After the departure of King Robert and his retinue, the castle became unusually quiet and even somewhat empty. Perhaps one reason was that Lord Stark had taken a significant portion of the servants and soldiers with him, creating a persistent feeling that Winterfell was deserted. Lady Catelyn Stark gave orders to the servants, feeling more lonely than ever. The girls and Brann had left with their father. Robb, who had taken up the reins of government and all the duties of the Lord of Winterfell, seemed to have aged several years and was now wholeheartedly playing the grown man, but in Catelyn's estimation, he lacked experience and a certain inner restraint. Little Rickon Stark wanted to play and run around the castle yard all day with his direwolf, the mere sight of which sent shivers through the woman. May the hells take that Snow, who prompted Lord Eddard to bring such dangerous beasts into the house and distribute them to the children! Surprisingly, even Sansa had grown attached to her Lady and flatly refused to part with her, though Catelyn had always considered her eldest daughter sensible. And all because of that cursed bastard!
"May the Others take him," Catelyn thought, not even wishing to call the youth by name in her mind. Everything about him—from his origin to his appearance—was one continuous insult that Lady Stark had to put up with daily.
But soon enough Catelyn's thoughts returned to her family, to her children, and to her husband, who had gone south to the capital, where dangers undoubtedly awaited him at every turn. Yes, it was Catelyn who had convinced Stark to accept the King's offer, for Sansa's marriage to Prince Joffrey would help the Starks strengthen their position, to say nothing of the kinship with the royal family itself. This marriage, in Catelyn's opinion, was a true gift from the gods; it was a pity that Eddard himself believed in neither The Seven nor that this marriage was a good decision. Though he eventually agreed to the engagement, he had not changed his mind.
Catelyn's concern was caused by a letter from Lisa, who was absolutely certain that her husband, Jon Arryn, had not died a natural death but had been foully murdered by the Lannisters, and Lady Stark saw no reason not to believe her sister, whom she had always trusted. The Queen's relatives, according to rumors, had indeed surrounded King Robert on all sides, as if they intended to seize power in the country completely. Yes, they were almost non-existent in the Small Council, but that was under Arryn; perhaps that was why he was killed. And now Eddard had taken the late Jon's place, meaning he could well come under fire if the Lannisters truly intended to seize power.
"My husband needs help in the capital," Catelyn stated when, at her request, Rodrik Cassel, Robb, and Maester Luwin gathered in the solar of the Lord of Winterfell. "He needs someone he can trust."
"What are you suggesting?" asked Robb, sitting at his father's desk. Seeing him like this was quite unusual for Catelyn.
"I have already thought about this and concluded that it would be best to turn to Petyr Baelish," Lady Stark replied. "Petyr and I were once friends, even if I haven't spoken to him in a very long time. Currently, he is the Master of Coin and resides permanently in King's Landing, where, as I hear, he is held in very high regard. I hope he has not yet forgotten our friendship and will not refuse to help me."
"Well then, write him a letter, milady," Ser Rodrik suggested. "A raven will reach the capital much sooner than Lord Stark arrives there."
"A letter could be intercepted," Maester Luwin countered. "The Queen surely has plenty of spies both in the capital itself and beyond its borders. It is dangerous."
"I know," Catelyn nodded, "and that is why I want to go to King's Landing myself. If I sail on a ship from White Harbor, I will be in the capital quite soon. There, I will meet with Baelish and ask him for help."
"Wait a minute, you want to go south?!" Robb exclaimed. "For what?! To meet a man who might not want to help you?!"
"Petyr will help me," Catelyn answered confidently.
"He might help you," Robb agreed. "But will he help Father? As far as I can judge from the stories of others, this Baelish has no reason to love the Starks, and even less to help us. Unless, of course, he suddenly forgot how Uncle Brandon thrashed him and that you married Father. Besides, Joffrey didn't speak very well of him; he said that under Baelish, the treasury has fallen into monstrous debt. The Prince does not like him."
Lady Stark frowned in displeasure, listening to her son's words. To be honest, despite King Robert's delight, she was not at all pleased with Robb's friendship with the Crown Prince, for she had not forgotten who exactly was the organizer of that reckless trip to The Wall, which ultimately ended in a clash with outlaws. Even though the travelers emerged victorious from that skirmish, it was still an ill-considered risk. Robb, of course, said that he had made the decision to deal with the bandits himself, but from the servants, Catelyn still learned that the Crown Prince was the initiator of the fight. Theon Greyjoy, having dragged yet another maid to his quarters, couldn't keep his mouth shut and blurted everything out. Prince Joffrey, Theon, and Robb, accompanied by Clegane and the guardsmen, returned to Winterfell utterly pleased with themselves, leading women from among the Free Folk, one of whom attracted the particular attention of the entire male half of the castle. And there would have been trouble, but Prince Joffrey decided to intervene just before his departure. They had missed Benjen Stark by only a few days, as he had departed for The Wall in the company of Tyrion Lannister and the bastard. There wasn't a drop of remorse on the young men's faces for their prank; they were pleased with themselves, and Lady Catelyn had to wait until Prince Joffrey left Winterfell before giving Robb a scolding, which he mostly ignored.
Besides, even if Joffrey was a Baratheon, Lannister blood also flowed in him, and Lady Stark would never trust them with anything, especially after Lysa's letter; it was still unknown whose blood would prevail in the Crown Prince if a power struggle flared up in King's Landing.
"I do not know why Prince Joffrey dislikes Baelish, but it changes nothing for me," Lady Catelyn said. "I am setting out immediately. Maester Luwin, send a raven to White Harbor; let them prepare the fastest ship they have."
"It shall be done, Lady Catelyn," the elderly man inclined his head, causing his chain to jingle plaintively.
"If you don't mind, milady, I will go with you," Ser Rodrik declared. "The way is not short; anything can happen on the road, and you will certainly need a protector."
After thinking for a moment, Stark nodded her head:
"I think your company would not be superfluous. Prepare for departure, while I give the final orders," the woman rose from the table.
"Maester Luwin, there is no need to send a raven," Robb's voice made everyone freeze in place. "You are not going anywhere, Mother, and neither are you, Ser Rodrik. You will remain here, as my father commanded you."
"Robb, you don't understand," Catelyn fixed a gaze full of disbelief on her son. "And you cannot forbid me; I am your mother."
"Oh, I very much can, Mother," the youth assured her. "Let me remind you, in case you suddenly forgot, that from now on I am the Lord of Winterfell. The responsibility for the entire North lies on me, and therefore I will not allow you to intrigue behind Father's back. You fear a letter might be intercepted, yet you give no thought at all to the fact that the Queen's spies might discover you in the capital and what the consequences would be. You intend to trust a man you haven't seen in many years and who likely harbors no warm feelings for us. It is foolish. I forbid you to go south."
"Robb!"
"I have said my piece, Mother," Robb replied in a hard tone. "Maester Luwin, as I said, no letters need to be sent. Ser Rodrik, you may return to your duties. This subject is closed."
The men exchanged glances and then withdrew with a bow, leaving mother and son alone.
When the Maester and the Weapon Master had departed, Lady Stark made another attempt to reason with her son:
"Robb, do you even realize what you're doing?!" Catelyn exclaimed, refusing to believe her ears. "I must leave to help your father!"
"Help in what?" Robb inquired, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze at that moment did not match his age at all, but Catelyn later convinced herself that she had imagined it. Her young and inexperienced son could not act so harshly! "What do you even know about King's Landing and what is happening there? Don't bother, I'll answer for you: exactly as much as I do—nothing. On the other hand, your sudden and, as you plan, secret arrival could raise a whole host of unpleasant questions that would certainly harm Father, and I, forgive me, cannot allow that. Besides, you must look after Rickon; Father would hardly like it if you left him unsupervised."
"But..."
"I have said my piece!" Robb raised his voice. "As Lord of Winterfell, I forbid you to go anywhere without my permission. The conversation is over. You may go."
Not believing her ears, the woman withdrew, leaving her son alone in the solar. A wave of anger and helpless rage rose in her soul; she did not understand why Robb was acting so foolishly. Perhaps someone had misled him, clouded his vision? But who?
The answer came in an instant.
Joffrey Baratheon!
Surely the Crown Prince had decided everything even before arriving in Winterfell, which meant this "sudden" trip to The Wall, as everyone naively thought, was planned in advance to have the opportunity to sow seeds of discord among the Starks and win Robb over to his side, and judging by what Catelyn had witnessed today, the Prince had succeeded perfectly. Under other circumstances, Robb would never have contradicted his mother or challenged her judgment. It was quite possible that Prince Joffrey was acting on his mother's instructions, and if that was the case, it meant that Eddard and the children were in danger—even greater danger than Catelyn had initially supposed.
She needed to act urgently before everything became even worse.
Quickly finding Ser Rodrik, Catelyn grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged the knight into the very first room:
"Ser Rodrik, here is what we shall do..."
***
"So, Joffrey, what is this joyful thing you wanted to tell me today?" Robert asked the Prince. The King, in view of his absolute sobriety, was unusually grim. During the feast, he had drunk only a couple of cups of wine, after which Joffrey had driven the cupbearer away from Baratheon and wouldn't let him near again. Robert's mood was particularly darkened by Cersei's openly gloating gaze; for her, a King deprived of his usual merriment was a true gift.
Beside Robert were also Lord Stark, the new Hand of the King, Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws, and also Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. All of them were members of the Small Council, and therefore everything said concerned them directly. True, as the Prince discovered, the King had already managed to quarrel with Stark over some issue, which they eventually decided to postpone until their arrival in the capital.
"There is to be war," Arthas replied briefly, looking around at those present and watching their reaction.
Stark frowned, perfectly understanding how bloody and destructive another military conflict in Westeros could be. The last time, when the Ironborn rose under the leadership of the Greyjoys, the Iron Islands had to be literally drowned in blood to suppress the rebellion. Uncle Renly also stopped smiling; this statement did not evoke a surge of enthusiasm in him at all. Ser Barristan's lips compressed into a thin line, and steel flashed in his eyes. In the King's eyes, however, a fire flared up; he completely forgot his grim mood. Barateon pulled himself together and for a moment became again what he once was—a mighty warrior who was the first to go into battle and led legions of loyal soldiers.
"A huge army of Free Folk is gathering beyond The Wall," Menethil continued, pleased with his father's spirit. "There are tens of thousands of them; quite soon they will move on The Wall. If we do not immediately begin to prepare, the Free Folk will sweep away the Night's Watch and pour into The North in an endless horde. If we do not stop them on the approaches to The Wall, much blood will be shed."
"Where did this information come from?" Lord Stark asked, feeling intense anxiety. He should have been in Winterfell, and now everything would fall on Robb's shoulders. Was he ready for this?
"From Lord Commander Mormont," Arthas replied. "His scouts are working well. Besides, the information was confirmed by those Free Folk we captured in the bandit camp. They never told us what they were doing on this side of The Wall at all, but they admitted that Mance Rayder is indeed gathering all the tribes of the Free Folk together. Furthermore, they reported that giants and wargs have joined the King-Beyond-the-Wall."
"Nonsense!" Lord Renly snorted. "Old wives' tales!"
"Perhaps, Uncle," Arthas acknowledged the obvious. "But we have no idea what is actually happening beyond The Wall. Those are wild lands, one might say the last surviving untouched fragment of the Age of Heroes, and back then, heaven knows what was going on. We must be ready for anything."
"And you believe this?"
"Mormont believes it, and he has spent more years on The Wall than I have lived in this world. He would not make up fables."
"What do you say, Your Grace?" Selmy addressed the King.
Robert, judging by the absent expression on his face, was mentally in other lands at that moment. Perhaps in his fantasies, he was already standing on top of The Wall and cracking giants' heads with hammer blows. Suddenly Baratheon licked his parched lips and declared:
"I'll be cursed if I let some savages plunder my kingdom, even if there are hundreds of thousands of them riding bears! We must gather an army; upon arrival in the capital, we will send word to Stannis. Enough of him sitting on Dragonstone; we will need his fleet to transport troops. We also need to work out the logistics, otherwise everything will immediately collapse into hell even in the early stages. Eddard, we will also need..."
One didn't need to listen further. Arthas watched with satisfaction as his father came alive before his eyes, turning from a wine barrel into a commander. The Prince did not tell those present about the much more terrible threat that was slowly gathering strength beyond The Wall, and he had reasons for that. Firstly, convincing evidence was needed for such statements, for otherwise, he would simply be laughed at. Secondly, information about the Others was extremely scarce, and going unprepared against an army of the dead would be the height of recklessness. For now, problems should be solved as they came. First the Free Folk, then the Others.
***
Clegane arrived at the royal camp well after midnight, when most of the fires had already gone out and the drunken knights had dispersed to their tents, bellowing lewd songs about a certain maiden and a barn. Traces of the past feast were observed everywhere, causing Sandor to mutter several particularly intricate curses through his teeth, hearing which any septon would have cursed him to eternal torment. The Hound had not eaten for a good half of the day, carrying out Prince Joffrey's assignment, while this crowd of scoundrels, known to the world as noble warriors, gorged and caroused.
"What a stench," Val said with displeasure, cautiously following the Hound. "No, your whole south stinks through and through anyway, but here there's nothing to breathe at all."
"That's nothing," Clegane rasped. "Wait until we arrive in King's Landing, then you'll find out what a stench really is. So get used to it, wildling."
"I'm not going to that capital of yours!" the Free Folk woman protested.
"As if Prince Joffrey is going to ask you about anything," the Hound smirked, making his burned face look even more terrifying. "He'll just put you on a horse or in a wagon and take you wherever he decides."
Val snorted in displeasure but mentally was forced to agree with the gruesome warrior. At the moment when their foray beyond The Wall turned into a disaster, she had mentally prepared herself for the possibility of being in such a situation. The wildling's entire being protested against any form of restriction of freedom and demanded action, but now the woman could do nothing. Her man was dead. The Wall had killed him. The anchors were reliable, tested many times, but the cursed ice suddenly cracked, unable to withstand the weight of the Free Folk climbing to the top, and a whole group of experienced warriors, who had gone on raids to the south many times, fell from a monstrous height, without a single chance to survive. Among them was Jarl, who had been just a little short of reaching the top. By rights, they should have canceled everything and gone back, but Mance's order was clear; it had to be carried out even at the cost of the lives of most of the group members.
The problem was only that only a handful of chosen ones knew the essence of the order, and Val herself was not in their circle. Even Jarl, despite all her persuasion, would not tell her anything, leaving his woman in ignorance. To all attempts to find out details, he only frowned in displeasure, grew grim, and muttered something under his breath. Apparently, curses either at Mance or Val herself.
At the cost of losses, the Free Folk were able to cross The Wall and descend, after which they headed south, where Mance had told them to go, and then that skirmish with outlaws occurred—thrice cursed by the gods—who knows what they were even doing there. This idiotic fight seemed even more so because during the battle, the few who knew about the essence of the order and the goal of this whole trek were killed. At that moment, everything finally collapsed. A crowd of some unrefined fools slaughtered the men and took the women prisoner, intending first to amuse themselves with them and then sell them into slavery. Her companions in misfortune were raped on the very first day, but Val was immediately separated from the others; the woman of the Free Folk stood out too much with her beauty.
"Once we deal with those fools coming this way, we'll leave this shitty place," the leader boasted, running a dirty hand over her cheek. "Don't worry, beauty, I'll sell you for a higher price, unless, of course, you convince me not to. But keep in mind, you'll have to try very hard to make me change my mind."
"I'll cut your cock off," Val promised sweetly, making the outlaw wince. He held back his hand at the last moment to avoid slapping her, obviously not wanting to spoil the merchandise.
"Soon you'll sing a different tune," the man approached closely; his mouth smelled of something sour. The stench was such that the girl almost vomited right in his face.
The leader couldn't even guess how much he was mistaken. The "fools" the bandit gang was waiting for appeared for their souls themselves and, without unnecessary sentimentality, slaughtered all the bandits, sparing no one. Thus Val unexpectedly found herself in the retinue of the southern prince, who, together with Stark, was heading to Winterfell. It was not the best situation, but it was certainly better than being held captive by some scum. All the way to the castle, whose size amazed the wildling to the core of her soul, some fellow named Theon pestered her, and young Stark cast a burning gaze at her. Only the Prince, whom his companions called simply Joffrey, stood out among them. He certainly appreciated the wildling's beauty, but unlike the others, he was in no hurry to get into her pants. Val rarely met such men even among adults, let alone among beardless youths.
"I'm uncomfortable in this dress," the wildling complained, stepping over someone's drunken body.
"Yes, I've heard," Clegane spat. "About a hundred times."
"How much longer do we have to trudge?"
"You've already arrived," Prince Joffrey said, waiting for the travelers at the royal carriage; two knights of the Kingsguard stood frozen beside him. "What took so long, Clegane? I expected you somewhat earlier."
"Had to stop; the horse lost a shoe," the Hound replied.
"I see," the Prince nodded. "Well then, Val, come with me. I ordered my pavilion to be prepared; you will live in it with me. If anyone asks, you are my new servant."
"I want to rest and eat, not serve you at all," Val snapped.
Joffrey smirked, then took the wildling by the arm and pulled her toward the pitched pavilion. The knights, seeing the girl off with a distrustful look, said nothing as the Prince passed them. They could only guess exactly who Joffrey had brought into the royal camp in the middle of the night, but the thought that it was another whore for the King himself was quickly dismissed. The Prince would hardly insult his mother in such a way, with whom he had finally reconciled.
The pavilion pitched for the Crown Prince was decorated with the coats of arms of the Baratheons and Lannisters; inside stood furniture and a bed, next to which a sleeping bag was placed. Inside the pavilion, waiting for the Prince and playing with the links of a gold chain, sat Lord Renly. Seeing that his nephew had not come alone, but accompanied by a beautiful girl he had never seen before, the Lord of Storm's End raised his eyebrows in surprise:
"However, I am surprised, Joffrey!" Renly exclaimed. "Did you secretly marry while you were in The North?! If so, Cersei will kill her before lunch!"
"No, Uncle," the youth replied calmly. He fully understood what the Lord of the Stormlands meant.
While the girl was in Winterfell, all the men there practically drooled whenever the wildling appeared in their field of vision. This fate did not escape even Theon and Robb; the Prince even began to seriously suspect that the wildling had forever stolen the heart of Lord Stark's firstborn. Everything worsened the moment when, by Joffrey's order, Val was washed, properly combed, and dressed in a dark green dress. After that, the Prince was forced to assign the Hound to the girl. Otherwise, violence would have been unavoidable, for no matter how brave and strong Val was, she would never have managed a crowd of men.
That same night, Clegane broke some northerner's arm and knocked out half his teeth, after which explanations had to be made to Robb and Lady Catelyn, who looked at the Prince as if trying to burn a hole in him.
"So, you are the King's brother?" Val asked; there wasn't a drop of respect in her voice.
"Oh yes, beauty," Renly replied. "My brother is the King of all these lands."
"His kingdom stinks," the wildling declared. "There's nothing to breathe here."
Baratheon, hearing such unusual words, stared at Joffrey, his gaze demanding an explanation. Seeing that they were in no hurry to answer him, he asked directly:
"Where did she come from?"
"From beyond The Wall, Uncle. She is of the Free Folk, and they have no rules of conduct," the Prince explained reluctantly. "Our laws and way of life are foreign to them. I want to instill them in her."
"But we live as we want," Val replied. "No one tells us what to do; we are not limited by your stupid rules that make life miserable."
"I like her," Renly declared. "Brave. Anyway, I wanted to discuss something with you, Joffrey, but I think we'll do that a bit later. By the way, have you already warned your mother about whom you brought with you?"
"Not yet," Joffrey admitted.
"And did you explain to her," Baratheon pointed a finger toward Val, "what Cersei will do to her for such words?"
"I was just about to."
"Then hurry, here's my advice."
After Lord Renly finally withdrew to his own pavilion, Joffrey turned to the wildling. He measured her with a careful look and then spoke:
"Listen carefully and remember what I tell you. There will be increased attention on you here and even more so in the capital, which means your life may depend on your actions and words."
"I don't want to be your servant and an object of attention!" Val protested.
"Do you want to help your people be saved? If so, then do what I tell you. Besides, I did kidnap you after all, and your traditions, if I understood correctly, are quite specific, are they not?"
***
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