Chapter 51: Chapter 51
After something is made evident to someone, it can then seem to appear almost everywhere. To the point where one wonders just how on earth they didn't notice it before.
It certainly wasn't the first time Tiresias cursed himself for his blindness. For being oblivious. After that night in the stables, he seemed to spot Myranda everywhere. Across the yard. Carrying the wash through the corridors. Around the corner when Theon snuck off early from supper. She didn't look too much younger than she did when she first appeared in the Dreadfort's torture chamber.
Then again, Theon and the rest of them were reaching that age as well. It shouldn't be too surprising.
He didn't approach Greyjoy about the girl. Indirectly, through Mal and through her, Maygen, he was able to talk to Mistress Nera and inquire innocuously about young Marya.
The Winterfell laundress didn't much to say about the young girl, except she came from the Rills to the southwest, looking for work in Wintertown. When the surprise arrival of the Dornish became known, she needed a few extra hands with the laundry. And the girl stayed on when Prince Oberyn departed with his entourage.
Tiresias turned to his wife at this point. "How did that work? Didn't Mistress Nera only take her on for the Dornish visit?"
Mal didn't raise her eyes from her embroidery hoop. "One of Mistress Nera's regulars took ill. The girl was kept on."
That inspired a pointed silence. Until Mal saw fit to break it.
"What? What are you thinking?"
He shook his head. "Nothing I'm prepared to say out loud. Nothing I'm sure of..."
Tiresias hoped the other girl's illness was a coincidence, but he didn't hold out hope. And he didn't question it further. He was only able to ask what he had so far under the pretense of Theon Greyjoy's conduct. Out of concern for the Ironborn ward. But too many questions would lead to suspicious eyes on the girl. And Myranda had to believe she was comfortable here in Winterfell. No one looked twice, if at all, at a laundry maid.
That was the reason he didn't tell Lord Stark of the spy. Not just yet anyway. Yes, he thought he would do so the next day, but in the bright of morning it just didn't seem correct to do so. Lord Stark was a better actor than most gave him credit for. The man was hiding a secret Targaryen for god's sake.
But on his way to the library the morning after she introduced herself in the stables, he sensed her carrying the bedding back to the Great Keep. Along with the other laundry girls. He felt her eyes upon him. Well, imagined them more likely. But he didn't glance to the side, didn't take the chance that he might meet them.
Would Lord Stark be able to keep up the façade of normalcy? Even if he didn't interact with the girl directly, anyone he assigned to follow and watch her could clue the girl in. Myranda may be a sadist, but she was also perceptive. And smart enough.
So he didn't go to Lord Stark just yet. Was that a betrayal? He hoped not. The Warden knew there was a spy in his castle. He was already acting with caution. He would tell Lord Stark in due course. It just wasn't the right time.
And so he ignored her. He kept his eyes down. He continued his training and his work. He laughed and didn't hide his affections. Not with his friends or the Starks. It didn't matter if Lord Bolton heard of them. If he became withdrawn, the girl would only be suspicious. If only he had seen her first from a distance and not a full-on introduction in the stables. Besides alerting her to his presence and his attention, it made any investigation on his part much more difficult.
There was one night though. Nearly three weeks had passed since he encountered her and Theon. Tiresias was heading to the kitchens from the library tower after a session with Gendry. The lad learned his letters quickly and was now impatient with the children tomes. He indulged him with some Baratheon history, which Gendry took to. He seemed proud to read it, though Tiresias saw the conflicting emotions in his eyes.
Stepping out into the yard, he glanced Myranda's caped figure disappearing through the western gate.
All musings of Gendry's lesson and bread from the kitchens escaped from him. Knowing the girl didn't see him enter the courtyard, he crossed to the gate and exited the castle after her.
She remained out of sight all through Wintertown, which suited Tiresias fine. It was enough to follow her scent. As pungent as the stables were, he could still get a reading on her. He walked calmly through the huts, thankful that she didn't take the main road. He didn't need anyone familiar calling out greetings to him, alerting her to his presence.
Despite his care, his feet squished in the mud. Cursing the rain that fell two nights prior, he halted his step and peered around a corner.
Behind Reben's candleshop, she stood waiting. She didn't shiver in the cool summer night. She was a true Northerner. Unbothered by the chill.
The heart of ice probably helps as well.
But there was love in that heart. Twisted love, to be sure. But Myranda loved Ramsay more than she feared him. And as soon as she was a young woman, she was willing to travel to Winterfell and help Roose Bolton seek his revenge.
A reluctant sliver of admiration found its way into his thoughts. It didn't make him forget that this girl was a danger to him and all those he cared for. And the North as well, if she was helping Roose Bolton undermine Lord Stark.
He didn't risk getting closer. The mud would only alert her and there was no point. She was waiting for someone. And so he joined her. He could comfortably wait in the cold as well.
But he didn't have to wait long. Barely five minutes. Steps in the distance reached his ears. Myranda turned toward the thoroughfare. A slim, dark-bearded man with a satchel came into his line of sight, approaching her. He didn't recognize him.
They didn't exchange pleasantries, merely speaking quietly. Tiresias didn't dare close his eyes to focus on the words. He didn't want to miss anything and it seemed fairly routine. It included Myranda pulling out a folded piece of parchment and handing it over. He wondered if she wrote down the information herself or whether Maester Luwin was missing a letter in his notes.
The man took the note and placed it in his satchel. The secret rendezvous seemed to be over as Myranda turned and walked away. Tiresias realized with a jolt that she was coming back the way she came.
Stepping as lightly as he could on the driest mud possible, he walked to the main thoroughfare, stepping in front of the hut, facing the street. He heard Myranda cross behind him, taking the backways as she returned to Winterfell. He let her go. His interest now was in her messenger.
Leaning against the front of the hut, he kept his ears open. The man was making his way back to the main road. He looked to the shuttered candle shop and saw the man with the satchel appear, his hood now up. Tiresias didn't move, not even to hide himself. Myranda may know his face, but he doubted this stranger did. He certainly didn't know him from the Dreadfort.
In the end, the stranger didn't even look his way and walked west at a mild pace. This man was not a hunter, not like Locke. But his feet fell quietly enough and he seemed to be cautious. Tiresias gave him a fair distance before kicking off the wall and following him.
The stranger walked straight through the shuttered market place and right past Ambre's. He didn't even look once to the brothel house. Which disappointed Tiresias slightly. If he wanted to check the man's history, it certainly would have been easier had he whored once in a while. But this stranger seemed utterly disinterested in such a venture. Or perhaps just very committed to his work.
It didn't take long to discover the man's true destination. At the inn on the edge of Wintertown, he turned and entered the stables. Tiresias kept walking past, not even daring to glance inside. Instead he walked to the very last hut in Wintertown, the first to receive any outsiders.
He did soften his step as he approached. The tanner and his family resided in this hut. He heard the man's snores through the walls. And his wife's as well. Instead he positioned himself along the western wall, hidden from the starlight under the shadow of their thatch roof. And he waited.
But not for long. A horse cantered along the road his way. He knew it was him. He heard the satchel slapping up against the horse's side. He didn't need the starlight to see Myranda's messenger ride out in the direction of the Kingsroad, his hood now down. The man didn't even look to his side.
As he rode farther away, the canter turned into a trot and his distance grew quickly. Not needing to sneak about anymore, Tiresias stepped away from the hut and found his way to the road. Where he closed his eyes and focused his ears away from the snoring couple and towards the horse's hooves pounding the dirt. Riding away to the west...
And then it changed. It took a moment for Tiresias to be certain, but the rider had altered his course. The distant footfalls now came from the north.
He opened his eyes, exhaling through his nose, looking toward the disappearing hooves echoing in the night.
Man has a long ride back to the Dreadfort. Hope he meets a wolf on the way.
But he didn't mean that. In fact, he hoped for the opposite. As it was with Myranda, Roose Bolton could not suspect in any way that his spy was discovered in Winterfell. The last thing he needed was for their lovely correspondence to be suddenly severed. Not now.
Still, that didn't mean he had to wish the man well. Settling instead for riding sores, he turned and began his walk back to the castle.
Not that Roose had no cause to be suspicious. That encounter with Locke and his band of hunters along the White Knife was supposed to go down very differently. How long was the Lord of the Dreadfort waiting to flay his latest victim when he realized Locke wasn't coming home with him gagged and tied?
Until this messenger brought the news from Myranda he supposed. He just wished he knew what she had passed onto him tonight.
He couldn't know. He had to accept that. Under no circumstances did the librarian, Tiresias, have any reason to converse with Marya, a laundry maid. He would have to live with her eyes on his back, watching for anything to report back to Roose.
There was one satisfying consolation though. Last time she resided at Winterfell, she was there as the bedwarmer for the Warden's legitimized bastard. She ate well, did no labor and slept in soft sheets under warm furs.
But Ramsay was long dead. And though Theon may be a ward, his favor didn't grant her the same privileges. Her bread was barely salted. The wool in her bed blanket was rough. And she had to scrub laundry.
And that feels good, aye? Just be careful, mate. Don't get caught up in that smug thinking. With every filthy cloth she scrubs, she fantasizes about the misery that will befall you and the ones you care for. So be careful…
Lord Stark took to the news of the spy's identity quite well. They met in his solar late the following evening. He was sure Myranda didn't see him sneak up to the tower. It was one of those nights that Theon couldn't be found. Plus he didn't hear anyone sneaking behind him. As crafty as she was, she was no Bolton hunter. No Faceless Man.
There was a silence after he revealed the lass. Lord Stark mulled it over for a moment before speaking.
"This girl that you recognize…was she a spy here in Winterfell before? In your visions?"
He shook his head. "No. She just was very enamored of a certain bastard."
"Enough to travel here and spy for Lord Bolton?"
"Apparently so," Tiresias murmured. "From what I've seen…it's not beyond her. She did love Ramsay. In her own way."
Sleep crept into his eyes and he rubbed it away gently.
"And Theon?" Lord Stark asked.
"He doesn't know," he answered immediately. "He's just in lust right now. Love? Probably not. Maybe the beginning of it…but I just think he's happy to have someone. She's a cunning girl. The good news is that she has no future interest in him. I don't see her trying to become pregnant."
He didn't need to bring up the fact that this wasn't the first girl in the castle that Theon had a tryst with. In fact, when he was gone in the Westerlands, rumors reached Lady Stark's ears about the young ward's fondles. A quick word with Vayon Poole and a strict warning worked its way discretely through the castle staff. And soon Theon found his trysts much more difficult to come by. So he began to frequent the brothel in Wintertown.
Myranda must have been the only girl in months to give him eyes without him paying for it. Fearless eyes that didn't care for the strict rules of Winterfell. Flirting eyes that hid an ulterior motive.
"Sending the girl away would be simple enough," Lord Stark said. "With your witness, what happened in the stables…it's grounds enough for a dismissal."
He met Tiresias' gaze, saw his thoughts instantly. "You don't want that?"
"I know it's not pleasant having a spy in your home. Someone that wishes you harm…but it's a good opportunity when you know who the spy is. You send the girl away…the next one could be a person I don't recognize at all. Knowing who she is…we can set whatever narrative we want."
"No, we can't." Lord Stark glanced to the window. It was rather warm. Tiresias wagered he was suppressing the urge to open it.
Personally, he was happy to keep it closed. Due to the nature of their conversation. It was a ridiculous thought. To think that Myranda could be listening outside the window, high up above the ground. Still, it was a comfort to know that they could speak in relative privacy.
Lord Stark continued.
"She gives whatever she desires to that messenger of hers in Wintertown. He rides up to the Dreadfort. There's no point where we can interfere with their correspondence. Not without Lord Bolton knowing."
It was true. Last night after Tiresias walked back to Winterfell, he pondered all sorts of possibilities where he could alter what Myranda wrote. Lure Roose into a trap somehow. Take care of him.
They all fell flat. None held up to scrutiny. And worse of all, another thought took hold and refused to let go.
Clearing his throat, Tiresias voiced it. "There is the possibility that she's not the only spy in Winterfell."
Not the only spy sent by Roose, you mean? Right?
At first, yes. But ever since returning to Winterfell from his encounter with Locke, Tiresias looked for spying eyes everywhere. And Lord Bolton wasn't the only one he thought capable of infiltrating them into the castle. There was also the Spider in King's Landing. Did Varys send someone to Winterfell after they spoke in the capital?
Their business ended amiably but it was certainly possible. However Lord Bolton was their priority now. They didn't have time for Varys.
Lord Stark met his eyes. "What makes you think that?"
Tiresias shook his head. "Nothing valid. Just a worry. An unfortunate possibility."
The Warden looked at him. "Tell me, Tiresias. Is Lord Bolton merely after you? For what you did? Or is this an attack on my family? My position as Warden?"
He considered it. "Well…not to sound too full of myself, but I believe I'm the immediate goal. I think he's waiting for me to venture out of the castle again. On one of my excursions. But you…you were right when I returned. If he's going after your servant, he's angling at some level for you. With your men, your standing in the North, your friendship with the King…I want to say you're safe. But I've seen enough of this world to know that no matter what, no one is ever completely safe.
"Perhaps Myranda is not only getting valuable information on me, but this castle. For a future invasion. Many years from now. Theon could be bragging to her now. Telling her the castle's weak points. Boasting how he'd take Winterfell."
He did it once before.
Lord Stark's peer sharpened a bit. "Do you think she's persuading him to?"
Cursing his big mouth, Tiresias shrugged. "I don't think so. Theon's a young man. There's much a young man would say without meaning it. Many boys ponder playfully how they would take a castle, a ship or a kingdom."
He hoped that was the case. To be honest, it's been a while since he checked in on Theon. He couldn't say for certain whether or not the young ward had any stronger feelings of resentment towards the Starks for his position.
Falling silent, he waited for Lord Stark's decision. Finally the Warden stood and walked to the window.
"The girl will stay here until otherwise said and we'll do our best not to give away what we know."
Tiresias nodded, wishing there was another way. "Are you going to tell anyone else?"
"No. Too many people already know the secret. Though I will speak to Maester Luwin. That man is already careful, but I will ask that he places any sensitive letters under greater security."
He turned to Tiresias. "I'll also repeat my request that you not venture forth from Winterfell without an escort. As for the upcoming trek to the Wall, whenever that will be, we'll have to leave on short notice. Give the girl as little time as possible to notify her messenger. Leave in the morning while she's elbow deep in a wash bin. Have you told anyone of the trip to Castle Black?"
"No."
"Keep it that way." Lord Stark placed his hand on the latch. "Is there anything else tonight?"
Tiresias shook his head. On that, Lord Stark opened the window. Fresh chilled summer air flowed into the solar. He savored it briefly before nodding good night to the Warden. He exited the solar to a blissfully empty corridor, encountering no one else as he retired to his quarters.
Opening the door, he found Mal in her night clothes, turning the ashes in the hearth, extinguishing the last of the evening's fire. A single candle burned in the room.
Resisting the urge to take one last look out into the corridor, he shut and locked the door.
"Were you wanting to work more tonight?" Mal asked.
He shook his head. "No, I'll come to bed."
With no night clothes of his own, getting ready for the night was a simple ordeal. Within minutes, he laid naked on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He sighed, all the energy of the day slithering out of him.
"What is it?" Mal said, climbing under the covers.
He didn't respond. She blew out the candle and settled in. There wasn't a complete silence in the room. He heard the remaining embers in the hearth simmer. The wind outside skirting the castle.
He even swore he heard Mal staring at him in the dark. It wasn't just her heartbeat. Whatever it was she laid quiet, waiting for him to answer.
Finally he turned to her.
"There's a danger in Winterfell."
His tone was murmured, low. And she matched it.
"What sort of danger? Can you say?"
"No," he breathed. "Not now."
A part of him wished he could tell. But a larger part was grateful that he couldn't. Not that he enjoyed shutting his wife out. It merely…felt good to keep silent when he was lost on how to proceed himself.
His eyes were good enough to see Mal scoot forward gently, tilting her forehead towards his. He met it gently and laid breathing with her for a solid minute, taking in her scent. By the way her nostrils moved gently, he knew she was doing the same.
"Is there anything I could do?" she asked.
Tiresias laid there, considering the question. He just couldn't reject it. There had to be something he could ask of her. She couldn't be left powerless…
An answer came to him and he opened his eyes wide in the dark. Even Mal saw it. She leaned back.
"What?"
He swallowed. "Over the next week or so…don't shout it, but let it slip. To Ginn, Maygen, Mistress Bane, anyone who gossips that I'll be travelling next month…to Goldgrass. I'll be traveling to Goldgrass to meet Lord Stout. And collect some tomes."
Mal absorbed the information. "Next month, you say?"
"Aye."
"Are you really riding to Goldgrass?"
In the dark, it was easy to meet her brown eyes. "It's what needs to be heard."
Enough time for the messenger to return to Wintertown, to hear the information and report back to Lord Bolton. A hunting party would sneak to the south. More than twice the men Locke brought. Without his best hunter, Roose wouldn't take any chances.
At least, that was the hope. And Mal saw it. He knew she did. She met his eyes and nodded.
"All right," she murmured. She leaned in and kissed him. Romance turned into yearning quite quickly and after thirty seconds, she sat up.
"I thought you were tired," Tiresias muttered, not quite protesting.
Mal shuffled out of her night skirt, lifting it over her head. "I can sleep later. When you've gone. It's a long ride to Goldgrass."
He prowled the shelves for songs. Later after supper, he had a session with Gendry and he figured the lad would be ready for that. Not that he would force the young blacksmith to sing, but it would certainly help to introduce a rhythm to the words. Gendry would be able to see that. He was sure hammering the iron required a certain beat.
He was done in two minutes. Carrying the two tomes to his table, he sighed. This could have be done right before the boy came. While he was here even. He just needed an activity.
A perfectly innocuous activity to be spotted doing…
The thought crept into him before he could stop it. He hated it. He hated acting normal under the eyes of a Bolton spy. Of one who wished him harm. Even when he was out of Myranda's sight, he still had to assume that she would hear of his activities from others. A gentle inquiry. An innocent question. A teasing provocation to Theon Greyjoy…
Had he given her something useful in the past few weeks? He couldn't say. Roose was far smarter than he was. And quite willing to play dirty. He had to assume that even the most innocent of reports could be twisted and turned against him.
Even his own countermeasure, spreading the false rumor that he'd be riding to House Stout in a few weeks…he wished he could see if it worked. He told that to Mal about a month ago. If Roose fell for it, then a whole contingent of Bolton hunters would be stalking the road south by now. How long would they stay put before realizing that he wasn't coming? How long would they wait? He needed them there until word came that Mance Rayder had arrived. With each passing day without a raven from Castle Black, he felt the weight in his stomach grow and grow…
The only consolation he took was that laundry maids had no good reason to enter the library. If Myranda had managed to grab work as a scullery maid, she could sneak more about the castle. So Tiresias stayed a couple more hours in the library these days, fairly confident he was away from spying eyes.
Spying eyes that yearned him to be strapped to a rack. Flayed clean. Placed upside down on a cross…
He was so absorbed in the morbid possibilities, he didn't hear the person approaching the library. For the first time in a while, he was startled by a door opening.
After a split second, his heartrate slowed and he focused on the footfalls coming toward him. Very light.
Not quite as light as her sister, but she's still young.
Turning away from the table, he met the grey eyes of Cara Stark coming around the corner. The girl stopped and stared at him. She didn't look surprised, but she didn't say hello either.
Tiresias gave a nod. "Lady Cara."
She still didn't respond. Which he didn't blame her for. His tone was a little too formal. It always was with her. Rickon still came to mind whenever he saw her. A sliver of guilt that shrunk and shrunk as the years passed but was still ever present.
It certainly helped that he did other things in the four years since she was born, things much worse than accidentally erasing Rickon from existence. Rosie came to his mind…
In any case, he maintained a distance from the little girl before him. Not that he had to try very hard. There was no reason for Cara to be close to him. She started her lessons in his absence. Apart from that, she was usually under the watch of her governess or the Septa. However, with the recent discovery of Arya's clandestine spars, Septa Mordane set her eyes mainly on the middle Stark daughter, trusting the quiet, youngest one to behave.
He glanced to the door and back to Cara. By the look of things, this quiet one recognized an opportunity and seized it. As much as he wanted to encourage the child's freedom, whoever was supposed to be watching her would be frantic right now. Not just for Cara's safety, but for their employment as well. It would be cruel to prolong that.
"Aren't you supposed to be with the Septa now, my Lady?" he asked. "Or your governess?"
She understood that. He saw it in her eyes. They glanced to the side. Her weight shifting back and forth.
Tiresias came to her and knelt down. "Did you sneak away?"
No response, but he saw the answer clear enough. Focusing, he heard no running footsteps from the corridor outside. He sighed and stood up. It wasn't like he had anything more to do around here anyway.
He extended his hand, having to lean down slightly.
"Come, my Lady. I'll escort you back."
She looked to his hand, then back up to him. Her eyes furrowed as she tried to decide. Tiresias stood there patiently; his hand still extended. Seconds went by quite slowly.
And just before he decided to just leave and fetch someone, Cara opened her mouth.
"I want…I want stay."
He heard her speak before. With her sisters and brothers, she talked frequently. But that wasn't the Common Tongue that just escaped her...
Retracting his hand, he peered at her. She sat in on the lessons concerning the Old Tongue. How much she actually absorbed…what he took for indecision a moment ago was actually concentration.
She still looked to him, meeting his gaze. Finally he swallowed and said clearly, giving each of the words their space.
"I want to stay."
Cara listened and repeated. "I want to stay."
A slight laugh escaped him and he knelt before her slowly.
"What is…my name?" he said, pointing to himself on the last two words.
"Tiresias." That came quickly.
"Your name…is Tiresias."
"Your…name is…Tiresias."
"Good, good…My name…is Tiresias," he said, nodding as he pointed to her. "What is…your name?"
"Cara Stark…" she said. Tiresias looked at her expectantly and she continued, searching for the words. "My…name…my name is Cara Stark."
On this, Tiresias stood, heart racing. He looked to the door, having not forgotten that this girl's guardian was now searching for her. When he met Cara's eyes again, he saw the plea.
He cleared his throat. "Only a short time," he stated clearly. "Do you understand?"
She nodded eagerly. "Not…not…" she said, before looking to him for help.
"Not for long."
"Not for long," she repeated.
Having not planned on this, Tiresias found himself standing stock still, considering his options. Cara stood still as well, her eyes waiting.
Finally, he took off to the shelves, gesturing for her to wait. And she did. He didn't hear her follow him. His fingers brushed the tomes as he tried to find something appropriate. Something light…
Well, light was a relative term. He came back to his table with a medium sized tome. Setting it down, he lit two candles.
"Fetch that," he said, pointing to the slate and chalk. He didn't know if she knew the word or not, but she knew the gesture. She came to the side of his chair with the items.
With a muttered apology, he lifted her by her armpits and placed her on the desk. Totally unperturbed, she crossed her legs and look at the tome as he opened it.
"Careful of the fire," he said, pointing to the nearest candle, before bringing his finger to the title page.
"This tome…" he said, looking to her. "This tome…is a story…of your family."
He enunciated more than ever before, though he wondered if it was necessary. Cara stared at the page. "Family…"
"Yes." Tiresias tapped one of the runes. "Stark. You understand? Stark. What is your name?"
"My name is Cara Stark."
Tapping the Stark rune again, he pointed to the slate and she began to etch. Her writing was quite appropriate for a four-year-old. Nevertheless when she lowered her slate, the rune was unmistakable. Not elegant, but it was definitely Stark.
Turning the page, he read slowly. They only read the first page that afternoon. She repeated everything slowly and chalked more runes on the slate, wiping it clean with a cloth. When an hour passed and he told her it was time to leave and go back to the governess, she did so without protest.
Cara exited the library, having not uttered one word of the Common Tongue. Tiresias watched her go and turned back to the tome opened before. He sat there for a few moments, turning the pages gently. He never knew…never bothered to inquire…
A small part of him asked if Rickon would have taken to the Old Tongue so well…
He shut that thought down. Gently though. Such musings would cease in time. Especially as Cara continued to grow. Still they were present and he couldn't quite forget yet the Stark child that she replaced.
Closing the tome, he placed it next to the book of songs for Gendry. There was no need to shelve it again. He doubted that this was the last time Cara would come and speak Old Tongue with him. Her eyes were too curious. Her mind too sharp.
He found himself quite grateful to the youngest Stark child. That was the most enjoyable afternoon he had in Winterfell since his return by far. He had completely forgotten about Myranda and the poison he saw in her eyes.
The following evening when Tiresias entered his room, he brought a tote bag full of wood for the fire. He dropped it on the floor next to the hearth, split logs and sticks falling out. Squatting down, he began to stack them on the grate. Mal wasn't here yet, but he wanted to have it ready for her when she returned from supper in a short while.
It was a new duty in being married that he didn't even consider. Not that he wasn't happy to do it. But in all his years of sleeping alone, he had been warm enough without the comfort of a fire.
Things were different now. And though sometimes the fire made the room a little stuffy, it was worth it in his mind. To look over and see her form framed by firelight. He didn't do much for her. Sometimes he read to her, but he didn't hunt often or bring home sheep's wool to spin.
He could make her comfortable though. And if that involved framing wood in the hearth then he was happy to do it.
Lost in his romantic gesture, he was startled by a brusque knock on the door.
Tiresias stood, staring. That certainly wasn't his wife. Though he was sure that she could pound the hell out of the door if she wanted to…
Shaking his mind of that image, he crossed his room and opened the door to see Jory Cassel standing stiffly.
"Evening, Jory," he said, his eyes flitting across the corridor. The man came alone. "What's going on?"
"Lord Stark wants to see you, Tiresias. Immediately."
There was no humor to Jory's tone. Yet, Tiresias kept calm. There was no reason to hope. No reason to despair either.
Keeping his face a mask, he nodded and stepped out into the corridor, locking the door behind him.
"All right then."
He entered the solar not five minutes later. His heartrate increased when he saw the Warden. Lord Stark was walking about the room, tidying up loose piles.
He nodded to Jory. "Thank you, Jory. Please return in ten minutes. I need to speak with Tiresias alone."
Jory returned the nod at once. "Aye, my Lord."
As soon as Jory departed, Tiresias returned his gaze to Lord Stark. The man returned to his desk, stacking a series of documents on the side. His eyes traveled to the fat candle burning besides the Warden. It was freshly lit.
"Settling in for a long night, Lord Stark?"
"Long enough," replied the Warden, his eyes still down on his desk. "Though I hope not to be too long. We have a lengthy ride ahead of us tomorrow."
His eyes came to him at that moment. The hairs on the back of Tiresias' neck rose.
"Castle Black sent word?" he whispered.
The Warden looked to the front of his desk, where a roll of parchment laid curled on the surface. Tiresias unfurled it, scanning the words far too quickly. He forced himself to slow down and read the writing of Benjen Stark.
The First Ranger wrote with great economy. Tiresias read it again before looking up at Lord Stark.
"By the next full moon?"
Lord Stark nodded. "In three weeks. Give or take a couple days. He'll be there by then."
He stared at the Warden. "Will we make it?"
"Aye, I'm not worried." Lord Stark sat, rubbing his eyes before pulling the first note in front of him. "He's coming to speak to me. I don't see him leaving if we're late. Still, we won't dally about. We ride before dawn."
The sun was completely gone from the sky. And with all there was to do, Tiresias wouldn't be surprised if the Warden managed to snag three hours of sleep tonight. There wasn't any time to be nervous or excited. The time they were waiting for was nigh. And he was here. Not away from Winterfell. He didn't miss it.
The thought relieved him and he exhaled.
"Is there anything I could help you with?"
Lord Stark shook his head. "Get some sleep. Be at the stables before dawn. Pack lightly. We won't take wagons this time."
The tone was dismissive but Tiresias didn't move. He had a suggestion…
"If I may, Lord Stark," he began. "If we're to truly begin introducing the idea of allowing the Free Folk to migrate south of the Wall, if the negotiations start…it would be beneficial to have at least one House present when we meet to talk. So it doesn't seem too underhanded…"
"I'm sending a raven to Bear Island tonight," Lord Stark responded. "I want Lady Maege Mormont with us."
That made sense. It wasn't just that she was the Lord Commander's sister. As Craster's wives had settled on her island, Lady Mormont probably held a more sensible view than most when it came to the Free Folk. That they weren't all dangerous barbarians. She knew integration was possible…
Lord Stark met his eye. "I'm also sending a raven to Last Hearth."
That news was like a lead weight in his stomach. Tiresias stood silent for a few seconds before remembering that they didn't have time to waste staring.
"Lord Stark…" He tried to find the right words. "Lord Stark, the Umbers, the Greatjon…they're the northernmost house. They've met the Free Folk more times than all the other houses put together and it's not been friendly. They'll not take to this at all. Without evidence of a greater threat. If you…"
"The Greatjon has been a good and loyal friend to me ever since I was young," Lord Stark retorted.
It was a gentle retort, but it still made him shut up.
The Warden continued. "If I'm to do this, I need his support. And I won't get it if he finds out about our plan before he hears it from me. Aye, he'll be pissed and he'll insult the wildlings. And the Night's Watch. And me. But however mad he'll be, he'll come and hear us. Because I will not have betrayed him. Anything else…and I risk driving him away."
But that still leaves his son…
Tiresias shelved the thought. If the Smalljon became an issue…well, then he simply didn't know what he would do. He knew Lord Stark was right. The Greatjon was a loyal man. A strong one. And because they couldn't afford to lose his strength or loyalty, they had to bring him in at some point. He had to hear the enraging news from his beloved Warden.
He fell silent with his thoughts, wishing he had something more to say. But after so many months of waiting, there really wasn't anything else left. He simply had to be there and ride north tomorrow.
With the dismissal still clear, he stood and crossed to the door.
"Tiresias," Lord Stark said. He turned back to see the Warden still focused on his work, buckling down for the evening. He had no doubt that he would be ready to ride tomorrow. That he would admirably ignore his weariness.
The Warden did meet his eyes for a final warning. "Mance Rayder is coming to see you as well. I hope you didn't forget that."
He exhaled through his nose. "No, Lord Stark. I didn't."
His visit to the Warden's solar didn't take long at all. Mal still wasn't in their room when he returned. Still he knelt before the hearth, building the fire up to a medium height. He wished he had carried more wood up here. Enough so that she didn't have to when he was gone.
When she did arrive later, he was already packed. His rucksack laid by the door, his bow and quiver leaning against it. And tucked deep inside was the dragonglass dagger. Still sharp, he hadn't removed it from his room since the last excursion to Castle Black. Beyond the Wall…
Mal paused by the closed door. She regarded the rucksack for a few seconds before turning to him. He was already in bed.
"You're not really going to Goldgrass in the morning, are you?"
He gave a sad smile, which she returned only briefly. Crossing the room, she paused at her trunk and turned to him. The question was obvious on her face.
Remembering his promise, he sighed. "I'm going to the Wall."
She kept her head high, her brown eyes unsentimental. "For how long?"
"I don't know," he responded honestly. Mal lowered her eyes before turning and opening the trunk. He continued to speak. "I'm there to meet someone and to talk, but…I have a feeling it'd be more than that."
"What do you mean?"
"If I knew, I'd say," Tiresias murmured. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I'm just going into danger and I wish I knew the extent of it."
"But you don't know how long you'll be gone?"
Tiresias was about to shake his head when he paused. He looked over to Mal as she deposited and organized her day's work. Something about her tone. How her last question was repeated…
He sat up. "Are you all right?"
She closed the trunk, placed the empty satchel down and stood, facing him.
"Aye," she said quietly. "I'm all right."
He came to the edge of the bed, setting his feet down. She met his eyes steadily and after a few seconds, he extended his hand.
"C'mere."
A gentle command by a husband? A comforting welcome by a lover? Something in between? Either way, Mal came to him. He gripped her hips gently, staring up into her eyes. Something was different there. Something smelled different…
Lowering his gaze, he leaned forward into her, pressing his nose against her navel. He sniffed deeply. Heard her pulse increase. Breathing, he smelled again. Taking her in. The scent was all her, but different. Familiar…a trace of something he smelled from a few women in Winterfell, including Ginn not too long ago.
When he finally leaned back, he looked up to see Mal with a knowing face. Knowing but reluctant…
He whispered. "Are you…is it…?"
"It's too soon to say," she said quietly, just above the crackle of the fire. "It may not keep…"
She gently removed his hands from her hips and sat down next to him. Tiresias stared at the wall, trying to absorb it. The idea of it…if she truly was, if it was really happening…
He was interrupted in his thoughts by Mal reaching over and grabbing his chin, turning him gently to face her.
"Whatever's happening with me," she said. "I will be safe here in the castle. I'll be here when you return. So you do whatever you need to do and don't be distracted. All right? You can't afford to be. Just send word when you can."
Tiresias nodded. He meant it, but his nose was still consumed with that scent. It was faint and he was able to drift to sleep. He still smelled it though. It wouldn't just disappear.
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