Robb Stark V

You called the High Sparrow 'Josiah'," Robb said. "Why?"

He, Brienne, Robar, and the Green Man sat around a fire, huddled in their cloaks with their bedrolls rolled out behind them. They had finished a meal of rabbit and wild onions foraged by the Green Man while Robb and his Kingsguard made camp. It was the first time in a long time Robb had slept under the stars instead of in a massive tent protected by a dozen soldiers.

The group was riding towards Lord Harroway's Town, which was just northeast of Harrenhal. Robb needed to find Thoros or one of his lieutenants. The men of the King's Company were the only standing force Robb could call upon to deal with the Faith Militant. It would take a week or more for a lord to muster any force large enough to deal with the septon and his fanatics.

The Green Men would have made a fine group to stamp out the last of the Faith Militant, but they had their own mission. The morning after the battle, they had set out in all directions. To 'awaken the deep forest' according to the Green Man. Robb had never seen a man ride an elk, but the green-cloaked warriors looked oddly perfect on them. They looked like characters out of one of Old Nan's stories.

"You said that you knew him once." Ser Robar added, remembering the comment before the battle.

The Green Man nodded. "I was not always the Green Man," he said with a shrug. "I grew up in that little village and Josiah had been my best friend."

Robb raised an eyebrow. "How long ago was this?"

The Green Man thought for a moment before answering.

"Almost seventy years ago," he answered simply.

"You don't look older than forty." Brienne pointed out, sounding skeptical.

The Green Man shrugged again. "The Old Gods give the Green Men certain….privileges. Extended lives are one such privilege."

"Like the roar," Robb said, remembering how the Green Man had stopped the knight's charge.

The Green Man nodded. "Indeed," he said. "Josiah and I grew up as close as brothers, but we grew apart after his father had died from a terrible sickness. He had prayed before a Heart Tree for hours each morning and every night, but his father died all the same and Josiah blamed the Old Gods."

"How did that tear your friendship?" Robb asked.

"Everyone in that village has always been firm believers in the Old Gods." the Green Man explained, his face lit up by the firelight. Although his features were young, his eyes were showed his true age. "I was no different. Josiah became a slave to his anger and bitterness, shunning everyone and everything that had to do with the Old Gods. It's the reason he became a septon and why he's so devoted to the Seven. He sees them as direct competition to the Old Gods." the Green Man shrugged again. "His hate for the Old Gods corrupted his mind and his soul. Every follower of the Old Gods was his enemy. Every bad thing that happened to him, he blamed on the Old Gods, believing that they were trying to hold him back from his 'destiny'."

"Which is why he wants to revive the Faith Militant and wants to burn the isle." Robb assumed.

The Green Man nodded. "You are almost correct," he said. "Josiah returned to our village after he had become a wandering septon. He tried and failed, to convert the people there. It was that event specifically that pushed him to rebuild the Faith Militant. If he could not convert the people of his own village, then he would make them pay for their 'paganism'."

Robb shook his head. "If he's so intent on imposing the Faith of the Seven on people, why did we leave the isle?"

The Green Man smiled grimly. "Attacking the isle was a moment of opportunity. He was able to attack a known location dedicated to the Old Gods and you at the same time."

Robb nodded. "I see. What do you think he will do now?"

The Green Man clasped his hands together. "You, Robb Stark, are a symbol of the Old Gods to the entirety of Westeros."

Robb raised an eyebrow. "I don't follow."

"You are the first king who follows the Old Gods that Westeros has ever had." the Green Man explained. "For most of the Targaryen Dynasty, they were connected to the Faith of the Seven. Now Westeros is flourishing and many will see it as a fact that you follow the Old Gods."

Robb wasn't understanding where the Green Man was coming from. Yes, he was a follower of the Old Gods, the majority of northerners were, but he couldn't see how that would affect how others saw his reign. His decisions weren't based on his religious belief, only the hope that he was helping the realm.

"I'm still not understanding," Robb admitted.

The Green Man nodded. "Forgive me. My predecessor was always better with words than I was. All I mean to say is that your reign will be marked by others as different because you follow the Old Gods and not the Seven, and they will connect that one fact to the success of your reign." he explained. "Josiah, or the High Sparrow as he is now known, does not want this because this may make others convert to your religion."

"He wants me dead because my success, and the realms' success, may make people convert to the Old Gods?" Robb asked.

The Green Man simply nodded.

"That doesn't make sense," Robb said, shaking his head. "I see the logic, but it's flawed."

The Green Man shrugged. "Logic based on faith usually is," he said before correcting himself. "Fanatical faith, I should say."

Brienne, who had kept silent for the majority of the conversation, now spoke up. As always, her priority was Robb's safety, and she had focused on one part of the conversation that the others seemed to have skipped over.

"The High Sparrow isn't after the Isle of Faces, not anymore," she said grimly. "He means to kill the king."

The Green Man nodded. "Exactly."

"How will that help his cause?" Ser Robar asked, looking at Robb. "Forgive me if I offend you, your grace, but your death won't throw the realm into chaos. The queen would be more than capable of ruling the realm until Prince Torrhen comes of age. The Small Council is filled with knowledgeable and loyal men and women. If anything, killing the king would make the Faith look like murderers and villains because they killed the man who was healing the realm."

"You're not wrong." the Green Man agreed. "But as I said; logic based on fanaticism is always flawed in more ways than one."

"You've known the High Sparrow for a long time, or at least was very close to him for a time," Robb said, changing the course of the conversation again. "Do you know how far he'll be willing to go?"

The Green Man pulled a thoughtful face. "Josiah has always been ambitious. He felt like he was destined for greatness. Probably because of his great uncle, but that's beside the point…."

"His great uncle?" Ser Robar asked.

The Green Man nodded. "His great uncle was my predecessor," he explained. "Many in the village expected Josiah to become a Green Man himself. No less than ten of his ancestors had served at one time or another."

"He is willing to destroy the faith that his family had protected for generations," Robb grunted. "He's got balls, I'll say that."

The Green Man continued with his story.

"Josiah won't stop until all of Westeros is followers of the Seven," he said. "The Faith Militant will get their hands bloody while he maintains his aura of religious superiority. He would burn the North from the Neck to the Wall and proclaim it the will of the gods instead of what it truly is: the act of a mad man."

Robb scowled. "Then we best stop them before that happens."

Sandor Clegane

Sandor hated the Vale. He hated the fucking nobles who spoke of nothing but 'honor' and 'truth' and all the lies that got lovely virgins to get in bed with them. The Knights of the Vale were just better-looking killers, dressed in their fancy armor and stupid capes. Take away that armor and they were no better than Sandor himself, just worse fighters. The only reason he was in the Vale was because of the Little Bird. When the blonde cunt had invited her to the Eyrie, the king had asked him to accompany the girl as her sworn sword. Now, a year later, she was betrothed to the boy and had been touring the many castles in the mountainous region.

There was nothing in the Vale but rocks. A lot of fucking rocks. A lot of the castles were at the top of piles of rocks. He sometimes wondered why the Arryns had taken a falcon as their sigil. A boulder would have been more accurate.

"Sandor?" the Little Bird asked quietly, walking up to the warrior. "Are you alright?"

The man known as 'the Hound' looked down at his charge. She wore a comfortable blue dress under a cloak of white. Golden falcons flew around the collar of her dress while a silver direwolf pendant hung from around her neck.

During her time in the Vale, the girl had overcome her shy, frightened nature and become someone with an actual purpose and character. She had found some steel while dealing with the sadistic royal prick Joffrey, and she was putting it to good use now. She was no longer the naive little bird that Sandor had seen when he entered Winterfell, but she was a wolf disguised as a little bird.

"Fine," Sandor grunted. "Go to bed."

The small retinue of knights and ladies-in-waiting that accompanied the Little Bird numbered two dozen; four women and twenty knights. Lord Arryn wasted no expense in making sure his betrothed was well protected and had suitable company as she visited his bannermen. They were returning from the Redfort where they had been hosted by Lord Jasper, the new lord of the castle after his father had died at the Battle of King's Landing. It had been two months since the Little Bird had started her tour of the Vale and it was finally coming to an end. They were a few days from the Eyrie and many of the others could not wait to return to the safety of the castle. In the open country, there was always the threat of the mountain clans.

"Do you think we're in danger?" the Little Bird asked, glancing at the two-handed longsword Sandor held point-down in the dirt.

Sandor glared at the darkness around them. "We're in the open. There's always a chance that we're in danger."

"Ser William and five of his men are taking watch tonight." the Little Bird said. "Surely that is enough to protect the camp?"

Sandor glanced over his shoulder at the mail-clad men talking and laughing around the fire, passing around a small flask of wine. Sandor wanted nothing more than to get drunk himself, but he had a job to do and that was to protect the girl. He would drink himself into a stupor the moment they reached the castle at the top of the fucking mountain.

"I'm fine," Sandor grunted. The Little Bird hesitated but nodded finally.

"Very well. You will guard my tent tonight."

Sandor glanced down at the girl, meeting her vivid blue eyes. In the past, she never would have been able to look at his face, at least not when he's looking back at her, but she had changed since that time. There was no fear in them, and her voice held a note of command that was unmistakable.

"Fine," Sandor said, following the girl back towards her tent where he took up his post just outside the entrance.

Ser William and his knights eventually put away the wine and got up, checking their arms and armor before taking up posts around camp. There was a little chatter between them, which Sandor found, like most things in the Vale, annoying. He knew that they did it to keep themselves awake, but he knew that talking always gave away your position to the enemy. Then again, so did fire. The campfire was nothing more but embers now, dimly glowing red, but they had started a fire as the last rays of the sun went down, and the smoke would have been visible for miles.

Sandor briefly reflected on what had happened to his life after the Young Wolf took the Iron Throne. He spent a few months in King's Landing, helping with odd jobs that allowed him to do what he did best―fight. He led a company into the Kingswood and put down a group of bandits, helped test the competency of the King's household guard and the Gold Cloaks, and was present when the Young Wolf and the Red Viper took down the rebels in Dorne. It had been nice for Sandor to finally wet his blade against people who deserved it, but he was the Hound and a dog needed a master. The Little Bird was the opposite of the royal prick and Sandor preferred her.

"Who goes there!" a knight demanded followed the hiss of steel on leather.

The knight's shout stirred Sandor from his trance. He involuntarily glanced up at the sky and saw that the sun's early rays were piercing the night, purple and orange battling the black and blue. Ser William and his men had gone to sleep hours ago and new sentries now stood in their place.

Sandor heard a voice, gruff and uncommon to the common tongue, respond to the challenge.

"Peace."

"It's the mountain clans!" another man shouted.

Sandor cursed and marched over to where the commotion was. Already, the six knights who were on duty had rallied to the first man who had spoken, all with their weapons drawn facing a bear of a man, dressed almost entirely in mismatched armor and looked to have a wood axe shoved through his belt. A rough shield was slung over his shoulder.

The weirdest thing about him was that his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. No warrior, no matter how primitive, would leave their wrists exposed. They were too valuable.

"Back off, all of ya!" Sandor barked. "You! Wake Lady Sansa," he ordered, pointing at a young knight who looked ready to explode with rage.

"But…." he went to argue.

"Now!" Sandor growled, stepping up to the man. He was a good head taller than the lad, and his face and sword helped make the unsaid threat credible.

"Clegane?" another knight asked.

"Shut up," Sandor replied. "Why the fuck are you here? Who are you?" he asked, addressing his questions to the clansman.

"I am Ulf, son of Shagga." the man responded. He pointed at the standard that flew above the camp. "Speak with Arryn."

"There is no Arryn here," Sandor grunted. "We are under his protection."

The man seemed to be saddened by the news. "Need to speak with Arryn."

Sandor shrugged. "We have a Stark."

"Clegane!" a knight gasped, shocked that the man had given away the identity of the man. Sandor didn't care. If he tried to hurt the Little Bird, then he would lose his head and his innards.

The man smiled. "Stark is good!"

"What's happening?" the Little Bird asked, quickly striding up the group, pulling her cloak tightly around her. She had just been woken up, her hair was a mess of auburn curls, but her eyes were still alert and attentive.

"You have a guest," Sandor said, standing just a step behind the girl as she stepped forward to speak with the man. He made sure to keep his sword in the man's sight should he try anything.

"Who are you?" the Little Bird asked.

"Ulf, son of Shagga." the man answered. "You are Stark?" he asked, not looking all that convinced.

"I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell." the Little Bird answered. "What do you want?"

"I speak for the tribes," Ulf answered. "The signs have been seen and we march north. We swore an oath and we will hold it."

The little bird was confused. "You go north? As in the North?"

"We go to fight," Ulf explained, striking his chest proudly. "The ancient enemy comes again, and we will stand with the Starks once again!"

The knights all shook their heads, looking confused and a little alarmed. From the way the clansman described it, he and the other clans meant to head north and fight the Starks, but Sandor wasn't so stupid. The savage said he would stand with the Starks, meaning that he would fight beside them, not against them. He also mentioned an ancient enemy. Sandor wasn't the greatest student growing up, especially when he knew that he could make a living killing, but he wasn't stupid.

"You mean the Others." the Little Bird said.

The man nodded. "Aye, they come. We've seen the signs."

"What signs?" the girl asked.

"Protect the land, watch the stars," Ulf answered immediately, almost like he was saying the words of a house. "This is the ancient code. We will leave our home defended and will return to resume the fight for our land, but we have an older oath to keep."

"To who?" the Little Bird asked.

"The Stark in the North," Ulf answered firmly. "The ancient enemy marches south again, and we will meet them with axe and arrow!"

With that said, the clansmen struck his chest, nodding to the Little Bird like a salute, before returning to the forest. When he was gone, the girl turned to look at Sandor. She looked confused, but also resolute.

"Sandor Clegane," she said, the steel in her voice impressing the Hound. "We must get back to the Eyrie. It seems I must go home to Winterfell. Will you join me?"

Sandor looked at the girl for a moment before dropping to one knee, holding his sword point-down in front of him.

"I am at your command."

Jaime Lannister

Jaime found Tommen watching a painter in the gardens. The man was painting a scene of the sunset reflecting off the flowers, bushes, and stone path. It was a myriad of colorful nature bathed in a golden glow. The artwork wasn't bad. Not Red Keep worthy, but it would certainly end up in the hall of some lord. Probably somewhere in the Reach. They loved flowers and nature of all kinds.

Tommen was watching from a distance, enough so that he could easily see what the painter was doing, but far away enough so that he wouldn't be noticed.

"Nephew," Jaime said quietly, not wanting to disturb the painter. "I did not expect to find you here."

Tommen glanced at his uncle before returning to the painter. "He's good."

Jaime shrugged. "Looks like it," he said. The closest thing Jaime did to painting was killing.

The two Lannisters watched the painter work for a while longer before Tommen pointed towards the other painting leaning against the easel. It was an incredibly messy attempt at the scene the painter was now doing. It was probably his first attempt where he tried out a new technique or color scheme. A practice attempt.

"Why did he paint that?" Tommen asked curiously.

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "That? He was probably testing out his colors or something," he answered. "Tyrion would know."

Tommen nodded. "Which do you prefer?"

Jaime looked at both pictures before answering. "Personally, I prefer his first attempt."

Tommen looked at his uncle. "Even though it's messy and horrible?"

Jaime nodded. "Perhaps that's why I like it. It's….life," he said, not sure where his words were coming from.

"Life?" Tommen asked, obviously confused. "But it's messy and…."

Jaime held up a hand to stall the boy. "Exactly."

Tommen crossed his arms. "Life can't just be messy and mistake-filled and terrible. It can't be!"

Jaime could feel his heart beating in his chest. He remembered having Tommen's innocence until it was slaughtered mercilessly by the Mad King. His burnings, his raping, the multitude of terrible actions he performed all the while being protected by what could have been the greatest collection of warriors to ever form a kingsguard. Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy, Gerold Hightower, Lewyn Martell. Men that Jaime had looked up to and admired all his life and even had the honor of serving with.

But just like life, they too had let Jaime down in the end.

"It is, Tommen," Jaime said sadly. "That's all life is. It's messy and full of terrible people doing terrible things. That's all. Life is violent and horrible and it only gets better when you're dead."

Jaime didn't need to look at his nephew to know that his words had impacted him. Tommen, at heart, was still that sweet little boy that he had always been while growing up in Joffrey's cruel shadow. Jaime's rant about how terrible life is could have easily shattered that innocence.

The former knight sighed and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Tommen, that's what makes people like you and Tyrion and even Robb Stark a rare breed."

Tommen frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Life has a way of stepping on people, crushing their spirits. It….it has been crushing mine for a very long time" Jaime explained quietly before clearing his throat and going on. "Only extraordinary people like yourself can still stand up after all of that and see, somehow, all the good life has to offer."

"I couldn't agree more," Tyrion said, appearing out of nowhere. "Nephew, would you give your uncles a moment?"

Tommen nodded. "Ser Brynden wanted to train at noon. I need to go anyway."

"Tell the Blackfish that training will be canceled today," Tyrion said. "I have another task for you. Go find Lord Royce. He will be in the armory."

Tommen nodded and walked off, leaving the two brothers alone.

"Becoming a pessimist, brother?" Tyrion asked, leaning against the wall. "That speech of yours was quite depressing. Almost sounded like father, except you had some emotion."

Jaime crossed his arms. "I think I've earned the right."

Tyrion nodded. "I'll let you be the judge of that."

"Why did you send Tommen to Bronze Yohn?" Jaime asked as the two brothers watched the painter finish up his work.

"The High Septon has decided to cause a little trouble." Tyrion scowled. "The queen is sending three companies of men to snuff out the High Septon and his 'Faith Militant'."

"Faith Militant!" Jaime said, surprised. "The man's ambitious."

"And stupid." Tyrion agreed. "Ser Balon, Ser Rolland, and Lord Tarly are leading the three groups. Ser Balon has asked that you and Tommen accompany him."

Jaime nodded slowly. "It will be a good experience for him."

Jaime had flashbacks of the time he, Ser Barristan, and Ser Arthur Dayne had tracked down the Kingswood Brotherhood, the infamous outlaw band that had been kidnapping nobles and evading capture. Jaime had only been a squire at the time under Lord Sumner Crakehall. It was one of his fondest memories. Watching Ser Barristan duel Simon Toyne had been spectacular to behold. As was Ser Arthur's battle with the Smiling Knight.

"Lord Royce wants to leave in the morning," Tyrion said.

"You know I will need armor and a sword, right?" Jaime asked.

Tyrion nodded. "You will have both," he promised, catching Jaime off guard. Tyrion caught the look. "This is a….ah….special circumstance."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. There had been hard limitations placed on him the moment he entered the vicinity of King's Landing. No weapon of any kind, his room and body were searched every morning and every night. Watched every moment of every day. He had been a prisoner in the castle without the chains to prove it. Now those limitations had been eased, and there must have been a very good reason for it.

Jaime flexed his sword arm slightly. "Very well."

Tyrion smiled slightly. "Have a few battles left in you?"

Jaime gazed down at his brother. If Jaime had anything left inside him, it was a fight. "I think I can deal with a few religious peasants," Jaime said confidently, sounding once again like the arrogant, golden knight he used to be.