Chapter Text
JON ARRYN
His aching body screamed at him to stop and rest, yet he would not allow it. The grief and fury driving him forward as much as the fear that Hardyng´s hunters were on their heels.
His horse nickered at the shadows amongst the trees, frightful of every movement. Ser Aerion stuck to his side like a barnacle to a hull, his wide blue eyes as terrified as that of Jon´s horse. He wanted to reassure the young man, tell him that they would be alright, but he found the words stuck in his throat.
What reassurances could he offer a man when Jon´s own wife and child were being held in his own castle, likely under siege, fearing for their lives.
The only comfort that he took was that the Eyrie was impregnable and had years’ worth of supplies so that his wife, daughter and unborn child and the garrison wouldn’t starve.
“There.” One of the Arryn guards whispered excitedly, only to be hushed by the lord of Runestone. Looking to where the guard had pointed to in his joy, Jon could see light in the distance between the mountains.
Despite the excitement from his guards, Jon did not find it in himself to share them. Would he be betrayed by those who held it like he had been in the Gates of the Moon?
It seemed likely. The honour that the men of the Vale had been renowned for, was quickly washing away before treachery and boundless ambitions.
A gnawing feeling entered his head that he quickly pushed away, there was no time for him to ponder on the past. The lord of the Vale had to focus on the future, and to safeguard the birthright of his children.
If Lysa birthed another daughter, then Alys would be the next ruler of the Vale. Jon would make sure of it, even if it cost him his life. Harry Hardyng would never be the lord of the Vale, better a Gulltown Arryn would take up the mantle than an oathbreaker and the scorner of guest rights.
No, Harry Hardyng would die for his treason, and the name Hardyng would be no more than a black smear for the maesters to ponder over.
Pushing the anger away, Jon stared ahead at the castle in the distance. It would do him no good to wallow in thoughts of vengeance, especially when it was so far out of reach.
He would have to bide his time, rally those faithful to him and put down the usurper´s rebellion before he would deliver justice to Harry Hardyng.
“We should scout on ahead.” Yohn said, as he reined in his horse and looked at Jon. “Make sure that we are not ambushed.”
Jon nodded and they all dismounted from their horses as they slowly led their mounts closer and closer to the Bloody Gate.
Long gone where the rough-hewn, unmortared walls that had been built by the First men during the Dawn Age that had been constructed like the ringforts they favoured. In its stead, now stood a series of battlements that had been ordered built by Osric Arryn, the King of the Mountains and Vale.
An Andal construction for an Andal king.
The grey stone battlements looked black as if they were made of shadows and not stone in the pale moonlight, and Jon felt his belly churn as the owls and ravens hooted and cawed in the tall pine trees, swaying in the gentle wind.
“Let us leave the horses here, my lords.” Yohn said, his voice gruff and serious.
“What? Why father?” His eldest, Ser Andar looked aghast at walking over to the Bloody Gate instead of riding towards it.
“So, that if anything is wrong or the Bloody Gate has fallen to Harry Hardyng, then we can remain unseen.” Bronze Yohn Royce was one of the most honourable men that Lord Jon Arryn had ever had the pleasure of knowing, but even such a man of honour knew the situation required them to move carefully.
They moved slowly through the half dry leaves and pine needles on the ground, doing their best to make no sound and when they reached the treeline, they stared up at the Bloody Gate.
Jon frowned heavily at the slight of its tall towers that now flew no banner, and he could taste the coppery blood on his tongue at the sight of it.
Since the arrival of the Andals, the Bloody Gate had flown the colours of house Arryn proudly, first for their Arryn kings and then the Arryn lords.
However, now, there was nothing.
“Perhaps we should turn back.” Aerion Wydman asked in a whisper, echoing the feeling of unease that Jon himself was feeling.
“We cannot turn back now.” Jon said not unkindly but firmly. They had come this far. Hardyng and his supporters couldn’t know that they had headed for the Bloody Gate. The Usurper would think that Jon and the lords that followed him were headed for Gulltown to gather their strength. “It is unlikely that the Bloody Gate has fallen to Hardyng.”
“We didn’t think Hardyng capable of attacking the Gates of the Moon.” Yohn countered, looking right into Jon’s blue eyes, the man’s heavy and furry brow set in a line.
“I appointed Ser Edgar myself.” Jon said, not allowing his voice to waver. “I must believe that he still holds the Gate. Ser Edgar has never given me cause to question his loyalty.”
Yohn stared at him for a moment before nodding. “As you say, my lord. But let us send one man to the gates first. To see who controls it.”
Jon let out a sigh and nodded with a heavy heart.
“Allow me to go, my lords.” Ser Aerion said even though Jon could see fear in his eyes. “Ser Edgar and I became fast friends during my time squiring for Ser Lyn; he will not hurt me.”
Jon nodded at the young man, who quickly snuck out of the foliage and kept to the shadows. The lord of the Vale knelt shoulder to shoulder with the lord of Runestone as they watched the young man carefully creep towards the gates that led to the Vale.
It seemed that time slowed down as they watched the young man make his way before the firmly closed gate, and the yellow of Ser Aerion’s coat seemed to glow bright orange from the light of the torches above him.
“Who goes there?” A guard called while five others were half hidden in shadow, drew their bows and aimed for young Aerion.
Jon’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched the young knight stand before the knights on the battlements.
“I am Ser Aerion Wydman, of house Wydman.” The knight called. “I have come to speak with Ser Edgar Dutton, the knight of the Bloody Gate.”
“And what is your business with Ser Edgar?” The guard called back, his face stern as he looked down at Ser Aerion.
“We are old friends,” Ser Aerion called, slightly moving from one leg to the other. “Ask him, he will tell you.”
The guard stared at Ser Aerion for a moment before turning on his heel and disappeared from their sight.
His heart continued to beat harshly in his chest, and Jon stared at the battlements, looking for any hint of treachery. He would not be fooled again, not by Hardyng or his lackies.
But what if Ser Edgar had been deposed?
What if, this was where Harry Hardyng had started and had given him such daring to attack Jon and his lords when the young man had been given guest rights?
No, it couldn’t be.
Jon felt his heart leap with relief at seeing the familiar Ser Edgar Dutton step into the light of the torches as he looked down at Ser Aerion. “Aerion,” The knight of the Bloody Gate called down to the other man with a beaming smile on his face. “What in the seven hells are you doing here? I had thought you had gone to your father’s castle.”
“No, I had attended the meeting at the Gates of the Moon.” Ser Aerion said excitedly with a beaming smile of his own. “I managed to escape.”
Ser Edgar Dutton blinked at Aerion. “Alone?”
“No, I have a few more with me.” Aerion called back, his shoulders squaring as he stared up at his friend. “Can you let us in?”
“And who are these friends?" Ser Edgar asked cautiously. “I pray they are not Hardyng’s men.”
Jon felt the fear and worry leave his body as if he had sat down in a warm bath after a stressful day, and he felt a sigh of relief leave him. Beside him all the other sighed and let out little laughs of their own.
“I would never, Edgar.” Aerion said laughing, sounding happier than he had been the entire way from the Gates of the Moon. “I would rather die than throw in my lot with Hardyng’s. No, we support the true ruler of the Vale, lord Jon Arryn.”
“Then be welcome.” Ser Edgar gestured for the guards to open the gate. “Get your friends to come Aerion. You must be quick; we have no idea if Hardyng’s cronies are skulking about.”
Jon nodded at Bronze Yohn, and they stood from their hiding spot and made their way closer. Ser Edgar turned and looked their way and Jon could see the man’s eyes widen as he and his party stepped into the light of the gate torches. “Lord Arryn.” Edgar gasped out in shock. “I had thought you had made your way east.”
“I did not.” Jon retorted, feeling a faint smile appear on his face.
Ser Edgar called down to the guards who had made their way to open the gate. “Quickly now, do not make lord Arryn wait.”
Yohn Royce and his sons stood next to Jon, and he heard the younger one, Robar let out a snigger at the other man’s words.
The gate guards did as they were ordered and the portcullis were slowly and steadily drawn upwards and through the holes, Jon could see men move in the low light of the fire and moon. They were rushing around the courtyard.
Jon made to step closer, but he felt Yohn’s hand grab his upper arm and pull him back. “IT’S A TRAP.” Someone shouted, one of Jon’s own guards from just behind his shoulder and he felt the lord of Runestone pull him away from the gate.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted something red and white deep within the courtyard before he was being ushered back into the treeline.
Jon could hear shouts from both within the courtyard and from on top of the battlements, but he was so shocked that he could hardly make out anything other than bows, stop and don’t.
Then he heard the familiar tangs of arrows being let loose, and he felt one of them whiz passed his head and with a thump the arrowhead burred itself in the trunk of a tree.
One of the guardsmen that had followed Jon, grabbed his own bow from his shoulder as they ran for the trees and let loose one of his own in the direction of the men shooting at them.
Then Jon heard a cry of pain, and he looked back and saw Aerion on the ground, an arrow sticking out of his chest and the young man was coughing up blood. When he turned his eyes to the battlements, Ser Edger Dutton was holding a bow of his own, but no arrow was nocked on its string.
Jon Arryn, the lord of the Vale and Warden of the East could only stare in horror at seeing the man he had appointed as Ser Brynden’s successor having murdered his own friend in cold blood.
Pain shot through him as he forced himself to run after Yohn and the others, each movement an agony to old and worn body that had trouble going up and down the stairs to the Tower of the Hand on a good day.
Yet despite the pain his elderly body was feeling, Jon pushed himself forward as hard as he could.
He could still hear the shouts behind him when they reached the horses, who had grown nervous and stomped at the ground while tossing their head. It took him a moment to untie his horse from the tree and when he was finally in the saddle, he looked to where the Gates of the Moon were looming high over the trees.
Where the brave boy who had come to get him from his chambers now lay in the mud, killed by someone he had called friend.
“Jon we must go.” Yohn said in a rushed tone, himself having mounted his horse and was gripping the reins tightly. “We can make our way to castle Redfort.
He could remember that Horton Redfort had been in an agreement with him that Tywin Lannister couldn’t be allowed to run around unchallenged.
But castle Redfort was so far inland, and they could not use the roads in fear of Hardyng’s men or and they would have to avoid the Mountain Clans, and it would be hard for them to fight against them with so few men.
It would be hard for them to get there.
“Let us go.” Robar Royce said turning his chestnut stallion. “We cannot linger.” With those words they rode ahead, using only the light of the moon to guide their way as they rode as fast as they dared south.
It was only by the grace of the Seven that their horses did not stumble and break their legs, and when the sun had finally risen high in the sky, they dared to stop as their horses looked ready to keel over and there was not a dry spot on their fur.
They stopped by a stream running through the pine forest, and Jon could hear birds sing merrily in the trees, in stark contrast to how Jon was feeling.
Dismounting, they allowed the horses to drink as Yohn spoke for the first time since they had run from the Bloody Gate. “Jon, we must head to castle Redfort. Horton would never declare for Hardyng, he would never betray you.”
Jon could hear and understand the reasoning behind the words. Horton had never been anything but faithful, but Jon had thought the same of Edgar Dutton.
The lord of the Vale stared into the waters of the little stream, as his horse drank heartily from it. He knew that Hardyng had to have been planning this for some time, he would not have been able to have managed to convince Edgar Dutton, and likely his father and taken the gates of the Moon with a half-cocked plan.
Harry Hardyng had to have more backing for more lords of the Vale than Jon had realized.
Was this how house Arryn of the Eyrie would end?
Usurped by house Hardyng, who were supposed to serve them, just like house Targaryen had been toppled by Robert?
No, that had been different. Aerys had been mad and had killed Rickard, Brandon and Elbert before demanding the heads of Ned and Robert.
Jon had never done such things to any of the lords under him. Nor would he ever.
As he stared into the waters, Jon could almost smell the blood of little Aegon and Rhaenys, as they had been laid beside the dead body of their mother and he was certain that he could hear Robert’s voice on the gentle wind. Dragonspawn.
He shuddered at the memory that invaded his mind. “I need to write to Ned.” Jon said after a moment, still staring at the stream.
“Ned is a kingdom away.” Yohn said quietly. “and his grace has ordered him to ride south to the Westerlands to fight against the Lannisters. He cannot help us now.”
“Robert has enough men to fight against lord Tywin. He has the Reach, the Riverlands, the Stormlands and the Crownlands against Tywin Lannister. He will understand our need.” Jon said, hardly even believing his own words. “He will understand that we need Ned to help us here.”
“We have no ravens.” Andar Royce said quietly. “Even if we somehow managed to find something to write with and on, we have no way to send a bird North, and even then, it might not even reach Winterfell.”
“But one of us can ride to Winterfell.” His younger brother said, his pale eyes filled with the confidence of youth. “One of us can travel faster and in secret through the mountains and from there to Winterfell.”
“The Mountain Clans travel there.” Yohn said, his face hard and stoney. “It would be a hard task for any man, even an experienced one to travel there without a retinue and guard.”
“Lord Eddard travelled through the mountains to the North, without guard.” Robar retorted, his spine straight. “Give me leave father, allow me to do the same. I can travel through the mountains to the west and make my way to the Riverlands and from there to the north.”
Jon looked at Yohn, his second oldest had the right of it. Ned had travelled through the mountains of the Vale from the Eyrie and managed to make his way north without much trouble, and the mountains to the north were a lot wilder than those to their west.
Yohn looked at Jon, before letting out a sigh. “I cannot allow you to go alone.”
“If two guards volunteer to go with him,” Jon said to his old friend. “Just in case we don’t make it to Horton, to have Ned help my family if I die, Yohn. If I have a son, Hardyng will never allow him to live and if Lysa gives birth to a daughter, I want Alys to rule the Vale after my day, Yohn.”
Lord Yohn Royce stared at him for a moment before nodding. “And if something were to happen to you, lord Arryn, I will do everything in my power to make sure that your wishes are honoured. Whatever happens, your blood shall sit on the Weirwood throne.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Jon had to hold back tears of gratitude. “I can never thank you enough for all you have done for me.”
Yohn grabbed his shoulder firmly. “Let us stop Hardyng, Jon. Restore order in the Vale and rid us of the rot that has infested our home.”
The way his old friend said it made it sound so simple, but Jon knew that it wouldn’t be. It would be a long and arduous task. Hardyng had somehow managed to burrow himself deep within the lords and ladies of the Vale good graces.
They would need to root him out, root and steam, and Jon couldn’t count on Robert to help him. Robert was too preoccupied with Tywin and his own succession to help here in the Vale.
But Ned, Ned could and would help.
Turning to young Robar Royce, Jon swallowed hard before he spoke. “Ned will show you nothing but honour when you arrive in Winterfell, and here.” Jon placed a sack filled with gold dragons into the young man’s hand. “For you, for the road, and when you return, it shall be to a hero’s welcome.”
Ser Robar thanked him and bowed deeply before he and two of the guards mounted their horses once more and had them trot towards the west, into the treeline.
“We must go.” Yohn seemed to have a hard time tearing his eyes from where Robar and the two guards disappeared to. “Before Dutton and his men track us here.”
Jon nodded and they all mounted their horses and turned them south, making their way to castle Redfort, in hopes that lord Redfort had managed to flee from the gates of the Moon and get back to his stronghold.
TYRION
He huddled against the crate filled with goods that the spider was pretending were goods to sell, the hard wood digging into his back, causing pain to shoot through him.
Tyrion felt a flare of irritation rise in him as a gust of cold wind crawled under his cloak and clothing, causing him to shiver wildly as his head throbbed with pain.
His bad temper was only exacerbated by the fact that there was no wine to be had, they had been driven far from the roads as the spymaster claimed that they might meet someone that could recognize Tyrion or Ser Barristan.
Beside him, little Tommen was smiling and petting his kitten, quietly talking to it as his small hands stroked the soft grey fur.
Tommen´s sister, on the other hand was staring at their surroundings with awe in her eyes. Tyrion however could not see what was so wonderous about the area around them. Nothing but fields and fields of quickly growing barley and wheat as far as they eye could see.
Only five years ago, the North had been a barren wasteland or so the texts said, now on the other hand, it was covered either with large fields and enormous roaming herds of woolly cattle and sheep.
While not impressed with fields, cows and sheep as scenery, Tyrion was impressed with it as investment. There was always want for more food and clothing in the world.
“How many do you think there are, uncle?” Myrcella asked, her voice bright and happy not matching Tyrion´s mood at all.
Yet he smiled at her and answered as merrily as he could. “I do not know. They say that the herds are growing so fast that now there are four sheep for every man in the North.”
Myrcella turned and stared at Tyrion, her green eyes as wide as plates, making the ill temper that hung over Tyrion lift.
“Do you think that it is true?”
“We will have to ask the Starks when we arrive.” Pulling his cloak even tighter around him, Tyrion tried to burrow closer to the wood, despite the pain of it digging into his back. “I am more interested in the great library; they say that Winterfell boasts one of the greatest libraries in all of Westeros.”
Pulling a face, Myrcella turned back to look at the scenery. “Keep your books uncle. I would rather talk to the Mormonts of Bear Island about their new longships.”
“Everyone should read.” Tyrion tried to convince his niece half-heartedly. “We need to learn our histories unless we want to repeat them.”
“Do you think that I can read in the great library of Winterfell, uncle?” Tommen asked, clutching his cat close. “Even though I am a…” The little boy stared at his feet, not wanting to say the last word.
“I do not see why not.” Tyrion tried to cheer the boy up. “The Starks are very honourable; I doubt that they would deny a young boy who has a desire to learn.” He hoped that his words were true. That Eddard Stark would not treat his niece and nephew poorly.
“There is no need for you to worry.” The Spider´s voice came from the front of the wagon. “Your uncle is right, the Stark´s are honourable and lord Stark even allowed lady Arryn´s bastard to grow up in the Dreadfort with Ser Brynden.”
Despite himself, Tyrion felt relief flood him at the eunuch’s words. If lady Arryn´s bastard was treated well by the Starks, then Tommen and Myrcella could hope for the same. Maybe Tommen could even squire for a knight when the time came and Myrcella could become a lady´s companion.
He had heard that lady Sansa had yet to take a companion of her own, and Myrcella had been raised and educated in the south, which would likely please her southern mother. The young lady Sansa was expected to marry well and in turn, if Myrcella were to be her companion, it would open up opportunities for her as well.
Even with a bastard name, Myrcella could still marry well. She would grow into a beauty one day and marry a wealthy man to take care of her so she would want for nothing all her life, and Tommen could become a great knight of the realm, in the service to a great house.
Tyrion shook his head.
No, either his father would win against Robert, and they would remain a prince and a princess or Robert would, and he would insist on their head to be delivered to him in King’s Landing along with Tyrion’s. Their only hope if Robert won was that lord Stark would refuse and keep them save in the North and weather the storm for them.
Another sharp and cold wind rushed against them, and Tyrion tried to bury himself deeper into his cloak and the wood. Glancing over his shoulder, Tyrion looked at lord Varys as he sat beside the Bold. “You promised to tell me more of the war between my father and Robert Baratheon.” Tyrion said watching carefully for any hint of emotion on the spymaster’s face.
Varys looked at him for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road as if he were the one driving the carriage. “I have not heard much I am afraid my lord. Only that lord Tywin has ordered his men to attack the Reach and that Robert has yet to move from the capital.”
Tyrion sent a glare at the back of Varys’ head. “That’s all? I thought that no secret escaped you.”
“I cannot be everywhere my lord.” Varys sent Tyrion a look that had only a hint of annoyance. “Even I cannot know everything about everyone.”
“I thought that was your job.”
Varys looked at him coldly. “I know more than most, my lord. Certainly, more than you, or were you gathering information in your little crate while we were heading north? If so, I am very impressed.”
Tyrion felt a bad taste in his mouth at the mention of the crate he had been stuck in for far too long. “Is lord Stark planning to declare himself king in the North?” Tyrion asked, causing both lord Varys and Ser Barristan to turn and stare at him, bewildered.
So, no to the king in the North.
Not that he had expected the honourable Eddard Stark to declare himself king.
But why else would he refuse to come to Robert’s aid?
“No, lord Stark does not have those ambitions.” Varys said looking at him curiously.
“But he has ambitions.” Tyrion said, catching what the man had said.
Varys looked at him for a moment, as if he were searching for any hint of what Tyrion was thinking, before a slow cunning smile appeared on his face. “He does, just not those.”
Tyrion felt something coil in his belly at the other man’s words. “And what are his ambitions?”
The smile grew on the eunuch’s face. “You will see soon enough.” The bald man looked at the road ahead of them before he added. “I think you will be very interested in what he has planned.”
Tyrion frowned deeply and he had to wonder why Varys was playing his cards so close to his chest. It was not like Tyrion could run off somewhere or make his way to the Westerlands and to his father to tell lord Tywin all of lord Varys’ secrets. “And what am I interested in?”
Varys didn’t answer, instead looked at the road much to Tyrion’s frustration.
“How long until we reach Winterfell?” Myrcella asked, her sweet voice cutting through the tension easily.
Ser Barristan looked at her, his hands still gripping the reins and he smiled kindly at her before he moved the reins to his right hand and pointed at the horizon with his left. “See that dot over there, my lady? That is Winterfell and we will reach it before sundown.”
“We will?” Tommen asked as both of the children looked at the dark dot in the distance, and as Tyrion peered at it, he was certain that he could make out tall towers jutting into the sky.
“Indeed.” The fabled knight nodded and adjusted the reins again as the draft horses trotted along the dirt track. “They say that the oldest parts of the castle were built by Brandon the Builder himself during the Dawn age, and that the crypts have almost every Stark that have ever ruled in the North since then.”
“Almost every Stark?” His quick niece asked curiously.
“Yes, well not all Starks died close enough to home to be interred in the crypts.” Barristan said. “Like Brandon the Shipwright. He disappeared somewhere on the Sunset Sea, and his son, Brandon the Burner destroyed what remained of the western fleet, and until lord Eddard, the western side remained without one.”
“But why?” Tommen frowned, holding his kitten close. “It wasn’t the ships fault that his father went away.”
“You are right, but Brandon the Burner was grieving the loss of his father.” Barristan answered kindly and patiently as he always did when the children asked him questions.
“But why didn’t anyone else rebuild the fleet?” Myrcella asked with her large green eyes wide.
“I don’t know.” Barristan frowned as the horses dragged them forward. “Perhaps his sons and grandson couldn’t afford to build a fleet of their own, and eventually it fell to the wayside in favour of more important matters.”
They fell silent as Myrcella thought on the knight’s words, however, and both children looked on the dark shape forming on the hill before them, excitement glinting in their eyes. “Is it true that the Starks have direwolves?” Myrcella piped up again as she continued to stare at the slowly growing castle, as if she took her eyes off it, it might disappear and they would have to spend more days in the wagon.
“It is,” The spider nodded with a knowing look on his face. “Lord Stark and his children found a direwolf having just given birth to six pups, each one got one of their own, while lord Stark kept the mother.”
Tyrion frowned heavily. He had heard those rumours as well, but that was all he had thought them to be, rumours.
Direwolves hadn’t been seen south of the Wall for centuries, and they were wild animals and not easily tamed. Especially not by children barely out of their nursery.
Even Robert Baratheon, who believed that Eddard Stark could move the moon and the stars in the heavens, had thought it all rumours and wild tales, when word reached them in the capital.
For hours they stared at the castle, growing and growing as they approached, until Tyrion could make out the grey, growling direwolf of house Stark on the banners, and the small village nestled underneath the tall grey walls of the seat of house Stark.
As they stared at their destination, Tyrion felt the familiar dread pool in his belly, and he prayed that Varys was right about Stark. That lord Eddard wouldn’t send them back to his old friend.
Ser Barristan guided the horses towards the eastern gate, where they came to a stop before two Stark guards, looking at them with cold eyes and stony faces. “Halt, who seeks to enter Winterfell?”
Tyrion tugged the hood on his cloak further down his face, hoping that the men wouldn’t see him, as Varys pulled out a letter from the confines of his jerkin and handed it to one of the men. “I am Varys, the former spymaster of Aerys Targaryen, and I am hoping to meet with lord Stark, at his convenience.”
Tyrion stared at Varys in disbelief and horror at his wording. Reminding the Northerners of his service to the man who had killed lords Brandon and Rickard Stark would not win them any favours.
The man who had taken the letter, huffed and smirked at them. “Right, and I am Tywin Lannister.”
Ser Barristan sighed and pulled his hood from his head, his blue eyes glaring at the two men. “This is no jest. He speaks the truth, and I am Ser Barristan Selmy, knight of the Kingsguard.” The two men stared at him in shock, but Tyrion could see it in their eyes that they didn’t believe the man, but they seemed to hesitate to call him a liar like they had done to Varys. “Go and send for your lord and he will see the truth of our words.”
The man who had remained silent, turn his head and called another man who was hidden from their eyes. “Boy, go to lord Stark and tell him that there are men here, claiming to be Ser Barristan Selmy and lord Varys.”
As the boy the guard had ordered left them, the men stared at them, their eyes growing even more cold and suspicious as they gripped their pikes hard in their hands.
Tyrion felt the tension in the air, even though he knew that Ser Barristan would have no trouble cutting down the two guard if they attacked them, but he knew that Lord Stark would not be happy with them then and would be even likelier to send them to Robert Baratheon.
“Willem, Halder?” An even colder voice reached them, and a tall man, wearing a fine white velvet surcoat with a direwolf badge at his breast, and following him was a huge grey beast, the size of a garron, with glinting gold eyes, that could only be one of the rumoured direwolves that the Starks kept by their side.
So, it was true. Tyrion could hardly breath as he stared at the beast beside lord Stark. It looked like it could tear a man’s head of with little effort and eat a man of Tyrion’s size in two to three bites.
“Lord Varys? Ser Barristan?” The cold look on lord Stark’s face vanished as he stared at the two men, before a slow smiled appeared on his weathered face. “I had not thought to see you in Winterfell.”
The second son of Tywin Lannister felt the breath knocked out of him at seeing the Warden of the North address the spymaster and the lord commander, who had both defected and betrayed Robert Baratheon, so kindly.
Lord Stark gestured for servants to come, and Ser Barristan and the spider hopped from their seats and on to the ground. The knight walked over and helped Myrcella, Tommen and Tyrion from the wagon before leading them to lord Stark, Tyrion feeling like every step he took was another he was walking towards his doom. “Ah, and I see that you have brought lord Tyrion and the children.”
“Indeed, lord Stark.” Varys simpered. “We thought they would be best kept here in Winterfell, for their safety.”
“A wise decision lord Varys.” Stark nodded their way, before shaking the hand of Ser Barristan, before he gestured for them to follow and to leave the wagon in the care of the servants and the guards. “Robert will not have been pleased with their mother and the Kingslayer.”
Tyrion felt a flare of anger in his belly at his brother moniker being mentioned and he had to bite his tongue to keep from retorting at the man. He had to remember that not only did his life now hinge on the good will of lord Stark, but also that of Myrcella and Tommen.
A servant came rushing forth, holding a silver tray that was full of bread and salt, offering them all to eat, causing Tyrion’s brows to rise on his forehead so high that they almost disappeared into his hairline.
“Lord Stark.” Ser Barristan spoke, his eyes filled with hope. “Has he arrived?”
Lord Stark looked at him and then at Varys, seemingly understanding something that Tyrion didn’t. Which he had to admit to himself, bothered Tyrion a great deal.
“Aye, my nephew is here, but he took my two youngest out flying, but they should be back at any moment.”
“What?” It took Tyrion a moment to realise that he had spoken and now everyone was looking at him, except for Ser Barristan who stared at lord Stark in confusion. Had the man lost his wits?
He had no nephews as lord Brandon had died childless and lord Benjen was a man of the Nights Watch.
As he was about to speak, a strange shrieking roar echoed that made every single strand of hair on his body rise. Then a sound like thunder reached them, and Tyrion felt his belly drop at the sight of the animal that passed over the castle.
A huge and green creature passed over head, through the bright blue skies, its large wings beating against the air.
Dragon.
Tyrion was transfixed as he watched the magnificent creature glide gracefully over the caste, before another dragon, this one white, almost cream with golden horns and crest chased it and the third one, larger than its brethren and black as the void with horns and wing membrane of blood red, followed.
On the first dragon, he could see three figures on its back, one large and two small.
He watched the three huge dragons fly over the castle in a disbelieving daze, for the first time since the death of the Last Dragon in the year of 153 AC, dragons danced.