It had been a few days since they had set out for Riverrun, and mostly they'd taken the back roads to avoid the Tyrell patrols through the area. Rumour was that they had joined with the Lannisters; truly an unholy alliance as far as Arya was concerned. If they managed to combine their armies, it might spell disaster. Which is why what Robb had done was so disastrous How could her brother be so bloody stupid?!
At least she seemed to be getting her Steffon back. Things would never be the same, she knew that, but at least some time away from the war maps seemed to be partially restoring his old self.
"Morning love." He said as finally climbed out of the cot. Arya had been awake early to practice her Water Dancing. Syrio had largely been apart from the main army, leading scouting and sabotage units. Hopefully Stannis was putting him to good use; though given that she had seen Stannis in command before, the hope probably wasn't necessary. The man was a superb tactician and he had people like Lord Tarth and Lord Selmy under his command, who were just as capable as he was. Besides, it wouldn't be long before they returned to the army and Steffon resumed command.
The place they had camped hadn't been the best, lack of tree cover meant they'd had to camp beside the road and hope for the best. Steffon had insisted that any marking, like surcoats or distinctive armour, had to be hidden when the camp was set up. No use giving away the fact that they had the King with them. Even if they didn't, a small party would be easy pickings for a group of Broken Men or even just some opportunistic bandits. They knew the Tyrell patrols would mostly stick to the main roads, for similar reasons.
"It'll be raining soon." Steffon said as they stepped outside of the tent. The sky was indeed a very dark grey, and the wind had a rather damp feeling to it; it made Arya uneasy. Was this an omen of what was to come? What if something drastic had already happened before they'd had a chance to prevent it?
She breathed in deeply. Panicking was not going to help anyone right now, least of all Robb. Calm as still water, she reminded herself, calm as still water. She had to keep a level head if they were gouging to figure a way out of this situation while avoiding a total Frey withdrawal from the war, and avoid the possibility of them allying with Tywin Lannister or simply just declaring neutrality and closing the Twins to them. Such a move would be disastrous for Robb and by extension Steffon, considering the Twins was where his men and supplies were crossing the Trident from the North.
"I'm just glad it didn't rain last night." Arya replied. They had slept through rainy nights before, and the simple cloth tent didn't do much to prevent it seeping through. There was only so much she was able to get used to about life at war.
"As am I." Steffon agreed.
It promised to be another long day ahead, that was for sure. They'd had a policy of travelling as far as they possibly could and then finding a place to camp. Ordinarily, she might've been thinking that was out of place where her betrothed was concerned, but time was of the essence, especially now.
Robb is my family, but what he did was stupid.
It wasn't just the fact that what he'd done had undermined the war effort and put even more people at risk, but also that he'd broken an oath to Walder Frey. Oaths might not have meant much to people in the South, based on what she had seen in King's Landing, but they meant a lot in the North, especially to the Starks. It was a stain on their honour that Robb had broken the vow to Walder Frey, and it was not an insult that the man was going to take lightly. She'd heard the stories from her mother; how he never showed up at the Trident until Robert had won. No doubt waiting to join whoever did win the battle.
A man like that was not going to take something like this lying down; Arya was sure of it.
She sighed and went about fastening her sword belt to her waist and left the tent. Steffon had already left, no doubt to give an informal inspection of the camp. Not that there was much to inspect, but Arya figured it was more force of habit than anything else.
She was still nervous about the minimal escort they'd brought with them. She found herself worrying about a potential bandit attack again. If a group of them came at them in force, she wasn't sure how they'd be able to fight them off. Hopefully the fact that their escort was better armed an armoured than any gang of bandits would be decisive, but she still wasn't sure. She thumbed Needle in the scabbard, loosening it slightly.
Another lesson Syrio had taught her: always be prepared for combat, for it could happen at any moment. If it happened when you weren't prepared, chances were that you wouldn't live to see another day.
The soldiers returning from sentry duty bowed as she passed them to saddle her horse. Eating on the move was difficult, but manageable. Much as she longed for a hot meal, she was steadily getting more and more used to the rations that soldiers would have to settle for as the months passed. She had a feeling it was going to be this way for a while as well, given the fact that the war seemed to have entered a stalemate.
"Last time I saw Robb," she heard Steffon say, "We were boys at Winterfell."
"Now you're war leaders." Arya said, leaning into Steffon's chest.
"War leaders, yes. Which means we're at least partly responsible for all the death-"
"Steffon, you'll go mad thinking like that. Just focus on what's in front of you and take it one day at a time. Forget about your post-war planning for now."
She could hear his sigh, but was unsure whether what she had said had gotten through.
He had been up and awake unusually early today. It had become something of a habit for Edric during this war to be out walking the campgrounds early, but not before the sun came up. Maybe it was a feeling that they were about to be attacked; he wasn't certain. What he did know from growing up with Ser Cortnay was that during war, any number of men would break off from their armies and form bandit groups. Broken Men were usually more dangerous though, owing to their training and equipment.
He kept his hammer close at hand. Even Waldron seemed to be unusually cautious and circumspect now. Still, Edric couldn't help but think that they were about to be attacked. If not by bandits, then possibly a Tyrell patrol that had been sent onto the back roads. Who knew what sort of precautions the men below Mace Tyrell had taken. Oh, Edric knew the Lord of Highgarden was an oaf with little sense, but the men under him, particularly Tarly and Hightower, knew exactly what they were doing.
Then there was Mira. He'd left her behind at the main army camp; no doubt to be exchanged back to the Tyrells. Still, they had sworn to find each other when the war was over, and now he had an additional incentive to come out of Harrenhal alive. His cover for that seemed simple enough; a Tully deserter. Steffon had encouraged him to keep the cover as simple as possible, reasoning that a more elaborate story might attract unwanted attention. Edric had been forced to agree with him there; a complicated backstory ran a lot of risks, not just the fact that it might get the attention of someone higher up, but also that he might not remember all of it.
In the end, the deserter story had been the best one. If the Lannisters were in a good mood, they might simply question him for information instead of torturing him, though given the rumours that had been waking their way through the army, he wasn't sure what to believe at the moment.
"Morning, Edric." Steffon said, Arya at his side.
"To you as well, Steffon. Lady Arya." he smirked.
"I'm not a-" Arya cut herself off, seeing the game that Edric was playing. "Thank you, Edric."
"Nearly had you." Edric laughed slightly.
"Are you alright, Ed? Some of the sentries have been saying that you were walking the campgrounds before the sun was up?" Steffon asked, concerned.
Edric sighed. "Just worried. We're a long way from the main host, with no support. And there's bandits combing the roads. You know they'd be doing their best to avoid the Tyrell patrols on the main road."
"We're a small enough party that we can move quickly." Steffon reassured him. "And we all have mounts, besides. We'll be alright, Edric."
"This is the perfect place to ambush us, particularly if they have more swords." Edric said, looking around again. He knew that Steffon agreed with him; the terrain wasn't exactly open and flat, and it would be hard to see any attackers approach.
"Edirc, we'll be fine. I know you're concerned, especially since we're fighting a war, but it's unlikely we'll find any bandits out here. The well-organised ones will be going after the big targets, like large caravans. If we encounter any out here, they'll be poorly armed and organised." A look of concern crossed Steffon's face. "Ed, is something wrong?"
"I just… I want to be alive for Mira at the end of all this."
"You will be, Ed. We're Baratheons. The only way we die is getting gored by a boar after our squire gets us drunk." Steffon laughed.
"Or getting betrayed." Edrici said grimly. "I just want to make it back to her alive, Steffon. I'm willing to lose a few digits if that's what it takes. So long as they're not from my fighting hand."
"It will work out. And like I said, I'll knight and legitimize you when the war's over. With everything you've accomplished, though, I really wonder if knighthood is the least you deserve."
"Steffon, I'll be happy with just being a knight. It'll mean I can marry Mira without breaking the norms." Edric said. Steffon nodded before calling for Arya. Apparently the two of them were going to help get the camp ready to move.
"You and Mira Forrester?" Edric heard a voice say. He turned around to see Waldron. "You're a bastard though, right?"
"Frey, I don't want to discuss it. Not after your family's turned traitor." Edric replied testily. Waldron just looked down, surprisingly enough.
"Traitor's a bit much, but I agree this whole thing should've been worked out." Waldron said. Edric was caught off-guard by that.
"I thought you were-"
"Oh, I'm still pissed off that Stark betrayed his oath, but my father should've been man enough to meet him at a negotiating table. Stevron would've been. Instead, he throws a tantrum like a child who can't get a new toy." Waldron shook his head. "I'd best saddle His Grace's horse. Good luck, Storm."
Edric was taken aback by the whole thing. Had he been too quick to judge Waldron as nothing but a puffed-up arrogant arsehole?
He shook his head and began gathering up the weapons for the final leg of the journey to Stoney Sept.
They'd been on the move for some time now, and still had no discernible direction to head towards. Myrcella assumed they would head towards Last Hearth and the Umbers, but she thought they might've passed that now. Originally, she wasn't sure what to make of the Reed twins either, but what she'd heard Jojen talking about was nothing good. Or not entirely real. Osha seemed to agree with her, considering that she'd taken this moment to confront Jojen.
"It's alright, Osha." Bran said, trying to defuse things.
"It's not alright!" Osha said, turning back to Jojen. You think I can;t hear you? Filling his head with black magic; talking about visions and three-eyed ravens."
"Leave him alone." Meera said.
"He can speak for himself." The Wildling barked at her.
"I haven't filled his head with anything." Jojen said in that eerily calm voice of his that had started grating on Myrcella lately.
"That's a lie." Myrcella snapped. "What reason do I have to believe that you're not just some boy who's soft in the head?" She continued angrily. "I've heard Northerners are a superstitious lot; that I can understand, but this is bordering on the truly stupid. I don't even think half the stuff you talk about is even real!"
"I wish I could give you all the answers. Tell him all the answers. It would make things so much easier." Jojen replied.
Myrcella shook her head angrily, looking at Bran for support. All the boy could offer was a somewhat sheepish shrug. "The raven's been coming to me ever since I fell from that tower. I still believe it was just some feverish dream. If an all-seeing raven exists like some sort of god, then he's not worth much is he? None of them are."
"Bran, I-"
"Myrcella, I appreciate your concern, but I survived a fall from one of the tallest towers in Winterfell completely intact, then ended up breaking my legs in a ravine while running at night. You be the judge of how fair that is."
Myrcella was silent for a moment. Maybe Bran was right. But there was still something he wasn't really considering.
"Steffon would take care of you." She said quietly.
"Yes, I'm sure he'll be able to get here that quickly." Bran snapped. As harsh as his words were, she knew they were true. Even if Steffon could get here to start with-and that was a big if-it was impossible for him to reach them in time to make a difference. Still, that didn't preclude them from heading to a port.
"We can go to White Harbor and get a ship from there to Dragonstone. Steffon will keep us safe. I know he will." She said resolutely. She had more faith in her black-haired brother than she did Joffrey. Especially Joffrey. Cruelty aside, Joffrey would ruin the family in six moons through some dumb move.
"Aye, it's possible." Osha mused.
"Bran must go north if he wishes to find the three-eyed raven." Jojen replied. Even his patience was becoming slightly tested now; his voice had a slightly harder edge to it than before. Was there something else at work there?
"The decision's yours, Bran. I wish you would come to White Harbor, but . . ."
Bran's face softened slightly. "Well, it's not like the roads are crawling with the enemy yet, and we'll pass by Last Hearth soon enough. We can make the decision there."
Myrcella didn't broach the subject any further, even though she wanted to. The current plan seemed to consist of running straight for the Wall and dropping her off somewhere she could make it home. She knew she'd never get to White Harbor without some sort of escort though, meaning she was sunk.
"Bran, I . . . I don't even know where the end point for this is." She said. It was true; the destination was truthfully known only by Jojen, and he wasn't sharing any information with them. That was another thing. Magical nonsense aside, why did the Greywater Watch heir have to be so cryptic all the time? What exactly was preventing him from giving them a straight answer? It was just frustrating. And annoying; hearing him speak in riddles or sentences that gave the word vague a new meaning. "I can;t go north of the Wall. I just can't."
"Bran's journey is beyond the Wall." Jojen repeated for what felt like the thousandth time that day.
"I bloody well know that!" She snapped. Bran sighed.
"When we get to Last Hearth, I'll have the Umbers take you to White Harbor." he said reluctantly. He had been holding out some vain hope that Myrcella might end up having a change of heart about it, but it was not to be, it seemed. "They're Stark bannermen, known for their loyalty. They'll listen to what I have to say, And RIckon can stay with them as well."
"I'll stay with him." Osha said. "The little lord needs someone to keep him safe."
Osha was on her side at least, even though she didn't expect that. Myrcella had suspected that the Wildling woman had her own misgivings about the whole thing, and now it was becoming apparent. She was recounting something about a friend, but she wasn't listening. Myrcella just wanted to go back to King's Landing and be with her family again. For all they knew, the war might've been over, anyway.
Oh, she hoped it was. She hoped Steffon was marching through the streets of King's Landing celebrating the end of the war in the south before turning north to deal with the Greyjoys.
When they passed by Last Hearth, an escort was sent out with the golden haired girl for White Harbor. They were reluctant of course, but it had been hammered into their heads by Mors Umber that nothing was to happen to the girl. Surprisingly, they would keep their word.
His new post could've been worse, he supposed. Tyrion still had relatively comfortable accommodations and it wasn't like his father could just off the Master of Coin, especially since he was trying to solidify his authority with the Tyrells having recently arrived. Perhaps he might be able to get some sort of influence. It wasn't like the Master of Coin was a meaningless post, what with his control over virtually all trade. Still, reading the reports every day was numbing his mind.
At least Shae was safe.
She hadn't taken very kindly to working in the kitchens, he knew, but it was far safer for her this way. His father was not known for his kindness to women of Shae's background, and Tyrion didn't want a repeat of Tysha.
Then there was the matter of Sansa. It was almost a mockery to call her his wife; the woman hated Lannisters with a passion. She had no time for him at all, spending her days in the Godswood alone, or with the Tyrells. It had been a cruel ploy by his father, to marry them before she could marry into that family. Of course he knew the Tyrells weren't going to be entirely altruistic about the whole thing either; Sansa's value rested on her claim to Winterfell and thus, the North. A bit irrelevant while Robb Stark was still alive, he believed.
And Steffon too.
The war had entered a lull for now as both sides began to consolidate for the next stage of the war, though even the great Tywin Lannister had admitted there was no way of knowing where Steffon would hit them next, though both he nad his father thought that the boy would likely try to link up with Robb and cut Casterly Rock and King's Landing off from each other. Such a move would be devastating, and with the Young Wolf's victory at Oxcross, the Westerlands would be left virtually undefended.
"You're going to have to do it eventually, you know." Bronn said. The sellsword-sorry, he was a knight now-and former Lord Commander of the City Watch had at least still visited him from time to time.
"What do you mean?" Tyrion asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked up from the ledger.
"The Stark girl." Bronn said as if it were obvious. Tyrion scowled.
"She's a child."
"Who happens to be a foot taller than you." Bronn pointed out. More than a foot; but then again, everyone is taller than me.
"A tall child, then." He shook his head and looked down.
"What's the youngest you've ever had?" Bronn asked. Another scowl.
"Not as young as her." He replied. His friend seemed to accept that answer.
"Way I see it, you're a lord, she's a lady. And a beauty at that. I don't see the problem."
"Shae won't like it." Tyrion said, though it was admittedly a weak excuse, given that Shae was beginning to dislike him.
"Shae's a whore. You gonna marry her?" Bronn asked rhetorically. "Wed one, bed another, All you have to do is put a son in the Stark girl. 'Til he comes of age, you rule the North in his name. You'll have two women and a kingdom to call your own."
"Two women to despise me and a kingdom to join them." He shot back.
"You waste time trying to get yourself loved by everyone, you'll be the most popular dead man in town." Bronn said, pouring more wine for them.
"I would say Steffon proves that notion wrong."
"Steffon? Oh the smallfolk love him. But that's his problem. If the smallfolk love him for what he promises, the lords are going to hate him for those promises. He can't keep everyone happy forever."
It was true; they all knew that. But did Steffon know that? Of course he did, he was smart enough to know the nobles wouldn't take to his reforms well. Either Steffon knew it and was counting on victories to keep them together-which might work in the short term-or he knew it but was denying it.
Or maybe that was the point of his ideas, Tyrion thought. He tries to reform, the nobles block him, the peasants rally around him . . . then what does he do?
A chill ran down his spine at that. Steffon was no blood-crazed revolutionary like the ones who had rioted in the city, but if he was backed into a corner, what was to stop him from driving the peasants to mass revolt?
"You're right, Bronn." he said, looking up again. "And that's what worries me."