The Brittle Bloodline | Part Two of The Way of Winter.

ARYADNE - II

THE NEXT MORNING, ARYADNE DID not feel herself wake. She did not even remember falling asleep. Her eyes opened, met with the view of the cave's black ceiling. It was a different kind of blackness she longed for, an utter absence of light. The light she'd had was gone. The words still rang in her head, accompanied by that sick image. Her love, dead and defiled at the hands of people they trusted. Bolton had sworn an oath as Lyra's guardian father. He had sworn to protect them. She could not understand what they had done to provoke such a vile betrayal.

She was not sure how long she had laid there. Her own body did not feel real. It was floating, detached, somewhere far off. She did not want to return to it. A face appeared above her. Though old and wearied, his blue eyes tore an even deeper void between her two selves. The face sighed and she saw her perspective change as she was lifted to a seated position. "Come on, child. Up you get."

Her protests went unheard. After some coaxing, Brynden seemed to realise that she would not move herself any time soon, so began the gruelling task of feeding her a meagre breakfast and coaxing some water down her raw throat. Her eyes were painfully dry, her face numb. Around her, the soldiers sent her pitying looks. "Where do we go now?" Osric Mallister finally queried.

"The North, of course. It's all we've got now," Brynden grumbled.

"Can't."

"What do you mean, 'can't'?"

The soldier shrugged. "Boltons have control of the Neck. The borderlands are blocked. Believe me, we tried to find a way around them."

"They knew the survivors would try to return home," the Greatjon concluded bitterly. "They don't just want to beat us. They want to annihilate us."

"So the North is inaccessible," Brynden mused, "and Riverrun will have been seized, Seagard too."

"Then we're stranded."

They thought on it for a long while. Unable to hold herself up, Aryadne laid her head on his shoulder and let her eyes drift shut. Back to the conjured image of dead canine eyes and a body riddled with arrows. Only Brynden's voice brought her out of her daze, "There is one place... the Eyrie."

"In the Vale?" Walys Umber's incredulity was blatant. For northmen, it certainly sounded strange for them to seek shelter there. The inhabitants of the Vale had always been rather pompous — something about the high altitude put a sense of superiority in their minds, her father used to joke.

"My niece is the lady of the Vale, Lysa Arryn. Once she learns of what has been done to her siblings, she will help us. Besides, I served at the Gate for a time, the knights will know me and welcome us in." The others appeared rather sceptical. However, there was nothing else for them. A series of muttered agreements passed around the circle.

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The journey south-east was long and fraught. Without even a pony to ease their struggle, they made their way on foot. In Aryadne's condition, they could not risk crossing even the smallest of mountains that scattered the Vale, and they could not handle an attack from the Wildling tribes that lurked in the most remote parts. There was only one way to the Eyrie, along the King's Road. That would mean skirting far around the Freys' lands and across the border, then heading down, down, down to the forked road that led through the Bloody Gate.

Days staggered into weeks and Aryadne's mind wandered into memories. Kisses and pet names, discussions and fights. How she wished he would talk to her again. Every time her feet slowed, she imagined him coaxing her on, his arm around her waist. At times, she could practically smell him, all smoke and earth. She heard his voice in the Northmen that surrounded her. He waited in her mind, with every shutting of her eyes, however brief, greeting her in dreams, holding her until she woke to a new and persisting loneliness. A loneliness in which she still held a part of him within her.