Chapter 107

She felt the crown's strangeness, felt the pressure it released at that instant, as if there truly was a giant dragon before her.

If there were any dragon in the crown, it could only be the one that burned his master to ashes.

"I don't need magic," magic is a sword without a hilt, she remembered the master-at-arms telling her, "nor do I need a crown."

She struggled to free herself from the unease the crown gave her.

"Oh, good ser, perhaps it isn't meant for you. Take it, then throw it away, give it away, sell it, or put it on your horse's head, hang it from the horse's tail—whatever you like. I know this is the Old Gods' arrangement for it. And it will unleash its magical power when the time is right." She smiled gently, with an encouraging tone, "It is waiting; I believe it can help you. The Old Gods will not abandon their followers."

Brienne was not its follower. She believed the forest witch could understand, so she stopped paying attention to the witch's somewhat provocative words, and in the firelight she gazed at the crown.

The crown as a whole is made of gold, silver, bronze, and Valyrian steel combined, forming a ring-shaped chain, set with rubies, emeralds, sapphires, black onyx, and pine jade, with each quarter of the Hoare family's quartered arms engraved on the side of the ringed chain, though she did not know what each part signified.

"The black longship represents the Hoare family's rule over the Iron Islands; the black part is Valyrian steel, though I don't know how it was made black. The longship set into the Valyrian steel is gold, and people say it stands for the Iron Islands, but the King of Harren actually believed it represented all islands that can be conquered by ship upon the sea." The forest witch explained.

"The grape represents Greenstone, the green tree represents Bear Island, the raven represents the Riverlands, and the longship represents the Iron Islands—I heard that from a maester." Podrick said happily.

"Yes, singer, that's what the world says. King Harren had a different view; it was his secret, known only to this crown. He thought the green tree stood for all continents, the grape for all abundant produce, and the crow for all learning. Continents, seas, bounty, and knowledge—that was his grand ambition, to surpass his ancestors." The forest witch said calmly, without any mockery.

"But the Hoare line died out after him."

"Yes, singer. I saw in the crown his descendants screaming before him, then dying one by one. I know he regretted it at that moment." The forest witch seemed to fall back into recollection.

"What good is regretting then?"

"Indeed, it's useless. So, before his death, in exchange for the Conqueror's promise to him—'you shall have no issue'—he issued a curse upon the Conqueror."

"What curse?"

"Ah, the fire was so fierce he only managed to utter two curses; one has already come to pass, the other I'm not sure about." She sighed, "What does it matter knowing exactly what the curse is? The Targaryen family's tragedy is already ample."

"Excellent!" Brienne agreed; why listen to a tyrant's curse? "The Targaryen family is already extinct in Westeros, and the Hoare family likewise—why bother with the grudges between these losers?"

"Good ser, you are right. These grudges faded with the Targaryens' extinction on the continent, and even the curse has drifted away on the wind." She seized the crown and leaned toward the fire, "But the crown still holds magic; after hundreds of years it remains as vivid as ever. Do you see how the gems set upon it have fused into one?"

Brienne acknowledged that anyone with discernment could tell its original owner from its adornment; and it is itself a beautiful trinket, in this world no crown could ever be more elaborate or more beautiful than this one.

Not to mention what it itself signifies, especially as King Harren interpreted it. That would indeed attract mad and vain ambition.

"I see it. But it isn't right for me." She truly could not fathom why the forest witch would give her this thing.

The Old Gods' arrangement? Too laughable, too implausible.

"Take it. The Old Gods always have their reasons. Besides, why should we try to divine the gods?" The forest witch smiled, her wrinkles deepening in the dancing firelight, "Perhaps the crown is the tool to save that girl?"

"A tool? I really don't see any use for it." It could only provoke bandits and raiders, "My sword is far more useful than it."

"Your sword cannot pierce armor nor slay demons, and now the age of chaos has come, with spirits and monsters stirring; how can you rely on your ordinary blade to accomplish a formidable task?" The forest witch's expression showed concern—for the first time.

"You think my task is hard?" Could it be that I will never fulfill my promise to Lady Catelyn?

"Harder than you imagine." The forest witch rose, "But I know you will succeed. Take it; if you don't like it, toss it once you're out of my woods." She flung the wineskin to the ground, "Just like that."

"Ser?" Podrick, already swayed, "If it truly is the gods' arrangement for you, why refuse?"

Before Brienne could reply, he turned to the forest witch.

"Granny, if a sword can't pierce armor or slay demons, can it?" Podrick asked, perhaps he had wanted to ask that for a while.

"I don't know, singer." The forest witch replied thus; Podrick's face fell with disappointment, and the witch saw it and broke into a long smile, "I've never killed with a sword, let alone a crown. You are both brave warriors; perhaps you can discover it yourselves."

"Can't you say a bit more?" Podrick scratched his head.

"I already said that!" She pushed herself up, stepping over the flagstones, "When the crown was forged, it already contained Valyrian magic; when Harrenhal fell, it accidentally gained the king's life, blood, etc. as sacrifice, and was bolstered by dragonfire, so the Valyrian steel in the crown is strengthened; I reckon, ah, it should have the power to suppress demons, devils, evil gods, and evil spirits, so, good ser, take it—it will be useful, it will surely be useful."

"If this is a gift, I will accept it and thank you sincerely," I am not a queen, nor do I wish to become one, I will never wear it on my head, but I will wear it on my shoulder or arm. Brienne picked up the wineskin from the ground, "But I hope you can bring the wineskin as well; I know its value is too low to match the crown..."

"Wine is the best thing for the lazy. And the crown, at times, is a poison; only the just and brave can wield it." The forest witch took the wineskin, leaned on her staff, and slowly walked into the darkness, leaving the crown glowing mysteriously in the firelight.

After watching the forest witch depart, Podrick could no longer restrain himself; he hurriedly snatched up the crown lying on the ground.

As soon as his hand touched the crown, he jumped up again.

"Whoa! How strange! I feel as if it bit me." He pulled his hand back, "But it feels quite nice. Hey, I'd like to try again."

Brienne naturally went along with his wish.

"I felt as if I'd been shocked. But it's fine now! Hey, this really is a magical item." He fiddled with the crown, turning it over, then placed it on his head, chuckling, "Now I am the great king of the Iron Islands and the Riverlands!"

Brienne couldn't help but laugh.

"Do you think wearing a crown makes you a king?" Brienne laughed at his antics, "It's just an ordinary crown, perhaps; selling it could buy a castle's worth of mead, enough to drink from birth to death."

"Ser, why don't you try wearing it?" The squire took the crown from his head, intending to place it on Brienne.

Brienne dodged, reached out and took the crown; she indeed felt a strange stir, but she showed nothing of it. She then drew near the fire to examine the engraving closely.

It looked even more beautiful than at a quick glance; all the materials seemed to have fully merged, making it impossible to tell which parts were forged and which were merely set in, the whole crown appearing as a single natural piece.

"Why don't you try it on, ser?" Podrick urged.

"It's too small; I suppose King Harren's head must have been tiny—this little thing is only fit for me as an armlet." Brienne slipped the crown through her arm bracer; it just managed to hang on her arm.

Podrick took a piece of blue cloth from his person, looped it around the crown, and bound it securely in the seam of his armor; it indeed looked like an armlet's decoration.

"Wrapping the cloth around the armlet once more, I don't want people to see that I am some Hoare knight..."

"Or a Hoare queen... ser, if you're not of House Hoare, whose are you? Your armor bears no sigil at all. Why not stamp a Tarth crest upon it?" He said while wrapping, making the suggestion to Brienne.

"I'm in a hurry to leave King's Landing, and besides, walking the realm with a Tarth identity is inconvenient." The Knight of Flowers from the South still has many other nobles who believe she slew King Renly.

Once I have fulfilled Lady Catelyn's vow, I will avenge you by killing Stannis!

The firelight waned; she felt she had nothing left to worry about, so she returned to the tree roots, lay down, and slept. Though she had taken two night watches, upon waking she felt only refreshed. Since entering the Riverlands, she had never slept so soundly.

Podrick was the same; he stretched, loudly thanked the Old Gods for their care, and gave no thought to his own Faith of the Seven.

At dawn, mist still hung thick; it did not clear until noon, when, though gray clouds veiled the sky, one could still make out directions from the dim sunlight.

After trekking five days through the woods, they finally emerged, seeing several small rivers gently converging here.

After leaving the forest, the clouds fortunately retreated briefly; in a bit of sunlight, looking east, the river water was blue-green as far as the eye could see. To the west, the farthest horizon showed vague mountains beneath a thin veil of gray clouds.

"Where is this?" Podrick asked the question she had wanted to ask.

"Perhaps it is the source of the Blue Fork." If the Blue Fork's water were truly blue.

"Ser, I think the same." Podrick said happily, "If we've reached this place, I guess Seagard is not far off. Once past Seagard, we can take the road straight to Riverrun, then follow the Kingsroad north to Winterfell."

Brienne listened carefully to his words, hoping that it would indeed go smoothly.

"Follow the small river, look for a ford." After feeding their horses and filling their waterskins, they set out.

Then they galloped on horseback along the hard dirt road. As they approached a ferry bridge, Brienne saw three people standing at the bridge's edge, obviously two groups, facing off.

Upon hearing the sound of galloping hooves, both sides stopped.

Brienne and Podrick stopped far off to one side to observe.

"Hey, stinking mercenary, the people who came aren't with you." Brienne heard the savage man say.

"Oh, that's not necessarily true." The mercenary spoke up, loudly turning to Brienne, "The knight of the Tower, the bandits blocking the road ahead—if you capture them and send them to Sea Border City, you might get a few silver coins."

"Why are you here?" Brienne shouted. This mercenary was Bolon, whom she had parted with in Rushing Torrent City.

"Of course I'm going to the North. You forgot?" He replied to Brienne, but his eyes were fixed on the two men.

The two roadbandits each held a sword, appearing not too dangerous, so Brienne rode her horse closer, but kept enough distance for the horse to gain speed and launch a charge.

The two bandits, seeing Brienne approach, had already begun to slowly defend while retreating.

Bolon immediately pressed forward.

"What are you waiting for?" Brienne asked Bolon, "Just a couple of thieves."

"Damn, girl, can't you see the sea monster pattern on their clothes? This damn well isn't just a bunch of thieves." His tone remained as frivolous as ever.

The two Ironborn's upper garments were already ragged and torn, unknown how long they had lingered in this place, their hair tangled, looking like two beggars.

"My name is Brienne." Brienne looked at them, indeed seeing the sea monster pattern, "Why are the Ironborn here?"

"Damn, I guess they took a liking to my horse. Earlier they surely wanted to kill one, then the surviving rider would have a horse, now there are three horses..." He was goading the two.

"Besides, this is Ironborn Bay; isn't it normal to have an Ironborn lord here?" Another Ironborn spoke.

"I love capturing lords." Bolon laughed, "But I've never seen a lord tuck his tail and retreat."

"Seek death." The two charged at Bolon together, quickly drawing their swords, preparing to kill the mercenary in one strike.

"Sir, what should we do?" Podrick looked to Brienne.

"Advance." Brienne dismounted, drew her sword.

She was fully armored, dealing with these two lightly armored Ironborn was no problem. But before seeing Bolon's true skill, she did not prepare to truly join the fight.

When Brienne truly joined the fight, the two Ironborn's situation instantly weakened. The burly man, in the process of retreating, had his throat cleanly cut by Bolon; the other, after a few exchanges, was struck in the chest by Brienne.

"I surrender!" the living Ironborn shouted in pain.

"Which lord of the Iron Islands are you? I'll send a letter for ransom." Bolon sneered at him.

"This is my prisoner!" Brienne reminded Bolon, and cautiously guarded against him.

Bolon curled his lip, sheathed his sword, clasped his fists, and leisurely withdrew to the side.

"I have no ransom, but I know of a bounty with a higher reward." He said, drawing a cold breath, his hand extending from his chest, covered in blood. Brienne knew the wound wouldn't be deep. "As long as you release me, I'll tell you."

Brienne had no expectations of him, nor did she want to kill him, and she indifferently nodded.

"I know the whereabouts of the Iron Throne's bounty target, far more valuable than me." He said, panting.

"Damn, as long as you find and capture him, that's it?" Bolon mocked.

"Yes."

"Then tell me, is his swordsmanship better than yours or worse?" Bolon mocked, dissatisfied with Brienne's easy agreement to the prisoner's terms.

"No, she doesn't use a sword. She's a red-haired maiden." The Ironborn said.