29 Chapter 29

It was an hour past midday and the men were eager to get started on the journey back North. They stood packed and ready, just outside the Gate of the Gods. Unfortunately, they were short one man.

Jory wanted to curse, but resisted for the sake of his men. He couldn't be seen getting frustrated. This was why he wanted Tiresias with them, to just sleep in the damn Red Keep, so that their departure could be handled with expediency. He said so to the librarian last night, trying to convince him to forgo his inn for their last evening in King's Landing.

However, Tiresias declined, saying he still had business in the city, and that he would meet him at the city gate before midday. He then asked Jory to make room in the wagon. When Jory asked what for, Tiresias refused to say and bade him goodnight.

And so here they stood, with half the day gone and the men anxious to leave. It was a good thing that Tiresias was responsible for their extraordinary luck gambling on the joust. Otherwise the mood would be more hostile.

Even Gord was getting annoyed. "Where the hell is he?" he muttered, coming to Jory's side, staring back into the city.

Jory didn't even shrug. "You know him better than me," he said, before peering to Gord. "I don't suppose he told you what he had to do this morning?"

Gord shook his head. "Bastard was tight-lipped about the whole thing." He looked around him before lowering his tone. "Guessing we be taking more than tomes back, aye?"

"I suppose so."

He felt Gord look to him, before asking. "You ain't thinking of leaving him if he doesn't show?"

"I swore to Lord Stark I'd escort Tiresias back to Winterfell," Jory answered immediately. "Don't worry, Gord. I'll not leave just because the men are getting anxious."

Relief rippled through Gord. "Good. I mean, I knew that…just wanted to be sure."

On that, Gord turned to return to the contingent, calling back to Jory.

"Feel free to curse him out for making us wait, though. Bastard deserves that, at least."

Jory didn't deign to answer that. He made sure his face was turned back to the gates before grinning.

The grin slid from his face as he focused in on the crowd, framed by the city gate. A slim figure was making his way through. Jory recognized the librarian immediately and turned to call to the soldiers.

"All right, men! Let's saddle up. Our bookish friend's coming."

Grumbles, sighs of relief and more than one "Finally!" reached his ear. He let them grouse. Today was just the beginning of their long ride back. Turning back to the city gate, he saw that Tiresias had already cleared it…

…And a black-haired boy was at his side, carrying a small satchel.

Questions flooded Jory's mind. Was this what, or rather whom, the empty space in the wagon was for? It must be. Tiresias carried nothing but his rucksack and Jory didn't see anything else following the man. Who the hell was this kid? And why was he coming with them?

Tiresias spotted their company, pointing them out to the boy who was accompanying him. Leaving behind the mounted men, Jory strode forth and met Tiresias halfway.

"Morning, Jory," greeted Tiresias briskly, despite the pockets under his eyes.

"It's afternoon," Jory replied, unable to keep a slight annoyance from his voice.

Tiresias nodded apologetically. "I'm sorry about the delay. I had a few things to clear with the boy's former master and it's a long walk from the Street of Steel to here."

"The Street of Steel?"

"Aye," said Tiresias, turning to the lad. "Do you want to introduce yourself, or should I?"

The lad looked from the librarian to the ground. "Gendry," he mumbled.

Jory blinked. "Gendry…?"

"Gendry," Tiresias said gently. "Come on, Jory, do you give me grief over my single name?"

"Right…" said Jory, still staring at this Gendry. "And who are you, Gendry?"

"Blacksmith," Gendry said, not breaking from his mumble.

"Blacksmith?"

Tiresias interjected. "He was an apprentice to Tobho Mott, a master blacksmith, here in King's Landing. Gendry is going to complete his apprenticeship in Winterfell, under Mikken."

A smallborn apprentice from King's Landing…Lord Stark didn't say anything about them escorting anyone up North, except for Tiresias.

"Is Lord Stark expecting…?" he asked, nodding to the lad, who hadn't looked up.

Tiresias nodded. "He is."

Jory had several pressing questions, but he didn't wish for the lad to bear witness to them. Hoping he wouldn't have to force the boy back into the city, he turned to Gendry.

"Gendry," he said. The boy looked up, fixing him with his bright blue eyes. "Do you see my men there? We have a spot in you in the back wagon. Why don't you go over there and get settled? Tiresias and I need to speak."

Gendry looked to Tiresias, who nodded, before grabbing his rucksack and striding past him. He certainly looked like a blacksmith's apprentice. He was slightly shorter than Robb, but he was stockier, no doubt strong from swinging a hammer and handling irons.

After seeing Gord walk forward to greet the lad, Jory turned back to Tiresias.

"What's going on?

Tiresias smiled grimly, nodding to Gendry. "You're bringing home a new apprentice for Mikken. It's not a charity case. Gendry will pull his weight, I promise you."

"I'm not asking about that," hissed Jory. He breathed to calm himself.

"I know you aren't," Tiresias replied evenly. "Jory, listen to me. The boy needs to get out of King's Landing. And Lord Stark will want the boy in the Winterfell for his own safety. You need to trust me on that."

Jory turned back to his men. Gendry had placed his rucksack on the wagon and was staring back at them. He hadn't boarded himself though. He looked worried.

"Jory," said Tiresias. Turning back to him, he saw that the librarian had lost all joviality in his eyes. "I know you trust me more than your uncle does. I need you to escort Gendry to Winterfell for me."

Forgetting about Gendry for the moment, Jory stared. "For you?"

Tiresias extracted a letter from his jacket, holding it out. "This is for Lord Stark when you arrive. I shouldn't be more than a couple months behind, but this will explain the boy's presence."

"What you do mean? The f—" He paused before lowering his voice again. "The fuck do you mean you'll be two months behind? You're supposed to travel north with us."

"Something came up," replied Tiresias. His voice remained calm. "I'm sorry that I didn't speak to you beforehand. I was planning to go back, but…an opportunity has arisen and I'd be a fool not to pursue it."

Jory felt at a loss for words. Tiresias raised his hand for a shake.

"Thank you for coming south for me, Jory. I'm sorry that you and the lads came so far, but I'm afraid that I can't return to Winterfell just yet."

Refusing to grasp his hand, Jory met Tiresias' eyes.

"Lord Stark commanded me to escort you home."

"I'm aware of that." Tiresias' tone was still blithe, but he had the decency to drop his hand. "I put it in the letter that you are not to be reprimanded for leaving me behind. It's my decision alone."

He hitched his rucksack onto his shoulder. "I'll see you in two months, Jory."

As he turned to leave, Jory reached out and grasped his shoulder. Tiresias glanced down at his hand, before meeting his eyes.

"You didn't hear me right the first time," said Jory. "I am sworn to escort you home."

Tiresias sighed. "Jory, are you seriously considering forcing me to come? Think there's enough room in that wagon to tie a grown man in the back?"

Jory shook his head, dropping his hand from the librarian's shoulder.

"Nah…I can't stop you from delaying your return…and you can't stop me from following you."

For the first time, Tiresias looked uncomfortable. He glanced to the south, following the city walls as they ran to the Blackwater.

"Jory, no," he said, turning back to him. "What I have to do…what I'm trying to do…it's not good to have company…"

"You think you can keep ahead on foot?" asked Jory. "You may be strong and fast, but I have a horse. I've seen you ride, friend. You've a middling talent with animals, at best."

"Listen to me" Tiresias hissed. He came close to Jory, who refused to budge. "What I'm doing right now…it's for the benefit of House Stark. And it requires that I…"

"That you what? Go ahead quietly and alone? Travel in secret? Accomplish a mission?" said Jory.

He and Tiresias stared at each other, waiting for the other to break it. Finally, Jory sighed.

"My uncle told me about you. How you showed up one day at Winterfell. Talked in secret to Lord Stark and you've been with us ever since. A foreigner. Building a library. Training. Getting stronger. Just carting about the North. Months at a time."

"I've been collecting tomes…"

"Aye, you have. Tell me, Tiresias, how many tomes did you fetch beyond the Wall?"

That brought the silence down harder than anything else. Jory swallowed. He hadn't meant to reveal that this afternoon. Uncle Rodrik only told him in confidence of the bookish Tiresias disappearing from their retinue years ago when they visited the Wall. Lord Stark said he was staying at Castle Black, but Uncle Rodrik never believed that. He only knew that Lord Stark needed his men to believe that. And so, he only relayed his suspicions to Jory.

And right now, it seemed that those suspicions were confirmed. Jory wasn't nearly as perceptive as the Essosi, but he could tell that Tiresias wasn't denying anything with his silence.

He swallowed again before speaking.

"You are in Lord Stark's service. Whatever he asks or what you do for him…I support you. But I'm in his service as well and he's commanded me to escort you back. So that's what I'll do."

Tiresias' eyes seemed to lose their light as he stepped forward. "If you do support me, then know that I can't have a company of Northern soldiers following me…"

"It'll just be me," said Jory. "The rest want to go home. And I'll not keep them from their families."

"Or even just one soldier. You'll stand out, Jory…"

"Where are you going?" Jory interjected. Tiresias didn't answer for a minute and Jory scoffed. "Oh come on, you could give me that at least."

Tiresias sighed. "The Goldroad. Onto the Westerlands."

The Westerlands…why in the name of the gods…?

Never mind, it didn't matter.

"So you're going along the Goldroad? Amidst all the fighters, knights and travelers coming from King's Landing? From the tourney? Travelling on the Kingsroad, friend, I've seen many soldiers and fighters, coming to and fro. You know what's an uncommon sight?"

Tiresias didn't answer.

"To see one travelling alone," said Jory. "A lone traveler draws your eye. Makes you think. No one looks twice at a couple of blokes."

He lowered his voice. "If you want to be hidden, Tiresias, best do it in sight. And please don't tell me I can't keep up. On a horse, I'm as quick as you. And if you need to do what you do in secret…well, an alibi I can be."

As Tiresias contemplated his words, Jory looked back to the men. All of them were staring. He could see the question in their eyes from here. Gord even raised his arms in bewilderment. Jory raised his hand, asking for patience, before turning back to Tiresias.

The librarian spoke. "We'll need to leave now. We have to get ahead."

"Ahead of whom?"

Tiresias shook his head. "That's my business. You're just along for the ride. Can you accept that?"

Jory nodded. "Aye, I can."

Sighing, Tiresias nodded. "Fuck me then. All right. Get squared away with your men."

Jory didn't hesitate, striding back toward his men, calling back.

"I'll fetch you the horse we brought for you. Along with mine."

Tiresias nodded. "Just hurry, please. We needed to start moving this morning."

Jory reached the soldiers, several of whom asked the same question.

"Cassel, what's going on?"

"There's been a change in plan, men." Jory spoke shortly and clearly, trying to emulate his uncle. Leave no room for disagreement.

"You will all ride for Winterfell immediately. You will escort this young man to Lord Stark along with this letter." He handed Gord the letter that Tiresias gave. "Tiresias and I have other business and will be along in two months' time."

The men swallowed their protestations. Well, most of them.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" demanded Gord, from his horse. "Lord Stark told us to escort the man home from King's Landing. He said nothing else about other business…"

"Lord Stark instructed me to escort Tiresias back home to Winterfell. Whether it's straight home from King's Landing, or south through Dorne or anywhere else, that's my job. Yours, as of now, is to escort Gendry here to the North."

"No."

All men turned to the wagon, where Gendry was sitting. The boy looked surprised that he had spoken, but still defiant. Jory walked to the lad.

"What do you mean, Gendry?"

Gendry swallowed. "I said no. My master, he said…he said that I was to follow the man there, Tiresias. That I was to go with him. Not you lot."

The boy's voice grew less shaky by the end, though he was still dwarfed by all who rode. Jory knew from his experience with Arya Stark that defiant children rarely listen to admonishment, so he calmed himself before speaking.

"Gendry, these men will escort you to Winterfell. They'll guarantee your safety. Protect you. Tiresias and I…we have work to do. And I don't know when we'll arrive back in Winterfell…"

"Why do I need protecting?" Gendry interrupted. "I don't know why I'm going to Winterfell or why I have to leave King's Landing!"

He pointed to Tiresias, still waiting at a distance. "He said I was in danger, he said he'd speak of it when we were away from the city. I want that more than I want your protection. I want to know why."

Jory sighed and waved Tiresias over. The librarian came, his impatience growing as he neared.

"Yes?" Tiresias said.

Relaying what the boy said, he saw his friend's eye grow softer. Tiresias turned to the lad.

"Gendry," he said softly. "I wrote the reasoning down for Lord Stark. He'll relay it to you…"

"That's not what you said." Gendry walked away from the wagon, staring defiantly up at the librarian, coming up to his shoulders. "If you're taking me from me home, taking me from what I know, I want to hear it from you. I'll follow you 'til I hear it."

Jory looked to the other men as they witnessed this. Like them, he had no clue what was going on. What was supposed to be an easy departure from the stinking capitol had turned into a battle of wills between two non-Northerners. A few of them found it amusing.

However, he could sense Tiresias' urgency and stepped to the man, murmuring in his ear. "Tiresias…I said two men would be better hidden than a solitary traveler…it could be better still, having the lad with us. He could be our steward. That we could say."

"Fine," Tiresias said curtly. He turned back to Gendry. "Can you ride, Gendry?"

"A little."

"Jory, there's a stable just behind the gate here in the city. I'm sure you saw it. Can you buy our young friend here a horse and saddle? I'm a little short on coin at the moment."

Jory stared at him. "What happened to all your winnings?"

"Gone."

Questions rained through his mind, but he ignored them as he strode back to the city. A half hour later, he, Gendry and Tiresias were mounted, holding their horses steady as the soldiers finally began to ride north.

Gord brought up the rear, cantering back to Tiresias.

"What about Mal, Tiresias? Anything I should relay to her?"

Jory turned away and tried to ignore the conversation. It wasn't his concern, but he couldn't shut out Tiresias' hesitation and answer.

"Tell her I'm sorry for the delay." He looked back to see Tiresias reach into his rucksack and pull out a small wrapped package. "Could you give her these? Tell her…tell her I still wish to speak with her."

He then shrugged. "Not much else I can say, is there?"

Well, if anything else, Tiresias was no romantic. Gord sighed as he took the package and placed it in his satchel. He bid his friend farewell before trotting back to the company. There was a silence between the three of them, the sounds of the city behind them.

Finally Tiresias turned his horse south. "Come on, then," he said, before lightly kicking and riding along the city wall, heading for the Lion's Gate and then the Gold Road. Jory followed him, catching him easily. He could hear Gendry barely keeping up, the lad's swearing quite audible.

However, after they got going on the Goldroad, the librarian decreased his speed somewhat and they traveled at a more comfortable pace. They followed the Blackwater Rush as far as they could before the road ventured into the mountains of the west. After a sennight of riding, the companies of several Westerland houses began to catch up with them, the tourney having come to a close in their absence.

Tiresias' ears were more sensitive than he thought. The librarian turned his head to check their rear long before he himself heard the company coming up behind. As he saw their banners, he guided his mount to the side of the road and let them pass. Every single house.

Jory stared after their latest acquaintance, a company of fifty guards surrounding a carriage, their banners sporting a blue rooster on a yellow background.

He turned to Tiresias, who was eyeing the carriage.

"Which house is that, Jory?" Tiresias called.

"House Swyft of Cornfield," Jory said, remembering his lessons from his uncle. "I take it that's not the company you're looking for?"

Tiresias shook his head. "No."

"Feel like saying which house you are searching for?"

"No."

Jory sighed. "Fine." He turned back to the lad. "You all right, Gendry?"

"Aye, Ser," said Gendry, coming up close behind them. The past week saw a dramatic improvement in the boy's horsemanship, by pure necessity. Gendry now rode easily enough with them.

It wasn't like that the first night. They had settled by the Blackwater Rush to camp and the lad demanded answers from the librarian.

"You told you'd tell me why when we left King's Landing!"

Tiresias lit the tinder underneath the small woodstack. "I said I would tell you when you were past the Neck. If you'd gone with the soldiers, you'd've known sooner than traveling with us. That letter would have explained all."

Gendry threw a stone in the river. There was only silence afterwards for a moment.

"Gendry," Tiresias began softly. "You're a bastard."

"I know that," he said sullenly.

"Your father is a powerful man. And his wife…" Tiresias paused before continuing. "She's powerful too, and very jealous. And their son is vicious. One of the few people I'd actually call evil. If they knew of you, they would see you as a grave insult and they wouldn't hesitate to kill you."

Gendry looked back to Tiresias, his frustration down to a simmer.

"If you stayed in King's Landing…" Tiresias ran his hand through his hair. It was longer than Jory had ever seen it. "I would be willing to guess that you would have been killed in due time."

Tiresias went back to the fire, but Gendry continued to stare at him, trying to figure him out.

Good luck, lad. Jory snorted lightly. No one in Winterfell has figured out this man so far. Except Lord Stark probably…maybe Mal…

Finally Gendry looked back to the fire. "We're out of King's Landing now."

"Aye, thank the Gods," Tiresias muttered.

"So why don't you tell me who my father is? We're out of the city. I don't plan to shout it from the road. The wife, whoever she is…she can't reach us here."

Tiresias looked to Gendry. "Yes, she can. In fact, the only places in Westeros I trust her not to touch you are the North and Dorne. Now, I don't know a smith in Dorne that will take you or a castle that will host you. But Winterfell will welcome you, should you want it."

Jory didn't miss that Tiresias refused to speak of the boy's father and judging by the look on Gendry's face, he didn't either. However, as they rode on, the lad warmed to them. One could only stay needled for so long. It was tiring. The journey helped as well. Having never been out of the city before, Gendry eyed the approaching mountains with wonder.

Finally the Goldroad veered from the Blackwater and continued to the west. Tiresias picked up the pace. The few houses returning to the Westerlands turned into many and soon they rode step by step in the huge caravan that came from the east. He saw many banners that he hadn't seen since the Greyjoy Rebellion; House Serrett from Silverhill, House Brax from Hornvale, House Lydden from Deep Den, House Kenning, House Prester, even the Marbrands and the Leffords.

Tiresias looked content to ride with these houses. They received a few questioning glances, particularly after they spoke. Jory's Northern burr and Tiresias'…wherever he came from, it drew looks. However, the soldiers that they encountered seemed content to leave them be. On occasion, they were even amiable enough to share some news.

"Afternoon, men!" called Jory to a group of soldiers, riding under a banner of six white seashells against a blanket of sand. They were of House Westerling. A young one nodded to him.

"Afternoon yourself."

"Thank you. Tell me; what news of the tourney melee? Who emerged victorious? Unfortunately, we had to depart after the joust."

The young soldier steered his horse to ride beside him. "Lord Yohn Royce from the Vale took the prize that day. It was down to him and Thoros of Myr."

"Thoros?" Jory's mind flashed back to the siege of Pyke, at the burning sword that led the charge, at the balding man who wielded it.

"Aye, him. Mad bastard brought out his flaming sword, but Lord Royce kept his calm. Fought smartly." The soldier shrugged. "Not the most exciting duel, truly. But in the end, Lord Royce left King's Landing a richer man."

"Good for him." Lord Stark spoke well of Lord Royce. They used to hunt together during Lord Stark's fostering in the Vale.

The Westerling soldier shrugged. "Aye, I suppose. Could have use it meself about now. Waging's fucked in that city. Lost good coin on that joust."

"You were betting on Ser Jaime Lannister?" Jory stopped himself from saying Kingslayer.

"Aye, who else? We're in the Westerlands, mate. Might as well be breaking the law to bet against Lord Tywin's brood."

"That's unfortunate."

"Aye." The soldier spat. "Good riddance to that city, anyhow. Took long enough to get out."

Jory turned to him. "What do you mean?"

The soldier met his eyes. "Castle guard went through our wagons, our belongings. By order of the King. Looking for something."

Tiresias' horse gave a small whinny. Jory looked back quickly, but the librarian's face was neutral. He turned back to the Westerling man.

"What were they searching for?"

"No idea. Didn't bother to tell us. Took us hours to get through that fucking gate. Lord Gawen was ready to pull a fucking blade on the…"

"Redding," said another soldier warningly. The young man swallowed.

"Pardon, Ser," he said, before turning back. "People say something was stolen from the Red Keep. Something valuable."

Jory stared. "What?"

"No idea. No one would say." Redding sighed. "Whatever it was...hate to be the poor bastard who was guarding it."

Redding continued to chat for a while before getting bored and riding along. Jory didn't mind. He, Tiresias and Gendry continued to ride with the long train of soldiers into the mountains. The trails got narrower and the stopovers were more difficult. Inns were completely booked by the time they arrived. Camping was their only option. And most of the spots were taken already by soldiers.

However, they were still able to get food from the inns. Tiresias came back to their fire, balancing three bowls of stew in his hands. Jory took his, giving it a sniff.

"What's in this?"

"Don't ask," Tiresias grumbled. Gendry began devouring his right away. He supposed the boy had eaten much worse in Flea Bottom. Jory took a wary bite of his. It was all right, just a little salty.

"Don't suppose you could hunt anything out here?" he asked Tiresias.

Tiresias shook his head. "A caravan this big…all the animals are scared away."

It may have been summer, but the mountain air still chilled after sundown. That night, Tiresias gave Gendry his fur jacket. The boy was grateful and was able to sleep outside more soundly. As the boy slept, Jory muttered to Tiresias.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me who the hell this boy is?"

The librarian paused in the middle of sharpening his dagger. He turned and check their surroundings. Westerland soldiers were on all sides. Turning back to his blade, he muttered back.

"Not much privacy here."

Jory leaned to him. "You really think anyone else is paying attention to us?"

"They might be."

"Come off it, mate." He drank from his waterskin. "I've been hunting with you. You'd know if anyone was near enough to hear us."

Tiresias didn't respond to that, leaving Jory no other option but to sigh.

"You think Gendry's gonna to let loose a secret that will kill him?"

"It's not just that."

Jory stared at him. "Then what else is it?"

"He's only twelve. If he learns who his father is…I don't want him to get big-headed."

"Is the identity of his father truly so shocking?"

Tiresias turned to him, looking him directly in the eyes. "He's King Robert's bastard, Jory. One of them at least."

Jory didn't respond to that. He couldn't. For the next couple of minutes, the sound of a soldier's drunken song melted through the forest. He recognized the tune; The Rains of Castamere. It was about all these Westerland soldiers liked to sing.

Tiresias met his stare calmly. Eventually Jory turned to the sleeping lad on the ground. Now that he heard it, he saw what the fat man on the throne gave to this young lad; the black hair, the tall frame, the blue eyes…well, when the lad was awake, he'd see the blue eyes.

Anyway, it took only a glance for Jory to believe. He turned back to Tiresias, who had already gone back to sharpening his blade.

"Does Lord Stark really know of him?" He lowered his tone automatically, though he was sure no one was listening to them.

Tiresias shook his head. "No."

Jory looked at Gendry again, confirming the secret. They didn't speak of it again for the rest of the evening. Until they were crawling under their blankets…well, he was crawling under his blanket. Tiresias just laid down on the ground. The man just didn't get cold.

"Tiresias," Jory whispered. "I think the boy could handle it. If you told him. He's a good lad..."

"I'm sure he could," Tiresias murmured back. "I just don't wish to make him more of a target. Best wait until he's in safe territory for him to learn. Better only two people know of it than three."

Jory checked that Gendry was truly asleep before whispering back. "By that thinking, it's better still if only one person knew of it than two, aye?"

"I suppose that's true."

"So why did you tell me?"

Tiresias adjusted his rucksack for a pillow, settling into sleep. "In case something happens to me, someone should be able to tell the lad."

"Why would something happen to you?"

Jory waited but he received no answer. Finally he turned on his back, facing the stars. The air wasn't as clear as it was up north. But he could still see the Crone's Lantern.

They continued to travel along, deeper and deeper into the Westerlands. More and more houses continued to branch off to their respective keeps, but their caravan was still quite large. At the end of three sennights of travel, they had stopped just three miles short of Deep Den, the seat of House Lydden. An inn was there and by sheer luck, they were able to dine at the tavern.

Well just outside of the tavern. The innkeeper pointed them to a bench in the back and they occupied it immediately, sighing as they sat. They ordered bacon and pepper biscuits with a pair of ales.

"Can I have one?" asked Gendry, as Tiresias ordered them from the serving girl. He and Jory both turned to the lad, their eyebrows raised.

"Please?" Gendry continued. "I've had it before and we've been riding forever."

Tiresias turned to Jory and shrugged. "Your treat."

Jory smirked and turned back to the serving girl. She was a bigger girl with blonde hair and looked very similar to the innkeeper in face. His daughter probably. Probably fourteen or so.

"Three ales please."

So, all three sat, eating their biscuits and drinking ale, not really speaking. The sky was purple and gold with the sunset. A river was running from the mountains off in the trees and it made for a lovely sound. No one saw reason to add to it.

However, the inn was quite busy. And dawdling meant more coin that the innkeeper would not earn, even on a bench. After a half hour, they drained the last of their ale—Gendry struggled with his—and mounted their horses, trying to find a place to camp.

If they were high-ranking knights or members of a noble house in the Westerlands, they would have found shelter at Deep Den and been hosted by Lord Lewys Lydden. However they were not and Tiresias didn't seem inclined to seek shelter inside the castle-fort anyways. Approaching the front gate, Jory inquired of a spot to camp and was silently pointed to the forest surrounding the walls.

They took an open spot near the gates. Tiresias lowered his rucksack and pulled out a bundle of sticks he had collected along the way. A precaution he had learned camping in the North, no doubt. Many of the other men outside the walls were scavenging for fuel or begging for logs from Deep Den. Jory sighed in relief.

"Good thinking ahead there, mate."

Tiresias shrugged. "I don't believe we even need one. It's not a cold night and we have enough light from the Den already. Still…" He smiled as he raised the fire. "It's good company."

Deciding to take advantage of the light, Jory withdrew his sword and readied it for sharpening, fetching a whetstone from his bag.

"I can do that for you."

He looked up to see Gendry staring at him and his stone.

"You know how?"

The lad rolled his eyes. "Aye, I know how. Sharpened plenty of swords for Master Mott. Probably do it better than you."

Jory started laughing. He could see Tiresias chuckling as well, tending to the flames.

"Oh come on," said Gendry. "Please? I'm bored as hell. Just give me something to do. Let me work on something."

Tempted as he was to let the silence linger longer and make Gendry more anxious, Jory handed the sword to Gendry, who took it surely.

Any warnings about being careful were silenced as he watched the lad handle his weapon. Safely, with no fear with cutting himself, his eyes took in the blade, peering it down from the handle. Finally he set the sword aside and took the whetstone.

When he looked over the whetstone, he shrugged and sighed.

"This will do, I guess."

Jory wanted to respond to the cheek. Before he could though, Gendry had propped the whetstone in front of him, securing it in the earth. He sprinkled some water on top and began to slide the blade. The steel sang with the flames and the crackling of the wood.

Seeing the concentrated look on the boy's face, Jory knew he was preoccupied for the evening. He turned to Tiresias, who sat staring at the flames.

"What gods did you worship in Essos, Tiresias?"

Tiresias didn't move. "Why do you ask?"

Jory shrugged. "Heard of some in Essos who worship fire."

A rather loud pop came from their pit and Jory jumped. Tiresias laughed softly.

"That might be a sign that we shouldn't speak of this."

Giving a small chuckle himself, Jory shook his head. "Fine, suit yourself. Just trying to fill the air. Lad's right in one respect, Tiresias. We are boring. There's only so long we could stare at a campfire every night."

Tiresias lifted his eyes from the flames, peering at him lightly.

"Very well. What do you suggest?"

Jory shrugged. "A song? One of the strange ones you know."

Tiresias nodded slowly, thinking. "One of the strange ones I know…" he murmured.

He seemed to go into himself, considering what ballad he should warble. As the minute dragged on, Jory realized that Gendry had stopped too. They were both waiting for some middling entertainment.

Finally Tiresias raised his head, humming a rhythm, tapping his knee gently along. After a few seconds, he swallowed and begin to sing softly.

"Well, my name is Jock Stewart. I'm a canny ole man,

But a roving young fellow I've been,

So be easy and free when you're drinking with me.

I'm a man you don't meet every day.

I have acres of land I have men at command

And I've always a silver to spare.

So be easy and free when you're drinking with me.

I'm a man you don't meet every day.

So come fill up your glasses of brandy and wine.

Whatever it costs, I will pay.

So be easy and free when you're drinking with me.

I'm a man you don't meet every day."

Tiresias began to whistle, tapping his knee along as he did. He nearly always did so when he sang a song of his own. Pausing the words to whistle. Jory asked him why once and the man just shrugged.

"It's how I heard it," he said.

However this whistling didn't last long and Tiresias dropped back into the ballad.

"Well I took out my dog, with him I did shoot

All down in the country, where I fared.

So be easy and free when you're drinking with me.

I'm a man you don't meet every day.

So come fill up your glasses of brandy and wine.

Whatever it costs, I will pay.

So be easy and free when you're drinking with me.

I'm a man you don't meet every day.

So be easy and free when you're drinking with me.

I'm a man you don't meet every day."

He ended the song softly, going back into himself. Jory applauded lightly, and Tiresias waved it off.

"You know another?" asked Gendry.

Tiresias shrugged. "Sure. You want another?"

"Aye," Gendry said, before going back to the blade.

The librarian took a draught from his skin, before taking a breath.

"The things a crow puts in his nest—"

"I wouldn't do that if I'd were you."

They all paused, turning to the new voice. A knight at the neighboring fire twisted around to face them.

"Why not?" asked Jory. Tiresias remained quiet, just peering at the knight. "Does my friend here not sing well?"

"Jory…" murmured Tiresias.

"He does," said the knight. He turned to check behind him, before coming back. "But the Mountain doesn't care for singing."

Jory didn't fail to see Tiresias raise his head to the road, a light growing into his eyes.

"Ser Gregor is here?" he asked. Jory stared at the librarian. Was he…excited?

"On his way," said the knight. "Alber here just heard. He and his men, they're coming up right behind. Stopping here for the night. They'll be here soon. He's been in a foul mood since King's Landing. More so than usual, so they say. Lost the joust there, then the melee. No prize purse."

He lowered his eyes. "I heard he once choked a singer in a tavern. Man had a prettier voice than you, stranger. And now, he doesn't have a voice at all." The knight shrugged. "Just figured you should know."

With that, he turned back to his own fire. Gendry and Jory looked at each other, and then to Tiresias, who was back in his own world. He was staring at the flames again. More intensely than ever.

"Tiresias?" prodded Jory.

The librarian started and looked to them. He breathed, his shoulders dropping.

"Keep sharpening that sword, Gendry. It's all right. Just keep to yourself."

Gendry looked to Jory, who nodded. Soon, the blade was singing again. Jory found himself breathing with the steel sliding across the stone. He looked to Tiresias, who was peering back toward the road. He squinted himself. The many surrounding campfires gave him better sight in the darkness, but nothing significant. He wondered what Tiresias saw, when he would see the hulking beast of a man coming toward them.

Nobody spoke for a while. Enough time had gone by that, had this been a normal evening, they would lay down to sleep by now. However, all three remained upright and they weren't the only ones. As Jory glanced around, especially near the Den's entrance, like they were, he saw no one lying down.

Word had gotten around, it seemed. The Mountain was coming. It was just a question of when. Until he passed, no one felt safe sleeping.

Finally, Tiresias took a breath. "He's here," he said softly. "Jory, you should sheath your steel."

Jory stared at him. "What? You think he'll see the naked blade and think it's a challenge?"

"Do you want to give him the opening to fuck with us?" asked Tiresias calmly.

Hoping he wouldn't appear too cowardly, Jory reached for sword. Gendry wiped it down and handed it to him right away. He sheathed just in time to turn about and see the halfgiant monster by the first line of campfires.

Others followed him out of the darkness. The Mountain had his squires, his servants and his band of shorter monsters who followed Ser Gregor like ducklings. He heard stories of them from his time in the Red Keep. There, they were somewhat restrained. Due to the Royal Court and the potential wrath of Lord Tywin, but here…no wonder Tiresias told him to sheath his steel.

"Jory, turn back around. Don't stare. Same goes for you, Gendry."

This time, he didn't hesitate to obey Tiresias' order. He faced the dwindling fire. Tiresias had let it starve for the past ten minutes. Keeping his ears open, he listened…

The horses came nearer. Laughter rang through the approaching party. The kind of laughter that made his skin crawl. They were coming closer. Not bothering to stop at any campfire.

Finally, they crossed by their site. As they did, he finally looked up. Carefully. The torches from Deep Den illuminated a banner of yellow with three black dogs. Ser Gregor was in front, dressed in his mail and tunic. He only guessed his infamous armor was carted behind in the back by that huge destrier.

The gates opened before they even reached them and the dreaded company entered Deep Den, their gross comradery fading as the gates shut again.

A collective sigh of relief rippled throughout the camp. Conversations stared up again, though a little muted from before.

Jory turned back to the fire. Tiresias was feeding it again, bringing the fire up to a medium blaze. His eyes looked rather set, his mouth lined.

"Ser?" He looked to Gendry. "I could sharpen the sword more for you. If you want."

"I'm no Ser," he responded. He must have told the boy that a hundred times over the last few sennights. "And it's all right, Gendry. We'll have more time tomorrow."

Shortly after, Gendry laid down to sleep. Jory looked back to Tiresias. The man hadn't moved this entire time.

"Tiresias…you all right?"

The librarian peered at him. Jory felt his breath caught. There was something…dangerous in Tiresias' eyes.

He didn't like it. "What's going on?"

Tiresias exhaled through his nose. "This is the part of the journey where you don't ask me questions, Jory. I may disappear for a time. Doesn't matter. You don't ask. Just keep low. Keep Gendry safe. And let me work. All right?"

What was this? Tiresias was perfectly amiable ever since King's Landing. What did Ser Gregor's arrival spark in him? What was his plan?

"Jory, I need to hear you say it."

Jory swallowed. "All right."

Tiresias relaxed, his eyes falling to the fire again. "We'll have to start riding a little ahead of the caravan. Keep out of their sight. We'll start early tomorrow morning. I'll wake us."

With that, he laid down. He turned his back to the fire, facing Deep Den. Jory pulled his blanket over. But he didn't fall asleep for the longest time.

When he finally faded into dreams, one thought crossed his conscious again and again:

Just what the hell are you planning, Tiresias?

He had fully expected to be shaken awake in the predawn. However when he opened his eyes and saw sunlight streaming through the trees and other men already awake, rousing their camps, he jumped up, sure that he overslept. He did. This certainly wasn't the early rise that Tiresias demanded the night before.

However when he looked over, he saw the librarian still asleep, snoring softly. Jory laughed lightly. He was tempted not to wake the man, let him sleep. However, he remembered the look in the man's eyes last night. He was determined to ride ahead.

I'll give him five more minutes.

He instead turned to the young blacksmith, shaking him awake.

"Gendry? Gendry, wake up."

Gendry stirred and sat awake, not quite opening his eyes until he was leaning against the log. He peered through heavy eyes at Tiresias and looked to Jory.

"Should we wake him?"

"I will in a minute. In the meantime, let's get the horses packed and this campfire turned. That way, we'll be ready to go when he wakes."

They went about cleaning their campsite, having become very proficient at it over the last few sennights. Although they tried to be quiet, the other camps were readying themselves and Tiresias was beginning to stir.

Finally Jory tied the last of the smoked beef to his horse when he heard Tiresias sit up. The librarian looked around him and then to Jory. He looked rather embarrassed.

"It's past dawn, isn't it?" he sighed.

"Aye."

Tiresias stood up and stretched, throwing his arms up. "I smell bacon and bread." He sighed, looking to the Deep Den.

Jory sighed himself. "Not for us, I'm afraid. We have enough provisions for two days. Sure we'll find something by then."

"I'm sorry for last night," said Tiresias quietly. "I shouldn't demand something like that unless I'm able to stick to it myself."

"Ah," said Jory, waving it away. "We all oversleep sometimes. Everyone here is eating now, anyway. We leave shortly, keep a good pace…we'll stay ahead."

Tiresias nodded. "Thank you."

"Jory? Tiresias?" said Gendry.

"Yes?" said Tiresias as they turned to the lad. Gendry wasn't looking to them. They followed his gaze. He was staring straight at the trail that led to the Goldroad.

A man was walking erratically up the trail, making for Deep Den. Strangled cries came from him. Tiresias moved past Gendry, stepping in front of him. Jory came forward as well. The man continued to approach and soon he was close enough for Jory to see tears streaming from his eyes. And also to recognize him...

It was the innkeeper from down the Goldroad. The inn with the mountain river and the bacon and pepper biscuits and the blonde serving girl…

He turned to Tiresias. "What's going on?"

Tiresias shook his head. "I don't know."

The innkeeper walked past them onto the fortress. The other knights and stewards who camped outside were coming to the trail. With probably as many questions as they had.

The gates were open and the innkeeper staggered through them. They heard him yell, his voice creaking and hoarse.

"Lord Lydden! I wish to see Lord Lydden, I demand justice…I demand justice!"

Tiresias turned to Gendry. "Gendry, stay here with the horses. We'll be back."

He strode toward Deep Den immediately, leaving no room for an argument. Jory followed, nodding back to Gendry, who seemed stunned. He couldn't blame him. Most of those witnessing this had the same look on their face.

He caught up with Tiresias at the entrance of the fortress. They passed through the gates, only because everyone inside the courtyard was staring stunned after the innkeeper who was stalking toward the Great Hall.

"Lord Lydden, I demand justice! Hear me, please!"

A crowd began to follow the innkeeper into the Great Hall. Soldiers seemed to come to their senses and began to approach the man.

Tiresias made to move forward, but Jory grabbed his arm.

"Tiresias, we should go!" he hissed. "We've already intruded enough."

"Jory, let me go right now," Tiresias muttered back. He was calm enough to give Jory pause. "Just walk with the crowd. We're all intruding together. Come on."

Against his better judgment, he released Tiresias' arm and together, they followed the many people entering the Great Hall. They certainly weren't the only ones from the campgrounds bordering the fortress.

Entering the Great Hall, they walked into a silent breakfast. Well, almost silent. A man at the high table was demanding an explanation from his guards.

"You allow him to enter like this! Disrupting our meal! Disturbing our noble guests!"

"Apologies, my lord. We'll…"

"Just get rid of him, for the sake of the Seven!"

"No!" shouted the innkeeper. "No! Lord Lydden, I beg you. I beg you. Please hear me. I ask for justice."

"There's a time for asking, you dolt!" yelled Lord Lydden, his beard shivering. He swallowed and forced himself to calm. "Now leave immediately. If you wish to be heard, you will come back when I hear petitions! You're lucky I don't throw you in shackles!"

"They'll be gone by then!" shrieked the innkeeper. Two guards had taken ahold of him and were beginning to drag him away. "He raped Layna! They all did! They killed Simos! And he'll just…"

Lord Lydden raised his hand and the guards stopped, still holding the innkeeper who seemed to collapse against them, breaking into sobs.

"Please, Lord Lydden, please…I beg you…I beg for you for justice."

"Against whom?" asked Lord Lydden. His voice shook, but not out of anger. Was he dreading the answer? "Henri, who raped Layna? Who killed Simos?"

Nothing but the innkeeper's sobs could be heard. Finally, Henri collected himself enough to raise his hand and point. The whole room followed his finger to the tallest man in the room, even when seated.

"Ser Gregor Clegane..." Henri swallowed, but he still continued, his voice trembling all the while. "Last night…Ser Gregor raped Layna…as…as they all…Simos tried…tried to stop…they killed him…put…put a sword through his stomach…"

Ser Gregor sat quite still with his other men; their breakfast completely forgotten. They stared back and forth between Henri the innkeeper and Ser Gregor, wondering how their master would react. The other lords and ladies remained silent, their gazes falling to their plates.

A bald man stood from Ser Gregor's table and started to whisper in his ear.

Jory was a Northman. He knew next to nothing of the Westerlands and their politics, save for house banners and names. But it was common knowledge that Ser Gregor was Lord Tywin's dog. To cross this monster of a man was to cross the Lord Paramount. Someone that everyone in this hall was sworn to. And terrified of.

He saw it in Lord Lydden's eyes. The man looked back and forth between Henri and Ser Gregor, trying to find a way out. Did he expect a slaughter in his hall? Jory almost did.

"Henri," Lord Lydden quietly, yet his voice carried. "There are serious accusations…and Ser Gregor is entitled to a fair defense…this is hardly the appropriate place to bring forth…such charges…"

"Your son attacked us. We merely defended ourselves," called out the bald man who had whispered to Ser Gregor. He crossed to the innkeeper, halting right before him.

"And we didn't rape anyone. Your daughter's a slut and you whored her out."

"That's a lie!" yelled Henri, straight into the man's face. "She was grabbed, thrown to the table. She hit her nose and bled! She never offered—"

After staring at Henri in silent wonderment, the bald man started to laugh. When was the last time he'd seen a man disregard his own safety so freely?

"She never offered, aye? You took our coin, didn't you?"

The bald man turned to Lord Lydden. "My Lord, we did pay the girl. She's grown enough to accept coin, isn't she?"

"She's thirteen!" screamed the innkeeper. "She's not grown! She's thirteen!" His scream was unhinged. The man was beginning to break.

A few in the crowd swallowed their reactions, but nobody spoke. A great silence permeated the hall.

The bald man shrugged. "Thirteen…doesn't matter. She still took our coin."

Lord Lydden took a deep breath. "Is this true, Henri? Did Layna take the coin?"

The innkeeper began to shake his head. "No…no…"

"Henri, tell me truly. Did Layna take the coin?"

"She did not!" Henri reached into this jacket and pulled out a purse. He threw it down to the bald man. "There's the coin. They threw it to the floor…only picked it up this morning…I started for here…to reject it…throw it back."

His speech was becoming more erratic. Jory wanted nothing more than to leave, but he couldn't move.

The bald man picked up the coin purse, tossing it in his hand, before turning to Lord Lydden.

"It's obvious, my lord. I know what's happened here. This man, this innkeeper," he pointed to Henri. "He's not demanding justice at all. He wants proper compensation for his daughter's services. Which we did enjoy."

He shrugged. "Perhaps in the heat of the moment, and under drink, we didn't pay enough. And he's determined to get more coin out of us."

The innkeeper began to tremble as he raised his head, staring at the bald man.

What the hell is going on?

The bald man continued. He even spoke out to the hall. "We killed his son out of fear for our own lives. We paid the girl for what we enjoyed. If there's any crime we committed back at this man's establishment, my Lord, it's theft. Theft of services."

Lord Lydden had lost control of his hall and he knew it. The bald man spoke, but Jory still saw the eyes move to the Mountain seated at his table. Ser Gregor was staring at the innkeeper with a bloodlust.

"We disagree, of course," said the bald man. "But, should you bring that charge against Ser Gregor Clegane, against us all…well, we'll be happy to argue it. Won't we, boys?"

Judging from the smiles and jeers from the Mountain's men, they all affirmed it. Ser Gregor himself remained silent. They all quieted though and looked to Lord Lydden, who was gripping his hands so tightly they turned white.

The bald man nodded his head. "Bring the charge, Lord Lydden. Go on. We're men of honor. We'll face it."

Lord Lydden's face carried such a hatred as he and the bald man stared at each other. However the narrative was now set and if he didn't wish to oppose Tywin Lannister's dog, there was only one course forward for the Lord of Deep Den.

Clearing his throat, Lord Lewys faced Ser Gregor.

"Ser Gregor," he stated. At least his voice was steady. "I charge you, and your men present, with theft of services. Brought forth by Henri the innkeeper."

Henri seemed to realize what was happening and he tried to speak. However, no words seem able to come. Lord Lydden continued.

"How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," said Ser Gregor, speaking for the first time. His voice matched his size, a rumble that was heard easily throughout the hall.

Ser Gregor slowly shifted his focus to Lord Lydden, his black eyes fixed on him.

"I demand a trial by combat."

The lords and ladies present couldn't hide their murmurs. Jory closed his eyes, dropping his head. This was such a fucking farce. He needed to get out of here. He wanted to, but something held him. It was like he owed Henri to see this through.

The bald man turned to Lord Lydden. "No need, I think, for us all to gang up on poor Henri. I believe that since it's only one man accusing us, it's only right that Ser Gregor fights for us all. We're either all innocent, should Ser Gregor triumph!"

Laughter came from Ser Gregor's table. The bald man raised his hand to silence them.

"Or…we're all guilty. Should Ser Gregor fall to Henri the innkeeper."

The laugher returned with a vengeance, echoing throughout the silent hall. At this point, Lord Lydden could only contain the blood split in his lands as well as he could. He nodded jerkily.

"That seems…reasonable."

"Isn't it though?" said the bald man. He walked back to the table and picked up his mug. "If I may, my Lord, I say we all finish our breakfast and have the trial in the yard, shortly thereafter. We need to get back on the road and Henri here…he needs to get back to his inn."

The bald man raised his cup to Henri before drinking. The innkeeper had fresh tears streaming down his cheek. The guards by his side were not so much holding him back as they were supporting him. Jory saw the disgust on their faces. On most of the faces in the hall. There was also fear…and resignation.

Henri raised his head to Lord Lydden. "M'lord," he moaned softly. "M'lord, please…"

Anger rose in Lord Lydden's eyes as he regarded Henri. Jory knew where he was coming from. The innkeeper brought trouble and demanded justice from those he couldn't demand justice from. And now there will be even more blood spilled.

However, as Lord Lydden regarded Henri, his eyes softened and he answered the innkeeper's pleas…as well as he could…

"Henri," he said. "It's your right...to have a champion fight for you in this trial. Should anyone volunteer."

The murmurs were silenced once again. Even from Ser Gregor's table. Henri stared at Lord Lydden with eyes dazed. His mouth opened and closed several times before he spoke.

"Ch-champion…m'lord?"

"Yes, Henri. A champion. Do you wish to ask for one?"

The innkeeper didn't move for several seconds. Jory saw this before in the Greyjoy Rebellion. Men so overwhelmed they stopped functioning. He never thought he would see it outside of battle.

Henri finally lowered his head. No one in the hall could construe it for affirmation. But Lord Lydden nodded and raised his head to address the Great Hall.

Jory sighed. Why not? This whole morning has been horseshit, anyway.

"The innkeeper, Henri, seeks a champion to represent him in a trial by combat against Ser Gregor Clegane."

The vast majority of the Hall didn't even meet the Lord's eyes.

"Is there anyone who will volunteer on his behalf?"

Silence reigned in the Great Hall. Lord Lydden continued to look out as the seconds passed.

"Anyone?" he asked again.

His voice was quite calm, evenly lordly for the first time since this whole mess began. But even that didn't pierce the silence.

Henri started to quake, as he raised his head again.

"M'Lord…m'lord, I…"

"I'll stand for the innkeeper."

Jory froze. His mind numb. That soft voice…came from his side…where Tiresias was…

He looked, but Tiresias was gone. The slender librarian had already walked forward through a sea of whispers, as all present turned their eyes to the stranger who spoke. Tiresias kept his eyes forward, halting a few paces in front of the innkeeper.

No…gods damn it, man, no!

But it was too late. The furious whispering calmed and turned into a deep silence as the hall got a good look at the volunteer champion. Tiresias answered the silence with his own. Slim and swordless, he faced Lord Lydden, waiting for the stunned host to speak.

Jory tried to shout, to stop it all, but he couldn't speak. His voice was trapped in his throat. He couldn't move at all. All he could do was wait to hear who spoke next. Assuming he could even hear them over the pounding of his own pulse.