Rick spat and cursed at the prickly tall grass.
The march towards Riverrun was about half as long as the 'Road to Alexandria' Rick's group took all those years ago, but they used cars back then, and only horses now, with most of the Alexandrians hoofing it with their own two feet. Nor were the nightly rests any better. The Brave Companions certainly weren't good companions. The father of a teenage boy and little girl could only endure so many stories of burning and rape and pillaging, before wondering what would have happened if the victims had the Alexandrians' guns. Or Rick's own teeth for that matter. The sheriff's lips could still taste the metallic twang of blood, blood from a man who attempted to defile Carl on that dark and terrible night when they were ambushed on the road. It had been about four years since Rick ripped out that… creature's jugular, but Rick often felt as if it happened only yesterday.
Maggie would be running the Alexandrian settlements smoothly as usual by now, Eugene tinkering with whatever gun he's trying to produce for the native Westerosi, and Carl would be training the recently freed Northmen back at Harrenhal. Alexandria would need all the help it could get when it finally lures its enemies beneath the castle's gargantuan walls, and defeat them once and for all.
A chainmail-clad youth crept up beside him, holding an amulet carved in the shape of a black goat's head. "Lord Vargo is ready, mi'lord. He wishes to know if your men are in place, and trusts that you will act as planned."
"My men are ready. Go back north of the river and tell him to attack. The Goat is too paranoid," Rick pointed out, "I could have killed him at Harrenhal if I wanted to. We'll join in once we see the smoke."
The faint clashing of metal on metal began half an hour after the messenger scurried away, battle cries drifting across the Tumblestone as the Black Goat of Qohor pounced upon the twin towers of Frey. Through his binoculars, Rick saw faint streaks of grey smoke rise from burning stockades, darkening by the second.
Rick gently pulled on Dwight's shoulder.
No. Not yet.
Small rafts were now dotting the river, struggling against the swift and churning currents. They largely kept their distance away from Riverrun itself, yet time and time again rocks and darts would crash into the water, creating waves that jostled those rickety vessels, or outright slam into an unfortunate raft to the fatal detriment of its occupants. Squinting his eyes, Rick could barely make out the gold-and-crimson banners of Lannister as they headed north to help their beleaguered allies.
A red ball of light shot up, up towards the sky, blazing like a small sun before arcing back towards the ground.
Rick dropped his binoculars, clumsily drawing his revolver with his one good hand. The rugged Colt 'Peacemaker' was a prized heirloom, first owned by his great-great-great-grandfather who was killed during Custer's infamous last stand at the Little Bighorn. Yet the slain cavalryman's sidearm was somehow recovered by a fellow trooper and brought back to his son, all the way in Kentucky, and was thus passed down the generations. And now Rick found himself warring on an unfamiliar frontier, just like his ancestor more than a hundred years ago.
Now's the time.
"It's our turn!" Dwight shouted. "Go!"
The Alexandrians hurled up their stars and stripes flag, followed by the Stark direwolf, as they started east, east towards the golden lion's camps, east in two winding lines. Dwight strode in front of them, proudly holding Lucille high in the air, that dreaded baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire which claimed so many innocent lives before Rick himself finally vanquished Negan in single combat and unified all the communities under his benevolent rule. Rick was swifter back in those days, but his broken leg courtesy of Negan was not set properly, and the one-handed leader had already seen most of his fighting days by the time All-out War ended. Rickard's Rebellion, the Brave Companions had begun calling it as a pun of Robert's Rebellion. There were only three kingdoms instead of four, the war ended outside a wooden palisade instead of inside magnificent brick walls, and the tyrant chose to do battle himself rather than send his own heir, though Dwight had already defected to Rick's militia by then, and Carl never, ever bowed down to Negan.
Carl. This war is for Carl, and all the other little Alexandrian children.
Finally the gunfire began, far off in the distance. And so did the screaming, lives brutally cut short as men raced out of their tents during the sudden commotion, only to be riddled with bullets as they clambered over the wooden palisade, or sallied out of the makeshift gate.
But there were so many men. More than the hordes of 'walkers' Rick faced, more than Negan's endless armies, more than the Mountain's host which was so effortlessly demolished near Harrenhal. And the Westermen kept coming, wave after wave, swordsmen and spearmen treading over the bodies of their fallen brothers-at-arms. For every one that fell or fled, three more took his place.
Then, from behind the camps, the Lannister cavalry charged.
Steel horseshoes thundered on the grassy plains as hundreds of horses galloped towards the Alexandrian lines, a loose wedge formation threatening to impale all in its path. Horse after horse fell, and riders abruptly tumbled off their steeds, yet even the Alexandrian rifles' buzz-buzz-buzz, wavering after minutes of combat, were unable to completely silence their foes. And the Alexandrian formation parted, men and women scrambling out of the horses' way as the now shrunken wedge raced towards their newfound opening to freedom.
Rick turned towards his dozen or so horsemen, face grey as ash. "What are you waiting for?"
The Westermen's steeds were swift, but the Alexandrian cavalry's bullets were swifter, and Rick's horsemen were rested, freshly provisioned, and above all not surprised by this sudden onslaught. In turn, the Westermen had a commander who was a quick learner. "I yield, I yield!" the captain shouted as he dismounted and threw down his sword, the remaining half of his knights following his lead. Ser Daven Lannister was a hot-blooded man, yet even he quickly realised that vengeance against the new Wolf-host, armed with such dart-throwing poles, was a fool's errand.
As the Alexandrian horsemen swarmed around their Westermen counterparts, Rick's binoculars were once again pointed towards the happenings near Riverrun. Dwight's lines were now closing in, mercilessly scything down all those who still harbored delusions of escape. Unlike their Frey allies to the north, none of Ser Daven's Westermen would flee from Riverrun's environs today. Alexandria's guns were now trained upon the Tumblestone and its rafts, faint circles of red beginning to spread all over the river.
"What's the meaning of this?" Rick leapt off his horse before he even reached Dwight, grimacing as he limped towards his second-in-command.
"You need to stop jumping off horses. Don't tell me you want your other leg busted too," Dwight retorted.
Unfazed, Rick pointed at the small flimsy rafts. "Cut out your bullshit. Why are our men still firing on them?"
"They are escaping, not surrendering. We don't need them to come back another day."
Rick's hand brushed against his revolver holster. "Don't make me ask you again."
"Fine." "Save your bullets!" Dwight hollered. "For fuck's sake! Bullets don't grow on trees!" Several more crisp shots later, the Alexandrian lines fell silent.
"How did we do?" Rick asked. "Did we lose anyone? And how about the Brave Companions?"
"No. But quite a few were hurt fleeing from that cavalry charge, cuts and scrapes and all that. We'll need two stretchers, two of our guys got bone fractures. The Brave Companions lost fifty one of their men, and most of them are injured. Some of those won't last long."
Rick gently shook his head. The Brave Companions could certainly be trouble down the line, especially given how they had acted in the past few days, and it took the barrels of Alexandrian guns to persuade their reluctant allies not to go 'foraging'. But they had been useful guides, and now half of them were dead and the other half injured. "What about the Goat?"
"He was knocked out during the battle, but he'll live," Dwight replied.
"How about our ammo?"
Dwight's hands fidgeted near his ammunition pouch. "I haven't counted yet, but there we don't have much ammunition left. Some of our men have already run out. I got about thirty bullets myself. One more battle like this and we're fucked."
Rick let out a garbled cry. Every night, the various commanders squabbled for hours as to whether they would march west and occupy the Golden Tooth, or north to chastise House Frey at The Twins, but now the issue was rendered completely moot. "Don't let the natives know," Rick ordered, as the castle's riverside portcullis slowly rose and several trout-headed boats emerged into the open water.
The injured were ferried in first, followed by the Brave Companions, and lastly the Alexandrians, Rick and Dwight taking the last boat in. On the open fields, Lannister and Frey prisoners collected scattered gear and digging graves under the watchful eye of Tully men, who were in turn ferried out from the confines of their fortress. Riverrun was no Harrenhal, but the castle was bigger on the inside, and the Alexandrians rested comfortably among the fresh and airy godswood. "The Tullys send bread and salt, m'lords," a trout-helmed soldier arrived with a tray of much-needed nourishment. "But he bids you wait for a while. There is much healing to do, and the Great Hall needs to be prepared for tonight's feast."
*********
"Lord Rickard Grimes," a voice boomed as Rick and his companions entered Riverrun's Great Hall several hours later, their entrance to the feast delayed by a quick visit to the injured men. "You are in the presence of Edmure Tull, Lord of Riverrun, and Ser Brynden Tully the 'Blackfish', Castellan of Riverrun."
A burly noble stood up with wine glass in hand, auburn hair matched by his fiery beard, and his red doublet embroidered with silver trout. "They say you are the lord whose people come from another world, even further than Asshai-in-the-East, whose weapons that can throw darts several leagues away, and whose thirteen year old killed the Mountain that Rides. But to us, you are the lord who relieved Riverrun at its hour of need, and for that you have our unwavering gratitude. A toast from the Lord of Riverrun, to the health of Lord Rickard and his Alexandria!"
All around the hall, hundreds of men raised their glasses in unison.
Rick was seated at the table on the dais. The old knight, face weathered but steely, began making small talk as similarly small tarts were served. "My uncle the Blackfish," Lord Edmure whispered.
"A splendid performance, Lord Rickard, and the strength of your arms cannot be doubted. But few of your men wear any armor at all," the Blackfish observed.
"Most of our soldiers will not wear armor," Rick insisted. "We don't have much armor to spare so we need to save those for our horsemen. Wearing armor will also give our soldiers a false sense of protection and encourage them to take unnecessary risks. We have guns that outrange their swords and bows. That's all the protection we need."
Dwight rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say," he muttered, as the Westerosi barely concealed their mirth.
"In your world, did your men wear armor when facing your 'walkers'?" Ser Brynden asked.
"No." Rick and Dwight barely had time to answer before the rest of the table erupted in roaring laughter.
Edmure raised his eyebrow. "Not even a gambeson?"
"If Lord Rickard were not well versed in strategy, we would not be feasting at Riverrun right now. Perhaps we should change the topic," the Blackfish observed dryly. "Your presence in Riverrun is more than welcome, yet I hear you also hold Harrenhal, and I am not aware that you swear fealty to of the King of the Trident."
Rick set down his glass of wine. "My men hold Harrenhal. Everyone in our civilization is equal. I lead my people because they respect and look up to me, not because of who my father is."
"And yet your son Karl will rule after you," the Blackfish pointed out.
"No!" Rick exclaimed. "I've just said that I lead not because of who my father is. Any future leaders will be the same."
"Then how will you choose your successor?" Edmure asked.
"Ah, just like the wildlings. I offer a proposal then," the Blackfish offered as Rick struggled to come up with words in reply. "Riverrun's swords shall be yours in the battles to come. When this war is over, my niece Sansa Stark is to be Queen of the Trident and in the North, and your son Karl Grimes will wed her. The lordship of Harrenhal and overlordship of Maidenpool shall go to your son, and his son after him will also be King of the Trident and in the North. All other lands east of the God's Eye are yours, should you be able to take them, and ruled however you wish."
Rick pondered the Blackfish's proposal as the main course was served, battered cod caught straight from the Trident with a large helping of fries. More Arbor gold, Edmure shouted as he rang the servants' bell.
"But they must live in Alexandria," he finally answered. "I will not send my son to live in a frozen pile of rocks a few hundred miles away."
"That can be done," Brynden replied. "Catelyn said Sansa always preferred the South. And a castellan can be sent to rule Winterfell. It should not take too long for them to have an heir and a spare."
"And they will not be married right away. I do not want my children to be having their own children." Rick's face was now beet red. "The two can be engaged, but they will not be married, or sleeping together until Carl turns eighteen."
"Eighteen? Your son shall be a man grown for two years! And Sansa will be twenty, long after her flowering. The Trident and the North shall not wait four more years for an heir, my lord. Four years where this marriage can be annulled."
"Take it or leave it, Brynden, And maybe your kingdom has more heirs than you think."
"I do not speak riddles. If you have more Stark heirs, show them to me."The Blackfish did not miss the implication of Rick's words. "The two are to be betrothed, and shall wed on Karl's sixteenth nameday. They will then share a bed if they so wish. This is my offer, Lord Grimes. Take it or leave it."
Ignoring the large bowls of fresh fruit for dessert, Rick's hands shook as he signed the hastily drafted parchment. He and Lori married for love, despite that love fading as the excitement of romance soon gave way to the mundaneness of married life, and even the birth of their son only delayed the drifting of their marriage for a few short years. Poor Carl would not even have the chance. There will be much grumbling back home, of course, but Carl would surely honor the deal and do what's best for Alexandria.
The Alexandrian host, along with remnants of the Brave Companions, took their leave several days later, driving nearly one thousand prisoners in front of them. This time they followed the southerly route. The Blackfish suggested that it would be slightly shorter, and offered less possibility of ambush. "They say you can see far from High Heart, just over a day's march from here. And there are rumors of a woods witch who haunts that hill, with her own ways to sight the future. But the hill is too steep, and I have little need to consult witches."
Yet Rick was undeterred. It took half a day for Rick to ascend the tall hill with his limping leg, and another half day for Dwight to find the ghost of High Heart, even as the Alexandrians, Brave Companions and their prisoners encamped on the other side of the road.
"The Old Gods stir again, whispering promises of the ancient dawn," the shriveled crone said, as she perched on a knotted black cane half the size of Rick's. "I dreamt of nine braziers as the sun rises. I dreamt of a man in blue robes, blue sword shimmering as he hacked at a red eye right here, here at this hill. Ah! How righteous the man was, vanquishing his foe as surely as good triumphed over evil. And the eye glowed, its dark rays shone upon the bloodied child this man trod on as he clambered towards the sun."
Rick shivered.
"And I dreamt of the boy ensnared in a web of silk, one hand clawing at his hollow eye as he shrieked in terror, the other clutching at a burning torch, setting the world aflame before two icy hands closed around him. Begone, Rick the Prick!" the little woman suddenly snarled. "Repent while you still can! And never return if you value your life!"
"Dwight, Not. A. Word." Rick reached into his pocket, fishing out a one dollar bill from a time when the dead stayed dead. "Here! Have your due. This money will be as useful as your words!"
The old crone reached towards the bill with a leathery hand. Rick's eyes grew as wide as saucers as the greenback turned a deep blue, inky lines slowly morphing throughout the paper. He suddenly realised what was, what is, and what will be, as what was once George Washington's portrait crossed his eye. But the crone folded the bill, and he kinda forgot.
"Let's go home. Alexandria will not tolerate this sort of mumbo-jumbo."
Rick's host finally marched past Harrenhal two days after the New Year, boarding the many ferries which transported passengers and goods between Alexandria and Harrenhal. As the survivors' town slowly came into view, it became apparent that Rick would be getting a far livelier welcoming than he had envisioned in his wildest dreams. Hundreds of Alexandrians were gathered at the town's docks, packed as tightly as another reality's Florida beaches during a worldwide pandemic. Ten flags lined each side of the pier, and one was draped in front of a specially prepared lecturn.
There were a few familiar faces. Maggie and Michonne, and Ezekiel and Eugene were there, his young nephew Edward and the boy's mother Claudia too, not to mention his daughter Judith, all dressed in their Sunday best. Even Negan, handcuffed, was hauled out from Alexandria's prison. The former tyrant was beaming from ear to ear. "Grimes! Grimes!" they cheered. "Up with the Grimes! Up with House Stark! Down with the Lannisters! Down with the Tyrells!"
"Welcome back Rick!" Maggie shouted. "Don't worry, we've just gotten the news too. Is there anything you want to say to the crowd? They've been waiting for long."
Rick took his place at the lecturn, spending a few seconds to adjust the microphone upwards. "I'm sure Maggie has done a good job taking care of you guys when I was gone. Now, now - I know you're as happy as I am, but we've only fought two battles, and our war has just begun…"
[Author's Note: Apologies for the delay. The past months have been... turbulent. I'm sure you know why.]
