It had taken a lot of thinking, but Edric finally had his plan. Of course, there were about a million different things that could go wrong, and undoubtedly Steffon would point them out. Still, if there really were atrocities occurring in Harrenhal, they had to find out what they were. Hopefully his brother would see that. Some of the reports they'd been getting from the Riverlands were alarming to say the least; Tywin had apparently let Gregor Clegane off his leash, and Edric had heard enough stories about the Mountain That Rides to know what he could do.
Approaching Steffon's tent, the first person he ran into was a very sullen-looking Waldron. Steffon's squire had been utterly humiliated during their duel on their king's nameday, and he had not taken the defeat well. He'd gotten roaringly drunk the night of the celebrations, and had been found the next day lying in a puddle by two soldiers. It was humiliating, and he was looking for a way to resurrect his honour, as he saw it.
"Waldron, so nice to see you!" Edric said, sending a lazy wave the squire's way.
"Fuck off, Storm."
"What's stuck up your arse?"
Waldron just let out a frustrated growl and moved off. Probably a wise choice, considering that Edric was just about ready to gut the boy on the spot. He really was apparently turning into a borderline useless squire, to hear some soldiers say it. He wasn't really in a position to judge, he supposed. None of that stopped Waldron from getting on his nerves. The duel on Steffon's nameday had merely opened up another front in their ongoing hatred of each other, and if anything, the fact that Edric had been ready to kill him afterwards proved that.
He still wished that Stannis hadn't stopped him. He still liked to imagine himself punching the little shit with his gauntlet.
He arrived at Steffon's tent shortly after. "Steffon, I'm coming in." He called out, hoping that his brother wasn't in the middle of... doing things with Arya. He was lucky enough as he entered to see that they were instead focused on packing.
"Don't forget your dagger, love." Arya said over her shoulder, prompting a curse from Steffon as he removed his belt and affixed his dagger to it.
"She's performing her wifely duties already." Edric laughed.
"Say that again and I'll shove Needle down your throat." Arya replied. Edric wasn't sure whether to laugh or take it seriously. He decided it was probably best to ignore it.
"Steffon, I wanted to approach you with my plan for infiltrating Harrenhal." He said. "Last time we talked about it, you told me that I needed to come up with a more solid plan for it. Well, I've got it." He said. Steffon looked up at that moment, as if believing that he couldn't believe that he'd developed a detailed plan. "What? I'm capable of making plans."
Steffon shrugged. "Sometimes."
"Shut up." He snapped, prompting a laugh from Arya.
"Alright, let's hear your plan, Edric." Steffon said, actually showing interest for a change.
"Well like I said, we don't really know what's happening in Harrenhal, apart from the fact that Gregor Clegane's operating without any restraints." He opened. A short nod from his brother told Edric all he had to know. Steffon likely was more familiar with Gregor Clegane than he was, and that was enough to convince him the man needed to be stopped somehow. "So I pose as a regular soldier. A Tully deserter. I get taken prisoner and thrown into the pens at Harrenhal. Try to gather some information on what's happening."
"You've given me a similar plan before Edric." Steffon said. "The problem I had was that it's too risky. You might get done for being equipped as a Tully deserter. You know what that bugger's like."
"Now I have a plan for getting out as well." Edric replied. "Look, the fact that Harrenhal has fallen into disrepair means the roads around it have also fallen apart. So, it follows that the Mountain has to arrange outside work details to fix up the roads if Tywin intends to make it a stronghold. I volunteer for one of those work parties, enlist the help of another prisoner or two, overpower the guards, then escape into the countryside. There's no way the Rivermen will hand me over to him again." Steffon still looked reluctant; Edric knew that he was going through all the ways things could go wrong. "Steffon, relax. I know what I'm signing up for." He put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We all did. But I'm not going to die there; we stags are tough to kill, eh?" He smiled briefly.
"Alright, Edric, I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"
"Not a chance."
"Fine. Accompany us as far as Stoney Sept and I'll requisition some Tully armour while I'm there. Understand Edric, I don't want you staying there for a moment longer than necessary. Once you've found out what's happening and developed an attack plan, I want you to get out. No hanging around, just get out. Understood?"
"Understood. I'll get packing." Edric turned to leave, but was stopped as Steffon pulled him into a hug.
"When you get back from this, I'll legitimize and make you a bloody knight on the spot."
"I suppose I'd best come back then, brother."
"See that you do, brother."
They were to set off in a few hours. A cavalry escort still needed to be organised along with remaining provisions. At least there was the fact that both sides seemed to be taking a breather from the war for the moment. The Battle of Tarth seemed to have ended some sort of unofficial phase in the war, now both sides were catching their breath for the fight that was to come.
The news that Joffrey was to marry Margaery just cemented what Steffon thought of the Tyrells: they were after nothing more than power, and that was alarming to say the least. Oh yes, Lady Margaery had apparently done a lot of work with the poor in Highgarden, but Steffon was certain that it was for propaganda purposes and not much more. It was the Tyrell method of operation, and they could shed their skin more easily than a snake.
He took one last look at what would be going in his saddlebag for the journey to Riverrun. Bread, obviously; hard biscuits and some salted pork. It was a far cry from what had been at the nameday celebration, but that was to be expected; the life of a soldier on the move could be a dull one, especially where food was concerned. He'd keep his sword and dagger at his hip, while most of his armour would be carried by a pack mule. He'd still wear his gambeson, gauntlets, cuirass and greaves, while he'd tie his helm to his saddlebag.
"Nearly done there?" Arya asked. She was travelling much lighter, given that her armour was limited to a thick gambeson. He had, thankfully, convinced her to outfit it with jack chains to protect her arms better against swords.
"Just about. Now we need to wait on the escort being assembled." He replied as they headed out to the horses that had been prepared for them. "We're going to be avoiding the main roads. Probably crawling with Lannister or Tyrell patrols by now. As long as we keep the Kingswood on our right, we'll be fine."
"Then you'll have a word with my brother when we get to Riverrun?" She asked. Steffon sighed. He knew she was going to ask that.
"First priority is making it to Stoney Sept. Northerners recently retook it, so we should be relatively safe there."
Hopefully
He had decided to leave Stannis in charge. He was the logical choice after all, and perhaps one of the only men who would carry out his orders without question. Hell, he could be ordered to face down a dragon and he'd do it without question. If dragons still existed that was; Steffon was skeptical of claims that Daenerys Targaryen had mothered three dragons of various size during her time in Essos.
"And assuming we are safe there, what then?"
He had to think about that for a moment. True, the southern Riverlands were in Tully hands, but that could change at any moment. The war was fluctuating rapidly, and the stalemate they now found themselves in wasn't likely to last forever. Sooner or later, one of them would make a move.
"We'll try moving up the main roads to Riverrun from there, but stay on guard. Don't know what's lurking out there." he said. Arya nodded, accepting his reasoning. Steffon turned to load his armour into a pack mule, only to find there wasn't one ready. "Waldron!" He called out. His squire walked up sulkily. "Why is there not a pack mule ready?"
"Your Grace, if you'd told me you needed one-"
"You knew we were travelling, Waldron. Show some bloody initiative!" He scolded.
"Like Lord Stark did when he betrayed my family?" Waldron replied. Steffon didn;t need to turn around to know that Arya's face would be turning red at that.
"You do not call the honour of Lord Stark into question-"
"Don't need to. He did that himself."
"Waldron, I am ordering you to shut up and get a bloody pack mule!" Steffon shouted. He was losing control now. He stared his squire down, as if daring Waldron to defy him again. The Frey opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut. Good.
"I'll get your fucking mule." He muttered.
"Can't you just send him back to the Twins?" Arya asked as Waldron moved out of earshot.
"Much as I'd like to, I don't want to piss off Walder Frey any more than he already is. Just bringing him back into the fold's going to take a hell of an effort."
He chose not to add that much of this had been Robb's fault. The Lord of Winterfell had an independent streak, to put things mildly, and it wasn't the first time he'd undermined Steffon. The other factor of course was the one that had been most apparent: the Freys had almost entirely withdrawn from the war effort, which threw Steffon's plans into complete disarray. If Robb's forces couldn't control the supply line into the Riverlands, the war was as good as over.
"You'll figure it out. You always do." Arya said, with a tinge of hope in her voice.
"This time will be far harder." He mumbled as Waldron returned with the mule, sullenly walking at his side. "Get yourself a horse as well. You're coming with us."
"Yes, Your Grace." Came the monotone reply. Steffon shrugged it off. If Waldron wanted to be a moody prick, he wasn't going to dissuade him.
She did used to like the afternoons in King's Landing. The climate was much more agreeable than the North, and the gardens were extremely well kept with vibrant colours from all manner of trees and flowers. There was a time she liked coming here.
Those were gone now.
Margaery had insisted on taking her through the gardens this time. No doubt for some reason that benefited her. Sansa was still ashamed to look back on the hopelessly naive girl that she was, and how easily she could be taken advantage of, how easily she was taken advantage of. It was embarrassing, the fact that she'd so easily been made a prisoner in the capital. That she had been married to Tyrion Lannister solely for her claim was only slightly less humiliating.
Was a woman's lot merely to function as a political bargaining tool and a brood mare? Is that all she could aspire to be? No actual responsibilities? Was that the only thing she was good for?
"Growing up in Winterfell, all I wanted to do was escape, to come here to the capital." She mused, not caring if Margaery was listening or not. "See all the knights in their painted armour and King's Landing after dark with all the candles lighting up the gardens . . ." She shook her herald. "I was stupid. A stupid girl with stupid dreams."
If only Steffon had been the firstborn.
It was something she'd found saying to herself more and more with every passing day. He'd been kind to her and she'd been horrid to him. It was becoming a pattern that she was beginning to realise now; she'd been horrid to a lot of people, even her own sister. She and Arya had never gotten along, and the fact that they'd been constantly poking each other to get a reaction hadn't helped.
"Come, walk with me." Margaery said, though it was less of a polite request than a demand. Or maybe that was Sansa's mind toying with her again. Still, she nodded and the two began walking through the famed gardens.
"I remember the first time I saw you in the throne room." The southern woman began. "I'd never seen anyone look so unhappy. My grandmother and I want you to be happy Sansa, truly."
Until I'm not useful to you anymore. It was another thing she;d learnt. People in King's Landing would always pretend to be your friend and say they would stand by you no matter what, until you became too much of a problem and they turned on you. As Margaery prattled on, Sansa only half listened.
How could she have been so stupid? She'd convinced herself that she was living in some sort of fairytale, that Joffrey would be her knight in shining armour and they would be married and have beautiful golden-haired children, and Arya could have her skinny black-haired second son. How things had changed. Now she just hoped that Steffon could reach the capital before Joffrey decided to torture her more; her marriage to Tyrion wouldn't protect her forever, and the blonde little shit could decide to end her life at any moment.
"Has he mistreated you?" Margaery asked. That succeeded in breaking Sansa from her thinking.
"No."
"Has he been kind to you?"
"He has tried." Sansa had to admit that much.
"You don't want him though." Margaery said. No, Sansa didn;t want him. She wanted someone who was just mentally stable.
"He's a Lannister." That sufficed for now, until she realised what he'd just said. "I'm sorry, here I am complaining to you about-"
"My son will be king one day, and sons learn from their mothers. I plan for my son to learn a great deal."
Sansa nodded a little numbly. She figured it was best to stop the conversation there, seeing as she had a feeling where it was headed. One could always guess the eventual result when Margaery began talking about couples and marriage.
"I'm told . . . I heard that you came face-to-face with Steffon Baratheon." Sansa said. As soon as she did, Margaery's eyes flicked up, as if she were suddenly on guard.
"I did." Was the curt reply.
"Is . . . is he treating my sister well?" She asked. Sansa wasn;t sure what she would do if she heard that Steffon was mistreating her sister. What could she do? The war was going to enter its next stage soon enough and the end result was Steffon and Joffrey fighting. Of course Joffrey would have the advantage of numbers, but Steffon likely had the better leaders and more experienced soldiers.
"He and your sister truly are devoted to each other." Margaery replied, her characteristic smirk returning, though it was a bit more guarded this time. "I hope that the war will end peacefully so that we can witness their marriage as well."
"If you'd have said before all this started that Arya would be marrying the son of a king . . ." She trailed off. "My sister is quite strong-willed."
"I've met her." Margaery supplied, laughing slightly. "She is a most intimidating girl, even for her age and height."
That was one word for it. Sansa was aware that Arya had been taking swordfighting lessons in King's Landing before everything had started, and there was little doubt that the war hadn't made her enhance her fighting skills even more.
"Come Sansa." Margaery said, breaking the auburn-haired girl's train of thought. "We must return to the Red Keep. We'll be expected at court."
Sansa nodded. She was beginning to learn that she was expected to be there, especially now that she was married to Tyrion Lannister, Master of Coin.
It is a woman's lot in this world.
After a moment, she corrected herself.
It's my lot. I seem to be made to suffer.
And done. We're approaching the end of season three, which in terms of episodes is roughly the halfway point.