Shrouded Destiny

Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF; that honour goes to GRRM.

Edited by: Void Uzumaki, Himura, and R. Yorkshireman; B. Reader: Bub3loka

I also want to thank everyone for their support and encouragement.

***

18th Day of the 11th Moon

Garlan Tyrell, Bitterbridge

Two ravens had arrived with them in the Caswell seat - a white one from the Citadel announcing the arrival of autumn and a black one from King's Landing, carrying black words with it.

For a day, Renly looked as smug as a cat that had just caught a songbird when the raven of Joffrey's wedding to Myrielle Lannister arrived.

"Of course, we cannot let such an injustice stand," his father declared righteously when Renly presented the book of the Great Lineages before the Great Hall of Lord Derrick Caswell for all of their retinue to see. While most of the Stormlords and their heirs were largely absent, his father's retinue had men and women from over half of the noble houses of the Reach, and that was without all those whom he had dragged from King's Landing after the northern tourney had ended.

"If Cersei cuckolded His Grace, who fathered the royal children then?" Ser Meren Roxton, the heir to the Ring, asked.

"Bastards, you mean to say," Renly said, garbed all in mourning black, with a single golden stag pinning his cloak. As usual, Loras stood nearby, shadowing the Lord of Storm's End, much to Garlan's displeasure. "They were all sired by the kingslayer."

"Crone above," someone lamented. "How could the Queen dare do such a vile thing?"

"Is there anything Tywin Lannister's children wouldn't dare?" Came the heated riposte.

The hall exploded into murmurs as the knights and nobles looked shaken by the revelation. If any doubted Renly's words on this, they didn't voice it - Cersei's children looked like their mother, and the book of great lineages was passed through the hall. Truth be told, they did not know who the father of the queen's bastards was, and neither did Renly. Jaime Lannister would be the most damning man to cuckold Robert. Besides, any sordid affairs Cersei had done could only happen under the purview of the kingsguard, which made it only fitting.

It was all a mummer's play, of course. Mace Tyrell and Renly had spent the last two days negotiating deep into the night. Margaery would wed Renly, their father would become Hand, and Paxter Redwyne would become master of ships. Even the master of whispers would be appointed by the Lord of Highgarden, leaving Robert's youngest brother only with the position of master of laws open. Let it not be said that his father did not take his pound of flesh for supporting Renly's claim, especially with Loras being sworn in as the head of… the rainbow guard. It sounded like a poor imitation of the kingsguard, but none would dare say it out loud, for the seven colours represented the Seven-Pointed Star.

Renly stood up, and the commotion slowly grew quiet.

"Robert is no more. At this moment of grief, we're faced with choices we mislike, but we cannot ignore such a treasonous move from House Lannister." He paused dramatically, green eyes wandering across the great hall as everyone eagerly awaited his words. "I declare myself king. Not for glory or power, but for righteousness, justice, and stability!"

The hall erupted in a roar. It took some time for things to quiet down, and Mace Tyrell was the first to come before Renly and kneel, laying his blade at his feet and swearing fealty. The others slowly followed one by one, and Garlan also did it, albeit reluctantly. It took nearly an hour for all the pomp, pageantry, and vows to be said and done.

"In the spirit of unity, I have decided to wed Margaery Tyrell, a union never seen since the time of the Storm Kings and the Reach," Renly announced, and the gathered lords and knights erupted into cheers again. Garlan, however, couldn't bring himself to celebrate. War was bloody, and he knew Renly would have rather married Loras, not Margaery. His poor sister would finally be a queen… but at what cost?

***

25th Day of the 11th Moon

The Master of Coin

Tyrion first noticed the golden hand-shaped brooch pinned on his father's intricate crimson doublet. The new king had not confirmed Robert's appointment, yet Tywin Lannister was already taking it just like that. Not that anyone could gainsay the Lord of Casterly Rock, and Tyrion certainly didn't intend to try. Standing guard outside, Blount had not barred his entry into the small council chamber either.

Tywin Lannister's face looked like a statue, and his green eyes were like two dark pits. Never had Tyrion seen his father so cold and disappointed despite being at the receiving end of almost all of his father's disgruntlement.

"Lord Hand," Varys bowed with a subservient smile. "Your presence here is a light in these dire times." That was the understatement of the century if Tyrion ever heard one. Just this morning, a raven had come from Bitterbridge. Renly had declared himself king, claiming Cersei's children were a product of cuckoldery and incest and announcing his wedding to Margaery Tyrell. With the whole might of the Reach and the Stormlands now behind him, war was inevitable.

When the accusation was spoken, he was not even surprised. Cersei's stony face and Jaime's thinly veiled unease spoke loudly to those who knew them well. And once the allegations were spoken out loud, Tyrion didn't need to look any further than Cersei's children - they were all lion without a trace of stag. Truth be told, Tyrion always thought Jaime and Cersei were far too close than was proper for siblings. Outside of the House of the Dragon, of course.

Joffrey's reaction had been quite the sight - his nephew had been angered by the empty accusations and called for Renly's head.

"Spider, Lord Karstark and Lydden, leave us," Tywin's voice was quiet, but it sent chills down Tyrion's neck as the Lord of Casterly Rock sat beside the king's empty chair. "I wish to speak with my children."

The three men stood up and quickly made their way out of the chambers without any objection.

"Father," Cersei started with a slightly stiff smile. "Welcome back to the Red Keep. The realm is honoured to have you as Hand once more."

"As they should be," their father said slowly. Jaime shuffled uneasily under Tywin's gaze. "Tell me, Cersei. How is the regent's mantle treating you?"

The queen's green eyes lit up. "Things are going well. I secured the city and firmly pulled Cregan Karstark and Balon Swann on our side."

"Good marriages." There was the barest hint of approval in those words, but even that was cold. Tywin's fingers drummed on the varnished table as the silence stretched uncomfortably. "Whose idea was it to marry Joffrey to Myrielle over Margaery Tyrell?"

"Mine, father-"

"Why?" Tywin interrupted sharply, causing Cersei's uneasy smile to wilt.

"The Tyrells are nought but grasping roses. A steward's daughter doesn't deserve to marry my son." Tyrion had to fight the urge to chortle, so he schooled his face and took a sip of wine from his flask instead. For once, his father did not even deign to throw him a scathing glance. It was almost as sweet as watching his golden sister being berated.

"And now, the so-called steward backs the prancing fop with another hundred thousand swords and the whole chivalry of the Reach!" His father's voice raised like a furious thunderclap by the end, making the three of them flinch back. "I did not raise you to be a fool, Cersei, yet you insist on acting like one."

"But-"

"Even such folly would have been acceptable… if you hadn't let Renly slip out from your grasp." Cersei's mouth snapped shut. "And dismissing someone like Selmy from the kingsguard. What if he goes to Robert's brother? The Bold's name alone would give Renly more legitimacy than anything else… Well? Why are you silent?"

Even Tyrion shuffled uncomfortably now; he had never seen his father red-faced with fury. Tywin Lannister had always been calm and composed, no matter what…

Cersei had grown as stiff as a statue, but her eyes blazed with anger.

"I am my son's regent!"

The Lord of Casterly Rock looked at his daughter as if he were seeing her for the first time. Once again, nobody said a thing; the heavy silence was dragging on uncomfortably, and Tyrion could see beads of sweat on Cersei's brow.

"For now," Tywin agreed quietly, his words cold in a way that made Tyrion's skin crawl. "Have you found the poisoner?"

Cersei seemed unsettled at the sudden change of tone and smiled cautiously. "I have replaced the suspicious servants in the royal household-"

"Have your ears begun to fail you? The poisoner, daughter mine, not the trivialities anyone would do."

"We think it's Renly."

"Well then, go and denounce the prancing fop before the realm and call the banners. What are you waiting for? Go now!"

Cersei stiffly stood up and almost ran out of the small council chambers, and the two brothers found themselves bearing the brunt of Tywin's harsh gaze. Calling the banners was one thing, but doubtlessly Gregor Clegane and his unsavoury lot were already riding hard for the Reach, dead set on burning, raping, and killing everything in their way.

"The Martells and the Greyjoys are more likely to swear off women for life and join the Septry than to fight for us," Jaime coughed, breaking the silence.

"It's unlikely for Lysa Arryn to stir from the Eyrie either," Tyrion added. "She's half-mad."

Tywin waved away the words as if they were annoying flies and looked at the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. "Have you had enough of playing around with that white cloak yet?"

Jaime's jaw clenched. "The kingsguard serve for life."

"Serve for life, you say. Yet Cersei dismissed Barristan Selmy, and you didn't object," their father scoffed. "A suitable gift to the Faith would persuade the High Septon to release you from your vows. Your sister was foolish to replace the Bold, admittedly, but now the gate has been opened-"

"And someone needs to close that gate shut." Jaime did not back down. "I have no desire to wed, and there's no better man than me to be a Lord Commander of the kingsguard." If Tyrion needed any confirmation about Cersei's affair with her twin, this would be it. He couldn't help but wonder… why couldn't Cersei have spawned an heir and a spare by Robert before going through with the whole sordid affair. Of course, Tywin did not see it; Cersei and Jaime were forever his prized children.

"Anyone can lead the white cloaks, but only you can be the heir to Casterly Rock." His father's words made Tyrion clench his teeth. Once again, he was ignored and insulted. "Stop playing around and do your duty. You can wed one of Leyton's pretty granddaughters and fracture the Reach from within or take Lysa Tully for a wife and take control of the Vale-"

"No!" Jaime's face twisted with horror. "No, no, no, no! A thousand times no, father. How many times must I say it before you hear it?"

"You do not want a powerful widow nor a maiden beauty? You are my heir, and I am letting you take your pick-"

"I don't want no wife, and I don't want your stupid Rock!" His brother hissed out, standing up. Tyrion wanted both, but no words left his tongue. Well, not Lysa Tully, but he'd close his eyes and fuck the shrill bitch. If the whores could suffer dwarves like him, he could suffer an ugly widow if she came with a kingdom. "I am a knight of the Kingsguard. The Lord Commander of the white cloaks!"

The lengths to which Jaime would go to remain here and continue his affair with Cersei… Tyrion could admire his brother's persistence, if nothing else.

The Lord of Casterly Rock grew as still as a statue, but Tyrion could see a vein throb angrily on his temple as if it were about to burst. Yet Tywin did not speak. The minutes passed in tense silence, but no words were said as he gazed at Jaime stonily. His brother grew increasingly uneasy, but he stood his ground stubbornly.

"Very well," Tywin said quietly and stood up. "Lead me to the king then, ser."

The words brought a pained grimace to Jaime's face. "Father-"

"You're not my son." Their father turned away. "You're Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and only that. Do your duty and lead me to the king."

***

Finding Joffrey took the better part of the hour. It seemed his nephew had grown elusive, as nobody knew where the king had gone. But when they did find him, Tyrion wished they had not.

"What in the name of the Seven are you doing, Joffrey?" Tywin's voice was like a death knell amidst the silence of the godswood.

Trant and Moore stood beside the boy king, like two white shadows with stony faces.

His nephew kept aiming with his crossbow and let loose a bolt at the corpse tied to the heart tree, hitting the chest with a sickening squelch. The unfortunate man, suspiciously looking like a poor sod snatched from Fleabottom, was akin to a pincushion with several feathery bolts sticking out from his corpse.

With a flourish, Joffrey turned around, sporting a satisfied smile. "Hello, grandfather. I am feeding the heart tree!"

Jaime looked sick, and Tyrion could only grimace as dark blood seeped freely into the hungry bone-like roots. However, a part of his mind could see that Joffrey's method had paid off - the bloody weirwood, barely as tall as a man, now towered over them, easily over twenty feet with a trunk as thick as a maiden's waist.

How many had died since the shaving had been planted?

"I can see that." Tywin's jaw clenched. "And what gave you this… idea?"

"I read it in the royal library," Joffrey declared proudly. "Tarranis' Teatisie on the beliefs of the Old Gods and properties of the weirwood trees."

Tyrion had read it too; it was a book by a pious Septon reviling everything about the worship of the First Men, painting the Old Gods as demonic and bloodthirsty. It never crossed his mind that his nephew would take the contents for a manual…

That was too much, and Tyrion heaved over, relieving his stomach from his luncheon. An uneasy silence took the godswood as Jaime helped him up.

"Why did you not ask Lord Stark about the Old Gods when he was here instead of reading some… obscure old book?" Tywin finally asked, his face like a block of stone, though he seemed to be staring at the ominous pale tree with a sliver of something odd Tyrion couldn't recognise.

Joffrey's face soured. "I tried, but Mother forbade me."

"And who is this?"

"Some pickpocket from the city," the boy king replied dismissively.

His father exhaled slowly. "Very well. But such…" Tywin gestured stiffly towards the corpse tied to the weirwood, "Activities must halt. The Watch is in dire need of men, and the Faith must not learn of this, lest we alienate them in favour of your traitorous uncle."

***

1st Day of the 12th Moon

War was a slow thing - the fighting was now inevitable, but it would be moons before the armies mustered and could face each other in the field. King's Landing had gone uncharacteristically quiet, save for the clanging of the hammers echoed throughout the Street of Steel from dawn till dusk and oft even into the night.

Thankfully, the Faith and the High Septon had not heard of Joffrey's latest proclivities, but doubtlessly, the insult levied at the wedding would not be forgotten.

For once, Tyrion could appreciate his father's strictness - Tywin finally put the court in order in four days. Even an irked Joffrey attended all the small council meetings and the petitioners in court without leaving early. Most importantly, he was no longer sacrificing gutter rats from Flea Bottom to the creepy weirwood.

Much to Tyrion's delight, Cersei was sequestered in the Maidenvault, with all of the kingsguard, red cloaks, and royal men-at-arms under strict orders not to let her out on pain of death. Even his nephew did not object, especially when Tywin pointed out Cersei did fail to catch Renly, and rewarding failure did not truly appeal to Joffrey.

Still, despite Tyrion's apprehension, things were running well for him, but there was a niggly feeling at the back of his mind that something would go wrong soon.

"I found another," Lothor Brune reported; his voice was rough like the rumbling of stones. The Clawman was a man of few words but proved himself loyal and, most importantly, capable.

"Excellent," Tyrion raised his cup of wine in a toast. With this, over eighty thousand dragons were uncovered from Littlefinger's hidden stashes. A quarter was generously donated to the crown, and Tyrion kept the rest for himself.

Of course, he was generous as a Lannister ought to be. While two more inns and five warehouses found their way into his possession, the rest of the coin made its way to his underlings or was stashed away for a rainy day. His retainer was now clad in Tobho Mott's finest steel - a shiny silvery plate, with Brune's large bear paw emblazoned proudly on the breastplate. A silk cloak of similar make was clasped behind his shoulders, too. Even his blade, if plain looking, was made of the finest Qohorik steel, only second to the Valyrian make. Brune was probably the wealthiest free-rider in the realm - the man still lacked knighthood, yet many sers and even minor lords were far poorer than him.

"How fares the recruitment?"

"So far, I have only a score of men," Lothor said slowly. "It's hard to find skilled swords without loose tongues and a master to serve."

They were in a private room in one of his new properties - an inn called the Drunken Piper.

"True," the master of coin agreed. "But I have no use for riff-raff. It matters not, I suppose. Continue as before."

Lothor Brune bowed gruffly and left the room, leaving Tyrion alone with his wine and thoughts.

He'd rather have a dozen skilled and loyal men than a hundred fools who could barely make one end of the sword from the other and would flee at the first sign of trouble. A personal retinue that answered only to him and him alone was intoxicating. Finding loyal and skilled retainers was not easy, but such difficulties lessened considerably with ample coin. It was worth it; there was no chance they'd babble to his father or sister, and he could punish and reward them as he saw fit.

Besides, all those inns and warehouses needed to be secured one way or another, and while the gold cloaks were better than before under Balonn Swann's firm grip, they couldn't catch all the thieves and troublemakers.

A knock on his door shook him out of his musings.

"Enter," he called out, taking a generous mouthful of wine.

A gaunt red cloak with a sharp gaze came into his room.

"Lord Lannister requests your presence at once."

Of course. Neither the Hand nor the Lord of Casterly Rock could be denied, and all Tyrion could do was answer the summons, no matter how reluctant he was to meet his father. Half an hour later, he had finally arrived in the audience chamber of the Hand.

The grey direwolf banner on the wall was gone, replaced by the golden lion of Lannister. The fondly austere furnishings were replaced by an opulence of crimson velvet and gold, which made the room far less welcoming than Tyrion remembered. Besides, talking with Lord Stark was far more pleasurable than wrangling with his father's disappointment.

Tywin Lannister sat there, scribbling something on a roll of parchment without raising his gaze as if Tyrion did not exist. With a resigned sigh, the dwarf pulled the chair by the desk, scraping loudly through the floor, and climbed on it.

"The Lord Commander has departed to muster the Crownlands. Tomorrow, I am departing to lead the Lannister bannermen." The words were emotionless, and his father again did not move his gaze from the letter he was inking down. Jaime was no longer mentioned by name or as a Lannister or kin, sobering Tyrion up quickly.

"We ought to do something about the Riverlands," he muttered.

"Do what? Hoster shall raise his banners. His grandson is married to my granddaughter."

"That is true," Tyrion agreed and took a gulp of wine from his flask. His father finally looked up, green eyes full of displeasure. "But Edmure Tully is unmarried. Mace Tyrell can dangle all the maidens of the Reach before him for his choosing. Hightower, Tyrell, and Redwyne do not lack in eligible ladies. Hoster need not raise his banners, only stay out of the war or block the Starks from joining us."

The quill stopped scribbling, and Tyrion squirmed uncomfortably as Tywin gazed at him as if he were seeing him for the first time. "Very well. Devan Lannister shall go with a retinue to Riverrun to convince Edmure Tully to wed the queen's sister."

Of course, it made perfect sense. Cerenna was the most well-connected maiden in the realm after Joffrey's wedding and a great beauty. With Margaery and Myrcella married, Sansa Stark was the only one who could rival the young queen's sister. Such an act would only solidify the alliance between Lannister, Stark, and Tully.

However, the Vale remained problematic still. "What about Lysa Arryn?"

"She can cower behind the Bloody Gate all she wants," Tywin scoffed. "With her father and good brother fighting, she would lose the respect of the Arryn bannermen by not honouring her marriage alliance, and her regency could be easily dislodged in favour of someone more… reasonable."

"Well then, what ought I do?" Tyrion asked impatiently. "Surely you summoned me for a reason."

"Kevan will take up Joffrey's regency while I lead the armies. I'm sending you to the Free Cities."

"Essos? What am I going to do there?"

"Someone has to go and hire sellswords for our cause. Renly can field significantly more men than us, and it will take quite a while before the North can muster and arrive to our aid."

Why was Tyrion not surprised when his father handed him the most unsavoury task? All of his effort to establish himself in King's Landing would be put on hold while he was busy scrounging up the Free Cities for whatever scum sold their sword.

"Anyone with gold in his purse can hire a bunch of sellswords," Tyrion pointed out. "I am needed here, in the city!"

"I can close my eyes for your petty games and whores when you do it subtly, Tyrion," Tywin hissed. "The Seven know a creature like you can hardly do without them. But now is not the time, and you shall do as I command."

The words stung, but the dwarf swallowed his retort. Complaining to his father was useless. So was proving himself… at least now he no longer had to deal with the stench of drains and cisterns.

Instead he asked, "What of my duties as a master of coin?"

"Kevan's steward will take it up in your absence. Go now and prepare."

Tyrion wanted to object, but no words left his tongue. Even Cersei and Jaime were put in their place with little effort, and he had no desire to test Tywin's thinning patience, especially since he did not enjoy the favour his siblings did before. It seemed his father was not so easily defied.

Jaw clenched, Tyrion jumped off his chair, forcing his stubby legs to drag themselves back to his quarters. He had a trip to prepare.

After half an hour, he realised it was not too terrible as he watched his servants prepare his effects. Touring the Free Cities had been a dream of his, and now he had the opportunity. He could get a taste of the finest whores Essos could offer too!

***

???, Elsewhere

Blood, everything tasted like blood on his tongue.

"Hold the line," he cried out, his words harsh, clanging, and odd. The sound was foreign to his ears, but he understood it well. He did not know where he was or who he was, but it mattered not, for the air stank of death as the cawing of crows filled the skies above with their ghastly dirge.

A river of steel and horseflesh crashed into his men, a stalwart line of veterans clad in bronze. They held, if barely, and he unsheathed his blade, Ice glinting like a diamond in his fist under the sunlight. He charged forward, the crystalline blade sinking into steel with his mighty swing. A horseman fell to his sword, then another, and another. He did not know why he was fighting, but it felt right. Even his foes wore all foreign yet familiar banners, all with some sort of stars emblazoned on their shields or armour. It mattered not. The direwolves leapt from the forest and crashed into the cavalry, driving all the horses mad within moments, and the tide quickly turned-

***

3rd Day of the 12th Moon

The Red Viper

The days felt shorter here at the Wall. It made sense; the white raven had arrived some days back, heralding the arrival of autumn. One would fall asleep at dark, and by the time they awoke, it would still be at least an hour before the crack of dawn. Now, darkness had fallen again, and the bustle of Castle Black had finally quieted.

Nymeria looked entirely too satisfied compared to Obara's glumness. Their small game to see who could seduce Benjen Stark finally bore fruit nearly a whole moon later. The First Ranger seemed to prefer Nymeria's sensual beauty to Obara's crudeness and hot temper.

Still, let it not be said that the Black Wolf was so easily seduced. Unlike Brandon, Rickard Stark's younger sons were far more prudish. The poor men were like blocks of frost, even though Benjen no longer had vows to hold him back - marriage or otherwise. Even a beauty like Ashara Dayne had failed to steal away the Quiet Wolf's heart, only to fall in the clutches of the elder brother.

At least his daughter had successfully managed to seduce the First Ranger this evening and had the glow of a woman well-fucked.

Sarella's presence here was a boon, but they were careful not to oust her disguise. Oberyn suspected Marwyn knew but simply did not care. Still, it was heartwarming to see her following in his footsteps. Knowing his stubborn daughter, she might forge a whole maester's chain and take the vows anyway. After all, the maesters were only sworn off women, not men…

Oh, just the image of the Conclave's outrage was delicious!

"Can we leave the bloody Wall now?" Ellaria huffed, wrapped in furs and wool, huddled just by the roaring hearth. "I've had my fill of ice and cold, and it's all there's to see here, along with the endless training." They were the sole residents of the king's tower. Though the name was not quite apt - no king had visited since the Conquest, according to Marwyn. And the quarters were drab and austere, not what you'd expect from something that ought to house royalty. Still, it was leagues better than everything Castle Black had to offer.

"I suppose we can depart tomorrow," Oberyn hummed in agreement.

"Must we leave so soon?" Nymeria asked reluctantly, gently pulling on her braid.

"Don't tell me you fell in love with the gruff Northman," Obara grunted, nursing a cup of wine with a scowl. His eldest would probably continue sulking until she got a good fuck, but Nym was not one for sharing, unlike Tyenne. "If you wed him, you'd become a Stark in name."

Nymeria shrugged. "Benjen does not want to wed, and neither do I. Yet I find myself reluctant to leave."

"The more we remain, the more we risk being stuck if the snowfall stacks up," Oberyn warned. It still snowed at least twice a sennight, and slowly but surely, the white veil covering the land thickened little by little, the scarce northern sun far from enough to melt it away. "I suppose we can stay… three more days."

Ellaria shook her head with amusement while Nymeria hugged his neck with a smile.

Needling Benjen Stark and sparring with the black brothers was becoming rather tiring, but he could suffer it a handful of days more. There were far more formidable warriors here than Oberyn expected, but it shouldn't have been such a surprise - many of the rangers had nought to do but train their sword work when not on a mission Beyond the Wall. All of the training yards in Castle Black were overfilled, both with captains and men-at-arms drilling recruits in formations and senior rangers sparring.

Benjen Stark had shown himself lethal with a sword, and Oberyn struggled to score even one, barely two wins out of ten unless he used dirty tricks. Even deception worked only once, for the Black Wolf was a quick study. The intensity reminded Oberyn of fighting against Arthur Dayne, if only with more savage brutality to his strikes and less finesse. Stark was not the only good fight here - dozens of other skilled warriors lacked the big name or storied lineage but not in skills.

While his daughters tried to seduce the prudish wolf, the Red Viper fought to his heart's content. Even Lom got tossed into the ringer, and the past moon had been good for his new squire's fighting skills. A generous selection of opponents, none of which shied away from smacking a young lad from the Vale. All this served a double purpose, of course - he now had a good grasp of the situation at the Wall and the strength of the Night's Watch.

With Eddard Stark's reform and Robert Baratheon's endorsement, the order was again back on the path to greatness and glory. Yet it was for a good reason - the Haunted Forest looked more twisted and dark by the day despite the black brothers persistently chipping at the tree line. Two wooden forts were constructed three miles to the North; only the weirwoods were being spared the hungry axes of the Watch.

Yet despite all of this, Lord Commander Mormont remained grim. Oberyn had heard much about the so-called Others, ice spiders, and their armies of wights but had yet to see any. But even he could feel the Haunted Forest deserved its name, for there was something eerie, something wrong, even in broad daylight.

Oberyn stood up and stretched.

"A walk atop the Wall again, my love?"

"Perhaps… or perhaps I shall–"

The horn blasted with its long and deep call, drowning out everything else and making even the tower shudder slightly. A second blast reverberated more ominously than the first, making even blood and skin drum. One meant rangers returning, and two meant wildlings.

Then, a third one followed, even longer than the previous two, and the Red Viper felt it in his bones. It called to him.

"What do three blasts of the horn mean?" Nymeria asked with trepidation; the thrumming horn had unsettled her.

"It means the Others are here," Oberyn smiled, fire running hot through his veins.

"Oberyn," Ellaria stood up from her chair by the fireplace and latched onto his arm. "Please-"

"I partook in the hospitality of the Watch." The Red Viper shook himself from his paramour's grip. "It would be poor form if I don't get to taste this foe of legend for myself."

"You don't owe the black brothers anything, Father," Obara groused.

Oberyn laughed as he summoned Lom to help him don his armour. "So what? There will be no other chance like this to fight against the gods if only those of Cold and Shadow."

"What of your revenge?" His paramour asked desperately. "Tywin Lannister and Gregor Clegane yet live."

"They have waited nearly two decades for me; they can wait a while longer," Oberyn lunged, stealing a deep, passionate kiss from Ellaria. As always, her lips were as sweet as sin. His blood was searing through his veins, raging for a fight; he would be the first Martell to slay a Cold Shadow. "If some boy of six and ten can make short work of these Others, so can I!"

His lover and daughters tried to convince him, but Oberyn knew they lacked the warrior's spirit; their blood did not run hot enough despite being children of the desert. Obara understood but was unwilling to fight in the hated cold. With a smirk, he poured himself a cup of Dornish Red and emptied it in one breath, the familiar fiery sourness warming his throat and innards.

"I shall bring glory to House Martell. Wait for my return," he declared, ignoring the reluctance in their eyes, snatching his spear from the wall, the new one with the obsidian tip.

In ten minutes, he was fully clad in steel as was proper and joined the sea of grim-faced men garbed in black. Flickering torches banished the darkness and illuminated the snowy yard below.