I am bound to her by a chain,
By a chain of unknown length.
We sleep in the same bed
On opposite sides of the wall.
...
But under the slow gaze of icons
In my heart, damp from the rain,
I realised that I am innocent,
And that means I am not a judge.
(c) BG
Few would enjoy the deserted and dreary road to the Wall, but for Lionel, the main thing was that the three of them were together again: Sansa was riding beside him again, and he was holding his horse back a little and letting her ride ahead so he could admire her figure, Arya was running around again, constantly veering off the road, looking at the last autumn flowers, leaning forward as if she had already fallen out of the saddle, then flying ahead — and finally looking back at him. In that glance, as if measuring the radius of the circle she has just drawn for herself, she is everything: restless, uncompromising and loyal. She will always slip away, carried away by something, and she will always return to him.
It cannot be said that Lionel was lonely in Winterfell: the northern castle was large, its inhabitants numerous and hospitable, and Lionel had only been to the famous Stark library twice. All this interested and occupied him, and it can be said that during conversations, reading, and exercises in the courtyard, where a new generation of fighters was constantly training, Leo did not miss his girls — but then the conversation would stop, the book would tire him, the training would end, and he would be seized by a kind of cramp: where were they, who could he exchange glances with, who could he hug? And he felt as if he had lost something important, as if he had set out on a journey with empty scabbards.
Lionel went into Sansa's room several times during the day, twice even finding her there, but without her he didn't dare cross the threshold: this room was Sansa's life, one in which he did not yet exist, something strange and incomprehensible to him. And it was just as strange for Sansa when he sat in her room, as if the novels she had read, the songs she had sung to herself, and her sweet childhood dreams met with real life, which was happiness, even their embodiment, but between dreams and reality there was a narrow, impenetrable boundary.
There were separate stories about feats and battles — and Leo standing in an empty space, past which the cavalry that had saved them rushed by. Dirty, tired, terrifying, but still standing, he looks at them with Arya and waves his hand, then leaves again, strikes a man sitting on the grass in the throat with his sword and kicks the dagger out of his hand, throws another into a pile of prisoners kneeling on the ground. He is not wounded. he is looking for Lorch, and Lorch is lucky that Leo cannot find him.
There were also separate songs about the delights of love, dreams and stolen glances — and her breath catching when Leo kisses her neck under her ear and runs his tongue down it, and the sigh that turns into a moan when his hand descends to where things are not spoken or written about. No, she caught his glances too, often even on the road, but it wasn't the fixed gaze of a knight staring at an empty balcony; there was always energy and desire in Leo's gaze, and it was quite easy to guess what he liked and what he wanted. It was always different, but it was not always possible to put it into words without spoiling it.
And so, late in the evening, Sansa always came to Leo, and not the other way around: where he was, there was today's real life, not the one that had ended, and she didn't want to leave today's life, even though she couldn't stay the whole night for many reasons. And when she left, leaving her room behind for a long time again, Sansa no longer cried by the window, as she had the first time. After all, she couldn't go anywhere in the tent, she would hug her Leo with her arms and even her legs, and fall asleep almost on top of him; she wasn't going to be shy with Arya.
Arya Lionel saw her on the roof on one of his first days in Winterfell and immediately climbed up there himself, as if he wanted to pull Arya down by the collar. Her brother had already fallen, so where was he going now? It probably came out rude, Arya would have been offended by Robb for that, she would have tried to slip away from her father, but Leo's shout stopped her and she sat down timidly on the edge of the roof. Arya took her father and brothers' love and concern for her for granted; she just wanted to become independent and grown up as soon as possible, but the fact that Leo was afraid for her — now he could even scold her, she would still see and hear what he said. Although Leo, of course, would not scold her: he was silent and taciturn, he had said what he wanted to say, briefly and clearly.
"Will you forbid me now?" Arya asked and bit the tip of her tongue: if he said yes, she would have to obey. "Don't you like it here?"
"I like it," said Leo, sitting down next to Arya, from where they could see even beyond the fortress wall.
"Maybe I'm afraid of you too," said Arya, already playing and pretending to run away from him. "There's a loose stone where you were climbing."
"I don't think I need that information anymore. Or will I have to catch you here every day?
"You didn't say I couldn't," Arya gave Leo one last chance. "And I warned you that I'm naughty."
Leo didn't answer, just hugged Arya around the shoulders as he sat next to her, and this time she didn't run away. It would have been dangerous to slip out from under his arm on the edge of the roof, even though it wasn't really. And there was certainly no reason to bury her head in Leo's chest. And smile because he kissed her hair.
"Do you want me to show you how to get into the library through the window?" Arya suggested. It might have been silly, but she couldn't sit there any longer, no matter how much she wanted to. Too many people could see the roof from too many places.
"No, I don't want to," Leo replied, glancing at the tower where the library was located. "If you slip, I won't be able to catch you on this wall. And I need you alive and cheerful. When you feel like climbing roofs again, come find me."
With each passing day that brought them closer to the Wall, it grew colder, as if this invisible block of ice filled the entire space with cold. The cold pushed people together, and so Lionel was no longer embarrassed when he woke up hugging both of them. Of course, he tried not to hug them so obviously, but at night he would pull the sleepy Arya closer to him and even cover her with his blanket, if Sansa hadn't pulled it away from the other side.
Towards morning, Arya always moved away, sometimes even sitting huddled on a sack or log in front of the tent.
"Are you cold?" Leo asked quietly one morning as Sansa bustled about the fire a little way off, near a small lake. He sat down beside her, reached into the tent and wrapped Arya in the blanket.
"I'll get used to it..." Arya said plaintively.
"You told me yourself that you have to get used to the cold, and then you won't be so cold anymore," Lionel reminded her, not understanding the female language in which all the important words are always left out. Not that there were many words: you, we, love, bed, and a dozen more, but it was like sacred writing with the vowels omitted — there weren't many vowels either, but try to understand where to put them. And Arya didn't know how to say it any other way; she couldn't say, "I'm afraid I'll get used to sleeping next to you."
"I'll get used to you being close," Arya finally whispered when Leo hugged her, and he felt a burning sensation too, even thinking that Sansa would turn around and immediately understand what they were whispering about.
"Remember, before you left, you promised me you'd always be there for me?" Leo asked. "I need that. Really, always."
No one can imagine what awaits them at the Wall, no matter how much they read or ask about it, because the Wall always has surprises in store for people. For Lionel, that surprise was a fat steward with black curly hair and black almond-shaped eyes. The steward found Lionel himself, and very quickly, considering that Sansa, Arya and Lionel had arrived at the Black Castle in the late afternoon, without a ceremonial welcome or greetings.
"Listen, you can't miss me, dear," the fat steward clapped his hands, his pronunciation was unusual, soft and rounded, but somehow he managed to do so with almost no soft consonants, so that "can't" sounded a bit like "nelza". "I'm Sam. Oh dear, what a mess, there's no glass in the window."
Chubby Sam rolled out the door and soon returned with a window frame, which he deftly fitted into place with his plump hands.
"What else do you need?" Sam rubbed his fingers together, clearly implying that he didn't make window panes and frames out of thin air. "We need some firewood, either fir or birch, these are completely wet. The sausage is good, get some stronger wine, flowers for the girls, and I'll bring you a hot tub so you can wash up after your journey."
"Put the window in," Leo ordered. With Sam smiling, it was easy, even "flowers for the girls" slipped out easily, without a hitch.
"Already done, dear," Sam clapped his hands. "Ugh, it's going to be a bitterly cold night! I'll go get some firewood, bring you a bucket, bring them a bucket, and bring you some wine," and Sam left a small note on the low table by the fireplace. He had already calculated how much he wanted for everything, and noble sirs don't haggle; working with them is a pleasure.
"Don't bring too much wine," Lionel warned.
"Why so much?" Sam agreed. "Six or eight pints, that's enough, isn't it?" Think about what else: we can repair the armour on your breastplate, get you some warm boots, a cloak so good you won't need a fur coat — you saw it at John's, right? I'll get you anything, even if I have to fetch it from the bottom of the sea, even a dragon's egg. They're so beautiful, just look at them, they're a feast for the eyes.Sansa came to Lionel earlier than usual that evening, and Lionel froze, as if he had opened the door to a fairy tale. Sansa was very beautiful in her worn hunting suit, in the simple shirt underneath, and without the shirt, but Lionel had already forgotten what she looked like in a dress, and he had never seen the fur coat on her shoulders. He had grown a little unaccustomed to her fluffy, loose hair and the bright light that illuminated it all, and he didn't even notice at first that Sansa was a little embarrassed and alarmed by something.
"Sam's been here," Sansa said, not even in a questioning tone, because Lionel's room had become much nicer and cosier in the space of a couple of hours. "He got all this from somewhere," and Sansa suddenly twirled around on the spot, as if dancing, "you'd think he'd been sent a month's worth of supplies by a crow.
"Sam's a good lad," Leo smiled, watching the new, cheerful Sansa.
"Of course he is," Sansa agreed, a little mockingly. "He sold Arya the scabbard for her sword and some ancient Braavos coin. He'll sell anything."
"Did he sell her dress too?" Lionel asked with a laugh, and Sansa laughed with him.
"He did," Lionel realised. "Yes, he really is a master."
"Leo," Sansa said quietly and looked away, embarrassed. "We're completely out of money..."
"I owe him too," Leo admitted, thinking that Sam was a dangerous man after all.
In the morning, Lionel found Jon Snow and asked him about Sam.
"He tells everyone he's Sam," John explained. "But his real name is Samwell."
"What's the difference?" Lionel didn't understand.
"Play backgammon with him," John suggested. "Then you'll see the difference."
Samwell, of course, believed in duty, but his debts were constantly growing because it was not easy to give up comfort, and it was even more difficult to refrain from participating in his ideas, not to throw parties, not to shower everyone around him with gifts, as befits a generous and kind lord. However, Lionel did decide against holding a unique knightly tournament at the foot of the Wall, as he began to understand how his father had not only squandered the entire treasury of Arys, who was by no means insane in matters of state finance, but had also accumulated an astronomical amount of debt.
Lionel squandered much smaller sums with Samwell's help, but the trouble was that Lionel did not even know the name of his new master of the coin, and he could not ask Lord Eddard for money, feeling that he was much more indebted to Eddard than the latter thought. Sansa and Arya could write to Robb, but that was almost the same thing, and besides, getting money through them was even more shameful. So the young king decided to resolve the situation in one fell swoop and made a bet with Samwell for the entire amount of his debt.
"Better to play backgammon," Samwell sneered, hearing that Lionel was going to drink him under the table at the upcoming feast. "The dice roll, the chips clatter, at least there's some chance."
Lionel did not boast that Stannis was considered a light drinker in their family, even though he drank like a sailor, and it was not for nothing that the penalty cup was called the "admiral's cup." Lionel knew his limits, but he also knew the consequences, so he firmly asked Jon to keep an eye on his sisters.
"There's nothing for them to see there," Lionel said curtly. "And remember: when I'm drunk, I'm violent. Better take the bread out of the barn — I might set it on fire."
Samwell began the feast with toasts and jokes, then, looking at Lionel, became serious, then went silent, and finally collapsed onto the table, trying to get up. Lionel immediately jumped to his feet at the other end of the table, pale, quick and angry.
"You told me your uncle disappeared behind the Wall?" Lionel asked John, and despite his characteristic fearlessness in life-threatening situations, John flinched slightly.
"If he's dead, his killers will regret it," Lionel said grimly, walking away from the table, and five minutes later, those remaining at the table heard his angry commanding voice.
"Raise the gates!" Lionel ordered. "Quickly!"
Lionel returned three days later, during which time John had time to take offence at his sisters for giving him a dressing-down, comfort them, promise them that Leo would return, and finally assemble a search party in record time for the Watch.
Anticipating the search party's departure, Lionel drove through the tunnel under the Wall in the opposite direction and came to John: John already knew that a drunk Lionel could be cruel, harsh, and even frightening, and, sensing the strong smell of alcohol, he approved of Lionel's decision not to approach Sansa and Arya, to whom Samwell had run, feeling a little ashamed in recent days at the outcome of his successful matchmaking.
The small cask of brandy he had taken with him beyond the Wall had been finished many hours ago, and now Lionel was hardly drunk, but he was approaching the dangerous zone between the seventh and ninth, where the world seemed dark to him and his conscience was too scrupulous and prone to exaggeration.
"I didn't see anything there," replied a gloomy Lionel to John's slightly anxious question about what had happened to him behind the Wall. "Yesterday I killed some old man, I don't even know why, we didn't even say a word to each other. He was all skin and bones, but surprisingly strong: I thought he was going to break my sword, he hit me so hard.
"Did he have blue eyes?" asked John, who had a hunch about who Lionel had encountered beyond the Wall.
"Yes," Lionel recalled. "His hair was sparse, long and dry. His face was deeply wrinkled. He wore no gloves, and his nails were very long.
"How did you...?" muttered John, so accurately had Lionel described the Other, from whom, John thought, there was no escape except with the obsidian weapons of the First Men.
"He dodged," Lionel said briefly. "He ran around him. Then he dove under his sword and killed him with this dagger," Lionel placed a Valyrian steel dagger with a dragon bone handle on the table. "See, it's a useful thing. I almost gave it to your middle brother, but I decided to keep it in memory of your father."
The gloomy Lionel fumbled around on the table, from which John had prudently removed the wine immediately after his arrival, and looked at John with sorrowful eyes.
"I'll tell you if you keep it a secret," Lionel promised, and John nodded briefly. "We used to have circuses with freaks, but then John Arryn banned them. You know, there were dwarfs of all shapes and sizes, amazingly flexible gymnasts, a man who was always smiling, and a man who could imitate a rooster very, very well. People said it was amazing how the gods had cursed these freaks, but I learned from the maester that all these freaks were once children, picked up on the streets or bought from parents who couldn't feed them. They were ordinary children whom the circus owners deliberately made into freaks for amusement.
John recoiled; they had never heard of such things in the North, and Lionel was already looking past him, sitting at the table with a frozen expression on his face.
"I got drunk and beat up the master for not telling me earlier," Lionel continued. "I drank some more, went into town and found one of these circuses. I shouldn't have done it, but I announced who I was, called the circus owner and his assistants over, questioned them, and then chopped them up and burned them. You know, I just poured brandy on them and set them on fire. I think they were still twitching.
"A cruel and just man," thought John. "He did the right thing, and it's terrible to even hear about it. Now I understand why he doesn't drink and doesn't talk about his battles."
"I promised myself I wouldn't do it again," Lionel said contritely. "And now I've done it again. Along with the old man I killed, there were a dozen or so beggars or freaks, I couldn't see very well in the dark. By the way, they all had blue eyes, strange people. They were probably trying to avenge him, and I chopped them up, but I was so drunk that I couldn't kill them. I cut off one man's arm, and it seemed to me that it was still twitching in the snow. So I took my torch and burned them all. And they were definitely still alive. Anyway, I'm a piece of shit.
"You're a great warrior," John said convincingly and briefly recounted to Lionel the story of how he himself had fought the dead, couldn't defeat them, and almost burned them and himself. "Two of those dead men almost sent me to the other world, and you took out a dozen, and even grabbed one of the Others, whom almost everyone thinks are impossible to kill.
"So they can be burned?" Lionel asked, and John didn't even answer that they should be, so terrifying was Lionel's grin, born of three days of drinking and a terrible fight in the dark. "You know, I think I'll stay here with you for a while."
Of course, the next morning, when he sobered up, Lionel regretted those demonic words, but he regretted even more that he hadn't stayed the night at John's, locking the door tightly, and had returned to his own place. Sansa and Arya, noticing the light in his window, immediately came to him, and threw themselves into his arms, happy that he was alive and well, and not noticing the smell of wine. Then they both sat on his bed, and Leo sat opposite them, smiling a little guiltily and looking from one to the other.
"I wish they would scold me," Leo thought, feeling their joy, which seemed to wash away all the darkness that had been in his soul, and losing himself in the radiance of the fairy tale that had come, in which they no longer shared their joy and their life secretly, whispering to each other in pairs.
"I love you," Leo said, surprising himself.
"Since when are we on first-name terms?" asked Sansa, sensing something was wrong. "And why are you looking at Arya?"
"I love you both," Lionel said decisively, since the words were already out. "I don't want to choose, and I won't. I won't let you go, or you."
"We already guessed that would happen," Arya admitted, and Leo thought with belated alarm that the sisters were talking to each other.
"So you agree?" Leo asked, flustered.
"No, of course not," Sansa assured him. "We're going to beat you up now."
***
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