"I even came up with a title for your work—Journey to the Edge of the World. How does that sound?"
"Not bad. A bit too ambitious, in my humble opinion, but not bad," he said, scratching his belly through his clothes before asking, "Have you begun reading Unnatural History?"
"Yes. In fact, I've already finished half the book. I like the way the author thinks. You can tell he understands the subject well, and he has a fine style."
The book had truly captured my attention. And it also contained a wealth of useful information. An entire section was devoted to dragons. I had suspected many of these things before, but the book also confirmed several of my ideas and revealed much that was new to me…
Dragons were not completely invulnerable, and they could be killed. Their eyes, mouth, and ears were weak points. In addition, the skin beneath their forelegs was rather thin. Biologically, that made sense—if there were armor there, they would simply rub themselves raw during flight. Their wings also consisted of long, slender bones with membranes stretched between them. The skin in those places could be cut or even torn, depriving a dragon of one of its greatest advantages—the ability to fly.
Naturally, approaching such a deadly creature was no easy task, and casualties were inevitable. But the point was different: with the proper tactics, and with knowledge of how to fight and defeat dragons, they could be destroyed. After all, it was no accident that the Martells and their Dornish lands managed to preserve their independence for many years against the first Targaryens.
"What do you think about the Evil Beyond the Wall?" Marwyn asked again.
"I think it cannot be completely defeated. It seems tied to certain planetary cycles and periodically returns. It appears to be a manifestation of something greater—some kind of cosmic force," I answered honestly. The gifted book also contained a chapter about the Night King—about his power and how he returns to this world with remarkable regularity. It also mentioned that the best weapons against him were fire and obsidian, which here was called dragonglass. Though, of course, I already knew that.
"You have an unusual way of thinking," Marwyn snorted softly, but said nothing more. He bent forward in the saddle and fell into thought.
It seemed to me that he was still trying to decide how to regard me and what to do next. Perhaps he was sincerely concerned about the fate of Westeros and saw dragons as the trump card—the weight on the scales of mankind that might tip them in the right direction. In that case, I would not be the only one to interest him. The same would be true of Daenerys Targaryen.
I wondered what Marwyn would decide? I did not press him or hurry him along. Our conversations were beneficial for both of us. I expected that we would talk openly and calmly a little later.
***
Days passed. We moved farther and farther away from the Ruby Ford and the Crossroads. The army of Riverrun, led by Edmure Tully, was catching up to us.
He had sent a letter asking that he not be directed to fight against the Vale and Lysa Arryn. Instead, he was eager to settle scores with his own vassals—the Freys. Notably, he did not even hint at his own uncle, the Blackfish. I wondered what he intended to do with him.
For my part, I thought, why not? It cost me nothing, and the man would surely prefer fighting those who had betrayed him rather than his own kin. And he'll see it as a favor done to him.
From the North, the Bolton army was approaching. They had already passed Moat Cailin, reached the Fever River, and continued south.
The Blackfish and Walder the Black, who now led House Frey, could hardly be unaware of this. Yet, for some reason, it did not seem to trouble them. Jaime and I, however, found it unsettling. We suspected the enemy had devised some plan and were counting on something—but for the moment, we could not discern what it was.
Now, by all logic, they should have hurried to the Twins as quickly as possible, brought their army inside the castle, and slammed the gates shut behind them. Instead, they stalled for time, staging numerous skirmishes and ambushes, allowing us to squeeze them between our forces and the northern army.
We caught up with the enemy's main force two days' march from the Twins. Though, judging by the calmness within their camp, I had the strange feeling that they had allowed it to happen.
Here the road emerged from the forest onto a wide open field, its far end disappearing into a long, gradual rise.
To the left the Green Fork flowed steadily onward, while a great hill stood between the river and the road. The Blackfish and Walder the Black had taken that height, dug a trench, planted palisades in the most dangerous places, and simply waited. The river lay right behind them, so water would not be a problem. Food, however, might become scarce if we blockaded them.
But neither Jaime nor I nor the other lords wanted a blockade.
What we wanted was to crush them as quickly as possible.
The Boltons were drawing nearer. Roose had sent a letter stating that his army had already laid siege to the Twins. Lord of the Dreadfort himself was marching to join us with a picked force. Everything was unfolding very favorably.
Jaime attempted to storm the fortified hill at once. Up on its crest the wind stirred the banners—the black trout of Brynden Tully, the Twin Towers of House Frey, and the sigils of their vassals: the tree with hooked roots of the Naylands, the golden heron of the Erenfords, the black pitchforks of House Haigh, and the three sprigs of mistletoe of the Charltons.
There were also several banners from the Vale that had come with the Blackfish—the gray and black wedges of the Tolletts, the diamonds of the Hardings, and the three candles of House Waxley. They were not the most powerful or influential houses of the Vale. It seemed the main forces remained with Littlefinger and Lysa Arryn.
"That's it—they're finished," Jaime Lannister said, watching carefully as our forces deployed and the archers began exchanging fire. "The mousetrap has snapped shut."