Allegory

When the Rhaenari were abruptly awakened by Gorgeous George, they all gathered with bleary eyes. The ground was damp with morning dew, the fires dwindled to mere coals.

"Seven hells, George!" barked Captain Asher. "I thought we were under attack!"

George, perspiring heavily, hastily sipped from the water Evelyn offered. "Sorry, sirs. I didn't mean to, honest."

"What happened, you blasted lummox? Speak. That's an order!"

"It was terrible. I dreamt I was back on Crackclaw Point, felling trees with Pa, like we always did. Then I looked around and realized I was alone. 'Pa!,' I tried to call, 'Pa!'

"But Pa wasn't there. I was all alone. The forest turned dark and dreadful. Roots sprawled and curled toward me. Branches twisted into cruel faces. And when I tried to run, it didn't work. The ground was too muddy, and I was swallowed whole.

"When the mud reached my nose and I couldn't breathe, I let out one last scream. Then I woke up back in camp with all of you. Thank the gods!"

That wasn't the only strange dream that night. Many horrifying tales were shared as they broke their fast.

"When I was two-and-ten," Evelyn began, "there was a shack in the woods that all the children would visit if they were brave enough. It had been there since my gran-gran's time, all shabby and run-down.

"I was always the bravest. Wish I hadn't convinced everyone to go there that day.

"There was this strange man who roamed nearby, a dirty man in rags with no home. He wandered from village to village, living off scraps. He had a terrible smell, like dead fish and rotten apples.

"No one talked to him. If you did, he'd ramble such fury and nonsense that babies would cry and children would hide. Scary man. But he never hurt anyone, just rambled.

"I didn't force everyone to go. We all wanted to show our courage. But, of course, I suggested spending the night there! So dumb, young girls alone in the woods.

"We had our fun, shared ghost stories, and talked about boys until bedtime. All was calm in the woods, the swaying trees lulled me to sleep.

"Then I woke to a foul stench, so wicked I thought I might heave. And there at the shack window stood the strange man, staring through with eyes of black! I screamed, 'Eeeeeeeek!' Everyone woke up, and we ran out as fast as we could!

"We didn't dare look back but heard his footsteps chasing us! Our howls must have been terrible for anyone in the woods that night.

"He never returned to our village or any nearby. It was like he, simple-minded as he was, understood what would happen if he showed his face again.

"I shudder to think what would have happened if he'd caught me. Last night, I dreamt he crawled through the window and did wicked things to me. When I returned home, everyone shunned me.

"No matter what I tried, I couldn't rid myself of that stench. I went to a cave and cried until George's screaming woke me."

Our camp turned into story time as everyone shared their strange nightmares. The whole affair was quite ponderous indeed..

"Funny you should mention," said Deadeye Ronny, longbow in hand. "Me and the boys heard some queer sounds during our watch duty."

"Like what?" inquired Mathew Buck.

"We heard loud howls, not from wolves but akin to women crying in agony, as if enduring torture. Whispers attempted to lure us away from the light.

"Shadowy figures turned out to be wisps of smoke from our fires when we investigated. Now and then, someone felt a chill and said, 'Did you hear that? Did you see that? Did you feel that?', but none of us did."

Theodore hummed before speaking, "Interesting. This can't be mere coincidence. Brien? I believe this falls under your banner of expertise."

"That it does," I replied, stroking my chin. "There are tales of ghosts haunting High Heart. Who would have thought they were true?"

"Perhaps the old gods sent us visions," suggested Eldric. "After all, we all rested our heads on weirwood stumps."

As much as I detested admitting it, the former Archmaester's theory seemed the most plausible.

However, the most peculiar thing was what happened to Prince Rhaenar.

"What did you dream of, my Prince?" queried young Lord Elmo, curious.

"Me?" the Prince responded. A gentle breeze tousled his silver hair.

"Nothing," he stated. "I slept like a baby."

- Brien Flowers, 108 AC.

—————

After sharing the morning's tales and our breakfast finished, we packed our belongings and set course back to Riverrun.

En route, we made sure to check on our offering of fruits to the treetop city. 

As expected, all of it had disappeared, leaving behind a crown crafted from interwoven flowers of seven distinct colors, each resembling a shade of the rainbow.

"This must be fate, my Prince!" exclaimed Zane.

Eldric chuckled, "Looks like House Mudd has declared their allegiance."

I snorted, not paying it much heed. "If only forging alliances was always that simple. I'd send a fruit basket to every lord in the realm."

Upon our return, we found Pheonix conducting amphibious warfare training drills on the western bank of the Red Fork River. We discovered that many aspiring recruits lacked swimming skills, so we endeavored to utilize the terrain as much as possible.

Pheonix bowed upon my approach, "Welcome back, my Prince. I have carried out your orders."

"Good work," I acknowledged. "Signal the men. We march on the morrow."

That evening, Lord Grover hosted a lavish feast.

The soldiers indulged themselves with as much fresh fish as they could manage. The taste of trout fried in butter lingered on my palate.

Credit where it's due, Grover may have been a cunning and distrustful man, but his House sigil certainly offered a delectable meal!

Little Elmo accompanied us westward as far as the Kneeling Man, an inn situated on the bank of the Red Fork where the Trident takes a bend.

The inn stood sentinel-like by the river, stretching parallel to the waters, its extended wings seemingly embracing the flowing current. 

A sturdy foundation of grey stone formed its lower story, while above, whitewashed wood adorned the upper level, all sheltered beneath a weathered slate roof.

There was a captivating charm in that quaint design which boasted robust diamond-shaped windows and and a cellar. Welcoming travelers, the common room boasted hearty tables and a hearth, with a warmth as good as any.

Around the inn, outbuildings and stables stood nearby, while an enclave of apple trees and a modest garden added a tranquil touch behind the establishment.

And the ale… A true elixir for the wearied soul. Alongside the cider, that sweet offering for those fatigued from our march.

Yet, the most striking feature was a weathered shingle swaying gracefully from an iron post at the dock's end. 

There, Torrhen Stark was depicted in peeling paint, knelt in submission... Above the doorway, a faded sign proudly announced the presence of royalty, a humble homage to the regal tales within its weathered walls.

"Here it is, lads," I declared, "At this very spot, over a century ago, the last King of the North knelt in submission to my ancestor. 'The King who Knelt,' they call him.

"How the realm snickered. But if you asked me, Torrhen made the right choice. His scouts saw the smoldering ruins of Harrenhal. There was no need for his people to die by the flame of Aegon and his sisters."

Theodore sighed, "Had Harrenhal not been destroyed, it would have been one of the great wonders of man."

My thoughts strayed to Dick Mason, our de facto stonemason who spent his life at Harrenhal repairing what he could.

I smiled, "Nothing lasts forever, dear Theodore. Not even the great Valyrian Freehold. Paintings wither, statues crumble, even mountains succumb to rain. Our names will fade to obscurity, and the songs of the children will chime no more.

"But that doesn't mean we should cower to such destined timelessness. Nay, we should be in awe and continue as we always do. Who knows what will become of our lifetime? One day we may stand on the completed towers of Harrenhal with a drink in hand and revel in what we have done."

Suddenly, thoughts of Grandfather Baelon and Princess Gael, Grandsire Jaehaerys, Queen Alysanne, and all loved ones that had passed came to me, and I spoke through the croak of sadness in my throat.

"Cry not for what we have lost, Theodore. Instead, let us focus on what we can find! And if, after all is said and done, our hearts are healed not by the labor of our findings...

"Then let us build something magnificent and long-standing and beautiful. In hope that though our work shall too disappear, at least it was marveled by those who came after. That they will recognize our faith in man, how, in our hearts, we believed in our innate kindness and curiosity. Not that of cruelty, blood, and self-gain."

Theodore's eyes glimmered with possibilities for a second before it went away and his face darkened.

"Do you truly have such faith? After all the histories you've read, and the bloodied past Lords have shared of their houses we've visited on our tour?"

I shook my head, "I do not know. I have dwelt in darkness and basked in light. Witnessed squalor and serenity, plight and pageantry. Life is but a spectrum of those who suck and those who fuck.

"Perhaps it will change, most likely it won't. I don't care. We'll continue like always. Mayhap our song of man's potential will endure. Maybe it won't."

That's when I raised my voice, "That doesn't stop us from singing. Right, boys?!"

I marched ahead and left Theodore to his thoughts, singing 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' loudly, and the Rhaenari joined in, our voices booming.

But as I left him, I could make out His faint mutter.

"The potential of man," said Theodore Reyne, "Maybe. Just maybe…"