Chapter 50

The next day was rung in by a concerted effort at cleaning the camp up, even though many of the men were nursing hangovers and bruised bodies or egos. As was the norm, Steffon involved himself in the cleanup as much as he could. Never have your men do something you aren't willing to do yourself had been one of Stannis's lessons from when he was a young boy.

He had grown accustomed to large celebrations for his nameday. His father, Gods rest his soul, had never spared a copper when it came to celebrations, for all the good that had done the realm. Winning the war would be the easy part, he realised; governing the country would be far harder. Many people would be left without homes, even more would be left without food or heat. It was not going to be an easy task to keep everything going and pay off the debt to the Iron Bank at the same time.

His thoughts were broken by the feel of Arya's arms wrapping around his torso from behind. Last night had been one of the most amazing things he'd felt in his life. "Last night was amazing, Arya."

She laughed slightly, and he could feel her cheek pressing against his back. "You're getting taller." She said. It was true. Steffon had noticed that he was getting taller than her, and was even able to speak with some of the taller soldiers without having to look upwards. "I'm still just short."

"I don't mind, love. You're still beautiful." He said, turning around to kiss her gently. The two smiled at each other for a brief second before Arya looked down. "Is something wrong?"

"I . . . I should've told you a while ago." She proceeded to recount the story of how her brother had deflowered Jeyne Westerling, and then to preserve her honour, had married her in secret and jeopardised the alliance with the Freys, as well as the entire war effort. If she had told him this a while ago, he might have lashed out. Indeed, he was still tempted to, but lashing out would gain him nothing. And kings kept their temper. Instead, he just sighed.

"I don't hold anything against you, Arya. You've had a hundred different things to keep in your mind while all this has been going on." he said sympathetically. Arya had considerably less experience in diplomacy and other statecraft, and like he had said, she had a lot going through her mind when she had found out about it.

"What are you thinking?" She asked.

"To be honest, I'm uncertain, Arya." He said, muttering a curse under his breath. "How could Robb be so stupid!?" He whisper-yelled. He knew that honour was important to the Starks, but this was just beyond the realm of stupidity. No wonder Waldron had been acting out lately. He was angry that Robb had broken his oath to his family and was taking it out in any way he could.

"Steffon!" Arya yelled, interrupting his train of thought.

"It's true, Arya. This was the one thing he was never supposed to do. He swore an oath to the Freys and broke it. They have every right to be angry." He replied. Arya opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. It seemed that his point had gotten through after all. Arya was a Stark as well, and her father had likely instilled her with the importance of sticking to sworn oaths.

She just sighed without saying a word.

"I think I need to pay your brother a visit. He's undermined me before; this cannot go on." He continued. Arya just nodded in silent agreement, though whether it was genuine or begrudging, he couldn't tell.

"Your Grace." Said another voice. Steffon wheeled around to see Stannis approaching with what appeared to be a tall, slender woman in a thin red dress.

"Uncle, good to see you. Have fun last night?" Steffon asked, trying to break the tension. It didn't work.

"Your grace, this is Lady Melisandre. She has requested a private audience with you." he said in his usual tone that gave nothing away.

"I'm not leaving you alone with her." Arya said quietly.

"Don't trust me, wolf girl?"

"I trust you, stag boy. I don't trust her. Remember what happened with Margaery Tyrell." She added. Steffon was forced to concede the point.

"Lady Melisandre," he said, turning to her. "You will have your audience. My betrothed will be with me, however. She's been acting as my guard lately."

"Of course, Your Grace." She said, in what was clearly not an accent native to Westeros. Steffon showed the woman to his tent, Arya close behind.

Arya had only seen Melisandre a small handful of times and had interacted with her even less. Regardless of that, she was not fond of her. Something about her just made Arya feel uncomfortable. Perhaps it was her worship to the Lord of Light, a foreign religion she had next to no knowledge of. Perhaps it was her growing influence among Stannis's forces. Or perhaps it was because she was a beautiful woman, and the looks she gave Steffon were enough to make her blood boil.

She had no idea what to make of the woman, and like most when faced with the unknown, she slipped into thinking there was something suspicious about her. There was no doubt that she'd already caught many a man's eyes around the camp already. The only reason no one had made any advances on her, Arya assumed, was because of her closeness to Stannis.

Like she said, she trusted Steffon not to do anything, but she didn't trust another woman around her husband-to-be.

They had lit a fire the night before, a fact that made Melisandre smile wickedly. "You keep a fire, Your Grace." She said approvingly. "That is good. The flames keep the shadows at bay."

"Well it helped keep us warm." Steffon deadpanned. Arya had to suppress a laugh.

"The night is dark and full of terrors, Your Grace." Melisandre said. "The flames keep the night at bay. R'hllor, the Lord of Light, grants us his protection from the darkness. He is the one true God."

"I keep to the Seven, My Lady." Steffon said testily. Evidently, he was in the same boat as Arya here. The unfamiliarity of Melisandre's religion was having an effect on him as well, but whether that was from the same feelings of suspicion or just discomfort, she couldn't tell. Steffon could be hard to read at times.

"The Seven are but false gods, my king." She continued. "The Lord of Light is the one true god. He does battle with the Great Other, whose name we must not speak. He is the Lord of Darkness. This struggle will continue until Azor Ahai, the chosen one, returns with his sword of fire, Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and raises dragons from the stone."

There was a long moment of silence as Melisandre finished her explanation. It was certainly a lot to take in, and evidently, it left neither of them particularly impressed. A battle between gods? A chosen one wielding a flaming sword and raising dragons? It sounded like something out of a children's book, and a bad one at that. Again, Arya found herself suppressing a laugh, while Steffon looked to be even less impressed than he was before.

"This all sounds like horseshit to me." He said curtly. "It sounds completely made-up."

"I assure you, my King, it is not." She said, taking him by the shoulders. Arya's hand flung to Needle's hilt, and she managed to pull it out before Steffon waved her off. Reluctantly, she slid Needle back into the scabbard, but made sure to keep it loose, just in case.

"If you do anything to him . . ." She threatened. Melisandre turned back to her, that sickly sweet smile still on her face.

"I will not hurt him, Lady Stark." The Red Woman said. Even the way she said those words left Arya chilled to the bone. She turned back to Steffon. "Look into the flames, Your Grace, and you will see your destiny." She instructed. The black-haired boy looked into the dancing flames of the fire for a moment, and Arya could just imagine his face turning sour.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Steffon asked.

"What do you see in the flames, Your Grace?"

"I see flames of fire, My Lady." Steffon replied.

"You must look closely, Your Grace." The woman said. Arya rolled her eyes at that. This woman had to be soft in the head, surely. Visions in fire? Again, it sounded like something out of a bad children's book.

"I just see fire." Steffon repeated. The woman released her grip on his shoulders and turned to face him.

"Then you are blinded by false gods, my King." She said, before looking closely at him. Suddenly, a hand lurched out and she grabbed Steffon by the chin. This time, Arya had Needle out with the point at Melisandre's throat. Again Steffon waved her off, but he didn't sheathe her weapon this time, instead keeping it at her side just in case.

"What are you-"

"I see a dark future ahead of you." The woman said, her face dead serious. The smile was gone, replaced with a look that any other woman might've been concerned about, but Arya had no idea what to make of it coming from her. "I do not envy the path you will take, Steffon Baratheon." She said before leaving the tent in a hurry.

"That was odd." Steffon said simply.

"I'm glad you said it." Arya said, prompting a short laugh from him. "What did she mean when she said dark future?" She wondered aloud.

"Who knows, Arya? I'm not sure she's entirely sane."

THWACK!

Jon managed to slam the blunted edge of the training sword into another one of the recruits. Thorne had decided to have two recruits attack Jon at once. He had found that the average skill of the recruits was not good, but they were improving all the time. He applied the same principles he'd done with Steffon; see where each man was at, then provide pointers on how they could approve.

If he hoped to lead in battle one day, he'd first have to show that he could lead in training. Build up the other recruits, improve their fighting skills. Apart from showcasing his own ability to lead, it would also boster the Night's Watch as a whole. Given that the Watch was perpetually low on numbers and with a large force having gone with Lord Commander Mormont to find out what this Mance Rayder was up to, they'd have to make up for it with individual fighting skill.

"Blade's not the only part of the weapon." He said to the two recruits. "The pommel and crossguard work just as well. If you're in close, don't bother trying to swing or stab, just grab the sword by the blade and bash."

"But wouldn't we cut our own bloody hands then?" One of the recruits said. It was a fair point, Jon had to admit. When his father had first introduced him to the concept of half-swording and the murder-stroke, he thought him crazy.

"A sword can only cut if it slides along the skin." He explained, "If you keep a strong enough grip, then you stop it from sliding and cutting your hands. It's also handy for beating opponents in heavy armour." He added. It was true; blunt weapons worked better than swords against armour, but when a sword was all you had . . .

"He's right." A voice said. Jon looked over to see the unexpected voice of support coming from Alliser Thorne. "A sword pommel can still do some damage. And if you don't have an axe or mace at hand, you can turn the pommel into a mace and bash your opponent over the head with it. Go on, start practicing on the dummy." He instructed the other recruits before turning to Jon. "You've got a battle record on you, Snow." He said in a tone that gave nothing away.

"I've fought, yes." Jon answered cautiously. He still didn;t know what to make of Thorne; the man clearly drove the recruits hard and it cleared they resented him for that.

"Good. Experienced fighters are hard to come by up here. Killed some rapers right?" He asked.

"They were violating my king's orders and drew swords on me. I defended myself." Jon replied, guarded. How much did Thorne really know about his situation?

"Some of these men here are rapers." The man said. "But when Mance Rayder comes, that won't matter. He'll string you all up."

And there it was. The cold, dismissive remark with a hint of a threat.

Jon had heard a lot about Mance Rayder. The former Ranger who'd defected and joined the Wildlings over twenty years ago, and had spent that whole time uniting all the disparate tribes of Wildlings. The Ice River Clans, the Hornfoots, and of course, the Thenns. The fact that he'd managed it somehow was bad enough, but the fact they were supposedly marching down to the Wall was even worse. The purpose of Lord Commander Mormont's ranging had been to find out what exactly was happening beyond the Wall, especially with reports of Wildling villages being mysteriously emptied or the inhabitants massacred.

"Snow!" Thorne snapped. Jon was broken from his thoughts. "You've still got archery training. Get going!"

It would be time, soon enough. Edric would present his plan to Steffon for infiltrating Harrenhal and finding out what was going on there. With a bit of luck, he would agree. Of course, that all depended on what was happening right now. Especially since Steffon had just been made aware that Robb had married Jeyne Westerling and thrown his entire army into disarray.

Edric was never the most strategically-minded person around, he was aware of that much, but it didn't take a strategic genius to work out that Robb had damaged the entire war effort, perhaps even irrevocably. The Twins was really the only place supplies could be brought across the riverlands from the North, unless Robb decided to fashion some pontoon bridges, and fast. One thing that Edric had been surprised by was Steffon's reaction. It was muted; there was no throwing of chairs or angry screams at the sky. If anything, he seemed disappointed that Robb had gone and undermined him again. No doubt that was fuelling the decision he'd made to leave for Riverrun with a small personal guard.

He was broken from his thoughts by the sounds of a crate dropping behind him. Mira had been shifting some things around. She was in a unique situation to say the least, being from the North, but captured as Margaery Tyrell's handmaiden. The fact that she'd been relatively free at the camp was down to the fact that the Northerners wouldn't accept anything less, and Steffon had no interest in alienating his closest allies.

"Thinking, love?" Mira asked gently.

"A little. Mostly on what's to come." He replied, taking her hand. "I . . . i wanted to apologise. I took your maidenhood, and I-" She cut him off with the short kiss.

"Edric, it's fine." She smiled. "When your brother wins this war, he'll legitimise you. That will mean we can marry." She added. It was true; the only way they would marry was if Edric held the Baratheon name. And Steffon did say he'll honour me with that if we win.

"A day I look forward to, Mira." he smiled.

"Have you seen that red woman walking about the camp?" She asked. Edric had noticed her before, he had to admit, but she hadn;t really been around for anything longer than a fleeting glance or two. Maybe she had made the journey to the camp during the night while everyone else was celebrating?

"I certainly have." he replied.

"She seems to have taken an unusual interest in His Grace." She said, leaving Edric unsure of what she was getting at. Everyone by now knew of Steffon's rejection of Margaery Tyrell, and the fact that he and Arya were basically inseparable.

"Afraid she might seduce him away from Arya?" He asked, chuckling lightly.

"No, it's just… she's a foreigner. Preaching a foreign religion."

Edric sensed that Mira was being a bit reluctant to speak up, so encouraged her gently."You can say what you like, Mira. I won't tell anyone." he squeezed her hand gently.

"She just makes me feel uneasy." Mira admitted. "Every time she looks at you, it's like she's staring into your soul."

"Mira, love, everything will be fine, I assure you. Steffon's not going to let himself be influenced by some mad woman from... well, wherever in Seven Hells she's from when he had Stannis, Arya, me, and about a dozen other advisors." He said, trying to calm her. He wasn't sure if it was working, but he hoped it was. The last thing Mira needed now was to worry if she was safe in the camp.

"Yes… Yes, you're right. I'm worrying too much." She said, though to Edric, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anything. She closed the distance between them, resting her head on his chest as she felt his arms envelop around her.