The gatehouse loomed in front of me as gray as something else that was gray, it was too early to think about a metaphor. I looked at the two horses in front of me—one black as night, one red as blood. Both were laden with supplies carefully chosen for the journey ahead. I wore no armor -although between you and me it wasn't like I needed it- plate would only weigh the beasts down, and speed was what I needed most.
All I carried for defense was a fine steel sword forged in Lorath, its hilt worn smooth from years of use. It was a good blade, better than most, though not as fine as Valyrian steel, I sadly hadn't been able to acquire one of those in my years across Essos.
One mount for me, one for Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer. The man I'd been paid to rescue from the wolf's den.
They were the fastest steeds in Harrenhal, or so the Old Lion had promised with solemn golden eyes. He claimed they were bred from sand steeds, not that I knew what those were mind you. However you could see something which made them quite different from most horses, for one they had elongated necks, narrow heads, and lean muscles, they had been bred for speed.
"Be careful, boy," Phoenix said beside me, his voice gruff with concern.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." I replied, somewhat tired, had I said how damned early it was.
"I mean it." His weathered hand gripped my forearm, which made me look at Phoenix's.
"You mean it every time, and every time I come out unscathed." I grinned at him, unable to resist the urge to needle him further. "So how about you ease up a bit? You're already balding—we wouldn't want you to lose all your hair now, would we?"
BAM!
The blow to the back of my head was swift and harder than necessary. Phoenix had always had quick hands, even as age stole some of his strength.
"Ow, ow, ow," I muttered, rubbing the spot. "What the seven hells are you doing, old man?"
"I just want you to be safe." His eyes were serious now, all humor fled. "Do you have to answer like that?"
"Like what? It's how I am." I answered, actually confused. "Besides, it's true. I do come out unscathed, and you are balding."
He glowered at me, the lines on his face deepening. "Just because it's true doesn't mean you have to say it. A white lie here and there is always good for the mind."
"A white lie? Like what? Saying you're not balding? How could I lie about that when literally everyone can see it?"
BAM!
His palm connected with my head again, and I winced, not that I was hurt it was more so instinct.
"Ow, ow, ow, okay, okay, I get it. You have a full set of hair. Just stop hitting me." I rubbed my head, again instinct. Phoenix had been knocking sense into me since I was a boy barely tall enough to hold a practice sword. Some things never changed.
I mounted the black steed fully as Phoenix tied it to the red one with a sturdy length of rope. My legs settled into position, finding that familiar seat that would be my home for days to come.
Phoenix looked up at me with those reddish eyes of his and sighed, the sound heavy with memories. "I know you think yourself invincible. I thought you were too, once. But remember what Quaithe said—"
"Bah," I spat, cutting him off. "That red priestess knows nothing. Looking into flames? Delusions, that's what she has. Probably from old age."
Phoenix fell silent, as if thinking of what to say. I'd known him long enough to recognize when he was holding back words that would fall on deaf ears.
"Just be careful," he said finally, quietly.
I looked down at the man who had taught me nearly everything I knew—how to wield a blade, how to shit, how to eat, how to survive. He was the closest thing I would ever have to family.
"I'll be careful," I said, my voice softer than usual.
With those parting words, I tapped my heels against the horse's flanks and rode under the massive iron gates of Harrenhal, out onto the green pastures of the Riverlands. I rode in silence, that is until boredom hit me.
I looked down at my steed, his black coat smooth to the touch as a thought entered my mind. "How about I name you guys," I said as we settled into a steady gait. "Maybe Roach?" I laughed at my own jest. "No, not Roach. How about Balios? That sounds alright, doesn't it?"
The horse neighed and tossed its head, almost as if in agreement.
I twisted in my saddle to glance at the red horse trailing behind us. "As for you," I said, pondering for a few moments. "You look like a Xanthos." It seems I was quite apt at naming things. "Balios and Xanthos. Yes, that feels right."
I urged Balios to a faster pace, preparing myself for the long journey ahead. Four hours of hard riding, then rest for two hours to eat and let the horses recover. Then another four hours in the saddle before a shorter rest. Rinse and repeat until nightfall, when we'd make camp and eat a more substantial meal. I could push the horses harder, but I needed them well-rested for the return journey—which would be far more dangerous with the Kingslayer in tow.
The day went by just as I'd planned. I rode hard and long, the miles disappearing beneath the horses' hooves. The Riverlands spread out around me, a tapestry of green fields, rushing streams, and small copses of trees. Here and there, I passed the occasional peasant working a field or a lone traveler on the road. None gave me more than a passing glance. In times of war, it was better not to look too closely at armed men, in fact it was better not to look to closely at armed men in times of peace either.
By late afternoon, my arse felt like it would split in two, and my thighs burned from gripping the saddle. Still, I pushed on until I reached my destination for the day—a small wooded area near Raventree Hall, the ancient seat of House Blackwood.
I made camp well off the road, in a small clearing sheltered by tall oaks. As I rubbed down the horses and fed them oats from my saddlebag, I thought of the castle nearby. It had been taken by Lannister men and was probably being spied on by Stark men, so it wouldn't do good for me to go in.
I ate a meager supper of hard bread and dried meat, washed down with water from a nearby stream. As night fell, I laid my head on a nearby trunk and let sleep take me.
The second day was much the same—riding, eating, and little else. The horses performed admirably. We passed Stone Hedge, the seat of House Bracken, also held by the Lannister men.
On the third day, I rode down the River Road that followed the Red Fork.
I saw more signs of the war as I traveled further—burned fields, abandoned cottages, the occasional body swinging from a tree. The ravens had been at most of them, leaving little more than bone and gristle. Raiding parties most likely.
Finally, on the evening of the fourth day, I reached my destination. The sand steeds had proven their worth, carrying me faster than scheduled. They were almost as swift as dothraki horses, sadly I had never had the chance to ride any, though I had killed quite a few. And even if I did have dothraki horses they probably would have jumped from the boats, after all those horses weren't exactly known for their calm temperament.
I led Balios and Xanthos deep into the Whispering Woods, the very forest where the Young Wolf had sprung his trap on Jaime Lannister's forces. The trees were plentiful and let little light seep through. A fitting place for an ambush.
I tied both horses to a sturdy trunk, marking the tree with my sword—a simple notch that would be overlooked by most, but would guide me back.
I moved quickly across the forest, marking a tree every hundred paces, ensuring I could find my way back in haste if needed. After all imagine if I rescued the Kinglsayer but we got captured because I couldn't find my way back to the horses that would have been quite depressing.
Finally, I emerged from the forest, and there it was—Riverrun, seat of House Tully, where the Young Wolf kept his most valuable prisoner. I could see why it had been so difficult to siege, and how Robb Stark had used the terrain to his advantage. The castle stood on a massive triangle of land, bordered on two sides by rivers—the Tumblestone to the north and the Red Fork to the south. The third side faced a massive man-made moat that could be filled with water from the rivers, effectively turning the castle into an island fortress when needed.
To properly besiege such a place, an army would need to divide into three camps, one for each side of the triangle. And that was exactly what had made the Lannister forces vulnerable. The Young Wolf had first attacked their largest contingent through a forest ambush, separating them from the rest by the Tumblestone River. Then he'd crossed the Red Fork to take the remaining forces. Divide and conquer—though in this case, the forces were already divided. All the wolf had to do was conquer.
I looked the castle intently, wondering where exactly the dungeons for prisoners would be.
"Time to get your hands dirty," I muttered to myself as I sheathed my blade once more. It was time for the first facet of my plan.
Infiltrating Riverrun.