, the throne. I have been a pawn in that game my entire life." She paused, wondering why she had said that, not having meant to but she couldn't pull the words back now. For some reason, even she was effected by Ranma's nature, becoming a little more open around him than she should be. "Now I am a player and I am willing to do anything to see that my side wins. Robert Baratheon is an inept king but my son will sit on that throne in time. You are an enigma, a force to be reckoned with physically, like my brother only even more so. Your skills, they come straight out of the Age of Heroes, making you very dangerous, not only as an individual but as a symbol."
"You are allied with a house that might someday move against mine. The Starks and Lannisters have never been friends. It has been obvious from the beginning that you do not partake of your father's loyalty to my husband and, through him, the Baratheons. Is it any wonder I want to try to control you?"
She didn't mention the fact she hated his house thanks to Lyanna's memory laying over her marriage like a stifling blanket, her fear of Ned and his ability to whisper into Roberts ear, or how willing she was to resort to any means to get what she wanted. Honesty was just another weapon, after all.
Ranma sat silently, looking at her for a moment then nodded. "You have been honest with me, your grace, so I will be honest with you. I will not be controlled in such a manner, nor any other. My loyalty is to my family and to the North. Maybe, eventually, if I get along with this Margaery girl…" He twitched a little at the memory of his upcoming marriage, as if he had swallowed something bitter, which, given his previous experience with fiancées was understandable, even if no one else knew about it.
Cersei actually smiled slightly, noticing how ambivalent the young man was about marrying the Tyrell girl, who was, even she had to admit, a very comely lass, regardless of what else the marriage brought to both families. Yet, the idea of marriage seemed to hold no attraction for Ranma.
"My loyalties may expand to include her family. I like Tommen, I like Myrcella, and I wouldn't ever do anything to harm either one of them, though I think Joffrey needs to grow up a bit and stop being such a brat." That caused Cersei to stiffen angrily, but Ranma went on undaunted. "So long as you and your son, once he ascends to the throne, do nothing to threaten those parties, we will have no problems."
With that Ranma got up from where he was sitting, bowed from the waist to Cersei, then walked away. Cersei's voice stopped him however. "Young Stark, the moment your father officially becomes Hand of the King, both of you will be forced to play the game, whether you want to or not. And in the game of thrones, you win or you die. Remember that."
Ranma stood there for a moment at the edge of the candle light, then continued on his way silently, making no noise as he reentered the room he shared with his father. Cersei remained there, slowly drinking her glass of wine for a time as she thought about the young man that had just left, trying to factor him into her plans, trying to stop the thought that he would have been a good husband for her if only she were younger or him older.
She never noticed that Varys the eunuch had been listening from the foot of the stairs. He had been given a room downstairs, which, while not as nice as the ones upstairs, was adequate for his needs and which kept him close to the royal family and the Starks.
Well, wasn't that interesting. It appears my plan to make myself invisible to the Starks and the Baratheons on this leg of the journey has borne some unexpected fruit. So the boy is nothing more than a blunt object after all, despite his undeniable charisma and possible leadership ability, though that last one is up in the air, I must have it tested somehow. Yet still, a blunt object, with a tremendous amount of skill and self-control but no real threat to those of us who are used to moving in the halls of power. And Cersei seems to think of her children as Lannisters first and Baratheon a distant second. How… interesting. Though she was surprisingly open there, that too was surprising. With that thought, he turned and went back into his room, wondering what would happen when they reached King's Landing.
OOOOOOO
Smalljon, grunted irritably, sawing at the reins of his horse for a moment to bring it up sharply, ignoring the horse's irritated whinny as he glared down at the cart whose wheel had come off, necessitating this stop. I never knew what moving with large groups of people was really like before this. By the old gods, this is so irritating! "How long will this be-damned wheel take to fix?"
One of the smallfolk, from among the several young married couples that were part of the first group heading into the Gift to repopulate it, looked up at him. He was a large man, as most men from Umber lands were, though not as large as Smalljon, with a massive beard that covered most of his face. "At least an hour ,lord. Thankfully this wagon isn't full, it was one of the ones our provender fer the trip we're on."
The heir of House Umber grunted. "Well, get to it then but make it quick. I want us at least three leagues further on before we stop for the night." The man nodded, then bent to his work as Smalljon turned away, looking from side to side at the procession heading ever deeper into the Gift and, at this point, it was the Gift, had been for a few days. A little over a dozen family groups, all young and hungry for their own land rather than working their family's land, two blacksmiths who wanted to open up their own smithies, and several others. It was an oddity of geography, but the Gift had decent, arable land without the need to clear the forests like elsewhere in the North. Certainly more than House Umber's lands, which was just too damn rocky for many farms. What farms there were, were massive farmsteads, each of them little forts, almost holdfasts, able to house the extended family as well as any farmhands they had. Despite the security and family ties, sometimes a newly married couple wanted to get out and away from their family to make their own way.
Smalljon turned his body further in the saddle, looking around at the group of forty mounted troopers ranging around the column. None of them were actually trained horsemen but the horses allowed them to cover the entirety of the column, which was a rather toothsome target for any wildling raider, or any other sort really, though Smalljon hadn't raised any… odd ideas about that. He knew there was more out there than just wildlings but he had agreed then and still agreed now with Commander Mormont and Ranma about keeping that a secret for now. It wouldn't do to have people questioning them about the nature of the threat until they were positioned to defend against whatever was out there.
He noticed, almost absentmindedly, that it was somewhat colder than it had been when he came this way with the other wolf-sworn. Not a good sign… Smalljon was pulled from his thoughts by one of the Norrey scouts coming out of the forest, obviously wondering why the column had stopped, then laughing loudly at the idiot lowlanders with their troublesome carts. Smalljon laughed and waved at the man, thinking that the scouts had earned the right to laugh.
None of the Norrey warriors traveling with them, a full hundred from the northernmost mountain clan, had horses and they had kept up easily with the carts. All of them would be going on to the Wall to add their skills to the rangers and were eager to get it stuck in with the wildlings. The forty men-at-arms with Smalljon would be building a small holdfast around which the settlers would build their community, the first of several on the Kingsroad. That way they could send guards up to the Wall with any supplies they sent up. That was well into the future, of course, when they had their first harvest in but the system was a good one to put in place, especially given what had happened to the Gift's previous occupants.
The column soon moved on and they were able to cover the three leagues Smalljon wanted before needing to stop. The place they stopped at was a rocky clearing with several large boulders and rocky outcroppings everywhere. It was a decent defensive position, one the wolf-sworn had used as a resting point on their way up, well before they spotted the wildling raiders.
As the sun was setting however, one of the Norrey scouts (they didn't seem to have any kind of organization so one was as good as another) came out of the dusk near where Smalljon was tying his horse down for the night. "Umber, we've spotted a large group of wildling raiders, at least twenty hands strong. They're at least two hours away but their own scouts have probably spotted yar and yer slow ass carts." The man spat to the side in disgust. "What'ja want ta do?"
None of the Norrey scouts could really count but hands and twenty was easy enough to understand. Smalljon grinned evilly, waving one hand in the air to signal his men over. He'd taken lessons from Ranma, Jon, and Lord Stark himself several times, and knew that there was nothing more dangerous than having an ambush turned against you. "Do? We're going to slaughter them, mountain man, we're going to slaughter them."
As the Norrey scout gave him and his two officers more information, Smalljon could see the belief of the new threat going through his troops. Many of them had been rather skeptical of the idea of a King Beyond the Wall but the size of this raiding force definitely argued for it. Not only was it large for any wildling force on this side of the Wall, it was also a single group. The wildlings rarely raided in larger than groups of ten without someone around to instill some organization to them.
Along with the acceptance of the threat there was also a sense of grim anticipation. House Umber had felt the stings of wildling raids many times over the millennia and every man here had fought them before. Smalljon nodded at them all. "Alright, here's what we're going to do…
Two hours later, it was full night and the temperature of the air, which had already been extremely cold, plummeted further. The fires the smallfolk set up were large, to give off heat as much as light. Large, head sized stones, were set into the fires, then placed under and around the horses. A few families had gifted their youngsters with portable braziers, which they set up under large canvas tents containing their carts and their horses, warming both the beasts and themselves for the night.
Nothing about the campsite, at least at first glance, said that the Umber men were ready for trouble but they were. The majority of the smallfolk, though many of the men had taken up arms to join the battle, had been moved into the center of the clearing around the rocky outcropping. Two large makeshift tents had been commandeered for use by Smalljon and his men. A few of those men were out there on guard, although they would be transferred in every hour in an attempt to keep frostbite to a minimum. The Norrey scouts were nowhere to be seen, of course They were waiting to close the jaws of the trap.
Smalljon waited anxiously, waiting for the signal from a few of his guards, who were positioned up trees several yards out from the edge of the camp, watching until they saw the wildlings advancing through the forest toward them. The wildlings were experts at night actions but they would have to charge out of the forest for that final push into the rocky area around the camp.
Finally he heard it, the call of a crow on the wind. "CAW-CAW!"
Smalljon bellowed, charging out of the tent. "Up lads, and at them!" Almost immediately, he saw the forms of the wildlings lit by the fires of the camp behind him. They had charged forward and now reacted like the time with the wolf-sworn, once again, not like a trained force would have by freezing and backing away. The wildlings had no such response. Instead, they surged forward as a mob, their iron, copper, and a rare steel weapons raised and howls on their lips.
Which suited the men of House Umber all too well. They charged with roars on their own lips. "RAGHHHH!" Smalljon led the way, his massive claymore slicing one rather thin wildling in twain before he brought it back around to smash into the wicker shield of another. All around him, his men hammered into the wildlings, who attempted to go around the sides of their defensive push only to be taken in the back by the Norrey clansmen.
Smalljon had split the scouts into twenty-five men groups and spread them out away from the straight line of the wildlings advance. Now those groups smashed into the flanks of the attack, grinding it under. Where before, it appeared the attackers had an advantage in numbers, now they were on their heels against a numerically superior force.
Smalljon laughed aloud, bringing up his sword to block a blow from a copper sword, almost negligently smashing his free fist into the sword wielders' face, throwing him to the ground. "One!" The flat of his blade smacked into another wildling's head, sending him comatose to the ground. "Two!"
An older soldier, wielding a wicked looking saw-toothed axe, laughed. "Keeping score lad, I thought yer father'd beaten that out of you years ago!"
"Ha, he did indeed! Many a lesson I've learned over my Father's knee, but no, I want at least…" Smalljon paused, parrying the blow of one wildling that was wielding his sword somewhat better than the normal hack and pray method. His sword smashed the other man's sword to the side, opening up his body for a punch to the sternum. The wildling doubled over with an explosive whoosh, then fell senseless to the ground when Smalljon brought his sword back, smartly rapping the man on the back of the head with his pommel. "Three prisoners! I want to know how these bastards are getting around the Wall!"
"Hoho, someone's learned to look beyond the edge of his blade." The man said, grunting as he twisted a little, freeing his axe from a corpse to block a blow from another wildling just in time.
Smalljon grunted again and pushed forward into the woods, where the main battle was taking place in the dark of the nighttime woods, lit only by the lights of the fires behind him, and the half-moon above them. He was immediately surrounded by four wildlings but he hacked one down before the other three could close.
The heir of House Umber put his back to a tree for a moment, blocking the blows of all three, moving his claymore as if the massive sword weighed nothing, then kicked out, shattering the femur of one of the attackers. That man fell and Smalljon's knee took him in the face, throwing him backward. Another Umber man came in behind his attackers, his sword ending that man's life then threatening the side of one of Smalljon's other attackers.
The last man found himself alone for a split second and was backing away when Smalljon charged forward, bulling into him and throwing him backward. Before the man could regain his footing, Smalljon's claymore cut off his head in a welter of blood.
He grinned over at the other soldier, who had dispatched his own opponent with less panache but with just as much certainty, who grinned back at him. The battle wasn't over and wouldn't be for a while yet, given the nature of the terrain and the poor visibility, but it was no longer in doubt.
Two hours later, the battle was over, the remaining wildlings breaking off and disappearing into the dark of the forest. Because it was so dark out, Smalljon forbade his men from following them, knowing the wildlings could still be dangerous. The Norrey men ignored his edict, for the most part, and lost over a dozen more men after Smalljon ordered his men back, making their total losses twenty six dead and fifteen injured, four severely. The men of Umber had lost nine dead and ten wounded, two seriously. No one knew the total wildling corpses but they were scattered everywhere, so much so that Smalljon had to have his men gather the nearest ones and take them away from the camp. His order to burn them surprised many of his men but no one argued about it.
The next day, Smalljon and the two most experienced men of his command questioned the three prisoners he had taken. Not one more wildling had been taken alive, which was normal for fighting the wild men from the far north. They didn't believe in giving up, and they certainly never took prisoners themselves. Not male ones, at least. Women were fair game and many families, even House Umber, had lost daughters to wildling raids. Mors Crowfood, the man who had lead the Umber contingent up to the wall, had lost his daughter to such a raid, which was why Greatjon had chosen him for the command.
Eventually, Smalljon was able to wring the information he wanted out of their prisoners. It turned out that the wildlings had begun to use large boats, built with mostly green wood, then set forth through the Skirling Pass out onto the Frozen Shore and, from there, took to the sea to get around the Wall. It had been one of the first things that had changed under the new King Beyond the Wall, who Smalljon now had a name for: Mance Ryder. It was still treacherous work and many men had died from the cold of the Frozen Shore but it had allowed larger groups of wildlings to move around the Wall and into the Gift or even beyond. Yet, the wildlings were all adamant that the Gift had been emptier and emptier with every raid and it wasn't just them. That raised some questions among Smalljon's men and he did nothing to quiet them.
Eventually, the column got moving again. Smalljon, with his advisors suggestions, had split off twenty of the Norrey scouts, sending them back to carry the words to the mountain clans. The Norreys and the First Flints especially needed to know about this, since they could possibly intercept the wildlings in the mountains before they could enter the Gift proper.
Those men would also spread the word to the other groups coming up to reinforce the wall. The threat had a name and was very real now. Everyone needed to know that the wolf-sworn had been on the money, something that would steel their resolve. Once that was done, Smalljon and the rest of the column continued their journey deeper into the Gift.
OOOOOOO
The next two weeks passed uneventfully, with the King's party continuing on their way in as lackadaisical a fashion as the King could contrive. The breaks for lunch and dinner became much longer and the time spent hunting during those breaks was longer as well. That was fine by Ranma, who had been expecting another attack on himself or Fenris ever since his little meeting with the Queen, though he supposed she was probably still continuing her wait and see approach.
Ranma somehow knew Cersei was also unconnected to the attacks had seen before this, they weren't her style. He wasn't certain why he thought that, but they weren't. Cersei would wait until she knew he was a real threat rather than a possible one but when she struck, it would not be some toughs smelling of drink that came for him. Ranma wasn't certain what it would be, but he was certain it would be much more dangerous than that.
He was almost positive now that Joffrey was behind those attacks, although he didn't have any proof to back that thought up, other than the men who attacked him being men-at-arms in the Lannister colors. That wasn't enough given the 'provocation' Ranma had given them back in Winterfell. It was just a feeling, that and the fact that whenever he was around, Joffrey tried to glare a hole through his back.
Of course, the princeling had enough sense to stop doing that if Ranma was looking his way or if Sansa was around. That bothered him, both the fact that Joffrey was showing such subterfuge or, at least, an ability in said skill, and that Sansa was still besotted with him.
Lady seemed to have gotten the hint that not all was as it should be with Joffrey and she tended to be tense and ready to spring whenever Sansa and Joffrey were together, according to the pack sense Ranma got from his link through Fenris. Unfortunately, Sansa seemed determined to not take her direwolf's advice, treating Lady as a simple pet rather than a partner.
Mind you, Ranma thought to himself now as he once more lifted Tommen off his horse to set the young boy on the ground next to him at one of their interminable stops, the fact that she's tried to dress Lady up like a doll a time or two on this trip with Myrcella was hilarious. The image of the ladylike direwolf, bedecked with ribbons and bows, had brought the entire party to a laughing stand still for a moment as she ran away whining into the woods. Even the Queen had cracked a small smile at that.
Ranma frowned suddenly as he felt the Queen's presence behind him, moving to one side, that perfume of hers wafting towards him. She had still been slightly strange lately and Ranma wasn't really certain of what to make of that. Or of the 'discussion' (and he used the word very loosely) that they had back at the inn. It left him still uncertain what game the Queen was playing. It was obviously to promote her darling Joffrey but did that also mean that she would move against anyone she thought might be a threat to him and, if so, how? Was she personally dangerous? Ranma didn't think so, but wasn't about to place any wagers on it. Or was she only dangerous because she was Tywin Lannister's daughter? All he knew of that man certainly made him one Ranma would be wary of,. Gold could buy many things, after all, though Ranma was still getting used to the idea of someone being more dangerous through his influence than in person.
He pushed those thoughts to the side for now, reaching down to rub Fenris' head for a moment, nodding pleasantly at Myrcella who blushed brightly and moved away. She had been doing that ever since that night at the bottom of the Neck and Ranma was still bemused as to the cause of it.
Still, he ignored it once more, moving off with Tommen following him eagerly, ready to get to work on today's exercises. They had finally gotten to the point where Ranma was having him practice swinging a specially weighted blade, and Tommen was eager to get to actual sword exercises.
Myrcella hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should follow them but then she saw Joffrey approaching and saw, out of the corner of her eye, Sansa smile. She groaned before moving to join the girl she was rapidly coming to realize would become her sister. Not in the way I could wish, Myrcella thought rather tartly, and whether or not she'll be happy when she achieves her dream is up in the air, but I can't in good conscience leave her alone with him.
She discounted the chaperone presence of the septa with ease, that old woman had not taken to travel on the road very well at all and was moving as stiffly as an old crone these days, especially after she had been taken ill from something a few weeks back. The Queen had already moved to talk to her brother about something by one of the fires, getting in a word with him before he had to leave with the King on one of his numerous hunting expeditions. The rotation had not been changed since the two ill Kingsguard had recovered, something Cersei was rather irritated about.
Myrcella sighed again, but pasted a smile on her face and moved with Sansa toward Joffrey. She shivered for a moment, seeing the Hound at Joffrey's back as always as well as Ser Meryn Trant, a man whose smile scared her, made worse by the looks he sometimes sent her way when no one was looking. But then, Myrcella felt the reassuring presence behind her of Ser Oakheart, heartening her, and she went forward resolutely.
OOOOOOO
Later that day Ranma looked around suddenly, hearing raised voices from the little area by the cooking fire he and Tommen had taken over for their training. He could hear one of the voices, raised as only a voice trained to bellow over a battle field could be. "He's my boy too, damn you! If I want to send him to foster somewhere, I'll damn well do it!"
Ranma stood up, tapping Tommen gently on the head. "Hold off for now, Tommen, let's go see what your parents are yelling about."
Tommen flushed a little, embarrassed but nodded and moved with him. Before he had met Ranma, Tommen would've made himself scarce quickly if his parents were arguing, fearing the man who was his father almost as much as he wanted the man's acknowledgment; fearing his mother too, not physically but for her words, which could hurt worse than anything else. He had seen her flay men with her tongue alone and had felt it himself a time or two before this.
These days, however, Robert was acknowledging him, smiling at Tommen since he began to learn how to fight and be fit from Ranma plus, in the past two weeks, he had also begun to truly spend time with the man during their rides. Tommen wasn't really close to his father, not yet anyway, but the chance of becoming closer was there.
The two soon found the Cersei and Robert arguing with Ned standing between them trying to mediate things while everyone else had quickly gotten out of the way, though Varys and everyone else stood close enough to listen to the argument. Ranma sidled up to Ser Jory, nodding at the two arguing royals. "What sparked this?"
Jory shook his head, looking a little bemused. None of the Winterfell men had really gotten used to the fact that the King and Queen were so at odds with one another, certainly not in such an open fashion, and it took them all aback that the two royals were airing their rift in public. "The King mentioned the idea of sending Prince Tommen off to ward with some lord, his brother Lord Renly, or even up in Winterfell. The Queen exploded on him, saying Tommen was far too young for that kind of thing and she would never agree to sending him so far away. The King responded angrily, and it, well it, escalated from there."
The young prince smiled, then scowled in turn. It was nice to know that his mother cared for him, she was sort of standoffish with him and Myrcella, devoting most of her attention to his older brother, which was right and proper given that he was the Crown Prince. Yet, at the same time it made sense that he, as a younger brother, would be sent off to ward while Joffrey would not. Sending the Crown Prince off anywhere like that would imply favoritism and that just wouldn't do. The younger prince, however, could be sent and thereby tie another family closer to the crown.
Tommen looked up suddenly at the thought. If I could possibly ward with Ranma wherever he is… He looked up at Ranma, who was staring at the two arguing royals, his eyes narrowed, focusing on their body language. This wasn't the first time the two of them had argued like this, that was certain, and he could tell these arguments only ended one way. Thus, he did not see Tommen looking up at him, sudden hope in his eyes.
As the argument reached a crescendo, Ranma stepped smartly between the King and Queen, one hand grasping the King's hand right before he could raise it in a blow across the Queen's face. "Is this something you both should really be arguing about in public like this?"
That caused both Robert and Cersei to frown at him but it also knocked both of them out of the tunnel vision that had come upon them as they once again argued with one another. Robert frowned, feeling his arm gripped in Ranma's vice-like grip. He was about to bellow at the boy to let him go when he looked around, finally realizing he was about to strike his Queen in public. He really didn't care about most people's opinions but Ned was staring at him with hard, judgmental eyes, that was enough for him to pause.
"Personally," Ranma went on, "I would ask my Lord Father what he thinks of the idea that sparked this argument."
Ned smiled faintly at his sons attempt at diplomacy. It reminded Ned all too well of the times that Theon and Jon had fought, only to have their heads banged together by Ranma until they stopped. He also vowed to watch Robert more closely from now on. He knew the man hated Cersei but that was not enough reason for a man to strike his wife, as Robert had seemed about to do.
However, he concentrated on the present. "The Queen raises a good argument that Tommen is too young at the moment to be sent to ward, the usual age for such things is ten or eleven. Her point about favoritism is well taken, as well. With the impending marriage between our houses, Robert, you need to be careful not to show too much favoritism towards my house. Being a King is all about being a balancing act after all. This means of course that sending him to Renly or Stannis is out of the question, as well. The point of warding is to build relations between families and they are your brothers. Yet, at the same time," Ned now turned towards the Queen, who was wearing a triumphant expression, "Tommen should not be sent to ward in Casterly Rock because of the connection there with your father, Lord Tywin." That wiped off her smile quickly. "The best idea would be to send him to the Reach, the Vale, or to Dorne. That way you avoid any hint of favoritism and Tommen gets to see a portion of Westeros that he has previously not seen."
That perked the boy up a little from his previous disconsolate expression at not warding with Ranma and the Starks. He enjoyed learning and seeing new places would be fun, though it appeared as if it would happen in the distant future. Three whole years!
Ned went on, speaking about things he felt both should have already known. "Ser Renly's friendship with the Tyrells is well known, so perhaps House Hightower in the Reach? That would put Tommen in Old Town and the Citadel. The Vale is without true leadership at present and Dorne is such a land apart. Plus it has real cause for grudges against you that any thoughts in that direction would need to be considered seriously."
The master of whisperers, who had been listening silently, smiled at this, shaking his head. Lord Stark would have made a fantastic king, if he puts such thought into something so distant. Pity.
Robert frowned then that frowned turned upwards into a smile and he guffawed loudly slapping Ned on the shoulder. "You see, this is why I want you as my Hand! I can't get my mind around all that 'balancing act' shit! We'll think about it some other time but I'll take your words to heart." He scowled at his Queen for a moment then turned away, not apologizing to her for the argument or the fact that he had been about to raise his hand to strike at her. It wouldn't have been the first time after all.
Cersei stood there for a moment glaring after him, then nodded quite abruptly to Ranma and said sharply to him, "Remember what I said a week ago, young Stark." With that she turned away as well, heading back towards the carriage.
Everyone else moved away, going back to preparing the camp for their departure. Ned looked at his son with his head cocked to one side and Ranma shrugged. "She said 'in the game of thrones you either win or die', couldn't really tell you anything else." Not without making everything much worse and embarrassing the hell out of me, anyway.
Ned nodded, sighing faintly and showing a bit more emotion than he normally would. "This is getting more and more complicated!" Ranma nodded, then turned and moved off with Tommen once more.
OOOOOOO
The southernmost land of Westeros, Dorne was truly a kingdom set apart. Partly, it was geography. Separated by the Red mountains, Dorne was hotter and rockier than any other region in Westeros and even had the continent's only real desert. The people here also followed more Rhyonish traditions, giving their women more leeway in their choices of profession than other lands, as well as practicing a… more open and more physical sort of courting.
This land was ruled by the cagey and cunning Prince Doran Martell. He was an old man, who battled with a bad case of gout which made walking painful. Yet, there was nothing wrong with his mind and his experience made him a very dangerous political opponent. Now, he sat, staring at a message from the far North, which he had been doing off and on since it had arrived several weeks ago.
"Still staring at the missive from the northern dogs, brother?" Oberyn Martell was Doran's younger brother and, outside of their narrow, tanned faces, there was nothing in them to show that relationship. Oberyn was a middle aged man, hale and hearty, trained as a warrior, called the Sand Viper for his skill with a spear. Where his hair was still black, Doran's had been white for years and he was much older than his brother, a happenstance caused by their mother having several miscarriages and two other siblings between them, now dead. Moreover, Oberyn was known for his many dalliances with the ladies and, if you asked around, men as well, while Doren had only had one wife, who had given him three children, yet, had never really become used to Dorne and had left when the youngest had been sent away to ward with House Yronwood.
But what really set them apart wasn't their looks, but their temperament. Oberyn was wild, as hot blooded as most of his countrymen, quick to hate and quicker to act, with a bottomless rage deep inside him for what had happened to his sister, Elia Martell, during Robert's Rebellion. Doran was pensive, calm, cool, and collected, never acting unless he knew he would succeed in his endeavor and never gambling on anything. Yet, he too harbored a deep rage for what had happened to their sister.
"I am wondering what it signifies, if anything." Doran murmured, leaning back in his wheelchair and looking around the Water Gardens, gardens that were entirely fed by water funneled by a series of aqueducts. "It could just be a woman trying to make the best match for her son and house or it could be a sign of the Starks rise to ascendency. One would be amusing, the other, dangerous for us and the interests of Dorne."
"Bah!" Oberyn spat to one side. "The wolves might not have been the ones who sacked King's Landing and I'll give you that Eddard Stark would not have allowed the slaughter of Elia and her children but they still support the Usurper. I doubt that any close relation between the two of us would be a good idea, or even very profitable."
"True enough. Lord Stark should know that just as well as us, yet, he allowed his wife to sound us out about this. And my spies have reported that the Queen of Thorns has asked for a meeting between Margaery Tyrell and this Ranma Stark in King's Landing, to see if they are compatible. Of course, with that woman, nothing is as it seems but I have to wonder what game she is currently playing."
The two brothers turned as a feminine chuckle resounded around. Arianne, Doran's oldest daughter, was a petite thing at five feet two inches, yet that did not in any way take away from her beauty. She had long, thick black hair that fell in curls down her back, perfect olive colored skin with large, full breasts barely covered by the silks she adorned herself with, as befit her station. Her eyes, which could smolder with lust and desire on a whim, were now sharp and cunning. "At least the Tyrells are acting one way or another, father. Whereas we seem to be content to sit here and wait, secure, yet out of touch."
Arianne went down to one knee in front of her father. "Let me go to King's Landing as well. This Stark boy could be interesting and, even if not, it hardly matters. I will be there to look for advantages for our family. We've had reports of Robert's drinking himself into an early grave and the rise of the Lannisters before this. Surely we should act to nip that in the bud." No one in this family ever called Robert, King. Oberyn, in fact, had never done so even in Robert's presence.
"If I could trust you to keep your cool and your mind on the job, I might well have thought to send you." Doran replied calmly, raising one hand to touch Arianne's hair. "Yet, you have too much of my brother in you, child. Besides, you would hate the North, the cold would kill you in short order and, if Olenna has already opened up talks for Margaery's hand, then we would be coming in too late to get enough out of the talks to interest me."
"I am getting tired of waiting here!" Arianne cried, shooting to her feet and stamping her foot angrily. "You have been saying we will avenge Aunt Elia's death for years, yet you haven't taken a single act in that direction. Is your grand plan to avenge her to simply outlive her killers?"
Doran lost his temper for a moment. "Enough! There are plans in the works, plans I am not at liberty to tell you but in which you will play a major part. To that end, you must simply wait for the opportune time." The Prince of Dorne leaned back, calming himself. "A scorpion is patient, my dear, and thus only needs to strike once to allow its poison to work. A scorpion can kill anything with a single strike, whereas even the mighty cobra might need more than one. Yet, you are correct, we need to have an eye in King's Landing."
"Oberyn, you may go. Keep your eyes open and sound out the Starks in particular about what they will do when Robert dies, especially if their hatred for the Lannisters has cooled. Also, find out if there is any truth to the rumors that Jon Arryn might have been poisoned. You may take your squire and two of your daughters, as well. We need information and if there is any chance to weaken the Lannisters, I want to know about it.
"You are not to act on your own though." he hastened to add, seeing his far younger brother's eyes light up with eagerness. "Merely report back to me on anything that happens."
"Of course, brother. I would never dream of acting without your approval." His pious tone fooled none of them. To one side, forgotten for the moment, Arianne's eyes narrowed as she began to make plans of her own.
OOOOOOO
The trip passed uneventfully for the next two days and they began to see actual signs along the road, giving them directions towards King's Landing as well as signs for the rather famous Crossroads Inn. Robert saw this and sighed. "That means were nearly home, damn it! Oh well, it was fun while it lasted."
He looked down at Ranma. "What do you say, lad, could you race ahead and tell the inn we're on our way?" He pulled out a small ring from a pouch, tossing it carelessly to Ranma. "Show them that if they don't believe you when you tell them you're from the King."
Ranma grinned and sped off without another word, instead of jogging, moving into an easy, ground devouring lope with Fenris at his heels letting out a loud, happy bark. Robert looked in shock at the speed of the lad then laughed aloud. "Young Wolf, indeed!"
Ranma raced ahead, glad to get away from the party once more. About an hour's travel, which would be practically an entire day's ride for the rest of the party, brought Ranma within sight of the huge Crossroads Inn. It consisted of several buildings around one main one, four stories tall, with wide walls around a central area. It could easily hold the Baratheons and Starks, plus their servants and the Kingsguard, though not the rest of their party.
Ranma turned his attention away from the inn when he saw a man sitting on a horse by the side of the road that he felt probably lead toward the Vale lands. The man was tall and lean, his features, from what Ranma could see as he ran closer, were lined and weathered with gray hair visible even from here. Though, as Ranma trotted closer, he could also see a hint or two of auburn.
As Ranma got even closer he could see the man had bushy eyebrows. As Ranma slowed down he could tell the man also wore excellent chain mail and had a cloak fastened by clasp in the form of a black painted trout. That gave Ranma the last hint he needed at the man's identity and he began to laugh.
The noise caught the man's attention and he turned from looking down the road toward the Vale to the young man who had been jogging easily along the road from further North. As the young man stopped, the man took in his weathered features speaking of the North, his dark hair tied into a ponytail, blue eyes much like his own, only deeper. The young man, with that hard gaze, the muscles visible under his clothing, and the confident expression, he was a man there could be no doubt, also wore a good leather jerkin under good chain mail. And, as if he needed it with the large wolf at his side, his belt buckle was shaped into a wolf's head.
Ranma looked up at the man smiling widely. "If my lady mother described you accurately, you would be my great uncle, Brynden Tully?"
The man smirked down at him and when he spoke, it was with a hoarse, almost smoky voice. He slipped out of the saddle easily, before grasping Ranma's arm warmly. "Aye lad, I am that. Catelyn described you to a T, as well. Good to finally meet you, kinsman."
Ranma grinned, pulling the man into a hug, which Brynden returned. The Tullys were never one to stand on ceremony with family members and Brynden was even less inclined in that direction than his other kin. When he pulled back, he held Ranma at arm's length, looking at Ranma, analyzing him. He was not known as one of the most intelligent knights in Westeros for nothing and he quickly realized that this young man was something special. He had a strength in his form that was astonishing and a barely concealed energy. Whether that was all, he could not say, yet, but Brynden would watch for more. The warhammer on his back made Brendan almost compare Ranma to Robert in his youth; A Robert that had never taken to wenching, drink, or carousing of any kind.
He finally let go, smiling faintly, though there was some worry in his eye. "Come, Ranma, let's go inside and sit down. I have things to tell you. Your lady mother did not convince me to leave my post as Knight of the Gate just on the chance to meet you, her message has… things we must talk about. Where is the rest of the King's party? Surely, you didn't run off and leave them behind. I wouldn't blame you but…"
Ranma laughed a little. "No, they'll be along eventually. The King sent me ahead to ready rooms for them here."
Brynden looked at him sharply at the rather sour way Ranma had said 'the King'. "I see we must talk." he said reflectively. As Knight of the Gate, Brynden was able to hear a lot of news from anyone using the main, in fact, only real, road into the Vale and it was that information which Catelyn hoped would he would use to aid her husband and son. Brynden led the way inside in and sat at a table waiting while Ranma talked with the innkeeper. Soon, Ranma was back and Brendan looked at him with calculating eyes. "So, before we get to what my lady niece has to say, tell me what's been going on? From your perspective, I mean."
That made Ranma's eyebrow rise in surprise but at the older man's cool, contemplative look, he nodded and began to relate everything that had