WARS TO COME, game of thrones

𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈. baelor

"My lord... Anrir!"

Anrir startled up and his head slammed against Lark's forehead, his face hanging before him, illuminated by the light of the midday sun. His knight disappeared from his field of vision, holding his forehead, cursing softly. It was unusual to hear the knight cursing, but Anrir was too preoccupied with himself to pay much attention to it.

Anrir had fallen asleep in the armchair by the window and by now the sun hung higher in the sky. His eyes were burning and felt unpleasantly dry. The wind carried faint noise to him from somewhere in the city.

"What is it?" Anrir murmured after he had turned his gaze away from the window. Lark was now standing near the door, which, to Anrir's surprise, was slightly ajar. "What are you doing? Did you break the lock?"

"No. My lord. It was me," suddenly a young man stepped in through the narrow crack in the door. It was not a high-born man, but judging by his appearance he was at least a better servant.

"Who are you?" Anrir rubbed his mouth, trying not to sound too gruff.

"Lord Varys sent me. He wants to meet you," the young man replied smoothly.

"I don't know you, boy. I'm not an idiot. You'd better get out of here. I don't have a weapon, but I don't think that will stop me."

"My lord assumed that you would want to be present when the Guardian of the North is interrogated before the people. Was he mistaken?"

Anrir's mind began to race.

Lark stepped up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know Lord Stark is close to our hearts, but this is too dangerous. We can't trust him. We can't trust anyone here."

"Varys won't be coming back. And I have to be there, Lark. I have to. I'm willing to risk it, but I'm not asking you to accompany me."

"You are my lord. I will follow you anywhere," Lark simply replied and Anrir bowed his head. In another moment, he would probably have taken the time to express his deep gratitude. But now it was about Ned and nothing else mattered.

Lark and Anrir followed the young man, who led them through ever new secret passages where the air was heavy and sickeningly warm. Anrir despised this city, despised it so much that it brought bile to his throat. He longed for Riverfall, the clear, clean air. The people there. He would be able to return home, to the Vale. Everything would be all right somehow.

At some point, Anrir was sure they were no longer wandering through the bowels of the Red Keep. The stone in which the passages were carved changed and the rock was less damp. More and more parallel corridors led from the passage, they passed the corpse of a person who was so badly mangled that Anrir could no longer tell whether it was a man or a woman. A girl or a boy. It was only certain that they had suffered in their last moments. He felt dizzy.

Lark had gone similarly pale, pausing briefly by the corpse as if trying to find a way to somehow pay his respects to the poor soul. "Lark, we don't have time," Anrir murmured, his voice sounding strange in the tunnel.

"I... I know." His knight began to move, leaving the body behind.

Gradually, Anrir could hear footsteps and voices above them. Soon these swelled to a loud roar, obviously they were moving just below a road. Anrir was used to the noise of battles and focused his senses on the young man leading them. Nevertheless, his heart was pounding in his throat.

They ran up a crooked staircase that ended in a hatch, which the young man pushed open. Suddenly the noise was deafeningly loud. Lark pushed past Anrir to be the first out, then took his hand to help Anrir. They were in a side alley in the city, not far from them rose the great sept. Through the noise, it was barely audible as the hatch slammed shut again, barricaded from below.