Alec waited in the shadows as the door was slowly eased open. The room was completely silent and sparsely furnished. Moonlight streamed in through one of the windows, illuminating much of the room with a silver light. A single bed lay in the center of the room, the figure of a sleeping man under the blankets. Off to the side was an armor stand that held the white armor of the kingsguard. A white cloak hung on a peg next to.
The man wore a red surcoat over chainmail and boiled leather, carrying a longsword in one hand and a dagger in the other. His black hair had been tied back with a red ribbon and his sharp jaw was covered with dark stubble.
He approached the bed slowly, carefully placing each step and making no sound. His eyes were trained only on the bed and nothing else. When he was standing over the sleeping figure, he smiled from ear to ear as he reversed the grip on his dagger and plunged it straight down, rocking the bed frame from the force of the strike.
The wicked smile that Osney Kettleblack had been wearing just a moment ago disappeared in an instant as he realized that something was wrong. He pulled back his dagger, and after he saw no blood on the blade, he threw back the covers from the figure he thought was Ser Loras Tyrell.
"What in the blazes…" Ser Osney cursed as he realized that he had been duped.
"Sheep's wool is particularly good when faking a sleeping body," Alec said as he and his companion emerged from the dark corner that hid them. The spymaster wore dark leathers and a hooded mantle of the same color, a long, heavy-bladed knife at his side.
The real Ser Loras wore a simple shirt and breeches, unsheathing his sword as he revealed himself. The queen's brother had a look of utter contempt and hatred on his face as he prepared himself for a duel.
Ser Osney didn't waste any time in trying to defend himself. He had just been caught trying to murder a kingsguard, the queen's brother no less. He raised his weapons and charged across the room at Loras, his sword flashing in the moonlight as he struck at the Knight of Flowers. Loras caught his opponent's blade and flicked it away with incredible speed before going on the attack, driving Ser Osney back towards the window.
The fight was entirely one-sided. Ser Osney could barely keep up with the younger knight, barely able to bring his sword up time and again. Ser Loras didn't seem to tire in the slightest as he continued his onslaught. Eventually, Ser Osney's defense faltered and that's all it took for Ser Loras to end the fight.
Kettleblack's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he dropped to the floor. Ser Loras kept his sword raised in case the man was faking, but after a few moments, it was clear that he wasn't. He was well and truly knocked out cold.
Alec moved to the door and poked his head out. "Come on in," he said to the waiting gold cloaks.
A dozen of Seaworth's best men marched into the room. Two held lengths of chain and shackles that they attached to Ser Osney's ankles and wrists before hauling his unconscious form out of the room. Ser Loras pushed his curls away from his face as he retrieved his scabbard, sliding his sword back home.
"You should have let me kill him," he grunted.
"Oh, he'll die," Alec said as the two men left the room and headed towards the throne room, "but first we need a confession."
Line Break
Osney's coconspirators had also been captured while Alec and Ser Loras had taken care of Kettleblack. Trant had a nasty gash atop, no doubt from an ill-advised fight from the Hound. Blount had an angry red line that crossed his face from where Eyan had smacked him with his bow. Lynderly was the only one who didn't look like he had been in a fight. Seaworth must've managed to talk the man out of whatever he had been sent to do.
Margaery sat on the Iron Throne, her expression a stone mask and a cold look in her eye. Tyrion stood by her side while her grandmother stood just a step-down. Ser Hobber and the three knights the king had assigned to help protect the queen stood at the base of the steps. Their number was increased by one when Loras soon joined them. Ser Davos stood off to the side of the room, opposite of Sansa and the Hound. A mixture of gold cloaks and Eyan's guards encircled the room, all armed to the teeth.
The atmosphere in the room was incredibly tense. The queen was very popular to everyone in the castle and any attempt on her life would undoubtedly be met with anger and hatred for whoever tried to take it. The soldiers wanted blood and the men they wanted it from were right in front of them.
When Ser Osney's unconscious form joined his allies on the ground before the throne, the Hound grabbed the bucket at his feet and strode up to the man, splashing his face with freezing-cold water.
"Get up," he grunted.
Osney gasped and sputtered as he was dealt with the shock of cold. He shook his hair and looked around, trying to figure out where he had been taken and what had happened to him.
"What…!"
"Be silent!" Margaery snapped before the man could say another thing. "Osney Kettleblack, you are charged with attempted murder, treason, and impersonation of the King's Company. What do you say to these charges?"
"I don't…I have…" Ser Osney babbled, still trying to comprehend what had happened.
"Silence!"Margaery snapped again. "Defending yourself will not help you, ser. Your fellow traitor, Hugh Blount, has already sold you all out. He revealed your entire plan."
Lynderly and Trant both glared accusingly at the pudgy knight while Ser Osney was still wordlessly moving his mouth, trying to figure out some way to get himself out of the predicament he found himself in. Finally, his eyes lit up as he seemed to have found his answer.
"I demand trial by combat!" he cried. "As is my right as a noble of the realm."
Alec raised an eyebrow. That was his plan? To try and fight his way out? The spymaster shook his head, already knowing what the result would be.
"I demand trial by combat as well!" Trant shouted.
Margaery glared at the two men for a moment before looking over at Blount and Lynderly, waiting to see if they would join their allies. Lynderly met the queen's gaze and merely shook his head. Blount seemed to be mulling it over before nodding.
"I also demand trial by combat," he said weakly, as if he wasn't sure.
"Very well," Margaery said crisply. "Unchain Ser Osney and give him back his sword. Loras, will you finish what you have started?"
The Knight of Flowers turned and bowed his head. "It would be my honor, sister."
"He has no armor!" Osney argued as he was released. "He is not prepared for a duel!"
"I don't need any," Loras snarled, his cloak pooling at his feet. "You're blade won't touch me."
"I demand a public trial by combat!" Ser Osney argued.
"You tried to murder my brother in the dead of night, like a coward," Queen Margaery countered, every word like a whiplash. "You will fight here, where you will die like the traitor you are. No one will ever care about your death and none but those in this room will witness as you are humiliated and slain like the dog you are."
Kettleblack took a step back, surprised by the anger in the queen's voice before nodding and retrieving his weapons from the gold cloaks who had confiscated them. When his companions were dragged away from the center of the room, the fight began.
Ser Osney once again went on the attack, trying to put Ser Loras on the back foot through brute force and savagery, but like before, the Knight of Flowers deflected each attack with minimal effort, walking circles around the red knight.
As Loras predicted, Ser Osney's blade never touched him, and as the fight continued, the younger man continued to show why he was considered one of the best young swordsmen in all of Westeros. With men like Ser Loras, Jaime Lannister, and Ser Barristan, there was a wide gap between them and men like Ser Osney, who was a decent warrior in his own right.
But being decent and being a natural were two very different things.
Ser Osney began to slow as his adrenaline and stamina ran out, but he tried to compensate by putting every ounce of his remaining strength into his attacks. Against Ser Loras, who had only been defending himself the entire fight, this proved to be Osney's undoing.
With a desperate, voice-cracking cry, Ser Osney swung his sword with both hands at Ser Loras, meaning to split him from brains to balls. Ser Loras stopped moved and stood still as Ser Osney's sword descended on him. Without blinking, he deflected the attack and sent Ser Osney lurching as his momentum forced him off balance. As he tried to get his feet back under him, he failed to see Ser Loras's blade come back up and open up his throat in a single, fluid motion.
Ser Osney Kettleblack had only a second to reach up and feel the blood pouring from his severed throat before he dropped to the floor, his sword clattering away from his grasp.
Ser Loras wiped his blade clean on Ser Osney's surcoat before sheathing it and retaking his place in front of Margaery.
"Who's next?" Margaery asked simply to the dead-silent room.
Robb Stark
Robb sighed as he entered his makeshift office, running a hand over his tired face. He had been forced to settle a dozen disputes in a day, and he had been ready to jump off the top of the Wall by the end of it. Free folk, Westerosi, sellswords, and Unsullied occupied the massive fortress of the Nightfort. With such a mixed force, there were inevitable arguments that the men demanded that Robb settle. Jon tried his best to deal with as many problems as Robb, but he was needed on the other side of the Wall, keeping an eye on the approaching enemy.
The northern king's attention was demanded at war councils and scouting reports as well. With each passing day, tensions rose higher and higher now that Jon and Daenerys had confirmed that the Others were only a week away and getting closer with every passing second.
The only time Robb was allowed a modicum of peace was when he was sleeping. After three days of madness, Robb had stormed out of the courtyard and slammed his office door shut, intent on taking peace in his own hands.
Except, Robb wasn't alone in his room.
"Bran?" Robb asked.
His brother, who had arrived at the fortress yesterday, was sitting in front of the single frosted window in the room, his eyes a strange shade of milky white. When Robb said his name, Bran returned to normal and looked at him.
"Hullo Robb," he said with his odd, emotionless tone. "I didn't mean to take your room. I needed to find a quiet place."
"A feeling I understand all too well," Robb grunted. "Even Tarly is struggling with this lot."
Besides Robb, it took the combined experience of Randyll Tarly, Robb's father, Mance Rayder, and Robb himself to keep the mismatched host from falling to pieces. The tension, elements, and obvious differences between the soldiers made it almost impossible for them to find any sort of common ground past the fact that they were all humans.
Even that fact was being tested by some of the wildlings, especially the skinchangers.
"What were you doing just then?" Robb asked curiously, pouring himself some of the Watch's shit ale. When he had his drink, he set his chair next to his brother and sat down, both of them staring out the window.
"When I was with the Three-eyed crow, or the former one I should say, he did not get to show me all that he should have," Bran explained. "We had only a limited amount of time and there was much I had to learn if I wanted to fly."
"Alright?" Robb said.
"I've been keeping watch for the Others ever since I was returned south of the Wall, but now that we know where they are, I have been looking at other points in history," Bran explained. "Would you like to see?"
Robb raised an eyebrow. "Sure?" he said, intrigued.
Bran raised his arm and placed it on the armrest of his chair.
"Take my arm," he ordered.
Robb did as he was told, gently grabbing his brother's skinny arm and waiting to see what would happen next. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait for long because as soon as Robb took hold, Bran's head snapped back and Robb had only a second to blink before everything went black.
Line Break
Where are we?" Robb asked, shocked. He immediately let go of Bran's arm and looked around at their surroundings. They were standing on a hill with a bright sun above them and a pleasant breeze blowing.
Bran, who was standing now and was nearly as tall as Robb, pointed off in the distance where a massive army had been assembled a few fields over. Archers covered the hills and two armored hosts of heavily cavalry flanked each side. The banners flying over the great army showed a golden lion rampaging on a field of red and a green hand on a field of white.
"The Field of Fire," Bran answered, standing beside his brother. "The turning point in Aegon's conquest that made all the other kings of Westeros take notice of the unknown valyrian."
A cacophony of horns sounded from the combined army of the Reach and the Westerlands as a new host marched into view. It was pitifully small, but even from a distance, Robb could see the men marching with unmatched pride and confidence, even when they were outnumbered more than five-to-one.
The two Starks watched as the battle began. The larger host flanked the Targaryens and sent thousands of knights to smash the center. The smaller army had taken a defensive position, but it was no use. The knights had nearly done their work when ear-deafening roars sounded over the battlefield.
Three dragons, full-grown dragons, soared into battle, each with a silver-haired rider. Even if Robb didn't know the story, he was certain that the army of the Reach and the Westerlands had no hope against dragons. The sight of the flying beasts alone made Robb want to run far away and hide in a cave. It was far different from the feeling Daenerys's creatures gave him.
For the next hour, Robb and Bran watched as Aegon and his sister-wives unleashed a fiery hell on the Lannisters and Gardeners. It was unlike anything Robb had ever seen before. There was no way to defeat such creatures. No arrows or spears could reach them. Even a lucky artillery shot would do nothing but piss them off.
"The Targaryens used dragonfire to forge Westeros into what it is now," Bran explained quietly. "Aegon Targaryen changed the game and made it exponentially more dangerous."
"How?" Robb asked.
"He made it so that only one throne was coveted. So that only one crown was needed," Bran said. "Instead of games being played in all corners of Westeros, from the North to Dorne, King's Landing became the center of it all."
"He took snakes from all across Westeros and created a viper's pit," Robb said, remembering the term his father always used.
"He did," Bran said, holding out his arm. "Come."
In the blink of an eye, Robb and Bran appeared in the back of a large tent. Torches sputtered in their brackets and it was very late at night. In the center of the tent, a dozen men sat around a table, though half were on their feet, yelling at someone else. Given their beards and knack for cursing, these men were northerners.
There were two men across from Robb on the other side of the table that were deep in their own conversation. The first man was someone Robb had met before, after he had nearly been killed by the shadow demon unleashed by Stannis Baratheon. He was Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt. It was the other man who Robb couldn't place.
"Brandon Snow," Bran said, somehow reading Robb's thoughts. "Torrhen's bastard brother."
Robb looked down at himself, surprised that he nor Bran had been noticed.
"Can they see us?"
"No," Bran answered flatly. "We are ghosts within memories. All we can do is watch."
"What are they talking about?" Robb asked, gesturing to Torrhen and his bastard brother.
"Torrhen's war council is trying to decide what to do," Bran explained. "About five miles south of here is Aegon's host of forty-five thousand and three dragons."
Robb couldn't help but admire the courage of the northmen. Some were pushing for Torrhen to attack and hope that northern valor could win the day. Others wanted to pull back to Moat Cailin and allow the army of the south to destroy themselves against the ruined walls and towers.
"I take it Brandon doesn't want to do either," Robb said.
"Brandon Snow is proposing his plan," Bran said, nodding. "He wants permission to sneak across to the Targaryen camp and assassinate the three dragons."
Robb raised an eyebrow. "Could he do such a thing?"
Bran shrugged. "Who knows."
Robb's talk with Torrhen was nothing but a hazy memory, but there was one thing he had remembered from their talk. He looked around the tent and finally spotted what he was looking for. Lounging in the shadows was a giant white direwolf, intently watching the heated argument raging at the table.
Robb watched as Torrhen turned towards the direwolf and locked eyes with it. Some sort of message passed between them before Torrhen slammed his hands on the table, standing up. Immediately, everyone fell silent and waited for their king to give them his answer.
"Brandon," Torrhen said, looking down at his brother. "In the morning, you shall negotiate with the valyrian."
"Negotiate what?" Brandon asked carefully.
"Our surrender." Torrhen sighed.
"Your grace…" a massive man went to speak, but a look from the Stark king silenced him.
"No, Lord Umber," Torrhen said. "My mind is made up. I will not risk the lives of my soldiers, my people, my friends, or my family for my pride."
"Your grace, please think carefully…" another man tried, but Torrhen shook his head.
"No," Torrhen said simply. "I will bend my knee to the man, this Aegon Targaryen, and let him have his moment in the sun. We are men of the North, and as such have a greater responsibility for winter is coming….and we must grow strong."
For just a moment, Robb felt as if Torrhen wasn't speaking to his bannermen, but to him. The last king of the North stared at where Robb stood, seemingly seeing through the veils that kept them apart.
"There is one more place I want to take you," Bran said, offering his arm.
Just like before, it was a blink of an eye before Robb found himself somewhere else, but it wasn't somewhere new. He was in his and Margaery's chambers in the Red Keep. Standing on the balcony overlooking the city was his wife.
She looked as beautiful as ever, with her soft brown hair tumbling down her shoulders. She had a blue shawl pulled tightly across her shoulders with one hand while another rubbed her stomach expectantly. Already, Robb could see a slight bump where her hand was.
"She's pregnant." Robb breathed, feeling the same rush of nervousness and love he felt the last time he learned.
"She is." Bran nodded.
Robb wasn't sure what to say, and he struggled for words, but he eventually sputtered out:
"Why are you showing me this?"
"It's not enough for you to fight for your realm, or you men, or even your life," Bran explained, folding his hands behind his back. "You need to fight so that those who are not even born can see the light of day. Today does not matter, nor tomorrow, or that day after that, or even a month from now. What matters is the future, and that lies in the hands of you and your men."
"I'm well aware of that, Bran," Robb said, feeling slightly insulted.
"Are you?" Bran countered. "It's all well and good to fight for survival, Robb, but this is about mankind's survival, not just yours or those who fight beside you."
Robb shook his head and moved away from his brother. He was king! He didn't need to be lectured like he was a child by his little brother! He knew exactly what was at stake with this war. It was either win or everything and everyone Robb loves or cares about will be gone forever, and it will be his fault.
Not that history would remember him for failing. There would be no one left alive to remember what happened.
"If you wanted to get your point across, it worked," Robb grunted. "If I fuck up, then the world is fucked."
"Life itself." Bran corrected.
Robb threw his brother an annoyed expression. "We're done here."
Bran shrugged and held out his arm. Robb immediately grabbed it and closed his eyes.
Line Break
When Robb opened his eyes, he and Bran were back in their chairs, staring at the frosted window. Except now there was a pounding at the door that hadn't been there before. Robb recognized the voice on the other side of the door as Robar's.
"Your grace! Come quick!"
Robb grumbled as he marched towards the door and swung it open. Robar's face was pale and nervous-looking compared to Robb's stormy expression. Even Brienne, who stood next to him, looked unnerved by something.
"What's happened?" Robb asked carefully.
"The Others, they've sent a message," Brienne replied, obviously trying hard to sound in control of her emotions.
"Where is it?" Robb asked.
"You need to go to the top of the Wall to see it," Robar explained.
Robb didn't waste another second. He moved past his protectors and swept down into the courtyard, passing through a crowd of soldiers who were whispering to each other, trying to figure out what was going on.
"We've kept others off the top of the Wall," Brienne explained. "Your father and the rest are up there."
The king and his kingsguard moved past the two guards keeping the crowd away from the lift and got in the cage. In a few moments, they were at the top of the wall, surrounded by defensive fortifications and barrels of arrow shafts and oil. Jon was waiting for them, looking more grim than usual.
"You took your time," Jon said.
"I was speaking to Bran," Robb said, waving aside his brother's unasked question. "What's happened? Where's this message?"
"You better see for yourself," Jon said, gesturing to where their father and others were waiting.
Robb made his way over to them and was immediately given access to the viewing platform. Below, the snow lands spread out, but there was now a color that hadn't been there before. There was red, and a lot of it.
Robb felt his gut churn as he looked down at the crude message that had been left in the snow. The enemy had used the dismembered bodies of wildlings to spell out the words, and the sight made Robb want to puke.
It read:
DEATH IS COMING