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Robb Returns by The Dark Scribbler
 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: K+, English, Fantasy & Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Robb S., Theon G., Domeric B., Words: 627k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 6k+, Published: Jul 16, 2015 Updated: Sep 287,742Chapter 25
Brynden
He was on edge as he strode to the Bloody Gate, but he knew that he could not show it. The Knight of the Gate had to be calm and collected and not show nerves. That said, he knew that something, somewhere was very wrong.
For one thing it was far, far too quiet. Normally there was always rumbling in the hills and mountains. The Mountain Clans were seen moving in the high passes, raiding here, stealing there, murdering when the mood took them and taking away women that took their fancy. They were outlaws, raiders, murderer, rapists and overall scum. But right now they were quieter than he had ever known.
Oh there had still been reports. Something about horns being heard in the high passes. But otherwise it was as if they had vanished into thin air. It was totally unlike them and that worried him. Worried him a lot.
And then there was that other thing. The thing that was also pressing upon his mind.
The Bloody Gate loomed before him and he made a mental note not to pass on his worries to anyone. Then he saw Ser Donal in front of him and his heart sank a little, if for a different reason. The old veteran had that young puppy lordling behind him. The youngest son of Lord Waxley was an incompetent, wet-nosed, brainless little idiot who had a habit of hopping from leg to leg like a small boy in need of the privy in a hurry.
"Well?" Brynden growled.
"I talked to travellers on the High Road. They all reported a quiet journey. Not a sign of the Mountain Clans. I don't like it Ser Brynden. I've never heard of such a thing."
Young Waxley, who had been jiggling in place, finally opened his mouth. "But Sers, the answer is obvious! The scum have finally been scared away by our great prowess and show of arms!"
Brynden shared a long-suffering glance with Ser Donal. "Lad," Brynden rumbled, "The Mountain Clans have been a pain in the arse of the Eyrie for centuries. I hardly think that they've been scared off by the sight of a new coat of arms on a shield. No – this is something else."
But any further discussions was curtailed by the sound of a shout from the Gate itself, as a sentry at the tallest part waved at them. "Ser Brynden! Riders before the Gate! Mountain Clans!"
"I knew it," Brynden sighed and then strode off quickly towards the gates, which were already being pulled closed by the men. They were good lads, he had trained them well. As the gates boomed closed he entered the side gate to one of the towers, followed by Ser Donal and the Waxley pup, and then ran up the spiral stairs.
As they emerged from the door on the ramparts he looked out at the road. Yes, they were there. A group of figures on those small horses of theirs. Well, all but one was mounted. The one that was not seemed to be too large for a horse. Yes, they were Mountain Clansmen. Ten of them to be precise. And they were all… just sitting there, on their horses. Not doing a damn thing. Out of range of any bowman. Sitting there with the mist roiling down the valley towards them.
"This is odd," Ser Donal muttered. "What are they doing?"
And then one of them, who was holding a spear, got off his horse and started to walk towards the Bloody Gate. Halfway there he jammed the butt of the spear into the earth on the side of the road and then took ten measured paces – and then stopped walking.
This got the Waxley pup spluttering. "He challenges us! What impudence! Ser Brynden, I can get the rogue from here with my bow!".
"No," Brynden said with a frown. "That is not a challenge. That is a parley. I will treat with him." And then he turned and went swiftly down the stairs to the gates, before borrowing a spear from one of the men at arms and then slipping through a small postern gate. Once out he walked along the road, counting, until he reached the spot he had measured with his eyes from the ramparts. There he thrust the butt of his own spear in the ground and then marched ten paces forwards, taking off his wrist bracers as he did and then pulling up the chainmail and leather on the forearm of his sleeve.
The Clansman, who was as grey as he was and dressed in the usual mismatched armour of the Mountain Clans, was also busy rolling back his sleeve. When he was done he nodded at Brynden and then strode forwards and clasped forearms with him, skin to skin. "No hidden arms," said the Clansman.
"No hidden arms," Brynden agreed, before they both stepped back and replaced their sleeves.
"You are the Blackfish," the Clansman said almost cheerily. "It would be an honour to kill you. I am Rhys, son of Daner."
"I am the Blackfish – and you are the Head of the Sons of the Tree," Brynden said, feeling intrigued. What was he doing here? They normally ranged far to the North-West.
"I am that," the Clansman stuck his thumbs in his belt and then looked at Brynden sombrely. "We come here to bear witness. To warn you."
"Your clan?"
Rhys sighed and then jerked a thumb at the group behind him. "All the Clans. We lead them."
Ice seemed to trickle up and down his spine for an instant. All the clans? They were all there? He peered at them. The large man had two axes strapped to his back and another at his belt. He seemed to like axes. And one… seemed to be a woman? Yes, they could well be the leaders of the Mountain Clans.
"To warn us about what?"
"Why, that we shall return! That in our absence you shall not think that you have won the Long War, or that you send men to drive out those that shall remain to guard our lands!"
Brynden ran his words through his head, wondered if he had gone mad and then asked the one question that the situation demanded: "What?"
Rhys ran a hand through his beard and sighed. When he looked up Brynden recognised the look in the eyes of the man. It was the look of a man who thought that he might die at some point. "We are summoned," he said almost gently. "We have all felt the call. The Old Blood is strong in us and we heed what it tells us. So we come here with a summons and a warning. The summons is for us. We are needed in the North. The warning is for you. We will return. And when we do the Age of Heroes will return and we will have it all back, Blackfish. Tell the Arryn we will have it all again. It will be our payment."
"Payment? And what do you mean, you are going to the North? Why?"
This bought him a pitying look. "Ah, you have rocks in your ears. You did not hear it." Rhys smiled a strange and terrible smile. "The Others have returned, Blackfish. We have heard the call."
Shock roiled through him. "What call is this?"
Rhys looked at him. "It came days ago. The Others Come. The Stark-"
Brynden Tully interrupted him. "-The Stark calls for aid. You are needed."
The Clansman opened his eyes at that. And then he smiled hugely. "Sa ha! So – the Old Blood is strong in you too, Blackfish! You have heard the call as well, your ancestors must have been mighty indeed. Perhaps we will fight together on the Wall." The smile faded. "Many of us will die. But it will be a good death. Many new songs will be sung about us. But it will be worth it. We remember, you see. We remember." He said the words with a curious intensity. "'Tis a curse and a blessing."
This was madness. But he remembered the voice he had heard, remembered the feeling that it had sparked within him. He swallowed thickly. "But… the Others have been gone for thousands of years."
A shrug from the Clansman. "Seasons turn. Winter is coming. The Long Night returns and with it the dreams. In the stars the bottom of the Crook can be seen for the first time in memory, as it was foretold. They come, Blackfish. They come. We march. But tell the Arryn that we will be back." And then he turned and strode off, wrenching the spear out of the ground as he left.
Brynden took a step towards him. "Wait! You go North? How?"
Rhys waved a hand over his shoulder as he walked away. "Secret ways, Blackfish," he called over his shoulder, "Secret ways." And then the mist rolled in and he was gone.
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