"The very same", the knight answered, his voice still carrying the metallic echo of the helm.
The visor's metal creaked as Ser Oswell pushed it up with his steel gauntlet. The revealed face showed deep expression lines and sun-punished skin. The Kingsguard's dark eyes assessed the width of my shoulders, but he did not retreat a single centimeter beneath my shadow.
I grabbed Perseu's forearm before the silence in the hall could stretch further.
"Take everyone to my room", I said low, close to his ear. "Fenrir, Hela, and all our heavy equipment. Lock the door. Eldric's shadows may be nearby, but I am not leaving anything to chance."
Perseu turned his body. With a tilt of his head, he guided Kevin and the lancers toward the staircase. The wolf's and shadowcat's paws scraped across the oak planks following the group.
I waited standing, my gaze crossing with the Kingsguard's pupils. The staircase wood cracked under heavy boots minutes later. The four returned with their hands free of packs and long weapons. I kept only the sword Truth and the Valyrian steel dagger on my belt.
We pushed through the inn's doors. The morning light cut through the thick street mist. The smell of old urine and rotten fish replaced the warm oat smell. Ser Oswell was already mounted on a muscular black courser. The three gold cloaks held the reins of their mounts one step behind.
Five riding horses knocked their hooves in the mud puddles of the pavement, tied to a splintered wooden post.
"The prince provided these mounts for you", Whent said from the saddle. "To help with the road to the Brotherhood."
I walked toward the pavement. A roan stallion pulled at the rope tied to the post, shaking his neck frantically against the leather. White foam stained the corner of the animal's mouth. His nostrils flared with each hard pull, and his hooves crushed the mud.
I stopped in front of the sweating muzzle. I raised my right hand and spread my fingers flat against the stallion's hot, wet forehead. I closed my eyes.
The horse's breathing lost its desperate rhythm. The thick muscles of his neck eased under my palm. The animal stopped fighting the dirty rope and lowered his head, blowing warm air against my wrist.
Whent's saddle leather creaked. I opened my eyes and found the knight with his gloves locked on the reins and his lips slightly parted. His black courser took an uneasy step backward.
I untied the rope from the post and mounted. Perseu, Kevin, and the lancers released the other ties and swung into the saddles.
Ser Oswell blinked, breaking the rigid set of his face. A crooked smile drew itself across the Kingsguard's dry mouth.
"If you have that gift for calming hysterical beasts with a touch, save it for the Kingswood", Whent said, adjusting his posture in the leather. "They say the Smiling Knight could use a good night's sleep."
Perseu pulled his own horse's reins. He leaned his thick body toward our side.
"Wonderful. Another Kevin", Perseu muttered, his heavy voice sinking into his own beard.
The ride followed in silence for most of the way. The hooves struck the uneven stones of King's Landing's streets. The path moved with only the sound of steel armor creaking and cold wind pushing through the alleys.
Kevin drew his mount level with Ser Oswell's black courser. The archer tried to start a conversation about the weather in the capital. Whent answered in short syllables, without moving his face, keeping his eyes fixed on the road dust ahead. The Kingsguard gave no opening for the conversation to flow. Kevin rubbed the back of his neck under his leather, turned his face to the house walls, and pulled the reins, pulling his horse back into the middle of the formation.
Perseu let out a low laugh at the back of his throat.
We pushed through several more alleys until the sound of commerce disappeared entirely. A crowd of commoners blocked the square ahead. Hundreds of bodies packed in rags formed a dense mass. The silence in the air was absolute.
The sound of plucked strings floated above the grimy heads.
In the center of the square, planks rested on oak barrels, forming a makeshift stage. A man sat at the center of the structure. The long, smooth hair, in the silver-gold tone characteristic of House Targaryen, reflected the morning light. His eyes held a dark indigo coloring and drifted across the horizon, carrying a heavy, melancholic distance. He was tall. His long, refined fingers moved across the strings of a harp, more like the hands of an artist than a warrior.
Two men wearing the same white plates and helms as Ser Oswell stood guard at the ends of the planks.
The singular appearance left no room for doubt. The crown prince and future groom, Rhaegar Targaryen, was playing for the commoners in the streets.
The melody filled the space between the stones. Music had consumed a significant part of my years in the Elysian Fields, alongside painting and sculpture. The taste for art becomes inevitable when you share existence with minds like Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Van Gogh, and Rembrandt. Living alongside Mozart, Beethoven, and Bach had tuned my hearing in a permanent way.
Rhaegar played with the precision of a dedicated musician, but the sound exposed the gaps where his movements could still improve. Perhaps no one else in that square noticed the timing errors, but my ears caught them.
When our horses rounded the edge of the crowd, the music ended. Rhaegar noticed our approach from the corner of his eye but turned his face to the audience and dipped his head in thanks. The commoners erupted in applause and shouted praise toward the planks. The prince opened a smile for the mass.
Ser Oswell pulled his reins and stepped down from the saddle. I dismounted from the stallion and threw the rope over the leather. The rest of the group did the same.
We moved behind the Kingsguard, pushing through the wall of people with our shoulders. Whent stopped beside the makeshift stage and waited for the prince to put away the wooden harp. The two white knights beside the prince and dozens of gold cloaks formed a solid wall of steel in the square.
Rhaegar came down from the planks and walked in our direction. The smile stayed on his face.
"Come, let us have lunch", the prince said. "I have reserved a private room."
We followed Rhaegar through the streets, flanked by his white-cloaked shadows. We entered a two-story establishment with a clean masonry facade. A woman guided the group down a stone corridor to a set of double oak doors.
The interior of the room displayed dark wood-paneled walls and a long rectangular table covered by an impeccable white linen cloth. Crystal cups reflected the light of a ceiling chandelier. Whent and another guard entered alongside the prince. Rhaegar took the main chair. The two knights positioned themselves behind him, hands resting easy on the pommels of their swords.
When I lifted my boot to cross the threshold, the guard at the door raised his steel gauntlet and blocked the passage.
"I ask that you leave all your weapons outside", the man said. His voice reverberated inside the white scaled helmet.
"Be at ease, Lewyn", Rhaegar's voice came from inside the room. "They may keep their weapons."
Ser Lewyn hesitated. His eyes locked on the hilt of the sword Truth and the handle of the Valyrian steel dagger fixed to my belt, then dropped to the short blades on the others. He lowered his arm slowly and opened space.
"Come, sit down", Rhaegar said.
We pulled the chairs and sat along the sides of the long table. We waited for the prince to begin.
"What would you like to eat? I personally recommend the roasted swan and a wine from the Golden Tree", the prince said.
"We will follow your suggestion, my prince", I answered.
"Excellent. Lewyn, my friend, please call the attendant", Rhaegar instructed.
The door opened seconds later. The attendant came in, making a deep bow for the prince, and wrote the orders in silence before disappearing into the corridor.
"So, gentlemen. On behalf of the Crown, I thank you for answering my father's request", the prince began, crossing his hands on the white cloth. "These bandits of the Brotherhood have been causing the council great headaches. My father, when he learned of your deeds in the North, asked to call for you."
"No thanks needed, my prince. The North is loyal to your family", I said.
"Indeed", Rhaegar nodded. "I would venture to say it is probably the most loyal family we Targaryens have. Since your ancestor Torrhen Stark, they have never rebelled or caused any kind of conflict. Quite the contrary, they have always answered the Crown's requests. Because of that, on behalf of House Targaryen, I thank House Stark and all the loyal Houses of the North."
I held the response for a moment before answering.
"Even though I am a bastard, Your Grace... on behalf of House Stark, my father, and all the North, I thank you for your words", I said.
"Do not speak of bastards as if they were lesser beings, Arthur. I can call you that, can I not?", the prince replied. "My future wife and the man you met outside the door are Dornish. And in Dorne, who your parents slept with says absolutely nothing about a person's character." Rhaegar let out a slow breath, his gaze pulling back for a fraction of a second. "I would like the entire kingdom to follow that thinking. Unfortunately it is not possible. It is already too deeply rooted in everyone's head."
"Oh, my manners", the prince continued, gesturing toward the two figures behind him. "Let me introduce them. You have already met Ser Oswell Whent here. I do not know if you have had the pleasure of hearing him, but he has a peculiar sense of humor." Whent did not move a muscle. "And this is the famous Ser Arthur Dayne. Come, Arthur, remove your helm."
The knight brought his hands to his head and removed the piece of steel. Ser Arthur had pale skin, hair in a shade that shifted between pale gold and dark, and intense violet eyes. His face showed hard, striking features. His shoulders were wide and dense. His height sat close to six foot three, slightly shorter than me.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Ser Arthur", I said, extending my right hand across the table.
Dayne nodded. The Sword of the Morning's calloused fingers gripped mine in a firm greeting.
"The pleasure is mine."
"Ser Arthur has been curious about your swordsmanship", Rhaegar remarked, the smile climbing his cheeks. "He grows melancholy at Dragonstone because he cannot find anyone fit to face him in single combat. Ser Barristan is actually the closest anyone comes to forcing him to use both hands, but it is still not enough. Perhaps you could be the first to beat the Sword of the Morning."
"It will be a pleasure, Your Grace", I said, tilting my head slightly toward Dayne. I returned my hand to the table. "Allow me to introduce my line. This is Kevin, one of the finest archers you will ever meet, but a presumptuous fool."
"Hey", Kevin cut in, leaning his torso forward. "Do not believe him, Your Grace. I am a cultured and humble person. It is a pleasure to meet you all."
Rhaegar and the two Kingsguard behind his chair let out quick laughs.
"This is Perseu", I continued. "An excellent fighter and one of the most principled men I know."
"Sers. Your Grace. It is a pleasure to meet you", Perseu's heavy voice filled the room as he dipped his head.
Rhaegar, Arthur, and Whent nodded to the shield warrior.
"And these are Belzakar and Morghaz. Former Unsullied, and my family", I finished.
The two lancers bent their necks in silence.
Rhaegar's breath caught for a moment. Arthur and Whent narrowed their eyes. The look of Essos was obvious, but the training and title of the Unsullied carried brutal weight in Westeros.
"Before any misunderstanding arises, my mother purchased them in Volantis and freed them immediately after", I said, cutting the unspoken theories short. "But they chose to continue following her of their own will."
"Of course", Rhaegar agreed, the tension leaving his shoulders. "If there is anyone who would not resort to slaves, it is the northerners. The North's repugnance for slavery is known across all of Westeros."
The door swung open. The attendant and other servants entered carrying heavy iron trays with roasted swan and jugs of wine.
"Just in time", Rhaegar said, rubbing his hands together to break the weight of the last exchange. "I am starving."
Plates and cups circulated across the wood. During the meal, Rhaegar poured questions about the cold wind Beyond the Wall. He asked about Fenrir's size and Hela's coat, declaring he would pay a visit to the inn to meet them before we rode back through the city gates toward the North.
When the swan bones were dropped on the iron plates, Rhaegar drained his crystal cup and rested his arms on the white cloth.
"So, Arthur", the prince's tone cut through the banquet air. "You and your Wolfpack need to neutralize this Kingswood Brotherhood. They have been causing problems for a long time. It was something periodic. They robbed merchants' carts and asked low ransoms for a few minor lords. But with my wedding approaching, they have been attacking with greater violence and frequency on the southern roads."
The prince held his gaze on my scar.
"For your deeds in the North, hunting bandits, rapists, and savage tribes, we believe you are the most qualified men for this bloody work. The Crown will pay five thousand gold dragons for their elimination, and you will have authority to execute them." Rhaegar leaned back in the chair. "And, on my personal account, I offer you custom weapons and armor, forged by the finest blacksmith in King's Landing: Tobho Mott."
"I thank you for the generosity, my prince", I answered, tilting the crystal cup slightly.
Rhaegar shook his head. He released the glass stem and placed both forearms on the white linen cloth, closing the distance across the table. The indigo eyes locked on my face, steady, not sliding toward the scar or the weapons at my belt.
"It is the limit of what I can offer at the moment. I am still only the heir", his voice dropped a tone, sounding denser inside the closed room. "On the day I am king, I promise to compensate the North for all these years of the Crown's neglect. Setting aside the barren rocks of the Iron Islands, no other kingdom has been as forgotten by the council's policies as yours. I intend to change that in a definitive way."
The crown prince set his hands on the edge of the table and pushed his chair back. The wood scraped on the floor, making Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell straighten their postures almost at the same time.
"Well, it has been a true pleasure meeting all of you. I hope you enjoyed the food", Rhaegar said, arranging the dark fabric of his cloak over his shoulders. "I must be going now, as I have a wedding to prepare for. If you will excuse me."
We pressed our boots to the floor and rose together. Morghaz and Belzakar dipped their heads.
"The swan was very good, Your Grace. Better than the dried meat on the road", Kevin said.
"I hope we can meet again before you leave for the North", Rhaegar continued, opening a measured smile. "I still have to meet Fenrir and Hela. And incidentally, if you would like to stay for my wedding, it would be an honor to have you there."
I looked at the prince's face, keeping the polished tone that the sigil and the room demanded.
"It will be a pleasure to introduce them to you, my lord", I said. "As for the wedding, if the hunt goes well and we return in time, we may be able to attend."
"Excellent", Rhaegar said, moving toward the oak door. "You can put Tobho Mott's expenses in my name and I will settle the amounts directly with him later. When do you plan to go after them?"
"Soon", I answered, keeping my eyes on the Targaryen's face. "Within the next few days."
"Very well. When you return, come find me", Rhaegar said. Ser Lewyn opened the double corridor doors. "Until then, gentlemen."
The five of us dipped. The three white cloaks followed the prince's back out of the room. The heavy wood closed on its hinges, locking the sound of the escort outside.
"That was interesting. Who would have thought the prince would be so reasonable", Kevin said, as the group reached the cobbled pavement of the street.
"Must have inherited it from his mother", Perseu murmured.
Short laughs scraped through throats and followed the sound of leather boots.
"Let us get back to the rooms and prepare", I said, adjusting the sword belt. "I want to finish this as fast as possible."
"Agreed", Morghaz replied. Belzakar, Perseu, and Kevin confirmed with short nods.
The group moved toward the foot of Visenya's Hill. Kevin kicked a loose stone into the gutter, throwing up black splashes.
"This city makes me sick", the archer muttered, covering his nose with the side of his hand.
The return journey demanded less physical effort than the crossing with Varys, but the capital's air kept its usual weight. We pushed through the double doors of the Crown of Flowers. The lower hall reeked of pork and sweat. We crossed the wooden boards, climbed the oak staircase, and stopped in the corridor.
I turned the iron handle of my room.
Eldric was sitting on the edge of my bed. The spy's hand rested on top of Fenrir's head, scratching through the wolf's thick coat. Hela slept curled on the wool rug, the tip of her black tail tapping slowly on the floorboards.
"I knew you had the gift", I said, closing the door with a click. The corner of my mouth pulled up.
"Gift? For what, my lord?", Eldric asked, without breaking the rhythm of his fingers on the beast's ears.
"I met some people who guided me along the path of the Greensight. I see that trace in you", I answered, dropping the sword belt on the table. "Perhaps less than in me. The connection is still there. Just by the way Fenrir is comfortable in your presence it is already a sign of it. He is a selective boy."
Eldric stilled his hand. The man's dark eyes found mine.
"You are speaking of the Children of the Forest?"
I leaned forward. "Exactly. How did you know?"
"There is an old legend circulating among my people", Eldric said, his hoarse voice sliding through the closed room. "In the Gods Eye, near those ruins of Harrenhal, the old magic did not die. They say green seers and the Children of the Forest themselves live hidden on that island to this day."
"The Gods Eye. I have heard of it. I read records in some books at Winterfell, and Leaf told me something about it", I said.
"The land there is heavier than any maester's book can carry, my lord. The Pact between the Children and the First Men was forged on that soil. That is where they created the sacred order of the Green Men to protect the island and the wood", Eldric explained. "They did an absolute job of it. Not even the fleets and steel of the Andals managed to break the waters and conquer that piece of land. Kings and conquerors bled trying to set foot on that soil packed with weirwoods."
"Interesting", I murmured. "It seems I will have to investigate that lake more closely in the future."
I rested my arms on my legs, leaning forward.
"Setting the Gods Eye aside", I said. "Tell me. What did you want to discuss before you disappeared?"
"You asked me to map men across the continent. People with rare abilities and qualities that could strengthen our network before I move on", Eldric said. The spy reached under his cloak and pulled out a thick parchment. "I found names that may interest you."
"Tell me, then, my friend."
Eldric unfolded the paper against his leg.
"One of my shadows sent direct reports from the Citadel", the spy began. "A man called Qyburn. An absolute genius in the art of healing. The maesters whisper that his hands surpass even those of Archmaester Ebrose. But his curiosity broke its chains."
Eldric raised his eyes.
"He seeks to swallow the Archmaester's knowledge whole. Instead of opening corpses to study the dead and disease, as the Citadel has done for centuries, Qyburn began opening living bodies. Condemned men rotting in dungeons and the sick in their final breaths. He wants to tear out the secrets of death while the subject's heart still beats."
I rested my elbow on the arm of the chair. The threat Beyond the Wall did not bleed from the cut of a common sword. A man who carved at the exact boundary between life and necromancy was sharp steel for what was coming.
"His practices brought him before the Citadel's tribunal", Eldric continued. "I received word that he has just been expelled and had his chain stripped from his neck by the archmaesters, judged for unethical practices. But he himself claims to understand more about the secrets of life and death than any man breathing in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Qyburn", I repeated the name slowly. "You have convinced me. Bring him to our side."
Eldric gave a short nod and brought his eyes back to the parchment.
"Another man. The younger brother of the infamous Mountain", he continued. "They say that as a child, Sandor Clegane suffered monstrous facial burns. Gregor pushed the boy's face against a lit brazier simply because Sandor had taken a toy of his. There are strong rumors that a sister and their father were also massacred by Gregor. But since the Mountain is one of Tywin Lannister's most useful and brutal dogs, the graves were sealed in silence."
Fenrir snorted through his nostrils and dropped his heavy head onto the mattress.
"The boy's contempt for the shining farce of knighthood was cemented by an episode at a tournament in Lannisport", the spy explained. "Rhaegar was there. The prince was stunned when he saw Gregor's physical size and brutality with a sword in the sand. He knighted him on the spot, ignoring the shadows of his past. Later, Rhaegar discovered the blood on the Mountain's hands and bitterly regretted it. The sword had already touched the man's shoulders."
Eldric folded the edge of the paper.
"Sandor came to despise fire, his blood brother, and every hypocrisy of knighthood. He is a man broken by the world. Pure hatred for the Mountain is the only thing that moves him. If you can put a collar on him, he will be a brutal asset", Eldric said. "He carries the brother's genes. A massive build, pushing two meters in height, and violent skill with steel."
"Good. Bring him too", I said.
The spy gave a brief nod. A shallow smile cut across his dry lips.
"Is there anyone else?", I asked.
"Ah, yes. I saved the best for last", Eldric answered. "And he is anchored here, in King's Landing, at this exact moment."
"Tell me more."
"Davos", Eldric said, the words flowing faster. "Born right here, in the mud of Flea Bottom. In his youth, he served on the deck of the Cobblecat, under the command of a smuggler and pirate from Tyrosh called Roro Uhoris. The captain's luck ran out when the Night's Watch patrol cornered him near Eastwatch. The crows took Uhoris's head for selling weapons to the wildlings. Despite watching the ice stain with blood, Davos did not flinch. He kept dealing with the black cloaks after that."
Eldric smoothed the crumpled parchment against the fabric of his trousers.
"After the end of the Cobblecat, Davos carved his own salt path. He got his hands on a small, fast ship. Today he is one of the most notorious smugglers cutting the seas of the Seven Kingdoms. He guides his black-sailed ship into commercial ports in the dead of night and has a talent for navigating shallow, treacherous waters where large hulls break apart. The Three Sisters have seen him many times. And White Harbor's waters have swallowed his anchors dozens of times."
"Davos demanded more effort to track", Eldric continued, rolling the parchment between his fingers. "Beyond operating in absolute silence, he has a natural ability to earn the respect of people on the docks. He is a man of his word, straight and loyal. I would venture to say he handles a tiller with more skill than most Ironborn captains. He married a woman called Marya. Their first child was born last year."
I shook my head slowly.
"You can be frightening, Eldric", I said, watching the paper disappear into the folds of the black cloak. "The level of information you pull from the ground is extraordinary."
"That is my true gift", the spy answered, raising his face from the half-light of the room. "And you gave me the structure to sharpen it. I am grateful to have a clear target to aim at."
I got up from the chair. I crossed two steps, stopping beside the bed, and rested my hand on Eldric's shoulder, pressing the thick wool of his cloak.
"You are family, Eldric", I said. "Never forget that."