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CHP 73: Insult To War
🕑 Added 2024-12-02 10:16:53 +0000 UTCJoin the discord server for instant six pack,
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I quietly bit an apple, watching Arya strike away at a strawman with a small blade, designed purely for thrusting and increased maneuverability. She used her left hand to wield the blade, and her lithe form seemed tailored for her choice of arms.
Whoever had decided to gift her the aptly named, 'Needle', knew her personally.
Beads of sweat rolled down her brow, and plumes of hot air came out with each breath as she strained herself. Her cotton tunic was marred with dirt and her breeches were no better off.
Winter seemed to draw nearer and nearer, or perhaps it had already begun and I'd merely missed the change of seasons. I only had what I could see to go by, and not what I could feel.
"You're forcibly tiring yourself," I said, munching on my tasteless fruit. "Half a fight is composure. So you can see what the other person is doing and react accordingly. Stop over-committing on the thrusts so you have room to react should something surprising happen."
It was a fairly basic piece of advice, but something even veteran warriors could forget. Largely useless in the Lands Between however, considering it didn't matter how composed you were if your opponent could bring down a star on your head.
Arya was human, and a woman to boot. She wasn't going to physically overpower a seven foot tall mass of muscle in full plate hellbent on slicing her in half.
But, knowing how to defend herself wouldn't ever be a bad thing.
"Syrio taught me as much," She furrowed her brow. "Teach me something else."
"I don't know what else you expect from a teacher. It's experience that's gonna make you a better fighter."
I shrugged, casting a glance at the grey skies as Arya moved to the table lying nearby, before discreetly moving my eyes to the stretched and misshapen windows of Harrenhal where disquiet gazes watched our every step, confident that I couldn't hear them.
They were dead wrong.
It had been a week since my little 'trick'. The smell of burnt flesh was still on the air, and the stifling lack of rain in a region famous for it did nothing to help.
The exaggerated nature of rumours and tales spun of my previous actions had helped limit the shock, to some extent, but still, they were taking too long to get their bearings.
Ah well.
The wet soil of the training yard squelched as Arya spun about her heel and tossed a dulled longsword my way. I curiously grabbed it out of the air and twirled it in my hand.
"Spar with me then," She suddenly proclaimed, and I was reminded of how children were.
"If you say so... but I think Addam would be better for your training. He fights like I expect a knight to."
She didn't answer me, just pouted. I couldn't help but sigh as I raised my blade. "Okay, fine. Come at me."
Arya stepped forward, then suddenly bent her knee to lean low and came up with the pointy end of her sword primed at my family jewels.
"Alright, damn. So we're going there."
I unceremoniously stepped aside and kicked her knee out from under her, giving her a faceful of muddy soil.
"You... You didn't need to do that."
I did not regret my actions.
"That's what's going to happen. You're not quick or nimble enough to lean into it that much. At least not yet."
With a grumble, she pushed herself up and ran at me again, only to be socked across the cheek with the pommel of the sword and tripped to eat some more mud.
Seeing as she tried to do the same a few times more, I 'understood' that she didn't appreciate my lessons in the pecking order.
For someone who had never seen a day of labour going by her soft hands, she was quite spirited about this.
"Place your bets on the element of surprise. Or do you wanna be the type that screams with every swing?" I chuckled as I stepped aside and her blade whisked past my hand. "Why are you even trying to swing that in the first place? Stab. Poke. It's not rocket science."
When she finally decided to stab me, I stopped the thrust by simply clapping my hands. Try as she might, Arya couldn't wrench the blade free.
And instead of trying harder, she grumbled and started pouting. "That's not fair."
"Sure it is. Tell you what, go get me something to drink and I'll teach you what to do here."
"...Promise?"
"Promise."
Nodding, the little Stark ran off to... only she knew where. When she was gone, I turned to the old dying tree overlooking the training yard. Or rather, to the grey-haired man leaning against it with his arms crossed.
He wore a simple woolen tabard over darkened mail and leather gambeson.
"Why do you people think being moody is a good look?" I asked with a slight smile.
"My apologies, lord," Brynden Tully bowed his head. "I'm afraid this is just how my face is after all the years."
Huh.
I narrowed my eyes, "Well, I'll be damned."
He looked something like a younger-... almost infantile version of myself. That was so incredibly odd to see.
"Do you also enjoy long walks in nature?"
"When it is permitted," He admitted with a tired sigh. "A walk in the Vale is more like to end with you gutted by some savage than it is to give you any peace. Though, I doubt you would have that problem, lord."
Brynden 'Blackfish' Tully, was a veteran of half a hundred battles as I'd heard it and this was his third war. It stood to reason that he could behave normally when there was a good chance he'd seen some wild things over the years. Besides, he seemed the type to believe extreme rumours.
Nothing I'd done here was too strange after I laid waste to the Iron Islands.
"You don't have to worry about those guys. They tried to mug me when I was there and I had to practise my right to self-defense."
They would have ruined my fashionable attire otherwise, was the part left unsaid.
His eyes widened momentarily, then relaxed in defeat, "The Vale thanks you."
"The Vale?" I asked, cocking my head. "Not the Riverlands?"
"I left with Lysa," His weathered features soured. "Sev-... The Gods have mercy on that foolish child."
Oh yeah, there was that bit about her poisoning her husband or something.
Then, his gaze suddenly softened. "Seeing you with Arya reminded me of Catelyn and Lysa. Apologies, lord."
"Nah, no need," I waved him off.
I couldn't help but recall Rykard. He had been good once, as all children were. He'd cared for his siblings, and then the people that chose to follow him... even the smallest of them.
It was regrettable and sad what became of that child.
An awkward silence settled between the two of us. Brynden refused to speak unless spoken to, something about authority and respect from what I could put together based on his face. I coughed into my hand.
"So, Robb. How's that going? He's handling this well, yes? He made any decisions yet?"
"Far too well for a boy his age. He does his father proud." Brynden smiled a rough smile that seemed to not fit his cracked lips.
I nodded in agreement, "Praise where it's due, man. Robb's a great kid."
He had effectively taken over the North, divided his men as necessary to defend against attacks on his homeland, marched South for honour's sake while keeping his unruly and battle-hungry bannermen in check, then earned their respect and even kept his own completely emotions in check when making the decision on what he was to do next.
He'd even chosen to forgo revenge for his people.
All as a teenager.
It was mighty impressive and none could say otherwise.
"Just so. Even now he convenes with his bannermen over their next course of action."
What?
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Before I could sneak into Harrenhal's Great Hall with roasted ribs in my coat pockets, Greatjon threw the doors open and stomped out with a red face and flared nostrils in some strange replication of the roaring giant coat-of-arms emblazoned on his chest.
"See if you can knock some sense into that boy!"
"Uh... sure," I nodded confusedly as he walked past.
Knowing him, he'd definitely suggested that they take the initiative to march on the capital and Robb had shut him down to await word from Stannis. The funny thing was neither of them were wrong in their suggestions.
But men were men and men were always quick to anger.
Quietly, I slithered past the door and hid in the darkness of one of the unlit hearths, munching on one of my ribs as I tuned in to what was new among the Lords of the Trident and the North.
One the one side, there was Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard, Lord Tytos Blackwood whose cloak I'd stolen, and the brash Lord Jonos Bracken of Stone Hedge. On the other, old Lord Rickard Karstark of Karhold and Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort.
"It would be wise to act as Greatjon suggested," Roose started in that low, raspy voice of his. He stood with his hands behind his back, and I wouldn't trust his kind to not be hiding a dagger there. "King's Landing should be all but defenseless. Surely, King Stannis will look upon the North with favour."
"It was Tywin Lannister and his bastard kin that killed Lord Eddard. With him dead, it's only right we northmen take the head from that bitch queen and her evil spawn." Rickard Karstark agreed, his chest puffed out. "If nothing else, at least allow me to take my men and bring you their bloody heads!"
Robb sat at an ancient stone throne, wearing a stoic face as he heard his bannermen. Edmure stood sentinel by his side.
"Even in death, my father would not wish ill upon children. Myrcella and Tommen do not deserve such a fate for something they had nothing to do with." Robb explained calmly, not shifting even slightly.
Perhaps dealing with me had made it easier for him to not be riled by his men.
"It would be unwise to leave them breathing." Roose said.
Tytos Blackwood nodded, running a hand through his dark hair, "Dorne still waits. We do not know who they mean to declare for or what they have been doing."
He took a step towards Robb but found himself blocked by Jason Mallister.
"I would expect such a thing from the Mad King Aerys. If you would recall, my lord, Lord Eddard waged war to see him brought down."
"Are you comparing us to the Targaryens? Do you want to die, boy?"
"Enough." Robb spoke up again. "Tywin Lannister is dead. As is Mace Tyrell. And their host is right outside for all to see. They are shattered. Dorne is not like to spill its blood for a Lannister King."
I agreed with him. Hell, I was willing to bet good money their forces were marching on King's Landing right this moment.
It'd allow them to exact their revenge for previous 'grudges', and giving Stannis the capital would instantly put them in a favorable position... or maybe not considering Stannis' affinity for merit over tradition.
But it was better than waiting around while the rest of the realm waged war.
The better question was, where exactly did this leave Daenerys Targaryen? She was crossing the Narrow Sea, wasn't she?
Humming, I clapped my hands together to draw attention to myself and all of them save for Robb himself knelt when they noticed me. I had no way of convincing them otherwise that sat right with me.
"I say go ahead. March on the Leynd-... King's Landing. This war is so over it's gonna get boring soon. The fact you're even calling this a war anymore is an insult to the word."
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Hope you enjoyed.
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Comments
Aadijo
Nice chapter, hope you heal well soon m8
Potato
Noicd
Bleap
most of the high lords of the Reach and the Westerlands were in that camp and are gone courtesy of a nuke being dropped on them. Wonder what that could mean
Rachel N
Ooh I actually forgot Tywin is dead! Thank you for the chapter!!
