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(Continued from After the Struggle: Keary and Catriona)

The Guardian took the long pole that the marsh dwellers traditionally used to guide and steer their flat-bottomed craft along the shallow waterways. He began to drive it through the water with a skill and dexterity that suggested this was far from the first time he had done this.

They were travelling deeper and deeper into the Ghost Fens now. Suddenly the stranger dropped to his knees, swinging the pole that they seemed to be heading straight for the bank.

"Lie flat," he instructed, "and make your wolves crouch low."

He suited the action to his words, dropping even lower so that none of his body was above the level of the boat, save only his left hand, which still held the heavy pole, trailing it in the water behind like a rudder.

"Keir, down," Catriona commanded. As the hunter flattened herself in the bottom of the boat, she gently pushed between the direwolf's shoulder blades to reinforce her words.

The boat's prow passed through the greenery and then, when would have expected it to hit the bank and stop, it instead glided slowly forwards.

Catriona looked up in time to notice that while Keir had crouched, the direwolf's head was still raised high enough to impact the shrubbery. With a sharp "Down!" she slid her hand forward to push Keir's head down beneath the level of the greenery.

A whine, then, from beside them, as Keary looked to have an armlock hold around Mist's head, holding her down as well.

The boat glided through the greenery. It was a tight fit, and the direwolves were unhappy at being forced to crouch so low. And this strange tunnel continued ... running on for perhaps some fifty yards before it ended up into a round green pool - deep green, perhaps because it was quite covered with a lattice work of branches, marshes grasses and twisted vines. It was passible to sit up now, although not to stand, and the stranger continued to use the pole as a rudder to steer them to one side, where a dark tunnel led off through what seemed to be a tangle of briars and vines.

"We leave the boat here," he said.

Sitting up cautiously, Catriona glanced up at the mass of vegetation that covered the green pool. While the Guardian steadied the boat, she rose carefully into a crouch, then stepped onto dry land in the shadows of the tunnel. She then reached back to hold the boat steady so that the others could exit the boat. "Keir, come," she cajoled the black direwolf.

As she waited until everyone was ready, she peered into the dark tunnel, trying to see what she could ascertain once her eyes adjusted to the poor light.

Keary did likewise, though he simply closed his eyes and let his other senses tell the story of what was around them.

There was a slightly close, muffled feeling about the air around them. To some extent, there was the usual scents of fresh and rotting vegtation that one found in the fens. But something more - a strange oldness, an air of expectation.

Catriona saw that the tunnel led for perhaps twenty yards and then either ended - or more likely turned beyond view.

"It's a maze," said the stranger. "But I know the trick of it. One day ... I may take you to its heart - if I learn that I can trust you. For the moment ... we can go a little distance to a place that is quite private."

Keir's nose twitched as the direwolf caught the scents wafting from the maze. Catriona stepped to one side of the tunnel, and gestured for the Guardian to lead the way. "After you?"

He glanced at Keary, then nodded and moved into the tunnel. It was surprisingly high, but still he had to stoop a little.

Perhaps oddly, neither Keir nor Mist seemed at all discomposed about the prospect of following him.

Catriona stepped into the tunnel to follow him, Keir trailing just behind her. The scent of wet and rotting vegetation was a little stronger as she entered the maze. The sense of something old, patiently waiting somewhere within, pulled at her, reminding her of something. But despite that thought niggling at her mind, she could not quite place the sensation.

Keary simply looked suspicious and paranoid. He shot Mist a glance as if she had somehow betrayed him, but walked along beside her.

After a while, they came to something that looked like a low reed dwelling hidden among the marsh graases. Keary had hidden out in such simple shelters in the past - what felt like too many times. But he knew well that such dwelling could be very well-hidden and surprisingly comfortable.

This one seemed to smell of roasting duck ... and a thin spiral of smoke was rising from its central roofhole.

"Charity will be pleased to see you," said the stranger. "Will you come in?"

Keary gave the Guardian a look, nodded, then strode forward. "Charity?" he called.

"Keary?" The voice from within the hut was weak but recognisable.

Catriona let Keary to proceed, her hand lightly ruffling Keir's fur. She took advantage of the pause to survey their surroundings in more detail, including getting a better look at the Guardian himself and his unusual brooch.

He still had the hood of his cloak pulled up. As if aware of her interest, he turned his head slightly, and smiled at her, but his face was still deeply shadowed.

A smile spread across Catriona's face in response, as she gave the Guardian a friendly nod.

Once Keary and Mist were inside, Catriona gave a snap of her fingers and stepped into the hut herself, Keir beside her.

Once inside they realised that it was a decent size and hung with furs and warm cloth - the same as was spread underfoot. To one side was a raised area, like a low bed, and here was stretched a familiar young man - his left leg heavily bandaged, who Keary knew as one of his followers - Charity.

Catriona glanced down at the much smaller bandage upon her own leg, then back at Charity. "Eels get you, too?" then after a pause, "Or worse?"

Keary let a slow smile spread across his face, but forced it down. "Charity. Report," he said.

The young man pulled himself up.

"The lady's right, Sir," he said. "It were eels, right enough - but that was cos I had to take to the water. They'd nearly got me, the grey men. And then he came and brought me to safety here." He indicated the stranger.

"The Grey Men are a sellsword company," said the Stranger. "They claim descent from those who followed Bloodraven. They claim his heritage."

Catriona tilted her head slightly to one side, raising an eyebrow in puzzlement. "What heritage?"

Keary backed a step.

"An old song," he said. "An old, old song. 'A Thousand Eyes, and One'. About one of the bastards of the Dragonlords. A sorceror. Killed one of his kin with a bow in the Blackfyre rebellion, all those years ago. He carried a sword, the Dark Sis-"

He stopped.

"-ter."

He frowned, the look becoming one almost of fury. "They can claim all they want. I've fought too long to try and find it. Years of my life. The title has passed."

The stranger's lips moved, still half-hidden by the hood. But it seemed to be an involuntary smile.

"Ah," he said. "Years."

Her arms crossed over her chest, Catriona leaned back against on of the shelter's posts as Keary spoke. Her eyes initially never left his face, but after his explanation unfolded, she then looked thoughtfully at Charity. Her gaze finally came to rest upon the Guardian.

With a shrug of her shoulders, she inquired softly, "You seem to have quite a grasp of older tongues, stranger. You wouldn't happen to be able to read High Valyrian, would you?"

He turned, and she saw the paleness of his face within the hood.

"Yes," he said. "I do."

Keary moved a little closer, trying to see if he could get a better glimpse of the Ghost's face.

He saw the pale skin even in the dark green light of the hut. Then the stranger reached up and pushed back his hood.

His hair was silver, worn long and in a silken braid, with a single dark streak down the middle of the hair. His eyes were two strange pools of darkness.

Catriona tilted her head slightly to one side, frankly studying the stranger. "Is now the place to discuss that alliance you mentioned? I have many questions, Guardian," she said. "Of course, the strongest trust is built in two directions, and you likely have questions of your own."

"Yes," said the Stranger. "But some I may already know the answers to. Ask your questions first, Huntress."

"I know you are the Guardian of this marsh," Catriona replied. "But exactly who and what are you? In all my travels I've never seen another mortal like you, who bears knowledge of languages long forgotten."

She glanced over at Keary, then back at the Stranger. "And what is it that you wish of us?"

Keary briefly glanced over to Charity in his turn, then back to the Stranger himself.

The Stranger hesitated, and then said slowly, "I am the last of a lost people. Or ... not a people. Say ... the last of the b@stard line of a race who until recently ruled the Seven Kingdoms. And generations ago, my family swore to hide a secret deep in these marshes - a secret that had brought doom and death to many thousands of people."

Charity had propped himself up, listening with almost painful intensity.

"Someone must be pretty close," Keary said, "for you to make yourself known to us, after all this time."

Catriona merely stood quietly, one hand gently scratching behind Keir's ears, her eyes encouraging the Guardian to continue unraveling his tale for them.

"Yes," said the stranger. "Very close. And you need to be warned too, of the danger that is close to you.

"You have the sword, don't you? Is it safe?"

"Yes," Catriona replied, her gaze unwavering from the stranger's. "What danger is close? What more can you tell us?"

"There are several dangers," said the Stranger. "And not the least of those is the sword itself."

Catriona looked puzzled for a moment. "But a sword can do nothing by itself. Its wielder has the power to bear it for good or ill." Her voice faltered for a moment as she recalled the shattered fragments' alluring song and yearning to be rejoined.

The Stranger said nothing, but he raised one eyebrow a fraction. Then he went on.

"But others have learned of its existence or ... more troublingly ... its location. Its former location, that is. And the rumours of those who might know have become more ... focused."

"What are these rumors, and who spreads them?" the hunter queried. "And, for that matter, who is it that seeks this sword? Beside these Grey Men who almost felled Charity, that is."

She drummed the fingers of her right hand against her left, then her eyes narrowed. "And what exactly is it that you want us," she motioned to Keary and herself, "to do?"

"I don't necessarily want you to *do* anything," he said. "But if you do act, I want you to be aware of what you are doing - and for that to happen, I need to tell you something of the sword."

Catriona waited for the Guardian to continue.

Keary had the same kind of morose look that he had when they had found the broken pieces of metal in the first place.

"The sword bears a great name," said the Stranger. "And that name is the Dark Sister, the sword once borne by Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and after by Brynden Rivers, Bloodraven and Kinslayer."

Catriona seated herself in a comfortable position atop some of the furs lining the shelter's floor, motioning for Keir to lie beside her. It was clear that what the stranger had to share was going to be a lengthy telling, and the hunter figured she had better rest her injured leg while she could. She gave the Guardian a nod to encourage him to continue as the black direwolf relaxed next to her.

Keary nodded and moved back, standing close to Charity. A snap of his fingers brought Mist to heel next to him.

"It was given to my ancestors, bastard Velaryons of the royal line. Their names were Jon and Jeyne Waters, and they were commanded to destroy the sword for it had wrought much evil. But they vowed to keep it safe, should Bloodraven ever need it again. And one day ... he did."

He looked at them both. "Do you know the end of the tale of Bloodraven? Most stories end with his becoming the King's Hand, rewarded for his part in the Kinslaying of the Blackfyre Rebellion."

"I don't," Catriona replied as she shook her head gently from side to side. "Please, tell us if you would."

Keary shook his head. "Just that he became the King's Hand," he said.

"And then the Mother's spinning wheel turned again," said the Stranger. "Maekar became King and Bloodraven was Hand during the Great Spring Sickness. It was he who gave orders for the Pyromancers to use wildfyre to burn the bodies ... in a way, I think it was that which made Maekar turn against him ... That and the rumours that Bloodraven had enscorcelled King Aerys ... "

He paused and then said, in a faintly singsong voice, "How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? A thousand eyes, and one." It seemed to be some sort of half-remembered song.

He shook his head. "What you need to know is that the King did turn against him, and the Dark Sister was taken from him. It was given to the bastards of Elaena of the Maidenvault, Jon and Jeyne Waters, and they were to destroy it. But Jeyne loved Bloodraven, thought he had eyes for none save his halfsister, Shiera. So they hid it and kept it safe for all the years that he was imprisoned.

"Then, when Maester Aemon went to the Wall, his brother the King cleared the dungeons of King's Landing for a guard to send with him. And Bloodraven rode with them, older now but proud and unbending. He took the vows of the Night Watch - and served well. But the blade he bore was the Dark Sister, for the Rivers gave it back to him, and they travelled north to Queenstown where - after the fashion of their family, they became as man and wife and bore children."

While the Stranger's tale of Bloodraven and the Dark Sister unfolded, Catriona's green eyes focused intently on him. One of her hands gently stroked Keir's head. A small furrow creased her forehead at one point, accompanied by the slightest pause in her petting of the direwolf. A moment later, the hunter's face was smoothed into an impassive expression once more, her scratching of Keir smoothly resumed.

When the Guardian paused for a moment, she interjected. "And then what happened? How did the sword part from its master, and be the burden of your ancestors?"

Keary shifted, looking very much like he wanted to ask something else, as well, but he crossed his arms and waited instead.

"In the Night Watch, as in the broader Kingdom," said the Guardian, "Bloodraven accomplished great if terrible things and rose to prominance. When he died, it was as Knight Commander of the Night Watch, head of all the Black Brothers. But on his deathbed he sent for Jerol Waters, the son of Jon and Jeyne. To him he gave the Dark Sister, bidding him to keep his parents' honour by destroying the sword - as they had sworn - and failed - to do. This Jerol undertook - hiding it deep within the ghost fens, and then he devoted his lfe to guarding the secret - a charge which was passed from him to his decendants, the last of whom you see before you."

Catriona studied the Guardian in silence for a moment, mentally reviewing his tale. She gave Keir's ears a light scratch, then leaned forward. "For all I can tell from your words so far, Bloodraven might have done what he did with any blade. I still have heard nothing in your tale to tell me why this sword Dark Sister is to be feared, and why others seek it for themselves."

"Because of what it is," Keary said. "The reason why I've been searching so long for it. The secret of Valyrian steel has been lost since the Doom, several hundred years ago. It's lighter, stronger, holds an edge better, very difficult to break..." he looked away. "And it's an emblem of House Targaryen. It means something, to a lot of people. It has value, if the pieces were found and, by some miracle, reforged."

Catriona looked less than convinced by Keary's explanation alone, but the stranger spoke before she could form her thoughts into words.

"And you have found them," said the Guardian. "Are they truly safe now? For the legend does not end with its destruction."

"Guardian," Catriona said bluntly, "your tale so far has merely meandered along the outskirts of the maze, and I suspect that what lies within its heart is more troubling."

Keary nodded, turning back to look at the Guardian. "There has to be more, if generations of you have been here to keep it secret."

The Guardian glanced at them both. Then he reached up to his eyes - those strange pools of darkness in his pale face. His hands pressed close - and suddenly first one eye and then the other showed as Targaryen bruised purple, and he lowered his hand, still holding darkened discs as he blinked a little.

Catriona stared curiously at the Guardian as he reached up to his face. As he removed the first disc, her eyes widened slightly, and then an eyebrow arched with interest as he took out the second. Her gaze was captivated less by the purple color of his eyes than by the objects in his hand. She started to reach out to inspect one of them, but held back as the Stranger spoke.

"Five generations," he said. "Five generations ... and now it seems that the legends are coming true. For it was said that when the sword should be reforged, it would be in the hands of the landless, the baseborn. And when that time came, then would the dragons be reborn. Blackfyre tried to claim that time for him and his rebellion, but Bloodraven knew better. He knew that there must come a shattering before there could be rebirth, even as there must be death before the dragons could be reborn."

The Guardian's words drew Catriona's attention back to him and his tale, rather than the methods of his disguise. A small smile started to creep across her face, and then spread into a most ridiculous grin, strained by a pursing of her lips in their center. Her shoulders started to jiggle, and the little snort that escaped her caused Keir's head to pivot towards her.

Finally she could constrain herself no longer, and her delighted laughter erupted into the shelter.

"So...sor...ry," she chortled, as she wiped a laughing tear from her eye. "Funny." Her effort to express her humor triggered another convulsive laugh. Keir rose up, nudging her with her nose.

Finally the hunter managed to regain some semblance of control. "With all of those sorry sellsword sots out there combing the North for a wolf woman," her shoulders twitched a little as a snicker interrupted her, "I never expected to be sheltered by someone who would be more wanted than me."

He suddenly smiled in return, and the last vestiges of his being 'other' seemed to disappear.

"More wanted ... if they knew of my existence," he said.

She shook her head from side to side with a rueful expression as one hand foraged in her belt pouch. "Since your High Valyrian is undoubtedly much better than my own, perhaps this sheds light on our situation."

She handed the Guardian the corked tube of wood, its message inside, which she and Keary had retrieved from the dead mailed man the previous day. "Although truth be told, I don't know if that relates to the sword, or the Wicked Wolf Woman of Westeros."

He was reading it swiftly. "It relates to the sword," he said. "It tells of how it was 'lost' - the tale that was proclaimed abroad after Bloodraven's death. But here in the margins ... do you see? Someone has made notes, giving directions to the Ghost Fens. And recently too - a last addition ... "

He straightened. "I am not, it seems, the only speaker of High Valyrian who is involved."

"What does the extra bit say? Is there a name?" Catriona asked in a rush. "Can you tell who it is?"

He shook his head. "It speaks of direwolves who guard the sword. So it is little ... late. For those direwolves are dead, and you have their pups."

Keary, whose brow had furrowed for a few moments, suddenly said, "Dragons? Reborn?" A pause. "What?!"

"So says the legend," said the stranger. "When the baseborn shall once more raise the Dark Sister, and bathe her in red blood, then look for the time of the dragons reborn."

Keary's hand, petting Mist's head, suddenly tangled in her fur. She looked at him and whined; already, she was nearly eye-to-eye with him, and it wouldn't be long before she reached the size of a small pony. A wild beast to everyone but him... "There hasn't been a direwolf south of the Neck in over two centuries," he said. "Someone went to a lot of trouble. I'd denounce this for the aurochs sh1t for which it appears, but too much... fits." He looked away for a moment, still holding on to Mist's fur, as if everything else were surreal, and she was anchoring him in reality.

"So. You say you're the Dark Sister's protector." The three syllables sound as dry as bones rattling in a cup. "You've related what, and how. But not the why. Is it that legend? Is that it? You want the dragons back? I can't see why you would want to bind yourself to an ancient oath like that for any other reason."

Catriona stroked Keir's fur, her pale skin contrasting sharply against the black of the direwolf. Her head tilted slightly to one side as she looked from Keary back to the Stranger, awaiting his response.

"For a long time," said the Guardian, "our aim was the opposite - to guard the sword to prevent it from being reforged. But things ... have changed. Winter is Coming ... and so are ... other things of which I will not speak. For the moment - we must have the sword safe - and reforged."

A grim, almost ghoulish smile flickered across Catriona's face at the Guardian's comments. "Perhaps you should speak of those other things, too." She shot Keary a glance, then looked back at the Stranger. "I've already encountered the killing cold here in your swamp. That's bad enough, but if you know that worse things are in motion, you should warn us."

He looked at her, startled - an expression easier to read in his true purple eyes than it would have been in the blackened glass demi-orbs he had worn before. "When was this? And where?"

"Yesterday, not far from a sellsword camp. The man who carried that scroll," Catriona motioned towards the High Valyrian parchment, "was from that camp." She sifted through her memories to see what else she could recall of the encounter with the killing cold, then smiled with chagrin. "The site would be easy enough to find again. It's in the other recently charred part of your marsh."

More softly she added, "Though I don't regret starting that fire. Flames might be the only reason I stand before you now."

She cleared her throat before continuing in a more normal tone. "And once the vegetation was burnt down, we found the sword's box in that area, too."

"Considering all that's happened, it feels like longer," Keary said.

Rather abruptly another thought occurred to her. "Do you have the hilt? Or was that lost to time?" Catriona asked the Guardian.

"Not to time," said the Guardian. "But a new one will need to be fashioned."

Catriona stroked Keir's head thoughtfully. "And I'm no smith, but reforging that sword isn't going to be easy or quick. Nor will finding a smith skilled enough or trustworthy enough for the task," she mused.

"Indeed," said the Guardian grimly.

"Given the intensity of the hunt for the sword, perhaps we need to move the Dark Sister somewhere safer, and then bring the smith to her," Catriona continued. She gave Keary a sidelong look. "I can guide her somewhere no one would think to look, or dare to follow."

"Where?" said the Guardian.

Catriona stared directly into the Guardian's violet eyes. "Are you going to come with us, or do you plan to stay behind? If you know exactly where we go, but don't join us, all might be lost if you are captured."

She nodded towards Charity. "Likewise we need to decide whether he comes, or stays."

Keary looked back towards Charity. "Well. I'd say that's up to him."

"I will come," said the Guardian. "I have more of these globes from my eyes - I can pass for one blinded with a milkiness that covers my eyes. As for the boy - it would be cruel to leave him here but he is healed enough to follow your orders - and that will be his own inclination, I believe."

Catriona glanced over to where Charity lay. "What would you like to do?"

"I'd want to go back to Marshend," said Charity. "That's if Keary don't need me. Nut my Mam's there - I'd sooner be with her if trouble's coming."

"Do it," Keary said. "With my blessing. I'm sorry to see you go, but more relieved that you're all right. We searched for you, Charity."

"And your Mam will be even more delighted to have you back, I'm sure," Catriona said with a smile at Charity. "Will you need help getting back to Marshend?"

Her face hardened slightly as she added next, "And my apologies, Charity, but it's safer for you...and your Mam...if you don't know anything more about what comes next." Her gaze flickered to meet the Guardian's. "Is there somewhere else safe that we can continue our discussion after we set Charity upon his way?"