375A Death in the Family
There were not enough troops. Then again, five hundred more guards would not have made a whit of difference. A thin line of gold cloaks and sellswords dawdled about the harbor in a futile effort to push back the throngs of spectators. That morning, clever merchants moved the market in Fishmonger's Square to the docks outside the River Gate. Silver stags and copper stars changed hands to the cries of fishmongers, tavern wenches, and street peddlers selling food and drink to a spellbound audience listening to exaggerated tales of the wildfire wedding.
Tyrion stifled a yawn. The destruction of the Tower of the Hand was not the reason for his lack of sleep. His lord father demanded that Jaime and Tyrion lead the watch and Lannister guards in scouring the Red Keep thoroughly for traces of Snow and his confederates. They discovered the bodies of Pycelle and Kettleblack in the royal sept. They tried and failed to identify the hundreds of corpses in the ruins of White Sword Tower. But the real work was combing through the myriad secret passages under the castle. A dozen teams of men armed with torches, lamps, and long poles were sent into the labyrinthine tunnels, and that difficult task had barely begun before disturbing news reached the Red Keep.
Somehow, the Mountain had followed Sansa Stark to the wharf, only to get embroiled in a vicious fight. But this time, his father's most feared beast met his match. Tales of the Mountain's Last Ride spread through every tavern in King's Landing. With nightfall, it was too dark to trawl the Rush. That was why Tyrion had come to the docks that morning.
"They found something." Bronn said, pointing to the river rats surfacing out of the water.
One boy waved a giant blackened hand in a charred gauntlet. Two other urchins carried a metal encased forearm severed at the elbow, and raised their prize in the air to the lusty cheers of the crowd. Tyrion sighed. This would not improve his father's temperament.
"The Mountain died unarmed." Bronn quipped as they walked closer.
Tyrion was not the only one curious about the remains. A dark haired man approached, flanked by an entourage of Sand Snakes and Dornish guards. He eyed the long and deadly spear resting in the man's hand carefully.
"Tyrion Lannister. I am surprised you are not drowning your sorrows over your lost bride."
"And I am surprised you are awake so early, Prince Oberyn. I thought you would celebrate House Lannister's misfortunes well into the night."
"Celebrate? Why - House Lannister has not suffered enough misfortune. The Mountain is dead but your father is alive. Your bastard nephew sits on the Iron Throne."
"Be careful what you say, Prince Oberyn. King's Landing is full of spies, and it is dangerous to speak against the throne."
The Red Viper laughed. "Less so than yesterday. Tell me, is it true? My guards hear that the Spider was discovered last night in the tunnels, shot by a crossbow."
"Not the tunnels but the cellar with the dragon skulls. The tunnels criss cross multiple rooms below the castle. It is all rather confusing. Snow must have killed Lord Varys after escaping the Throne Room." Tyrion said.
"That changes things. The Spider whispered certain promises that he won't be able to keep."
Oberyn was hiding something behind that saturnine face. Tyrion preferred his enemies rash and hot-headed, not thoughtful and composed. Vipers were more dangerous hiding in the grass. "What promises were these?"
"You don't need to know. A dead man. A dead plan." Oberyn said.
As Hand of the King, Tyrion had little choice but to rely on Varys. No one, not even Lord Baelish, knew more secrets about the game of thrones than the Spider. The eunuch had been whispering to the Martells. But about what? Had he placed Myrcella in danger?
"Oi, Tyrion." Bronn walked over from a crowd of smallfolk. "I spoke to the dock workers. They saw Clegane at the harbor."
"Of course they did." Tyrion said, pointing at the severed hand and arm.
"Not Gregor. Sandor Clegane. The Hound and Brienne of Tarth escorted a girl to a riverboat. The Mountain galloped up, and tried to kill them all. They were still fighting when Snow came, and burnt the Mountain alive and chopped him to bits. Then the boats sailed West."
"And the Hound?"
"He left with the Starks on the boat." Bronn said.
The Hound had joined their enemies. The Mountain was dead. And so were Varys, Pycelle, Ser Osmund Kettleblack, and three other white cloaks. And hundreds of guards and watchmen.
A short fat bellied man with thin balding hair strummed his fingers over a worn twelve string woodharp. "Lords and ladies, gentlefolk - let me spin a song about the rescue of a maiden from a horrible fate. Saved from the Imp." The crowd brayed with amusement at the harper's words, and Tyrion realized that the Lannister name had become shit in King's Landing.
Rays of light darted through makeshift cloth drapes erected for privacy on the Wolf Wind. Sansa Stark opened her eyes to see a cloaked Jeyne Poole tremble as she gazed at the morning sun rising over the stern. But they were no longer prisoners in the Tower of the Hand with a window over the sprawling fetid city. Instead, Sansa smelled the fresh clean air of the Rush, heard the chirping of sparrows and shrikes, and felt the water flow under the boat and the stiff western wind blowing hard against the sails.
"It wasn't a dream. It really happened." Sansa said.
"Yes, my lady." Her friend handed over a plain woolen cloak to cover the garish orange gown. Jeyne sat down on their shared bed, and offered to braid Sansa's auburn locks.
"No need. Arya is right. Better to be a free smallfolk, than a captured highborn."
"Are we free? We could not have gotten very far from King's Landing." Jeyne said.
Sansa pulled down the curtains, bathing in the golden sunlight. Brienne and Sandor Clegane waited outside. The Maid of Tarth snapped to attention while the Hound snorted, rolled his eyes, and returned to sharpening his sword. "Lady Brienne, where are we?"
"I do not know, my lady. But I know someone who does." Brienne said.
They found the captain near the galley, where the smell of sardines, fried crisp in sizzling poppy oil with peppers, wafted through the air. A dozen hungry urchins waited in line as the Winter Town boys served hot fish on bread torn from loaves warmed over a fire.
When they saw her, the chattering stopped. The urchins parted before them, and Chett piled a wooden trencher high with food. The smell of the sardines and oil made her stomach rumble.
"Lady Sansa, I am glad to see you well after a day of rest." Maturin Manderly said.
"Where are we, Ser? And do you think the Lannisters will pursue us?" Sansa asked.
"We are half a day's sail from Tumbler's Falls. And I doubt they can. Queen Cersei has ordered a fleet of new warships built - giant dromonds with hundreds of oars each - far too large to travel on the river. Even on the open sea, they are poor vessels, slow and hard to maneuver."
"What about the Gold Road? Couldn't we be attacked where the road crosses the Blackwater?" The Hound asked.
The Manderly man spoke directly to Sansa. "Robb Stark ordered the bridge at the Blackwater destroyed many moons ago. And the crossing is in the riverlands. With the victory at the God's Eye, no one will challenge the Starks there."
Sansa broke her fast on sardines, so hot that she nearly burned her tongue and needed to drink black ale mixed with river water. The dripping oil, the crusty bread, the fried fish - it was no lavish feast with exotic spices, fresh fruits, sweetmeats, and Arbor wine. The breakfast was simple food leavened with the taste of freedom. No meal could be more satisfying.
Robb Stark rode side by side with Lord Jason and his eldest son Patrek as the army approached Seagard, only a short hop away from the headwaters of the Blue Fork. Seagard was a walled town, set on a hill, overlooking Ironman's Bay and the Cape of Eagles. Encircled by three walls, the highest point was the Mallister castle but Seagard had a dozen towers of varying heights including the one that held the immense bronze bell.
Ten years ago, the booming bell rang for the first time in centuries, calling the townsfolk to shelter near the castle when the longships were sighted. The Greyjoy rebellion had faltered here when Jason Mallister slew Rodrik Greyjoy, Balon's heir, under the walls and drove the Ironborn back into the sea. The reavers from Pyke had never forgotten their defeat.
Smallfolk lined the walls about Seagard, cheering and whistling the return of their fighting men and the coming of the Northern army. Lord Jason held his blazon high in the air, a silver eagle on a purple field, that matched the winged helms of the eagle knights. House Mallister had a proud and noble lineage, more glorious than their Tully overlords.
"Lord Stark, shall we prepare you a feast?" Patrek Mallister asked eagerly.
Robb shook his head. "No, battle plans come first. Feasts can wait after the fight." They rode past the great central square into the castle. The three dire wolves followed.
The Northern commanders gathered in the solar. Lord Jason ceded the honor of the ornate wooden throne and Robb remembered that five hundred years ago, the Mallisters had been one of the many riverlords who had claimed to be King of the Trident.
"Longships have been sighted on the edge of the cape, perhaps five days away." Patrek said
"How many?" Robb asked.
"Sixty. Ships of the Iron Fleet that can hold a hundred fighters each but probably less than that. I don't see how Euron Crow's Eye can field that many men." Patrek said.
"Why not?" Robb asked.
"The Crow's Eye ship is the Silence. The ship is crewed entirely by mutes whose tongues he ripped out." Lord Jason said.
'Euron rips out the tongues of his men and they still serve him?" Robb asked aghast. "Why would anyone do that?"
"He is a madman, the worst of the Greyjoys, and that's saying quite a bit. He attracts fools and mongrels from all over the known world - monsters who lust for rape and pillage. The Silence has plundered ships from Ibben to Asshai." Wylis Manderly said.
Robb shook his head at the Ironborn. "How many ships do we have?"
"Two war galleys to defend the harbor. We have six longships but they are small, less than half the size of the ships in the Iron Fleet." Jason said.
"Two galleys and six small longboats? That is your entire fleet?" The Greatjon asked in disbelief.
Patrek Mallister flushed. "We are merchants, not raiders. We don't sail longships to sack towns. Our harbor is home to cogs and other trading vessels."
"But you have many cogs. I counted at least two dozen large ships in the harbor. Can they be used for war?" Robb asked.
The Mallisters, Flints and Manderlys had a hushed conference. "My lord, there is a great difference between a cog and a galley. Galleys and longships use both oars and the sail. That means far more of the crew have to work at rowing. An ironborn longship is shallow and light, and double-ended, so it can swiftly reverse direction. A cog has only one sail and no oars - so it can hold far more cargo with a smaller crew but without any wind, it would be becalmed, and fall prey to raiders."
"But without the need for rowers, a cog could carry far more fighting men." Robb mused.
"True, my lord. In a war galley, more than half the men tend to the oars. But every Ironborn rows and fights. That's why the reavers are so effective at raiding." Patrek said.
"If the Greyjoys get past Seagard, their longships could attack up and down the Trident, like House Hoare before the dragons burned them in Harrenhal." Lord Jason said.
"How skilled are the merchant captains? Can they handle their cogs against a longship?" Robb asked.
"The men of Seagard are good sailors. But no man can sail upwind. When the Ironborn stormed Seagard, we met them at the town walls. The squids would be delighted to fight our small fleet in the bay." Patrek said.
"But cogs would not be easy to board on the open seas. Their sides are much taller." Robb said.
"A cog has a high freeboard. Sailors can fight off one longship. But if a merchant vessel is swarmed by four or five longboats, the crew would be slain and the ship taken as a prize." Wylis Manderly said.
"Lord Stark, the Greyjoys expect us to give battle at the walls, not in the waters. The ironborn will hug the shoreline before the attack. Our scouts have sighted them on the western tip of the Cape of Eagles. It would be madness to sail our galleys forth." Lord Jason said.
Robb turned his eyes west toward the harbor. "War is madness. My Lords, there is only one way to fight and win. Never attack where and when the other man expects. Take me to the ships and captains. The squids pride themselves in ruling the waves. We will prove them wrong."
The morning mists off the river had faded into wisps of grey. Here and there, boats fished for trout and riverpike, occasionally hailing the three riverboats. The Blackwater was mostly deserted. Few merchants dared to travel between the God's Eye and King's Landing.
To the amusement of Sandor Clegane, and the astonishment of everyone else, Arya practiced the water dance on the Wolf Wind. Her sister stood sideways, keeping her balance while she thrust, spun and lunged with her two blades, one a smoky gray rapier and the other an even thinner dirk. The urchins gawked and gaped as Arya danced about the deck.
"That's not fighting." The Hound snorted. "If you want to kill a man you need armor and a big fucking sword - not nancying around like a ponce."
"I stabbed the Mountain through his knees." Arya yelled back.
"Only because Gregor was facing us." the Hound replied. "And he would have killed you even on his knees - had Snow not shot him with a crossbow."
"Where is your brother, Lady Arya?" Brienne asked.
Arya glared at Sandor and then abruptly sheathed both blades in a blink of an eye. "I will take you to him."
They found Jon in the dark cargo hold, examining several of the little birds, under the light of a candle held by Chett. He checked their faces and mouths, examined bony ribs, and had them walk back and forth. The children submitted quietly, without a murmur, and when each finished, they were each given several copper stars, and a sweetcake, soaked in honey.
"Buzdari Iksos Daor." Jon said to a boy with a bruised cheek. The urchin gave a shy smile, and munched on the cake.
"What language is that?" Arya asked.
"Pentoshi - a bastard dialect of High Valyrian. I told him that he is not a slave." Jon answered.
"How are they?" Arya asked, as Sansa and Jeyne sat down on hard wooden boxes while Sandor and Brienne stood.
"Better than I expected. Half a dozen on the Wolf Wind with their tongues cut out. Less that number on the other two ships. Perhaps the others died more quickly." Jon replied.
"Who would rip out the tongue out of a child?" an outraged Brienne asked.
"Varys. He wanted spies that could not talk." Jon said.
"If I return to King's Landing, I will have words with him. How can the King and the Hand allow such horrors?" Brienne said.
"Don't bother. The eunuch is dead." Jon said.
"Jon, I never thanked you for rescuing me." Sansa said.
"I didn't rescue you, Sansa. We rescued you - all of us. Arya and I needed the help of the others. Jeyne and Brienne provided a distraction and the Winter Town boys were critical in the scheme. I did not expect the Hound, but no plan goes perfectly." Jon said.
"You tricked me into taking Lady Jeyne from the castle." Brienne said.
Jon shrugged. "It was the only way for you to escape. The secret tunnel in the Tower of the Hand is so narrow that a man has to crawl. Imagine if your plate armor got stuck in the dark."
"Still, you could have told me." she whinged.
"Why? How would that have helped? You should thank us for taking you away from King's Landing. What do you think the Lannisters would do to you? How long would it take for you to break from torture?" Jon said to a stunned Brienne.
"Snow, I want to thank you. For killing my brother." Sandor said grudgingly.
"We killed the Mountain. You, Brienne, and Arya. I only delivered the final blow. But I am glad that he died screaming. Actually, I expected the Martells to kill him. I wonder what went wrong."
"Seven Hells. The Martells were involved?" The Hound said.
Jon nodded. "The Red Viper hates the Lannisters. And he has wanted revenge for sixteen years. But enough about that. What about you, Clegane? What do you want?"
"I wanted my brother dead for many years. But now, I don't know. I can't go back to King's Landing, and I have thrown away my white cloak. Might be, I could serve your brother. I am a better killer than most. How much gold will you pay?" the Hound said.
"We have plenty of gold but do you really care? Did you serve the Lannisters for gold?"
"My grandfather was kennelmaster to Tytos, Tywin's father. He saved him from a lioness at a cost of a leg and three dogs. My father was Tytos's squire and became a knight. We served the Lannisters because of lands and a title."
"There is a lot of land in the North. But how do we know you will be loyal?" Jon asked.
"Sandor Clegane has broken his vows to the Iron Throne. He is no knight." Brienne said.
"Gregor Clegane was a knight. So was Amory Lorch. Knights are not better than other men. The Hound is not the only man who soiled the white cloak. Gold I can give you. Land I can grant you. And a title, if you wish. But House Stark needs loyal men and women." Jon said.
"But Jon, the Hound murdered Mycah. Jory said Sandor Clegane ran him down and cut him in half with a sword. He wasn't even armed." Arya said.
"Who the hell is Mycah?" The Hound answered his own question. "Oh, the butcher's boy who tossed Joff's pretty sword in the river. They told me he attacked the Prince. I was Joffrey's sworn shield. I was ordered by the queen to bring him back."
"I attacked Joffrey. He swung his sword at me, and Nymeria bit him. I should have let my dire wolf kill him then." Arya said.
Jon held his angry sister back. "We have all done terrible things, Arya. What matters is what we do now."
"I am a killer, Snow. I've killed my first man at twelve. I have lost count of how many I killed since. But you have killed more. You had my brother's men slaughtered - and his pet rats deserved killing. You killed thousands more at the Red Fork and at the God's Eye."
"Death in battle is different. That is a fair fight, not killing an unarmed boy." Brienne said.
"You are still dead. There were a hundred Mycahs at the God's Eye. There will be no songs about their deaths. I have killed loads of people - lords, knights, merchants, aye - even children and women. But less than Snow." Sandor said.
"We need swords, and we need killers. The war is not over. Tywin Lannister, the Greyjoys - House Stark has enemies. Clegane, will you fight for the North?" Jon said.
"Aye, I will. Just point to who you want me to kill." The Hound chuckled.
"No killing for now. Just guard my sisters. And there is something else, something important." His eyes swept over the small crowd. "I want to know exactly what happened in King's Landing. Every detail. Every word."
"What's there to say, Snow? You shat on Tywin Lannister's head and sailed off." the Hound said.
"Fighting a war is more than swinging a sword. We need to know our enemy and their plots. What they have done, and why they did it. Joffrey, Tywin, Tyrion, Cersei, the Small Council."
Jeyne Poole spoke first. "I will tell you what happened after they arrested Lord Stark. They killed my father and gave me to.." Her face reddened and she broke down sobbing.
"Jeyne greatly suffered at Lord Baelish's hands. Must she relive those moments?" Sansa said.
"Yes, but she can speak to me alone. As will all of you, including the Hound. The more we know, the better we can prepare. Modesty will get us killed. There is no shame in suffering. It is only regrettable if we don't fight back." Jon said.
The crying girl nodded silently.
Two hundred Lannister guards in red cloaks, led by Captain Vylarr, patrolled the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Such a gesture might be symbolic but came a day late and many dragons short. The horse had already left the barn, after shitting all over the floor, the walls, and even the roof. Pyromancers surrounded the Iron Throne, and almost twenty four hours later, spectral green sparks still smouldered on the spikes and edges.
The Iron Throne no longer resembled a chair. The crest of swords had melted down, dripping grey slag on the steep steps. The spikes and barbs fused together into oddly shaped clumps. The twisted blades did not fan out like talons of some great metal beast, but rather formed a confused lump of tangled and tortured steel. After three hundred years, the once fearsome symbol of Aegon's Conquest was ruined.
"Only dragon flame, the fires beneath the earth and the sun in the summer sky are hotter than wildfire." The pompous Hallyne lectured a passel of apprentices.
What an ass, Tyrion thought. No one had seen a dragon in a hundred and fifty years, and if they had, they would never measure the temperature of their breath to wildfire. No, unless you were a Targaryen, the only sensible reaction to dragonfire was to run away screaming. Only dragons did not fear dragons.
Lord Tywin held court over a much diminished Small Council. Mace Tyrell sat in an oaken chair shaped like a giant green hand, complete with a fleshy thumb and protruding nail. The rose Lord insisted the ridiculous seat was a tribute to the mythical Garth Greenhand and the long extinct House Gardener. No one was fooled by the absurd claim.
"We found a few more caches, under the sept of Baelor and many of the city gates." Jaime said
"Why did you not tell anyone that Aerys plotted to burn down King's Landing? Had you done so, you would be a hero. And Snow would not have found the wildfire." Tywin said.
"The knights of the Kingsguard are sworn to keep the king's secret. And do you think Ned Stark would have believed me?" Jaime replied.
"Of course he would." Oberyn Martell said. "His father and brother were burnt alive by wildfire."
"I hunted down the pyromancers involved - Rossart, Garigus and Belis. After they died, no one knew where the caches were." Jaime said.
"I doubt that." the Dornishman said "There were several hundred jars in the tunnels below the Great Sept. Do you think three men moved them all? The alchemist's guild must have known." Jaime responded only with a mulish silence.
"What of the whores, Baelish? Did you question them?" Tywin said.
"I did, my Lord. None of them saw Jon Snow. He never frequented a brothel. Either the bastard is a sorcerer or he has spies in King's Landing." Baelish said.
"We need to punish Snow for his antics. He threatened my Margaery. Highgarden will not allow such villainy to go without a reply. The honor of House Tyrell demands satisfaction." Mace Tyrell was as dull and ponderous as his chair.
"Why? Why should we do anything?" Tyrion said.
"But the insult." Mace sputtered. "He endangered the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
"If he wanted Margaery Tyrell dead, she would be. Snow has left King's Landing. Sansa Stark will never want to see this city again. We have reports that Robb Stark is leading an army up the Trident to fight the Greyjoys. Let the Northmen go North." Tyrion said.
"Why, Lord Tyrion. I thought you would be more eager to recover your bride." Baelish smiled.
"Do you wish to take Lady Sansa back? Then go, Lord Baelish. Ride for Harrenhal, or Riverrun, or Winterfell. Perhaps, the Starks will welcome you like they did the Mountain. Ser Gregor was burnt alive and cut into many pieces. Do you think the wolves have discovered your betrayal of Ned Stark? Go North and you will find out." Tyrion said.
"Lady Sansa does not know. So how would the Starks find out?" Baelish said.
"Sandor Clegane knows. He joined the Starks and sailed away from the city, after fighting Ser Gregor on the ship." Tyrion said, wiping the stupid smirk from Littlefinger's face.
"The Starks remain a threat to the Iron Throne." Tywin said.
"No, they do not." Tyrion said, his response eliciting an angry glare from his father.
"Out, everyone. This meeting is over." Tywin Lannister was used to having his orders followed, even by the great lords. "Not you, Jaime." The Old Lion waited until Mace Tyrell, Petyr Baelish, and Oberyn Martell left the cavernous Great Hall, and only the three Lannisters remained.
"Have you turned craven?" Tywin barked.
"No. I see no benefit in continuing to fight the North. The Lannisters have met Robb Stark and Jon Snow in battle many times. We have not fared well. Why continue?" Tyrion said.
"The Starks are a threat to Joffrey." Tywin said.
"Joffrey is a threat to Joffrey." Tyrion retorted "The Starks do not want the Iron Throne. Ned Stark arrived at King's Landing before the other rebels. He could have taken the throne, and Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon would have agreed. Ned Stark chose to return North. Robb Stark is like his father. He values honor and wants only to be Lord of Winterfell. The Northern army was three days away, and yet they did not march on the capital. What does that tell you, Father? The Young Wolf does not want to be king."
"He does not want to bend his knee to Joffrey, either." Jaime said.
"Who does? Joffrey is a vicious idiot. We should make peace with the Starks." Tyrion said.
"How do you propose to do that? We have no hostages." Jaime said.
"Robb Stark wanted his father returned as Warden of the North, and his sister Sansa freed. We can not do the first, but he has the second. Give him back Ice. It was his father's sword and has belonged to their house for centuries. The Starks may despise Joffrey but we will be safer when they are back home. Like Sunspear, Winterfell is far away." Tyrion said.
"No, I will not be called a toothless lion. Jon Snow defied us in front of the entire royal court. We are Lannisters. I won't let our house be shamed." Tywin raged.
Tyrion shrugged. "They laugh at me all the time, Father. They call me Imp, Halfman, and Demon Monkey. You told us many times that a lion does not care about the opinions of sheep. Let the wolves return North. We would still hold the Iron Throne."
"They do not laugh at me. They will not laugh at me." Tywin slammed the table hard. "I will pay the Starks back for this."
"How, father? Tyrion is right. No one wants to face Robb Stark and Jon Snow in battle. And that was before the wildfire. Most of our knights are dead and many of our lords are captured. The Northmen may be savages but they can certainly fight." Jaime said.
"There are other ways to skin a wolf." Tywin said ominously.
Tyrion sighed. His father never listened. There were ways to skin lions too.
They left their scowling sire with a pile of parchment and a trio of fawning maesters. Tyrion led Jaime to the solar of the Kitchen Keep, overlooking the pig yards. Last night, Bronn and his sellswords commandeered the servant quarters, leaving the dwarf with a spacious suite with a large bedchamber, dressing room, solar and privy. Even the pigs did not smell that badly, given the constant scents of the kitchen.
"Wine, Podrick." Tyrion reclined on a velvet divan, resting aching feet on a wooden stool. Jaime paced back and forth, spoiling the view of the Bay. "And a brace of ducks, roasted over coals with quails drowned in butter, chestnut soup, hot bread and cheese." He clapped happily at the full goblets of Arbor gold, and quaffed deeply, smacking his lips at the taste of oak and fruit.
"Tyrion, it is the custom to celebrate at the wedding, not when your bride flees." Jaime said.
"But I am happy, brother. Two days ago, I worried about the Starks cutting my cock off if they found me with Sansa Stark. Last night, I feared being burnt alive by wildfire. And today, I am free to drink wine and visit whores." Tyrion raised stubby arms in mock triumph.
"Tyrion, our lord father is livid. You know why he hated the Reynes and Tarbecks. He despises anyone who mocks House Lannister."
"Yes, yes. I am all too familiar with the Rains of Castamere. Well, I have given him good advice. He may be too proud to take it, but I have no desire to twist the lion's tail."
"I don't see how we can make peace. The North will never forgive the death of Ned Stark. The wolves hate the lions and Father knows that..…"
"Our father believes that everything that happens in the Seven Kingdoms revolves around him. He is wrong. Think about what Snow did and said at the wedding."
"What do you mean?"
"Jaime, if Snow truly hated House Lannister, last night would have been quite different. I stood at the altar when he revealed himself. I am a Lannister, even if I am short and unloved. Snow could have killed me easily. He also captured Margaery Tyrell. Her marriage to Joffrey is what keeps us on the Iron Throne. If Snow hated our house, he would have killed her. Think of how weak our position would be without an alliance with Highgarden."
Podrick served the creamy chestnut soup from a large tureen into two smaller bowls. Tyrion dipped the crusty bread into the thick bisque, sprinkled on top with smoked duck breast, goat cheese, chopped herbs and crisp croutons. He ate eagerly, while his brother only nibbled.
"Snow's anger is directed at the crown. In the sept, he talked about justice for Ned Stark, Princess Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys. Three of those are Martells. He saved wildfire for the Iron Throne when he could have burned down the royal sept. And another thing. Gregor Clegane's death was no accident. Ser Jacelyn tells me that Gregor killed a gold cloak when he demanded a maester. The Mountain was hurt before he left the castle."
"How?" Jaime asked.
"Oberyn Martell was seen with a spear leaving the Tower of the Hand. How he got a long spear, so soon after the sept, is the better question."
"Snow is in league with the Martells." Jaime realized.
"Perhaps, but there is no proof. We have no idea whether the Starks have other spies or allies in the capital. We have no idea why Varys was killed, or how Snow managed to kill Pycelle or Osmund Kettleblack in the sept. And there is no chance of claiming Winterfell without Sansa. There is no good reason to continue this war. There are many bad ones. Pride, anger, refusing to admit our losses. A truce, however temporary, would serve House Lannister better."
Jamie shook his head. "Father will never agree to that. He wants a dynasty that will last a thousand years. So that the Lannister name will live forever."
Tyrion wiped the soup from his mouth. "Jamie, that is a bunch of codswallop. Joffrey's dynasty may end in less than a decade. And even if it lasts, the name will be Baratheon, not Lannister. House Lannister has ruled Casterly Rock for four thousand years. That will continue no matter who is on the Iron Throne. Father's actions are not for our house. Everything he does, he does for his own glory. He hates the Starks because they have made him look foolish."
"He won't stop, Tyrion. Father will fight to the bitter end." Jamie said.
"So will the Starks."
Arya stayed out of sight until the Wolf Wind had departed Tumbler's Falls. There, the three boats replenished their provisions, taking in barrels of salt cod, salt beef, salt pork, flour, peas, biscuits, and beer. The Winter Town boys bought fresh fruits and vegetables from merchants - apples, beans, cabbage, onions, turnips and beets. A great iron vat was heated in the galley, and bubbled over with coarse oats and water, thickened into a glutinous porridge. The burgoo was ladled into wooden bowls, and then the cook added a pat of butter, blackstrap molasses, and a dollop of the greasy fat skimmed from the salt meat. Burgoo would never be served at a royal feast but the oatmeal and hardtack biscuits made a hearty midday meal.
Jon stood at the ship's bow after he finished speaking with Sandor Clegane. The Hound had exchanged his white cloak for thick brown robes, hiding his gray plate armor. He might have looked like a farmer but for the Mountain's six foot sword, strapped on his back.
"What did you find out?" Arya asked. A hesitant Sansa joined her as well, and the Stark sisters waited for their brother to compose his thoughts.
"We should have killed Baelish."
"Baelish, not Tywin Lannister?" Arya asked.
"Petyr Baelish had Jeyne raped again and again in his brothels." Sansa said.
"That is not the only reason we should kill him. Baelish planned to sell Jeyne as Arya Stark. He asked her questions about Winterfell, Maester Luwin, who was the master of arms, the captain of the guards, the master of horse, the blacksmith." Jon said.
"But they are all loyal to House Stark." Sansa said.
"Baelish would have had them all killed. And our brothers would be dead as well - Robb, Jon, Bran, even little Rickon. So no one could question that Jeyne was a Stark." Arya realized.
"It goes deeper than that. If Baelish planned to sell her as a Stark, who would he sell her to? Most likely, one of our bannermen."
"But our sworn houses - the Karstarks, the Umbers, the Manderlys, the Glovers and the Mormonts - have pledged their oaths to Father many times." Sansa said.
"Traitors always claim to be loyal. What if the Iron Throne promised Winterfell as a reward for betrayal? If the North fought the Westerlands in a pitched battle, Robb would win. But if the Lannisters could bribe and corrupt our bannermen, then the outcome would be very different. When we executed Lord Bolton, he said others would break faith with House Stark."
'You can hardly trust Roose Bolton's words." Arya said.
"No, but we would be fools to ignore them. Before I killed Varys, he claimed that he could tell me of Tywin's plans. Is Baelish working with Tywin? Or did Baelish have plans against the Starks that he did not share with the Lannisters? Lord Tywin might be plotting with others against us."
"Baelish always had kind words for me." Sansa said.
"So did Joffrey until he chopped off Ned Stark's head. So did the Queen when she asked you to write a letter to Robb declaring Father a traitor" Jon said.
Sansa Stark burst into tears. 'I didn't know, Jon. I didn't know..."
Jon cut off her apology. "Now you do. Baelish is a liar. His lie to Catelyn Stark about Tyrion Lannister began the war. The Hound saw his betrayal of Ned Stark in the throne room. Actions prove who someone is, words just show what they pretend to be."
"What are we going to do?" Arya said.
"We have no ravens and Robb is on the move. But we know now why Father died. He trusted too easily and valued honor too much. That cost him his head. Mercy and honor are wasted on men like Tywin Lannister and Petyr Baelish."
"I wish I slit Littlefinger's throat in the sept." Arya said to her sister's shock.
"He deserves a worse death than that." Jon replied. "He deserves to die screaming."
The docks at Seagard reminded Robb of White Harbor - clean and well ordered with cobbled streets. The houses were smaller and made of wood - not stone, and there was no great ringfort, buzzing with scorpions and spitfires to defend the harbor. The smells and sounds of brewhouses and fish market greeted them on their walk to the ships.
They passed by the war galleys and longships, making directly for the cogs. Lord Mallister had sent runners ahead, and the anxious captains waited by their merchant boats. Unlike warships named after great nobles or to strike fear in enemies, the cogs had unassuming modest titles, like the Merry Midwife, the Horn of Plenty, and the Seastrider. At least two dozen fat bellied ships rested at the wharves, sturdy seagoing traders as long as any Ironborn longship and wider at the beam. The high sides would make them difficult to board in naval battle.
Two Stark guards plunked down a heavy chest full of gold and silver, only a small fraction of ransom from the God's Eye. The captains, from ports ranging from Oldtown to far away Volantis stared at the shining coins with great curiosity.
"I want to hire your ships and crew for the fight against Euron Greyjoy and the Ironborn." Robb announced.
A short hairy man with bushy whiskers and beard dyed green snorted. "My thanks, Lord Stark, for paying us instead of merely taking our ships but the Crow's Eye will not fear cogs."
"My lord, they say you are unbeaten in the field, but this is the sea. Casso Mogat may be too blunt, but when have wolves ever done well in water?" a Pentoshi man said.
"There are wolves that swim the coasts of Bear Island. They hunt seals, whale carcasses, and salmon." Dacey Mormont said.
"But not kraken, my lady." a big captain said.
"The Greyjoys are rather proud. They will not expect any challenge from fat bellied cogs. And that's where they will be wrong. Gerry - " Robb said.
The tall blond boy came forward and put down a sheet of parchment. Sketched on the bow of a cog was a tall multi deck platform. "This is a forecastle, my lords. Archers can hide here and rain down arrows on the longships below."
The Half Ibbinese captain stared. "It might work but it would unbalance the ship. It would be too heavy in the bow and lean forward"
"Right - but that is why we will build an aft castle. Behind the mast and above the transom, we can erect an even larger platform. Because we have more space, it will be wide and broad, and a final wall against the ironborn ship. Even after they have boarded the deck, our men would still be higher and attack from above." Gerry said.
"But the taller you build, the harder it is to sail. The more weight on the front and back, the easier it might be to capsize in a storm." an Essosi captain said.
"That is true, Ser. But there is one last piece of the puzzle. Maester Snow drew this." With reverence, Gerry took out a sheet of worn vellum. Sketched on the main mast of a sailing ship was a basket like top, tall enough to reach a man's chest. It was a lofty perch, a wooden barrel covered in canvas, between the tops of the lower mast and the shrouds of the top mast.
"What is that thing?" The big broad captain asked.
"A crow's nest. A fighting top for the cog where the best archers can be placed. In the center, it will help balance the weight of the forecastle and the aftcastle." Gerry said.
"Aye, a crow's nest to shoot out the crow's eye. The Ironborn carry shields on the sides of their ships. That won't matter against our archers firing from high up. When they board, we will throw them back into the sea." Robb said.
"Lord Stark, these designs are quite novel. But the longships are already faster than cogs. We will be slower still with this extra weight." The short green bearded man said.
"You won't need to sail. I plan to take a galley out at night, and in the morning, race back to the shore. The ironborn will be eager to claim the ship as a prize. The cogs will be lashed together, and anchored near the harbor. The men on the cogs will hide until they come close. And then when they board, we will shower them with missles. Arrows, bolts, javelins. And I will give men spears to kill the squids as they climb the freeboard and decks." Robb said.
"We will need help from your sailors so we can build castles and crow's nests on the ships in a few days." Gerry said.
"Everyone will help. The North expects every man will do his duty." Robb said.
They would need everyone. Carpenters, boatswains and quartermasters on the ships. Smiths and apprentices and fletchers onshore. Trees of ash and cedar would be chopped down, and forges would produce arrow and spear heads. Even the women and children were enlisted in gathering goose feathers, splitting logs into dowels, preparing thread and linen, and making nocks out of horn and bone. The Ironborn preyed on the weak and helpless. They would find a very different welcome at Seagard.
The wind died down as they sailed up the river to the God's Eye. Arya had travelled along the blue green ribbon of water when she fled with the recruits of the Night's Watch from King's Landing. Then, Yoren had hoped to take refuge at Harrenhal, not knowing that Lady Shella Whent had already yielded the castle to the Lannisters. Yoren died at some empty holdfast, killed by Lorch and his men, after he ordered Arya and Gendry to escape.
Life had returned to the town on the Southern Shore of the lake. Boats bobbed on the long pier and docks and lamps shone at the large sept near the lord's towerhouse. Arya was not certain but she thought she saw an earth and timber hall to their right.
"Lord Snow. The ship is becalmed. There is an inn nearby and even holdfasts whose knights would be pleased to host us." the captain said.
Jon shook his head. "No, we must hurry to Robb's side. He will be pleased to see Sansa and Arya again." The Manderly man nodded, and walked back to the mast.
Arya sat down. The old black tom sniffed at her and then returned to feeding on the mackerel in her brother's hand. "Thank you, Jon." She had no desire to relive the memories of her flight.
"I want to see Robb too. Father always said.."
"The lone wolf died but the pack survives." She nuzzled into her brother. "Do you believe that?"
"We are stronger together than apart. But words are only words. A pack of wolves can be killed."
"Father said the Starks have endured for thousands of years." Arya said.
"The past is not the future. And nothing is certain in life." A bittersweet smile broke on Jon's face. "Well that is not entirely true. Winter is coming." Her brother's eyes stared down into the cold steel waters of the God's Eye.
"Do you think we will be safe? Once we return North?"
Jon shook his head again. "There is no safety in this world. There are only moments of less danger. We have killed a few monsters but there are others, lurking around. King's Landing breeds villains, like flies on shit."
"Do you regret it, Jon? Not burning down the sept or the throne room. We might have been able to kill both Joffrey and Tywin."
"We might also have killed the Tyrells and the Martells. That would be hard to explain to Owen and Alleras. Should we have killed everyone? It would be a great stain on our honor."
"It would have won the war. It might save the lives of our men, and protect our brothers and sister." Arya said.
Jon sighed. "I do not know. I thought of staying in King's Landing to kill Tywin with wildfire. I would likely have been captured or killed, but what is the value of a single life? You and Sansa would be safe, Robb would be King of the North, and the Iron Throne would have no hold on the Starks. A few lives lost - thousands more spared."
Arya smacked him hard in the arm. "Don't be stupid. You won't die. And you won't give up. Sacrificing yourself sounds like one of Sansa's stories about two fatheads in love. You know what they say about you and Robb. Dire wolves cannot be beaten in battle."
Jon smiled and tousled her hair fondly. "Anyone can lose. But we will continue to fight."
From the sea captains, Robb had learned more than he ever expected about winds, waves, boats, and sails. The waters of the Bite and the Narrow Sea were rough only in autumn but Ironman's Bay was never calm. Strong winds could drive waves twenty feet high, a danger to both cogs and longships. The last five days had seen cold and dreary weather with sharp winds blowing Northwest, forcing the squids to take shelter in coves along the Cape of Eagles.
The Ironborn were excellent sailors but not eager to fight ship to ship. The Pentoshi trader had explained the tactics quite well. The men of the Iron Isles preferred to board and fight, so they could ransom the crew and take the ship as a prize. Longships were too narrow to carry back plunder and thralls. Unlike the dromonds and war galleys of the royal fleet, the Iron Fleet carried no rams. In the cold and choppy waters of the Northern seas, ramming an enemy vessel would have resulted in sinking both attacker and defender.
Black sails bearing the golden kraken had been spotted fifty miles away on the coast. The Northern army was ready for battle. Hundreds and hundreds of barrels bristling with arrows had been loaded onto the cogs. Forecastles, aftcastles, and crow's nests had been erected on the cogs. All that remained was the final orders for battle.
"The galley will sail soon. All soldiers will board the ships tonight, so that you will be ready for battle tomorrow." Robb said to the captains and commanders. The Mallisters would accompany Robb on the Silver Eagle, the larger of their war galleys.
"Lord Stark, should we wear our full armor on board?" Ser Mychel Redfort asked. The Vale knights were entirely uncomfortable with fighting on water,
"For tomorrow, we have three types of forces. The greatest number will be archers, hidden in the castles and other platforms. The second will be the foot, and yes, you will wear plate and mail, and shields, and drive any who board the ships. The third will be the marines. They will be lightly armored and carry javelins, spears and knives. The knights and men at arms will form a wall to stop any charges or arrows and the marines can flank and harass the enemy."
"We will send them back to their fucking Drowned God." The Greatjon said.
"Only if we surprise them. The Ironborn ships are quicker than ours. Plus, in the morning, there will be a sea breeze blowing toward shore. The longships will be upwind from our cogs. We want their entire fleet to engage our ships. We will not reveal our numbers until they come close and cannot retreat. Our archers should fire at the last moment." Robb said.
"We will have other men in the harbor, my Lord. If they should swim for shore, they will not escape our axes and swords." Jason Mallister said.
"Lord Stark, I fear you underestimate the Crow's Eye." Casso Mogat said.
Robb quieted the Northern commanders with a glance. "What do you mean, captain? I would welcome your thoughts."
"It is a good plan, and the Ironborn have not seen ships or tactics like these. But Euron Greyjoy is feared for a reason. He has pillaged, raped, and murdered all over the world. The Crow's Eye is a dangerous man, hard to predict, and even harder to kill. He consorts with warlocks and sorcerers. The deck of the Silence is soaked red with blood." the short Ibbinese said.
"More likely to be paint. Euron Crow's Eye has not raped Seagard. And so long as I am here, he will not do so." Robb answered.
The Silver Eagle sailed out from Seagard into a clear night, propelled by a steady land breeze. The dire wolves stared at the stars and a full moon before lying down for a well deserved rest. All three had grown larger than a pony, but were still one or two hands shy of a full grown destrier. Robb rubbed his dire wolf's smoke grey fur behind the ears but Grey Wind merely opened his eyes briefly and then went back to his bondmates. Ghost and Nymeria had already fallen asleep, huddled together for warmth and comfort.
Robb chuckled. He had told his men to do the same - to rest up before the battle. Watchers had been posted at the bow, the stern, and the crow's nest, and the Mallisters assured him the longships had anchored at least half a day away. The land breeze blew west at night, and the Greyjoys were unlikely to row against the wind in darkness. Robb closed his eyes.
He woke up to a sharp rap on the door. A young Mallister page bore the captain's message - sails had been sighted at last on the horizon. With the help of Olyvar, he quickly dressed and went out into the cool morning air. His guard had already assembled - Mychel Redfort, Dacey Mormont, Robar Royce, Smalljon Umber, and other Valemen and Northern lords. Gerry and the other Wintertown boys readied the two catapults on the deck.
"You can't see the sails from the deck, but Wyl took a spyglass to the crow's nest. He says he saw the squids." Hallis Mollen chattered.
The young guard in question had already climbed down the rope ladder. "Lord Stark, I saw black sails on many ships, with lines of gold."
Those would be the Greyjoy ships. Their sigil was a golden kraken on a black field, although in truth it appeared to Robb a yellow blob with squiggles. "Can we tell which ship is the Silence?"
"The hull of the Silence is red, not black or brown like the other ships. But we are too far away to see." The Mallister captain said.
"And are the longships moving?"
"No, my lord. This early in the morning, the winds have died down. The Ironborn will wait to sail until the breeze begins to blow from the sea." The captain said.
"Get us closer, and then get ready to run for the shore." Robb ordered.
The Mallister men were skilled sailors and navigators. The galley looped about in a semicircle, hiding in the morning fog, until it slipped close to the Ironborn ships, but with the prows facing east. The Silver Eagle had only used the sails, choosing to preserve any rowing for a battle. Men readied their weapons but had yet to don armor or string bows.
The Silence was an ugly ominous ship. The hull and deck were blood red and the sails darker than the other Greyjoy ships. The kraken sigil was leaner and somehow hungrier, like the tentacles ravenous for prey. A motley crew of rogues manned the decks - some hairy and squat, others dark as pitch. On the prow, a maiden of black iron hung with outstretched thin arms, and unblinking mother of pearl eyes. The Crow's Eye had sewn her mouth shut.
The Silence was completely quiet. Robb wondered why anyone would rip out the tongues of men to command a mute crew. How did Euron sail on the seas with no voice but his own? The Crow's Eye was a madman and the Iron born fools to follow him.
The catapults launched the stones through the air. The first splashed short but the second smashed into the figurehead, jarring loose the eyes. A third stone crashed into the white painted hair and the head fell to the side. A merciful death, Robb thought. An angry black haired man with a dark beard and a patch over his left eye appeared on deck. The right eye was blue as a robin's egg, deeper than the pale blue lips. The Crow's Eye screamed orders. The Mallister galley sailed past, the eagle on purple sigil taunting the squids. The chase was on.
The pursuit took hours. The Silver Eagle ran downwind, heading straight for the shore, powered by a strong wind. The Iron Fleet followed, like a pack of dogs that had scented a fox. But I am no fox, Robb thought. The galley easily matched the longships cutting through the waves.
"The Crow's Eye may use oars soon." Jason Mallister said as they sighted the walls of Seagard. For now, the ships used only sails - no captain wanted to exhaust his crew too early.
"Why are his lips blue?" Robb asked.
"He drinks the shade of the evening which makes him half mad. They say Euron cavorts with warlocks and has visions of vile abominations, half man, half fish, that rule the deepest and darkest corners of the ocean."
"Half mad? Far more than half. Prepare for battle." Robb and his guard donned their armor, and archers strung their bows. The dire wolves stayed hidden and silent.
They sailed past fat bellied merchant ships, seemingly exposed vessels bobbing on the outer edges of the harbour. But the cogs were lashed together from stern to prow, and formed two lines, so that missiles could be shot from the sides without fear of hitting each other. As the Silver Eagle passed, archers, infantry and marines began to emerge on the new platforms.
The smaller Mallister galley, the Defiance, met them in the harbor with two other cogs, the Myrnaham and the Merry Midwife. The Silver Eagle turned so the port side faced the oncoming longships. The Ironborn, eager for plunder and blood, surged forward, swarming like crazed bees, raining volleys of spears and arrows as they prepared to board and take their prizes. The Seagard ships held their fire and waited.
The Silence stayed back, content to allow a dozen ships rush past toward the galleys. A longship with a gray unmarked sail was in the lead, and its captain, a tall man with white hair and a hideous scar across lips and jaw swore at his crew to row harder.
The Silver Eagle waited until the boat was nearly upon them, and the two catapults fired, heavy stones smashing into the high arched prow of the longship. Then the Northmen fired from all three sides. Arrows whistled into the air from the two lines even as the Silver Eagle, the Defiance, the Merry Midwife and the Myrnaham sent a deadly barrage directly into the advancing ships. Without shields, scores of oarsmen sprouted arrows, and the decks of the longships began to bleed red. The Foamdrinker slowed, but men on the Greyjoy ship tossed grappling hooks with sturdy hooks while others hurled spears to offer cover. The Ironborn attempted to climb over, but Robb's guard formed a wall on the foredeck, spears in both hands, the points aimed out over the edge of the Silver Eagle's sides. The forest of spears and plate armor protected them from arrows.
The Ironborn captain climbed onto the prow, trying to jump over the rail onto the deck. Even the high end of the prow barely reached the elevated deck of the forecastle. The white haired man, fenced in by Mychel Redfort and Roland Waynwood's spears made an awkward leap, only to be greeted by Grey Wind. The dire wolf ripped his right arm off at the shoulder before savaging the already scarred face. Ghost and Nymeria defended the stern of the boat, allowing the lightly armored marines to gut man with javelins as they crossed. And above them all, a storm of arrows rained from above, piercing the eyes, neck, and heads of the Ironborn.
More and more longships joined the battle, but all over the harbor, the same scene played out. The advantage of height in hand to hand battle was considerable. For missile fire, the North had the edge in height, cover, and thousands and thousands of arrows. Again and again, the reavers clashed against heavily armored fighters only to be shot in the face or back, or stabbed in the legs and sides by the marines. Slowly and surely, Robb's forces were winning, and the harbour began to fill with the bodies of the Ironborn, hurled or pushed back over the sides.
"Lord Stark!." Ser Mychel Redfort cried in alarm. After his spear had been caught in a dead man's belly, the Vale knight shifted to sword and shield, fighting like a legendary Falcon Knight.
On the deck of the Silence, a monstrous man with a shaved head and dusky skin hefted a shiny dark and twisted war horn with both hands. The man wore many tattoos, the most prominent a black bird of prey, talons dripping blood on his naked chest. The horn was enormous, as tall as a man, banded with red gold and Valyrian steel, and glowing with red glyphs. The cheeks of the tattooed man puffed and he blew.
AAARRREEEEE.
The horn screamed, a wail of tortured pain and primal fury. The shriek went on and on, and Robb could hear nothing else. He wanted desperately to slam his hands to his ears but he forced himself to keep his shield and sword. All about him, men cowered - both the Northmen and the Ironborn were stunned by the horrible sound.
AAAAARRRREEEE.
Euron's mongrel blew the horn again, and the howl pounded into the Silver Eagle like a winter squall. The mast shivered and the sails heaved and bulged like a bloated belly. The deck of the forecastle quivered, and the crow's nest shook, pitching archers into the rope netting below.
"Reef the sail." The Manderly captain screamed as the galley began to list to the starboard side. No one could reach the mast, and even the most nimble sailors stumbled.
The dire wolves took cover under the sides of the cog. Robb realized what that meant. "Fall down! Fall down!" He yelled to his men.
AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEE
The tattooed man blew one last blast, and the squall grew into a titanic storm. The screaming drowned out all sound but Robb could see the terrible horn shimmer with a white fire, and the muscles in the hornblower's chest twitch and the bird tattoo convulse, as if it desperately needed to escape. The planks of the Silver Eagle cracked and the rafters holding up the aft and forecastle shattered. The archers on the tottering platforms fell along with wood, ropes and sail. The mast broke and the boom fell onto the deck. Behind him, Robb heard screams of fear and pain. He turned to see the famed walls of Seagard tumbling down.
At last, the shriek ended when the hornblower collapsed, mouth full of blood and lips blistered. Blood gushed from the mute's nose, lips, and even the chest. The bird of prey bled red. One of Euron's mongrels snatched away the horn before it could fall. No one gave a shit about the tattooed man. The Crow's Eye laughed, surveying the hell the devil horn had wrought.
It was a strange boast. The Silver Eagle and the Defiance had suffered greatly, and the newly erected platforms on the Seagard ships were broken. Gaps and fissures could be seen on hulls and huge rips on the sails but the cogs had not sunk. The Ironborn were not so lucky. The Iongships in the wake of the horn blast were crippled, masts fallen, hull breached, keels broken. Besides dead bodies, the waters of Ironman's Bay were littered with the prows of wrecked longships. Euron Greyjoy had damaged the Mallister fleet. He had destroyed his own though, or at least the longships that engaged the galleys and cogs. Euron knew he would be defeated, Robb realized, so he protected his retreat by sacrificing his own.
The fighting men struggled to recover from the blasts of the horn. The dire wolves had no such trouble. After the third blast, Grey Wind, Ghost and Nymeria cleared the deck, killing the stunned reavers with teeth and fangs. The Stark sigils were covered in blood, but none of it was their own. Even a horn from Hell could not stop a dire wolf.
"Lord Stark, what should we do?" Ser Mychel said. He dispatched a wounded Iron Born with a sword thrust through the eye.
"Sink the rest of the longships. Our ships are in no position to pursue." Robb said.
The Silence departed West, leaving behind the carnage. The other ships were too crippled to follow. The water was thick with blood, corpses, and debris. Ironmen were clubbed or stabbed to death when they reached shore. Most simply drowned in their armor. The fish in Ironmen's Bay would feast for weeks.
The Silver Eagle limped back to the wharves, passing the barges and merchant boats tasked to return the Northern army to shore. As they neared Seagard, the extent of the damage was revealed. All three walls had crumbled. Last night when the Silver Eagle sailed out, a bright moon and stars shone on a dozen towers. None remained. Smallfolk, men too old to fight, women and children had taken refuge in the walled town. How many had died when Euron ordered the horn blown? How many had been trapped in the toppled towers? It was a ghastly thought - that they were helpless to protect the weak from Euron's wrath.
The Silver Eagle had lost a mast, sails, the top, and most of the oars on the portside. Still the war galley fared better than most ships, and far better than Seagard. The town was ruined. The docks survived but brewhouses and market stalls had not. Everywhere Robb could see signs of destruction and hear the sounds of mourning. The rivermen were stunned silent in shock.
"Lord Mallister, I am sorry that we could not help Seagard more." Robb said.
"My Lord, you have nothing to be sorry for. It was Euron and his horn from Hell. Had we fought at the walls, even more would have died. And the Ironborn might have overcome us and taken Seagard." a sorrowful Jason Mallister replied.
"Where did he get such a thing?" Ser Mychel asked.
"I can tell you." A man wearing a lambswool tunic of green and black over mail was escorted by Wylis. Two dozen Ironborn men stood uneasily, guarded by Wendel and Manderly knights.
"Who are you, Ser? And why are you not in chains?" Robb asked. The Ironborn captain's face was handsome but ruddy, the product of life spent on boats.
"Lord Stark, this man claims that he is opposed to Euron Greyjoy." Wylis said.
"The Crow's Eye is a kinslayer, a blackguard, and a far worse monster than the scum that man the Silence. I support Asha, Balon's daughter." the man said, fingering the seven pointed star pinning his sable cloak. "My name is Baelor Blacktyde, Lord of Blacktyde."
"I knew your father." Jason said. "He was a good man fighting for a bad cause."
"I do not fight for Euron. I am spying on him. Balon Greyjoy fell to his death from a bridge two moons ago. The next day, Euron returned to the Iron Isles. He claimed the Seastone Chair and the Iron Fleet." Baelor said.
"So Euron murdered his brother to become king? But what of Balon's children?" Robb asked.
"I am certain he did. At the moot, some captains supported Asha, others Theon. But Euron had a mute blow the dragonhorn and declared that the Ironborn would conquer all of Westeros. And then the fools elected him the new Iron King." Baelor said.
"Isn't Theon his father's heir?" Robb asked.
"Theon has been away from the islands for ten years. He knows as much about longships as you do. Asha would have made an excellent queen. Balon was mad, Aeron is madder, and Euron is the maddest of all. He will bring doom on the Iron Isles, and perhaps the Seven Kingdoms. Asha fled with Theon to escape being murdered by her uncle."
"Tell me more about this horn." Robb said.
"Euron claims he found the horn in Valyria but Lord Harlaw believes he stole it from warlocks. The man who blew the horn at the kingsmoot is dead, and his lungs were charred black. Euron says the horn can bind dragons to his will." Baelor said.
"Dragons?" Robb asked. A madman who ripped out the tongues of his men would do far worse with a dragon. "How could you elect a kinslayer as your King?"
"Lord Stark, men are fools, and the Ironborn more foolish than most. But many of us would see Euron deposed. His brother, the Damphair, is high priest of the Drowned God. He opposes Euron. So do Asha and Theon, and Lord Harlaw and several others. But everyone fears the Crow's Eye. He would not hesitate to kill us all." Baelor said.
"And the dragons. How will Euron find dragons?" Robb said.
"After Seagard, he plans to sail to Essos to marry Daenerys Targaryen and bring her and her dragons back to Westeros." Baelor said.
"Dragons do not answer to gods or men. Why would they listen to a kraken?" Mychel said.
"The horn. There is magic in the horn, and the Crow's Eye controls it." Baelor said.
Robb was tallying the casualties when bells rang in the army camp. One in ten of the Northmen had died on the ships. More were injured, and unable to fight. Most of the losses had come, not in the heat of battle, but from the dragon horn, when the fore and aftcastle and the crow's nests had fallen down. It was no comfort that the Ironborn deaths were greater.
"Lord Stark. A large force of men from the North. Two stone towers connected by a bridge." The outrider said.
"Fucking Freys." The Greatjon spat. "Where were they when we were fighting?"
"The Freys are always late. They are famous for it." Patrek Mallister said.
"Edmure would have been married only three or four days ago. Why are they here?" Robb said. He walked out, guarded by Dacey, Patrek and the Smalljon. He passed a tent where Talisa and the Wintertown boys were setting broken bones and treating wounds with wine and vinegar. That included smallfolk, who had fled the town with their children and their meager possessions, to seek shelter in the countryside.
"Lord Stark." Lame Lothar Frey rode at the head of the procession, wearing an absurd feathered hat over his fleshy face. Narrow piggish eyes swept over the army camp. He was accompanied by several knights wearing other sigils - three sprigs of mistletoe, a black pitchfork and a golden heron with a silver fish in its beak. "I congratulate you on your great victory over the squids."
"You did not come south for that. Why are you here?" Robb asked. With muddy roads, it would have taken the Frey men over a day to ride fifty miles. They must have left the Twins even as the Silver Eagle sailed from Seagard.
"My father prepared a great marriage feast for Edmure Tully. Alas, you could not attend. So Lord Walder wishes to bring you meat and drink, my lord. Victuals and dishes from the wedding."
The Greatjon snorted. "How? Your men are mounted on palfreys. Where are the wagons? Where are the cooks and the servants?"
"They are coming South, my Lord, but the wagons would take them too long to reach Seagard. Our men have set up feast tents at Sevenstreams, and dug fire pits and erected pavilions. Your mother and the other Riverlords wait to greet you there." Lothar said unctuously.
Sevenstreams, a village directly north of the Blue Fork, was half the distance to the Twins. It was larger than Hag's Mire, full of bogs and bad roads. After Seagard, Robb had planned to follow the Blue Fork south to Fairmarket to seek news of Jon Snow and his sisters.
"Lord Stark, our forces are low on provisions. I had hoped to feast you at our castle but after the Ironborn attack….." Patrek Mallister said. Seagard was in no shape to host any meal.
"We have wine, my lord. Barrels of ale. Casks of mead. Ale. Cider. Everything you could wish to quench your thirst." Lothar said.
"Very well. My men will attend tomorrow." Robb said. He turned to dismiss the Freys and return to the wounded.
The cold rain did not stop the boom of activity. Robb spent the morning speaking to captains and watching the Manderlys and Winter Town Boys examine the damage done to the cogs. There was much talk of masts, keels, rudders, hulls, and other nautical terms. Robb listened, nodded, and authorized gold and silver to pay for repairs. Gerry noted the amounts of each ship on parchment while carpenters and mates oversaw sailors swarming on board hammering nails, bracing planks, and jury rigging sails and beams with spare canvas and wood. Clever boys dove into the harbor to salvage parts from the longships.
Robb posted lookouts on the Cape of Eagles to ensure that the Crow's Eye did not return. And over the last night, Northern soldiers with the help of the Mallisters rescued innocent victims from the rubble. Seagard had suffered a sharp blow from the Crow's Eye but would recover.
Lord Karstark and the Greatjon had already gone to the feast with their men. The Glovers and the Flints followed, along with the Mountain men. Some Northmen chose to stay near Seagard but for most, the allure of ale and mead overcame any dislike of the Freys.
The horses were saddled and Talisa left orders to oversee the wounded. Out of the Winter town boys, only Gerry would attend. The boy had kept his nerve on the Silver Eagle, and was a great help to Robb at the docks. The Manderlys would serve as an escort along with the other members of his Honor guard - Dacey Mormont, Eddard Karstark and the Smalljon. Only the dire wolves were not eager to leave. Grey Wind growled and snapped, while Nymeria snarled and sulked. Finally, they began the ride to Sevenstreams.
The wolves were restless. Even Ghost bristled, his ears erect and the fur on his back raised. The trio of dire wolves watched the men with narrowed eyes, bared teeth and pointed tails. One would take a place near Talisa while the others prowled and hunted far ahead.
Once again, Robb wished that Jon was by his side. His brother could slip into the bond with Ghost with ease. Robb loved Grey Wind dearly but he was too busy with duties to the North and the war to explore the connection with the dire wolf. Then he thought of Sansa's Lady, who had been killed by his father. Had the gods cursed Ned Stark for that crime?
They had travelled over an hour on the muddy road when a band of outriders came. A knight and his squire approached until Grey Wind howled. The palfrey skittered and the pony bucked, throwing the boy and his longbow onto the soft ground. Nymeria growled and the pony ran away, almost trampling the boy. The Frey knight raised his shield and spear, but at an angry cry from the Smalljon, held back.
"That animal nearly killed my squire." The knight yelled.
"That animal is a dire wolf, Ser. And if you attack a Stark wolf, you will lose more than your squire." Ser Mychel Redfort said. The Vale knight was fully armed and armored.
"Enough." Robb said. "Why are you here? We are still many miles away from Sevenstream." At least two dozen men rode behind the Frey knight. "Pardon, Lord Stark." Another man with the sigil of the Twins said. "Lothar asked us to make certain you reach the feast."
"Why would we not reach the village? This is the only road North." Dacey said.
The Frey knight leered at the Mormont heir. "There may be brigands and thieves lurking. Deserters and bandits like this Brotherhood without Banners."
"These are my father's lands, Black Walder. And the eagles need no help protecting our allies." Patrek Mallister said hotly.
"Very well. We will ride ahead, to announce that you are coming." The Frey knight turned away, and led his companions north. The dire wolves glared as they left.
They made the rest of the trip in silence, with the only sound the rain beating down on their heads. Ghost and Nymeria had disappeared, although Robb did not doubt Grey Wind's litter mates were around, if unseen. They heard the music coming over the hill, a jangling rattle of some bells, and badly played flutes and pipes. The obnoxious din sounded more like a dirge than a wedding.
They passed the rise, and the camps appeared below them, next to the headwaters of the Blue Fork. Three great feast tents stood open in the middle of the pavilion, surrounded by dozens of Frey tents and wagons loaded with ale and wine. In the feast tents, hundreds of men crowded the benches and made toasts before emptying their tankards. Robb could hear the Greatjon along with Umber men belt out a bawdy song. The drinking must have been going on for hours, and still the wenches rushed about, filling up horns and mugs like their lives depended on it. Outside the tents, serving men turned huge joints of meat on spits above open fires.
A welcoming party of Freys walked to greet them. Lame Lothar led the group, but there was also Ser Ryman and his three sons, including the odious Black Walder that had met them on the road. Half a dozen other sons of Lord Walder stood by, but Robb did not see Stevron, Perwyn, or Olyvar. Grey Wind stepped in front of Talisa, his teeth bared.
"Lord Stark, welcome." Lothar began. "I am afraid your wolf will have to stay outside. He will frighten the servants."
The dire wolf in question snarled. Black Walder and Lothar stood their ground but the other men wilted. Robb tried to calm his companion with a quiet word but Grey Wind only shook the rain off, the beads of water landing on the Freys. "Grey Wind belongs with me."
"He will be happier in the kennel with a leg of mutton." A Frey man said.
The wolf growled, a rumble that Robb had heard only in battle. Robb stepped forward. "Lead me to the feast." Frey squires and pages rushed out to take their horses.
Robb sat at the crowded high table. The Freys had wished to seat him between Ryman and Lothar but Robb chose instead to save those seats for Lady Catelyn and Talisa. Lame Lothar said that the rains had delayed them but his mother would arrive with the other Rivermen. Ser Mychel and Ser Roland stood watch, taking turns with Robin Flint and Donnel Locke. His guard was forced to sit lower, mixed with Lord Walder's sons and grandsons.
The food had yet to arrive but the ale, mead and wine, flowed free and fast. The few platters of meat vanished as soon as the servers passed the tent flaps. The Greatjon drank and sang, and sang and drank. His voice carried through the hall, even drowning out the terrible musicians who could barely carry a tune.
"Is this too loud for you, my lady?" Robb shouted.
"If this is a Northern wedding feast, I will not wish to get married." Talisa replied.
Robb's eyebrows arched in faux outrage. "But what about little Ned Stark? The heir to Winterfell must have a father and a mother."
"Our child will, and we do not know whether it is a boy or a girl. We could name her Lyarra or Minisa after your grandmothers." Talisa said.
"We will be married at Winterfell, my lady. If the Gods be good, Jon and my sisters will be there. And Bran and Rickon." Robb said. Their talk was interrupted by a tall blond boy.
Gerry rushed over. "Something is wrong. I did not see any Tully men or any of the riverlord sigils in the camp. The Pipers, the Vances, the Blackwoods - they are not here, my Lord."
Edmure would have sent Tully guards with Lady Catelyn. And as for the riverlords, a few might have stayed at the Twins with their liege. But others, like Marq Piper and Karyl Vance, would be eager to hear of any battle versus the Ironborn. Yesterday, Lothar had told him that his mother and the Rivermen waited at Sevenstreams.
"Go to the Karstarks, the Manderlys and the Smalljon. Tell them to arm themselves." Robb said. At the feast, given the great heat and the cramped quarters, few wore mail. The exception was Ser Mychel who remained in plate armor. The young boy nodded, and slunk away.
Lothar Frey stood up, leaning on an ornate walking stick. "We have a special dish for you, Lord Stark." The drums pounded as two serving men carried a weighty platter to the dais.
Robb placed his hand on Talisa's knee with an assurance he did not feel. "Lothar, where is my mother? Why is she not at the feast?"
"Lady Stark won't be joining us." Lothar sneered.
A Frey man uncovered the silver lid and revealed the head of a black wolf, freshly slaughtered, blood still dripping on the plate. The music stopped as the pipers, drummers and flute players threw away their instruments and pulled out crossbows.
Grey Wind exploded into action, knocking over the table to form a crude bulwark. Still the table was too low, and only Mychel Redfort was fully armed. Crossbow bolts hit Donnel Locke and Ser Roland Waynwood in the chest, killing both men. Ser Mychel stepped in front of Robb, and three quarrels stuck to the red castle on his shield.
"Northmen, we have been betrayed." Robb threw his tankard of wine into Ryman Frey's face, dodging the long ax that slammed into the table. Ryman was fat, slow and drunk but there were a dozen others behind him. Below the high table, chaotic fighting had broken out. Five Frey men tried to wrestle the Greatjon down. The Smalljon ripped a table off its trestle and smashed it over the head of several Frey knights. Galbert Glover rose to his feet, only to be cracked over the back of the head. And through it all, the crossbows kept their deadly fire, killing Robb's guard. Owen Norrey died. Robin Flint. Morgan Liddle. They would not survive the crossbows.
A white blur ran through the tent, jumped onto the tables, and landed amidst the false musicians. Ghost tore a man's arm off and then lunged at another, ripping the throat open. The white dire wolf killed and killed and killed, and the crossbows fell silent for a moment. As Frey soldiers attacked Ghost, Nymeria appeared, and fell on their rear. The she-wolf feasted on necks and arms, her bite strong enough to crush the flesh under mail and leather. But more armored men entered the battle, carrying longbows and heavy axes. Frey knights protected the remaining crossbowmen. A kennel master released a pack of wolfhounds.
"Surrender, Lord Stark and we may let you live." Lothar Frey spat.
"What happened to my mother?"
"She died trying to escape. We meant to capture her alive but Ser Raymund killed her, as she ran to warn you. She almost made it to her horse. But the others are our prisoners - your uncle, Lucas Blackwood, Marq Piper, Lymond Goodbrook, Karyl Vance, the Bastard of Bracken. We killed all the Tully guards though." Lothar chuckled.
Robb grasped the situation quickly. Most of his men were in the tents feasting. The Freys had men outside, surrounding the tents, armed and armored. Besides the empty tankard, his only weapon was a knife for cutting meat. But he had a wolf. He slipped into Grey Wind's mind and felt a primal rage and a great fury. The first hound leaped over the table and Robb snapped Grey Wind's jaws about the dog's throat. The second wolfhound circled about more warily only to be swatted away by Ser Mychel's shield. Grey Wind quickly tore the stunned beast apart.
"You can't win, Stark."
Black Walder killed a Flint. Daryn Hornwood fell. Mountain men died from crossbow bolts. Harrion and Eddard Karstark were hard pressed, fighting back to back. The Greatjon was finally subdued when eight more men piled on him. Grey Wind bit through a man's arm at the elbow. Robb attacked again and again, tearing arms and knees apart. It wasn't enough.
"My lord."
Robb blinked. Who was calling him? The tall blond boy appeared at his side.
"My lord." Gerry said urgently. "I cut a hole through the canvas." Behind them, a mere ten feet away, was an escape route.
"Lord Stark. Go. I will cover your back. If I fall, take care of Mya." Ser Mychel said.
Robb hated to leave his men. But if he stayed here, they would all die. He took Talisa by the hand, and they ran, only to be hit by a volley of crossbow bolts. A quarrel sprouted in his shoulder and another whistled over his head. But a bolt punched through Talisa's back, the steel head protruding from her chest. The force turned her sideways and two other quarrels struck her in the belly. She moaned and fell dead, clutching her stomach.
Robb froze in shock. His father was dead, his mother, his lover, and now his unborn babe. Rage consumed him, and he went deep into Grey Wind. The dire wolf roared and charged. He evaded the knights to reach the crossbowmen. Robb killed two men before they could reload but a bolt hit the dire wolf, and then another and another. Grey Wind continued the attack, but the wounded wolf was too slow now, and could no longer dodge the stinging axes and swords. More crossbow bolts slammed into him, and everything began to fade for Robb. The last thing he heard before it turned black was the mournful cry of his packmates.
The blond boy stood over the warm, yet unresponsive body. With the few surviving Valemen, Gerry half carried, half dragged Robb out of the tent, before hacking away the quarrel shaft.
"Is he dead?" Ser Mychel said.
"No, he is alive, but not there." Gerry had seen those milky white eyes before at the Red Fork. But the Maester had returned to them. Robb Stark had not.
Fighting raged in and out of the tents. Ghost and Nymeria guarded Robb, and Northmen fought with weapons, shields and armor taken from dead Freys. Many were captured but a few leaders escaped. Mychel put on the white surcoat and removed any trace of House Stark from the body.
"Gerry, run for the Blue Fork. Find a boat and take Lord Stark to safety." Mychel put the surcoat over his plate mail. "I will distract these traitors."
"How will you find me?" Gerry asked as he wrapped his arms about Robb's shoulders.
"I won't. But the wolves will. And they will help me kill the fucking Freys." Ser Mychel raised his bloody sword. "For Robb."
"For Robb." Gerry ran south to the river.
Author's Notes
I always found the Myrcella to Dorne plot forced. The book argues that Tyrion is thinking three steps ahead. If KL falls, the Martells will try to put Myrcella on the Throne. But Tyrion has seen Sansa's treatment. Can he be certain Myrcella won't suffer the same? I think Tyrion is being willfully blind. Tyrion trusts Doran. Ned trusts Robert. But that is not the end game.
The singer is Symon Silver Tongue. In the books, Tyrion kills him when Symon tries to blackmail him to sing at the royal wedding. He is Shae's pet, and it is an omen of her betrayal.
Fried fish actually pops up quite a bit in Game of Thrones but the sardines, peppers and bread comes from Chapter 45 in Dance with Dragons, the Blind Girl. I like the Arya training chapters.
In A Feast for Crows, Cersei orders new dromonds after her father dies. And the flagship, Lord Tywin, has 800 oars - which is insane. In the real world, the largest war galley had three banks of rowers, and probably 170 oars. So four hundred oars is nuts. 800 is beyond silly.
Euron Crow's Eye is just as absurd as a 800 oar galley. Who would serve anyone who would mutilate them? How much gold justifies following a madman? GRRM does have a great rogue's gallery of psychotic villains but Euron is way out there. And unfathomably lucky in Season 8.
The actual Valyrian phrase is "Zaldrizes Buzdari Iksos Daor." A dragon is not a slave. I disagree with the Dany storyline but her attitude toward slavery is totally right. It was unfair that she never got credit for her good deeds. She was a shit ruler, but she was also a liberator.
It is an odd thing that Jaime does not tell people about the wildfire. For one, if it went off, it could kill tens of thousands. That's what Aerys planned, and how Cersei killed most of the Reach and the Faith, and probably why King's Landing exploded in the Bells. Of course he was 16 then, so that plays into it. But the entire I reveal my secrets only to Brienne seems implausible.
Tyrion's desire to make peace is predicated on the map. Westeros is much larger than the UK. The north tip of Scotland to the southern coast of England is 600 miles. KL to Winterfell is 1650 miles, about the same as Moscow to Paris. So once the army returns North, it would be a massive effort to go South again, buying the Iron Throne years to recover.
Tytos Lannister was known as the Toothless Lion and his bannermen took advantage of his weakness. Tywin never forgot that childhood humiliation. Guests at Casterly Rock mocked Lord Tytos to his face, "twisting the lion's tale." In the TV show, Charles Dance has the terrific scene where he guts a stag and tells Jaime only the family name matters. Then you realize that the King doesn't have the Lannister name. It reminds me of the Borgias - they were the first family in Italy for a decade but their actions created immense enmity. As soon as Pope Julian II got elected, the Borgias were toast.
There are two types of burgoo - the mulligan stew made in the American South and Midwest but the original burgoo is oatmeal porridge cooked by sailors and pirates. It was served by the British navy a couple days a week, and quite filling. I took a slight liberty of using it.
A longship was 45 to 75 feet long and a width of 8 feet. A cog was 49 to 82 feet long but 16 to 26 feet wide, and could carry 200 tons. Even before cannons, cogs began to replace longships in warfare. The longship is great for surprise attacks, but the armed cog wins. The freeboard of a longship was two feet. A cog's freeboard might be ten plus feet. Tough to board!
Robb's tactics come from the Battle of Sluys. The French had galleys, shallow draught vessels propelled by banks of oars. Like longships, the galleys were highly maneuverable and better at raiding. In fact, in 1340, the French were better sailors than the English! The English did not have a purpose built navy. Edward only had three warships. He requisitioned cogs and converted them by adding wooden castles at the bow and stern. That allowed the English longbow to crush the French crossbowmen. Edward III won the battle decisively.
Historians disagree about the origin of the crow's nest. According to legend, Vikings would release a crow or raven to determine where land was in times of poor visibility. But it is hard to understand why they would do so from the top of a mast. William Scoresby is credited with inventing a crow's nest as a lookout on whalers in 1807. But basket shaped structures were common by the 15th century. The English definitely had platforms to shoot arrows in 1340. Tops were used by marines with rifles, muskets and small cannons into the 1800s.
There are far fewer naval battles than land ones in the Middle Ages. But I am a big fan of the Vikings. They were excellent sailors, but refrained from ship to ship battles. They specialized in hit and run raids to gain loot and slaves. The few Viking naval battles were against other Vikings, and they would lash their boats together with shield walls in the front and archers in the back. The tactics are simple compared to a few hundred years later. Roger of Lauria, the admiral of Aragon (modern day Catalonia), would have massacred the Vikings.
The English word marine is only a few hundred years old. However, the idea of a specialized infantry that supports army and naval operations has been around for a long time. In their war against Carthage, the Romans fielded specialized naval infantry called Marinus.
Book Euron is bonkers. The Aeron Greyjoy preview in Winds of Winter is Ramsay Snow taken up a notch. Euron admits to killing three brothers and raping Aeron and another sibling as a child. There were many bad things in Season 8, but Euron the Invincible was very high on the list. And then somehow, the guy who killed a dragon and crushed multiple fleets was killed by Jaime who three seasons ago, got his ass kicked by the Sand Snakes.
The horn scene is taken from the Kingsmoot in Feast of Crows - Chapter 19. I am not sure why they didn't realize that Euron had Balon killed. The hornblower does die.
"Balon was mad, Aeron is madder and Euron is the maddest of all." Those are Baelor Blacktyde's words in the Feast of Crows. Baelor supports Asha at the moot, and is killed soon after by Euron. I made the dragonhorn a D&D horn of blasting.
Given the TEN! year wait for Winds of Winter, I have wondered about how the plot lines will merge. Clearly Dragonbinder is important - this is Chekhov's gun. A dragon is like a nuclear bomb. The horn is going to be used at a critical moment.
The average castle is far smaller than commonly imagined. Plus a lot of the space is outer walls, inner walls, baileys and courtyards i.e. they don't sleep people. There are exceptions - Malbork Castle is 5 square miles in area, and housed at one point 3,000 fighters. Winterfell is described as several acres, so bigger than a New York City block or 4 football fields. For most castles, any decent size army would have to camp outside.
I always thought the Starks and Jon Snow should have trusted their wolves a lot more. Robb did, until Bran and Rickon were supposedly murdered. Then he was a dumbass. Just like Jon who locked up Ghost because he snarled at men plotting his murder. And it is a travesty that we didn't see Ghost in King's Landing or Dragonstone. Dire wolves are awesome.
I read the four chapters on the Red Wedding - two Catelyn, two Arya. In the first chapter, Grey Wind snarls at the Freys many times. There is one sequence that struck me as quite odd. Grey Wind is about to attack Black Walder, when Catelyn spurs her horse and cuts in front of the dire wolf. There is no way any horse, no matter how well trained, would block Grey Wind.
The Red Wedding is taken from the Black Dinner in 1440. James II was crowned King of Scotland at the age of 7. Clan Douglas had become so powerful that the king's advisors feared they would threaten his rule. So they had the 10 year old king invite the 16 year old Earl of Douglas and his younger brother to the royal castle. According to legend, the three boys were getting along until a servant brought out a black bull head's still dripping blood on a serving platter. Earl Douglas and his brother were then beheaded. GRRM cites the Black Dinner and the Glencoe Massacre (soldiers kill their hosts after two weeks) as his inspiration.
A Death in the Family refers to the Batman arc where Robin is killed by the Joker and a bomb. It was written in the 80s, highly controversial but key to understanding Batman's world. To recap, Grey Wind is dead, Talisa is dead, Robb's child is dead, Catelyn Stark is dead, and Robb's consciousness warged into Grey Wind before death, so a lot of trauma.