The Lonely Fort's dungeons were isolated and difficult to access, perhaps precisely to prevent prisoners from easily escaping. The cells were underground in the castle, and when walking the length of the tunnels it was possible to reach a wooden door covered with thick chains, which the boy and the old Maester found closed but not locked.
Opening it, some source of dim light revealed a flight of narrow stairs that spiraled upward. Manfrid proceeded cautiously and after a long climb they arrived in an open chamber. Entering a place lit and warmed by torches after so long in a cold, dark pit made Aethel cover his face and feel the wonderful blasts of heat emanating from the room, though the Guardroom was as loathsome as the person who there lived.
A hideous smell denounced a full latrine somewhere in the room, scattered in the place were bottles of wine, some broken others half full and discarded. Looking around him with a rancid face, Manfrid slowly crossed Murtho's room towards a door opposite where they had entered.
- Please be open, Mother, allow him to have been dumb enough to...- The Maester was talking to himself.
At first Aethel thought that Manfrid meant the door, but the old man quickly opened the unlocked door and entering the small room ahead he looked up, where there was a round opening through which descended something that Aethel did not know he missed, the sweet light from the moonlight.
- Grab an torch Aethel, quick - Manfrid said without stopping looking up, and groping for something.
The boy tried to be quick but he staggered completely malnourished, he returned to Murtho's room and removed the first torch he saw hanging on the wall, handing it to Manfrid. Torchlight fell on a row of nailed wooden rails that could barely be called a ladder. Aethel swallowed hard. The Maester took a good look at him, then said:
- It will be best if you hold on to my back, and carry the torch - Manfrid's voice wasn't so sure.
Aethel obeyed and climbed onto the old Maester's hunchbacked back, holding the torch with his arm behind him to keep the fire away from them both. Slowly and amid squeals of effort, Manfrid began his ascent, at first it was painful and at certain moments Aethel was sure they would fall, which would be a disaster, sometimes the supports on the wall made noises that increased the fears of both. But apparently the old man still preserved some of the vigor of his younger days, or perhaps the situation and haste motivated him as halfway up the climb he started to go faster.
Eventually they reached the top, slinking loudly out of the trapdoor. Aethel, still holding the torch, stepped off Manfrid's back as he collapsed to the cold stone floor, gasping for air. Glancing at the trapdoor, Aethel felt that the height seemed to have been much greater during the ascent.
As the Maester rose and retrieved a bunch of keys from somewhere in his robes, Aethel observed a narrow opening, vertical and not very high (probably intended as a window) through which moonlight infiltrated. The opening looked directly out onto a starry sky, and Aethel knew they were probably in some turret of the Lonely Keep.
- Give me the torch - Manfrid opened the door - from now on this will only attract attention.
And placing the torch in a sconce in the small chamber she went out to a spiral staircase before the door, with Aethel at her heels. They descended for a few minutes, until Manfrid stopped on a step, froze where he was so suddenly that Aethel ran into her back and fell backwards. The boy was about to ask what had happened when a muffled and distant sound silenced him completely, it was only possible to hear fragments of an extremely out of tune song.
- There... a.... black... brown.... - The voice was almost ghostly in that empty tower.
- Quiet boy - the Maester said, but he didn't need to say anything, Aethel was beginning to recognize that drunken voice and his heart was pounding not with fear, but with the deepest rage fed amidst the filth of a cell. It was the Pig-Guard, Murtho.
The voice traveled up the stairs with its hideous notes and panting breath, echoing its evil timbre in the walls of the tower. Noticing the boy's agitation, Manfrid grabbed him by the shoulder, and quickly gazing at him pointed for him to climb the stairs back, giving Aethel a slight push. The Maester, expecting the boy to obey out of fear of Murtho, promptly turned and leaned against the wall, pulling something out of his many pockets.
The yellow-orange light of the torches glinted on the surface of the blade that Manfrid was clutching with desperate strength, their only defense. Aethel continued close behind Manfrid for he was no longer afraid of that voice, he only had the deepest despise, and having an idea he grabbed a torch suspended just above him. His heartbeat was like a drum before a battle. The man was getting closer and at that moment it was possible to hear the song he sang in its entirety, the closer the more out of tune and profane sounded that timbre.
- And down the road from here to there.
- From here! To there!
- Three boys, a goat and a dancing bear!
-They danced and spun, all the way to the fair!
Manfrid was aware that it was impossible to persuade the man in that situation the would be dead or become prisoners and Aethel certainly wouldn't survive, he had nothing to offer him that would pay for the boy's freedom and life. But in reality it had, the cold kiss of the steel of his blade.
Murtho, in the midst of his drunkenness and dizziness from the lusts of the night, climbed the stairs completely feverish and staggering. Zigzagging from one wall of the staircase to the other, he sang his song at the top of his lungs. As the guard's shadow entered Manfrid's field of vision, Aethel realized that the Maester had frozen where he stood, pale as a ghost and his hands were shaking. However, contrary to what Aethel had imagined, the moment Murtho revealed himself around the bend where he was waiting for him, the old Maester charged at the hated guard, raising his dagger above his head and snarling like a frightened animal.
For all the tepidity of drunkenness, Murtho had (long ago) learned the art of weapons and was far stronger in body than the Maester. So when he saw Manfrid's clumsy blow approaching, he grabbed his hand in time and both just fell to the ground exchanging punches.
Eventually Murtho began to get to his feet almost intact while Manfrid had a black eye and a cut, for a split second, an angry look crossed the Maester's face and he looked at Murtho in some confusion. Murtho already had his hand on the scabbard of his sword. Aethel had followed, careful not to be in Murtho's field of vision.
- WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? - Murtho raised a half-worn sword targeting the Maester's neck.
Taking advantage of the fact that the Pig-Guard did not notice him, Aethel ran towards him at the right moment, throwing all his body weight against the man and thrusting the torch against his face. Murtho was barely staggered by the boy's weight, but as the flames licked his face a hideous scream rang out throughout the Lonely Keep, and he was unable to stop his fall in utter agony and surprise, falling dead at the bottom of the stairs.
Urgently Aethel went to the fallen Maester, who was still trying to get to his feet. Blood oozed from two cuts on his left eyebrow, Manfrid still looked a little dazed. But the old man had heard Murtho's scream, he knew they were both doomed. Manfrid, clutching the boy's tattered garments with desperate strength, said breathlessly:
- Pay attention Aethel, there are two guards in the tower doors but there will be more of them, when it's time you must run, got it? - The maester's bulging eyes scared him - Don't stop running for nothing!
The boy was paralyzed staring into Manfrid's face that possessed a certain madness, but he nodded hesitantly. The old man slowly got up looking purposeful and started down the stairs.
- Follow me, but at a distance - he said in a low, expressionless voice.
Aethel complied, growing more alarmed by the Maester's unusual behavior. After a few steps had been traversed, shouts and orders resounded up the tower, Heltor's soldiers had found Murtho's body Aethel supposed. The boy blanched and swallowed hard, it was one thing to push a drunken man to his doom and another to face alert and armed men, and only at that moment did he feel like a scared little child, but Manfrid didn't seem affected.
Or so Aethel thought, for the Maester continued to descend, but in his heart Manfrid, despite his decision, was terrified. As boots clattered to the ground toward them, Manfrid stopped.
- When the time comes, run and don't look back, it's your only chance - Then he leaned against the wall, crouching down a little with his hands shaking.
- Manfrid, no...
- Shut up, and back off - he interrupted in whisper.
Much like the previous scene, the shadows of the guards entered the scene, and Aethel climbed a few steps, watching from the curve of the wall. Aethel would never forget that moment, especially how fast it all went. The guards appeared, two in helmets and mails that shone not even a little rusty, with short swords in hand, the Maester didn't wait a millisecond and leapt, aiming for their feet. He skewered the dagger through the boot of one and knocked the other off balance, leaving them to fall by surprise.
Aethel wasted no time, tears streaming down the steps ran as fast as he could in famine. Jumping two steps at a time, he wept for Manfrid, for he knew the old man was dead. And his guess was correct, near the bottom of the stairs he heard sounds of a fight and finally a guttural, shifting, horrible scream from the Maester choking on his own blood, that sound would not leave his nightmares for a long time.
In his horror, he didn't even realize that he had stepped on Murtho's body, and left through the wide-open doors of the tower. The cool evening breeze embraced him as he stepped out into a shady outdoor courtyard. Apparently the adrenaline had dampened his hunger state but now it was starting to kick in, he felt slightly dizzy and very tired. However, he took only a few seconds and started running again as fast as his weak body allowed.
He could hear guards shouting behind him, but that just propelled him forward without much sense of where he was going in the darkness, the courtyard was huge with several buildings and a main one having buttresses but little could be seen in the dark of night, clouds covered the moon. By sheer luck, he ended up finding himself at the gates out of the Fort that were wide open. He could hear the guards approaching, but he didn't stop running for a moment, and he left the gates, passing through a first wall and advancing over a drawbridge crossing the second wall of the Fort. At last he started down the thin road that led from the base of the hill to where Lonely Fort stood.
Although there were sentries on the walls, the darkness of the night prevented them from shooting a running child. However, Aethel knew that if the pursuit continued he would probably be captured, the guards of the Lonely Fort were much stronger and healthier while Aethel almost collapsed from exhaustion, only the fear of death moved him (Manfrid's screams still echoed in his ears). But they would reach him sooner or later. So the boy, leaving the path that wound around the hill, entered the middle of vegetation, slopes, and rocks, betting on his small stature and the shadows to hide for a while or facilitate his escape.
In the middle of the hill's wilderness he stopped running so fast, because any stumble in a place where the ground is inclined and slopes lurk to take him to death, it was better to be careful. With a quick glance back, he saw that the guards finally had torches in hand, in a worrying distance from Aethel, but in their haste they struggled with the uneven terrain. They drew closer, and Aethel grew weary and weary, even as he advanced cautiously.
He looked for a hiding place while dodging his pursuers, hoping the moon would remain covered and not help them. He was beginning to despair, for he was almost within range of the torches. That's when he felt a chill run down his spine, there was something watching behind him and it wasn't the guards. Looking back quickly he saw a small aclivity that led to the bare rocky slope of the hill, he was sure that when he turned around he would see something targeting him, but there was nothing.
But the moon reappeared, and looking more closely he noticed that on the steep edge between the slope and the aclivity an extremely narrow track of beaten earth and moved boulders bordered the slope seeming to curve further forward and out of his field of vision. And the pale light that Aethel had thought would help his pursuers actually helped him up the short but bumpy aclivity that led to the path. Be it favor of the Gods, be it luck or merit of the boy's own stealth, the soldiers seemed not to notice him walking slowly leaning against the cliffs of the hill, walking sideways, they seemed to be blind at that moment to anything above their heads.
The soldiers did not move away and kept searching from a distance too close to where Aethel stood. So the boy advanced towards the curve of the slope. Aethel stopped short when he realized that the farther he went towards the curve, the further the aclivity veered away from the flat ground below, and the steeper the same aclivity grew. Until with enormous hesitation, reaching the curve, the aclivity had turned into another slope below his feet dozens of meters high. Hundreds of pines and a few oaks awaited him below, so close to a quick death it was hard to breathe.
"I'm going to die" he thought "I'm going to faint from my weakness and fall"
His legs were already trembling when, making the turn, he looked to the side and saw an opening in the smooth and rocky wall of the hill, in a shape too round to be natural and that evidenced a shelter. And it wasn't just that.
It could be the wind in his ears, it could be the fever of weakness, but Aethel could hear unintelligible voices echoing inside, and worse, he felt something there, waiting for him, aware of his presence. In the face of wonder and attraction the weakness and bewilderment of height were forgotten, and Aethel gained new strength. He continued along the trail doggedly to reach the opening.
Gripping the crater's rim tightly, he pulled himself into the niche the the hole formed in the hillside. However, as he hoisted himself into the great hollow, Aethel was suddenly met with an uneven cold stone wall, apparently the opening was not as spacious as he had thought, only nearly a meter deep. For some reason he had been sure there would be a cave there. With an instinctive movement he placed both hands on the surface of the wall and pushed, the screams of his pursuers were already far away, as was the fear he felt of them.
To Aethel's shock, with some effort the wall moved forward and then turned to the left, as if it were any other door. And with the view he was contemplated, it took a while for her to react.
The crater really led into a cave, the beauty of which could be matched by the halls of any great monarch. The first thing that drew Aethel's attention like a magnet was the gigantic Weirwood whose highest branches reached to the top of the grotto, caressing the tip of the crystalline stalactites fifty feet above the ground. While the carmine leaves of the great tree emanated an eerie light, which was reflected beautifully in the stalactites, the trunks and branches were a pure, unblemished white. Snow and Blood, one color accentuated the beauty of the other in a divine harmony. The grandiose tree stood on an islet in an ominous lagoon that even in such strong and close light reflected nothing and was a well of darkness, having its own unique beauty.
The entrance to the cave where Aethel found himself was at an altitude in relation to the Weirwood so looked at everything from above, there were other weirwoods surrounding the grandest one, forming a magnificent spiral garden, where hidden streams ran that whispered their ethereal sound. Upon entering such sumptuous atmosphere there was no more pursuit, Lonely Fort, or Manfrid. Only that place at that moment mattered.
Without realizing it, and with eyes fixed on The Weirwood, Aethel walked, circling the same unobtrusive path that he had found in his despair, in a time that now seemed far away. As he descended lower and lower the path began to go deeper into the earth and became more marked, and the weirwoods on the edge leaned towards their great and beautiful relative, making a roof over the boy's head, with some fragments of that wonderful light passing through his body as he walked.
The boy advanced feverishly in a state of almost trance, being aware of who he was and where he was, but the place had a mystical air that softened the senses and calmed the intense emotions, making the person feel like in a dream.
Something tugged at Aethel and guided him to the bottom of the cave, enticing his senses and his muscles to draw closer. When his feet touched the cool surface of the waterlogged bottom where all the small currents mingled with their songs in the lake, Aethel was able to witness the beauty of the Great Weirwood at close range. Golden fireflies floated lazily among the leaves of the tree as if dancing around it, and gave it a wreath of incomparable beauty.
Aethel, with a desperate yearning, jumped through edge of the lake without any fear of its sinister appearance, the water below his waist was warm. And he advanced towards the tree, on whose trunk was drawn a beautiful face, which in no way detracted from the total beauty of the Weirwood. It was a solemn, feminine, welcoming face that promised to console him and give him rest.
A sound that seemed to come from a very distant but very loud place pierced the peaceful silence of the cave, throwing Aethel out of his waking dream. It was strident and raw, horribly ugly in the face of so much beauty, and it really didn't seem to belong in that world, as if a calm sea was suddenly interrupted by storms of fire.
Chains screamed and wood creaked, drowning out the sound of small streams. The light of the leaves that powered the cave dimmed, giving the place an evil blood color. Footsteps of leather boots echoed in the darkness, there was an intruder in that sanctuary...