The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - XXII

LADY MORMONT BREATHED IN the smoky air of the camp. Her dark eyes scrutinised their surroundings with a quickness she recognised easily, the product of years spent fighting. Her father had been the same. He, however, had never been able to see below the surface. That was what got him killed. Beside Aryadne, the woman was a head shorter than her. "If you are a Lannister spy, you're very accomplished in your deception."

"Thank you," she chuckled. "But if I were a spy, marrying my target would be rather foolish, I think. I am too noticeable now. However am I to make my escape? Besides, if you truly believed that, you would not have allowed me to get this far."

"His Grace has a strong will. I'm sure he would have married you anyway."

Flushing, she clasped her hands before her. The edge of her thumb grazed against her stomach. It felt bloated, barely enough for anyone else to notice. A sting of fear ran through her and she dropped her hands to her sides. "Robb— His Grace holds the Small Council in high esteem. If you had voted against it, he may have found another way to help me, but he would not have ignored your wishes. He is an honourable man."

She began to wonder if the conversation was a test. By the upward twitch of the Lady's mouth, it seemed that she had passed. "That he is."

Something else still weighed heavy in her mind. After a moment's hesitation, she looked to the woman and cautiously said, "I wonder if I might have your opinion? I cannot rid it from my mind. The doubt is constant, and—"

"Speak on it, Your Grace," she interjected somewhat impatiently.

"Do you— Do you think I did the right thing? Those soldiers, having them executed... was I too harsh?"

They walked on as Mormont thought. Aryadne waited anxiously. Finally, she spoke. "As a leader, one must make difficult decisions. Bloodshed is necessary in war. You cannot doubt yourself, no matter how scared you are of what it will make you become. Accept your fear. If you hide from it, it will take over and you will make mistakes. When faced with your enemy, mistakes are what get you killed. Do you understand?"

She did not completely, but nodded anyway. They had reached the war tent. The discussions were still underway. Entering, she smiled politely at the gathered lords, passing Lady Stark to stand beside her husband. "Am I interrupting?"

The second his attention shifted from the map on the table to her face, his frown vanished. "Of course not." He pulled out a chair for her. Across the table, an unfamiliar bowed to her. He had shoulder-length blond hair, which seemed to avoid the baldness of the top of his head. He had a pious look about him. Taking a seat himself, Robb gestured to him. "Continue, Lord Bracken. You were telling us of Stone Hedge?"

With an inclination of his head, he remained standing, looking gravely around at his audience. "Your Grace, the Lannisters have been masters of my home for near to six months. We were driven out by the Mountain. He killed my bastard, raped one of my daughters, and took a torch to the castle and its lands. My liege lord, your grandfather is still weakened from the siege on Riverrun. House Bracken has only five hundred men to offer. We cannot do it alone."

Resting his chin on his fist, his gaze dropped to their war map. "Stone Hedge was already in our sights. What can you tell us?

"Not much, I'm afraid. I have not been on my own land in so long. I do know the name of the man who rules in Tywin's name — Ser Damon Lannister."

"Damon?"

All eyes fell on Aryadne. Robb looked to her, curious. "You know him?"

Sitting up straight, she wracked her brain for what little she knew of the man. "He is a distant cousin... half-brother to Ser Stafford, I believe. I've heard talk of him, though not much. Where Stafford had a reputation for his stupidity, Damon had no reputation at all. He has a tendency to show off, or so I hear. Prefers brute force over strategy." A thought came to her. She stood and leant over to get a better view of their map. Some pieces had already been set out over the sketched terrain, wooden and carved with wolf and lion heads. "Are these your main forces?"