Cornerstone

No one slept soundly that night.

After the Old Men of the Red Forest left, someone in camp woke with a start every half hour, feeling as though another monster might charge out of the darkness.

Leon barely slept all night. He sat in his tent, constantly sensing the movements at the edge of the Rainwood. Only when the sky began to pale did that faint sense of danger gradually fade.

After daybreak, people emerged from their tents one after another, discussing the events of the night before, their voices carrying the relief and lingering fear of having survived a disaster.

"What are you all standing around here for?" Harold's voice came from outside the crowd. "Get back to work! Does the fresh water fetch itself?"

Axe in hand, he headed toward the edge of the Rainwood, cursing as he went.

That was the area he had been responsible for yesterday, a stretch overgrown with vines and shrubs that needed clearing for a temporary storehouse. Several veterans followed him.

Kojo and two other islanders also headed that way with machetes. Under the new rules Leon had announced last night, they were now in Harold's group.

"My lord said, starting today, work in pairs," Kojo said in halting Common Tongue. "You and me... together."

Harold glanced at him and snorted. "Tag along if you want. Just don't slow me down."

Kojo smiled without saying anything.

They entered the undergrowth at the edge of the Rainwood and began hacking away.

"You islanders," Harold asked as he chopped, "have you ever seen anything like that thing last night?"

Kojo shook his head. "Never... not on Jhala Island. This island has them. Old Men of the Red Forest."

"Old Men of the Red Forest?" Harold frowned. "Why call those things 'old men'?"

Kojo gestured as he explained. "They... have been here a very, very long time. Before us. Islanders' legends say they are the forest's... protectors? No, that word..."

"Guards?" Harold tried to make sense of it.

"Yes, guards." Kojo nodded. "Leave them alone, they leave you alone."

Harold curled his lip. "We didn't bother it, but it still came charging at the camp last night, didn't it?"

Kojo shook his head. "Not... us. It was... a warning."

"A warning about what?"

Before Kojo could answer, a scream suddenly rang out in the distance.

It was sharp and brief, then cut off abruptly, as though something had forcibly strangled it.

Then more screams and battle cries came from deep in the Rainwood, thick and fast...

"Something's here!"

"It's that monster from last night!"

"Run! Run!"

Harold's face instantly went deathly pale. He tightened his grip on his axe and instinctively rushed a step forward, but Kojo grabbed him.

"Don't go! Run back!" Kojo roared. "Go get help!"

The two turned and sprinted.

Heavy footsteps and the cracking of trees being smashed apart sounded behind them, drawing ever closer.

Harold ran for his life, his ears filled with his own harsh breathing and pounding heartbeat. A vine tripped him, and he stumbled, nearly falling. Kojo caught him, and the two scrambled out of the undergrowth.

The camp was already in chaos.

Leon stood on high ground.

Images from deep in the Rainwood appeared in his mind: bodies strewn everywhere, blood spattered all around, and that enormous figure dragging someone away into the depths of the forest.

Arthur already had his sword drawn and was charging in that direction with several veterans.

"Arthur!" Leon suddenly shouted. "Don't go in!"

Arthur stopped short and looked back at him.

Leon's face was frighteningly pale. "It's too late. It's already... over."

A quarter of an hour later, the fate of those five men was confirmed.

Two were badly wounded, dragged out by companions who had risked their lives. One was missing, with neither a living man nor a corpse to be found. The other two, who had failed to escape, would remain in that undergrowth forever.

The survivors were carried to the center of camp, where Maester Loomis knelt beside them to treat their wounds urgently. The watching crowd was silent, with only the wounded men's groans and the sound of Loomis's scissors to be heard.

Leon recognized one of the wounded, a young hedge knight recruited in Oldtown named Duncan. A large chunk of flesh had been torn from his right arm, exposing white bone, and the bleeding would not stop.

The other was in even worse shape. Half his face had been clawed apart, one eye was a bloody mess, and broken words kept spilling from his mouth. "Big... big... monster... big..."

Harold stood trembling in the crowd. His trouser legs were covered in mud, his face filled with the terror of his narrow escape. Kojo stood beside him, his face frighteningly pale as well.

Leon crouched beside the gravely wounded man, took a look, then gently shook his head at Loomis.

Loomis's hands paused before he continued bandaging. But everyone understood what it meant.

Half an hour later, the wounded man died.

Leon stood before his body in silence for a long time. He had the dead man carried aside and covered with cloth. Then he turned to look at the people gathered around him.

"Who got a clear look? Who saw what that thing looked like?"

Silence. A long silence.

At last, the young hedge knight named Duncan spoke. His right arm was wrapped in thick bandages, and his face was bloodless, but his eyes were still clear.

"I saw it, my lord." His voice was hoarse, but every word was clear. "Taller than a bear, walking upright on two legs, red hair all over. It broke Grigg's neck with one punch. Before Grigg could scream, his head was hanging to one side."

His throat worked.

"I tried to run. It caught up and sent me flying with one swipe. Then... then it dragged Grigg's body away."

"Who was Grigg?" Leon asked.

"The missing one," a veteran beside him said quietly. "He was with us. He didn't make it out."

Leon was silent for a few seconds.

Kojo stepped out of the crowd. "My lord, the islanders have legends about this monster."

Leon looked at him.

"What legends?"

"In Archipelago Tongue, they are called 'Muhong.' Translated literally... 'Old Men of the Red Forest.'" Kojo took a deep breath. "They are Omboru Island's original inhabitants. Beasts, but also... something else. They were here a hundred years before people."

"How strong are they?" Arthur asked.

Kojo shook his head. "It is not a question... of strong or not. They... have their own... territory and... rules. If you do not go deep... into the heart of the Rainwood, they do not... attack. But if you accidentally... enter their territory..."

He did not finish, but everyone understood.

"Did you know about this before?" Leon asked.

Kojo nodded. "Heard of them. But never... thought they really existed."

Leon turned to the island exiles. "Does anyone know more?"

An older islander stepped forward. He was in his fifties, with graying hair, a fellow countryman of Jalabhar's who had been a hunter on Jhala Island.

"My lord, I came to this island aboard a merchant ship when I was young," he said, his Common Tongue more fluent than most. "That was the first time I heard of the Old Men of the Red Forest. The local tribes told us never to venture deep into the Rainwood. They said those Old Men of the Red Forest had their own territory, leaders, and language. They don't harm people by the sea, but anyone who enters the forest should not expect to come out."

"Language?" Arthur frowned. "You're saying they can speak?"

"They have their own sounds. Not human speech, but they can communicate with one another. The local tribes said people once tried to venture deep into the Rainwood in search of spices, only to be surrounded and attacked by the Old Men of the Red Forest. Before those people died, they heard them exchanging information through roars, as though giving commands."

"Pass the order," Leon said. "No one is to enter the Rainwood. From now on, we operate only along the coast. Clear the vegetation within one li of camp to create a security zone. Anyone going beyond that boundary must report it, travel in a group, and carry weapons."

He paused.

"Anyone who enters the Rainwood without permission is on their own."

No one objected.

After the attack by the Old Men of the Red Forest, people in camp began to collapse.

The first to fall ill was a young island native. That morning, he got up as usual, only to fall headfirst to the ground as soon as he left his tent. When his companions helped him up, they found him burning hot, his gaze unfocused, his mouth pouring out delirious ramblings.

By the time Maester Loomis arrived, he had begun convulsing.

"Another kind of fever." The maester's expression was frighteningly grave. "Like the cases from the past two days, but more severe."

He lifted the man's eyelids, felt his forehead, then shook his head at Leon. "Young master, I'm nearly out of medicine. If anyone else falls ill..."

Before he could finish, another patient was carried over.

Then came a third, and a fourth.

In less than half a day, twenty-three people in camp developed symptoms of fever in succession. High temperatures, vomiting, clouded consciousness. The order that had barely been holding together shattered in an instant, and cries and calls for help rang out everywhere.

"Young master," Loomis said hoarsely, "I need local herbs. The ones you found before. I remember you saying some could reduce fever, and others could stop vomiting. But we've used up everything we gathered last time."

Leon hurried to high ground.

Half a li northeast of camp, at the edge of a swamp, grew the kind of fern he needed. A little farther away was another root that could ease vomiting. And elsewhere, the sap from a certain tree's bark could lower temperatures...

But that spot lay at the edge of the Rainwood, beyond the safety perimeter and not far from the territory of the Old Men of the Red Forest.

"I'll go." Thea's voice came from behind him.

Leon turned to see that Thea had already fastened her leather armor, with a short sword and dagger hanging at her waist. Arthur and Oswell stood behind her.

"Young master," Thea said, "tell me where they are. I'll take people to gather them."

Leon was silent for a second. "Arthur goes with you. Oswell too. Pick another five reliable people and take weapons."

He turned to Arthur. "That swamp is at the edge of the Rainwood, very close to the territory of the Old Men of the Red Forest. If you encounter one, don't fight it. Just run."

Arthur nodded without another word.

Before leaving, Thea looked back at Leon. "Young master, wait for me to come back."

Leon nodded.

The party disappeared into the Rainwood.

On the evening of the third day, the first person died.

He was a veteran recruited in Oldtown, in his fifties, with graying hair. He had fallen ill earliest and was in the poorest health. Loomis used the last of his medicine but still could not save him. He died quietly, without struggling, simply letting out a long breath and never breathing again.

Leon stood beside his body in silence for a long time.

"Bury him. Just east of camp. Put up a marker and write down his name."

Someone asked quietly, "My lord, should we carve a gravestone?"

Leon thought for a moment. "We don't have suitable stone right now. Put up a wooden marker first. Once we've built the city, we'll replace it with stone."

The man nodded and took others to attend to it.

That night, two more people died. One was a young man in his early twenties, who died less than two days after falling ill. The other was the wife of an island exile. They were the only married couple who had come with the party.

After the woman died, the man knelt beside her without a word, only shedding silent tears.

Leon watched from a distance, saying nothing.

At some point, Rhaenys came to his side and tugged at his clothes with her little hand. Looking up, she asked, "Leon, why is that man crying?"

Leon looked down at her. The little girl seemed not to know what death meant to people who loved each other.

"Because someone he loved died," he said softly.

Rhaenys tilted her head, seeming to understand something. Then she hurriedly caught his sleeve. "Then will someone I love die?"

Leon was silent for a long time. "I'll tell you when you have someone you love."

Rhaenys nodded, then huddled beside him without another word.

That night, Maester Loomis kept watch beside the sickest patients, his hair growing much whiter overnight. His eyes were bloodshot, but his hands remained steady. Every so often, he gave the patients water, changed their compresses, and recorded their temperatures.

"Maester," Leon said softly, "rest for a while."

Loomis shook his head. "Young master, if I rest, they'll be gone."

After hearing that, Leon did not try to persuade him again.

On the morning of the fourth day, the party returned.

Eight had set out; seven came back. The one they lost was a veteran who had reportedly stepped into the swamp while gathering herbs, sinking too deep to be rescued in time.

But they had brought back what Leon needed: three full, large cloth bundles of herbs.

Thea was covered in mud, with several bloody scratches from thorns on her face, but her eyes were astonishingly bright. She set the herbs on the ground and told Leon, "Young master, we gathered them all. Check whether they're right."

Leon crouched and identified them one by one.

"They're right." He stood and looked at Thea. "Thank you for your hard work."

Thea shook her head and grinned. Against her mud-covered face, that smile looked especially radiant.

The herbs were swiftly sorted, washed, and boiled. Following Leon's instructions, Maester Loomis prepared several pots of medicinal broth and fed it to the patients one by one.

Miraculously, those who drank the medicine began to lose their fevers.

The first to regain consciousness was the young knight named Duncan. He had been clawed by an Old Man of the Red Forest, and although the wound had not become infected, his body was weak, and he had collapsed as soon as the fever struck.

On the evening of the second day after drinking the medicine, he opened his eyes, looked around blankly, and asked, "I'm... still alive?"

Those beside him could not help laughing. "Alive, alive," a sellsword said, patting his shoulder. "Three bowls of his lordship's medicine poured down your throat, and even the Stranger wouldn't take you."

Duncan stared for a while, then grinned.

That evening, Thea sat outside the medical shelter tending the thorn scratches on her arm. Duncan came over with a bowl of hot water and sat beside her.

"Thank you," he said. "I heard you were the one who gathered the herbs."

Thea shook her head. "The young master ordered it. We were only carrying it out."

Duncan was silent for a while, then suddenly said, "You know, I'm named Duncan because my father hoped I could be like Ser Duncan the Tall."

Thea turned to look at him.

"Ser Duncan the Tall?" The name sounded somewhat familiar, but she could not remember exactly who he was.

Duncan's eyes lit up. Though he was still weak, talking about this subject made him come alive:

"He was one of the most legendary knights in the history of Westeros! An orphan from Flea Bottom in King's Landing, taken in as a squire by a hedge knight named Arlan. Later he became Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and served King Aegon V."

He paused, then added, seemingly afraid Thea might not be interested, "You know King Aegon V, right? The king who even named his eldest son Duncan. Naming a prince after his own guard-that was a first in the history of Westeros!"

Thea listened quietly, her hands never stopping.

"Ser Duncan the Tall stood over two meters tall," Duncan continued, longing in his voice, "but his height wasn't what made him most famous. It was his character. Once, to defend a puppeteer girl who was being bullied, he struck Aerion, who was still a prince then. Afterward, he was forced into a Trial of Seven. The crown prince at the time, Baelor Breakspear, personally fought for him, saying, 'This man defended the weak, as every true knight should.'"

Thea looked at him. "Your father wanted you to become that kind of knight?"

Duncan lowered his head and gave a bitter smile. "My father was a plasterer. He never saw a real knight in his life. He only heard bards sing stories about Ser Duncan, and gave me this name. He hoped I'd grow into an upright man."

He raised his head and looked toward that unfamiliar Rainwood in the distance. "I don't know whether I'll ever become a true knight in this life. But at least... I have to live up to my name."

Thea was silent for a while, then said, "You survived today. That's a start."

Duncan froze for a moment, then grinned. "Right. It counts as a start."

Not far away, Leon stood in the shadow of the medical tent and heard the entire exchange.

He suddenly recalled something Tyrion had once said: "For people like us, names are worth less than anything else. If others call you a monster, you're a monster. If they call you a demon, you're a demon."

But Duncan's father had been different. That mason had given his son a knight's name, hoping he would become that kind of man.

Leon looked north.

There, beyond the whole Summer Sea and the continent of Westeros, lay his home, Casterly Rock.

What was Tyrion doing right now...

At that same moment, thousands of miles away in Casterly Rock.

Tyrion stood in Lord Tywin's study, his head lowered, staring at the toes of his boots.

Pine logs burned in the study's fireplace, warming the entire room like spring. Yet Tyrion felt cold, a cold that seeped out from between his bones.

"That 'lord' of the Wendwater," Tywin's voice came from behind the desk, each word like a nail hammered into wood, "that fine younger brother of yours, took his men and ran. Right under my nose."

Tyrion said nothing.

He knew Leon had gone to the Summer Isles. Through Pudding Face's channels, he knew even more than Tywin did. But he could say nothing.

"Do you know where he went?" Tywin asked.

Tyrion raised his head, meeting his father's icy green eyes with his mismatched ones. "No, Father."

Tywin stared at him. There was no anger in those eyes, only something more terrible than anger-contempt.

"You don't know. You know nothing. All you know is how to hide in the maester's tower reading those useless books, how to spend your time with that monster brother of yours, how to disgrace the Lannister name."

Tyrion's hands tightened slightly inside his sleeves.

Tywin came out from behind the desk. He stopped before Tyrion and looked down at his dwarf son.

Firelight danced behind him, casting his shadow across the floor, huge and imposing. Tyrion's shadow was only half as long as his.

"Do you know why Leon ran?" Tywin asked.

Tyrion still made no sound.

"Because he's clever. He knew staying in Westeros meant certain death. Robert won't spare a single Targaryen supporter, and Jon Arryn's men are asking after his whereabouts everywhere. By running, he still has a chance to live. If he stayed, sooner or later he'd be burned to death."

He paused.

"And you don't even have the ability to run."

Tyrion's heart clenched sharply, and his nails dug into his palms.

Tywin turned back to the desk and sat in his chair. He unrolled a sheet of parchment before him, as though the matter no longer deserved another glance.

"Get out. Don't let me see that face of yours."

Tyrion turned, pushed open the door, and left.

His steps were steady, his back straight, just as he had practiced in the corridors of Casterly Rock as a child. However much it hurt, he could never let anyone see.

But the moment he entered his room and shut the door, he leaned against it and slowly slid to the floor.

Outside the window, the setting sun over the Westerlands was staining the entire sky gold and red.

He took something from inside his clothes. Leon had pressed it into his hands before leaving: a crooked little wooden lion, one of those Little Tom of the Wendwater had carved.

Tyrion stared at the lion for a long time.

"You've got it fucking easy," he said softly, his voice as hoarse as scraping sandpaper. "Leaving me here to take all the abuse alone."

But no one answered.

Outside the window, the setting sun sank below the horizon little by little.

Tyrion tucked the wooden lion back inside his clothes, rose, and walked to the window.

He gazed south, toward the sea he could not see.

"When you've finished building that place," he said, "don't forget to come back for me."

Omboru Island, Northwatch Harbor.

Leon turned his gaze away from the north.

Another patient had awakened in the medical tent.