Chapter 104

She and Podrick traveled along the small road between Riverrun and Seagard, the farther they went from Riverrun, the fewer travelers there were, until finally the road was completely desolate.

They crossed several small streams, keeping close to the ancient hills and heading almost due north.

Along the roadside, piles of bones appeared from time to time; she saw corpses with tangled hair and helmets rotting together in the earth, a breeze lifting the hair from the helmets, swaying in the wind—dry, brownish hair.

On the distant hills lay a similar scene of decay: stone statues of nameless gods stood everywhere, but all that kept them company was endless withered grass and the cold wind and drizzle that swept over the mountains, hills, and streams.

Besides the bodies, there were shattered wagons flung carelessly to the roadside, long since fallen apart and rotted with time.

The road was flanked by endless spruce and beech, blocking the already dim light, making her feel as if she walked through an unending, eerie dark forest.

The ancient kings of mountains and rivers once ruled this land, and the young wolf lord who once held sway had also walked this road; now fallen leaves carpeted the way, marking deep autumn's onset of winter. Yet the kingdom's wars had not ceased; when the next spring and summer returned, this land would still face battle and slaughter.

The horses moved quietly along the road, their hooves striking a steady rhythm.

With no woods on either side, at night they could not hide in the forest and would have to camp in the open fields away from the road; but if an ice storm fell, they would have nowhere to shelter—a freezing rain would drive them all into hell.

On this desolate road, it seemed there would never be an inn.

The road stretched on, winding ever farther, crossing rocky hills and twisting mountain paths.

Streams babbled beneath their feet, and pine trees stood silent, displaying their forms.

Withered grass, yellow mud, blue stone; cold wind, gray clouds, falling leaves.

"Is this the road to the north?" she asked.

"What?" Podrick asked.

She suspected this was a road to some netherworld; even walking in the night could not compare to this bleak sorrow that tormented her.

Was it not Lady Catelyn who took this road to the Twins for a wedding?

They passed an obvious battlefield: scattered stones, ragged garments of every color spilling from stone cairns, warhorse bones strewn about, and beneath overturned stones one could glimpse bright cloth and dark metal, helmets washed by water, lying upside down in the streambed, streaked with dark rust and blackened earth.

Some skulls had been fished out and placed, each perched on a stone in the streambed, their eye sockets suddenly fixed on the travelers walking the road.

"No!" Brienne felt she could bear it no longer; she halted, dismounted, leapt into the streambed, gathered the skulls one by one, then dug a large pit in the earth nearby and buried each skull.

When she had finished, Podrick brought back more skulls from downstream, so together they dug another pit and buried them all.

"I hate this road!" Brienne declared.

Not long after, she spotted a narrower path, gave it no further thought, and rode her horse onto it.

She absolutely did not want to continue on that gloomy road; she wished to leave the endless ridges and hills, the rocky riverbeds, and above all, the scattered armor and piles of bones.

The new path was narrower, the withered grass grew thicker and more tangled, leaves carpeted the ground in a thick layer, occasional sturdy spruce and guard pines stood tall on the sides, while some sentinel trees thrust odd branches onto the trail, continually obstructing them. Large roots of massive trees overturned the once-laid stones at odd angles, and weeds sprouted wildly in the cracks only to wither away.

Brienne did not know where this road led, but its direction remained northwest.

"Ser, we have no road ahead," said Podrick; the forest before them was clearly untrodden.

"Go through." Brienne dismounted first and led the way.

If it were a dense forest, there would be no one at night either, and one could find a suitable resting place as darkness fell; moreover, picking a proper spot would allow a fire to be lit without fear of discovery.

She feared no beasts.

"This is clearly a forest, yet the little trail leads nowhere—did we take a wrong turn, ser?" Podrick asked, carefully leading his horse and staying close behind her.

She did not know how to answer, but hearing the boy's voice still eased her somewhat.

"Perhaps this was once the domain of an old family, abandoned and left like this." There are many such places on Tarth and in the Stormlands.

He had heard legends of Tarth's ruins since childhood; from the tales he concluded that ruins always arise from war, plague, or pirates. If this too were a family's ruin, what could have caused it?

This is the Riverlands; it must be war, she thought.

As dusk approached, they halted beneath a massive oak; its roots rose high, and if rain fell at night they could lie down beneath the oak's great upthrown roots.

"I hope there's no wolf howl tonight." Podrick gathered stones along the oak's roots, stacked them into a rough circle embracing the roots, then lit a fire with the gathered branches inside.

"The forest always has animal cries." In the wild you can never count on peaceful sleep.

Brienne took two dried carrots from her pack and fed them to the two horses, then gave each a bean cake.

Having finished their chores, the two sat with their backs to the great oak, roasting a bit of dried sausage and a rabbit they had caught at midday over the fire.

The burning branches crackled; Brienne stared at the flames, feeling suddenly at ease, thinking of nothing.

Her armor grew hot from the fire, warming her whole chest; drowsiness welled up, but it was still far too early to close her eyes, for she believed that once they left the forest they would find the sun had not yet set.

"Ding-dang, ding-dang, quick look at my cargo box." Podrick rolled the rabbit and sang softly.

"New treasures fill the storehouse…"

"Meryl's blanket spread across the lord's study, bright and fine…" he hummed a tune Brienne had never heard.

"What is this?" Brienne asked.

The boy turned his head, looked at her, and instantly blushed.

"It sounds like a song my mother taught me when I was little." Podrick said, embarrassed.

"Seems like it—does the song have a name?"

"It might be called 'The Merry Little Peddler.' I'm not entirely sure, but I think my mother taught it to me."

"Should be? What's uncertain about it?"

"I heard Ser Cedric say my mother ran off with someone when I was four, and all I can recall of her is this song."

"If she really taught it, you were only four then—you surely wouldn't remember anything." His mother had died when he was older, yet she had left him no memory of her.

Brienne sensed Podrick's expression darken.

"Perhaps, ser. Maybe I learned it later."

"Why do you think it was your mother who taught you?"

"She was the daughter of a merchant; I think she wanted me to become a trader too. But after she left, Ser Cedric took me in, and I have served as a squire ever since, never learning trade."

"She'd surely rather you be a knight. Aren't you Ser Cedric's squire? How did you end up in Tyrion's service?"

"Ser Cedric died fighting in the Riverlands—I think one of the skulls we buried today might be his. After his death I transferred to Ser Loras, but he was later struck down by Lord Tywin, and then Ser Kevan sent me to serve Lord Tyrion."

"You are truly unfortunate."

"No, no, ser, I feel very fortunate." Podrick exclaimed, "I never thought I'd get to serve the knights, and someone like Lord Tyrion and the lady—ser, you're such a great person."

"I'm not a great person." Brienne said. "I'm a monster."

"No, my lady, ser, you're not. I know—you're a friend of Ser Jaime, you're a true knight." He said it seriously, which made Brienne chuckle.

"How does that song go? Sing it all the way through!"

Podrick felt a bit embarrassed; after Brienne urged him several times, he turned his head and continued slowly.

"Cases of fine wine from the Green Isle—one cup soothes throat and gut, three cups dispel wandering, a wonderful flavor, waiting for you to try;"

"The Lis girls are pretty, pretty, all thanks to the unforgettable perfume; you know, you know, I, the peddler, am placing it right here beside them;"

"You mentioned tapestries—I have them too, piece by piece, square by square..."

Bang...

Podrick suddenly stopped; Brienne immediately bent and rose, hand moving to her sword.

"Who's there?" Brienne demanded.

"Don't draw your sword!" came an old woman's voice. "Don't draw your sword—I'm just here to listen to the song."

"Who are you?" Brienne asked.

This was the second stranger to appear suddenly in the past few days.

"I—I am the ghost of Noble Heart." the person said mournfully.

In the firelight, Brienne saw her: a wrinkled, pallid face, blood-red eyes, a head of white hair, old and stooped, extremely small, leaning on a black cane—she looked like a little monkey or a six- or seven-year-old child.

Brienne never imagined she'd encounter such a strange old person in the dark forest. Though uneasy, she still lowered her hand from her sword.

"You... why are you appearing here so late?" the ghost?

"This is my Noble Heart—I live here, and you've intruded upon my place." She leaned on her cane for support, looking as strange as could be.

"Noble Heart is on the south bank of the Trident, and this is the north bank." She couldn't believe it.

"That place has been taken over by a wolf pack; they howl at me, chase me, toy with me, not letting me stay there peacefully, so I had to come back here—this is the edge of Stonesnake, where I originally lived, and I renamed it Noble Heart."

"You live here alone?"

"I've lived alone here for over forty years. I heard the song, smelled a special scent, and wanted to come see you." She said tremblingly.

"When the rabbit is done roasting, we'll let you have a taste." Brienne said.

"No, no—I'm not talking about roasted rabbit. I mean the taste of nobility, which also has a hint of blood."

Brienne completely didn't understand.

"Do you need to sit down to talk?"

"I'm already so small, giant—you can sit down; please let me stand."

So Brienne sat down again and added more dry branches to the fire.

In the firelight, she looked even older and even stranger.

"You say you're a ghost?"

"I am a ghost, one who should have died long ago but still lingers. Please forgive my appearance—I'm too lonely. Before, members of the Brotherhood Without Banners often came to trade with me, but now they've all left, never to return; no one will speak with me, and no one will sing for me."

"Are you a child of the forest?" Podrick asked, and his face flushed as soon as he spoke.

"Someone has asked that before. I answered yes, but actually I'm not—I might just be a small dwarf. Will you trade with me?"

"What would you trade? If you need help, we can." Brienne almost stood up again, but looking at the ghost's eyes, she slowly sat back down.

"The Brotherhood Without Banners traded with me—I gave them prophecies, and they brought me wine and sang for me."

"Prophecies?" Brienne exclaimed. "Are you… are you a wizard?"

"Ah, some call me the forest witch. I can provide prophecies; I used to think they were prophecies, but later I thought they might just be foolish dreams—many prophecies have already been shattered, while true prophecies can never be shattered."

Brienne completely didn't understand.

She still stood up, slowly approached the warhorse, gently soothed it, then took a leather sack from her pack, walked toward the ghost, and handed it to her.

She held the sack and looked toward Brienne.

"We don't need prophecies," Brienne said softly. She didn't want anything to do with any magic.

"That's not a prophecy—just a boring dream. I dreamed of a maiden with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes, and her sister, a wild blood-child."