Castle Cerwyn | 280 AC
The great hall of Castle Cerwyn smelled of roasted pork and spilled ale. The fire crackled in the large stone hearths, warming the guests of the funeral feast. The old lord rested in the crypts, and the high seat now belonged to Medger Cerwyn.
In the center of the hall, a bard plucked the strings of a worn lute. His voice echoed in the wooden beams, singing the lively verses of the Dornishman's Wife. Horn cups knocked together in time with the music.
I bit into a piece of hard bread. The castle's maester, a short man with a chain of fine links at his neck, slipped behind the main table. He leaned in and whispered near Medger's ear, sliding a sealed parchment across the wood.
Lord Cerwyn broke the seal. His eyes ran over the ink. He nodded slowly to the maester and raised his face, searching our table in the middle of the hall. His hand gestured in my direction.
I rose from the oak bench and walked to the dais.
"Arthur", Medger said. His voice carried the roughness of exhaustion. He held out the crumpled parchment. "Your father sent an urgent raven from Winterfell. King Aerys has issued a decree. He demands your presence, and that of your entire Wolfpack, in the capital."
The bard kept singing, but the nearest tables went quiet. The weight of the king's title pushed a rigid silence through the hall like a current of cold air, swallowing the murmurs and the knocking of cups against the wooden tables.
"The king wants you to ride south", Medger continued, lowering his voice to keep the conversation close. "The order is to hunt the Kingswood Brotherhood. They have been tormenting the crown lands."
Kevin stopped beside me. He crossed his arms over his leather chest, reading the paper in the lord's hand.
"Seems our fame has reached even the king's ears", Kevin said.
I stayed quiet, running through the map and the weight of the summons. I nodded once to the new Lord Cerwyn.
"Thank you, my friend. I will need a favor", I said. "Send a return raven to my father. Tell him I am heading to King's Landing. I will sail from White Harbor on a direct ship south. Tell him that after the Kingswood hunt is resolved, I will return to Winterfell."
Medger Cerwyn folded the parchment and rested both hands on the table.
"Do you need men from my lands to reinforce your group?", the lord asked.
"That will not be necessary", I answered.
Medger looked at Perseu sharpening the edge of his axe at our table and at the enormous shapes of Fenrir and Hela sleeping near the corner hearths. He knew the trails we had left across the northern roads. The lord did not press.
We left the feast tables and withdrew to our quarters. The grey dawn found us mounted in the courtyard, filing out through the wooden gates.
White Harbor | 280 AC
The ride east would mark the end of dry leather. The dense smell of salted fish and tidal mud hit my face long before the walls of White Harbor appeared on the horizon.
We rode into the city over smooth stone paving. Wylis Manderly waited near the rise of the New Castle. The man carried a generous belly and a thick walrus moustache that hid his mouth almost entirely.
"Arthur Snow", Wylis greeted, extending his thick hands. "My father's halls are warm and ready. I will order a feast prepared for your blades..."
"I appreciate the hospitality, Wylis, but I cannot sit at your table", I interrupted, pulling Sleipnir's reins to hold the horse. "I am under direct orders. I need to sail for King's Landing as quickly as possible."
Sweat shone on the Manderly's forehead despite the cold ocean wind. He rubbed his fingers, uneasy. Any mention of a Mad King's summons stiffened the muscles of every heir in the North.
"It will be brief", I added, cutting through his discomfort. "Can you tell me where Benjen is?"
"The young Stark left last cycle", Wylis answered, pointing his fleshy hand toward the docks. "He took goods to Braavos. He has taken a real liking to trading and open sails."
"Right."
Wylis dismissed the guard and walked ahead of our mounts, guiding us through the steep streets to the central docks. The port operated in a noisy chaos of sailors unloading barrels and nets caught in pulleys.
The Manderly spoke quickly with the captain of a merchant galley called the Moonshadow. The seafarer assessed our long swords and the size of the two giant wolves before spitting into the sea and accepting the coins.
"You have exactly two hours before the tide turns and the winds die", Wylis warned. "He will cast off on schedule."
"That is enough. Thank you, Wylis", I said.
I dismounted from Sleipnir onto the wet planks of the dock. Kevin, Perseu, Belzakar, and Morghaz climbed down from their horses after me.
"Pull our gear, packs, and weapons from the saddlebags", I said, pointing toward the ship's ramp. "Take the horses to the city stables and pay for their feed. We pick them all up when we return. Get the equipment on board."
I left the group pulling at the ropes and turned my back to the sea.
I walked through the wet, slippery alleys of White Harbor. The dark stone walls showed streaks of moss running down the shallow gutters. The smell of wet rot soaked into the cold mist.
I stopped in front of a sign of rotted oak, held up by rusted chains. The letters scratched into the wood read The Black Hand.
I pushed the door open. The tavern reeked of old urine and the dregs of sour ale barrels. The low ceiling forced the smoke from the fish-oil lamps to hang at eye level. The hall held fewer than half a dozen men hunched over tables, drinking in silence. The instant my boots cracked on the wooden floor, three pairs of eyes fixed on the knives at my belt, then dropped back to the foam in their cups. No one was looking to test the steel of a man who moved like he lived to use it.
I approached the counter covered in knife grooves. The barkeep, a stocky man with scars covering half his thick neck, was scrubbing the inside of a horn cup with a dirty linen cloth.
"What will you have?", his voice came out like gravel being crushed, eyes not leaving his own hand.
I reached my left hand inside the opening of my leather doublet. My fingers found the parchment. I pulled the letter out and set the folded edge flat on the wet wood of the counter, sliding it forward.
The yellow light of the lamp wavered and lit the unbroken red wax seal at the center of the paper. The impression pressed into the wax showed a perfectly open hand with a human eye carved splitting the palm.
The barkeep stopped the rotating motion of his wrist. The linen cloth slipped and fell to the floor behind the counter. He focused on the pressed wax, then dragged his eyes slowly up until they stopped on my face. The man's loose shoulders locked into absolute military rigidity. The expression of disinterest vanished.
"Follow me, my lord", the barkeep said, turning his back and opening the narrow door hidden behind the storage barrels.
I followed him into one of the back rooms. He opened the door and we entered a space that had nothing to do with the misery of the main hall. It was, in its way, comfortable. Wall shelves packed with heavy tomes shared space with a solid dark oak table. The barkeep's posture shifted the moment he crossed the threshold. His spine straightened, carrying an air of discipline. In the center of the room, two sofas faced each other across a low wooden table.
"Sit. Would you like something to drink, my lord?", the barkeep asked.
"No, thank you. I will be brief", I said, sitting on the sofa.
"Of course. How can I help you?"
"Do you know who I am?", I asked.
The barkeep sat on the sofa across from me.
"I do not know you, my lord. I only received orders that if a letter bearing this seal ever reached me, I was to do everything in my power to help", he answered.
"I need you to send a message directly to Hermodr", I said.
At the name Hermodr, the barkeep's expression shifted to pure reverence.
"It seems you are close to Lord Hermodr", he said.
"I am. He serves me", I answered with a slight smile.
The reverence on the man's face broke and gave way to rigid surprise.
"I apologize for my manners, my lord. I did not know I was speaking to the Grand Wotan. Give me the message and it will be delivered with the highest priority", the man answered, his voice going tight.
'Gods, these names are an embarrassment. Must be Rhoslyn's doing,' I thought, pulling an unsealed letter from inside the doublet.
"Here. Thank you for your help", I said, handing the paper over.
"No thanks needed. I work for you. Is there anything else I can do?", the man asked.
I held the thought for a moment.
"Do you have information on the Kingswood Brotherhood?", I asked.
"I do. Give me a moment." The barkeep rose and walked to the shelves. He removed several thick books and revealed a hollow hidden in the wall, packed with rolls and letters. He searched through the papers until he found what he wanted and returned to the table carrying a small bundle of parchments bound by a strip of leather darkened with age. He tilted his head slightly in respect before setting the documents in front of me.
I glanced at the text and saw it was written in a completely disjointed form. I recognized what it was immediately and smiled.
'Seems Eldric and Rhoslyn have been doing excellent work,' I thought, recognizing the substitution logic of the cipher.
The barkeep settled back into his chair.
"The Kingswood Brotherhood." His voice dropped. "Most nobles call them common criminals. Killers, thieves, deserters." A small, tired smile formed on his face. "But the people of the Kingswood tend to speak of them differently."
He opened one of the parchments.
"Many of those who joined the brotherhood were peasants crushed by taxes, men driven from their lands, or soldiers abandoned after the wars. The forest took them all in."
His eyes moved quickly over the encrypted lines.
"Over time, dangerous men rose among them. Men capable of turning starving fugitives into something close to a small army."
He separated one letter from the rest.
"Simon Toyne was the leader. Intelligent. Patient. He was not the kind of man who charged screaming into a battle. He planned ambushes like a veteran commander. He chose wealthy targets, avoided unnecessary losses, and kept the brotherhood together." The barkeep drummed his fingers slowly on the table. "House Toyne once held prestige before the Crown destroyed them almost entirely. Some believe Simon grew up watching his bloodline disappear while other houses prospered on their knees before the Iron Throne."
He let out a low laugh.
"Perhaps the brotherhood began as revenge. Perhaps as survival. But they say Simon did not only want gold." His eyes came up to meet mine. "He wanted to prove that lords bleed the same as any other man."
He opened another letter.
"Big Belly Ben. Pure brute force. Large as an aurochs." The man shook his head. "There are accounts of men having ribs broken through armor from his blows. He likely started as a mercenary. Too large to live as a simple peasant. Some swear he fought in the Disputed Lands before returning to Westeros without a coin." He shrugged. "Simon found him fighting in underground pits near King's Landing, killing men for copper."
He pulled a smaller parchment.
"Fletcher Dick was different. Silent. An exceptional archer." The man pointed to his own throat. "They say entire patrols would cross the forest without ever realizing he had been watching them from the treetops. Some claim Fletcher is one of the finest archers alive in Westeros. A hunter from childhood. He could bring down birds in full flight before he was old enough to carry a sword." The barkeep gave a small smile. "Lords tried to recruit him many times, but Fletcher hated nobles almost as much as he hated tax collectors."
He pointed to another name written on the parchment.
"It was Fletcher who taught Ulmer to use the bow." The barkeep raised an eyebrow and a short laugh escaped him. "They say Ulmer can hit apples on the top of stakes at hundreds of paces, but even he admitted he never reached Fletcher's level."
He opened the next letter.
"Wenda, the White Fawn."
His expression hardened slightly.
"They say she was the daughter of a small sheep farmer near the Stormlands. Young. Pretty." He went quiet for a moment. "Pretty enough to attract the wrong attention."
The barkeep rested his arms on the table.
"A member of House Cafferen reportedly violated the girl and murdered her family to keep it buried. Wenda disappeared shortly after." He pointed to a symbol drawn in the corner of the parchment. "Today she brands the men she captures with the mark of a white fawn burned into the skin." A cold smile formed on his face. "Many soldiers prefer to die fighting rather than fall alive into her hands."
Then he reached for the last parchment.
"The Smiling Knight."
Even the ambient sound of the room seemed to quiet.
"That one was the worst of them." The man let the air out slowly. "Or perhaps the most dangerous. Depends on who tells the story."
His fingers touched the edge of the table.
"Some say he was born in the Reach, a younger son of a small knightly house. A prodigy with the sword from childhood." The barkeep shook his head slowly. "They say he held to the knightly vows almost fanatically. Perhaps that was the mistake."
He leaned slightly forward.
"According to the rumors, the man confronted his lord after witnessing abuses against peasants. The lord charged him with treason and slander." The barkeep ran his fingers across his own lips. "As punishment, they removed his lips and condemned him to the Wall."
His eyes dropped to the parchment.
"But the convoy never reached the North. It was found massacred days later. Bodies scattered across the road, horses split from neck to belly."
He raised his gaze slowly.
"Not long after, a knight with a lipless grin began appearing in the forests of the Kingswood."
The silence sat between us for a few seconds while he closed the parchments one by one.
"The Kingswood is their real strength, my lord." The barkeep unrolled a simple map on the table. "They know every trail, every stream, every hidden cave. Crown patrols enter there blind." His finger traced several markings made in thin ink. "And they have the support of the people. Farmers hide wounded members. Hunters supply food. Some villages trust the brotherhood over the king's men."
He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders relaxing.
"That is what makes the Kingswood Brotherhood dangerous." His eyes met mine again. "They are not outlaws hiding in a forest. They are men and women the realm ground down, and who chose to grind back."
A smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.
'Sounds like an interesting group,' I thought.
Ryon did not ask why I wanted that information, but whatever my intention was, he wished me luck.
I thanked the barkeep. I left several gold dragons on the oak table. Ryon tried to refuse payment from his own employer, but I pushed the coins toward him and insisted. I said my farewell, stepped back out through the doors of the Black Hand into the wet alleys, and walked quickly toward the ship at the dock.
I climbed the wooden ramp of the Moonshadow. On deck, near the freshwater barrels, Kevin and Morghaz were playing cards on an upturned crate. The salt breeze was already pulling at the ends of our cloaks.
"Everyone ready?", I asked, stopping beside the crate.
"Yes", Kevin answered, eyes not leaving the worn cards in his hand.
The galley captain began shouting sharp orders from the helm. Sailors ran along the ropes. The canvas sails beat hard, stretching against the wind, and the ship cast off from the dock, cutting through the waters of the White Knife toward open sea.
Eleven days of salt, cold, and creaking wood passed. The grey horizon broke open for a dark mass pushing through the morning mist.
Dragonstone did not look like a castle built by human hands. The structure seemed to have been vomited from the bowels of the earth. The towers of black rock twisted toward the sky in the shapes of pointed claws, grotesque dragons, and stone bat wings. On the peak of the island, the mouth of the volcano smoked slowly, drawing a line of grey against the flat sky. The waves struck with violence against the dark cliffs. The air near the coast smelled of wet basalt and ancient sulfur.
One day later, the capital appeared.
The smell hit the hull of the ship long before the Red Keep came into view. It was a physical wall of stench, thick and warm. The air reeked of exposed sewage, human waste baking in the sun, rotting fish, and old meat.
Fenrir and Hela pulled their ears back at almost the same moment. The giant wolf snorted, lowered his head, and dragged his wet muzzle against his front paws repeatedly, trying to scrub the smell from his nostrils. The shadowcat curled her long body tight and covered her black nose with a paw, her yellow eyes watering against the acid air of the bay.
The Moonshadow maneuvered between dozens of galleys and merchant barges. We docked at the quay of the Blackwater Bay port with a hollow thud against the wet timber piles.
We took our camp packs, travel bags, and weapons. Before going down to the main deck area, I pulled strips of thick linen from my kit. I wrapped the scabbard, guard, and hilt of Dark Sister repeatedly, hiding the weapon's shape and dark leather under plain fabric. The Valyrian steel needed to stay concealed in the middle of the capital.
We came down the boarding ramp with packs on our shoulders. Our boots struck the dirty stone of the port.
A bald man waited at the edge of the quay, flanked by half a dozen guards in crimson cloaks and polished steel mail. He wore fine silks that gave off a sickening smell of lavender powder, a thick perfume trying to fight the city's rot. His white, soft hands rested crossed at the level of his round belly.
His eyes slid across my scratched armor, assessed the greatsword on Perseu's back, Morghaz's spear, and then dropped to the two black beasts now moving at exactly the height of my leather belt.
"Arthur Snow, I presume?", the man said. The smile opened his plump lips but did not reach the cold, shrewd eyes.
"Indeed", I answered, stopping at a safe distance from the escort. "And you must be the famous Lord Varys."
"Lord?", he replied. The voice came out thin and smooth. He raised his hands in a gesture of calculated humility. "I hold no lands, no castle... no title."
"I am deeply grateful you made the journey to the capital", Varys said, folding his soft hands back over his round belly.
"A summons from the king himself is not a request", I answered, adjusting the weight of the pack on my shoulder. "It cannot be refused."
The eunuch nodded with a slow movement of his bald head. His lavender perfume nearly drowned the smell of rotting fish around us.
"Without a doubt. If you will follow me", Varys said, turning his back to the bay. "I took the liberty of reserving the finest rooms in the cleanest inn in King's Landing for your Wolfpack."
The crimson-cloaked guards opened the way ahead, pushing dockhands and merchants aside with the shafts of their spears. We followed just behind. Fenrir and Hela walked pressed against my legs, their heavy paws stepping around the puddles of dirty water. Passersby stopped abruptly and pressed their bodies against the wooden walls of the warehouses to get clear of the wolf's red eyes and the shadowcat's fangs.
"When will I be brought before the king?", I asked, keeping pace beside Varys.
"You will not", the Master of Whisperers answered, his gentle voice cutting through the squeal of cart wheels. "His Grace carries the weight of an entire kingdom on his shoulders and has other priorities at the moment. A member of the royal family, however, has shown deep interest in the stories of your band. You will be received tomorrow morning."
Varys slipped his hand into his silk sleeve and pulled out a pale handkerchief. He brought it to his nose with delicate precision.
"That will give you time to rest from the long voyage", he continued, his voice muffled by the cloth, his eyes bright with a polished calculation. "And to take long baths with hot water. The Narrow Sea and the blood of the roads have left a quite... rustic odor on you."
The dense smell of old sweat, dirty leather, and weeks without washing was embedded in our clothes. Kevin scratched at his beard, crusted with sea salt. Morghaz simply repositioned the spear on his shoulder.
"Show us the way to the inn", I said.