Beric Dondarrion
"King Robert is long gone. Stark, the Hand, is gone. Faithful Riverrun is gone. All of it's turned to dust. All that remains is King Joffrey and the Kingslayer." The Blackfish spoke as he tore into the meat, grease running down his chin. "So, lads, decide for yourselves—either you come with me or you stay. If it's the latter, you won't last long. They'll come for you in earnest now. But in the Vale, your swords might still be of some use."
After supper, they gave Brynden Tully a chance to rest and settled him in one of the deeper caves. The Brotherhood Without Banners remained behind to decide their fate. They were sick of war—sick of it beyond measure. They killed bad men, yet their numbers never seemed to diminish. They tried to bring peace to these lands, but it seemed King Joffrey had achieved that far faster than they ever could. They had fought for the river lords, yet the foremost among them, Edmure Tully, had declared himself a royal vassal.
So what was left to fight for?
Tom of Sevenstreams settled in a corner, slowly plucking the strings of his harp. He sang a song about the infamous band of outlaws—the Kingswood Brotherhood, who had roamed in the days of King Aerys II. Now it had become their unspoken anthem:
The brothers of the Kingswood,
they were an outlaw band.
The forest was their castle,
but they roamed across the land.
No man's gold was safe from them,
nor any maiden's hand.
Oh, the brothers of the Kingswood,
that fearsome outlaw band ...
The bard's slightly hoarse voice echoed through the cave, and the men fell silent, staring thoughtfully into the fire and at one another. After midnight, they finally made their decision…
In the morning, they all set out east together with Brynden Tully. Only Tom of Sevenstreams and three others chose to part ways, seeking their fortunes in the south, heading toward Oldtown.
In various villages and hamlets, some of their men still remained, and Lord Dondarrion sent out several messengers to inform them that the war was over and they were free to do as they wished—stay where they were, head south, north, or west, or join the main band in the Vale.
Beric tried to send Edric Dayne with Tom, saying it was time for him to return to Starfall. But the boy dug in his heels and refused, calling it "a betrayal." In the end, they had no choice but to take him along.
Thus, together, they made their way to the Vale. Their band of two dozen men was quartered at the Gates of the Moon. Beric himself, accompanied by Lord Tully, Thoros, and Dayne, traveled on to the Eyrie to see Lysa Arryn.
Beric had never been to the Vale before, and now he looked about in quiet astonishment at its impregnable strongholds and snow-capped mountains. The wind-scoured land seemed cold, unwelcoming, and majestic. The Arryns had perched themselves high, securing their defenses well, and the road to reach them had been no easy one.
"Bloody winds up here," Thoros remarked as they passed through the gates of the Eyrie. "Another minute of this and your arse will freeze off."
At the Eyrie, they were met by Lysa Arryn and her sickly, spoiled son, Robert—the future Lord of the Vale. Judging by her expression, Lysa was far from pleased to see such guests. And watching Robert's tantrums, Lord Dondarrion, for the first time, regretted allowing himself to be persuaded into coming here. Yet, he no longer had much of a choice. For him, there remained only one road out of Westeros—across the Narrow Sea to Essos.
They stayed at the Eyrie for several days. A strange company had gathered there. To his surprise, Beric encountered the Hound, Arya Stark, and Petyr Baelish.
Arya looked much the same as before—a bold, quick girl who preferred breeches and doublets to dresses and shoes. Beric quickly realized that she was, in effect, a prisoner here.
The young Stark had never forgiven them for handing Gendry, King Robert's bastard, over to the Red Priestess. Beric himself felt a gnawing unease whenever he remembered that day.
Arya pointedly avoided speaking with either him or Thoros, but unexpectedly found common ground with Edric Dayne. The boy had stories to tell, and somehow it turned out that Arya even came to respect him a little. And there was reason enough—Dayne had fought better than many grown men in recent years.
Then the ravens brought news: Petyr Baelish had been declared an outlaw, stripped of all titles and lands. King Joffrey commanded that Littlefinger be handed over.
Beric could see that the lords of the Vale had no desire for war. All the more so, they were not about to lay down their lives for a man who was a complete stranger to them.
Lysa Arryn thought otherwise. She had already wed Littlefinger and now called her banners.
In the capital, the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister, had been slain, and into the Vale had come a former Kingsguard knight—Kettleblack—along with his younger brother.
With one eye, Lord Beric saw what others failed to notice even with two. There was an undeniable connection between Lannister's death and Kettleblack's flight from the capital—but who would care for the thoughts of a former outlaw?
*
A new war had begun. The Blackfish took command of a small army of the Vale and marched toward the Ruby Ford.
"Beric, stay in the Eyrie," Tully had told him at their parting. "I don't like Littlefinger, and I think he has something ill in mind for Arya Stark. Keep an eye on him—and if need be, protect the girl."
And so he remained in the Eyrie with Thoros and Dayne, while the rest of their men passed the days in idleness and boredom at the Gates of the Moon. It was easy enough to say, watch the girl. He tried to keep an eye on Arya, but in truth, there was little he could actually do.
(End of Chapter)
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