The Riverlands, Stoney Sept.
Half a month after the Battle of Ashford, the remnants of Robert's army finally caught sight of cooking smoke rising from Stoney Sept.
"Remnants"-fewer than three thousand men remained.
Earl Cafferen was dead. Lord Grandison was gravely wounded, though he had regained consciousness. Earl Fell's son, Silveraxe, had become separated from them with what remained of his own men.
Robert's army was like a snake with a broken spine, straggling along the muddy road north.
Leon rode on horseback. Thea's wound had only just scabbed over, but she flatly refused to lie on a cart again.
Sandor walked silently beside the horse, traces of blood still clinging to his greatsword.
Tyrion was wrapped in a tattered blanket he had picked up somewhere, his expression colder than winter in the North.
"I hate winter," he muttered. "I hate mud. I hate war. I hate-!"
"Finished hating yet?" Leon interrupted.
Tyrion glared at him. "No. I also hate you for dragging me into this mess."
Leon said nothing.
He merely gazed at Stoney Sept as it drew closer.
[Eye of Insight] told him there was cooking smoke there, voices, hot soup, and beds.
And...
He frowned. That halo of light... was complicated.
"What are you looking at?" Tyrion leaned closer.
"Nothing," Leon said. "I just think this town... is rather interesting."
He had barely finished speaking when a band of cavalry charged out of the woods on their flank.
It was no large force, only a hundred or so men in a motley assortment of battered leather armor, clearly routed soldiers.
But they were not their own.
"Enemy attack!"
"Routed loyalists!" someone shouted.
Robert's warhammer was already swinging.
But the routed men made no attempt to engage the others. They charged straight at Robert himself, evidently recognizing his banner.
The one-eyed brute at their head grinned savagely and thrust his lance straight at Robert's chest.
Leon's [Eye of Insight] worked at full strength in that instant.
The lance's trajectory, the angle of Robert's dodge, the horse's speed, the enemy's opening.
But Robert moved more slowly than he had expected.
The lance scraped beneath Robert's ribs, piercing his leather armor and tearing away flesh and blood.
Robert's warhammer smashed the man's head apart, but more routed soldiers were pouring in.
Sandor charged out, sweeping his greatsword sideways and knocking two men from their horses.
Thea drew her sword despite the pain of her wound and guarded Leon.
Tyrion swung his hand axe clumsily, cursing all the while.
The fighting lasted a quarter of an hour. The routed soldiers either died or fled.
But Robert clutched his side, his face pale.
"My lord!" Several knights rushed over.
Robert waved a hand, meaning to say he was fine, only to topple headfirst from his horse.
Leon ran over. [Eye of Insight] swept over the wound beneath his ribs: a bloody hole, not fatal, but he had lost considerable blood and needed rest.
"Into town," Leon said. "Now."
East of Stoney Sept's market square stood an unremarkable inn.
Whitewashed walls, cracked windows, half the roof scorched, though the holes had been patched.
A wooden sign hung above the door, painted with a peach with a large bite taken out of it.
Leon stood at the entrance, looking at the sign.
"The Peach," he read aloud.
Tyrion sidled over and squinted at it. "That sign... is painted rather... realistically."
Leon ignored him. He pushed open the door.
A mingled scent of ale, roast meat, cheap face powder, and woodsmoke greeted him.
A few guests sat scattered around the inn's common room. The hearth blazed brightly, and a plump woman was pouring drinks.
She noticed the group at the door.
Covered in blood, ragged, and carrying an unconscious giant of a man.
She froze for a moment, then calmly set down her pitcher.
"Rooms?" she asked.
"Rooms," Leon said. "And a maester who knows medicine."
The woman looked him over-a dwarf, pretty-faced and covered in blood, with an even shorter, uglier dwarf behind him-without any further change in expression.
"My name is Bella," she said. "There are three rooms free upstairs. No maester, but my grandmother taught me a little herbal medicine."
Leon nodded.
"Also," Bella glanced at Robert, "your big fellow needs stitches. That costs extra."
Tyrion could not help laughing.
"Interesting," he said. "I like this place."
Acting on Robert's orders, Leon sent Sandor to tell the army to rest and regroup at Shell Village, west of Stoney Sept.
Robert was carried into the largest room on the second floor.
Bella proved surprisingly skilled with herbs. She cleaned the wound, put in a dozen or so stitches, applied a paste, and bound it with clean linen.
"He won't die." She dusted off her hands. "But he mustn't move for at least half a month."
Leon stood beside the bed, looking at Robert's pale face.
This was the first time he had seen Robert Baratheon so weak.
The man who had roared as he charged at Summerhall, who had been drenched in blood at Ashford, now lay on a crude bed like a wounded bear.
"Half a month?" Tyrion leaned over. "Can we stay here for half a month?"
Leon did not answer.
He merely looked out the window at Stoney Sept's streets, its ordinary townsfolk, its ordinary life.
"We can," he said. "And perhaps longer."
The days that followed were unexpectedly peaceful.
Bella took their money and had the good sense to ask no questions.
The girls who worked at the inn-Cass, Lanna, Jyzene, Alayaya, and Zhong'er.
They, too, kept just the right distance from these guests of unknown origin.
Robert remained unconscious for three days before waking. The first thing he did was demand wine.
"No," Leon said.
"What?!"
"The healer said drinking affects the healing of your wound."
Robert stared at him, his blue eyes full of disbelief.
"Are you my mother, buried at the bottom of the sea?"
"I'm the man who saved your life," Leon said without batting an eye. "They aren't the same thing."
"Ha ha ha ha ha!"
Beside them, Tyrion laughed so hard he slapped the bed frame.
Robert lay back down, cursing, and stared blankly at the ceiling.
"What's happening outside?" he asked.
Leon was silent for a few seconds.
"I don't know," he said. "But we're safe for now."
What he did know was that Jon Connington's army was closing in. But he did not say so.
For the first month, Robert obediently stayed in bed to recover.
"Obediently" really only applied to the first ten days.
On the eleventh day, he began sneaking downstairs.
"What are you doing?" Leon blocked the stairs.
"Getting some air."
"What air?"
Robert coughed. "Well... Bella said it was warmer downstairs."
Leon stared at him.
[Eye of Insight] told him that the orange glow in Robert's chest was now tinged with a suspicious layer of pink.
Leon stepped aside.
"Don't get caught."
"I'm a lord!" Robert lowered his voice. "Who would dare catch me?"
He slipped downstairs.
Only the next day did Leon learn where he had gone to "get some air"-the girls' rooms beside the kitchen.
Holding a cup of ale, Tyrion said leisurely, "You know, I heard Alayaya earned five silver stags last night."
Leon looked at him.
"Who told you that?"
"Tong'er." Tyrion winked. "She told me. In exchange, I told her a joke about House Lannister."
"Where did you get the joke?"
"Made it up on the spot." Tyrion grinned. "A dwarf's specialty."
Leon was silent for a few seconds.
"Let me hear it."
Tyrion cleared his throat. "A Lannister, a Stark, and a Targaryen all fell into Blackwater Bay... guess who was rescued first?"
"Who?"
"Ha ha ha, no one." Tyrion slapped his thigh. "Because Robert killed them all."
The corner of Leon's mouth twitched slightly.
It was not a smile. But he did not curse at him.
The days passed like that.
Robert's wound gradually improved, and his trips downstairs to "get some air" grew more and more frequent.
Bella took it in stride, the girls were happy to earn money, and a strange, false peace pervaded the entire Peach.
Tyrion spent every day huddled beside the hearth, chatting with Tong'er, flirting with Cass, and haggling with Bella over the price of ale.
Leon occasionally went downstairs to sit for a while, but spent most of his time in his room, watching the street outside.
His [Eye of Insight] remained active all the while.
Those townsfolk-the old woman selling bread, the smith hammering iron, the driver handling his cart-looked at these outsiders with complicated expressions. Curiosity, wariness, and a trace of... pity?
What did they know?
On the thirty-second day, it snowed.
Leon stood by the window, watching snowflakes drift onto the roofs of Stoney Sept.
The church bells rang in the distance, long and peaceful.
Tyrion pushed open the door, carrying two cups of hot wine.
"From Bella." He handed Leon a cup. "She said she felt sorry for us."
Leon accepted the cup and took a sip.
"Tyrion."
"Hmm?"
"How much longer do you think we can stay here?"
Tyrion was silent for a few seconds.
"I don't know," he said. "But Connington's men will come sooner or later."
Leon nodded.
He knew.
Three days earlier, a troop of cavalry had passed outside town.
Dressed in royal army uniforms, they had not entered, merely looked from a distance before leaving.
They were scouts.
They had been discovered.
When Leon went to find Robert, he was "chatting" with Alayaya in his room.
Leon knocked three times, heard a flurry of rustling inside, and then Robert opened the door, looking utterly innocent.
"What is it?"
"Connington's men are here," Leon said. "Scouts."
Robert's expression changed.
"When?"
"Three days ago."
"Three days ago?!" Robert's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Leon looked at him.
"Would telling you help? Can you ride? Can you fight?"
Robert opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"Recover," Leon said. "Keep recovering. What's coming will come."
He turned and left.
Behind him, Robert swore and slammed the door.
On the fortieth day, Connington's army surrounded Stoney Sept.
Leon stood at the second-floor window, looking at the densely packed tents outside town.
At least five thousand men had sealed off the entire town.
Tyrion stood beside him, his face pale.
"Do they know Robert's here?"
"No," Leon said. "But they'll search."
Footsteps sounded downstairs.
Bella pushed the door open and came in, her expression far more serious than usual.
"Those soldiers outside are looking for you lot, aren't they?"
Leon looked at her without speaking.
Bella sighed.
"All right. I won't ask. But you need to hide well." She paused. "The people of this town won't betray you."
Leon was slightly taken aback.
"Why?"
Bella looked at him, a trace of something complicated flashing through her shrewd eyes.
"Because the Mad King burns people," she said. "No one in this town likes the Mad King."
She turned and left.
Tyrion whistled.
"Interesting," he said. "I'm starting to like this town."
The hunt began.
Connington's knights went from house to house, pounding on doors and searching every room, every cellar, every sewer.
But the townspeople cooperated in silence, saying nothing and pointing no one out.
Robert was moved three times.
From the Peach to a bakery's cellar, from the bakery to a smithy's loft, and from the smithy to a widow's woodshed.
Every time he moved, townspeople risked their lives to guide him.
Tyrion and Leon were hidden separately.
Tyrion went with an old woman who sold candles, while Leon was crammed into the church basement.
The basement was dark and cold, but very safe.
Leon huddled in a corner, his [Eye of Insight] fully active.
He could sense the soldiers walking back and forth along the streets above, could sense the townspeople's fear and anger, could sense...
That orange glow, still burning somewhere, faint but tenacious.
Robert was still alive.
On the evening of the seventeenth day of the hunt, Bella hauled Leon out of the basement.
"They've found him," she said in a low voice. "They know where he is."
Leon's heart sank.
"How?"
"At the Peach." Bella looked grim. "Someone said they'd seen him go in there."
Leon fell silent for a few seconds.
"Where is he now?"
"Still there," Bella said. "We can't move him anymore. There are soldiers everywhere outside."
Leon stood up.
"Take me there."
Bella looked at him and opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but swallowed it back.
She led him through narrow alleys, avoiding the patrolling soldiers, and slipped into the Peach through the back door.
The inn was a shambles.
Tables and chairs had been overturned, barrels smashed, and ashes from the hearth scattered everywhere.
Several girls huddled in a corner, their faces pale.
Robert sat on the stairs, holding a sword he had found somewhere, rust-spotted but still usable.
When he saw Leon, he grinned.
"Little Leon. You're here."
Leon looked at him.
His [Eye of Insight] told him that the orange light in Robert's chest still blazed fiercely, with no fear, no retreat, only burning anger.
"What do you intend to do?"
Robert stood up and hefted the sword in his hand.
"Fight my way out."
"There are five thousand men outside."
"Five thousand and one, counting Connington?" Robert laughed. "So what?"
Leon fell silent for a few seconds.
"What about Tyrion?"
"Still with the old woman," Robert said. "He's smarter than you. He's staying well hidden."
Leon nodded.
"Then we go together."
Robert froze for a moment.
"You?"
"Me." Leon drew his pair of short swords. "I'm a Lannister. Hear Me Roar!"
Robert stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing.
"Good! That's the lad!"
They walked to the door.
Bella stood beside it, clutching a rolling pin.
"You're mad," she said.
"Maybe," Leon replied.
Just then, bells rang out from the distant church.
Not a single peal, but an unbroken clang, clang, clang, clang-! that rang through the entire town.
It was an alarm.
It was the signal that battle had begun.
Leon's [Eye of Insight] worked at full power at that moment.
He "saw" the soldiers' confusion, "saw" the townspeople locking their doors and windows, "saw" another army fighting its way into town.
Those were the banners of Stark and Tully!
Robert saw them too.
He tightened his grip on his sword and pushed open the inn's door.
"Go!"
They charged into the street.
The bells thundered overhead, as though they would overturn the entire town.
And the curtain on the war rose in earnest.