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AN: Warning that there is reference to sexual assault in this chapter, nothing bad comes of it. Just wanted to warn folks.

Tanith Aiyana, or The Good Hunter as she was more commonly known before her arrival in Westeros, heard the bandits before she saw them. Three men and they had picked a good spot on the road to Harranhal, no doubt hoping to waylay small folk and tradesmen who risked traveling alone or in small groups. Tanith slowed her horse and smiled, aware that had she wrapped her chest before setting out that morning likely the bandits would have let the solitary Hedge Knight pass. They were scavengers, hoping to gain coin to see them warm and fed through the next Winter.

“You are not as stealthy as you seem to believe. Step forward in a semblance of men rather than skulking beast and perhaps we shall treat and both depart with greater understanding.” Tanith’s voice had a faint accent, a strange mix oh Yharnam and the distant lands of her birth she recalled only as the faintest of dreams. To the people of Westeros, she no doubt sounded like some bastard child of the free cities and when she had coin, most left it at that.

The bushes to her left rustled and two men stepped forth, one big and one lithe and whipcord thin. The bandits third companion remained hidden, no doubt hoping to charge out and grab the reigns of Tanith’s horse should she turn to flee. The whipcord thin man shot Tanith a sly grin and hefted a warhammer, old and spotted with patches of rust but still perfectly functional. “Sorry there ‘Ladyship’..” the word dropping scorn “..but that’s some mighty big words for the likes of us. Why don’t you get down from that fine looking mare and don’t struggle too much. You do that and me and the boys won’t be too rough with you and we’ll even leave you a pretty dress to get to the tourney with?”

Tanith felt a thin smile grace her mouth, expertly dismounting from Flora, her mare seemed slightly agitated as Tanith patted her nose and with gentle hands urged her to move out of the splash zone. Turning to the bandit leader, The Good Hunter tilted her head slightly to one side as if the Bandit were an interesting insect she had discovered crawling across the ground. “You intend to have your way with me then? A young foreign woman travelling alone?” The bandits grin widened at the seeming capitulation of the rider and started advancing forward. When The Good Hunter smiled though, displaying more teeth and a wider smile than could possibly fit in a human face, the bandit realised that perhaps this young women travelling alone had reason to not need guards. Tanith reached behind her and grasped one of her favourite weapons for dealing with would be rapists.

“It seems even here, Beasts can wear the skins of men…”

As the whirligig saw span up to full power, the woods echoed with the screams of blood and blades.

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Tanith rode into the tournament grounds at Harranhal and felt a sense of unease flutter in her stomach. Despite the horrors of Yharnam and the journey through the hellscape of the Nightmare Frontier, there had always been something about large crowds of people that set her on edge. Banners by the hundred snapped and cracked in the strong winds of the Riverlands, tents of many colours flooded the field before her and there seemed to be an order to it that Tanith did not quite understand. The smells of shit, cooking meat, wood smoke and other scents beyond count assailed her. The noise was beyond what she was used to as well, The Good Hunter removed small wax plugs from a pouch around her belt, the Doll had pressed them into her hands before she had left the dream, once she had finished cleaning the blood out of the mechanisms of the Whirligig Saw. Pressing the plugs into her ears, the noise of hundreds..no..thousands of people moving about was dampened to a more manageable level. Earplugs were not something Tanith would ever have dared use in Yharnam but here in this place the people of Westeros seemed incapable of stomping and shouting even when they tried. Besides, its not like any living thing could sneak up on her anymore, her senses had become...changed after her rebirth.

After cleaning up the bodies of the bandits, Tanith had found a clearing off to one side of the path and dressed in the suit of armour she had taken from a Vileblood Knight she had bested when exploring Cainhurst. Perhaps slightly heavier than what she was used to, but not by overmuch. The armour looked similar to that worn by several of the other knights she could see, the helmet being the primary difference, the lack of obvious eyeholes and the more elegant curved shape marking it out from the other helms she could see. For that reason Tanith kept it tucked under her arm and as out of sight as possible without sending it to the Hunter's Dream. Over the armour and to disguise its less common qualities, Tanith had asked the Doll to stitch her a tabard. The base material was of black, whilst the symbol emblazoned on both the front and back was of a golden Chalice on a field of dark red.

Tanith spent several minutes just sitting atop Flora, taking in the atmosphere of the tourney, the vast shape of Harrenhal rising over the fields upon which the competitions were taking place. She realised that as other knights were arriving, those without a large party about them were going to a stand of tables set up in the shelter of a small cropping of trees. it seemed gold was exchanged and their names were written down on parchment. Dismounting Flora, The Good Hunter led her towards the tables and approached one of the men, an older figure with a grey beard and an air of authority about him.

"Greetings, I desire to enter the competitions. How much is it to partake?" Tanith saw the greybeard startle a little and look up from the reams of paper gathered on the table, a long grey quill clutched in one hand. For a moment he seemed confused, a knight in full armour should have alerted him by the noise alone, but looking up into the androgynous face of the youth before him, not much older than sixteen summers, the old man just shook off the passing chill.

"One gold dragon for entry to Lord Whent's tourney, that gets you a place in any of the contests, food and ale as well as a place to pitch a tent. Of course for less wealthy knights some communal tents have been set up so you don't have to sleep under a hedge." Tanith noted the smile playing across the Greybeards face at his little joke at her expense. Reaching into the pouch at her hip, Tanith withdrew five bright gold coins and placed them down on the table in front of the Greybeard. Each coin she placed was solid and a third again as large as the gold dragons being used elsewhere, though they lacked the face of the king or the Targaryen dragon.

"One coin for entry, one coin for you and your family, one coin to not ask questions about my coinage...and two coins to change for a few gold dragons and some silver stags." the expression on the old mans face went through several variations in the split second that Tanith observed before returning her perception to that of the normal flow of time. The Greybeard nodded and pursed his lips, sweeping the coins into a pouch at his own waist and dumping out a pair of gold dragon and thirty silver stags, sliding them across the table to Tanith. He nodded deeply to the young knight, picking up his quill and poising it over the page expectantly.

"Very well Ser Knight, if I might know your name and House I can formally welcome you to Lord Whent's tourney.." The Greybeard saw the small smile lifting the lips at the corners of the youths lips. He had served Lord Whent as one of the castle stewards for well over forty years and yet had no knowledge of the sigil on the knights tabard. A Hedge Knight he had assumed but no Hedge Knight carried that much coin, from the brief glimpse of the surface, there had been strange symbols on the gold but nothing he had recognised as language.

Tanith smiled a brilliant smile at the old man, her perfect white teeth flashing in the sun. "Ser Tanith Aiyana of House Bloodtide. Thank you for your courteous welcome steward." As Tanith turned away and gathered up her mount, walking away into the crows the Greybeard scratched at his chin, he had never mentioned being a steward in that conversation at all.

A smile still on Tanith's face she led Flora to one of the vast stables that had been constructed to house and shelter the multitudes of warhorse belonging to the knights and lords both great and small who had ridden to Harranhal. Tipping a stable boy a gold dragon to ensure Flora received the best attention and food whilst in his care, Tanith ventured out on foot with saddlebags draped over her shoulders, looking for somewhere a little out the way where she could pull the items she needed from The Hunter's Dream without causing undue alarm, the sheer mass of people actually worked in her favour here, everyone was so busy that they would pay little attention to a solitary Hedge Knight setting up their camp. A distant cry caught Tanith's ear, a younger girls cry.

"Oh, okay. But isn't there something I can do? Maybe mum and dad are stuck out there, waiting for me to come to them. What do you think, miss hunter?"

Tanith froze in place, suddenly stark still. The bright noonday sun meant the contortion and writhing of her shadow was visible to no one else but one old drunken knight who simply rubbed at his eyes and swore off drinking. Turning on her heel, Tanith approached the small clearing off the main path between two tents. A smaller boy, short and thin of stature was laying on the ground, muddy and bruised whilst over him stood a girl in a dress of blue emblazoned with the snarling grey direwolfs head. The girl was older than the ones Tanith was haunted by, tall for her age and with a toughness and surety of purpose that was apparent even at a distance. Even as she approached she saw three other boys, each of whom bore a different symbol, a pair of towers, a pitchfork and a pair of spike-backed animals separated by a red line. Obviously squires and only slightly younger than either the boy or the girl, two also carried wooden practise swords, weighted to deliver bruises but one had drawn live steel, a long dagger.

Tanith lengthened her stride, covering the distance at speed now and knocking another knight off balance as she shoulder checked him, sending the young knight who also bore a snarling direwolfs head on his tabard staggering. The squires struck, but the girl had responded, her sword snapping out and smacking one of them on the wrist hard enough to make him drop his sword, but she was not quite able to withdraw her blade fast enough to stop a blow from the other practise sword from catching her in the leg, causing her to let out a grunt of pain through her teeth. Tanith could hear the footsteps of the young knight she had knocked staggering coming after her, but she entered the clearing between the tents and snapped out her hand, grabbing the squire bearing live steel and tossing him bodily at the one still threatening the girl. Voices sounded behind her and Tanith could only spare a moments concentration for the conversation as she advanced on the stunned young man with the bruised wrist.

"Lyanna! What are you doing here, fighting squires of all people?" the voice of a young man, the knight she had bumped into perhaps. The girls voice started to reply, changing partway through as she seemed to realise Tanith was still advancing on the now retreating squire, the other two in a pile of groaning bruises on the floor.

"Ned! I saw these boys hurting the boy, one of Father's bannerm-..Ser Knight, stay your wrath!"

Tanith stopped in her tracks, although she was physically only a few years older than the boy, it was not height that made the squire quail in fear, it was the look in the eyes of the pale haired youth. A look that promised at best, a quick death. Taking a breath, Tanith turned to face the girl, Lyanna by name and inclined her head. "Your will, Lady Stark." Giving one last look at the squire, Tanith turned away towards the two Starks. The young Knight had bodily hefted the other two squires and sent them staggering out to land face first into the mud of the path before turning to stand alongside his sister facing Tanith. Lyanna had helped the boy on the floor to his feet and was smearing dirt on her hands trying to rub away the dirt on his clothes. Dark of hair and stern of expression, they almost seemed carved of the ice that gripped their home. Tanith knew of the Great Houses and had done her reading when she first arrived, but this was her first meeting with any decedents of the Great Houses.

Eddard seemed to have calmed considerably with Lyanna alongside him, but Tanith inclined her head in a shallow bow regardless. "I apologise for knocking you off balance Lord Stark. I saw that Lady Stark might require just a touch of assistance and in my haste, I did not watch my step." Ned nodded and stepped forward, holding out a hand to clasp Tanith's firmly, seeming satisfied with the strength of her grip.

"You rescued my.." Lyanna cleared her throat firmly and shot a glare at Ned who coughed and corrected himself "..you ably assisted my sister in defending herself from a group of bullies Ser, you have my thanks. I do not recognise your sigil though, from where do you hail?" Tanith met Lyanna's eyes, seeing eyes so startlingly blue that fires could be dancing within them. "I am Ser Tanith Aiyana of House Bloodtide, Lord Stark. A small house from the Vale originally, only recently have we returned from travel in the free cities." Ned nodded and glanced at Lyanna who's eyes seemed to narrow as she communicated with her sibling in a way only siblings can. "Ser Aiyana, will you share bread and salt with House Stark tonight? I am also within my power to offer shelter to one who stepped between my sister and bare steel." Ned also turned to the young crannogmen the whole incident had started over. "Those of House Reed are always welcome at the table of the Starks as well, join us and we shall eat well this night." Tanith took a step towards the Starks, giving them each a formal bow. "Lord Stark, I need only space to set up my tent, I thank you for your offer of bread and salt and will take you up on your generosity." Tanith noted the smile that tried to curl up at the corners of Lyanna's mouth, glad that the interesting young knight from lands across the sea had accepted the invitation to dinner.

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Tanith looked at Brandon. Brandon looked at Tanith. A bead of sweat trickled down into Brandon's eye and he cursed the stinging pain, his blood igniting as he roared and made one great push, throwing all his energy and strength against Tanith. No matter though, Tanith and Brandon's hands remained resolutely at a stalemate. Lyanna, Ned and Benjen all watched intrigued as the strange knight started exerting pressure and forced Brandon’s hand towards the table, their arm-wrestle ending with Tanith lightly pressing Brandon’s knuckles to the wooden table.

Brandon slouched on his stool with the huff, wiping sweat from his eyes and glowering at Tanith. "You have more muscle under your skin than I gave you credit for Ser Aiyana. I wonder though, how will you fare with a blade in hand?" Brandon scrutinised Tanith but the pale faced youth's expression gave away nothing. Benjen helped himself to another slice of salted bread and yawned, glancing over at Lyanna and giving just a small jerk of his head towards Brandon.

"Lay off Ser Aiyana Brandon, I'm sure you will get a chance to flex your muscles and show off at the melee tomorrow. I for one am most looking forward to seeing Robert get knocked about a bit!" Lyanna smiled to herself, raising a cup to her lips and taking a sip as she ignored Ned's eye roll. Tanith noted the expressions on the faces of the Stark siblings, this was not the first time Lyanna had said something like this.

"I trust this Robert you speak of, is not someone you are fond of?" Tanith turned her full attention to Lyanna, not keeping an eye on Brandon anymore as the northern girl revealed more information about herself. Lyanna lowered her cup and rolled her eyes, then looked pointedly at Ned.

"Robert Baratheon is the man I am supposed to marry, the problem is he is loud, oafish, rude and continually engaged in chasing skirts by all the accounts I have heard of him." Ned's face grew a little tight as he heard his sisters description of his boyhood friend. Yet he could not deny that Robert had a tendency to the behaviour Lyanna described. Benjen cleared his throat pointedly.

"Perhaps airing such grievances in front of our guest is best avoided sister." Benjen gave Tanith a small smile and a nod. "Apologies Ser, I hope you will not think ill of any of us for our thoughts. It has been a long journey and we are excited for the tourney to begin tomorrow. In fact, perhaps we should get ready to go to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths? Ser Aiyana, you are of course welcome to join us at the feast." Tanith inclined her head to Benjen, reassessing the youngest of the Starks. Tanith stood and bowed, picking up her helmet from where it had rested on the table.

"Indeed, thank you Lord Stark. I will see to setting up my camp, my servants should be arriving soon and then I will attend the feast and join you. Correct me if I am wrong, but I have heard there are plans for music to be played, a minor contest of skill amongst the attendees?" Ned nodded his head, already turning his mind to the next day and the contests that awaited him.

"Indeed Ser Aiyana, I will look for you and ensure you have a seat." Tanith nodded again to Ned and strode out into the darkness to the spot near the other tents erected under the snapping banner of the snarling direwolf. She stood for several minutes, watching as the Stark children moved about within the tents before departing. Turning to the empty patch of land, Tanith reached into the Dream and pulled out the large tent of red cloth that matched that of her tabard exactly. The Doll stepped through moments later and between the two of them, the already erected tent was pegged in place, both women able to push the pegs into the earth fully without noticeable effort. As they stepped within, the foul smells of the outside vanished, replaced by a gentle floral scent and the loud noises of the hum of human activity faded as well, replaced by the quiet calm of The Hunter's Dream. Tanith and the Doll pulled items to furnish the tent interior from the Dream. A mannequin for Tanith's armour, chests of spare clothing and weapon maintenance kits, two crates filled with food both fresh and preserved, all wrapped in waxed paper to keep it safe from the elements and a narrow bed dressed with luxurious furs and cloth softer than anything found in Westeros.

Finally, Arianna pulled the heavy steel weapon rack from the Dream, placing her three favourite weapons on it and the ones she planned to possibly use during this tourney. The first was the Tontritus, a large and heavy one handed steel mace with copper threads woven throughout the steel to conduct the electricity that could be run through the weapon. The second was the Kirkhammer, a enormous crude warhammer at first glance until one looked closer and saw that the 'handle' could in fact be disconnected and used as a one handed sword. And finally Ludwig's holy blade, a one handed sword that could be locked into its sheath and together make a rather large two handed sword.

The Good Hunter looked over her weapons with eyes alight with memory, running her hand over each carefully leather wrapped handle, remembering the countless times she had rewrapped the handles with fresh leather once the old handle became too soaked in blood to provide effective grip. The Doll had withdrawn to one corner of the tent, dressed in a garb more suited for Westeros than her Cainhurst dress, a plain dress of fine wool that marked her as a higher ranking servant. The Doll had refused to remove her bonnet however and Tanith had not argued the point, The Doll was as she was and a better companion a Hunter could not ask for, memories of blue eyes that danced with inner fire flashed in the Tanith's mind for a moment.

Tanith shook her head and without a shred of modesty stripped off her armour and underclothes in front of The Doll, luxuriating in the feeling of lightness for a moment before starting to pull on her outfit for the feast. Knowing she would have to bind her breasts once more, The Doll provided assistance before Tanith pulled on the high collared white shirt, with the leather waistcoat going over the top and closing up tightly. A crevat at the neck and finally a long coat of supple dark leather, newly retrieved from The Workshop, rather than the bloodied and cracked leather of her first set of Hunter armour. Reaching out to The Dream once more, Tanith pulled through her second servant, a woman Tanith had failed and who The Good Hunter had pulled back through efforts that had laid her out near death.

The long red dress glides over the floor of the tent as Arianna steps forth, looking Tanith up and down before reaching out and adjusting her crevat. "Ah, so this is Westeros? Don't fear Tanith, I will not stray far and The Doll can accompany me when I desire to stretch my legs." Tanith smiles at the blonde haired woman and inclines her head.

"You survived Yharnam Arianna, I am confident in your ability to survive Westeros. Caution will not go amiss though, take the Doll with you when you go for walks. She can take you back and forth to The Dream when required."

Looking in the full length mirror of polished glass, Tanith nodded to herself. She looked foreign yes, but foreign in a way the people of Westeros would recognise as foreign to their land. Already she had told her story to the Starks and servants gossiped like rabbits bred. Soon it would be known throughout the whole camp that the Starks had broken bread with a scion of a long forgotten Vale family. Picking up the dark wood case, Tanith braced herself and closed her eyes, then stepped out of the tent and strode towards the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

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The Hall of a Hundred hearhts had conjured up grand images in Tanith's mind as she passed the streams of servants bringing food by the platter, entire roast boar, other meats and assorted vegetables and fruits. Sweet treats and great slabs of butter, cheese and bread. To a younger Tanith, the food would have seemed grand, but after feasting in the halls of Castle Cainhurst with Lady Annalise it seemed a simple but good hearted fair. Striding into the hall, Tanith looked over the heads of the crowd to find the Starks, noting one large table filled with an array of sigils, chief amongst them the snarling Direwolf. A merman, crossed longaxes, moose and bears also graced the many men and a few women who sat clad in furs and leathers. The Northern Lords as sure as could be, holding her dark wood case in one hand Tanith removed a orange from the pouch at her side and expertly peeled it, biting into the juicy flesh as she walked towards the Northerners.

The hall was packed with servants but with the ease of long practise at avoiding Lords and knights the servants weaved and bobbed around Tanith, not that The Hunter did not perform a dance of her own, ducking around the slower and less mobile servers without seeming to. Approaching the table, Tanith had the time to pull another orange from her pouch and bite into it, the rich smell permeating the air of the local vicinity, competing with the roasting meats and fresh hot buttered bread from the ovens. A man wearing the sigil of the Moose on an orange field rose and faced Tanith when it became obvious she was approaching and barred her way.

"I do not recognise your sigil Ser, who are you to approach the Starks of the North?" The man was young but tall, perhaps half a decade past the age of majority and bore the sigil of one of House Starks bannermen, a Moose on an orange field. The young knight had several inches on Tanith. Raising her head to meet his eyes, Tanith gave a slight incline of the head, just enough to be respectful but not enough to show deference.

"Ser Tanith Aiyana of House Bloodtide. I was informed that a place at the Northern table would remain open for me after my service to the Starks this afternoon. Do you intend to bar my way from fulfilling my obligations as a guest Ser Hornwood?" Tanith met the young man's eyes, noting another pair of knights bearing the green bear and a merman were also rising to come over and see what the fuss was about. The young Hornwood's face was hardening and he was about to take a step forward when a cold clear voice called over the heads of the other Northmen.

"Ser Aiyana, you are welcome. Please come and share in our meal." The knight in front of Tanith shifted and Tanith inclined her head to Lyanna, the 'she-wolf' of Winterfell as she had come to be known. Gleaned from skimming the surface thoughts of the men and ladies crowded into the feasting hall. Tanith stepped forward and this time her path was not barred, she heard a few murmurs from the Mermen and Bears but nothing outright hostile, few were willing to say it loud enough for Lyanna and her brothers to hear at any rate. It would have been a breach of good conduct for Tanith to be seated too near the Starks so instead she was sat amongst the young knights of the Bannermen. Taking a modest amount from the feast in front of her, Tanith ate slowly and savoured the rustic cooking of the Westerosi. She had to admit, the finest and most delicate foods of Castle Cainhurst could not compare to the broader and richer flavours of well cooked and seasoned pork. The knights surrounding her, including the one who had first confronted Tanith were not entirely sure how to act in her presence. She had performed some unspecified service for the Starks and as a Hedge Knight they wondered what she could have achieved that the Starks could not have themselves or with the assistance of their bannermen. A knight bearing the Merman leaned forward towards Tanith, studying her curiously

"Which competitions will you be competing in during the coming days Ser? I know several of us are planning to enter the Melee to secure a northern victory and others plan to compete in the Joust and at Archery." The knight of House Manderly kept a open face, expressing a genuine interest in where the Hedge Knight favoured with a seat at the table by the Starks would compete. Tanith finished her mouthful of meat and set her eating knife down.

"Thank you for your interest Ser, I am intending to take part in the Melee, Jousting and Archery. I fear axe-throwing is not my forte, but I believe I stand a reasonable chance at any of the other contests." Tanith could see the smirks crossing some of the faces of the other Knights at the brazen confidence she displayed, but only allowed a slight uptilt of the corners of her mouth. The melee was the only competition she really cared for, looking over the heads of the hall to catch a sight of the powerfully built young man wearing the Baratheon sigil, draining cup after cup of wine sitting next to a golden haired leonine man with the mark of the Lion about him. Tanith chatted with the knights for a few more minutes, they seemed to become slightly more relaxed around her as they could see Tanith was not looking down on them for being Northern Houses

Tanith finished her cup of wine and stood, bowing low to the Stark children "Lords and Lady Stark, as is custom for your generosity in inviting me to break bread with you, I have ordered a crate of preserved oranges and lemons be delivered to your baggage. As long as you do not expose them to air, the waxed paper within shall keep them for several months. I hope that your journey North once the tourney ends will be more pleasant for the presence of sweet fruits." Brandon stood as well, largest of the Stark siblings and inclined his head to Tanith.

"Your gift is well appreciated Ser Aiyana. I have no doubt the halls of Winterfell will hear praise for you when we dine on lemon cakes." Brandon sat down and Tanith noted the other knights around her, including several of the lords sat further up the table were now looking at her with curiosity and greed. The idea of paper that was claimed to keep goods as fragile as fruits preserved for months was of great interest to the Northern Houses where winter was long and such luxurious items were seen rarely outside of White Harbour and the seat of House Manderly. Before Tanith could be assailed by questions and demands, the hall falls to silence as a soft sound of strings being plucked can be heard from the top table where a figure of pale blonde hair sits with a harp on the floor before him.

Rhaegar Targaryen played a song unknown to Tanith, she admired the Dragon Prince's voice and the skill with which he played the harp but as a musician herself, Tanith could tell that music was not the Prince's formost passion. As the song came to a close, Tanith heard a spluttering from the Stark children and saw Benjen had wine dripping down over his face whilst Lyanna held an empty goblet. Ned and Brandon were both torn somewhere between laughing and trying to scold their sister whilst keeping a straight face. The playing of music seemed to be the unofficial end of the feast and the start of the celebration that came afterwards. The table moved to the sides of the hall by several teams of servants and as the crowd of Lords, Ladies, knights and servants mixed, a different sound could be heard.

Tanith stepped into a small clearing in the crowd, other guests drifting back away from the strangely dressed knight as she lay bow to string. The violin tucked under her chin as she began to sing a song she had skimmed from the mind of a minstrel soon after her arrival in Westeros. The strange but beautiful sound of the violin was like nothing the Lords and Ladies who watched and listened had ever heard before, then Tanith began to sing:

High in the halls of the kings who are gone
Jenny would dance with her ghosts
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found
And the ones who had loved her the most
The ones who'd been gone for so very long
She couldn't remember their names
They spun her around on the damp old stones
Spun away all her sorrow and pain
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
They danced through the day
And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall
From winter to summer then winter again
'Til the walls did crumble and fall
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
High in the halls of the kings who are gone
Jenny would dance with her ghosts
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found
And the ones
Who had loved her the most

When the song came to an end, there was more than one damp eye in the hall. Tanith carefully put her violin back into its wooden case and as noise returned to the hall, gave the case to a servant with a gold dragon to ensure its delivery back to her tent. Having waited to see if any other Lords wished to play, now the minstrels struck up their music off to one side, filling the hall with a jaunty tune. Stepping to one side, Tanith shrugged off her leather coat, fearing that if she was asked to dance it would only get in the way of her feet, this simply exposed the youthful knight to the scrutiny of those around her, noting her style of dress and several discussions ranged about where in the free cities one would find such a style of clothing.

Tanith watched several dances, noting the movement of the lords feet, taking note especially of the footwork of Robert Baratheon as he danced with Lyanna. The purple eyed maid danced past several times, each time with a different partner. Tanith had intended to approach one of the young unmarried ladies for appearance sake, but something held her back. Shyness or those flickering blue eyes, she could not say. Smiling to herself, Tanith supposed that even with her rebirth the nature of humanity was not fully understood. A throat being cleared caught her attention and made Tanith open her eyes to see Lyanna standing before her, a small group of other Lords and knights standing a short way off watching.

"Its the last dance, Ser Aiyana and I may have told some rather insistent Lords that I had already promised the last dance to the knight who lent me aid. So please, dance with me." Lyanna spoke quickly and quietly, glancing over her shoulder Tanith could see one of the other Lords, a man with a golden rose on a green field about to step forward when Tanith took Lyanna's hand and bowed low.

"It would be the pleasure of a lifetime Lady Stark." Tanith smoothly led Lyanna out onto the dance floor, the Stark girl keeping pace and not allowing herself to be led like a lamb to slaughter, a coy smile playing about her lips as the two took position. Ned Stark close by with a nervous expression peeking through his stern countenance across from the purple eyed maiden. Tanith danced with Lyanna, each moment seeming to stretch into eternity as those blue eyes looked at her with such intensity. She felt like she was falling into a cosmos, her feet moving without conscious thought as she did when she was in combat. The Stark girl knew her way around the dance floor, the two of them taking turns leading in a back and forth that did not mirror any of the other dancers around them. As the music came to an end, Tanith raised Lyanna's hand to her lips and brushed her lips over the back of her hand. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to dance with you Lady Stark."

As the music came to a close, Lords and Ladies drifted away, some going to secret halls and places where no doubt hasty decisions made under the influence of wine would impact the futures of a dozen houses of Westeros, whereas others grouped together to depart for the corners of the camp they called their own. Tanith found herself standing in the middle of the dancefloor for several minutes, once more just a Hedge Knight who had caught the eye of a Great House for the night. Feeling a set of eyes boring into her, Tanith turned to meet the gaze of the burly bearded young man bearing the colours of House Baratheon, staring daggers at Tanith. Tanith did not incline her head, simply meeting Robert Baratheon's eyes before turning away and walking into the darkness, once more flinging her dark coat around her shoulders.

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Cheers rang out across the tourney grounds as the Herald, a large man with lungs like great bellows stood in front of the royal box. Wearing the sigil of House Targaryen emblazoned large across his doublet. The stands had been set up overnight on both sides of the Melee ring, for the Royal family and Great Houses to sit and watch, leaving space for the Joust to take place the next day. Smaller wooden benches had been placed as well for lesser knights who had chosen not to participate in the melee and merchants with their families. Hundreds of smallfolk gathered as well to watch for the promise of blood and entertainment. Dozens of smaller flags cracked and snapped in the breeze to mark the seats of the Great Houses and the Royal box.

The Herald cleared his throat, a bushy grey beard shivering with the projection of the Herald's voice. "Announcing now! The Seventh Melee, the winner of whom will take the final spot in the Championship Melee with the chance to win the grand prize. Lord Whent has offered a bounty of thirty thousand gold dragons to the winner of the Melee, You compete for the chance at honour, glory and gold! Step forward now those chosen to compete!" The Herald started to read a list of names, the seventh and last name called was the one Tanith had been waiting for. "And...Ser Tanith Aiyanna of House Bloodtide.." a murmur sweeps through the gathered nobles, by now everyone had heard of the Hedge knight and the strange instrument they had used, upstaging Prince Rhaegar with a musical display and boldly dancing with a lady of a Great House.

Tanith stepped forward towards the ring, six other knights of the lesser houses doing the same. As the seventh Melee, this was considered to be more a matter of filling the last spot in the main event with a knight of less renown and standing to provide an early knockout against the more skilled knights and Lords who had already won their place in the Melee. Putting her curious rounded helmet on, Tanith could hear the muttering from the stands, some Lords noting the curious lack of eye holes in the helmet, laughing at the 'blind knight' whilst others, those who had seen Tanith dance with Lyanna were more aware of quite how good her footwork was. Placing the canvas bundle down at her side, Tanith knelt and unwrapped it, revealing her weapon of choice for the day. She hefted the Hunters axe, a heavy steel single bladed axe that could be extended to the length of a polearm by flicking a catch in the handle. Tanith hefted the weapon as the crowd murmured, the design unusual compared to the axe varieties that were more common. The seven knights who had stepped forward when their names were called lined up before the Royal box and bowed to the King, Aerys Targaryen. The old man huddled on his chair did not seem very impressive, overlong yellowed nails and tangled white blonde hair that waved in the breeze that swept over the tourney, he simply glared out at the knights who were prepared to fight and potentially die for his entertainment and their own gain. After a few awkward moments, the Herald realised the King was not going to say anything so stepped up.

"Knights of the Seven Kingdoms, the rules of the Melee are known. When an opponent yields, they are not to be harmed. We do not strike to kill, this is a contest of arms and not a contest of war. When the trumpet blows, you may begin!" Each of the knights nods to the Herald and move to form a circle, equally distant from each other to give the most sporting chance for everyone starting off. Ten seconds passed, Tanith could see the sweat trickling down the neck of the knight to her left. He was one of the knights of House Manderly she had talked to the night before, giving him a nod, Tanith glanced out at the rest of the knights with a placid almost bored expression beneath her helmet. Despite the calm exterior, she felt her heart beating faster, a chance to inflict violence had been lacking since she met the bandits now here she stood with a fresh challenge. The strength in her blood thrummed and wanted to be let out, the whispers kept at bay by the steel curtain of will Tanith maintained by reflex.

The Trumpet rang out. And Tanith moved.

The knight to her right bore the sigil of twin blue towers, the same as on the squire who had attacked Lyanna. Tanith moved with startling speed, her axe swinging in a powerful sideways stroke that nethertheless did not employ her full strength. The weight of the axe crashed against the knight of the twin towers knee and knocked him off his feet with the force, before allowing a recovery, Tanith stamped down on his chestplate and raised her axe overhead, preparing to bring it down on the gap between gorget and neck. "Yield! I yield!" As soon as the knight spoke the first word, Tanith was moving. The crowd were going wild with cheers, the Frey knigtt was not popular amongst the crowd so the smallfolk were cheering on the mysterious Hedge knight as she advanced without fear towards another pair of knights. One had locked the blade of the other and was driving him back across the mud, Tanith simply leaned back on her backfoot and kicked the knight initiating the lock away, her foot connecting with his chestplate sending out a ringing sound as she engaged the newly freed knight, battering down his guard with one powerful blow the next cracked into the centre of his chestplate and dented the metal inwards, not deep enough to stop the knight drawing breath but enough to make it difficult to draw a full breath, the blow also knocked the knight flying.

Turning to the knight she had kicked away, he had now risen and was advancing cautiously with shield raised and mace poised to strike at Tanith's arm when it extended. Tanith did not hold back her strength on the next blow, the shield bearing the sigil of the flayed man on a background spotted with blood shattered into several pieces as the axe connected with it. The knight was sent reeling, arm clutched to their chest and screaming in agony, the arm bone cleanly broken even through the shield. The knight collapsed down and dropped his mace, holding up a hand and crying out in a Northern accent "Yield!" Tanith nodded and turned away, looking for the next nearest knight. The boy she had dented the chestplate of had already staggered away and men were rushing from the sidelines to unbuckle the chest plate. Three knights down, three to go. Tanith looked across the ring to see the Merman knight being battered on the floor by two more knights, one bearing three lighting bolts on his shield and another with the image of a spotted spider on a web of silver.

Looking towards the crowd, Tanith could see Brandon and Lyanna standing and furiously shouting towards where the knight of one of their fathers bannermen was being battered, feet and fists crashing into the plate helmet and neck of the Merman. Tanith ran towards the three knights, the lighting bolt knight was the one to see his approaching doom. Tanith flicked the switch on the handle of her Hunters axe and extended it to the greater two handed length before stepping into a swing, putting much of her strength into the blow and catching the Lightning bolt knight in the chest, sending him crashing into his companion and then to the floor in a pile of plate. Tanith stepped over the Merman and kicked the Spider knight onto his back, stamping down on his arm as he reached for the blade just out of reach. Tanith raised her axe and heard the muffled groan and rasping of winded lungs desperately choking out the words to yield. The Lighting bolt knight had managed to stagger to his feet before Tanith hooked one leg out from behind him with the axe blade and stood over him, the spike at the tip of the axe pressing into the chain beneath his plate.

"Yield..." Tanith nodded, turning away from the knight on the ground and approached the Merman, reaching out she offered the man a hand up. The merman looked out through the vizor of his helmet and accepted Tanith's hand up, waving away the sword she offered. Instead taking Tanith's arm, the Merman raised it and loudly announced his own yield. Cheers rang out as the trumpets rang again to signal the end to the Melee and the Herald stepped forward.

"Ser Tanith Aiyana will progress to the Grand Melee and there fight for the purse of thirty thousand gold dragons! The Grand Melee will take place in an hours time, until then a mummer's show has been prepared!" With that said, squires and other servants ran forwards to assist the knights who yielded, helping them to their feet and assisting them in walking away. Tanith looked towards where the Starks were sat, but saw only Ned and Brandon. Trying to keep her disappointment hidden as she removed her helmet, Tanith received a hearty clap on the shoulder from the Merman knight she had aided and nodded her acceptance of his thanks before he departed towards his fellow knights.

As Tanith once more shortened her axe to its one handed form, she heard a throat clear behind her and turned to see a pair of blue eyes framed by long dark hair as Lyanna Stark stood with Benjen beside her. "Ser Aiyana, for your service in rescue of Ser Wilfred Manderly, I give you permission to ask for my favour before the melee begins. You have put a Bolten in the dirt and aided a Manderly, no doubt our father Rickard will be amused and pleased to hear of the event."

Tanith gave Lyanna a bow, stowing the axe on her hip to be ready. She had been intending to try to gather information on the weapons used by the other knigths of the melee, but speaking with Lady Lyanna was admittedly a preferable way to spend her time. "You honour me Lady Stark, will that not be considered distasteful by your betrothed?" Lyanna lets out an unladylike snort of amusement.

"Robert cares more for drinking and fighting than he does for me. Much as he might desire me.." Benjen clears his throat, kicking Lyanna in the side of het boot gently. The Stark girl shoots a withering look back at Benjen but does not finish her thought. "I am the She-Wolf of Winterfell and I have said my piece, if you desire my favour you shall have it Ser Aiyana."

Tanith bows her head as Benjen starts to chivvy Lyanna back to the stands and feels the corner of her mouth turn up.

Chapter Text

The horns once again trumpeted to summon the Lords and knights who had won their entry to the Grand Melee of Harrenhal to the ring, Tanith knew in a few minutes the Herald would call the contestants forward to bow before the King and then fight for honour, glory or gold. She took a deep breath, seeing Robert Baratheon step forward wielding a large warhammer. Not the size of the Kirkhammer, but a large weapon for a man purely mortal. Tanith had sent for Arianna to retrieve the Hunter's axe and bring the fresh bundle of canvas that contained the Tontritus and the inner blade of Ludwig's holy blade.

Boldly walking to the stands the Great Houses were sat upon, Tanith had placed her helmet on to hide the slight flush on her cheeks. Other Great Lords were frowning as the Hedge knight approached the stand and came to a halt in front of Lyanna Stark. Raising her voice so it would carry, Tanith looked up to Lyanna and spoke "Lady Stark, might I beg of you your favour for this contest to come?" She could hear gasps from some of the Noble ladies and Benjen put his hand on Lyanna's shoulder, leaning forward to whisper something in her ear, his eyes dark. Lyanna shook off Benjen's and and stood, pulling a blue handkerchief with the snarling direwolf stitched into it from the sleeve of her dress and handing it down to Tanith.

"You have my favour Sir Aiyana, fight with honour." Tanith bowed low to Lyanna and tied the handkerchief around the handle of the Tontritus, turning away and walking towards the clear area of the ring. Other Lords and knights were acquiring favours from their wives or those they were courting as well and Robert Baratheon himself walked past Tanith, trying to shoulder check her by accident but The Good Hunter wove out the way without missing a step. She could overhear the exchange as Robert also asked for a favour from Lyanna who simply wished him well before sitting back down. The trumpets called again and the seven Lords and knights who were participants in the Grand Melee gathered to pay their respects to King Aerys, bowing to the King before taking up position in a circle, much as the Lords and Knights had done at the last melee.

Tanith drew her weapons, Tontritus in her right hand and the sword in her left, her grip loose and the weapons relaxed at her side. Scanning the faces of the armoured knights and lords, she could see their nerves, practically hear the blood pulsing through their veins. The dark rage pouring off the Stag was almost palpable, he would come for her first and she would do as Lyanna had requested and..'knock Robert about a bit'. The Herald's voice boomed out, his voice rising even above the noise of the roaring crowd "Those who stand before the eyes of the Seven this day, we welcome Prince Oberyn Martell, Ser Bryndan Tully, Ser Robert Baratheon, Lord Eddard Stark, Ser John Connington, Ser Gregor Clegane, and Ser Tanith Aiyana. May the Warrior bless them all. You will begin when the trumpets sound!"

The Trumpet rang out. And Tanith stayed still.

Loosely gripping her weapons the knight to her left took a step back and lowered his sword to a low guard, perhaps to stop a repeat of what had happened to the knight of House Frey in Tanith's last Melee. The twin griffins on his tabard marked him out to Tanith. The Good Hunter raised her weapons but otherwise remained still as she waited for someone else to make the first move. The crowd started to get louder and the huge young knight with the three black dogs on a yellow tabard raised the longsword he held in one hand and turned to the older knight with the trout emblazoned on his shield and started advancing, using his greater reach to loop hugely powerful but clumsy blows towards the shorter man. The Stag charged and Tanith smiled beneath her helmet, raising the huge warhammer that he bore, Robert brought the weapon down in a bone crushing swing that would have shattered bones. But Tanith had fought monsters before and men stronger than the Stag Lord, extending her blade out to meet the haft of the weapon, Tanith redirected the immense force of the blow as she stepped forward and to one side, bringing her shoulder in against the heavy plate covering his torso. Dipping her right shoulder she felt the moment as she stepped forward and put her left hand on Robert's knee, straightening and physically tossing the Stag Lord over her shoulder to crash to the ground. Tanith took two quick steps forward and turned to face Robert. Behind her the Blackfish brutally punished Gregor Clegane for relying too much on raw strength and the reach of his weapon by getting in close and hammering the crossguard of his blade into Gregor's face three times in quick succession, dancing back out of range before the young knight could recover.

Tanith turned her mind back to the current target she had in mind, idly noting Jon Connington crossing blades with Ned Stark to one side whilst Oberyn circled the edge of the fight with a small smile crossing his face. The Stag had risen to his feet and advanced more cautiously with hammer raised. Tanith now advanced to meet the Baratheon Lord. The smooth face of her visor made her face impossible to read so when she attacked it was a surprise to Robert. Lashing out with the blade from Ludwig's holy blade, she struck the hammer hard, jarring it in Robert's grip and taking two quick step's forward to bring the Tontritus around in a heavy blow that the Stag was able to take on his pauldron, staggering and off balance from the strength of the blow. Tanith felt more than heard the swish of the warhammer coming in as she dropped the blade and grasped the haft of the warhammer below the head, her plate armoured feet scraping over the grass as the force of the blow was enough to move her lesser mass across the ground, bracing herself Tanith grinned under her helmet and wrenched the hammer forward towards her, the Stag refusing to let go of his weapon until it was too late as the Tontritus came crashing down on the back of his upper chestplate. Tanith spun with the force of the blow and sent Robert once more crashing to the earth with his hammer still in her hand, having stunned the Stag. Tanith briefly raised the hammer taken from Robert in triumph before dropping it next to the groaning knight and retrieving her blade.

Tanith knew she had time to deal with the Stag Lord later, for now she desired something more of a challenge. Removing her helmet and holding it in one hand, Tanith raised her Tontritus and pointed it at Oberyn. "Prince Oberyn, I admire your stratagy. Care to show me how a Dornishman fights?" Tanith replaced her helmet as the Dornish grins grins widely, seeming pleased at the challenge.

"Yes, let us see how you fare Ser Bloodtide." Oberyn raises the narrower curved blade he bore and turned to expose as little of himself to a long thrust. Tanith shifted stances as well, this was no brute who relied on strength and the weight of his weapon to do the job. She would treat this as any other battle against a mad Hunter.

Lyanna

Lyanna watched with baited breath as Ser Aiyana deposited Robert on the ground for a second time and casually gave him back the huge hammer she had pulled from his grasp, advancing the challenge The Red Viper of Dorn. She could hear Benjen and Brandon talking beside her as they watched the other fights, Ned was faring well against John Connington with the two young lords matching each other whilst the Blackfish was beating the huge knight of House Clegane into a bloody pulp, the knight just refusing to go down no matter the battering he was receiving. Now much of the attention turned to where Prince Oberyn and the mysterious Hedge Knight were circling each other. They both seemed to explode into movement at the same time, despite the weight of the armour both men wore their blades flashed and classed with incredible speed. Cut, parry, riposte. Time after time weapons clashed in a ringing of metal, Lyanna could hear Brandon extolling the virtues of both warriors footwork as well, they were keeping pace with each other as they manoeuvred for advantage. Ser Aiyana seemed just as adept at fighting slighter and lighter armoured foes as she was at handling big heavily armoured fighters like Robert.

She leaned forward in her seat as Ser Aiyana parried a thrust of Oberyn's sword downward and kept the pressure on the blade, forcing its tip against the ground before bringing down the heavy mace he held in his other hand down on the blade just below the crossguard. A ringing sound rang out over the ring as Oberyn's blade was snapped at the crossguard, six inches of blade left as the grinning Dornishman dropped the remainder of the sword and took two steps backward with hands clasped behind his back, offering a shallow bow to Ser Aiyana. Lyanna couldn't make out what he said but the Hedge Knight gave a nod before turning away. Prince Oberyn smiled as he walked out of the ring and mounted the steps of the seating reserved for the Great Houses, taking a seat next to Elia Martell, the wife of Prince Rhaegar and his sister. Turning to Brandon she could see the slightly stunned look on his face at seeing the Red Viper yield if not a true defeat to the Hedge knight. "Ser Aiyana is impressive is he not Brandon?"

Brandon turned his eyes to his sister and gave a grudging nod "I can't deny that he has no small amount of skill in multiple weapons, I must ask where he learned to wield three different weapons so expertly." Watching as the other smaller duels started culminating, John Connington backed away from Ned and announced his own yielding whilst three squires were dragging the unconscious Gregor Clegane out of the ring, Brynden Tully was breathing hard and sweat was pouring down his face inside the helm as he too started advancing on the centre of the ring. It was then that Ser Aiyana took the offensive.

Aiyanna

Tanith decided it was time to end the melee decisively, wanting there to be no doubt that the knight who had received the favour of Lyanna had won clearly. Facing the Stag, the Direwolf and the Blackfish, Tanith decided that age beofre beauty was the way to go. Darting towards the exhausted Blackfish on nimble feet, Tanith smashed aside his hastily raised guard, dropping her sword to take a two handed grip on her Tontritus and hammering it into the Blackfish's shield, once, twice and then thrice. Each blow knocking the Blackfish back and looping into the next strike. Bryndan countered by stepping forward and ramming his shoulder into Tanith's chestplate but by doing so overbalanced himself when the Good Hunter didn't give way and ended up with Tanith slamming her helmeted face against the Blackfish's helmet to knock him back a step and daze him, grabbing his gorget with one hand, Tanith swept the older man's legs and sent him crashing to the floor, raising the Tontritus overhead, she looked down at the Blackfish who croaked out that he yielded. Standing up, Tanith extended her hand to Bryndan who took it to pull himself up, staggering out of the ring with a sour expression on his face.

Tanith retrieved her sword and looked towards where the Stag Lord and the Wolf Lord were facing each other, approaching from an angle both men could see her at, Tanith sheathed her sword and took the Tontritus back in a two handed grip, raising it so Lyanna's favour was in Robert's eyeline. Abandoning caution, the Stag Lord charged Tanith and swung a strike that would demolish her ribs if it had connected with a normal human being. It never reached its target, Tanith stepped forward towards Robert and then to one side, using her two handed grip on the Tontritus to hammer a blow into Robert's back that would have stunned a charging Scourge Beast. As the young knight fell, Tanith grasped the antlered helmet of the Stag Lord and wrenched it free, tossing it to one side and raising her mace, kicking the stunned Baratheon onto his back. "Yield Robert Baratheon." Tanith looked down with no mercy in her eyes, until the bruised and battered young man groaned out his yield. Turning now to Ned, Tanith smiled beneath her helmet and bowed. Raising her Tontritus, she and Ned met in a clash of three quick strikes of blade against mace before Ned's sword was spent spinning away as one of his arms went numb from the force of the blow delivered to it. Holding up the arm that was not numb, Ned announced his own yield. The crowds of Nobles sat stunned as a solitary Hedge Knight had won the Grand Melee of the tourney at Harranhal. Amongst the merchants and tradesmen, more than one fortune was made as those who had placed bets on the strange young knight found themselves reaping their rewards for what seemed a poor investment.

Chapter Text

Tanith sat atop Flora and hefted the tourney lance in one hand, the shield on her left felt unbalancing but she had been informed it was a necessity to bear a shield for the Joust. Looking down the field towards the smiling face of Brandon Stark, Tanith accepted she might very well be outclassed for a horsewoman she was not. The Herald walked to take station in front of the Royal box and announced, his booming voice cutting through even the cheering of the crowd. "Now, Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell shall ride against Ser Tanith Aiyana. May the Warrior guide your arm!"

The Herald stepped back and the trumpets rang, Tanith kicked Flora forward into a gallop that brought her and Brandon together at startling speed. Copying the Northern Lords motions, Tanith got her lance into the cradle and saw in the split second of impact that her lance shattered on Brandon's shield and came close to unseating him, but Brandon was a skilled rider and experienced at the Joust, Tanith felt herself flung from Flora to crash to the ground stunned. Whilst not quite the impact of being flung to the earth by the Cleric Beast she could not deny her head was ringing. With no squire to rush out to help her up, Tanith rose to her feet and inclined her head to Brandon as he pulled up at the other end of the field. Brushing shards of wooden lance from her armour, Tanith removed her helmet and went to retrieve Flora, taking the horse by the reigns.

Heavy footsteps signalled Brandon's approach who had dismounted from his own horse and now approached, reaching out to clap Tanith on the shoulder. "Good technique Ser Aiyana, with more experience riding against knights I am sure you will make a formidable challenge in time! And fear not for a ransom for your arms and armour, you have done service enough to House Stark to warrant some consideration." Tanith nodded in acknowledgement of Brandon and turned fully to face him.

"Thank you for your kind words Lord Stark, I believe I will take Flora back and see to her care. Perhaps I shall see you again before the end of the Tourney." Tanith again dipped her head in a small bow as she led Flora away back to the stable, walking with her head held high and a small smile on her face.

After getting Flora settled and spending some time calming the mare, ensuring she was getting the best care. Tanith exited the stables and saw a knight of small stature hurrying through the camp, the shield they bore had the sigil of a laughing tree painted on it, not a careful job either. Tanith could smell how the paint was only a day old at most, this figure in mismatched armour was hurrying through the camp towards the section containing the Northerners section of the camp. Tanith was intrigued, then realisation dawned. The sounds of pursuit was also rising, calls to find the Knight of the Laughing Tree and unmask them by order of the King. Tanith slipped into the shadows of the tents and started to stalk the short knight as they hurried through the camp.

Lyanna

Lyanna's right arm was still partially numb from the jolt that had shot up it from the third impact of lance upon shield as she had sent the knight of House Frey crashing to the earth. Now she hurried away, having delivered her ransom demands to the three knights who had hoped to secure their armour and horses. Lyanna had told them to teach their squires the meaning of honour, her throat growing hoarse from having to lower it to the booming deeper voice she had been speaking in. And now some damn fools were chasing her, Lyanna could not afford to be unmasked. It would lead to a huge embarrassment for House Stark and potentially reprisals against the North as a whole. As it was the price of grain imported from The Reach was higher than they could really afford.

Heading into the tents of the Northern houses, Lyanna looked over her shoulder and saw the flash of bright colours that could only come from the tabards of the pursuing knights. Ducking into a large red tent to get out of their eyeline, Lyanna looked around in curiosity, as soon as she had entered the smells of the tourney field seemed to have vanished and been replaced by a faint scent of roses. There was more furniture in this tent than was normally brought by anyone to a tournament, a heavy iron weapon rack bore some very unusual weapons. A...lump of worked stone with a long handle, part of the handle of the warhammer looked sharp through which was odd enough in its own right. Looking to the desk, Lyanna saw the hefty mace born by Ser Aiyana and realised who's tent she had stumbled into to escape. She could hear shouting outside now as the knights searching for her tore through the Northern camp to try to uncover the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

A soft voice startled Lyanna so much she nearly cried out. In one corner of the room she had barely glanced over, stood a eight foot tall woman wearing a well made wool dress and a curious hat that framed her entire face. "Hello, you are not the Good Hunter. Why have you entered this tent?" The woman took a step forward, seeming to unfold herself from the corner and looked impassively at Lyanna, even had the shorter woman born a weapon, she would not have been able to raise it at that moment.

"I...I sought shelter from those hunting me..I'm sorry..." Lyanna closed her mouth with a snap, she had not boomed out the words, now surely the woman must realise that she was a girl under the armour. To Lyanna's surprise though, the doll smiled and the air of threat that had filled the air without Lyanna even realising it dissipated as quick as morning mist in sunlight.

"The Good Hunter has ever welcomed those who seek shelter from the beast. I see no reason why you are any different. Sit, I will bring you something to drink." Lyanna sat almost without thinking, her body not having taken time to consult her mind before obeying. Deciding that deception was no longer required, Lyanna removed her helmet and placed it down on the table as the huge woman busied herself pouring a orange drink into a tall glass cup, placing it down in front of her and smiling before stepping back to once more stand against the wall. Lyanna raised the drink to her nose and sniffed, the scent of oranges very strong and as she took an experimental sip, the taste of orange flooding her tongue and going down very easily. The drink was sweet but not cloying, refreshing after how dry her mouth had gotten from worry.

Lyanna took the moment to have a better glance around the tent, noting the luxury of the furs on the bed and the crates she could see were filled with bundles wrapped in paper of some kind. Taking another sip of her drink and marvelling as the orange drink washed down her throat, the flap of the tent was brushed aside and another woman entered. pretty and blonde in a long red and finely made dress, the other woman paused when she saw Lyanna but then glanced at where the tall woman in the corner was standing motionless. The woman extended her hand to Lyanna "Ah, hello. I presume you are the knight everyone outside is in such a tizzy over? Well you don't have to worry here dear, no one unwanted gets to come through that tent flap in one piece let me assure you. I'm Arianna of Yharnam, servant of Ser Tanith Aiyana of House Bloodtide. Don't mind miss tall, dark and scary in the corner. She's such a doll." Arianna seemed to laugh at her own..joke? And shook Lyanna's hand.

Feeling some of her confidence return now she was speaking to someone who acted more normal, Lyanna gestured to the tent around them. "Arianna, you say all this belongs to Ser Aiyana? I thought he was just a Hedge Knight, how is he able to afford...well so many luxuries?" Arianna looked confused for just a moment, before realisation seemed to dawn on her. She started moving about the tent, picking up items of clothing that had been left out and neatly folding them, frowning when she picked up something that looked like a very short corset with strange fastenings.

"Doll, I told you that Ser Aiyana needs to stop doing the breast binder up so tightly. The armour will cover any discrepancies, its not healthy." Arianna paused, stock still and cursed, several words Lyanna didn't know but could tell from the tone in which she spat them. Starting to place clothes back in the chests and drawers, Arianna was now steadfastly seeming to try to ignore 'Doll', the apparent name of the tall woman in the corner as she tilted her head and then looked at Lyanna. Arianna blew out a breath and stood up tall, coming to sit down opposite Lyanna.

"Ok, going to have to explain a few things now. Terribly sorry about that slip up, what's your name? I should have probably asked that before I started spouting my mouth off.." Lyanna opened her mouth to reply but her tongue twisted on itself. A fake name? But if the servant went asking even with a cursory description there were few enough northern girls in the camp who might have been wearing armour this day. Lyanna briefly considered just fleeing the tent, but it had only been minutes and likely the knights were still searching for her.

Before Lyanna could speak, the Doll did. "This is Lyanna Stark, the She-Wolf of Winterfell. Daughter of Rickard Stark the Warden of the North and sister of Brandon, Eddard and Benjen Stark." Arianna nodded slowly, looking closely at Lyanna and nodded witha smile on her face.

"Blue eyes with flames dancing within, I can see it now." Lyanna didn't know quite how to respond to that comment, but was saved by the tent flap being brushed aside again and Tanith entering the tent. Ser Aiyana did not seem surprised to find Lyanna sitting at her table with a glass of orange drink in front of her.

"Lady Stark, the search has moved on from this area. If you require I can assist you in removal of your plate and then your ladies can help you dress in a more...traditional manner."

Chapter Text

Tanith stepped further into the tent, noting the expression on Lyanna's face and stopping. Bowing to her, Tanith lowers her eyes to the floor. "Apologies Lady Stark, I did not mean offense. I am sure you are quite capable of removing the armour yourself. I simply would not wish for your reputation to suffer from being seen to leave the tent of a mere Hedge Knight." Tanith turns away and walks to where her Tontritus lay on the table, slowly picking up and putting each piece of the weapon maintenance kit she had gotten out back away in the leather roll that held her tools. Tanith heard movement behind her and the clank of metal on wood, gauntlets being removed and soon followed by the unbuckling of the gorget and pauldrons before they too were lifted over Lyanna's head and placed down on the table.

"Ser Aiyana, I am hesitant to broach the subject if it is delicate. I listened in on your servants speaking and I heard reference to your use of a breast binder. This is a term unfamiliar to me but I can infer a certain degree of what it might refer to. Please speak honestly, do you have womanly parts?" Lyanna continued removing her armour as best as could, having some trouble with the straps that kept her chestplate secure but as each piece of armour was carefully gathered and stacked neatly on the table to be returned to the knights from which she had borrowed without asking, Lyanna stood in the sweat and dirt stained gambeson and trousers before Tanith who had paused with her back to her, but her eyes fixed coldly on Arianna.

"You overheard my servants talking Lady Stark?" Tanith rested her hands on the workbench before starting to remove her own armour piece by piece, not objecting when Arianna came forward to assist in undoing the buckles and straps. Placing each piece upon the mannequin as it was removed and revealing the clean gambeson beneath. "Indeed Lady Stark, I am a woman. Now I have told you such, will you reveal my secret?" Tanith looked up, sweeping her blonde hair out of her eyes and putting it up in a ponytail, having pulled a black ribbon from the dream to do up her hair. She saw Lyanna sitting with hands clasped in her lap and looking at her appraisingly.

"No. No Ser Aiyana I will not reveal your secret, for if I did I could not guarantee that you would not speak of my presence here this day. I would hear your tale however, how did you come to be trained in weapons and with such wealth at your age? You cannot be more than a summer or so older than I, I will keep your secret regardless of whether you see fit to tell me of your past or not. On my honour as a Stark of Winterfell." Lyanna raised the glass of orange drink to her lips and drained the glass, Arianna quickly whisked the glass up and refilled it whilst fetching another glass for Tanith as she sat down.

"The name I was given at birth is lost to me in memories of a distant past before I became what I am now. I am Tanith Aiyana, a name that is foreign to this land but then so is the land I came from. I was cast out of my home and travelled but on the road I became sick with an illness that would take me within the year. So I went to the City of Miracles, a church that could cure any illness. It was expensive and I had little money, yet I was sponsored by a good man. A Hunter, this being the name for the warriors who guarded the city from the beasts that wore the faces of dead men that came from below. I was cured and in turn I learned the art of the Hunt and how to use the weapons of The Hunter's Worskshop." Tanith fell silent, looking down at her hands, a voice filled with accusation ringing in her ears

"You drink the blood of half the town and you call me a beast! You Hunters are the real killers!

Willing away the emotions that tried to rise on her face, Tanith met Lyanna's eyes and inclined her head. "That is my story Lady Stark, since then I have travelled and taken up a sigil of my House. I desired a life free of beasts and I felt drawn to this land. Perhaps it was somewhere I could find peace from the memories of the past. The memories of Yharnam." Tanith cleared her throat and rose from the chair, quickly drinking her glass of juice and going to the tent flap, flicking it open and seeing that the knights hunting the Knight of the Laughing Tree had fully moved on. "Lady Lyanna, give me a list of those I should return the armour too and I can return it. I will tell them I found the armour stolen by some ruffians and retrieved it from them. You should be able to slip back to your tent to change and then go to the Joust before the final few tilts."

Lyanna nodded slowly and rose, looking hard at Tanith. "Ser Aiyana, thank you for your assistance and discretion. Please, join me and my brothers in the stand for the final tilts." Tanith met Lyanna's eyes and once more felt like she was falling into the blue fire of her gaze. Lyanna listed the knights she had taken the armour from with quick and precise words. Nodding in acquiescence, Tanith held the small smile given by Lyanna as she slipped from the tent in her mind, trying to imprint that moment on her memory forevermore. She turned to Arianna and The Doll.

"Arianna, please assist The Doll in packing up my tent and transport it back to The Dream. I will return this armour to the knights it was taken from and then go to watch the last of the Joust. We will depart this evening once I have talked with some of the younger Hedge knights about their options in life." Tanith waited just long enough for Arianna to nod her understanding and give a curtsy before departing. As The Good Hunter did so with the bundle of armour under her arm, The Doll watched Arianna's face and tilted her head.

"You are smiling. What has happened that might please you so?" Arianna's eyes twinkled and she started gathering furs together, packing Tanith's things for transport back to The Dream. Arianna hummed happily to herself, taking some moments before she responded to The Doll.

"Oh, just watching our Good Hunter finding something I don't think they have truly experienced before."

Some Time Later...

The watching crowd fell silent as the crown of blue winter roses was placed in the lap of Lyanna Stark by the pale haired Dragon Prince. Only a low murmur rose from the crowd as Oberyn rose to his feet with a clear anger on his face. Tanith could see the sharpened expression on the faces of Brandon, Eddard and the deeply troubled expression on Benjen's face. Tanith had arrived just before the final Joust, watching as the Dragon Prince and the knight known as Barristan the Bold clash in three tilts. Both riders of exceptional skill, lance after lance shattered as the two men race past each other, with Rhaegar eventually unseating Barristan.

Now as the Northerners return to their tents, their possessions already being loaded onto carts at the order of Brandon to ready for their return to the North, the crates gifted by Tanith amongst them, Tanith trails amongst the Knights of the Starks bannermen. Whilst even a few days ago, Tanith might have been judged as being nothing but an upjumped Hedge Knight, Tanith was the winner of the Grand Melee and had already had to buy a cart with some of the vast wealth she had won during the tourney. This cart she had transported to The Dream after filling her pouch with two dozen gold dragons to join the silver stags she had kept hold of from the start of the tourney.

As Lyanna mounted her horse, now dressed in leather and trousers which seemed to suit the She-Wolf of Winterfell better than dresses, Tanith could barely bring herself to turn away and go to retrieve Flora. She could hear the discussions amongst the Starks with Lyanna insisting that the Stark children could ride ahead with just a few guards and stay at roadside inns whilst the carts containing the tents, supplies and furniture could travel at its own pace with the majority of their guards. Brandon eventually relented and agreed to Lyanna's wishes, seeming eager to return to the North as much as she was and see their Father again.

Chapter Text

Lyanna

The roads out of Harranhal were clear at this stage with many lords and knights staying an extra few days to take a more leisurely journey back to their own lands and continue leeching from Lord Whent's stocks of food and ale for a little longer. The Stark Children and half a dozen guards they brought with them were a smaller party but skilled and so had nothing to fear from any small groups of bandits, flying the banner of House Stark to show the calibre of the swordsmen riding under it. Lyanna had only allowed one of her ladies to accompany the party as too many would slow their party down and defeat the purpose of traveling as a smaller group.

Spurring her horse up alongside Ned, Lyanna reached out banged her fist on the shoulder of her brother's jerkin, noting that even for Ned his expression was grim. "What troubles you brother? Surely your defeat at the hands of Ser Aiyanna does not still weigh on your mind?" Lyanna recalled the moment vividly, her oaf of a betrothed bellowing and snorting with rage, more like a angry bull than the stag her bore as a sigil charging towards the form of the younger and slighter knight. The ringing blow that had put Robert on the floor before the rapid exchange of blows that had seen her brother, a fine swordsman in his own right yield.

Ned grumbled under his breath, Benjen coming up on the outside and reigning his horse to match the pace of the others. "Lyanna, I think what troubles our stern elder brother more is the actions of the Dragon Prince. Giving the crown of Love and Beauty to you rather than his own wife is not proper or fitting. All the nobles of the realm were stunned by the brazenness an-.."

Lyanna cut her hand through the air and cut Benjen off "Thank you Benjen, I am aware of the implications. Whilst you and Ned practised at swordplay I was being lectured on courtly attitudes and the intricacies of politics. So I find myself quite aware of the potential fallout, the Prince gave me the crown but now I will return to the North until I am sent away to the Stormlands and consigned to my fate." Benjen fell quiet, surprised at the bitterness with which Lyanna spoke. Whilst she had never been happy with her betrothal to Robert, she had never expressed such bitterness openly before now.

Lyanna took a moment to breath, schooling her face and drawing on the cold well of winter ice in her heart to control the apprehension she felt. Since meeting Ser Aiyana and finding out the truth of the Hedge Knight, Lyanna had found the idea of a city where a young woman would be trained to fight monsters and earn her own riches enticing, for surely the wealth displayed by Ser Aiyana could not simply all be inherited wealth. The defence of the city...of this Yharnam must have been lucrative. A low grunt to one side caused Lyanna to look over and saw almost in slow motion how the second crossbow bolt punched through the leather and chain of the closest Stark guard and he fell from his horse. Crying out an alarm, Lyanna looked around and saw another two guards fall with crossbow bolts in them, with another thrown from his horse and landing badly as a bolt struck the horse. The thrown man looked up with blank eyes and blood began to weep from the back of his head.

Brandon, Ned and Benjen drew blades along with the remaining two Stark guards but the hail of crossbow bolts did not continue. Instead movement along the side of the King's road indicated the approach of men on foot. Eleven men emerged, several slinging crossbows on their backs and drawing mauls as they advanced and formed a line. Behind the infantry rode three men in full armour, Robber knights, those Hedge Knights who became mercenaries for coin and tasks unbecoming the code of honour. Lyanna looked around, she could ride for the closest place of shelter and see if help could be brought, surely there must be other riders from the tourney who would answer the call to aid the Starks. Looking forward a glint of metal caught her eye and she realised that the King's road ahead had been seeded with caltrops to prevent an escape in that direction.

As the Stark brothers and guards advanced to meet the line of infantry and robber knights, Lyanna looked back down the track in time to see first one then two crossbow bolts hit her horse and send it crashing down, thrashing madly. Lyanna managed to throw herself off her horse, crashing down on to the cobbled stone and hissing through her teeth as her arm scraped on the hard stone. Wild eyed, she looked up to see four men advancing on her from the other side of the road, one in the armour of another robber knight. Scrambling across the ground, Lyanna managed to pull the sword from one of the dead Stark Guards and took up position, copied from watching her brothers train in the yard.

Tanith

Tanith had cause to curse and bless how sensitive her senses had become during the night of the hunt, hearing the breath of a beast as it dangled overhead and looked down with hungry eyes to be greeted by a face full of quicksilver bullet had been useful, but she had also been forced to hear how with each cough, Gilbert's lungs had shredded apart. How one of her few friends had died, how the rattling of his lungs had stilled as she had pressed her blade into his heart and given him peace. Now, she heard the thump of bolt into flesh and the screaming of horses, giving Flora her head and loosing the bonds that bound her steed's power, the length of road she was riding down seemed to pass in moments.

Flora came around the turn in the road at a near sixty degree angle, her hooves skittering on the cobblestones. The Starks were in danger, six men against eleven was never good odds even with two expert bladesmen amongst them. One of the Stark men were down as were five of the lightly armoured sellswords who had attacked from the left of the road, but the robber knights were armoured and causing problems for the Starks who were travelling in chain and leather rather than full plate. Then Tanith saw Lyanna, a smaller group of men had been advancing on her but one sellsword was down with a blade in his gut, as he had fallen though the blade had become stuck and Lyanna was trying to drag it free as she was advanced on.

Lyanna

Lyanna cursed and yanked at the blade, an awful sucking sound coming as it was caught in something inside the rough looking sellsword who was wailing in pain. The armoured knigth stood back and was gesturing the two other sellswords forward, each bearing a heavy wooden club. The knights voice was deep and rough "Don't hit her in the face, Lord Bolten wants her pretty for the wedding." Abandoning the blade, now Lyanna tried to retreat behind her still thrashing horse, maintaining a snarl of anger, glancing over towards where her brothers and one remaining guard were locked in a swirling melee, Brandon hammering through the guard of one of the robber knights and sliding his sword down into her chest through the gap where a gorget should have been.

She couldn't cry out and distract them from the fight, snatching the dagger from her belt and holding it up, Lyanna prepared herself to fight for as long as she could. Then thunder came to the King's road. The sellsword closest to Lyanna had his head burst apart like an overripe tomato as thunder boomed again and the other sellsword lost a hand and started screaming. Looking towards where the sound had come from, Ser Aiyana emerged from the a cloud of dark grey smoke on foot, the horse she had ridden kept going, crashing into the melee and ramming into a second robber knight who was menacing Benjen with more than a ton of screaming horse flesh. The knight was lifted like a feather and flung through the air to crash on the ground with a distinct cracking sound.

The Hedge knight advanced, the golden chalice on her tabard catching the light, now putting away the oddly shaped metal tube she had held in one hand and taking a two handed grip on the large axe that she had used in the first melee. Extending it to its two handed reach, Lyanna almost screamed as the axe came down and split through plate armour, severing the knight who threatened her at the clavicle. Perhaps the plate had been old or thinner than the standard, but the sheer force with which the axe had descended. Lyanna could hear cries of alarm now as the remaining robber knight and sellswords scrambled back away from where the Starks, emboldened by their reinforcement were advancing, Brandon leading the way with powerful swings that drove back those before him.

The axe descended again and the whimpering sellsword was silenced. As the Stark brothers turned away from their own fight and saw Ser Aiyana standing before their sister, two handed axe covered in blood and four men dead. All heard Lyanna's voice ring out.

"Ser Aiyana, I would have you join my household as my Sworn Sword. If you are willing to accept this role, kneel before me and I swear by blood and iron you shall serve as my protector for all the nights to come." Benjen started forward, eyes wide as he made to intervene but a grip like steel encased his wrist. Ned looked at his younger brother and simply shook his head.

Ser Aiyana knelt, laying the bloodstained axe at the feet of The Lady of Winterfell.

Chapter Text

The first night of their journey, Tanith had to pull her wagon from the dream and set Arianna to come into camp that night with the cart being pulled by one of the huge horses of Cainhurst, black as shadow and twice as vicious to anyone who did not bear the blood of that cursed line. The Robber knights horses were being used to rotate through the riders so they were able to keep going for longer during the days before reaching a roadside inn or other holding each night. No lords turned them away, knowing the banner of the Great House that fluttered overhead. Tanith had ridden alongside Lyanna from the moment she had become her sworn sword, she had asked Lyanna of what the meaning of the Robber knights words were but had been shushed and told it was best not to raise the matter again until securely within the walls of Winterfell.

Having left the wounded Stark soldier at a roadside inn with gold enough to pay for his care and board until the larger Northern convoy arrived to bring him home, Tanith had helped the other Stark household guard dig graves for the dead men alongside the Northern Lords. Brandon had recited some words to the old gods whilst Tanith had bowed her head and stood at a respectful distance from the ceremony, the dead sellswords and Robber knights had been stripped of what gear could be carried along with the generous pouches of gold they had each born. Ned had turned off as they neared the Vale, returning to continue his fosterage with John Arryn. The Quiet Wolf had clasped each of his brothers firmly and consented to be hugged by Lyanna, finally clasping hands with Tanith in a warrior's grip and taking a final measure of his sister's sworn sword.

Tanith had stood watch each night with the Stark guardsman and had come to know the man as Brant, he had stood in the Household Guard of the Starks for five years and considered it an honour to fight alongside the Stark brothers. The man had perhaps seen a few more than thirty summers and more than once Tanith had seen him riding alongside Arianna and heard her laughter as the two had conversed, the sight had rarely failed to put a smile on Tanith's lips. Perhaps the only thing that had put more of a smile on Tanith's lips was riding alongside Lyanna and asking questions about Westeros and life in the north. Tanith had not planned to swear herself as a sword sword to anyone, she had valued the independence gained after the events in Yharnam where forces beyond her control drove her ever onwards. She could not help that she found Lyanna a fine companion, putting aside the fluttery feeling in her stomach, Tanith could see the keen intellect behind those blue eyes and the more they talked the more it became apparent that the She-Wolf had taken in far more of her parents and Maestor's teachings than she let on.

It had been twenty long days of riding, Moat Cailin now behind them the first time Lyanna broached the subject. Her brothers were riding ahead, testing their skill in the saddle against one another and Brant was telling a story that was making Arianna snort and cackle loudly behind them. Lyanna brought her horse in to walk close to Flora and banged a fist on Tanith's shoulder. "I want you to teach me to fight like you do. I don't have the body of a Mormont, big weapons and armour are not suitable. But something quick, emphasising footwork and thrusts over taking hits on my armour and battering my enemies into the ground."

Tanith could see Lyanna gearing up to argue her point, that blue fire in her eyes flaring brighter as she expected Tanith to try to talk her out of her ambition as had happened too many times before. So Tanith simply inclined her head "Of course Lady Stark, tonight once your brothers are settled I will begin your instruction."

That Night...

Lyanna

Her brothers were settled and Lyanna had seen Arianna and Brant slip away from the camp together half an hour earlier when Tanith came on watch. Lyanna was watching pensively, unsure how Tanith would teach her whilst not waking her brothers from their sleep and without leaving the camp without a sentry. Pacing back and forth, she could see Tanith seeming to murmur something to her horse before walking towards her with a large bundle of canvas. Tanith had a brisk expression on her face, business-like and cold, unlike the normal open and curious expression she was used to seeing on the face of her sworn sword.

Jerking her head to indicate Lyanna should follow her, Tanith began to stride away from the camp to a copse of trees a short way off. They were still within sight of the camp but loud noises would be muffled by the distance and the trees they were standing amongst. The canvas bundle was placed down and Tanith opened it to reveal several different blades. One was the sword she had used in the Grand Melee, another bore a resemblance to the handle of the stone hammer, the same maker perhaps? Whilst another seemed to be a long blade with a single edge and a final one that seemed to be a long straight blade but also had a smaller blade sticking out the bottom of the handle. Tanith gestured down at the weapons "I believe for tonight, these weapons will provide a suitable selection for you to pick from. Feel each one, heft it and test the weight. Once you have picked your blade we shall begin."

Lyanna noted Tanith stood back carefully from the gathered swords and had one short sword held loosely in her hand, it seemed to shine in the moonlight like silver. Reaching down and hefting each blade in turn, Lyanna settled on the long blade with a single edge. She saw Tanith's face darken for a moment before nodding thoughtfully "A child of the Great Houses and a descendent of the Kings of Winter...yes...the Chikage will be a suitable blade for you to bear." Tnaith raised her short sword and pointed it at Lyanna. "Now, try to kill me."

Tanith

Tanith dispelled her dark mood as Lyanna hefted the blade, the power of the Stark girls blood would be potent and in time Lyanna would become fearsome with a blood blade should she receive the correct instruction. Lyanna had paused, unsure if she heard Tanith correctly.

"You heard me Lady Stark, I must asses your skill with weapons before I know where to begin your training. So try to kill me and do not worry for my safety." Lyanna nodded hesitantly, then more firmly as she raised the blade. Tanith watched carefully, noting Lyanna's footwork was poor as she rushed forward and drove the Chikage in a strong thrust towards Tanith's throat. Tanith took a step back and the blade came up short, that moment seemed to stretch forever as Tanith ducked to one side, the blade sliding past her ear and gave Lyanna a hard push on her solar plexus, throwing the Lady of Winterfell to the cold muddy ground. "Get up...again."

Lyanna

Lyanna gasped in pain as she hit the ground hard, again. Time after time she had rushed forward to try to bring the loaned blade down on Tanith, using the weapon one handed and two handed, attacking from every angle and wracking her brains for something she was doing wrong that allowed her sworn sword to knock her to the earth over and over. Lyanna staggered to her feet, her body bruised and aching from the strain of hours of wielding the metal blade. It was lighter than some of the weapons offered but not a light weapon, the moon had tracked a quarter of the way across the sky when Tanith nodded and smiled.

"Lady Stark, you have spirit and the Chikage is a suitable weapon for you. We will continue tomorrow night and you can tell me the mistake you made with each of your attacks tonight." Tanith plucked the long blade from Lyanna's and and wrapped it up once more in the bundle of canvas with the other weapons. "We will be riding all day tomorrow Lady Stark, I suggest you get some sleep."

Lyanna nodded, looking down at her hands as the wave of aches and pains swept through her body. Wracking her mind for what lesson Tanith had been trying to impart, what was it she had done with each attack that had led to her defeat. Slipping back into camp, Lyanna quietly crawled into her bedroll beside the one female servent she had allowed to accompany the smaller party.

Several days later..

The walls of Winterfell loomed and Tanith could not help but be impressed. The ruins of Harranhal might have been bigger but there was something grand about this castle that was almost breath taking. As the small group rode forward, Brant still riding alongside Tanith's cart with Arianna, the gates of Winterfell opened and an older man strode out into the cold air, giving Brandon a mighty bear hug as the younger man dismounted and approached, leaning down to receive a kiss from Lyanna as she too jumped down from her horse. As the man who could only be Rickard Stark, Warden of the North turned curious eyes on the youthful knight who bore a sigil unknown to him, Lyanna leaned in and started speaking low and quiet. Tanith could see the expressions crossing Rickard's face beneath the almost perpetual scowl carved into his craggy features.

"A feast then! To honour my daughters sworn sword and enjoy the fruits brought by Ser Aiyana."

Chapter Text

It has been one year since Roose Bolton donned the Crown of the Red Kings, and alongside the Karstarks of Karhold, rose in open rebellion against Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell. Whilst her father and oldest brother led the Stark forces, their loyal bannermen the Umbers engaged the Karstarks in bloody skirmishes in the northern snow, House Manderly met the Bolton forces and stymied their advance into the Hornwood. Lady Lyanna Stark refused to be left behind, riding out to better coordinate the aid and organisation of those smallfolk displaced by the conflict. Ser Tanith Aiyana rode at her side, a constant shadow.

Tanith sniffed the thick stew she was brewing in a large copper cauldron, wrinkling her nose and pulling a pepper grinder from her satchel. The crackling sound drew some curious looks from the wounded Stark, Cerwyn and Dustin soldiers resting in the warm interior of the roadside inn near the fords across the White Knife river. But by now they were getting as used to the oddities of Lady Stark's sworn sword as the smallfolk who had arrived, fleeing the devastation of the Bolton raiding parties. At first, the knight had been met with suspicion and a certain level of hostility by the Northerners but when Tanith had consistently returned each morning with fresh meat and crates of supplies, escorted past the dangers of the road, that suspicion quickly fell away.

Testing the thick stew once more, Tanith was this time satisfied and allowed several camp followers to come forward and start lading bowls of the food to be passed out amongst the wounded soldiers and then to the refugees. Emerging from the inn, Tanith got some more odd looks at her state of dress. A high collared white shirt and waistcoat would leave any other man shivering and turning blue, but it was simply put down as more more oddity amongst many for the Lady's sworn sword. Walking through the camp, Tanith found Lyanna reviewing lists and reports. The Lady of Winterfell had taken to the logistics of managing the refugee crisis with more skill and grace than anyone had expected of her. Tanith met her Lyanna's eyes and bowed deeply.

"The stew is ready Lady Stark, how go your efforts?" Lyanna looked down at the stack of letters she was sending to houses in the Riverlands, the Reach and the Stormlands and shook her head. A grimace spready across her features, each month becoming more lovely and shaping her into the woman she would be when fully grown.

"If replies are even sent, its just to say how sorry they are that food is just too scarce at this time to provide any aid. Though Mace Tyrell informs me that he will offer a prayer to The Mother in the hope that the harvest will be better soon and then perhaps..he can provide some measure of aid." Lyanna shook her head, putting her face in her hands and letting out a groan of disappointment. "And the worst part, the Stormlands are sending some support. But you can guess the man they put in charge of their forces coming to aid the Warden of the North.."

Tanith felt her face go cold as the thought of the snorting angry Stag Lord rose in her mind. "Robert Baratheon, a pity. Though I suppose your Lord brother will be pleased to see his boyhood friend again." Lyanna shot Tanith a dark look, not directed at her but at the situation. Breathing calmly, she mastered her emotions as Tanith had taught her to do when facing a foe in combat, pull down the dead mask and let nothing show. A louder sound now rang out in the refugee camp and the sounds of a snorting horse galloping through the camp reach inside the tent. Tanith reaches for the Blades of Mercy, the only weapons she keeps on herself when around the camp, the rest where carefully stored in the baggage train. Lyanna swept out of the tent with Tanith at her elbow to find a boy, not much older than fourteen summers half sliding off a horse that was lame and blowing, blood caked around its nostrils. The boy was dressed in the colours of House Manderly, the merman a sigil Tanith had come to be fond of, having had good experiences of fighting alongside the Manderly knights and foot.

The boy's voice was high and strangled when he spoke, eyes wide with panic as he clutched at Tanith's arm. "The Boltons! They are coming. The Starks thought they were retreating back to the Dreadfort but Bolton sent a over a four hundred mounted foot and freeriders to punch through the Hornwood. And they are coming here! They mean to burn Winterfell and kill Lady Stark to make any victory turn to ashes in Lord Starks mouth....Lord...Lord Manderly is coming with every soldier he can gather.." The boy, having gotten out his message fell silent with eyes fluttering. Tanith gestured to one of the camp followers and they escorted the boy away.

"See the boy gets fed and wrapped in blankets, he did well." Tanith goes to the map of the North in Lyanna's tent and stands staring at it as Lyanna joins her. Tanith traces a finger over the distance between the Hornwood forest where House Manderly had held the woods against the Boltons for over half a year, then to the closest ford across the White Knife where the refugee camp was near. "The Boltons need to be stopped at the Ford. If they get through...Winterfell is a mighty fortress but its garrison is skeletal, even force marching your Father will not get back before it can be stormed."

Lyanna nods, her own mind trying to work out how far the Stormlander wagon train would be, her musings were interrupted by Tanith turning and striding away from the map towards the baggage train. "Ser Aiyana! Where are you going...you...you can't mean to.." Lyanna ran after Tanith, grabbing her by the arm and hissing into her ear.

"You cannot seriously mean to take on four hundred men by yourself, that's insane!" Lyanna took a step back, recalling this was not a private setting and crossing her arms mulishly over her chest. She saw the look in Tanith's face as she turned towards her and for a moment saw the reason it was rumoured Bolton raids ceased wherever it was known The Knight of the Chalice was nearby. Tanith's eyes were haunted and she barely seemed to be there in the present, Lyanna tried to look closer, to draw her..her friend and protector back to herself, but found herself falling forward.

The night was dark and all around Lyanna rose a towering city, the style of which was different to anything she had ever seen before. vast building made of dark stone and cracked cobbles underfoot. In front of Lyanna a small wooden post with a glowing lamp hung on it. Beyond the lamp, a set of bars, torn apart from within, over a window with a extinguished lamp set just to the left of the window. Lyanna cautiously took a few steps forward and looked into the building, seeing a bare room of wood with a tipped over wheeled chair, bloodstains covering a handkerchief that lay discarded next to the chair. The whole scene felt..sad. Lyanna turned away from the window and let out a gasp of horror as she saw the...it could not be called a man truly...it had two arms and two legs with a head. But the entire body was covered in coarse thick hair, the eyes bulging and pupils distended.

"That was Gilbert, one of the few friends I had on the longest night of my life." Lyanna looked towards the source of the voice and saw Tanith, her very tall servant known only as Doll by her side. Lyanna looked at the body again, noting a sharp clean thrust to the heart seemed to be the obvious cause of death.

"He...this Gilbert was not always like this?" Tanith shook her head, her face grim, the Doll put a hand on her shoulder.

"Even with the night of the hunt over and dawn returned, we should not linger Lady Stark. In time I may allow questions, but for now we have a ford to defend."

Chapter Text

Tanith rode Flora at a canter, followed by two dozen soldiers bearing the sigil of Stark, Cerwyn and Dustin . Each of the men had been lightly wounded and had accepted the drink given to them by Tanith that had contained 'foreign herbs' to dull the pain of their wounds and restore them to fighting fit. If any of the men had smelled the iron in their drink they did not speak a word, Tanith having diluted the contents of two blood vials enough to dull pain and get the men back up on their feet. She knew if needed she would kill these men if any of them showed signs of turning, one taste of diluted blood should not be enough to even begin the process, but Tanith refused to let a new Scourge sweep her new home. Alongside Tanith rode Lyanna, the Chikage slung on her back dressed in a suit of chainmail and leather.

The ford over the White knife was drawing near, best as Tanith had been able to calculate they should have a few hours before the Bolton horse arrived. At the back of their small column of mounted infantry the cart Tanith had purchased more than a year ago was being pulled by the same Cainhurst horse and driven by Arianna. Tanith briefly cast her mind back to the month before when Brant, the Stark household guard had officially asked Arianna to marry him. Tanith acted as the male giving Arianna away but had simply wished her servant the best and to enjoy the next few days with her new husband, withdrawing to allow the rest of the ceremony and the celebration that followed to be conducted without the formality imposed by having a knight in attendance.

Glancing at Lyanna out of the corner of her eye, she could clearly see the worry etched on the Lady of Winterfell's face but knowing it was not for Lyanna herself she was worried. "The Stark host is a third again as large as the Boltons, your brother and father are both skilled warriors and have their own sworn swords with them. I need you focused on the here and now My Lady." Lyanna shook her head and breathed, pulling the mask over her features to push the worry down.

"Yes, I...yes Ser Aiyana. How do you plan to hold the ford against so many with so few? We will have to hold until Lord Manderly's knights and foot can arrive." Lyanna noted the small smile crossing her sworn swords face. She did not reply as they crested the small rise that led down to the river. Pulling out her monocular Tanith looked out and scanned the horizon, unable to see the approaching riders yet, she knew she had time to enact her plan.

Tanith had all the soldiers and Lyanna dismount and gather together as Tanith pulled a large bundle of wrapped canvas from the cart. Putting it on the ground in front of the group, Tanith unwrapped it to reveal two dozen variations of firearm, the Northmen looking down at the weapons with obvious confusion, Lyanna being the only one who had seen Tanith make use of her firearm on the road from Harranhal a year ago. From the cart, Tanith had also removed both the Burial Blade and Threaded Cane from the cart. Putting the longer weapon in its scythe form to one side and leaning lightly on the cane.

"Soon, four hundred Bolton foot will arrive mounted on horseback. If they are allowed to push over the White Knife they could do untold damage and possibly even take Winterfell, the garrison being stripped to less than thirty men. Lady Stark has commanded I stop the Boltons at the ford, I do not intend to fail her in my duty. Four hundred is too many to fight in traditional combat, so I intend to take up position in the ford and block their path. Some may try to filter around me as despite my best efforts, I doubt I could cover the whole width of the ford, this is where you will come in. These weapons harness fire and thunder to project a bolt of sorts, much like a crossbow and I will show you how to use them, your task is to stand on the bank and shoot those who make it past me." Tanith fell silent, looking at the expressions of those who had agreed to follow her to what they believed was certain death in loyalty to the Starks and the North as a whole. She had made her best guess when choosing who would drink the diluted blood, looking for pragmatic and steady soldiers, bypassing nobility for fear they would insist on fighting in the ford with her.

Over the next hour and a half, Tanith showed the northern soldiers and Lyanna how to fire, load and unload the firearms she had placed in their hands. Emphasising that those who bore the blunderbuss needed to wait for the enemy to get close before they unleashed the deadly hail of shots. Lyanna was shown how to reload the cannon that was strapped to the arm of one especially burly man of Umber and Stark blood. As she was checking in with everyone again, Tanith heard a cry of alarm from a pair of riders she had sent forward to give forewarning of the Bolton approach after being shown how to use the hunter pistols. Behind the men a cloud of powdered snow rose up from the approaching riders, Tanith slung the Burial Blade on her back and transformed the threaded cane into its whip form, drawing exclamations from the Northerners, advancing to take position in the freezing water of the ford.

The Boltons came on like a rushing wave, the mounted foot having left their horses behind on the opposite bank as they formed up, laughing at the pitiful line of Stark loyalists and one singular unarmoured figure who stood in the middle of the ford. They advanced rapidly, several angling towards the lone figure of Tanith with blades drawn. The figures eyes were not even open as two of the Bolton foot, thuggish brutal men raised blades to cut them down without mercy.

Then The Hunters eyes opened.

The first lash of the threaded cane took the eyes of half a dozen Bolton men, the jagged blades of the cane cutting into the delicate flesh of their faces and stealing their sight forever, the pain causing them to drop screaming. Other foot tried to rush in, stepping over their blinded fellows to reach the inner reach of the whip, that was when The Hunter lashed out again, cutting into the faces of the line behind the front row and carving deep wounds into flesh. The front row were lucky, they died quickly. In an instant the Hunter swapped from cane to scythe and took a backstep before slicing the burial blade at ankle height, cutting through leather and flesh like parting corn, sending four more men crashing into the freezing water of the White Knife to drown or bleed out as they screamed, their ankle stumps pumping blood.

Other from the Bolton host tried to get around the Hunter know, running at the the edges of the ford to be out of reach of the warriors weapons, the first of them who started scaling the upper bank had a whole two seconds to bless the Old Gods for his luck when his pelvis was shattered by a cannonball, the ball continuing through two more men behind the unfortunate first victim and landing in the river, hissing with a brief bout of steam. As other Boltons started to arrive on the bank, they were greeted by shot, bones shattered and flesh torn, organs ruptured and hand blown off. the smoke was thick but being blown away by the strong winds that carried the thunder of a storm across the river. Some Bolton men who had seen their comrades attempts to scale the bank stymied turned to go back, but were greeted by a scene from a nightmare.

In the ford stood a nightmare, coated in blood from head to where the water washed over her boots, the scythe was cutting down two or three men with each swing. The momentum of the charge pushed those at the front onto the Hunters blades or the hail of shot from the Northern line. On the opposite shore, the Bolton commander, a middle aged knight could only look with wide eyes as his men were slaughtered by the Beast of the ford, the rolling fire and smoke coming from the opposite bank not something he or the men under his command had been charged with facing. Raising a horn to his lips, the knight called the signal to retreat, able to read the flow of battle. He could retreat now and save some of his men or they would break and rout. They had not even landed a blow on the warrior in the ford and none of his men had gotten further than five paces out of the river on the opposite shore.

As the Bolton troops started to retreat, they noticed the banners of the Merman riding hard for them. A line of armoured knights with war lances ready were sweeping forward. Drawing his sword, the Bolton knight felt the ache in his arm, a break at the tourney at Harranhal having left him unable to fight for close to a year, this was the first command he had been given. Lowering the visor of his helmet, he vowed to fight to the end.

Chapter Text

Winterfells great hall was packed with more than five hundred Lords and knights come to celebrate the surrender of Roose Bolton at the Dreadfort. The Lord himself had been executed in front of the watching Stark host by Lord Rickard Stark and his widow, now regent of the Bolton heir her son Domeric, was in attendance at the celebration. The tables were filled with food intended by the Boltons to provision their sellsword army that was crossing from Essos to reinforce the Bolton and Karstark forces and overwhelm the Starks.

Tanith was leaned against a back wall with a tankard of ale held loosely, keeping a careful eye on Lyanna as she sat at the high table alongside her father and brothers. The credit for stopping the Boltons last gamble at the ford had been given to Lyanna, it having been her idea to ride out and try to delay the Boltons. Or at least so the rumours Tanith had spread were saying. No small amount of attention was directed towards Tanith after the rumours of what the Manderly knights had seen were joined by the accounts of the soldiers who had stood on the shoreline and watched as she had stood her ground against four hundred charging men. The ford had been a slaughterhouse of the desperate and dying with one young knight stood amongst it, a master of slaughter and death. Tanith had done nothing to quash or encourage the rumours, knowing a reputation could be even more effective than actions. She had already heard a few names for her passing around the hall and wondered which moniker would stick, of course The Knight of the Chalice was one that had been in use since last year, but now was joined by other names like 'The Demon of the Ford' and 'The Strangers Sword'.

Tanith felt a gaze burning into her, lazily sweeping her eyes along the table to where Robert Baratheon and his Stormlander knights were sat, Tanith raised the tankard in a mocking salute, knowing how much it rankled the Stag Lord that the battle had been ended so decisively by the time the young lord had arrived. Downing her drink and lightly setting the tankard down on a nearby table, Tanith blinked slowly, having drunk more than she normally did. She was letting the alcohol have an effect on her, curious as to whether the sensation was different now than the one time she had stolen a bottle of wine from her parents cellar. Giggles reached her ears and as music was struck up, many of the Lords and Ladies rose to dance, a lively affair all told and Tanith was not immune to the rhythm of the music, clapping along to the beat. Soft footsteps approached and Tanith found herself facing two young women, one bearing the Black bear of the Mormonts whilst the other bore the Merman of House Manderly. The two young women were a study in opposites with the Mormont matching Tanith in height and exceeding her in the width of her shoulders, whilst the Manderly girl was a slight girl.

It was the Mormont who spoke first "Ser Aiyanna, I am Dacey Mormont and I would have a dance from you. As would my young companion here.." Dacey turned and put her hand firmly on the younger girls back, pushing her forward towards Tanith. Tanith inclined her head to Dacey and smiled at the slighter girl, encouraging her to speak "I am Winnifred Manderley and...I would like to dance with you as well Ser Aiyana.."

Tanith nodded solemnly before letting a smile spread over her lips. "As Lady Mormont asked me first, I will give the first dance of the night to her. Once the dance is ended though Lady Manderly, I will return for you." Tanith took Dacey's hand and the two spun out onto the floor with a flourish. Despite her height, Decey moved with grace and skill and was able to match Tanith's footwork. The two of them matching the tune of the song being played. Tanith could hear the whispers, even amongst the stern Northerners appreciating the skill with which the two warriors danced.

A few times, Tanith was able to catch a glimpse of Lyanna watching the dance floor with her chin propped on her hand. The next time she spun, Robert Baratheon was trying to cajole Lyanna into dancing with him. As the first song came to an end, Tanith incline her head to Dacey, who returned the gesture and thanked the Hunter for a pleasant dance. As soon as Dacey stepped away, Winnifred seemed to appear at Tanith's side. This time the reluctant Lyanna was dancing with Robert and Tanith had to will herself to not glare at the Stag Lord as he looked over smugly at her whilst dancing with Lyanna. Winnifred was a capable dancer but nothing out of the ordinary so Tanith's mind was able to drift a little as she danced with her. The sight of Lyanna and Robert dancing caused a stir of something within her that put her on edge, such that as the second dance came to a close and Tanith bowed to Winifred and complimented her prowess, Tanith knew she needed some air.

Bypassing some other Ladies who wanted to dance with the her and a few older women, mothers looking for a match for their third daughters perhaps, Tanith made her excuses and assured the Ladies she would return presently. Stepping out of the warm hall, filled with the scent of roast meat and bodies packed closely together, Tanith breathed deeply of the cold air of the raised balcony that ran around the edge of the yard. The wind was cold, helping clear her head and grounding her. Clutching onto the balcony railing, Tanith exhaled a long breath. "Silver stag for your thoughts?"

Lyanna Stark stood in the cold evening air, her dress pressed against her body by the cold night wind, a small smile on her face. Tanith inclined her head and turned to face the Lady of Winterfell. "My Lady, won't your Stag lord be looking for you?" Lyanna's face went curiously blank, Tanith recognising it as the mask she pulled down when in combat or when hiding strong emotion.

"No...my father plans to announce part of the real reason Robert and the Stormlander knights arrived to aid the North later tonight. But he told me already, I will be returning to the Stormalands with Robert. And I want you to come with me. Robert argued quite vigorously that I would have no need for a mere Hedge knight as my sworn sword at Storm's End. But I told my father if you did not come with me, then I would not go willingly." Lyanna let a grin spread over her face. "Oh the look on his face, he went all red and flushed and was about to try arguing more until I reminded him that you are have more real combat experience than all of his knights put together."

Tanith let her own feelings show, a smile creeping onto her face as she bowed again to Lyanna. "Truly My Lady, you have a gift with words. I will ride at your side this night and all the nights to come."

Later that night..

Tanith was breathing steadily as she finished yet another dance, many of the young ladies of the North were intrigued by the young knight and desired to dance with her. A loud banging from the head of the hall quietened the musicians and the Lords and Ladies of the hall. At the head table, Rickard Stark stood and surveyed the hall, the year of war against two powerful rebellious Bannermen had etched his craggy features sharper than ever.

Lords and Ladies, knights and guests...tonight we celebrate the end of a rebellion. Many men gave their lives to preserve Winterfell and House Stark against the Bolton and Karstark hosts and I can offer little but gratitude and the assurance that in my lifetime the Dreadfort will not rise again. Lady Bolton has my full support, she had sworn that the Boltons will not rise again. As a guarantee, in a year's time young Dominic Bolton will be taken as my ward." There were some murmurs from the gathered Lords and Ladies at that but it was not the greatest surprise. "In addition, we have another man tonight we must thank for the continued preservation of Winterfell. My personal thanks go to you Ser Aiyana for stopping the Boltons with the aid of Lady Lyanna and the brave soldiers who stood with you. You have my favour and can ask whatever you desire of me, if I am able to grant your wish, I shall turn my efforts towards it." There was a louder murmur from the Lords and Ladies, such an open ended gift could be a dangerous thing to give, especially to a Hedge knight.

Rickard turned now to face Lyanna who had resumed her seat at the high table and was looking less displeased than she had earlier in the evening. Lyanna now stood and bowed to Rickard. "Lords and Ladies, I will be joining my betrothed Lord Robert Baratheon upon his return to Storm's End, where our wedding will take place in due course. I am also delighted to announce.." Lyanna turned to look at Robert "..that Ser Aiyana, my Sworn Sword, has agreed to accompany me and continue being my protector."

As the Lords and Ladies of the hall banged tankards in approval, knowing their beloved She-Wolf of Winterfell would be safe under the protection of The Demon of the Ford, Tanith caught the near murderous stare of the Stag Lord. Tanith did not grin, or wink, or mock him with a raised tankard. This time Tanith simply met his eyes until he looked away.

Chapter Text

Lyanna

Lyanna sat next to Tanith atop her horse as they looked at the first scaffolds go up. Hundreds of men shouted back and forth, masons and carpenters worked alongside glassblowers and tradesmen of every sort as they swarmed about the towers of Moat Cailin. She could scarcely believe it, the gold and silver required to hire so many skilled workmen and bring them north would have beggared the Riverlands or the Vale, perhaps only the Lannister's having enough gold to fund the restoration. But endless gold seemed to flow from Tanith Aiyana. Ravens by the dozen had been sent to all corners of the North and the Riverland, Lyanna could even see bearded men of the Stormlands amongst the workers hauling stone. Every day more wagons of freshly mined stone and lumber arrived from the north and south.

The Lady of Winterfell glanced at her Sworn Sword and remebered how her father had clenched his jaw when she had asked for Moat Cailin as her reward, promising that the ancient keep would be restored within five years and if it was not she would hand it back with no qualms. Looking at how many men had already responded to the generous offers of payment for services, Lyanna had doubts the full restoration would take the full five years. "So..I suppose you are no longer a Hedge knight Ser Aiyana. Does that change how you feel about being my sworn sword?"

Lyanna carefully studied the teams of oxen pulling the first of the great basalt blocks from the earth, ready to form the foundation of the new curtain wall. She was trying to hide the flutter in her stomach as she waited to hear the answer, Lyanna knew she did not want Tanith to leave, especially not now that she was going to the Stormlands and leaving her family and all that was familiar behind. Her hand crept to rest on the hilt of the chikage, the blade Tanith had given her to keep on the road in case she should need to defend herself.

Tanith's voice was steady and reassuring when she replied "This night and all the nights to come Lady Stark. I have asked your father for a very capable Lord to oversee the restoration and then rule over Moat Cailin whilst I am with you...and here he comes now.." Tanith pointed and Lyanna looked in the direction of her hand, seeing a familiar young man riding towards them, fifteen summers and nearing the age of his majority, Benjen Stark looked every inch the Northern Lord dressed in fur and leather whilst riding atop a mighty black stallion. Benjen bowed his head to Lyanna and then clasped Tanith's hand in a warriors grip.

"Dearest sister and Ser Aiyana, its good to see you. I don't know where you got the gold Ser, but there seems no end to it. More expenses every day but each one matched as if we have the wealth of Casterly Rock. Some of the workmen brought their families with them and they have requested permission to use some of the spare lumber to build proper buildings rather than the tents. Ser Aiyana...I hope you do not take issue that I allowed it?"

Tanith shook her head, grabbing a scrap of paper from one of her saddlebags and using a strange device that looked almost like a stylus to scribble an order onto it. "Take this to my servants and they will release more gold to you, order a two dozen more carts of stone and lumber to start building houses for the workers with family's. I have no desire for my land to be a fortress and nothing else, I want a place where people will be able to live and work under the protection of the Chalice."

Lyanna looked at her sworn sword again, that fluttering in her stomach once more. She had met many knights and Lords in her time, some like her father cared for the people of the North, but being a Warden meant Rickard Stark had to by necessity think of the greater whole than the individual. "You are to be the Castellen of Moat Cailin, Benjen?"

Benjen inclines his head in acknowledgement "Yes sister, I was given the option of this role to watch over the entrance to the North and rule a mighty fortress until Ser Aiyana returns, or be given a small holdfast on the Stony Shore. As you might expect, I took the role here." Looking northward, Lyanna noticed Benjen's eyes narrowing as he spotted the carriage and wagons of the Stormlands approaching slowly down the King's Road. "I see the Stormlanders decided to bring a carriage, how little they know of The She-Wolf of Winterfell." Benjen grinned, then wheeled his horse and trotted away to continue overseeing the work.

"Hedge knights I spoke to at Harranhal will be arriving soon to take up the Chalice and be sworn to my household, that will give the garrison I intend to keep some hard points to hold any wall. Only those Hedge knights who believe in honour and duty will be accepted, there are many who desire to do good but have never had the opportunity. I also hope to raise at least three hundred archers and a similar number of infantry to man the walls. Though for the time being I have contracted the Company of the Frostwolves to man the walls until I can raise the standing garrison." Lyanna looked sideways at Tanith, one eyebrow raised.

"Ser Aiyana, one could almost think you were preparing for war. It is rare to keep more than a few hundred standing troops for a fortress." Tanith looked grim as she saw the first basalt block set in place. She looked down at her gloved hands, then towards the south.

"I have seen what happens to one city when madness consumes its rulers...I have no desire to see the North suffer for the madness of the King who sits the Iron Throne. As I know if the North suffers so will you My Lady, and I am your sworn sword. I will shield you from harm, no matter what I have to do. No matter what kind of monster I have to become..."

Chapter Text

"I don't like you Hedge Knight." Tanith turned to meet the eyes of Robert Baratheon. The Stag Lord was taller than Tanith and wider, clad in leather and chainmail he tried to loom but Tanith looked up into his bearded face with a cool blank stare. "Lyanna doesn't need you, it was a mistake to make you her sworn sword and she will see that when we arrive at Storm's End. You will be cast down as the up-jumped Hedge knight you are."

Tanith met the Stag Lords eyes with cool contempt on her face. "Hedge knight? A disparaging term and an inaccurate one. I am Lord of Moat Cailin, perhaps you were too blinded by wine and chasing that passably attractive washerwoman around that you failed to notice my banners flying on each of the towers. You do not know Lady Stark, if you speak her name with such disrespect in my presence again, I will face you in a contest of honour and I will gut you." Tanith delivered he threat quietly, without changing her tone. She said it as a statement of fact and Robert Baratheon could see the utter certainly with which the young knight stated it.

"Return to your drinking and whoring Stag, think on your words and adjust your attitude." Tanith turned away, exposing her back to the young man as she walked to where Lyanna's tent had been pitched and ensured it was arranged to specification. Lyanna entered soon afterwards and called Tanith in who ducked through the tent flap. Nodding to the ladies in waiting, three girls of Northern stock chosen to accompany Lyanna to Storm's End and hopefully find Courtship there. Amongst them was Winnifred Manderly, the slip of a girl who Tanith danced with at the feast to mark the ending of the Bolton rebellion.

“Lady Stark, Lady Manderly, Lady Mormont and Lady Umber.

Tanith inclined her head to each of the ladies before offering a deeper bow to Lyanna. “You desire something My Lady?” Lyanna nodded and sat down, slumping in a most unladylike manner. The travel down the King’s Road had familiarised the four women, they were of Northern stock and so put less emphasis on proper form and perfect etiquette that the southron women.

Lyanna gestured to Lady Mormont and the tall woman stood, striding to the tent flap and poking her head out to look around. Withdrawing back into the tent, she closed the flap firmly and turned back towards Tanith. “Ser Aiyana, the night before last Winnifred and I were walking back to Lady Lyannna’s tent and we saw your servant Doll ducking into your tent. Such was her height that we were able to see under her arm to where you were…changing.” Tanith stilled entirely, her eyes darting between Lady Mormont and Lyanna, her breathing still steady but she can feel a fluttering feeling in her stomach.

”I see…so…you are aware of…who I am?” Tanith slowly relaxed, none of the ladies seemed eager to run and tell anyone about her true identity. “Well, thank you for not telling anyone. I am not sure what the reaction of the Lords of the North would be if they found out I am a woman.” Each if the ladies in turn inclines their heads.

”Fear not for your secret with us Ser Aiyana, you stood against the Boltons without fear and defended Lady Lyanna with skill and courage. I see no reason why your womanly parts should stop you from performing your duty. And of course your presence tweaks Lord Robert Baratheon’s nose, which is a bonus as far as we are concerned. That man is insufferable.” Tanith gave a small smile and inclined her head.

Lyanna smiled at Tanith “Ser Aiyana, with my Ladies in waiting now aware of the secret we can return to our nightly practise with the Chikage. And indeed, I know Lady Mormont desires to learn how to use one of the special weapons you have from your homeland. Whilst Lady Manderly and Lady Umber are both interested in the…firearms you supplied during the battle at the Ford. Would you be willing to teach us?”

Tanith inclined her head to all the ladies. “It would be my pleasure Ladies.”

Chapter Text

It has been two years since Lyanna and Tanith's arrival at Storm's End, in that time Lyanna has learned as much as she can about the Houses and people of the Stormlands. Resigned to her life as the eventual wife of Robert Baratheon, she has pushed back the date of her wedding time and again, but finally Lyanna has been pinned down to a date, upon her return from her brother Brandon's wedding to Caitlyn Tully, she and Robert would wed. Tanith has become a known name in the Stormlands, repeatedly besting knights and lords of skill and experience in the training yard and smaller tourey's whilst blessed with Lyanna's favour. Alysane Mormont has taken to wielding the Boom Hammer with skill in the secret training given to Lyanna's ladies in waiting by Tanith whilst both Lady Glover and Manderly were proving to be fine shots with their Hunter pistols. Now Lyanna, Tanith and her ladies find themselves on the road with a small escort of Baratheon soldiers and Robert Baratheon.

Tanith pulled the bow of her violin across the string again, a low haunting melody to accompany the sense of doom that accompanied the story she was telling Lyanna and her ladies. All five women were riding horses, the carriage that had been prepared had been sent back to Storm's End at Lyanna's insistence, only a large cart traveling with them to carry the tents and supplies they would need if there was no inn at the place they reached each night.

"And so the Last Master of the Golden Fleet cursed the faithlessness of lesser men, once more stating that the lives of the people were of greater value than the gold in the vault. Drawing forth his blade, he struck down the traitorous Captain and commanded that all the power of the Golden Fleet be turned towards saving the soul of the city, the people." Tanith drew the bow again, her fingers working as Flora picked her way down the road at a steady trot, the melody becoming uplifting. The Ladies and Lyanna hanging on the edge of their saddles almost as they waited to hear what would happen next. Tanith looked out with lidded eyes before putting her violin away. "To hear what happens next Lady's, I suppose you will just have to wait until this evening."

The same shower of complaints and grumbles came Tanith's way as they had for the last several days, the telling of stories something Tanith rejoiced in and it helped break up the monotony of travel. Lyanna spurred her horse up alongside Tanith's and the two rode together for several minutes, the other three northern ladies dropping back to carry on their own conversation. Robert and the House Baratheon soldiers were travelling slower along the road behind them, the Stag Lord grimacing with pain from the bright sun on his face, having drunk himself sodden with wine the night before to drown the knowledge of how close Lyanna and Tanith were. Not that he could accuse them of improper behaviour, the three Ladies in waiting had accompanied them and returned with them. The sun caught again on the blade slung across Lyanna's back and he frowned, he had never seen the design of such a sword before, meaning it had likely come from the foreign knight. Possibly even stranger was how Lady Mormont had started carrying around a large and strangely designed warhammer, it seemed to have some kind of claw that would strike the rear of the hammer head. Robert intended to ask the blacksmiths of Storm's End about it upon his return.

Lyanna reached out and banged her fist lightly on Tanith's shoulder "These stories you tell, heroes standing against a rising tide of darkness. Doing the right thing despite the cost to themselves...that place...when I looked into your eyes with the broken window and all those towers...that does not seem a land to produce such heroic tales. Or at least not those tales alone.." Lyanna looked firmly at Tanith, questions in her eyes. In the two years that Tanith had known Lyanna, Tanith had never known her to give up on getting the answers to her questions. She was a woman of unquestionable curiosity.

"Lady Stark, stories were my escape as a child. I was blessed by having a large library to peruse and there were many books with tales of great heroes arising to challenge fate within. My only regret from when I was cast out of my home is that I was unable to take any of those books of stories with me." Tanith saw the question coming and shook her head firmly. "No Lady Stark, perhaps that is a story for another day, you shall not make me speak of it." Lyanna nodded slowly, seeming to be willing to accept her sworn swords silence this day.

Lyanna sent Lady Glover back to Robert with a simple message that she and her ladies would be riding ahead tonight and seeking shelter with Lord Whent at Harranhal, they would be taking Ser Aiyana with them for protection on the road. Robert had intended to argue, but such was his headache and the cool disapproving tone Lady Glover used that he simply grunted and nodded, giving his begrudging approval and glaring bitterly as the five horses spurred ahead into a canter.

That Evening near Harranhal..

The five riders were nearing Harranhal when they saw the torches illuminating the oncoming twilight. Tanith drew her Tontritus and held it low to her side, the sounds of horses grows louder. Out of the darkness emerged a face that Tanith had not expected to see, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen accompanied by two white armoured and cloaked knights of the Kingsguard. Extending her senses, Tanith notes how many more men are approaching from the shadows surrounding the road. Rhaegar bows his head to Lyanna "Lady Stark, it was fated that we would meet this day. I need you to come with me, together we can prevent the Endless Winter that will lay waste to all of Westeros and claim the lives of all that call this continent home. Our child will be the light that shall..."

The bark of laughter from the Lady of Winterfell rings out across the field, cutting through the murmurs of the hundred men who now surrounded the five women. "You would have me as a broodmare to bear some famed child to save the realm? Go back to your wife Dragon Prince. I'm sure she will open her legs for you, there is no need to seek me out to relieve your desires." Rhaegar frowned, then shook his head.

"You will come to know the truth in time Lady Stark. Take her, don't hurt the women but kill the Hedge knight." Rhaegar's face seems to twist in discomfort as he gives the order. But then hardens to stone, resolved to do what he believes he must to save the realm. As the knights of the Kingsguard draw swords and advance alongside the hundred knights and loyal men who follow their Prince, Lyanna Stark and her handmaids fade from sight, leaving no trace of their presence.

Tanith's voice rings loud in the night as she dismounts from Flora "Lady Stark, do not venture far from the lamp. A friend will meet you..." Lyanna's surprised yell is cut off as she finishes fading from view. Now Tanith stands alone next to Flora amidst the Targaryen knights and soldiers. "You would take My Lady into your custody and rape her in service of fate? Well, fate bends to the wills of those with power Dragon Prince. Flora...Dusk draws in and the pale flowers bloom..." Tanith smiles widely, openly pulling a long blade from thin air beside her, cries of fear at the magical display ringing out from the ordinary Targaryen soldiers.

Tanith smiles widely and hefts The Moonlit Greatsword easily in one hand, staring down Sir Arthur Dayne and Gerald Hightower with an unsettling smile on her face, too many teeth filled a mouth that stretched too widely.

Chapter Text

Simon Gaunt did not consider himself a godly man, yes he offered a quick prayer to The Warrior before he fought in a tourney but that was more a just in case situation rather than because he had much faith. But as he watched the youth, clad in only some strange foreign garb with no armour in sight, face down the Sword of Morning for having the misfortune to be the Sworn Sword of his Princes desire, he offered a prayer asking for mercy.

Simon advanced, his chainmail rattling slightly and the plate vambraces feeling heavy as he drew the mace at his belt. Alongside the hundred other men they came forward, more to get close enough to watch the Kingsguard in action than because they expected to do anything. Then the Horses began to scream, the horses of the now dismounted White cloaks and Prince were rearing and snorting, eyes rolling and wild with terror, the skilled riders barely able to keep control of them. Arthur Dayne and Gerald Hightower advanced with swords drawn but before Simon could see the results, the horse of the Hedge knight started screaming too, its cry a grotesque parody of a baby's wailing.

As the horses flesh sloughed away, the thing that had been lurking inside the horse emerged. It rose onto its four legs, almost skeletally thin with tendrils of red flesh fluttering around its head and torso and nothing but a slit in the place where its face should be. One of the men to Simon's left cursed and the things head snapped towards the sound, before it launched itself into the ranks of the men who had been brought to subdue any escort the Lady of Winterfell might have had. Simon was hurled forty feet through the air to crash into a tree at the side of the road, one of the monsters tendrils had simply flicked him and dented the plate armour of his vambrace.

Simon looked away from the slaughter of the other Targaryen soldiers and loyal knights, seeing them slaughtered and torn to shreds by the monster that had been released by the Hedge knight. He had been summoned by Rhaegar for his loyalty and closeness to the capital, the Sworn Sword of Lyanna Stark had some reputation for winning the Grand Melee at Harranhal but surely he would be no match for the Sword of Morning and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The three men stood facing one another, close enough that Simon could see the sweat dripping down Gerald Hightower's face as the screams reached the small group stood in tableau.

It was almost as if Simon's senses were fading apart from what was going on between those three men as he heard the Hedge Knight give a slight bow to the two White Cloaks and spoke, his voice...higher. A woman's voice. "Ser Arthur Dyane and Gerald Hightower. I did not think two brave and true knights of the realm would be the hounds of a Prince gone so mad with lust be took a hundred men to their deaths. Walk away now...or I shall have to defend my Lady's honour. You may still escape with your lives, your soldiers and Prince will face judgement though."

Arthur Dyane raised Dawn, the fabled blade of House Dayne, a sword that was said to have been able to cut through even valyrian steel blades. "Ser Aiyana...although no Ser you are. A fine fighter but you will die here. Your..." Dayne looks at where The Moon Presence rampages through his men "..your monster will be slain. Call off the beast and submit, I promise you a clean death once you bring Lyanna Stark and her ladies back here, else I shall give you to the mercy of the Red Keep's dungeons and they shall have no qualms about what they do to you."

Simon watched the youth simply raise raise her hand that did not have a grip on the long blade of dark and rough metal, a strange metal tube in it and with one motion, Gerald Hightower's head exploded, the back of his helmet erupting with chunks of flesh and a thunderous boom. Now the Hedge Knight took a grip on her blade with both hands and smiled widely. "The Sword of Morning...it was been many years since I have seen a true dawn...perhaps you are the one to show me again..."

The two blades clashed, and Simon was half blinded by the shower of sparks that rose. The first engagement of blades paused after four swift strokes, both warriors were surprised, each used to having a weapon that could cut apart the weapons of their enemies. They met again and again, the screams of dying men rose around them whilst the Dragon Prince sat and watched dispassionately, trying to ignore the great beast tearing loyal men to red ribbons.

Then the Hedge knight began to laugh, and Simon felt his blood run cold.

Chapter Text

Lyanna barely heard the words of Ser Aiyana over her own cry of fury at the very idea of being sent away whilst her sworn sword fought alone against two of the greatest swords of the The Seven Kingdoms and another hundred blades besides. Young Winnifred Manderly was the only other who gave a vocal indication, letting out a small whimper as she felt her body dissolve and then in an instant reform, on foot this time but now standing in what looked like a small chapel. All four women appeared and looked around, Lyanna and Alysane had drawn the Chikage and Boom hammer whilst Lady Glover and Winnifred had drawn their Hunter's pistols from the specially designed carrying cases Ser Aiyana had made for them.

"Oh, hello there. If you came here Tanith must have sent you, but by your dress I can see you are foreign to our city...maybe our world." Lyanna saw the speaking figure as she stepped out of the shadows, an older woman with an unusual accent. Her clothing resembled that of a bird, a cloak of feathers trailed down almost to the floor and she loosely clutched a mask in one hand reminiscent of a crow. Lyanna drew herself up to her full height and raised the Chikage.

"Who are you? Where are we and how do we get back? My sworn sword is in danger and needs our aid, she cannot stand alone against so many." The crow garbed woman just chuckled under her breath and sat down on a chair next to a large pile of rags on the floor, she let out a groan as she settled into the chair.

"If you think Tanith can't handle herself, you haven't been paying attention. The Hunter ain't exactly known for losing fights. Besides, she has Flora with her to watch her back." Eileen leaned forward and clasped her hands, looking intently at Lyanna then nudged the bundle of rags next to her foot. "Aggie, more visitors. Wake up a minute."

Lyanna stepped back half a step when the bundle of rags stirred and a face appeared, deformed with white blind eyes and a oddly human smile. "Eileen? I was having such a nice dream...oh but visitors...hello there and welcome to Odeon chapel. You'll be quite safe here, we have incense for weeks and the Good Hunter cleared out most of the beasts in this area anyway. I'm Aggie, the Hunter called me the Chapel Dweller and I suppose that's an accurate enough job title at the moment." Eileen reached down and patted Aggie on the shoulder.

"Thank you Aggie, I thought it best the visitors saw you now than when you awakened from your nap without an introduction." Eileen turned back to Lyanna and her Ladies who had gathered behind the Lady of Winterfell, ready to jump to her defence should any harm come for her. "Welcome to Yharnam Lady Stark, for I presume that is who you are? Tanith speaks of little else."

"To answer your other questions, I am Eileen. Formerly Eileen the Crow before Tanith ended the Hunt quite decisively. She and I are the only two Hunters left, until she has recovered her strength enough to bring back her greatest regret. Once a Hunter, now simply a friend to Tanith. As for where you are? You are in Yharnam, the city of blood and nightmares. It is much safer than it used to be, but I would advise not venturing outside the Chapel without me or Tanith." Lyanna stood straight, a frown slowly forming the longer Eileen spoke. Her sworn sword had always had an air of mystery about her, but this place was not Essos, that was for sure. Where had she come from and why had she lied? Lyanna felt a flutter in her stomach at the casual reveal that Tanith spoke about her when they were not together.

Lyanna rubbed her temples for a few moments "Lady Eileen, you say Ser Aiyana speaks of me? I had never seen magic before today, and yet we stand in a place far from Harranhal in a very real sense. Ser Aiyana is a sorcerer? Is it the same shadow magic as Assai that allows her to walk us here to this place? We cannot be near Essos, so must be somewhere much further afield. And..Ser Aiyana's greatest regret..in the years I have known her, Tanith has sometimes had nightmares and bad dreams...I have heard her imploring someone not to go outside.."

Eileen's face was solemn, but became grim when Tanith's night terrors was mentioned. "Most of those questions I will have to simply say to ask Tanith when you return to your world, the last I can speak on. When Tanith first came to this city she was very sick, but a Hunter sponsored her to receive treatment in exchange for a night of service. That Hunter's name was Gascoigne, he had a family..a wife and two daughters as well as a father in law, the two were hunting partners trying to clear the streets of dangers. Henryk and Gascoigne were a fearsome duo but they fell to blood madness. Tanith was forced to kill them both to save herself and others they would have harmed...as well as my life." Eileen looks down at her hands, fingers trembling in their gloves. "Gascoigne's wife knew something was wrong on the last night of the Hunt and went out to find her husband, Viola was brave but foolish. She was killed, from the little Tanith spoke of it, she encountered the daughters first and they asked if they should go find their parents...Tanith told them not too...but they didn't listen. The whole family died that night and Tanith blames herself for it." Tears slid gently down Eileen's cheeks. Looking down at the floor, the older woman nodded to something Lyanna could not see. "Tanith is just finishing up, she will call you back soon..good luck in the waking world Lady Stark...and look after The Good Hunter."

Arthur Dyane gasped for breath within his helmet, sweat dripping down into his eyes as yet again he had to raise Dawn in a desperate block that made his arms flex and tremble with exertion, the strength with which the youth wielded the greatsword was beyond human. Dayne took half a step back to try to launch a new strike, in all his years The Sword of Morning had never found himself so on the backfoot in a duel. With a cry, Arthur Dayne launched himself forward, flicking out his longsword in three quick strikes, fainting towards the head and groin before trying to drive home into the stomach of the young knight facing him. But then, the youth just wasn't there any more..the youth was behind him. Pain erupted as he felt the wicked edge of the faintly glowing greatsword erupt out through his chest, feeling himself being lifted up before cast down in a motion to flick the blood from the blade.

"If it is any consolation to you in your last moment Ser Dayne, I have never had to use my Quickening against any other foe in Westeros. And fear not, I will return your blade to your family. I will guard your sister, House Dayne will not come to ruin due to your death here." Arthur Dayne started to feel himself drifting, he was losing so much blood through the gaping chest wound, he tried to push himself up but didn't have the strength. Looking up, the youth's mouth had returned to normal, hiding the multitude of teeth within the too wide smile.

The youth picked up Dawn with a certain level of reverence, the last screams of his soldiers and knights fading as the great beast that had torn them asunder returned to its disguise of a simple horse. The field was awash with blood and body parts, Prince Rhaegar had fled during the confrontation, at the edge of the road Ser Simon Gaunt, the last knight of House Gaunt breathed raggedly, the reappearance of Lady Stark and her companions the last thing he saw before he breathed his last breath.

Chapter Text

Lyanna

The stench of blood and shit was immediate as Lyanna and her ladies seemed to fade back into existence next to their horses. Tanith was carefully wrapping the bright silvery blade famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms in canvas, the body of the most famous knight of the Kingsguard at her feet with blood steaming in the cool night air and a nonchalant expression on her face. Tanith bowed to Lyanna and gave a nod to her ladies. "I apolgise for sending you away without your permission Lady Stark, I felt that with over a hundred men to deal with I could not guarantee your safety.."

Lyanna's eyes were wide, but she refused to take a step backwards. A pair of clicks behind her heralded Lady Glover and Lady Manderly raising their pistols and pointing them at Tanith. "What...Ser Aiyana...what did you do?" Lyanna takes half a step forward but Alysane Mormont's hand fell to her shoulder and pushed Lyanna behind her.

Tanith looked at Lyanna with eyes that seemed to look right through her, not at all concerned with the firearms pointed at her. "I acted as your sworn sword Lady Stark. These men meant to abduct you...I stopped them. I apologise if you found my methods for doing so..upsetting." Tanith blinked and breathed out, carefully masking her expression and the haunted look in her eyes. Lyanna firmly took Alysane by the wrist and moved her hand off her shoulder, taking two quick steps towards Tanith.

"Ser Aiyana...it was not by skill with a blade alone that one defeats two members of the Kingsguard and host of other soldiers. I demand answers from you, we already know you lied about coming from Essos, what else have you lied about? Do the oaths you swore mean anything to you, one who is so willing to drip falsehoods from your tongue?" Lyanna put her hands on her hips, approaching Lyanna with her ladies at her back. Tanith's lip curls and Lyanna can see something else rising to the surface, a cold expression that has stayed hidden behind good humour and the blank mask of silence.

"Lady Stark, I am a Hunter. I slay the beasts of this world to keep the innocent safe. And I choose to serve those I admire. I saw a goodness and strength in you at Harranhal and I thought by your side, perhaps I could help you make this world a better one than the one I came from." Tanith dropped to her knees before Lyanna, raising the greatsword she held up and offering it to her. "If you wish to dismiss me from your service, I will escort you to Riverrun and then find my own way. I can only hope you do not, war is coming Lady Stark. And with it comes a power that the world has not seen since the days of legends."

Tanith had frozen, completely still as Alysane stepped up beside her. "Lyanna, if not for Ser Aiyana you'd be riding south a victim of the Dragon Prince. I don't get a sour feeling in my gut from this one." Lyanna nodded, looking down at the immobile young woman who held the blade steady without a hint of a tremor in her arms.

A second hand found her back, a smaller palm than the Mormont, that of Winnifred Manderly "Lady Lyanna, Ser Aiyana has ever been kind and generous. She has won many tourneys in your honour and never dishonoured you.."

Lady Glover was the one who spoke what the other two ladies were thinking but had not desired to say "My Lady, if a war is coming, I would much rather have Ser Aiyana sworn to you than not. She is the lord of Moat Cailin and has a reputation that has only enhanced your own as the She-Wolf of Winterfell. Don't throw that away for fear of her capabilities."

Lyanna looked down at her hands, unsure for long moments before she nodded to herself, giving a small smile to each of her ladies. "Ser Aiyana, you shall continue in my service. I will have more answers from you at another time and place. We should reach Riverun for my brothers wedding as soon as possible."

Later at Riverrun..

Night had long fallen when Tanith, Lyanna and her ladies arrived at Riverun. They had pressed on after dark, slowing on the King's road but not stopping for worry of what might happen once dark was upon them. Rhaegar Targaryen had escaped the massacre at Harranhal and might well already be trying to gather more Taryaryen troops. Tanith knew she would sleep safer with her Lady secure behind castle walls rather than having to send her to Yharnam again. The gates were opened after Tanith announced the parties arrival and quickly rooms were made available. None of them spoke of the ambush, wanting to wait for Brandon and Rickard to arrive before they revealed what had happened.

It was late afternoon the next day when Brandon and Rickard Stark arrived for Brandon's wedding to Caitlyn Tully. Robert Baratheon and the Stormlander soldiers had also arrived. At the time they did, Tanith was in the yard giving tips to both young Edmure Tully and Peter Baelish about fighting against taller and stronger opponents, demonstrating how lighter armour and better footwork can make all the difference. A messenger arrived summoning Tanith to Lord Hoster Tully's solar. Tanith bid farewell and gave a bow to both Edmure and Peter, quickly making her way up the stairs towards the solar.

The room was warm and triangular, much like the central keep and wider castle around it. A fire crackled in one corner and within gathered a group of some of Westeros's most powerful men. Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Trident stood looking grim alongside Lord Rickard Stark the Warden of the North. Also in the room stood Robert Baratheon, heir of Storm's End and two sons of Rickard. Tanith gave a bow to each of Hoster and Rickard, with a shallower bow to Brandon and Robert then a nod to Eddard. "My Lords, how may i be of service?"

Robert snorted but held his tongue, earning a stern look from Rickard. Hoster tapped a rolled up piece of paper on his desk and hummed thoughtfully. "Ser Aiyana...or so you would have us believe. I have here orders from the Crown to place you, Lyanna Stark and her Ladies under arrest and deliver you all to King's Landing caged and in chains. The charges are the ambush and slaughter of two Kingsguard and some armsmen of House Targaryen. However...Lyanna Stark tells us that it is you who are the reason why she is not being held captive by Rhaegar Targaryen, the message also tells us to steel our hearts for faith to resist the foul sorcery which you practise. Would you care to comment on these accusations?"

Tanith felt her blank mask slide over her face once more, standing tall and assessing her position. If needed she could pull the Blade of Mercy from the Dream and carve through the men in the room like carving apart roast pig.

Robert Baratheon

As the youthful knights eyes slid over him, Robert felt his thundering heart grow cold. In any other circumstance, he may have taken a grim satisfaction in fulfilling the orders of the crown, delivering the knight who had so humiliated and mocked him to the 'justice' of the Mad King. However, the talk of kidnapping Lyanna, his betrothed and her rescue by the Sworn Sword had not failed to make Robert feel indebted in some way to Ser Aiyana. The knight seemed to take a moment to formulate their response before speaking. "Lord Tully, Lady Lyanna and I along with her ladies were ambushed on the King's road near Harranhal by Prince Rhaegar, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Gerold Hightower and some men-at-arms. I defended Lady Lyanna and.." Robert leaned forward slightly, the slight flicker of his eyes the only emotion that had slipped through the Hedge knights facial expression "..I learned some tricks across the sea. Just small things to obscure and confuse the minds of men. With such opposition, I felt in such circumstances I needed to turn my attention fully to the fighting. So I made Lady Stark and her companions seem to vanish whilst I dealt with the Kingsguard."

Robert shook his head, cheeks flushing red. "You say the message states two Kingsguard were slain, do you expect us to believe that you alone fought and killed Ser Arthur Dayne and Gerold Hightower whilst also fighting against the common soldiers?" Robert shook his head, huffing up his chest as he prepared to raise his voice, shouting down any attempts to confirm the story but was surprised when Tanith shook their head.

"I regret I could not meet both men in honourable combat. I used a weapon from across the sea to kill Ser Hightower before meeting The Sword of Morning in single combat. Lord Stark, I presume you have heard the tales of the Boltons who survived their attempt to cross the ford? How the few soldiers on our side of the river met them with fire and thunder? That is the weapon I used, at close range it can puncture plate armour and I used to to put a shot through the eye of Ser Hightower." Rickard nodded confirmation, he had heard the reports but dismissed it as the justifications for why the Bolton's had not been able to push through the loyal Northerners.

Robert grumbled "And the armsmen? Surely it was not beyond their honour to stab you in the back?" Tanith gave Robert a small smile and shook her head.

"Few enough wanted to get near Flora when she entered a battle frenzy I expect. I do not believe they expected to meet much resistance and so were not prepared with enough ranged weapons." Hoster Tully tapped the piece of parchment on the table again, humming to himself.

"That does leave us with the question of what to do Ser Aiyana. I have no reason to distrust the accounts of Lady Stark and her ladies, as they gave their testimony whilst you were some distance away and in conversation with another. The crown wants you arrested, no doubt to be executed. If I refuse, the Crown will declare war and call their banners. The Reach will certainly stand with the Crown, the Dornish as well. I am unsure about the Westerlands and the Vale.." Robert straightened and shook his head.

"I will send a raven to John Arryn, he will listen to me and call his banners in support of us I have no doubt. The Stormlands will stand with the North and Riverlands as well, I doubt the Iron Islands will stand with us though. The Prince tried to kidnap my betrothed. Putting my personal feelings aside, the Mad King has needed to be removed for several years already." Tanith looked with surprise at Robert, her mask cracking slightly as she reconsidered the Stag Lord. Perhaps war would be the crucible that might forge the young man into something else.

Tanith cleared her throat. "If I may suggest a strategy, something used in Essos?" She received several nods from the men in the room, the Northerners clearly with more respect for Tanith than either of the other men. "Call your banners, but do not declare your hostility to the crown yet. Make a show of loyalty and preparing to march north, once the Targaryen armies have passed and are laying siege to Moat Cailin..the armies of the Vale press them from behind whilst the Stormlanders and Riverlanders march south to siege King's Landing and put an end to the conflict quickly and with minimal casualties."

Hoster Tully nodded slowly, eyes narrowing "I thought Moat Cailin was a ruin? No matter how well you garrison it, you will not be able to hold it against the full Targaryen army. The North takes time to muster their troops and no doubt ravens have already gone out to the Crownlands to start calling men in."

Rickard let out a rumbling laugh, looking pointedly at Tanith "Actually Lord Tully, since Moat Cailin's new lord was appointed, the towers and curtain wall have been restored. the neck is secure. We passed by it on the way south and truly it is a grand fortress. The southern armies will crash upon it like water on rock."

Hoster Tully nodded, glancing at Robert Baratheon. "An interesting idea Ser Aiyana...I will discuss it with my brother and bannermen, Lord Robert, I will have ravens made available to you. The wedding can take place tomorrow and then you will return to the North and call your banners."

Around the solar of the Lord of the Trident, the men and the Good Hunter clasped arms in warriors grips before departing to ready for rebellion.

Chapter Text

Two months have passed since The North rose in open rebellion against the Crown, defying King Aery's command to deliver the Lady of Winterfell and her sworn sword to King's Landing. So far the other Great and lesser houses have called their banners, the Riverlands, Stormlands and the Vale are slow to bring their forces together. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock have called their banners but show no signs of leaving The Rock. The Dragon Prince himself is leading the Targaryen forces with a second army of Dornishmen coming behind towards the Neck. The army of the Reach split into two and are stationed both at King's Landing and in the Reach itself.

Tanith lay down on her bed in the Children's tower, the highest room claimed as her own bedroom whilst the one directly below her is the office from which she has managed the logistics of owning land with a growing population. A large village had sprung up behind the second curtain wall, protected by the huge walls of black basalt and fresh quarried granite. The village had been given the name Gilbert's Rest and had become known as a safe stopping point for merchants and travellers going south or north. The arrival of several skilled blacksmiths and alchemists lured from Essos with promises of gold and knowledge made formed the foundations of The New Workshop. Here the knowledge of Yharnam had been shared, new methods of farming, the creation of fertiliser amongst other advances and most importantly the crafting of firearms. Tanith had carefully overseen the teaching of how to craft Hunter's pistols and Blunderbuss, the creation of gunpowder had remained a mystery to the alchemists. Only one man had attempted to find out those secrets and Quyburn's screams had convinced the other alchemists that no knowledge was worth the risk of running afoul of the Beast of the Ford. They were well paid and well treated, and remained content with that.

Eileen stood by the bedside, her crow mask on and the Blade of Mercy sheathed at her side. "You know its dangerous, what you intend. Whatever you are, some lines were not meant to be crossed. Is it worth the risk of losing yourself?"

Tanith looked up at Eileen, eyes haunted. "Guard the door, let no one interfere. If I am not awake when the Dragon Princes reaches us, take command of the other Hunters and give instruction of the defence to Benjen. He knows this fortress like the back of his hand."

Eileen looked at her one time student with a expression that mixed pity and fear before nodding and stepping outside the room. Tanith breathed out slowly, then dived deep into her own blood, searching...searching..

Chapter Text

Tanith landed on the shores of a lake of blood, nothing out of the ordinary for this hellscape then. Clutching the Moonlight Greatsword tight, she started to walk along the shores of the lake. Every sense stretching out for miles to try to pick up the feeling of human souls in this barren and twisted place. The process of drawing a soul back from the other side was in some ways incredibly simple, but in others an impossible thing. The gods of this place had long since vanished, consumed or driven away by the Great Old Ones arrival, the creatures that had once guarded the souls from predators of the outer dark had fallen and now beasts roamed the wastes, beasts that gave even a young great old one pause. A voice draws The Good Hunter’s attention and she turns, beginning to run…

Lyanna is handing off the reigns of her horse to a stable boy when the bell atop The Children’s tower starts to ring, dashing outside Lyanna unsheathes her Chikage and holds it in one hand as she takes the steps of the first curtain wall two at a time, followed by her ladies at a more sedate pace. In the distance, the sunlight glinted off metal. Lyanna started trying to estimate numbers, counting five men and the space they occupied then spreading that across the column coming up the King’s Road towards Moat Cailin.

“Quite an intimidating sight isn’t it sister..” Lyanna turns to see Benjen standing at the wall a little way along from her, clad in half plate and chainmail, a spear slung in his back. Below in the courtyard between the first curtain wall and the second, men were rushing about with all the organised chaos of a well trained garrison. Women and children were being ushered through the second curtain wall and back to one of several stone buildings with slate roofs, Tanith having spared no expense in building shelters for the people who lived nearby her lands.

“Benjen…I’m seeing Dornish Spears and more than a few Dragons. The Crown must have started mustering it’s forces from the moment Rhaegar reached the nearest loyal fort to Harranhal. The Northern army is still mustering at Winterfell, we only have the Dustin and Glover troops here. Will Moat Cailin hold?” As Lyanna said it, a deep voice rang out along the wall and as other soldiers, archers and spearmen of Houses Dustin and Glover took up position, she looked to see a group of half a dozen hard bitten men and women walking along the wall.

The one who spoke carried a large metal contraption she didn’t recognise. Each of them bore an armband with the seal of House Bloodtide displayed prominently. “Aye Lady Stark, we will hold. I should think the first battle of Moat Cailin will go down in your history as a bit of a major engagement.” The man swept off his hat and bowed low, each of the other leather coated and oddly dressed figures doing the same in sync.

“I am Djura and these are my fellow Powder Kegs, we are mercenaries from…Essos. We have bartered a year of service to Ser Aiyana in exchange for our travel here away from Yharnam. So for the next year, you don’t need to worry about this wall falling Lady Stark.” Lyanna looked more carefully at the men and women walking behind Djura, each was hard and cold looking, many with burn scars and wielding all manner of weapons. Some were familiar, the so called ‘Boom Hammer’ and even the Cannon, but others were vicious jagged weapons that seemed more suited to torture than battle.

Benjen nodded to the Hunters in greeting, seeming well familiar with the strange mercenaries. “Hunter Djura, I have no doubt the enemy commander will send the Dornish forces forward to see if they can storm Moat Cailin before the Northern armies are gathered whilst the Targaryen forces hold back and start preparing trench lines. I expect you to greet them appropriately.” Lyanna cast a new eye over her younger brother, his voice was clear and strong. Certainly different than the boy she had left behind to go to Storm’s End two years ago.

The Hunter nodded and gave a bow. “Right you are Castallen. Just like we practised Powder Kegs…spread along the wall and if anywhere looks hard pressed throw the bastards back!” Lyanna looked back out at the approaching host as the Hunters spread themselves along the wall amidst the other troops. The symbols of house Glover, Dustin and Bloodtide standing out against each other on the two curtain walls and in the towers themselves.

Lyanna waited, tension knotting in her gut. “Lyanna, go find Ser Aiyana. She should be here for this..” nodding to Benjen, Lyanna defended to the ground and started making her way towards where her sworn swords rooms were..

Chapter Text

Tanith crested a low ridge of ruddy rust coloured dirt to be met by a sight of carnage. Half a dozen creatures lay in dismembered pieces below, the creatures had been almost humanoid but created of the stuff of the scattered ruin of civilisation that had once graced this land when gods of death and had still ruled and guided the souls in their care. Now nothing but ruin was left. Two men stood, gasping and bleeding from numerous wounds as half a dozen more of these creatures lurched towards them, the old man dressed in yellow was barely standing, panting like a steam engine that was running on dregs. The other man had bandages across his eyes, but as he looked back and saw the two girls clutched in a woman's arms, her shining red brooch clear against her pale skin, he seemed to gain new strength.

Tanith reached deep inside her to the core of power she had gained upon her ascension, reaching out and ripping away at the essences of the creatures that stood and drawing them towards her. The screams of predators that had been run to ground emanating from each of these scavengers that had sunk low enough to try to grasp at the feeble power in the souls of humans. Tanith drew them into her and felt that same feeling as when she still consumed the blood, a rush, invigoration that was like nothing she had ever felt. It could grow addictive, but Tanith had seen what had happened to those who had given in to their lust for more of this feeling. Slinging the sword on her back, Tanith walked down the slope towards the two men who raised their weapons, weary but prepared to sell their lives again if it meant their children, wife and grandchildren were safe for even a moment longer.

"Peace Hunters. I..I don't know if you remember me Father.." Tanith removed her hat and pulled down the cloth that had covered the lower portion of her face. "I..I don't know if you remember me Father Gascoigne..I...you took me in. I stayed with you and your family..." Tanith bit her lip, looking down as she remembered the cool cloths placed on her brow, Viola's gentle singing as she bathed away the sweat and cleaned the vomit, changing the bloody bandages that covered her sores. The few times she felt better and the children had asked her about her homeland, asking her to tell them stories or play her violin. Tanith felt a presence close by and felt her chin lifted, Viola coming to stand next to her husband. She spoke softly, her eyes kind.

"This is the one Maya spoke of Husband, she promised to seek me out on the night of the Hunt. She tried to bring me home to my children...I am sorry you have come to so cruel a place as this Miss Aiyana. Perhaps with you, my husband and father we can keep the children safe at least." Viola looked over her shoulder and beckoned the children to come forward, each of the girls looking up in awe at The Good Hunter.

"Hello Miss Hunter, I'm..I'm sorry I didn't wait at the house. I should have stayed like you told me to...if I had.." The younger girl looked down, tears in her eyes as her flight through the dark city and her encounter with the Pig in the sewers rose like a frightening dream. Tanith made a tiny effort of her will and blocked the dream from fully forming, feeling tears in her own eyes.

Gascoigne spoke for the first time. "I am glad to see you, even if I wish you could have found your way out of this wretched nightmare. Henryk and I have warded away the creatures of this place, but our Hunter Tools are starting to fray and we used the last of our Molotov's yesterday." Tanith nodded, looking up to meet Gascoigne's eyes.

"I have a way out, I..learned some things when I ventured through Yharnam. I can take all of you out of this place.." A terrible rending screech echoed over the landscape around them, like the cry of the Cleric Beast but a hundred times louder and the world began to shake itself apart. The sheer metaphysical mass put on the world by the approaching horror causing the nature of reality to tremble. "I will need you and Henryk to.." Tanith did not get to finish before Gascoigne snarled.

"Done. I will make a thousand devil's bargains to get my family out of this place!" Tanith nodded, reaching deep within herself and drawing in more power from the raw cosmos than she ever had before. The power to drag so many souls through the stars to Westeros would cost her, but to save the family she failed it would be worth it..

The Children's tower echoed with the screams of her Sworn Sword long before Lyanna reached her rooms. The shrieking had only gotten louder and more strident as she had gotten closer, Lyanna broke into a sprint, her Chikage clenched firmly in her hand, prepared to face whatever it was that made her unflappable knight make such sounds. Taking the stairs two at a time, she found Eileen pacing outside the door with her face twisted in pain.

"Eileen! What's happening!?" Lyanna made to burst through the door but found herself intercepted and held back by the strength of the older woman.

"No Child, what is happening in that room is beyond any concern of mortals. Tanith made a choice to correct what she perceives as mistakes. If you go into that room, you will be forever changed and Tanith expressly forbid anyone to go into that room until she was finished." Lyanna met Eileen's eyes, seeing the absolute fear of what was going on in that room in the Hunter's eyes. Lyanna looked towards the door as very suddenly the screaming stopped and multiple heavy thumps came from within the room, followed by low conversation and the higher voices of children crying.

Lyanna looked to Eileen who nodded, opening the door and stepping through just ahead of the Lady of Winterfell. Standing in the room was an old man in yellow, a jagged bladed weapon held in one hand whilst another much taller man was knelt down and carefully holding a young girl in his arms, brushing the child's hair away from a bruise that was forming on her cheek from where she had fallen to the floor. A woman in a red dress and an older girl were tending to the figure that lay on the bed.

Tanith was a ruin, blood wept from the corners of her mouth where entire chunks of flesh had seemed to just be scooped away from her body as neatly as one would scoop up soil from the earth. A harsh bark from the woman sent the child scrabbling for the leather satchel that rested in one corner. Lyanna hurried forward, wanting to scream but had her heart in her throat. "What happened! Why...what..." Lyanna looked desperately for an explanation. It was the old man in yellow who spoke, walking to where Tanith's leather satchel was being rifled through and helping the young girl search through the bag.

"The Good Hunter can fight through the cosmos by herself without issue, but carrying us with her made her a target from scavengers. And she could not defend herself whilst keeping us safe. Hunter Aiyana paid a price in flesh and soul for carrying us safely to your lands. If I might be so bold, where are we?" Henryk looked at Lyanna, noting her concern as Tanith let out another wracking cough, wheezing in agony as her body tried to repair itself, much of her strength long gone in the effort to rip her way through dimensions.

The child let out an exclamation as she pulled a pair of vials, each with a thick needle capped with glass from the bag and gave them to her mother, the features similar enough for Lyanna to be able to discern that much at least. The dark haired woman quickly snatched the vials and uncapped them, jamming them into Tanith's thigh without ceremony, the plungers depressing and forcing the thick red fluid inside into Tanith's body. Lyanna made to step forward and pull the woman away, at least to find out what the hell she was doing to her sworn sword, but the moment the red fluid entered her body, Tanith started breathing easier, her breath steadying.

Drums, horns and screams now rose from outside the tower. Henryk and Gascoigne looked at each other before turning to Lyanna. "I fear we may not be fully aware of where we are. Hunter Aiyana was unable to give us much information before we came here.."

Chapter Text

Benjen Stark

Benjen recognised the man riding towards the walls of Moat Cailin, dressed in the white armour and cloak of a Kingsguard, a man perhaps less recognisable than some of his fellows, but Prince Lewyn Martell was still a knight of the Kingsgaurd and thus well known from the Wall all the way to King's Landing. Lewyn Martell rode to just outside of arrow shot of Moat Cailin, ten thousand Dornishmen moving into position to try to storm the walls with ladders and a heavy battering ram. Benjen stood tall, dressed in the chainmail and half-plate of the Starks with a fur mantled cloak whipping around his shoulders as the icy wind came down the length of The Neck.

"Ser Lewyn, a pleasant surprise. I did not think a knight as esteemed as yourself would need so large an escort. The North has nothing for you, return to Dorne and save yourself the tears of these men's wives and children." Benjen offered up a prayer to the Old Gods that his voice would not break during this brief conversation. He had to look strong, he was a Stark of Winterfell and Castellan of the second greatest fortress of the North. Until Ser Aiyana officially took command back, he would do his duty.

"Young Lord Stark! I am here at the command of King Aery's Targaryen, you are commanded to hand over the traitors and sorcerers you shelter, the King has decreed that should you not do so, House Stark will be in open rebellion against the Crown and the North would burn! Please, I ask that you not resort to bloodshed. I can promise that Lady Stark will be spared death, Prince Rhaegar has made his position clear!"

The mood of the Northerners along the wall visibly darkens at Lewyn's words, it was well known amongst the garrison what the Dragon prince had intended for the Lady of Winterfell. Benjen's voice cut through the grumbles and jeers from the walls. "Nay, No and I shall not. Thrice I say it, and if the North is in open rebellion then so be it. You guarantee my Sister's life only to be subjected to rape by the Dragon Prince and no word of the fate that would befall the Lord of Moat Cailin and the Ladies of Lyanna Stark. Come if you will Prince Martell, come and meet death!"

Benjen drew his sword and thrust it at the sky. Along the curtain wall, men of House Glover and Dustin shouted loudly as well, brandishing spears and bows alongside swords and axes. The soldiers of House Bloodtide stood with heads bowed, grins on their faces as they prepared to unleash their new weapons gifted to them by their liege lord. Benjen himself unslung the spear from his back and readied it, the blade folding down in the way Ser Aiyana had shown him to. Prince Martell turned his horse and rode back to the Dornish lines. To an untrained eye, it looked like the ten thousand Dornish could sweep over the two thousand defenders like a tide drowning a rock. What Lewyn Martell and his troops did not know was that apart from the hastily summoned eight hundred or so troops from each of Glover and Dustin, four hundred of the Garrison were Northmen who had been invited to settle on the lands around Moat Cailin and had been trained as full time soldiers by both Djura and Benjen. Already it was twice the number of troops even House Stark could field, but as the four hundred raised their rifle spears and took aim at the rushing Southerners.

With a crack of fire and thunder the first wave of rifle spears fired and Dornishmen crumpled. The heavy shot punching through shields emblazoned with the sigil of the sun and piercing flesh. Without pause the soldiers of the garrison levered a fresh round into the spears from their pouches of iron shot, the mechanism built to be sturdy and enable rapid firing of the cartridges. Whilst the sound of thunder still echoed across the landscape, Powder Kegs pulled canvas from the wall mounted cannons and sent more shot pouring into the Dornish troops advancing, each iron ball leaving a path of destruction and death filled with shattered limbs and bloody grass. The Dornish advance faltered, the roaring of rifles and cannons from the walls a weapon in and of itself. It was then Djura unleashed his personal weapons atop the gatehouse.

Lewyn Martell

As a knight in service of the king, Lewyn Martell had seen his fair share of war. Ranks of men crumpling under volley's of arrows, the aftermarth of sieges where cities were sacked and of course the ruins of Duskendale once the king had been rescued. But even so, when the roars of dragons spoke from the walls of Moat Cailin, he felt himself flinch. Hundreds of men lay dead in the first moments, their armour useless as they crumpled and that was before the iron balls tore through his tightly packed ranks. Resisting the temptation to urge his horse forward, Lewyn made himself watch as the battering ram neared the gate. A wave of small dark objects flew out from the walls and landed amidst his men, bursting into fire that clung to flesh and armour. It was not the green of wildfire but from the screams that did not seem to matter to those affected, many ladders being dropped as another wave of small objects were flung at the ladders themselves. The fire caught quickly on the wooden ladders, urging his horse along the line, now Lewyn looked towards the ram, a strange whirring clicking sound was loud on the air before a torrent of red sparks seemed to spray in a continuous stream from atop the gate house. Wherever these sparks touched, his men died. Loyal spears called by House Martell under threat of what might happen to Princess Elia if they did not answer, cut down in droves.

The Dornish broke. Already storming a fortress with the reputation of Moat Cailin had unnerved the men, they had been expecting a long siege but Lewyn had wanted the matter over quickly so he could get back to King's Landing and try to temper the treatment of his niece by the King. As his men fled, those sparks seemed to follow his men, cutting them down by the hundreds as they fled, the great iron balls continued tearing through his ranks even as the fire from the individual men stopped as the range seemed to become too great. The field of bodies stretched out before him stank of blood, shit and something else he had no frame of reference for. Half the ten thousand men he had flung at the walls lay dead or wounded and still in the field, how many of those returned were wounded or would willingly charge the walls again?

Benjen Stark

Benjen waves away the cloud of smoke in front of his face and feels a slight tremor in his knees as he looks out at the field. Ten thousand men had charged and had not made it within twenty feet of the base of the wall. Moat Cailin had always been touted as a impregnable defence, the Marsh Kings had allied with the Red Kings, the Kings of Winter and the Barrow Kings in ages past to throw back huge southron hosts, but this was here and now. None of his men had been injured and the Dustin and Glover forces were looking with awe at the Garrison sworn to House Bloodtide. A hand clasped on his shoulder signalled Djura's arrival, the grizzled Hunter had been invaluable since his arrival several weeks ago with the letter from Ser Aiyana. Djura spoke low, his house a growl as he leaned closer, looking like he was listening to instructions. "Lord Benjen, I might suggest rotating most of the troops off the wall. I don't see them making another attempt tonight. You might also want to go grab a bite to eat. I can keep watch."

Benjen straightened a little, nodding and started passing orders down the wall for the bulk of the troops to vacate the wall and see to their gear. Despite Djura's advice, the solemn young man stayed on the wall and looked out on the field of death for some time before retreating down to one of two dozen cook tents where bowls of thick stew were being handed out to the soldiers. Benjen had overseen the arrival of supplies from the south for the last year, overseen by Arianna and Doll, the two servants Ser Aiyanna had left behind to ensure her interests were represented even with Benjen as Castellen. He could see the pregant and waddling Arianna walking beside Doll who was bringing up barrels of beer to the troops rotating off the wall.

Benjen looked up to the Children's Tower where a light in the window showed figures moving backwards and forwards in front of it. Despite everything, he prayed desperately that soon Ser Aiyana would take command again and let Benjen take a secondary role of learning to manage troops for another year before he was thrust into commanding the garrison again.

Chapter Text

Lyanna looked at her sworn sword and in a moment of clarity, could see the two sides that balanced there. One side, that of the being that can pluck souls from the land of the dead and create physical bodies for them. The side that can slay the greatest knights of Westeros without taking a cut and slaughter dozens upon dozens of bloodthirsty killers in the chill waters of the White Knife. The being with the power to cast Lyanna to an entirely different realm, or at least somewhere so far removed from her home that she could not even recognise the stars above.

On the other side, she was the awkward youth who blushed at Arianna's crude jokes about the nights she spent with her husband. The girl who acted as a man in a world that would treat her most cruelly if the truth was revealed, the pain in her voice when she spoke of those she failed. The very human part of Tanith Aiyana, the woman who caused Lyanna to have butterflies in her stomach when she threw her head back and laughed, when she could relax just amongst herself and her ladies.

Lyanna knelt down on the cold stone floor next to the bed where Tanith's wounds were mostly mended. Viola had set her elder daughter to keep watch over Tanith whilst she had taken her youngest alongside Gascoigne and Henryk to look around Moat Cailin. Lyanna had been unsure what to make of the small family, their clothing seemed to put them above peasants, being a Hunter in Yharnam must have been a well paid profession, as the brooch Viola wore was large and expensive looking and both children were well fed despite whatever ordeal they had gone through in the place they had come from. Lyanna looked at the elder girl, likely thirteen summers of so by the look of her, even whilst Lyanna studied the girl, she could see her eyes on Lyanna.

Viola Gascoigne

Holding her daughter's hand, Viola descended the stairs of the tower and marvelled at how despite the obvious chill outside the interior of the tower was quite warm. Certainly no colder than the inside of her home in Yharnam, the sounds of men shouting and rushing back and forth were common enough to not disturb either of the women or the Hunters as they stepped out of the tower onto the stretch of hardpacked earth behind the wall. A mesh of rough metal had been placed over the ground that provided a steady footing and Viola marvelled at how long it must have taken to create such a mesh, but she supposed that gold enough would make anything possible.

A cry from the wall made her look up to see a great bear of a man jump from the wall and land with a wide grin on his face, Djura was an old friend of her husband and father and she smiled before politely curtsying as he approached, her daughter Katherine mirroring the action. Djura clasped Henryk's arm in a wrist to wrist grip, shaking hands firmly before practically picking Gascoigne up and crushing him in a bear hug. "Ah welcome my fine friends! It does an old man good to see two more fine Hunters join us. The Dornish..thats the lot trying to break through and murder us all just tried to slip a few groups in under cover of dusk, needless to say a few molotov's made them rethink that plan!"

Tanith

Her eyes opened and the thirst was all encompassing. A thirst...the Hunter...did she have a name..was she even a she anymore...what had happened to those aspects of The Hunter when they had become what they were..when they had mastered the nightmare..the dream..had killed and claimed Flora as a servant. Blood...she was half cut with blood..had drunk half the town in her wanderings through those dark and dingy streets...there was blood in the room...she..she had to feed...

Chapter Text

Tanith

Tanith's eyes opened slowly, the warm feeling of Yharnam blood entering her veins a welcome relief that had caused the..the thirst that had swept through her to abate. Screams sounded from outside the tower bedroom and..She was so thirsty..and the blood was right there. Wolf blood..blood of a girl of Yharnam. Why shouldnt she take it..she had saved them..just a taste..something to take the edge off..just..just a taste...a bullet..mercury and blood that had stunned her. The girl, Gascoigne's daughter pointing the Hunter's pistol at her and taking Lyanna's hand, fleeing the room..

The line went from another bag of blood into her veins, warm and pulsing as waves of calm ran through her. Bottles of sedative and vials of blood littered the bedside table and the Doll stood watch. Her gentle smile directed at Tanith as she awoke. "Welcome back Good Hunter. You had an episode, but are recovered now."

Tanith nodded slowly, groaning and pushing herself up to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, pulling the line from her arm and closing the channel that had been feeding the blood into her system. "Thank you..help me dress. I should go see what is happening on the wall."

The Dornish spears had through grit, determination and by spending lives like coppers managed to get close to the base of Moat Cailin's walls, piles of their fellows dead and dying as bullets, cannons and fire burst amongst them had not been enough to drive them back this time. Lewyn Martell was leading them after all, his white cloak easily visible as the men sand songs of victory and great deeds and pressed forward with wooden shields raised, each carried by three of four men and trying to shield the groups moving behind them. Of course the enfilading fire was not helping matters or the bullets now coming from the towers that were able to fire over the shields and onto the shield bearers from above, pulping heads and ripping from the shoulders down to emerge from men's feet and groins.

And then the Lord of House Bloodtide made their appearance. Stories had spread throughout the Dornish host of the strange silver armoured warrior who had bested half a dozen of the greatest knights of Westeros at Harranhal..the man who had become the Butcher of the Ford during the Boltons failed rebellion. Word was slow to leave the north but it had reached the Riverlands and that was where the Dornish had marched through on their way to Moat Cailin. But it was a far cry from hearing the story to seeing the legend as the silver armoured warrior carrying a large scythe dropped from the height of the wall alongside two dozen over other strange figures. The mixture of armour was strange to the Dornish..capes of dark feathers...ragged grey cloth that looked like it had ragged burns scorched through it...a dozen different types of fur sewn together onto leather backing.

The two dozen Hunters met the Dornish front lines and began to systematically slaughter all who came within reach of their blades, the moment the silver armoured knight wrenched off their helmet and revealed fine feminine features, before quite swiftly returning to swinging that great scythe and taking off legs and ankles, spears snapping against the silver armour and endless cracks of thunder as bullets were fired from the wall garrison into the middle and back of the Dornish formation.

The Dornish cheered and tried to rally as Lewyn Martell met the silver armoured Lady of House Bloodtide in combat. Their surety that no woman could defeat a Dornish Kingsguard..however much more respect the Dornish had for female warriors, this was a clash of sword against sword not a duel of dagger and spear..was mistaken as the woman discarded her scythe and instead drew two blades, one bright and silver whilst the other seemed to drink in any light that fell upon it.

Lewn Martell was a fine warrior, skilled and ruthless and in a world in which the Hunter did not walk might have truly been amongst the upper tier of combatants...but that was not this world. His fine blade shattered, his armour was carved open and he staggered back bleeding from a cut to his face for each year of Lyanna Starks life..the life he had intended to deliver into the hands of a mad rapist.

The Dornish broke, trying to shield Lewyn Martell and quickly realising that they needed to carry the wounded Kingsguard at a dead sprint away from the walls lest the bullets keep chewing through their manpower.

Lyanna Stark

Lyanna stark stood atop the Children's tower of Moat Cailin alongside Viola Gascoigne with the Hunter Henryk, Viola's father assigned as her guard during the stay at Moat Cailin. She could feel her hands trembling as they rested on the stone of the parapet, the thunder of overlapping cracks of rifle spears mixing with the louder booms of cannons firing. A spyglass raised to her eye, provided from one of the pouches that festooned Henryk's yellow garb, allowed Lyanna to see her sworn sword cleaving a path through what few Dornish spears made it through the barrage from the walls. The Hunters who had dropped from the wall were dripping with blood, their weapons vicious and terrifying, beasts clad in human form.

"They..they look like monsters from the nightmares of the Old Night..." Lyanna barely realised she had spoken, her eyes on Tanith. Flashing back to the bared teeth...the look in her..friends...eyes as she had looked at her. Moments before she was shot by one of the awful thunder weapons and Lyanna was dragged from the room. The frantic bellowing and thrashing as Gascoigne, Dura and Henryk all entered the room and emerged several minutes later nursing broken limbs and battered faces. but Tanith had been sedated..Arianna and Viola had assured Lyanna that..that it was just an episode. The blood of Yharnam...where Tanith had come from had been spent to keep Tanith alive after bringing Gascoigne and his family back..so they were replenishing the blood in her veins and soon Tanith would be back to normal.

Lyanna was not wholly reassured, part of her thought she should cast aside the thing she had seen revealed in Tanith's eyes. But even now she was fighting for her...House Bloodtide, bound to the Starks by little beyond the duties of sworn sword to Lyanna herself was fighting against the brunt of one of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. Dustin and Glover men may also be manning the wall, but Lyanna was under no illusions that the Dornish could have stormed Moat Cailin, albiet ruinously, if not for the presence of the Bloodtide soldiery and the restoration of Moat Cailin. And then it happened, Tanith flung off her helmet and her blonde hair came loose...her face..beautiful...Lyanna shook the thought away..her face revealed as she cleaved the Dornish line and met Lewyn Martell in combat. The Knight of the Kingsguard defeated in a stunning display of bladework. Lyanna lowered the spyglass and closed her eyes, feeling a hand on her shoulder she turned to meet Viola's eyes. The other woman breaking most of the rules of conduct but her words were firm and reassuring to Lyanna.

"She is a Hunter, she goes out there and kills and bleeds and does what needs to be done so we can sleep at night in safety. Do not begrudge them the choices they make in this pursuit of our safety, even now my husband strides the field axe in hand and he does so because if an army breached these walls...after the losses they have suffered do you think any of us..you..myself and my daughters..would be safe from their revenge?"

Lyanna bit her lip, the habit trained out of her by Old Nan but now returned in this moment of questioning. Could she set aside the threat...

Chapter Text

Crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen rode into the mixed Dornish and Targaryen camp to a lack of cheers of warmth that the young, handsome and generally popular Crown Prince had grown used to. His white blonde hair was cut short for war and a magnificent helmet was carried by his Squire, Miles Mooton, the helm bright silver and encrusted with the same rubies as his breastplate. Two members of the Kingsguard rode at the Princes back, the presence of Ser Barristan Selmy, the finest sword in the realm and Ser Oswald Whent, sword second only to the Prince himself and the likes of Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerald Hightower. Of course by all accounts the Twilight Knight, Slayer of Dawn as he had become known south of the neck was a fierce warrior as well.

Rhaegar had even floated the idea during the long ride from King's Landing with the reinforcing troops of the Crownlands and several thousand men of the Reach that this Ser Aiyana should be recruited. The Prince was sure that a Hedge Knight of little means would be able to be swayed with an offer of a fine marriage and a castle. Possibly the reputation of Cercei Lannister as one of the most beautiful women in the realm could be used here to make that pact. Rhaegar knew he needed Lyanna Stark, the kidnapping attempt had gone poorly and whilst he had hoped to explain the necessity of her marriage to him, they had been foiled by the sorcery of the Twilight Knight. When his father had sent Lewyn Martell with ten thousand spears against Moat Cailin, Rhaegar had resigned himself to taking a no doubt well used Lyanna Stark away, forcing her to drink enough moon tea to flush any begat child of rape from her before he could seed her womb.

But once again, things had not gone as expected. Reports coming back from from Lewyn Martell and the Targaryen Commander, John Connington had stated that the banners of House Bloodtide flew over a restored Moat Cailin and the wall was manned by men of Houses Dustin and Glover as well as men of House Bloodtide who had learned to trap thunder and unleash it upon the attackers. Casualty reports had been ruinous and so Rhaegar himself had gathered the reserves from the Crownlands, men from the Reach led by Randall Tarly and personally written letters to the lords of the Stormlands, the Vale and the Riverlands to call their own banners and march North to crush this Northern rebellion. As Rhaegar approached the Targaryen camp though, the difference between reading reports and studying historical texts about Moat Cailin and seeing the great fortress standing restored were clear. A low whistle to his left made the Prince glance over to see a group of Sell-Swords who had joined the reinforcement column and negotiated their fee with the steward assigned to oversee the hiring of such mercenaries.

The field in front of the curtain wall of Moat Cailin was a charnel house of corpses and crows, the fat carrion birds cawed and hopped from one to another seeking out the juiciest morsels. The reinforcements were directed to pitch their tents and dig fresh latrines, Rhaegar's Captains knew their business for he had only selected those Captains and Knights with at least some experience to join him in marching North. Riding through the camp to the large command tent, Rhaegar let a groom take his horse and strode into the tent with the squires at his back. Within John Connington leaned over a map of the North, alone but for a few Targaryan and Dornish Captains who stood around the table in grim silence. Connington started as Rhaegar entered the tent and dropped to one knee, bowing his head towards Rhaegar.

"My Prince! My apologies for not greeting you, the situation is dire and..I have been considering how best to try a new approach." Rhaegar nodded and accepted the kneeling of the men in the tent, gesturing for them to rise as he himself took Connington's hand and pulled him to his feet.

"I understand things have been difficult John, I brought eight thousand from the Crownlands and Lord Tarly commands another four thousand from the Reach. The Stormlands, Vale and Riverlands have each been commanded to raise five thousand men and bring them up here..I understand we face two thousand at present? We must simply break through here and defeat each Northern army before it can join the main host at Winterfell." Such was the confidence in Rhaegar's voice, that some of the men briefly felt hope stir in their breasts. And then the night came.

Rhaegar was sitting within his personal tent writing letters when the screaming began. Abandoning the letter to his father reassuring the King that soon the Northern situation would be resolved, Rhaegar rose and grabbed his sword. He raised it and only just managed to avoid skewering Miles Mooton, his squire when he came bursting through the tent flap with panic on his face. "My Prince, demons! Demons are attacking the camp!"

Drawing upon years of experience as he kept his face blank, Rhaegar snapped orders to get his armour on. The familiar routine and command in the Prince's voice helping camp Miles as he quickly dressed Rhaegar in chain and leather, the plate would offer better protection but took too long to put on and by the sounds of it, Rhaegar needed to be out there now to be seen, to calm the panic before it became a rout. Thinking on it now as the buckles and straps of his armour was done up, Rhaegar made to question the choice that had all the reinforcements pitch their tents closest to Moat Cailin...

Tanith

Thirty Hunters slipped down ropes from the walls of Moat Cailin as darkness fell across the North, the camp of the besiegers was lit up with as many lanterns and torches as they could manage, the Dornish had come to know the dark was an ally of the Hunters and thus tried to banish it as much as they could. Flora became a cloud of dark mist that flowed over the wall like water only to reform into the figure of a tall Hunter with hair of purest white and skin so pale that the blue veins that traced her form could be seen clearly beneath the skin.

Powder Kegs, Hunters of Hunters, League Hunters, Executioners, Church Doctors, Tomb Prospectors, Beast Bloods...as one they slipped across the field towards the besiegers camp following the lead of The Hunter Knight. Tanith had brought them to this world in return for their service, their ailments cured..their sanity restored and a new home for them to find away from the madness of Yharnam. Dark cloth muffled any noise Tanith's armour might have made as they advanced, Gascoigne walked at her left side and Eileen walked at her right. The trio of them were aiming for the command tent deep within the besiegers camp whilst the rest of the Hunters were aiming to sow terror and agony, for each soldier dead they would leave two more crippled and in agony to drive the point home that the Hunters and House Bloodtide would not suffer attack without retaliation.

The screams started as the first wave of oil urns and then molotovs were flung into the packed tents, arm cannons then were unleashed with each ball carving a path through flesh and bone and tent alike without stopping. After the initial barrage, the Hunters advanved with cracks of pistols, blunderbuss and the more exotic whooshing sounds of flamesprayers. Blades extended, hammers readied and the Hunt came to Westeros.

Rhaegar

Rhaegar Targaryen emerged from his tent sword in hand and found himself facing a view that belonged more to The Seven Hells than in their world. Men burned and screamed as they staggered back and forth trying to find water sufficient to douse their flesh and provide sweet relief, corpses lay scattered about in pieces as demons clothed in black and dripping with blood stalked the camp. Whenever they encountered resistance their weapons flickered out and cut down soldiers unarmoured and still blinking sleep from their eyes.

One figure bent down and wrenched its long jagged blade from the back of one of a Targaryen soldier and a spear plunged through the man's chest. Rather than collapse and gasp out a final breath as one should do though, the figure..the Hunter..for what else could these things be...broke off the head of the spear and turned to rip its cleaver like blade through the left arm and leg of the Dornishman who had tried to kill him, then leaving the Dornishman bleeding on the floor drove a vial into their leg before continuing to walk, like a mortal wound had not been dealt.

He had to get to the Command tent, maybe he could issue orders to bring up men from the other parts of the camp, surely armoured knights would be able to bring down these Hunters? Rhaegar ran, abandoning dignity and royal posture he ducked and wove through the chaos to reach the command tent. Randal Tarly was already within, sat on a stool whilst John Connington tried to staunch the bleeding from the other man's shattered hand, the fingers twisted and twitching. Tarly was speaking when Rhaegar entered the tent. "..-ese rumours, I thought them exaggeration but if you were trying to scale walls to find demons waiting for you at the top..I withdraw my comments about your persecution of this war so far Lord Connington."

Seeing Rhaegar, both men nodded grimly and John finished wrapping the bandage around Tarly's hand. "Its a bloody nightmare out there my Prince. One or two of those black clothed Hunters coming out to cause trouble is the most we have ever dealt with, they will come in and pick of sentry's then kill a few dozen men and depart. But..there are many more this time than ever before."

Rhaegar closed his eyes and nodded, trying to think..trying to banish the thought that the gods might be punishing him for his attempt to take Lyanna Stark and fulfil his Dream to prevent disaster. "Send orders..bring up more men from the rear. Knights, not foot soldiers. Let's see if those Hunters can face up to castle forged plate armour as well as unarmoured flesh."

Barely had Rhaegar finished speaking, before a glass ball bounced through the tent flaps and exploded into a thick grey mist that made the Prince's flesh grow cold and numb in a moment. He choked and gasped, trying to reach out for his companions but within this fog it was each man for himself. Rhaegar blundered backwards, trying to find one of the walls of the tent. His fist made contact with something cool and soft underhand, leather and...feathers...

"My my...how forward o' you Prince Rhaegar...that be my bosom for your reference..." Pain came next and no longer could Rhaegar feel anything beneath his fingers, for he could no longer feel his fingers.

Chapter Text

Rhaegar cried out as his severed hand fell to the floor, the thick fog starting to fade from inside the tent but still, the feeling of his skin was numbed and cold. The sight of an older woman dressed in a cape of black crow feathers and wielding two daggers of some silvery metal that reminded Rhaegar of Arthur's Dayne's legendary sword Dawn pushed Rhaegar backwards onto a camp stool. Randal Tarly was laying on the floor with blood dripping from the older man's mouth and his teeth spread out over the floor whilst a massive man with a axe even taller than he was was holding Jon Connington by the throat in the air and looking at him curiously even as the Lord of Griffin's Roost brought his fists down on the man's arm, his face going red and splotchy as his air supply was cut off.

Several short choked shouts and thumps came from just outside the tent before the man Rhaegar knew as the Twilight Knight entered the tent dragging an unconscious Barristan Selmy by the back of his armour, no sign of Oswald Whent. The Twilight Knight, Ser Aiyana and Lord of House Bloodtide threw Barristan down onto the grass next to Tarly, uncaring of the sword that had pierced her side and was still lodged in his armour. The silver armoured knight seemed unbothered as after dropping Selmy, they simly pulled the blade free and drew a small vial from a leather pouch on their waist, draining the thick red fluid within and sighing in appreciation.

Then the figure, the Champion of Harranhal and Twilight Knight who had slaughtered his Kingsguard and a hundred men turned towards Rhaegar and removed his helmet...her helmet. Pale hair that cascaded from beneath the helm, perfect skin and teeth that spoke of a life of care and ease..and yet..to fight like this woman does a life of ease had certainly not produced her. She was slim and the armour hid much of her figure, for a moment Rhaegar was convinced that indeed it was this woman who would birth the third head of the dragon required to drive back the Long Night. Then the woman spoke, the screams from outside the tent rising in pitch.

"Eileen, Gascoigne..thank you. I will deal with these three, go and cause some chaos deeper in the camp, teach them that no matter where they hide any who stand against House Bloodtide will meet a most unpleasant fate." The huge man nodded and threw John Connington into the ground, stunning the Lord whilst the woman gave a low bow to the Twilight Knight and simply exited the tent with blades held ready. The woman sat and faced Rhaegar, studying him intently. "You know...its your fault that so many lie dead upon this field...I have no interest in hearing your justifications, you saw beauty and you sought to claim it. That will not be allowed, know that for each day you and your army stay here...I will reap a toll that will fill the earth with bodies of fathers, husbands and sons...and you could have prevented all of this Rhaegar Targaryen."

Rhaegar struggled to clench his fist, blood leaking from the end of his arm that was now missing a hand. "I...the dreams I have had speak of a Winter without end! I need to have a Lady of Ice to birth the third head of the Dragon! I do this for life itself!"

The knight shook her head, a knife appearing in her hand as she now stood over Rhaegar with the knife low at her side. "I had considered leaving you in the Nightmare..but no...your belief in prophetic dreams is too foolish..dreams lie Rhaegar Targaryen...dreams can be Nightmares and Nightmares are very rarely dreams. If this Winter without end comes...I will protect my people. You sought to be a hero by carrying off Lyanna Stark...I shall leave you nothing!"

The blade sliced down, Rhaegar screamed, and the chance of a third head of the dragon being born became nill.

Paxter Redwyne stood at the prow of the Arbour Queen as the ship cut through the waters around White Harbour, the full might of the Redwyne fleet loaded with soldiers of the Reach was set to take White Harbour and then strike inwards, a third of the thousands of men packed aboard travelling south to attack Moat Cailin from the North whilst the rest of the army led by Mace Tyrell would travel further north towards Winterfell and cut the head off the snake. The Manderly's fleet had launched and were waiting for the Redwyne's but to Paxter he knew there was something wrong.

The Northern ships should have been aggressive, sailing forward to buy as much space as possible for their own manoeuvres whilst the Manderly troops reinforced the docks to try to repel or at least slow down the assault of the Reach men. But instead they were hanging back, Paxter raised an arm and his signalman raised flags indicating caution to the other ships. Whatever game Wyman Manderly was playing Paxter would not blunder into a trap.

That was when one of his ships, the warship Rose's Thorn..erupted. A great spray of wooden shards and rising from where the ship had been split nearly in two halves with a eruption of water from beneath. Another ship further along the line met the same fate and as the Arbour Queen kept ploughing through the waves at attack speed, Paxter looked into the water and saw the cause of the trouble. What looked like an iron ball covered in blunt spines with a chain leading from under the ball towards the sea floor. More of his ships were encountering what must be these objects with every moment that passed and the fleet was falling out of its attack order.

Some ships were continuing on, a channel of clear water must have been left. Paxter sent a signal to his steersman to get the Arbour Queen turned around and headed into that channel, but then a series of booms like thunder cracking echoed across the water and in a moment of horror, Paxter saw the foremost ship of those going down the channel die. The ship did not erupt like the ones that touched the iron balls, but the ships' rigging was ruined and its mast sent crashing to the deck, great holes were gouged in its hull and like claws raking down the ship appeared to cause massive internal damage, judging by the screams coming from inside the ship.

The 'battle' had been ongoing for minutes and already a dozen of his ships were done for, the Merman's fleet sat at ease as more cracks of thunder echoed across the waves and more ships were holed below the waterline. Who knew how many soldiers of the reach would drown in the freezing water of the North. Raising an arm, Paxter Redwyne signalled a full retreat of his fleet.

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"Mace Tyrell is dead, him and about ten thousand of his best soldiers. The Redwyne fleet has also been reduced to a tenth of its former power and Paxter Redwyn has been killed...lets see...we raised the five thousand men a piece with another ten thousand raised in each of our lands to protect from any attempt to claim them when our true allegiance becomes known..." John Arryn carefully read through the stack of letters and reports that littered the desk in Hoster Tully's solar, the Riverlord himself standing looking out of the window over the triangular castle of Riverrun whilst Robert Baratheon sat in a chair with a goblet of wine clasped in one hand.

Hoster Tully nodded to himself, the old man knew he was too old to lead the Riverland banners himself so Bryndan 'Blackfish' Tully had heading the Riverlanders when they ventured north to entrap the Crown's loyal forces. "What of the West? If Tywin stirs from Casterly Rock the Lannisters have force enough to overwhelm any of our armies left behind in our own lands. Especially if they join with the Crownlands remaining forces and the Dornish..."

John Arryn glanced briefly at Robert. "Hmm..that would be an issue...if we could bind the Lannisters to us via marriage that would eliminate the threat. The Mad King has certainly heaped disgrace upon Tywin that I doubt the Westerlands would come to his defence but at the same time I would not like to see the Westerlands army fully intact after the rest of us have fought a war."

Hoster strode back to his desk and poured a goblet of wine for himself, draining half the goblet. "Edmure could make a match for Cercei Lannister...Stannis even...would Stannis marry Cercei..Robert?"

The burly Stag Lord grunted and drained the rest of his wine. "He would if I commanded him to, Stannis is a loyal man and would make a fine husband..or at least he would not betray Cercei. But he's hard..."

John Arryn nodded and then pulled a fresh sheet of paper free. "A hard man might be exactly what Cercei Lannister needs. I will draw up the offer, Stannis is Heir to Storm's End correct?"

Robert's eyes went a bit shifty. "Uhh..not officially. I was going to give Storm's End to Renly and Dragonstone to Stannis.." The crack of a palm slapping down on the table startled the other two men in the room as John Arryn glared at Robert.

"What kind of fool thinking is that! The Stormlands border the Dornish and the Reach, you need a hard man to keep your lands safe and prosperous and that is what Stannis will do. By all means grant Renly a holdfast or let him make his own way, we have all seen what Kevan Lannister has accomplished with that much, Renly is charismatic enough to do the same."

Robert huffed and started looking sulky. "Oh very well, Stannis will get Storm's End and I will grant Renly a Hold near Bitterbridge." Robert's agreement seemed to pacify John Arryn who took a breath and poured himself a goblet of wine before continuing to write the letter to Twin offering the Heir of Storm's End as a marriage to Cercei Lannister.

Olenna Tyrell sat in her son's solar, well it had been his officially but to anyone who knew the Tyrell's were aware that Olenna was the power and mind behind the Tyrell power. Word had reached Highgarden of the death of her son and the crippling of the Reach's fleet only a day after a Raven reporting that Randal Tarly had suffered an injury that had rendered the man simple and the troops sent to reinforce the Crown's war with the North had been much reduced, with hundreds being brought home missing limbs, eyes and feet. They would return and die of starvation or else clog the streets with desperation. And the Tyrel treasury would be spent either sweeping them away..an act that would be condemned by the soft hearted...or trying to help them which would seem an act of weakness.

Why had her idiot son not loudly declared a full muster that would take a year, the whole situation would be dealt with by then. Instead the bulk of the Tyrel's more experienced troops were now dead in the northern seas, under the walls of Moat Cailin or crippled. And these weapons used by the Manderly's...orbs of iron which ruptured ships of strong oak apart like a child would break a toy...iron balls projected by contained thunder that broke hulls and gouged whole ranks of men.

Perhaps...perhaps a marriage between Margery and one of the Northern Heirs would work..a way for House Tyrel to lose no more in this conflict...

In King's Landing bringers of bad news were greeted with Wildfire. Reports of casualties and ships lost sent the Mad King into a rage. In a tower high in the Red Keep, Elia Martell held her children close and tried to block the sounds of the echoing screams from their ears. Ashara Dayne crouched with Elia and tried to sing softly, her throat choked from where a Targaryen guard had tried to get handsy with with beautiful young woman, especially now that Arthur was gone. A noise made her look up, someone moving in the room..but it was not one of her Dornish guards, a small concession but an important one that Rhaegar had extracted from his father.

The curtains around the bed were ripped away and Elia found herself looking up into a face of high cheekbones with a short neatly kept beard. The man bowed, a strange wavy looking blade held at his hip. "Princess Elia? I am Simon..Simon the Harrowed amongst my fellows, I have been sent to offer you, your children and your handmaid a way out of King's Landing and to safety until the Mad King is defeated."

Elia's eyes widened and she looked over to Ashara who also seemed incredulous at such a bold offer. "You..who are you? How did you get here..where are my guards!"

"Dead, Princess. The Mad King killed them, he intends to threaten to burn you if the Dornish army does not breach Moat Cailin soon...whether it will remain a threat is not something my Lady wishes to leave to chance. I have killed the guards meant to bring you before him, but soon you will need to make the choice. For even i cannot fight all the soldiers in the Red Keep..."

Chapter Text

Simon threw the finely honed knife and the soldier crumpled with the blade having pierced the layers of leather that protected the man's body to plunge into his heart. Despite the whipcord thin build, Simon was a strong Hunter who had survived the Night of the Hunt and thus his strength was still monumental, even if not quite the same as that of Gascoigne or Tanith who had infused their muscles with the strength of blood. Glancing left and right, Simon sniffed the air like a bloodhound and nodded to Elia and Ashara, each woman carrying one of the children through the halls as Simon ranged ahead. to clear the corridor. Already the Red Keep was in uproar as someone had discovered the bodies of both the Dornish guards and the Targaryen guards after Simon had finished with them.

"Wait a moment, I need to cause a distraction..." Elia and Ashara both nodded, looking with wide eyes as Simon drew a pair of bells forth from within his coat. One of the bells looked relativily normal with a strange rune carved into it that made Elia's eyes go a little fuzzy before she looked away. The other bell though was made of some twisted dark metal that glowed from within with an ominous red light. Simon rang the black iron bell and the harsh clanging sound filled the hallway and seemed to echoe..beyond. To Ashara it reminded her of when Arthur had unsheathed Dawn and used it to its full potential.

A sound came to the corridor..a feeling..greasy sackcloth sliding over skin...old meat held under the nose...maggots crawling from the flesh of a long dead animal...and then another man stood there. A long pick held in one hand whilst in the other was a contraption of wood and metal, a tube of some kind that stank of fire and sulphur. Simon tensed, the other man tensed..his eyes wild and untamed like a mad dog. The new man tensed to leap, and that was when Simon rang the second bell. Its cool clear note cut through the discordant clash of the iron bell.

Simon's voice sounded strong even as Elia could see how on edge her protector was. "Brador...you understand why I have this bell?"

The other man..Brador..nodded, grunting and grinding his teeth on each other. He seemed to be getting more desperate the longer he stood still.

Simon then pointed down the corridor from where the loudest sounds of soldiers moving around was heard. "Go down that corridor and kill any soldier you meet, you have our Lady's free reign until the moon is at its highest point to kill any soldiers you come across. No children, no women, no servants. Do you understand Assassin of the Church?"

Brador let out a strangled howl of rage and Simon nodded, raising the blue bell once more and letting out one long note as he swung it through the air and like an arrow from a bow, Brador was howling with laughter and rage as he sped down the corridor. Simon drew a shaking breath, jerking away when Ashara laid a hand on his arm. "Come..best we get going before Brador gets into his fun..."

Tanith stood on the wall looking down at the routing Reach soldiers, having tried to force their way onto the walls using armoured knights and ladders the foolish Reachmen had not listened to the lessons already learned at great cost by the Dornish and Targaryen troops, their belief in the honour of Knighthood and their own grit and numbers proving little match for bullets and molotov cocktails. Tanith had finally taken the plunge and was openly wearing a dress as she stood atop the walls without her breast binder, the choice to reveal herself had been taken in the moment but rather than let the rumours continue to form in the Northern forces spread by those who had heard her drop her voice training and laugh aloud as she casually destroyed Lewyn Martell, she instead chose to reveal herself now.

The soldiers of House Bloodtide, gave not a care in the world. Whatever was between Tanith's legs did not affect that they were well paid, well fed, well trained and equipped and had a Lord who fought alongside them in the mud and blood of the field. Whatever the men of House Glover and Dustin thought did not reach Tanith, she chose to ignore the few scuffles between her own troops and those of the other Northern Houses. She had proved herself a warrior and the expectations both of her old life before Yharnam and this new world mattered less and less to her each day.

But now, the other Northern armies were gathering along with their Lords and Ladies and Tanith knew she would have a fight on her hands. Not one she could simply butcher her way through either, in some ways Yharnam really was simpler than dealing with other humans.

Ravens flew North, West and South. Alliances were made, marriage pacts forged and news of the Lady of Moat Cailin made its way South. The rebels knew soon they would be called upon when the Northern wolf drove down from the Neck and drove their enemies before them. And in the Red Keep, two women, two children and a man slipped onto a boat that would be carried North to White Harbour on winds swift and true.

Chapter Text

Another helping of hot and thick stew was ladled into the bowl of Barth Snow, bastard of Willam Dustin the son of Lord Dustin and head of his grandfather's household guard. To any of the highborn of the south the idea of putting a bastard in such a position of power would have been unthinkable but Barth Snow was a northerner and thus honour flowed in his blood as much as iron and ice. Lord Dustin had dismissed his guards to find themselves food, ale and entertainment for the night as he would be residing in the Children's tower, itself only a short walk from where the Lords of the North were to meet in The Gatehouse Tower to feast and discuss matters of war and lordship, no doubt also to talk amongst themselves on the revelation that Ser Aiyana the Lord of House Bloodtide was in fact Lady Aiyana of House Bloodtide. Barth had of course kept his ear to the ground as he was requested to do by his father and grandfather, it truly was amazing how much the common soldiers heard and could be put together from a dozen little snippets of conversation into a cohesive whole.

The Lords of Barrowtown had yet to make their own position known on whether they were outraged at Lady Bloodtide having hidden herself in men's armour and guise for years and so until that time came Barth was keeping his own council. The thick stew was freely available and ale flowed without care amongst the armies of the Northern host gathered at Moat Cailin. Benjen Stark had met the remainder of the host from Barrowtown when their banners had arrived that very day and informed them that night was to be a celebration of the mustering of the North's armies, some thirty thousand men once one took into account the troops left behind the guard against the predations of the Iron Born and any other forces that might seek to use the absence of the Northern armies to cause issues. Their own supplies would not be needed as House Bloodtide would be extending guest rights to every one of the thirty thousand soldiers and the support staff who accompanied the army by freely sharing bread, stew, salt and ale.

Tents had been set up at the edges of the camp where coin could be exchanged for a woman's warmth provided the customers in question submitted to inspection for the pox or any other ailment. Barth had even heard it said that those who did suffer from the pox and other such were taken to one side and offered a cure to ensure that such illnesses were limited within the camp and reducing outbreaks in the North as a whole. Digging into the stew around afire with a few other men from Barrowtown, he savoured the rich meatiness of the stew and freshly baked bread as music was played nearby by a pair of young women..girls really barely into their fourteenth year who were producing a jovial jig that had more than a few of the northern soldiers banging fists into their hands to match the beat. A enormous man with bandages across his eyes was laughing close by to the girls, the facial resemblance clear.

"By the Gods...its her.." Barth tore his eyes away from his stew to see young Bodric, to differentiate from old Bodric, looking at where a commotion was being caused as Lady Bloodtide, dressed in all the finery one expected of a Lady of the Northern Houses swept through the fires and accompanying bands of soldiers. He took pause at the blood that dripped from one of the Lady Aiyana's hands though..the blood in fact went up the hand and halfway up her forearm. Behind the woman strode two men carrying a body with a gaping wound in its chest, the young man was obviously dead with dark hair and pale skin. The dead youth's face was set in a rictus of pain and terror and Barth looked closer to see the sigil of the Flayed Man stitched into the man's tunic, though dirty and ragged.

Lady Aiyana pitched her voice to be heard far and wide as she slowly turned and met the eyes of many of the watching soldiers. "Be warned soldiers of the north, I do not tolerate rapists and murderers. They are nought but beasts wearing the faces of men and neither I or my Hunters will allow them to roam free. Carnal pleasure can be sought with wives and paid companionship..if you have other problems you seek to address through murder..bring them before your Lords or myself. I am the Lady of Moat Cailin and take my duty to judge most seriously. The consequences of your actions will find you even if I just hunt myself, such was the case of Ramsey Snow the bastard of Roose Bolton. You have been warned."

The woman pulled a pristine white handkerchief from within her dress and cleaned the blood from her hand and wrist as the faint murmuring of the other Northern troops was silenced by the low banging that grew in sound as the Northmen wearing the sigil of the Chalice started stamping their feet and banging their tankards on any hard surface nearby. Lady Bloodtide simply raised a hand in acknowledgement before she continued onwards towards the Gatehouse Tower. Barth took another spoonful of stew and glanced around, seeing fear and some level of awe on the faces of the other Barrowtown guards. It had been one thing to hear stories of Lady Bloodtide fighting both here and the tale of The Demon of the Ford during the Bolton rebellion, but to see and hear the woman was something else.

Roderick Stark sat with Wyman Manderly at the head of the long table in the Gatehouse Tower. One of Lady Bloodtide's stewards, a stern matronly woman who wore the oddest garment of a cloak of feathers had informed Roderick that the Lady had been dealing with an issue in the camp and would be here presently. Ale and wine was flowing freely with heavier drinks being held back until after the meal for which Roderick was feeling grateful, whilst his Bannerman may have respect for The Demon of the Trident the Lady Bloodtide did not have the centuries of history that the She-Bears of house Mormont had which had forced acceptance amongst the Northern Lords fore their fighting prowess, not did she have the same size and obvious strength of the Mormonts. But Roderick had heard the reports...Lewyn Martell taken apart like a child by the Lady Bloodtide..the woman standing in the blood and shit of battle with her troops and leading ten or twenty sallies in a day to beat back the army of the Reach. And that was just the combat prowess, not even talking about the weapons she had brought with her. White Harbour had lost not even a single ship and in turn decimated the Redwyne fleet due to the 'sea mines' that one of the Lady's Hunters had overseen the construction and placement of.

That Wyman Manderly was here and not trapped in a city under siege spoke in large about the advantage that had been gained by courting House Bloodtide, along with the revelation of the true sex of Lady Bloodtide had come many second and third sons..those of homely complexation and less abrasive personalities being summoned to join the forces of their fathers as the Northern Lords hoped to make a match with the powerful Lady of Moat Cailin.

Roderick drained his ale, realising that the blance of power in the North was shifting. With the destruction of the Karstarks, was House Bloodtide going to step in as one of the new major powers amongst his Bannerman?