Traveling up the Kingsroad hadn't been easy at the best of times. The first time Steffon had traveled up it had been on horseback when visiting Winterfell in what felt like a lifetime ago. Before his father had been killed, before his brother had taken the throne, before Lord Stark had been killed… before the war. Life had been easier then; back then all Steffon had to worry about was his mother ordering him to bed or his father chastising him for spending too much time in the library of the Red Keep.
This war had taken almost everything from him.
It had taken even more for Arya, that much he knew. Her sister was still a prisoner in King's Landing and the rest of her family was dead; the Freys and Theon Greyjoy had seen to that. He had sworn that one day, he would make them both pay for their treasons. That decrepit old Lord of the Twins would suffer for his betrayal, that much was certain. Anyone who'd had a hand in the massacre, he'd find them and string them up like the criminals they were. Walder Frey… he would die screaming. He deserved nothing less than to feel everything he had delivered on them.
They say a Lannister always pays his debts, Steffon thought. They'll remember I'm half a Lannister, too…
He looked over at Arya. His wife hadn't shown much visible emotion regarding the massacre at the Twins; she was seemingly fixed on what was in front of them. The two of them hadn't talked all that much since that night, but they understood that things had changed. Even assuming the Stormlands army was still intact, the Riverlands were lost to them now, and there was no way of knowing who was still loyal to them and who wasn't.
Arya, for her part, was doing her best to keep things under control, though she wasn't sure what she would do to the next Frey that she saw. She would kill the man, yes, but couldn't decide how to do it. What had happened at the Twins was unforgivable; the violation of guest right was unforgivable. She knew that her mother and brother were likely dead as well; they had been in the hall when the massacre started, and there was no chance survivors would emerge from there. Fucking Freys…
"We have to keep moving." Gared said. "Get north of the Neck before someone finds us."
"What is there north of the Neck?!" Steffon snapped, stopping in his tracks. "The Boltons probably rule there now! We're safer down here!"
"Steffon…" Arya said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We might be able to find someone up there who can hide us. The houses up there will still be loyal to House Stark. I know you know that."
Steffon nearly rounded on her as well, before sighing. Arya had the right of it. The Riverlands were likely crawling with bandits, not to mention the Lannister and Tyrell soldiers that would be scouring the countryside looking for them. He didn't have a better plan either. They could try heading to the Vale, but… no, that would be too risky. There was no real guarantee they would even make to the Bloody Gate before they were discovered, and they had to act on more than that right now.
Going north was not an ideal choice, but there was no ideal choice. Just bad ones. The only option they had was to pick the least bad one from them.
"As long as we stay off the Kingsroad." Gared said. "They'll be patrolling that."
"Then how do we make it to Ironrath?" Arya asked. "That is where we're going, right? You did swear to return that sword there." She said, gesturing to Ironbreaker. The Forrester greatsword was in a makeshift scabbard on his back. It's more a sling than anything else, Steffon thought.
"I know the way well enough." Gared said, giving her a reassuring smile. "Once we get north of Moat Cailin, we'll just need to head for the Ironwood Grove; it'll be easy to find there." He added as they trudged on. Steffon didn't know a lot of House Forrester; only that they produced ironwood for the Starks and the crown, and were sworn to the Glovers of Deepwood Motte.
"Ironrath's near Deepwood Motte, right?" He asked, earning a nod from Gared.
"Aye. In the Wolfswood, between Winterfell and Deepwood Motte." He said.
"How in Seven Hells do we even get past Moat Cailin?" Arya asked. "I thought the Ironborn took it when they invaded."
"They did." Gared grimaced. "We'll have to find a way across the Fever River."
"Or swim it." Steffon added. It wasn't something they were looking forward to doing, truth be told. However, with the Ironborn in control of Deepwood Motte and the Causeway, that was the only feasible way for them to cross into the North, and then they would have to continue on through the cold up to Ironrath.
"I'd prefer to find a boat." Arya replied.
"So would I. Don't suppose we could find one?' Steffon asked hopefully. Arya shook her head. Not a chance. Unless…
"Howland Reed." She said, causing the two boys to stop. "Howland Reed's the Lord of Greywater Watch. He was with my father when they went to rescue my aunt Lyanna. He and my father were friends. He'll help us."
"It's an incredible risk." Was all Steffon had to say. Especially since they desperately needed to put distance between themselves and the Twins; the more, the better.
"Beg your pardon, Your Grace, but-" Gared started, only for Steffon to cut him off.
"Don't call me that." He snapped.
Gared blinked. "Call you what?"
"'Your Grace'. I'm not the king of anything anymore." He replied. Arya went to put a hand on his shoulder again, but he shrugged it off. "Look," Steffon began, "Right now, getting to Ironrath is our priority. If Lord Reed can help us, then that's where we go. We go to Greywater Watch. As of today, Steffon Baratheon is dead. Now, I'm just some nobody who's just lucky to be alive."
Having said his final peace, Steffon continued the journey East. With hardly a thing to say to anyone.
Arianne liked the Water Gardens, ever since she had been a little girl. She had played here growing up with Tyene, but things had complicated themselves since then. While the war hadn't visited Dorne, thank the Gods, she knew that such things couldn't be staved off forever. It had been part of her education from her father. She would rule Dorne one day, so she had to be made aware of everything that had happened.
Which is why her mood was a bit sour upon hearing what her father had called her over for. Steffon Baratheon and Robb Stark had been murdered at Edmure Tully's wedding, along with the Baratheon boy's wife and the Stark army. The Baratheon army had also been crushed by now, defeated in an assault from three directions. The war, the message said, was over, and he was being asked to King's Landing to take his seat on the Small Council.
"A damn wedding…" Arianne muttered. She was still struggling to believe it herself. They'd massacred them at a wedding? With no means of them defending themselves? It was beyond belief.
"I know." Her father said. Doran Martell was an old man now, wracked with gout and unable to leave Dorne as a result. He had sent his brother Oberyn to the capital with a delegation to serve in his stead. Arianne half-suspected that her uncle was going to end up starting a war with the Lannisters while he was in King's Landing. Not that Dorne would have any objections; the horrific murders of Elia and her children at the hands of the Lannister forces had not been forgotten by House Martell. Even if it was nearly two decades ago.
"They have to know that this isn't over. Stannis Baratheon still stands. As does his daughter, Shireen.." Arianne said. Given what she had heard about the man, he was unlikely to simply lay down his sword and surrender to King Joffrey.
"Of course it's not over." Doran said with a simple nod. "Stannis still leads a few thousand men, as well as having a fleet. True, the sailors of the Royal Fleet that had gone to Steffon Baratheon had suffered heavy losses in the fighting around the Gullet, but that still shows that there were men loyal to Steffon that Stannis would lead."
"Is he going to claim the crown himself?" She wondered aloud. Her father shook his head.
"No. The rumours say that Steffon Baratheon named Lord Stannis's daughter Shireen as his heir." He explained. Arianne nodded, quietly processing the information. It was not uncommon in Dorne for women to rule, but a woman on the Iron Throne? The Dance of the Dragons had permanently soured almost everyone north of the Boneway on the idea of a ruling Queen.
"And where is she?"
"Likely with her father." Doran replied. "And as long as Stannis Baratheon is alive, I'm not sure this war is over yet. House Baratheon will have their revenge, one way or another."
Arianne nodded. She was used to this sort of thing by now; her father was the sort of man who kept things to himself, as frustrating as that could be. He was still making plans instead of actually doing anything. "We cannot ally with the Lannisters against them; they bear as much responsibility for Elia's death as Lord Tywin."
Doran shook his head. "What Rhaegar did was extremely foolish, and then Aerys took the lives of Rickard and Brandon Stark. Jon Arryn faced a choice; turn over Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, or else. You and I know that is no real choice."
"Robert still should've punished Lord Tywin.'
"Yes, he should've." her father said. She could tell he wanted to hear no more discussion on this.
Her father was very good at doing nothing, even when their enemies were on their backs.
Sansa stared at the plate again. She wasn't even sure what the point of eating was anymore. To stay alive? What could she stay alive for? Her entire family was dead, murdered at a wedding. Her own uncle's wedding, no less. It was a breaking of guest right; no one in the North would ever contemplate such a thing. Unless they are Boltons, it seems.
She didn't even notice Tyrion walking up to her and Shae; the world just seemed to have flitted by her the last few days. Everything had been happening in front of her, but she didn't even notice most things. Yes, she went about her routine every day, but she had long stopped paying attention to any part of it. She still attended meals with the Queen when requested, but she mostly pushed her food around the plate. Shae still brushed her hair every day, but Sansa almost didn;t care the style that she ended up with anymore.
"My Lady, you do need to eat." She heard Tyrion say. What for? She wanted to ask. Why should I keep myself alive when it's my fault they're all dead? Why should I still live when they die?
They were questions that she had kept reciting to herself constantly lately. She had no concrete answer for them anymore. Part of her hoped that Joffrey had her executed for treason now, though she knew that Lord Tywin would never let him do it. Death would be a release from this torment . . .
"Do you know what they did with my brother's body?" She asked. "They sewed his direwolf's head onto his shoulders and paraded it around… they threw my mother's body in the river…" She didn't add what she thought had been done to Arya. Though, knowing her sister, she would've fought. And Sansa did not want to think about what blood-crazed soldiers did to young girls. She only hoped it had at least been quick.
"I'm sorry." Tyrion said. "I didn't know them. Your brother, I met him only once, but I know he was an honourable man. Your mother… I respected her. She tried to have me killed, but I respected her. She would've done anything for her children. Including you."
He just had to hit her with that. Did the entire Lannister family's cruelty know no bounds? What Tyrion had just said to her was so monstrously cruel, and he didn't even seem to realize it, judging by the look on his face. "I'm going to the Godswood." She said quietly, standing up to leave.
"Of course, of course." Tyrion said. He didn't ask to accompany her, which she appreciated. Maybe he did understand that right now, she just wanted to be left alone. "I hear prayer can be helpful." He added. Sansa scoffed slightly to herself.
"I don't pray anymore." She said. "It's the only place I can go where people don't talk to me."
What manner of god would inflict this miserable life on her? You caused this, you stupid little girl! She shouted at herself. You caused their deaths! This wasn't an act of any god, but your own stupidity!
Suddenly, the spikes at the bottom of the Red Keep looked rather inviting. She would be far from the first noblewoman to die there; both Queen Helaena and Queen Jaehaera had died that way.
Maybe I should join them.
Storm's End was a gloomy place at the best of times, and the storm that was raging outside did little to ease the tension that was in the Round Hall at that moment. It had not been long ago that King Steffon had left these halls to progress the war, but now, it was all but over. The main Stormlands army, under Selwyn Tarth, had been destroyed. Now only a small force remained, and they could not stay here. What was left of Steffon's loyalists were arrayed outside; a handful of minor lords and knights that had been serving as the rearguard to his main army.
Stannis Baratheon had been on his way back to Dragonstone when he had heard the events of the Red Wedding and the destruction of the Stormlands army. As the man who was essentially acting as Steffon's Hand, he had been returning there to make preparations for the inevitable assault on the Crownlands that was being planned. Now, the recent events had all but destroyed that notion. They needed a change of plan, and fast.
"Well, we've not exactly got a bright future ahead of us." Ser Cortnay said. "Our field armies destroyed, our fleet suffering heavy losses every day, and now our King is dead-"
"I don't believe that." Ser Davos shook his head. The man had returned to Storm's End recently, intent on travelling back to Dragonstone with Stannis to make naval preparations. "They'd be parading his body through the streets if he was."
"It is unlikely he survived, Ser Davos." Stannis said, finally breaking into the discussion. "The Freys likely would've discarded his body in some humiliating way." As hopeful as it might've been that Steffon still lived, it was exceedingly unlikely. The Freys had been unusually thorough with their massacre.
"And what of Shireen?" Penrose asked. Stannis ground his teeth at that. Steffon had designated Shireen as his heir after the Battle of the Kingswood, at least until a child had been born to him and Arya. Now they were both gone. "We either need to assume they're dead, in which case Shireen becomes Queen, or we don't, but then we give what men we have left no one to fight for." He elaborated.
"It's too much too fast." Davos said, shaking his head. "Without proof King Steffon is dead, we have to assume he is alive."
"Ser Davos, speak sense! He is dead!" Penrose snapped. "We cannot raise him up, so we must assume that he was murdered at the Twins. Shireen is Queen now, that is what we must move ahead with."
"Ser Cortnay–"
"Enough." Stannis said. He was not a man given to shouting, that much was true. The single spoken word commanded more authority than most lords were able to do with ten times the volume. "We must refocus our efforts. Double them if we have to. And look elsewhere for allies; we are short of them at the moment."
"These men still need something to follow." Ser Cortnay said. "Give them Shireen."
"My Lord, I said they would be parading his body around King's Landing if they had it. I stand by that." Davos said, trying to get Stannis to see reason.
"There is the likelihood that he was thrown into the river." Stannis replied. "The Freys would not allow any high-ranking survivors out of that mess . . ." He said. Davos sighed. He knew that was true, but still, he had hope that Steffon was still alive. Was it a thin one? Sure, but until there was a body, there was nobody dead, as far as he was concerned.
"Then we must give them Shireen." Penrose repeated.
"And what if he's alive, and turns up after we've crowned Shireen?" Davos asked.
"Then I will surrender the crown to him." A small voice said. The three men turned to see Shireen approaching them, dressed in a nightgown. "If Steffon is alive and returns to us, then I'll surrender my authority to him. He is our King."
"Then it's settled." Stannis said. "I will assume the regency. Thank you Shireen. Now, you must prepare for the journey ahead."
"Yes, father." Shireen replied before heading back up the stairs. She was thankful that the men had decided to stay in the Round Hall to discuss their next moves; she was barely able to hold herself together long enough to reach her bedchamber.
There, the little girl collapsed on the bed, bawling her eyes out, crying for her cousin.