Eddard realized they had not adequately planned for the eventuality of having Stannis incapacitated. The King had not selected a Hand or other royal appointments. Was Ned supposed to rule in the interim? Melisandre? One of the Florents? None of that had been made clear beforehand. It ended up being rather simple – Eddard had the largest intact force by far, and Melisandre had gone with Stannis. He was in command.
He prepared his men to fight off a renewed assault and desperately tried to keep morale up. Rumor that some affliction had befallen Stannis was rampant. Some even suggested that Ser Barristan had not just killed the Blackfish but also critically wounded Stannis – and that the Starks were hiding this fact.
That wasn't the only morale concern. The knights from the Vale had been shamed by their defeat on the field and were greatly concerned over the fate of Nestor Royce. Ser Gilwood Hunter had demanded that Ned Stark do everything in his power to get Lord Royce safely back from the clutches of the Lannisters. At the same time, the River Lords were demanding Ser Gregor Clegane's head. They weren't alone in that call; the Greatjon also wanted Ser Gregor killed for the death of his son.
To add to the strain he was under, he had learned that his son had disobeyed him. Bran had escaped from his escort north and returned. Dacey Mormont had knelt and bowed her head in shame. Bran had gotten within half a mile of the battle, and his wolf had participated. Eddard was upset by Dacey's failure, Bran's defiance, and how close Bran had come. And yet, he had been informed by Robb that had it not been for Bran's wolf, Duty, he did not think they could have brought down the Mountain.
Eddard wasn't sure what course was fraught with more peril for Bran, to attempt to send him away again when Tywin could even now have men circling around, or to keep Bran here in a defensible position, or even to send him after the King. Either way, he needed to speak with his son.
He had Bran brought to him, his wolf by his side. The boy looked nervous, guilt in his brown eyes.
"Explain yourself, Bran."
Bran took a breath. "Father, I know I disobeyed your commands. I don't know what is happening to me, but I had good cause. I had a dream… and…"
"A dream?" Ned replied incredulously.
Bran's face lost composure, "Yes! Father, it wasn't just a dream. I saw Robb dying. That's why I left Lady Mormont, that's why I ran as fast as I could." Bran's voice had been elevated, but then he lowered it to almost a whisper. "There's more… father, I… I don't know how to explain it. Let me show you."
Ned looked as his son sat down on the ground. What was the lad doing?
"Father, after it happens. Ask Duty simple yes and no questions that I would know the answer to."
Eddard was confused. What was Bran talking about? Then Bran's body went limp. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell to his side.
"Bran!" Eddard bent down to check on him – no movement at all. Fear gripped his heart; what had happened to his son? Duty pushed his nose into Ned's face, then looked at Bran and then back to Ned.
Ned remembered the words Bran had spoken to him moments before.
"Duty, do you know what happened?"
The wolf nodded.
"Does Bran climb when he is not supposed to at Winterfell?"
The wolf nodded again.
"Is Bran older than Arya?"
The wolf shook its head.
"Are… are you Bran right now?"
The wolf nodded, lay down, and then Bran was sitting up.
"Father, I'm a warg."
Ned was a child of the North and he knew the tales and stories. Old Nan was one of several who told tales of skinchangers. In the past, Ned had had many a conversation with his brother Benjen about his ranging. Benjen had once shared a tale of a wildling known as Sixskins, who had control over animals. Benjen had not met him personally but had heard from people he trusted that such a thing was possible. Ned had thought it exaggerated tales; someone could believe something to be true and simply be mistaken. A well-trained horse could likely convince the wildings that someone had taken over the animal's mind!
Now he gave more credence to those stories. This was no trick; Bran had truly entered the direwolf's mind.
"How did you learn how to do this?"
Bran shrugged, "I have been having strange dreams for some time now. When I saw Robb dying in my dream, I tricked Dacey and got away. I ran as fast as I could, but I wouldn't make it in time. But Duty could, and then… it happened. I can do it again; it's easy now."
Ned had a hundred more questions; he wished his friend Howland Reed was here with him instead of still in the North. If anyone knew about what was happening to his son, Bran, he would. A guard opened the flap of the tent.
"Lord Stark, the enemy has sent a messenger with terms for a temporary truce to conduct a parley."
That was welcome news. "I will see the messenger in a few moments." The soldier bowed and withdrew.
"Bran, you keep this a secret. I still intend for you to go north."
"But I can help! Father, my dreams can help protect you and Robb!"
Ned furrowed his brow. Visions of the future made him uncomfortable, and they had already proved unreliable. There was no proof that Bran had seen a future or a potential future. Boys had nightmares when their siblings went off to battle; it could have all been chance.
It could also be real.
He needed to clear his head. There was too much going on. He needed to speak with the envoy and then make his decision. He looked down at his son.
"I have duties to attend to; we will talk more later tonight. Whatever my decision is, you will respect it. No more disobedience. Tell no one of what you can do. Understood?"
"Yes, father," Bran dutifully replied.
Lord Stark left the tent and found his way to where they had the envoy. The man bore the symbol of Crakehall on his tabard, a black and white brindled boar.
"Lord Stark, I was informed to read the terms to King Stannis himself."
"His Grace has other matters to attend to. I speak in his name," Eddard replied smoothly. He would not be revealing that the King was already being moved north and west.
The envoy hesitated and then nodded. "Very well, in that case I have been instructed to voice the proposal openly." As the man cleared his throat, Eddard found something queer to this situation. "In the name of Lord Tywin Lannister, Paramount Lord of the Westerlands, Warden of the West, and grandfather to the true King, Joffrey Baratheon… and in the name of Lady Myrcella Baratheon, Paramount Lady of the Stormlands, and sister to the true King, Joffrey Baratheon, we offer the following terms."
Why bellow out the terms like this? It wasn't as if the man was shouting from friendly lines across to the opposing army. Ned hated how his mind turned toward immediate suspicion, but the viper's nest of the south had altered the way he saw things.
"Many important, notable lords and knights have been made captive by both armies. Lord Nestor Royce has been gravely wounded and is in captivity, although the Maesters believe he shall live. We have a list of several other notable knights, including Ser Wendel Manderly." The envoy cleared his throat and continued reading, "We do not know what captives you have taken, but several of our knights are unaccounted for. In three days, we would ask for negotiations to take place in person between decision makers. In the interim, we ask for a temporary cessation of the hostilities. Let none of your men cross south of the Trident, and we will not cross north of the Trident."
Many of the men around were already talking amongst themselves. Several Vale knights were moving toward Eddard; no doubt they wanted to make clear that Eddard should accept.
"After the negotiations, one additional day of peace so those who are significantly wounded can be given time to leave. These are the terms; should you accept, we would have your public swearing on your honor to adhere to them."
Eddard was not sure why Tywin would offer this agreement. He feared that he was missing some part of the puzzle. Time was on their side; had it not been for Melisandre's vision, they would have contently waited until the Tully army arrived. What had changed? He knew whom they had captive; there weren't many of much importance. Clegane was a fearsome knight, but he was not of a major house. Could a key lord be missing amongst the dead or have been swept away in the river, that the Lannisters or Selmy were desperate to have back for some internal consideration? He did not know, but a decision had to be made.
"The terms are agreeable. I, Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell, do pledge my honor and agree to these terms. We shall not cross the Trident, save to respond to treachery."
The envoy nodded. "We have an agreement then! I would ask a list of whom you have captive so that I can present it to my lord in advance of the negotiations."
Eddard agreed to that; he had already had an accounting, so it was a quick affair. A part of him worried that he was being lulled into a false sense of security, to put down his guard. Well, if that was their goal, they would not find him lacking. He trusted Ser Barristan's honor, but there were far more Lannister soldiers than Stormland ones. No, he would be cautious and take no chances in protecting their position.
He could feel another headache brewing as Ser Gilwood and several knights of the Vale, the Greatjon, and Ser Wylis Manderly were all approaching him, now that the business with the envoy was done. He would listen to their concerns. The problem was that their demands would likely be contradictory. Nestor Royce was the most valuable hostage. Perhaps Tywin was eager to have his monster back enough to trade Royce for him, but that would not go over well with the River Lords and especially would sour Lord Umber.
He still had not decided what to do about Bran. With Robb and himself here, Bran was heir if they both fell in combat. Rickon was still too young to know anything about ruling and would be a poor rallying point for the North. Bran though, trained as a squire, brave, well liked, and skilled, would do far better in ensuring Stark continuity of rule.
Gods give me strength.
***
The Wolf Lord had acquiesced and sent a mounted guard of 300 heavily armed and armored men to escort King Stannis. The King was laid in a wheelhouse, and Melisande sat beside him and wondered what exactly had gone wrong. The usage of the Ardu Umbra should have guaranteed the Old Lion's death.
The backlash of its failure seemed to have harmed Azor Ahai. The flames of life were needed to fuel its creation, but it should not have made her King comatose. Someone had destroyed the highest art of Shadow Binding, a creature that should be practically invincible. She needed to commune with the flames and learn more of what had happened.
They marched through the night and in the morning. She called a rest. Within her tent, away from prying eyes, she started a small fire. The smoke would not cause her discomfort as she peered into what was, or tried to. Seeing into the past was often easier than seeing into the future, but nothing was assured. She willed the flames to show what had happened to her Ardu Umbra, and the flames danced. They twisted and writhed, and Melisandre felt her own essence twist and flash inside.
Please, Lord of Light, show me what happened.
The flames flickered into shape; she could see the inside of a large tent. Before more could be revealed, the image of the demon with blue eyes overpowered everything. It flared in the fire and then blossomed in her mind's eye. The image filled her vision, and the sound of metal tearing reverberated around her.
With a gasp, she wrenched away from the flames. She put out the fire as her mind raced. None amongst her order were as good at reading the flames as she, but this troubled her for a multitude of reasons. The first was that the vision had flooded her mind beyond the image in the flames – that was new, and as was the screeching. She had seen visions dance in the flames for centuries, and this was the first time anything like this had ever occurred.
The second worry was that she didn't know what to make of the vision. The demon with blue eyes was obviously Myrcella Baratheon. What was R'hllor trying to tell her? It was an incredibly forceful vision; there had to be a reason. Perhaps with the Lady of Storm's End present in the tent, it led to a chain of events that undid the assassination attempt. Melisandre knew that she had puissant warriors protecting her. The one they called the "Terror of Tarth" and of course Ser Barristan the Bold. But even they should not be a match for the King's seed.
Perhaps she was looking at it the wrong way. The fires that fueled the creation of the Ardu Umbra were a combination of essence, magic, and will. Her will and Azor Ahai's. If their assassin had been formed with the intent to kill as many as possible in the Old Lion's command tent… it could also mean that its discovery of Myrcella in that tent had had catastrophic consequences. The King did not want to be a kinslayer. That concern could have robbed it of its animus needed to carry out its task.
She was in uncharted waters. She could do little but rest and see if her King would recover from the backlash of whatever had occurred. Melisandre made her way back to the wheelhouse and settled down in a chair beside Stannis.
Several hours later, she heard the man moan and stir. He had aged over a decade and looked as weak as a lamb. Yet, he lived – of course he lived, she chided herself. Azor Ahai could face setbacks, but he could not be killed. He had a destiny to fulfill.
"What happened? Were we victorious?"
Melisandre checked on him – no fever or other ailment, just general malaise, and additional lines on his face, as well as a graying of his hair.
"It was a stalemate. The Old Lion yet lives, and he holds firm. They struck out at you, but your men saw them off with the aid of the Lord of Light."
"Seven hells, you promised this would work. You gave me assurances."
Melisandre knew that she treaded on rocky ground.
"You have my apologies, Your Grace. I cannot always interpret my Lord's will. The mind of R'hllor is unknowable to us mere mortals."
"Then what good are you? Good men have certainly died when I acted on your council." Stannis sat up, "I'll need to speak with my commanders. Bring me Lord Stark, Lord Royce, and Ser Brynden Tully. And my squires – the men will need to see me up and ready."
"I will fetch your squires; we are away from your army. Currently, we are moving to meet up with the Tully force. We thought it best that you not be at the crossroads if the Lannisters attacked."
Stannis grit his teeth in frustration. "This will not do. You have failed me completely. We are marching back; I will not begin my reign with rumors of cowardice."
Melisandre kept her poise with effort. The King was wroth, and he had the right to be. She hastened to obey his commands and fetch his squires and give the order to turn back toward the crossroads.