Chapter 102

She drew the forged steel Oathkeeper; fresh blood gushed from the ugly mercenary's chest—this was already the third lone warrior of the swordsmen she had killed on her journey, and if she remembered correctly, this was also the seventh person she had slain in the Riverlands.

Ser Jaime suffered a defeat here, leaving behind routed troops scattering in all directions; most of the fleeing soldiers wanted to return to King's Landing, but in doing so they committed a crime that outraged both gods and men, and some ignorant fools even took her as a target, leaving her no choice but to strike them down and send them to hell.

Ever since Miss Sansa fled King's Landing, she has been tracking and searching; she passed through Dusk Valley City and Raven's Nest Fort, and on the Crab Claw Peninsula she aimlessly wandered alone, looking for a beautiful maiden with auburn hair or a little girl with brown hair, like a complete fool.

Isn't that right? If Miss Sansa escaped King's Landing, her destination could only be Winterfell; she should have rushed straight to her freedom without delay, just as the lone daughter of the Evening Star ought to return to her father's hall and become a good heir, instead of wasting her life here doing something she is not good at.

Winterfell lacks their parents, but they still have their brothers and a legendary sister, a sister far superior to Brienne of Tarth. Upon learning that Sansa had fled King's Landing, would this sister not use her far greater power to help her return to Winterfell? If they did return to Winterfell, would they still need her protection, and is there anyone who could guard them better than the Queen of Love and Beauty?

The she-wolf covered a thousand miles in two months, defeating every enemy she saw heading south, pushing the kingdom's borders and territories back to the era of the Young Wolf Lord in one fell swoop—if even such a person cannot protect her own family, how could Brienne of Tarth possibly manage?

If Sansa and Arya had safely returned to Winterfell, then her promise to Lady Catelyn could be declared fulfilled; afterward she should return to King's Landing, tell him she had completed her mission, and then take a small boat back to the Isle of Tarth to fulfill her duty to her aging father, her family, and his deceased king.

Duty duty duty.

The dim morning light gradually dispersed the thick fog, the whole Riverlands shrouded in a sheet of gray mist, as if weeping, as if grieving.

She sat beside the corpse, slowly wiping her steel sword; the recent battle had left several noticeable nicks on this fine blade, and perhaps, perhaps before she killed the eighth person it would fail to hold—just like her.

"Ser, where are we headed next?" asked the young squire Podrick Payne.

Podrick had followed her all along in order to find his nominal lady mistress, but the marriage of Sansa Stark to Tyrion Lannister lacked the blessing of the bride's kin—is such a marriage valid? Is she still his nominal lady mistress? Moreover, would Miss Sansa flee together with Tyrion?

No. So this boy is even more foolish than I.

"How would I know?" Such questions often vexed her—when had she ever liked making decisions, taking initiative? "Miss Sansa will either return to Winterfell by sea or by land." That's a pointless statement; this world has no dragons anymore, she won't fly back to Winterfell. "If she goes by sea, perhaps after a while we'll hear that she has safely returned to Winterfell and then married some great lord, winning extra support for Winterfell!" She glanced at Podrick, "We might also receive other news at the same time, such as the imp's head already hung on Winterfell's walls."

The little boy pursed his lips, as if imagining this scene.

"No matter what, Lord Tyrion is the master I serve. If his head were truly hung on Winterfell's walls, I would also beg the she-wolf to return his head to me, then I would take him back to the West and, once the queen mother's anger had subsided, return the skull to House Lannister."

Only by making his skull into a wine cup would her anger be appeased.

"Why?" Brienne asked. Let the boy before her decide her fate.

"I don't know…… he has been betrayed by many, but I swore loyalty to him, and I cannot let him feel that everyone has betrayed him." The boy said, nervous and shy.

"Even if he knows you're loyal, what can you do? Moreover, he already knows you're loyal enough—you don't need to prove it to him! Do you really think that by his side, this useless squire of yours could be of any help? And besides, he might already be dead." Brienne asked sharply.

The two Stark girls might already have safely returned to Winterfell, and even if they hadn't, she might never be able to learn their exact whereabouts. Wouldn't it be better to wait for news of them at the Hall of Whispers?

"Ser, I—I don't know. I feel this is right. Without news of him, I'll just keep searching. Perhaps I'll tell him he shouldn't have abandoned his own squire." He gave an embarrassed smile.

"Look for someone like that? He killed his king and his father!" The two Stark girls have better protectors.

"I, I believe he is innocent, and furthermore… furthermore, I owe him a duty. I should follow him."

Duty duty duty.

"We're heading north." I also owe a duty to Lady Catelyn, and a duty to my father. She sheathed her sword and rose to her feet. My father could have other, better heirs; if duty lets me die in the Riverlands, at least the Hall of Whispers won't have a monster as its lord—"Let's go see whether the Stark girls have returned to Winterfell, and see whether Tyrion's head hangs on Winterfell's walls."

"Are we taking the Kingsroad?" Podrick asked.

"We're only two people; the Kingsroad is too dangerous now. So we'll follow the Red Fork River until we reach Riverrun." Since the Tullys of Riverrun still belong to the Stark faction, if Catelyn's two daughters had already safely returned to Winterfell, Riverrun should know this news, and if we could confirm it there, she wouldn't need to go all the way north.

"Yes." Podrick agreed readily, immediately getting up to pack his belongings.

Even though it was past noon, the sky remained dim. She felt danger everywhere, enemies lurking at every turn—even the faintest rustle in the underbrush, a bird startled into flight.

A chill wind whispered past; Podrick slightly shrank his neck, hand brushing his face, he took small steps toward the hitching post to fetch her horse.

If there were a seventh enemy here, that would also mean an eighth, possibly more. To reach her destination, she should avoid any suspicious crowds, especially in this troubled land of the Riverlands.

At dusk, they crossed a stretch of low hills and entered a dense forest.

Horsetail pines, silk cotton trees, silver birches, and firs were distributed throughout; she smelled no fresh forest air, only an endless stench of decay carried on the cold wind, striking her face and filling her nostrils.

On this gloomy little path, she more than once felt erotic ditties sung by the warrior band echoing in her ears, and she felt her whole self also taking a terrifying journey with the warrior band. This was the stretch of road she had experienced while escorting Ser Jaime to King's Landing.

Now the hanged corpses here are more numerous and denser; almost every few dozen steps one can see soldiers who died horribly, swaying as they hang from trees, their lower legs already reduced to bare bone, the flesh gnawed away by wolves or some other animal.

After time and bandit raids, it's long been impossible to tell which side they belonged to, and regardless of which faction the soldiers were from, they now all emit the same thick stench.

The cold wind may let them linger here a bit longer, but their fate is ultimately the same: crushed by this age‑unchanged world, they become nourishment for the trees that sustain those who hang themselves.

As evening approached, they left the trail and ventured deeper into the woods, mainly to avoid being spotted by passing travelers or the bandits scattered across the Riverlands. But the wolves' rising and falling howls through the night made her feel this might not be the wisest course.

She couldn't sleep well all night; Podrick was also startled by what seemed like a wolf pack right nearby, and the horse trembled uneasily. Because of the lack of rest, by the second day she felt somewhat unsteady on her feet, so they had no choice but to hide in the forest at midday to rest and recuperate.

Thus they slowly pressed on, and on the sixth day they finally saw Riverrun, facing the rolling torrents where the two rivers meet.

Near Riverrun, pedestrian traffic only grew a little. Cavalry patrols bearing a silver trout flag rode along the Red Fork River and the Riverlands highway, and Brienne admitted that this gave her a sense of security.

Brienne carefully wrapped the lion's head of her Oathkeeper in cloth, then remounted the Riverlands highway with Podrick.

Far off, the faint direwolf banner still stood tall atop Riverrun's highest point, unchanged from when she had last left.

Riverrun's ferry had reopened; the landing was now fitted with sturdy mooring posts, and the approach had been relaid with fresh docking planks—brand new, so everyone knew Riverrun was rebuilding its new home with great confidence.

"Who goes there?" four patrol soldiers approached, the leader asking.

"Brienne of Tarth." Brienne replied loudly, "I serve Lady Catelyn, and behind me is my squire, Podrick."

After a few soldiers exchanged glances, the leader laughed mockingly, "'Fair maiden' Brienne! Traitor who released the kingslayer!"

She was already accustomed to the mockery.

"I serve Lady Catelyn," she repeated, "I do what she asks of me, acting according to my own honor."

Lady Catelyn is dead.

I know.

"Then what the hell are you doing here? Are you coming to confess, or to bring back the kingslayer? I haven't seen him!"

I have no sin to confess. Although Lady Catelyn is dead, I must still seek her daughter and bring her safely to Winterfell.

Then you're clearly looking in the wrong place. If Miss Sansa, the she-wolf, or the lords were here, they'd have taken her back already—why would they need you to escort her?

She felt there was absolutely no need to say anything more to him.

Who is the lord of Riverrun now?

Lord Edmure.

I need to see him, I need to cross the river. Brienne fixed her gaze on him.

The leader stared hard into her eyes, but she felt no fear.

The soldiers seemed rather put out; after brushing the boatman's arm aside, they turned and left.

With careful help from the boatman and his young assistant, they managed to get their two horses aboard safely; once the two were on board, Brienne noticed that another group of people waiting to cross had gathered at the landing, while the boat on the opposite bank had already sailed to the middle of the river.

The boatman had a salt‑and‑white beard, wore a heavy raincoat, braced his pole, and pushed off against the slight current toward the opposite bank.

"Sir, you are a lady, aren't you? I just heard the captain call you Brienne." The old man's long pole dug into the water, he shoved hard to move the boat forward. "You came from the east? Ah, how can a woman be walking east of the Red Fork River! It's too dangerous!"

"I am Brienne of Tarth," even if it's dangerous now it's already over—"the east bank is dangerous, what about the west side of the Red Fork?"

"Naturally it's a bit better, of course, but not much better, so women ought to stay home properly—someone like you, a noble, shouldn't you be in a castle? Ah, the bandits on the east bank have been subdued several times by the lords; of course they've improved a lot, but there are still eastern bandits who occasionally cross the Red Fork to raid. Ah, the Brotherhood Without Banners left with the She‑wolf; the few remaining bandits can't stir up trouble, but there are still rebels here. The She‑wolf won a battle, and the Tullys also control most of the Riverlands, but their strength is weakened, so from time to time various strange people, invoking the name of Frey or Frey's daughters, stir up rebellion and raiding, claiming Riverrun and the other holdings under Riverrun."

"Didn't the She‑wolf help suppress them?" Brienne wondered.

"The She‑wolf left the Riverlands long ago and returned to the North." The white‑bearded, wrinkled old man pushed his pole to the limit and let out a long sigh, "She had to return, I hear her two brothers were assassinated by the Freys—how could she stay long in the south under these circumstances? Damn it, Lady Catelyn's all sons are dead."

Brienne felt as if struck by lightning, and could not believe it for a long time.

"Lord Edmure, after hearing this rumor, put a bounty on every Frey man—five gold dragons a head; I hear his hall is already full of heads, of course that's an exaggeration, but there are certainly plenty. The She‑wolf kindly spared the so‑innocent weasels, but any weasel is never innocent, you know—ah, I'm not saying you—women are always weak; the She‑wolf may have spared those innocent Freys and women, but frankly these people's present fate is even more miserable than being hanged by her."

"I heard that Lord Edmure's wife is a Frey."

"Lady Roslyn was only just returned to Riverrun a few days ago; the swineherd says her belly is already big, carrying the seed Lord Edmure sowed at the red wedding. Oh, if this child is born, it will likely be called "Blood‑born"—what an ill‑omened name—and if the child arrives, it will surely be dubbed "Blood‑trout" or "Bloodfish.""

The pole kept striking the murky water, the horses on board gave uneasy whinnies, and Podrick was carefully soothing them; the young man behind also strained to push the boat forward.

"Lady Roslyn will surely be fine—at least until she gives birth; as for after that? I hear several Riverlands lords are urging the lord to kill her, and they've even readied their own daughters for him; I hear Lord Edmure is worried about this."

Brienne wouldn't think that. Lady Roslyn's child will be the heir of Riverrun; Lord Edmure would have to be mad to kill his own heir's mother, and moreover this woman and her heir will play an important role in ruling Riverrun, so if anyone rebels in the Freys' name, her importance will only increase.

But none of that concerns her.

"Ah, miss, sir, I hear you say that in serving Lady Catelyn you saw the direwolf banner still flying over Riverrun, right? According to the kingdom's law, Winterfell could belong to the she‑wolf, not to Catelyn's daughter Sansa Stark or Miss Arya, and besides, Miss Sansa's whereabouts are unknown, so, from the standpoint of leading the northerners, the she‑wolf would be more fitting. But that doesn't necessarily bring advantages, you know—this she‑wolf is a bastard." The boatman chattered on, showing off vigorously to Brienne.

"She won the tourney championship, so Robert legitimized her, making her a true Stark."

"Yeah, but no matter what, she's still a bastard, not a Tully by blood; because of this, people are saying the direwolf banner might not stay long over Riverrun." He lifted the pole again, then plunged it back into the water and shoved hard to push the boat toward the opposite bank.

"Do you think the Tullys will abandon the Starks?" Brienne felt her tone was a bit sharp.

"The northerners have withdrawn from the Riverlands to go back north and fight their war. What do you think—if at this moment Lord Edmure turned to the Iron Throne, would the Iron Throne agree to let him remain as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and pardon all his crimes?"

"I don't know, but if the Tullys' family motto still included "honor," they wouldn't give the Iron Throne that option."

"Ah, miss, sir, plenty of those who have the words "honor" in their family motto still choose to trample it. Nowadays it's an age of beasts running rampant—where's any honor? Just look at those who destroy our homesteads: bandits and raiders don't do nearly as much as that lot of knights."

"Not all knights are like that, shameless." I have sworn an oath to Lady Catelyn, and also made a promise to Jaime.

The boatman shook his head at her and laughed.

The boat gradually met the opposite‑bound vessel in the river.

The boatman hailed a passing passenger ship with a strange cry; the other boat's boatman elongated his voice, giving the same rhythmic reply.

Brienne saw someone standing on the opposite boat who seemed vaguely familiar, but the person quickly ducked under the awning at the shout, and Brienne only caught a fleeting glance, unable to make out who it was.

The boatman's hoarse cry continued to spread across the open river like ripples, and the geese in the sky answered at that moment with their honks, like a chorus of cold cries.

Thin grey clouds half‑covered the sky; in the middle of the great river she felt the vastness of heaven and earth, thought of her burden, and really wanted to join the boatman in a wild howl.

"I will never trample my honor." And I will never abandon his.

As she disembarked and mounted her horse, she turned to the boatman and said solemnly.

Without waiting for the boatman's reply, she and Podrick rode past Riverrun, where the direwolf banner flew high, and headed for the crossing of the Tumblestone River on the opposite bank.