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Standing on one of the many overlooks of the Red Keep that looked out over Blackwater Bay, Petyr Baelish, member of the Small Council and the Master of Coin, idly sat in his office while swirling a glass of Arbor gold around in his hand. For the longest time, he had had a set goal in mind. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how he was going to obtain it. But now? Now that goal was shattered. Part of it could still be salvaged, but the most important piece to his future, the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world, was now gone. And no amount of power, gold, or pleasure would ever be able to fill the void left by the loss. But he wouldn't be like Robert. No, he wouldn't lose himself in sorrow and self-pity just because what he wanted was ripped away from him. No. He would just have to modify his plan to ensure that he was not the only one who felt this pain. He would make all those responsible for his pain suffer. He would have his chaos. He would have his vengeance. And he would start today.
Hearing two sets of heavy footfalls and a third lighter set, Petyr resisted the urge to smile as he set his glass of wine down. 'Right on time. Not that I expected less given what I am offering those two fools.' Turning his back on the bay, Petyr walked back into the keep and right into the path of the three that were coming his way. Making a show of being startled, Petyr gave an extravagant bow to the smaller figure of the three. "Your grace," he said, bowing low of the clearly surprised Prince Joffrey, "forgive me, I did not mean to cause you a fright. I was merely just taking a moment to admire the view."
The crown Prince quickly recovered from his surprise as his face went back to its normal sneering look before Petyr could even right himself. "A Prince does not get a fright. Only women and weaklings do."
Petyr fought the urge to smirk. 'Yes, Joffrey will work perfectly.' "Of course, your grace, I apologize. I did not mean to imply that you are either, your grace. Only a fool would think of such a thing."
"Good," Joffrey replied shortly. "Now, out of my way."
"Of course," he smiled, moving aside to give the crown prince a wide breadth. "But, before you go, your grace, I offer you my deepest condolences regarding your magnificent beast. Truly, such a creature did not deserve such a fate, especially for only doing what the strong do: devour the weak."
Joffrey stilled, then turned and looked at Petyr. "That's – That's what I said. A lion is strength…and that fawn…It was weak. But nobody understood. Not father…Not even mother. They all just babied Tommen because he started to cry. And Pride was the one to die…It wasn't fair!"
Allowing himself the smallest of smirks, Petyr shared a look with the two red cloaks that were shadowing the young prince. Both men gave him the slightest of nods before taking a step back away from them, ensuring the two have a moment of privacy. 'It cost me the service of four of my best whores for a day, but such is the cost when one wishes to speak with royalty in the middle of the Red Keep with any manner of secrecy.'
"If I may be so bold, your grace," Petyr said, putting as much as a friendly tone as he could into each word. "While a man of my position has no business prying into the private affairs of the royal family, I can see that you are suffering, and I wish to help. But…you see…your father did not kill Pride because of your brother. He did it because he is afraid of you, your grace. Or rather, he is afraid of the great man you are shaping up to becoming."
Joffrey was clearly taken aback, which was good. He needed the boy to be shaken to mold him into what was needed. "My father is – He's not afraid of me. He's not afraid of anyone! He brought down the dragons! He caved in the chest of Rhaegar like it was a melon!"
"Yes, he did," Petyr nodded. "But that is not the type of fear I am referring to, your grace. Your father, the King, has indeed done great things and will no doubt be remembered. But he fears that, with the way you are growing, your grace, that you will overshadow him one day soon, and that all his accomplishments will mean nothing in the face of your own. That he will be forgotten. That is what he fears. And he is not alone in this fear your grace. Your mother fears it as well, which was why she has done nothing. And even your grandfather, the great Tywin Lannister, clearly fears what you will become as evidence by the fact that, despite Pride being his gift to you, he has done nothing in the wake of its death."
Joffrey was clearly thinking over everything Petyr was saying, which again forced Petyr to keep a tight rein on his emotions. He'd known this boy for years, so he knew exactly what he needed to say and do. "I – But, that –"
"Tell me, your grace," Petyr pressed on, not wanting the boy to think too much on it just yet. "Have you heard much of King Aenys Targaryen, son of Aegon the Conqueror?"
Joffrey blinked, clearly thinking on what he asked before shaking his head. "No."
"Not surprising, your grace. He is often left by the wayside in favor of his father who tore down dynasties and forged a new reign." Petyr explained, stressing the connection between the actions of the Conqueror and Robert, which thankfully Joffrey seemed to pick up on. "Like all dragons, Aegon was prideful. He'd done something that no one else could do, and he would not stand for anyone, not even his own son, outshining him. So, he kept his son and heir at arm's length, preventing his son's greatness from flourishing and being known across the land. And the moment Aegon passed from this life, pockets of rebellion rose up across the land. Because Aenys's greatness had been suppressed by his father and family his entire life in fear that he would outshine them all, he was unprepared to handle the situation. But eventually he did. The rebellions were crushed, and the people started to recognize the king for his greatness. Aegon may have united the realm, but it was Aenys, the son, that truly held the land together."
Joffrey seemed enraptured by his story, which was good. "And what happened to Aenys?"
Smirking, Petyr sighed dramatically. "He died. Only five years into his reign. His death was…not natural but no one could truly prove how he did. However, the last person to see to him personally was the Conqueror's widowed sister-wife, Visenya Targaryen. And now, it is widely accepted by those that study history that the Dowager Queen Visenya had the king assassinated because she feared that his deeds, his greatest, would one day soon outshine everything she, her sister and their brother-husband had accomplished. And now, poor King Aenys is little more than a short footnote in the annuals of history."
Walking up beside the boy, Petyr took a risk and set his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I tell you this story, your grace, not because I wish to cause you distress, but rather because I want you to succeed. I see greatness within you, your grace. And it would be a shame to see it get smothered just because there are those who want to be remembered over you."
It was a sign that he was getting to the boy that he didn't shake his hand off immediately. "And what do you get out of my greatness?"
'Good, he isn't a complete fool.' "Remembrance, your grace," Petyr explained, drawing a confused look from Joffrey. "I have risen as high as a man of my station can. And now I wish what all men wish, to be remembered. But I will not be remembered under your father's reign as his time of greatness has already come and gone. But you, your grace? Your greatness is only just beginning."
Joffrey stood up straighter as he smirked, the same smirk the boy always seemed to be wearing when he thought he was better than those around him, which was most of the time. "So, you wish to ride my coattails to greatness then?"
Petyr smiled and spread his hands in a shrugging motion. "That is the unfortunate limitations of a man of my station, your grace. But, unlike most, I accept the fact that I can only achieve greatness by attaching myself to a great man. And you, Prince Joffrey despite your young age, have the makings of the greatest man the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen. And my only wish is to serve a great man like yourself as an advisor."
Joffrey's chest had puffed out slightly, his back straight and his head high. "Then start now. What advice would you give your future king?"
"Patience, your grace," Petyr answered. "Right now, your father, mother, and grandfather are all on edge and watching you carefully for any sign that you might one day soon outshine them. So, I would advise patience. Let them think that you are cowed by them. And once they relax and cease watching your every move, then start building your base of power for the day your father leaves this world and you ascend to your rightful place on the Iron Throne. And, if I may be so bold, your grace…I do believe that there are a number of people that I can…discreetly introduce you to that will be more than anxious to help a great man like yourself secure your place in the annuals of history."
Joffrey's smile was so condescendingly self-assured that Petyr had to almost prevent himself physically from smacking it off the boy's face. 'The endgame, Petyr! Think only of the endgame.' "I will…heed your advice for now, Baelish," Joffrey said, making to move on, only to stop. "Continue to prove yourself with useful advice, Baelish…and I might just allow you to ride my coattails to glory and greatness."
Smiling, Petyr bowed deeply. "That is all I can hope for, your grace. Until that day, I remain your faithful servant. Should you require anything, and I mean anything, your grace…. Even if it might seem…unsightly to some. You need only to ask, and I will see that your every desire is fulfilled to the fullest."
Receiving a dismissive wave from the boy, Petyr moved off to the side and allowed the young prince to pass him by with his two guards who were now rushing to catch up with their charge. 'The board is out…and now my first piece is down.' Petyr smirked, watching Joffrey, one of the keys to his long-term goals, turn the corner and disappear. 'And one day soon…my vengeance will be at hand.'
After the battle against the splintered wildlings, things took a turn for the, quite frankly, boring for Nox as they're next task was to make the march south away from Hardhome in order to meet up with the rest of Mance Rayder's army and discuss the terms that'd been reached with the rest of his people and try and see if they could meet the quota that Ned had set on the number of people that were to be allowed south of the Wall. Normally, Nox didn't mind traveling as it gave him a chance to study new people and cultures. But this time they were traveling by foot. Without roads. And across a landscape that could make Hoth seem hospitable. The lords from the North at least seemed to acclimate to the weather and traveling conditions quickly enough, but the same could not be said of those who were not from the North.
Ned had recommended that the Lords of the south head back to the Wall on the Sea Wolf. However, none of their guests would hear about it. They were clearly anxious to show their strength not only to House Stark and the North, but also to their new allies as well. And so, despite the multitude of warnings they received from the Northern lords and the Free Folk, the members of House Tyrell, Martell, and Lannister all grabbed their warmest clothing, finalizing their decision to follow House Stark back to the Wall on foot. It was a decision that, even after a single day, Nox could tell all of them severely regretted making. Despite their bravado, after leaving the relative protection of Hardhome Oberyn and Obara had taken to donning as many furs as they could while still maintain their freedom of movement. And the Tyrells were no better, though honestly Nox was surprised that Garlan had insisted on keeping his armor on, though thankfully Garlan had been talked out of the notion of wearing his full plate armor all the way back to the Wall. The man moved slower than a slug in the suit and considering the weather the man was more than likely to die from exposure to the cold in his armor than he was from an attack. The only one from south of the Neck who seemed to be the most well adapted to the cold was Gerion Lannister, and even saying that was a stretch as he was simply wearing the least amount of furs out of the group.
The only other entertainment outside of the southerners' attempts to stay warm during their trip was provided by his Apprentice Jon and the young Free Folk woman Ygritte who had attached herself to him. The young woman was…tenacious in her pursuit of Jon. Something that seemed to both baffle and unsettle his young Apprentice as, outside of Arianne, he'd never had a woman chase after him. Of course, just about everyone seemed to be getting a good laugh out of watching Jon trying to keep the woman at arm's distance. Especially during the night when they laid their heads to rest as she had taken to sneaking between his furs while he slept, which of course resulted in Jon all but forcing Ghost to sleep next to him so that she couldn't sneak into his bed. And to Jon's utmost confusion, the ones who seemed to find the situation the funniest were the Dornish, and Prince Oberyn especially. The Prince of Dorne had been the first to find the two, pressed firmly against one another for warmth on the second day's morning after the Battle of Hardhome. Jon had scrambled to his feet, all but throwing Ygritte away from his person. But to the boy's surprise, Oberyn had merely smiled and told him that his niece would have to step up her game before leaving the two of them alone to ready themselves for the day ahead.
'Jon will have to start asserting himself soon,' he thought as his sight passed over Jon and Ygritte, who were walking close together. 'He has a tendency of drawing strong willed women to his side. And if he's to keep up with them both, then he will need to be just as strong willed.'
But there was far more to this young woman than just her strong will or tenacity. There was something about her that reminded Nox greatly of Oberyn and even Arianne. And he didn't mean her general demeaner, which almost seemed right at home amongst the Dornish. The girl had a presence about her that made Nox curious. She wasn't Force sensitive like Jon or any of his other Acolytes. But she wasn't a stranger to the Force. She was much like Oberyn in that regard, using the Force subconsciously to enhance her own natural physical abilities. A theory which he had been able to confirm after Theon, for Force only knew what reason, challenged the girl to an archery contest. Theon was a good shot there was no denying that. But Ygritte was on another level when compared to him. The ease with which she wielded her bow was astonishing. And every shot Theon made, no matter how difficult it might seem, Ygritte was able to make. Their little contest eventually came to an end when Theon failed to hit the mark he'd set, a small brand on a tree several hundred meters away from where they were standing. Ygritte had not only hit the mark, but she had done it after walking away from him with her eyes closed.
And it was that shot that cemented his thoughts on the girl and her abilities. She was using the Force subconsciously to guide her arrows. Her affinity wasn't necessarily great enough to make her an Acolyte like the others, but if she'd been born in the Empire there was no doubt in his mind that she would've undoubtedly been one of, if not the, most sought-after sharpshooter in the galaxy. The revelation about her abilities answered why she reminded him of Oberyn when he'd felt her out, but there was still the curiosity as to why she also reminded him of Arianne. It was something that he was going to have to investigate, and thankfully it appeared as he would have plenty of time to do so as Ygritte, despite Jon's rather pitiful attempts to keep her at arm's length or further, seemingly had no intention of leaving Jon's side anytime soon. 'It seems like I'm going to have to revisit my lessons on not throwing away potential assets with Jon. Especially an asset as skilled as this young woman.'
The rest of the ride and walk south he spent his time trying to learn as much as he could about the Free Folk. Mother Mole had been a wealth of information for him, and she was also an interesting individual to talk too as her precognitive ability matched that of even Jedi and Sith who considered themselves experts in the field. But unfortunately, the old woman lacked the ability to properly explain how she was able to receive her visions. To her, it was just a normal thing, like breathing. She didn't know how she did it, nor could she explain it. To her, it was simply a fact of her life that she had come to accept and incorporate into her daily life.
After several days of riding and walking, they finally reached the large Free Folk encampment and began their next task, actually convincing a group of Free Folk to take them up on the offer of shelter south of the Wall. Predictably, the initial reaction after Mance had presented the offer to those who were not at Hardhome had been poor at best, and almost violent at worst. But the protests were quickly put down by not only Mance, but also by the other chieftains who were there at Hardhome and had already agreed to the decision. It took almost a full two days, but eventually Mance was able to gather a group of nearly five thousand of his people, most of whom were younger individuals or young families, to follow them south under the leadership of Val and Karsi, the latter of whom had decided to move her entire small clan south of the Wall. During this time, the few giants, including their leader Mag, disappeared from the Free Folk encampment. And while their disappearance didn't seem to necessarily surprise the Free Folk, as the giants apparently came and when as they pleased, it was a major disappointment to Nox. The giants were a force of nature. One that he had begun formulating several plans around the moment he'd first heard of them. But for any of those plans to come to fruition, he needed them south of the Wall.
Once the Free Folk that would be traveling with them gathered their things and said their goodbyes to those they would be leaving behind, Ned turned them west heading towards the Antler River, whereupon reaching they would turn south and head directly towards Castle Black. It wasn't an ideal choice, as bringing this many Free Folk through the home of the Night's Watch was almost begging for trouble, but they really didn't have another good location to cross the Wall. Eastwatch would've been a faster choice for crossing, however Castle Black had something that Eastwatch did not. And that was a large weirwood tree on the north side of the Wall just opposite from Castle Black. And it was there that Ned planned on having the Free Folk swear their allegiance to the soon to be Lady Val and the North as a whole.
For two days, their journey passed in relative peace. That was until this morning when they drew close to a plot of land that the Free Folk had no intention of even getting close to. When Ned had asked Val why the Free Folk wanted to deviate around the land, adding perhaps half a day to their journey, Val responded by spitting on the ground. "This path will lead us close to the fiend Craster and his cursed lot," Val spat. "Best we just go around and avoid him altogether. No Free Folk will step foot near his keep."
Calling for a stop, Ned turned his attention to Val. "Who is this Craster? I've heard the name, but only in the context that he is a leader north of the Wall."
Repulsion so thick it almost made Nox gag, rolled off Val as she quickly shook her head. "That fiend ain't no chieftain. His father was a Crow who forced himself upon a spearwife and got her with child before running back across the Wall to hide." Jon and Robb both paled and looked appalled at what she was saying. "He wasn't the first to be born like that, nor will he be the last as long as the Crows still exist. He may have once been able to overcome his birth, but Craster never cared for the laws of the gods. He steals women, gets them with child and then steals the child after she bleeds for the first time. He's cursed by the gods…and none amongst the Free Folk will have anything to do with him or his ilk."
"He – He takes his…his daughters?" Jon asked. Both he and Robb looked completely appalled by the notion and were looking almost physically ill when Val nodded. "Why – Why hasn't the Watch done anything about him?"
One of Val's brows rose as she regarded his young Apprentice. "And who do you believe it is that gives Craster aid boy? Who do you think trades with him? Gives him food and weapons in exchange for coin or information? No. The Crows won't do anything about him because they be friends with the fiend."
He could tell without even having to do a pass over the boys that Robb, Jon, and even Theon were all about two seconds away from bringing Northern justice down on the man's head. And in truth, Nox wasn't very far behind them. There was a lot of darkness and 'evil' acts that Nox was willing to put up with. But this Craster, if what Val was telling them was true and he had no reason to believe that she was lying, he was seriously edging close to the line that would force Nox to take action. Ned, however, was quick to put an end to any such thoughts from the boys. "We will be making camp here," the Lord of Winterfell said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you boys, nor anyone else here under my command, will take one step towards this Craster. Is that clear?"
None of the boys seemed pleased, but they all nodded their consent under the hard look from Lord Stark. After the boys had moved away to help setting up the camp, Ned then turned towards him. "Nox?"
"I won't start anything," Nox answered, waving off the question. "But that doesn't mean something else won't start something."
"What do you mean?" Ned asked.
He didn't answer immediately, preferring instead to let his senses flow out from him trying to sense what was out there. But the land proved to still be just as inhospitable to him as it'd been ever since they'd set foot in Hardhome. The thick sludge that coated his vision, bogged down the Force and prevented him from getting a sense of what was out there. But while he couldn't truly see, or feel, beyond the confines of the large group they were escorting towards the Wall, he could sense something out there. Something that was watching them. Something that had been with them ever since he'd stretched his powers at Hardhome. But the presence was slippery. A speck of dust in the corner of one's eye that never seemed to go away. It was…irritating, to say the least. Whoever, or whatever, was watching their progress was extremely skilled, almost annoyingly so. And it was utilizing the darkness that blanketed the Force to hide itself and its movements well.
"I don't know," Nox answered honestly.
The simple statement took his friend back. "I don't know whether that's bad or terrifying."
Shrugging Nox made to go and set up his own tent for the night. "We'll find out soon enough, my friend. Though, for the sake of caution…I would highly suggest you sleep with your hand on Ice tonight. I have a feeling you're going to need it."
Rolling over in his small tent, Garlan Tyrell groaned as he found yet another root, or maybe a rock this time, stabbing him in the back. Sighing, he resolved himself to yet another night without sleep. He wasn't a stranger to traveling long distances or having to make camp on the side of the road. But in those instances, he had always been traveling with at least a dozen others, along with several beasts of burden to carry their supplies. So, while he would frequently make camp and sleep in a tent, it was always within a tent that he could stand up in along with a cot that, while not as comfortable as a feathered bed, was certainly better than sleeping on the ground. But that was neither here nor there. They had no beasts of burden or extra horses to carry such 'frivolous' supplies, as Karsi called them. Anything he wanted to bring, he had to carry himself. Which was why he was currently laying down in a tent that just barely fit him, and not even tall enough that he could sit up in without hitting his head on the top.
'At least I'm not cold, though,' he thought with a slight grin as he felt the warmth, and reason why he had even less room in the tent, move against him.
The wild – Free Folk woman—Karsi had been a frequent guest of his tent ever since the Battle of Hardhome and the subsequent celebration that night, which resulted in him somehow finding his way into her bed, or furs as the Free Folk preferred to call it. Being with her had been…strangely refreshing. She was perhaps the only woman he'd met so far that saw him first instead of just his family name. To her, the fact that he was Tyrell meant little more than horse shit. And it was the same with her daughters, both of whom were an absolute delight. And not to mention her skills in bed, by the Seven, the woman was just about enough to make him foreswear his House and live with her and her two young girls.
'But I cannot forsake my family so easily,' he thought morosely. 'The curse of nobility they call it. And they are right to do so. We have privilege that most can only dream of. But, at the same time, we are cursed so that we can rarely follow what our hearts want. And Karsi won't go further south than the Neck. She's already told me as such. She's not some fancy southern lady. She's a chieftain. A spearwife. We both have responsibilities to our people.'
Knowing that sleeping would elude him once again, Garlan carefully disentangled himself from Karsi and her daughters, making sure not to wake any of them as he crawled his way out of the tent, grabbing his sword as he did so. Outside of the confines of the tent, Garlan immediately regretted his decision to leave Karsi's warmth as the cold air pierced right through his fur and leathers as if they were little more than threadbare linens. 'By the gods…if nothing else, my time north of the Wall has given me a new appreciation for the men of the Night's Watch and the Free Folk who make their home in this land.'
Knowing that standing still would only make the cold worse, Garlan gripped his sword hilt tightly as he made his way towards the edges of the camp, being careful to avoid the Free Folk who did not have a tent and were instead covered head to toe in furs and leathers and pressed against one another for warmth. Reaching the point where he knew the watchmen would be waiting, Garlan was surprised to find Oberyn sitting on a fallen tree, his valyrian steel spear resting against his shoulder as the Prince of Dorne stared out into the darkened wood surrounding them.
"Oberyn," he called out, drawing the attention of the man. "I didn't think this was your shift to take watch."
"It isn't," Oberyn answered with a shrug. "But the cold has decided that I shall not find rest tonight. And what of you? Surely, Karsi is more than enough to keep you warm throughout the night."
Shaking his head, Garlan brushed the snow off the log next to Oberyn before taking the spot. "I'm a knight and a gentleman, Oberyn. I don't discuss such activities."
"Oh, come now," Oberyn smirked. "What's the point of getting a Free Folk chieftain into your bed if you won't even brag about it afterwards? She's certainly not shy about speaking of what happens between you two. I think there are at least five other spearwives who are looking to see if you'll steal them after Karsi's tales of your prowess beneath her furs."
"And what of you, Oberyn?" Garlan asked quickly, trying desperately to change the subject. "Why have you not 'stolen' a spearwife? I know you've been approached by more than one woman ever since Hardhome."
"Who says I haven't already?" Oberyn asked, grinning like a cat who caught a mouse. "As you no doubt know, these women are veracious when they find something they want. And they're not shy to express their desires and wants. They're much like the Dornish in that manner. But I have not partaken myself just yet."
"Really?" Garlan gaped, not entirely sure he believed the Prince of Dorne or not.
Chuckling, Oberyn stood from the log and brushed the light snow off his fur before twisting his back. "Contrary to what the dowager lady of House Tyrell believes, I do not go around fucking everything that is moving and has an orifice. I do have some measure of self-control when it comes to the pleasures of the flesh. And while the thought of stealing one, or more, of these spearwives is appealing, I will not do so until I can partake in them with my paramour."
"The famous Red Viper of Dorne showing restraint…Seven…now I have officially seen and heard everything," Garlan laughed good naturedly, though his mirth slowly faded as he noticed that only was Oberyn not laughing along with him, but the Red Viper was staring intently off into the distance. "You're tempted, aren't you?"
"Are you not?" Oberyn asked back, shooting Garlan a pointed look. "Far be it from me to judge a man or woman by their particular tastes. But there are some tastes that go beyond the line…and if what Lady Val and the other Free Folk have told us is true, then this Craster is so far beyond the line he wouldn't even know how to find it again."
"I am of a similar mind," Garlan nodded, his fist tightening on his hilt. "My vows as a knight demand that I take this fiend's head immediately for the good of the people. But at the same time…if this Craster is indeed an ally to the Watch…Then it is understandable why Lord Stark does not wish to act. Bringing this many through the Wall is without a doubt going to cause problems throughout the Black Brothers, and it's best if he doesn't do anything else to worsen that relationship."
Oberyn nodded before shifting his stance and squinting his eyes off into the distance. "Well…isn't this interesting."
Blinking, Garlan turned int the direction Oberyn was facing. At first, he didn't see anything. But just as he was about to turn back around and ask what Oberyn saw, he noticed it. A shifting in the shadows that was moving away from the camp. "Is that…Nox?"
"Yes, it is," Oberyn grinned, hefting his spear so that it was resting across his shoulder. "If there is one thing I've learned during my time with the man, if you want to be entertained, stay by his side at all times. And considering he's all but sneaking away from the camp and heading west… Well, this is no doubt going to be entertaining. So, you coming as well?"
Looking over his shoulder, Garlan glanced at the tent he was sharing with Karsi and her daughters. "Might as well," Garlan nodded. "Not like I'm going to be getting much sleep in this cold…even with a good woman's warmth at my side."
"I'll make a Dornishman out of you yet, Ser Garlan the Gallant," Oberyn chuckled before heading off after Nox. "We'll have to be quick. Nox is far faster than he appears to be. Especially in the dark."
The Prince of Dorne had not been lying. Nox moved like a ghost, silent and fast. It was all the two of them could do to even keep him within eyesight through the thick forest as they trudged through the ankle deep, and sometimes knee deep, snow covering the ground. The two had even tried calling out to the sorcerer after they'd left the camp, but he'd made no sign of having heard them as he just kept on moving deeper and deeper into the woods. But then, just as Garlan was sure that they were managing to catch up to the sorcerer, he simply disappeared. His tracks in the snow disappearing along with his person.
"Well…shit," Oberyn remarked eloquently as they reached the spot where Nox's tracks simply vanished.
"Yeah," Garlan nodded as he looked around, squinting into the darkness to try and find any sign of the sorcerer. "How in the Seven hells did he just…disappear like that? Did he know we were following him?"
"I don't know," Oberyn answered, clearly unhappy at having lost the sorcerer. "One thing I know about Nox, though, is that if he doesn't want to be found, he won't be. Come, let's get back to the camp and find some…Wait… Do you hear that?"
Frowning, Garlan turned in the direction Oberyn was facing and strained his hearing, trying to hear what it was the Red Viper heard. It was faint, and the wind made it incredibly difficult. But there was no mistaking the shrill crying coming from the darkness ahead of them. "By the gods…" Garlan breathed as he recognized the noise for what it was. "Is that…Is that a child?"
Oberyn didn't answer as he took off, leaving Garlan rushing to keep pace with him. The further they went, the louder and louder the crying of the child became. 'It's impossible that Lord Nox hasn't heard this,' he thought as the trees started to clear, revealing a clearing with a stump in the center. 'But then…why isn't he here? Doesn't he care about a child an… Wait…Why don't I – I don't see anyone. But the crying is definitely coming from that stump up ahead.'
"Alright…This has officially become strange," Garlan noted as he and Oberyn began to slowly make their way through the small clearing towards the stump in the center.
Oberyn didn't say anything as he kept his spear pointed ahead of him, both hands spaced equally across the shaft and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Drawing his own sword, Garlan kept one eye on the stump and another on the woods around them as they drew closer and closer to the source of the crying. And just as he thought, and feared, laying in the center of the stump wrapped in furs was a child. A newborn child. "By the gods," he breathed, sheathing his sword as he immediately reached out to pick up the child.
"A boy," Oberyn said after giving the child in Garlan's arm's a single glance.
Frowning, Garlan shifted his hold on the child so that Oberyn could take him. " How do you know?"
Oberyn merely gave him a pointed look as he took the boy from him. "I have eight daughters. Trust me, I would know a newborn girl the moment I laid eyes on her. And this one here is no girl, therefor that leaves only one option left."
Garlan conceded the point. "Boy or girl aside…what kind of fiend leaves a child out in the wild like this?"
"I think we both know the answer to that question," Oberyn stated, smiling down at the child, and rocking him slightly to calm it down and warm him. "The better question is not whom, but rather why?"
The question made Garlan think. Why would one leave a child out in the middle of the woods like this? To avoid being a kinslayer by having the child be killed by the elements instead of by one's own hand? Possibly. But why here? Why place it on this stump in the middle of a small clearing when all one had to do to achieve such a death would be to place the babe behind the nearest tree and leave? "We'll bring the child back to camp and… What the…? Did – Did it just get colder?"
Beside him, Oberyn held the child closer to his chest, even going as far as using what furs he could to help shield the child from the cold that'd settled over them. But it was more than just the sudden cold. There was a tightness in Garlan's chest. One he recognized, yet one he had not felt for sometime. Fear. Dread. Drawing his sword clear of its sheath once again, Garlan turned his attention to the woods. Within a single pass he saw it. Something moving between the trees.
"Sorcerer!" he called out as he saw the shape move once more, this time far closer to the edge of the tree line. "Sorcerer! Announce yourself if that's you!"
The shadow moved again, this time right at the edge of the tree line. He could just barely make out the figure as belonging to that of a man, and a skinny one at that. But with the only light being that of the moon, it was hard to make out anything else while it stayed in the shadows. "Show yourself!" he shouted, pointing his sword towards the figure, and positioning himself so that he stood between Oberyn and the whatever was out there.
As the figure moved out from the shadows and into the moonlight, Garlan felt his grip on his sword slacken as fear, fear unlike any he had ever experienced, race through him like a rush of water breaking free from a dam. The man, if it could even be called that, was…withered. Withered like a corpse that'd been left to rot in the sun for days on end. Its skin was also a pale white that almost matched the snow, and the only clothes it had on were a pair of tattered pants and a tattered fur coat, yet it seemed completely unaffected by the cold surrounding them all. But the one thing that he noticed most of all about the figure was its eyes. They were bluer than any eyes than he had ever seen before. Blue almost to the point where they were glowing in the shadows.
"Seven protect me," Garlan muttered as it took everything in his power to keep his sword steady and not run as the creature stepped further out from the tree line towards them.
"I don't think the Seven can hear you right now," Oberyn said, coming up beside him with his spear in one hand and the child in the other.
Swallowing, Garlan kept a steady eye on the creature as it came to within a dozen paces of them before stopping, seemingly for no reason at all. "N–Name yourself, creature!" he shouted.
The creature, for he couldn't bring himself to call what was before them a man, just stared silently at them. Its unnatural blue eyes moving first to Garlan, then to Oberyn, before settling on the child and staying there. "I think we now know 'why' the child was left out here," Oberyn commented, anger lacing through each word he spoke. "And it doesn't look like it's in the mood for answering any of your questions, Garlan…and I'm not even sure it's even capable of answering in the first place."
The creature raised its hands and brought them together at chest height. Slowly, the creature's hands spread apart, a stake of ice forming between its hands. Its left hand dropped after it past its shoulder width, leaving the icicle in its right hand. All the while, its gaze never left the child now hidden beneath Oberyn's fur coat. 'Is that…supposed to be a sword? Seems like any sort of negotiation is out of the question. Guess there's only one thing left to do.' "Oberyn. Get the child out of here. Find Nox wherever he is…or get to the camp. I'll hold this…thing off until you get back with help."
"You do know what this thing is, don't you?" Oberyn asked, and while Garlan couldn't see behind him, he could tell from the noise that Oberyn was setting the child back down on the stump they'd found it on. "That's most certainly one of Nox's Others…a White Walker. Do you really think you can take it on alone? Or that I would even let you for that matter?"
"Suit yourself," Garlan said, fighting down the fear that'd been swelling within him, that he was now positive was somehow being caused by this creature before them. "Just don't get in my way."
"Funny," Oberyn remarked, no doubt smirking as the man's spear whistled through the air as he spun it in tight circles around his body. "I was just about to say the same to you."