Chapter 40

The last thing Steffon could remember was the chaos that had happened after his first attempt to attack the Tyrell flank at Tarth. And of course the vicious wound he'd received in his thigh. It still stung like all the Seven Hells combined. Even as he coughed himself awake, he was still blinded by the pain from it. Still, it had healed some at least. Otherwise he'd still be screaming.

"Steffon!" He heard someone say. He turned his head about as much as he could to see . . . Arya running toward him. He could barely make her out, but he'd recognise the silhouette of her anywhere. "Steffon, you're awake!" She said. Steffon thought he heard a sob from her but he wasn't sure. She handed him a cup of water and he drank. His throat was as dry as a bone, and the water felt like nectar from the Gods themselves.

"My Lady, we heard shouting." Steffon heard someone else say. Likely a soldier who had been standing guard outside the door.

"Get the maester, quickly!" Arya replied. Steffon could hear the sound of the soldiers' boots thudding on the castle flagstones as they ran to find the Maester. I must still be on Tarth, he thought. The very fact he was thinking that gave him some measure of comfort; if he couldn't remember where he was then he would have been in real trouble.

"Steffon, you're alive." He heard Arya say again as he could feel her slightly roughened hands cradling his head. He blinked his eyes about a hundred times as his vision began to clear slowly and he was able to get a proper view of Arya for the first time since he had regained consciousness. Her hair, cut short when they'd tried to infiltrate King's Landing, had grown back somewhat. She was wearing boiled leather armour, and looked slightly more gaunt than he remembered.

She leant forward and kissed him right on the mouth, only for Steffon to struggle out of her grasp. "Steffon, what's wrong?" She asked, slightly alarmed. Steffon just remained silent, not saying anything. Hopefully he'd be able to get out of the conversation by playing that gambit. Their last conversation had resulted in him striking her, something he'd sworn never to do. It was not… how she deserved to be treated. She deserved better than that

She deserved better than him.

The entry of the Maester thankfully cut his thoughts off and the man went about his work. He changed the bandages on Steffon's thigh, and tapped his finger on parts below his leg to test if there was something badly wrong. There wasn't, thank the Gods. Edric entered a short time after, with Lady Mira at his side.

"So, the Seven hells just spat you out eh?" Edric said teasingly. Steffon just rolled his eyes at his half-brother's antics. Getting used to and tolerating them would only get one so far.

"So it would seem Edric." He replied weakly. "I… have to let everyone know I'm alright." He made a move to get out of the bed, but Arya and the Maester gently pushed him back down.

"Your Grace, it is not wise to do that. You're still weak from your wound and are still adjusting to consciousness." The Maester. Steffon sighed and laid back down on the bedroll. The only way anyone would be assured of him still being alive would be if he showed himself. But he supposed that the maester had a point as well. There was no use trying to show that he was alright and then collapsing again.

"I can let everyone know." Edric said. "The men that are still here anyway. Most of them went with Lord Stannis back to the mainland. The lords wanted to pursue the Tyrell fleet but he said we needed to secure the Stormlands before doing anything else. After all, those bloody Reachmen still have at least 50,000 swords." He continued. Steffon nodded. He knew that most of their soldiers would take Edric's word.

"I'm staying here." Arya announced. Edric nodded as he and Mira left the room. "Steffon, what's wrong?"

"Last time we talked, I said things I shouldn't have." He said quietly, the croakiness in his voice slowly disappearing. "You didn't deserve that, and you deserve better than me, Arya." His voice began to break. "So much better."

Arya's blood ran cold. "What are you saying…?" She asked.

Steffon let out a heavy sigh, turning his head away to keep himself from meeting Arya's gaze. "You're better off going back up North to Robb and your mother. You'll be safe there until the war is over. You were right to call off our betrothal…"

Spreading the news around camp of Steffon's awakening proved simple enough. Any of soldiers still on the island and in need of some good news for a change. Spreading it across to the mainland would also be fairly easy via raven, but getting it to the army Stannis had been rallying on the mainland would be harder. It would likely necessitate a messenger on horseback or something similar. He'd leave organising that to someone else.

Edric was on his way to inform the remaining lords of Steffon regaining consciousness when he quite literally bumped into Waldron, who was looking downright furious. "Why so angry Waldron? The King has woken." He said.

"Because that Northern prick married some Westerlands girl." Waldron said. That got Edric's attention. "A raven arrived for me this morning from my father. I thought the Starks swore by their honour!"

"They do, Waldron." Edric replied. Ordinarily, he didn't have patience for the self-important twat, especially after he left Steffon to die at the battle. However, the news about Robb violating his oath to the Freys was alarming. It would mean that the Frey soldiers would be marching home. There were other consequences of course, namely losing control of the crossing over the major river crossing that connected the North to the Riverlands.

"Then why did he violate his bloody oath!?" Waldron shouted. "Bloody Northerners!"

"Have care how you speak, Waldron." Edric replied icily. "Your next queen is a Northerner."

"Her brother violated his oath to my family. Whatever honour means to her, it clearly doesn't mean shit to him!"

"You have no right to speak of honour when you left our King to die on the battlefield!" Edric shot back; at this point, he had lost his patience with the Frey boy.

"If you had listened to me, you'd know His Grace ordered me-"

"To retreat? If you had any honour, Frey, you'd have died standing your ground, protecting him to your last breath."

"I need lessons in honour from you, bastard?" Waldron spat venomously, storming up so that his face was inches away from Edric's. "What could you possibly teach me?" Waldron got his answer when Edric grabbed him by the tunic, and threw him to the ground like he was a sack of flour.

"Seems to me like you need lessons in a lot of things, Frey." Edric replied through gritted teeth. He was fed up with this boy.

"You hurt me, you lose my family's support." Waldron replied. Edric bit back a reply that their support was worth less than the support of a dog; insulting him wouldn't help his situation. "Only if the wounds are visible." He said instead. He drew back his fist to slam it into Waldron's cheek.

"Stop it!" He heard a voice shout. He turned around to see Arya standing behind him, her eyes red from crying. "Get off of him and show some dignity."

"Arya, he started-"

"I don't care who started it." She replied, cutting Edric off. "I'm not in the mood to deal with any infighting."

"But, my lady, he hit–"

"Not another word, Waldron. Am I clear?" Arya warned. Waldron tried looking around to see if anyone would aid him, but the soldiers in the hallway were either focused elsewhere or pretending not to notice what was happening.

"I… yes. Yes, my lady." Waldron said sullenly, but not before handing Arya the piece of paper. "See to it His Grace sees this. My family's allegiance could change because of this." Having said his final piece, Waldron stormed out of the room.

Edric scowled, watching Waldron leave. He then turned back to see Arya reading the letter with growing anxiety. "What does it say…?" He asked.

"My brother has broken his oath to House Frey, and has married another woman, Lady Jeyne of House Westerling." Arya replied, not looking up from the paper and wiping her eyes. "Gods… this is exactly what I need right now… another broken betrothal…"

Edric raised an eyebrow. "Another…? Who else?"

"It's Steffon… he's… saying that he's not worthy of me..." She replied.

Edric shook his head. "I swear to the Gods, I'll-"

"You will do nothing. Clear?" She said, putting a finger in a face. Edric was taken aback; she was exercising her authority now. Not something he was used to.

"Um… yes, My Lady." He said, reluctantly. "Now, the only matter of discussion now is the news. Do we tell Steffon?"

"No. Not yet." Arya replied. "He needs to focus on his recovery. I'll inform him when the time is right."

Having to kill Qhorin Halfhand may have been necessary to infiltrate the Wildlings, but it didn't mean that Gendry had to like it. When he'd thrust his sword through one of the most celebrated Rangers in Night's Watch history, he just felt like he'd failed somehow. Not that he had the luxury of dwelling on it. Ygritte had escorted him immediately to a large tent in the middle of the Wildling camp. He had been greeted by a tall, red-bearded man who was incredibly intimidating to say the least. He had assumed that was Mance Rayder before a shorter, dark haired man emerged from another part of the tent.

"You know who I am?" He asked.

"Well if he's not Mance Rayder," Gendry nodded in the red-bearded man's direction, "I assume you are."

"Very astute." Rayder replied. "No kneeling?"

"I'm from Flea Bottom in King's Landing. Never got into the habit of kneeling." Gendry replied. Rayder nodded, seemingly out of respect.

"Beneath notice?" He asked.

"Highborns don't pay attention to working people." He shrugged.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Gendry."

"Well, Gendry… tell me why you're here."

"I…" He had to be careful here. Say the wrong thing and he could be dead at a moment's notice. "At Castle Black… a Ranger... came back to life and attacked the Lord Commander… no bloody way was it natural."

"A Wight." the red-bearded man said.

"Indeed, Tormund." Rayder said. "They're the footsoldiers for the White Walkers."

"Thought they were just stories to frighten children."

"Oh, so did I, lad." Rayder settled into a makeshift chair and picked up a lute, strumming it gently. "So did I. But I'll tell you now Gendry . . . they're not. They're real."

"I gathered that, Your Grace."

"No need for that, lad." Rayder said, a small smile on his face. "But you haven't answered my question. Why join us?"

"The Lord Commander isn't taking it seriously." Gendry replied. He chose his words carefully, mixing truths with lies and guesses. "He don't care what's out there. But I can't change what I saw. That . . . Wight came from somewhere, and it wasn't natural. I can't go back, not after that."

Rayder looked past him to Tormund. Tormund must have nodded his head or something because Rayder turned back to Gendry a moment later. "Alright, I understand. First, we'll need to get you a new cloak. Keep that one, and you'll have a dagger in your belly before long around here."

Gendry nodded. That much he understood. He'd be of no use to anyone if someone plunged a dagger in his back before things even got started. Rayder turned back towards another section of the tent. "Dalla!"

"Yes, Mance?"

"Find this boy a new cloak." He said before shifting his attention back to Gendry. "Welcome to the Free Folk, lad."