Return of House Mudd

Chapter: Lost in the Twilight

The world stirred slowly back to life, though it was unlike any life the brothers and their retinue had ever known. The first to wake was Ignotus, who groaned softly as he rolled onto his side, his fingers clutching at damp grass and cool earth. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he thought he was still in the Neck. The air was heavy, laden with the faint scent of bog water, and the ground beneath him was uneven and soft. But as his vision cleared, he saw no mist-cloaked trees or gnarled roots. Instead, low hills rolled out into the distance, their surfaces dotted with patches of moss and scrub. Pools of stagnant water shimmered faintly under a pale sky, the horizon dim and hazy as if caught between dusk and dawn.

"What in the Seven Hells…?" Ignotus muttered, sitting up. His voice, usually edged with irritation or bravado, was quiet, almost reverent. A deep unease stirred in his chest as he looked around. The rest of the retinue lay scattered nearby, their bodies sprawled as if they'd been cast down by some invisible hand. Antioch was slumped against a small rise, his cloak soaked through with dew. Cadmus lay on his back, his face turned toward the sky, his expression eerily serene.

"Antioch," Ignotus called, his voice steady despite the chill that ran through him. "Cadmus. Get up. Something's… wrong."

Antioch stirred with a low groan, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. When his fingers found it, he gripped it tightly, as if the familiar weight might anchor him in this strange, dreamlike reality. His eyes opened, dark and sharp, and they fixed immediately on Ignotus.

"Where are we?" Antioch's voice was hoarse, but his tone was as commanding as ever.

Ignotus shook his head. "I don't know. It's not the Neck. Look around you."

Cadmus was the last to wake, blinking as though emerging from a deep and troubled sleep. He pushed himself upright, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar landscape. A faint smile played at his lips, though it lacked its usual warmth. "This doesn't feel like the Riverlands," he murmured. "It feels… other."

By now, the rest of the retinue was waking, their expressions ranging from confusion to outright panic. Whispers spread among the men as they took in their surroundings, the realization dawning that their horses, banners, and supplies were nowhere to be seen. They were stripped of everything that marked them as Riverlanders, as nobles, as soldiers of their king. Without their armor and heraldry, they looked like nothing more than a ragged band of wanderers.

The brothers gathered their retinue into a loose circle, seeking to impose some semblance of order on the chaos. Antioch's voice rose above the murmurs, commanding attention. "Enough. Panicking won't help us. We need to figure out where we are and how to get out of here."

"Do you think this is some Andal trick?" one of the guards asked, his voice trembling. "Or… or sorcery?"

"It doesn't matter what it is," Antioch snapped. "We'll face it as we've faced everything else. Together."

Ignotus, however, was no longer brimming with his usual defiance. He stood apart from the group, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze scanning the horizon. For the first time, he felt powerless, stripped of the belief that his sword could cut through any obstacle. Whatever force had brought them here was beyond steel and strength. He knew it, felt it in his very bones.

"We're not in the Riverlands anymore," Ignotus said quietly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic gravity. "This place… it's not natural. Not right. We have to be careful. Whatever brought us here, it's watching."

Cadmus turned to his younger brother, a flicker of curiosity and concern in his eyes. "You sound afraid, Ignotus. That's not like you."

Ignotus met his gaze, his expression unflinching. "Because this isn't like anything I've ever faced. You can't fight mist or shadows. You can't outwit something you can't see."

With no clear direction and no sign of familiar landmarks, the group began to move. The land was a patchwork of bogs and low hills, the ground shifting treacherously underfoot. Pools of water dotted the terrain, their surfaces eerily still, reflecting the pale light like mirrors. Occasionally, the men thought they saw ripples, but no one dared to linger long enough to see what might be lurking beneath.

The march was slow and arduous. Without horses or supplies, every step felt heavier, every mile stretched longer. The silence of the landscape was oppressive, broken only by the squelch of boots in the mud and the low murmurs of the men. Even Cadmus, who often filled the air with musings and songs, remained uncharacteristically quiet.

As they trudged onward, the brothers noticed a change in the retinue. The men's shoulders slumped, their heads bowed, and a strange lethargy seemed to settle over them. The swampy air felt thick, almost tangible, as though it sought to sap their strength. Antioch's sharp eyes caught the shift, and he called for a halt.

"We need to rest," he said. "We can't afford to exhaust ourselves, not when we don't know what lies ahead."

The group settled on a small rise, where the ground was firmer and less damp. The men sat in silence, their faces drawn and weary. Ignotus stood watch, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. He scanned the horizon, his sharp features set in a mask of concentration.

Cadmus joined him after a while, his arms crossed loosely as he gazed out over the bogs. "Do you really think we're being watched?" he asked quietly.

Ignotus didn't look at him. "I know we are. Can't you feel it? The way the air shifts, the way the shadows move when you're not looking? This place isn't empty. It's alive."

Cadmus tilted his head, considering. "If that's true, perhaps it's not our enemy. Perhaps it's simply… waiting. Watching to see what we'll do."

Ignotus let out a bitter laugh. "You'd find poetry in a graveyard, Cadmus. But I'll tell you this: whatever it is, it's not something we can bargain with. We need to find a way out of here before it decides we don't belong."

The march resumed after a brief rest, but their progress was no faster. The landscape seemed to shift around them, the hills and bogs blending into an indistinguishable monotony. More than once, Antioch felt a flicker of doubt. Were they going in circles? Was this land playing tricks on their minds, leading them nowhere?

As the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the hills, the retinue's spirits reached their lowest ebb. Men muttered darkly about curses and witchcraft, their fear bubbling to the surface despite Antioch's efforts to maintain order.

The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of moss and decay. The distant croak of unseen creatures echoed faintly, blending with the squelch of their boots in the mud. Every shadow seemed to stretch a little longer, every pool of water a little darker. Ignotus's unease had spread through the group like a plague, infecting even the most stalwart of men. He walked in silence, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger—or salvation.

As the twilight deepened, the brothers and their retinue pressed forward, exhaustion gnawing at their resolve. Hours of trudging through the muck had drained them, the unchanging landscape offering no signs of civilization or salvation. When Antioch finally called for a halt, the men dropped where they stood, slumping onto patches of drier ground with audible groans.

The group lit a small fire, its flickering light casting long shadows across their weary faces. The dampness of the swamp fought the flame, forcing the men to huddle closer for warmth. Antioch sat with his back against a rock, his gaze fixed on the fire as if willing it to reveal answers. Beside him, Cadmus sharpened his dagger absentmindedly, the rhythmic scrape of steel on stone the only sound cutting through the heavy silence.

Ignotus stood slightly apart, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. His eyes scanned the horizon, which remained shrouded in mist and darkness. The youngest of the brothers, usually brash and headstrong, now exuded a quiet caution that unsettled the men who had known him longest.

"We need to talk about what's happening," one of the men finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was laced with desperation. "This place—it's not right. It's like something out of a nightmare."

Another guard nodded, his face pale. "It's witchcraft. Has to be. The Crannogmen, or some other swamp-dwellers playing games with us."

"No," a third man interjected, shaking his head. "This isn't the work of men. It's something else. Something older. Maybe it's the gods."

At this, a ripple of unease passed through the group. The old gods were rarely spoken of openly, even in jest. The men's gazes flicked toward the gnarled trees that seemed to loom closer in the firelight, their twisted branches resembling grasping hands.

Antioch leaned forward, his expression grim. "Enough speculation. We gain nothing by scaring ourselves with talk of gods and magic. What we need is a plan."

"A plan?" Ignotus's voice cut through the air, sharp and bitter. He turned to face his older brother, his eyes blazing. "How do you plan against this, Antioch? Against a place that swallows your sense of time and direction? Against shadows that seem to watch your every move?"

"Careful," Cadmus warned softly, his tone placating. "We're all feeling it, Ignotus. But fighting each other won't help."

Ignotus glared at him but said nothing more. He turned away, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Antioch exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand across his face. "I don't have answers," he admitted, his voice low. "But sitting here, tearing ourselves apart, won't solve anything."

One of the men shifted uneasily. "What if we're not even in Westeros anymore?" he murmured. "What if we've been taken to another world? Or another time?"

A hushed silence fell over the camp. It was an unthinkable notion, and yet, it was impossible to dismiss outright. The land they found themselves in was like nothing they had ever seen, even in the strangest corners of the Riverlands.

Ignotus broke the silence, his voice cold and steady. "It doesn't matter where we are. What matters is why. Whatever brought us here—gods, spirits, or something else—they must have a purpose. We have to find it, or we'll never leave."

Antioch frowned. "You think this is some sort of test?"

"Maybe," Ignotus replied. "Or punishment. Either way, we can't treat this like a battlefield. This isn't a fight we can win with swords."

The men exchanged uneasy glances, their faith in their leaders wavering. Antioch felt the weight of their stares and squared his shoulders, forcing himself to project confidence he didn't feel.

"Rest now," he said firmly. "We'll move again at first light. Keep your weapons close and your wits sharper."

The men nodded reluctantly and settled in for the night. One by one, they drifted off into restless sleep, their dreams plagued by whispers and fleeting shadows. Only Ignotus stayed awake, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he kept watch.

When dawn arrived, pale and gray, the retinue resumed their march. The terrain grew even more treacherous, the bogs deeper and the air heavier. By midmorning, they were no closer to finding a way out. The landscape seemed to conspire against them, twisting and shifting like a living thing.

At midday, they stopped to rest by a cluster of trees, their roots rising out of the murky water like skeletal hands. Antioch called a brief council with his brothers, their faces drawn and weary.

"We're no better off than we were yesterday," he admitted. "Every direction looks the same."

"We can't stop," Cadmus said, his voice calm but insistent. "If we stay in one place too long, this place will consume us."

Ignotus nodded in agreement, his expression grim. "We have to keep moving. But we need to be smarter about it. We can't just wander blindly."

Antioch clenched his jaw, hating the feeling of helplessness that gnawed at him. "Agreed. But smarter how? We've seen no tracks, no signs of life. It's as if this place exists apart from everything we know."

Cadmus, ever watchful, was the first to notice.

"There," he said, his voice tinged with cautious hope. He pointed toward a cluster of shapes in the distance.

The others followed his gaze. Low buildings, their roofs thatched with straw, huddled together on a slight rise above the marshland. Smoke curled lazily from a few chimneys, a faint sign of life in this desolate land. The sight sent a ripple of renewed energy through the weary retinue.

"A village," Antioch said, relief softening his stern features. "Finally, a chance for answers."

Ignotus narrowed his eyes, his earlier caution returning. "Or a trap. Let's not assume these people will welcome us with open arms."

"Caution is wise," Cadmus added. "But we can't ignore this. If nothing else, they might have food or information. We can't keep wandering blindly."

With that, the group began their approach. As they drew closer, they could make out more details. The village was small, perhaps a dozen buildings in total, surrounded by a crude wooden palisade. The air carried the faint scent of smoke and damp earth, mingling with the ever-present swamp smell.

The gates were open, though they sagged on their hinges, and no guards stood watch. It seemed a place of simple folk, unprepared for the arrival of a dozen armed strangers. Antioch stepped forward, his posture commanding but non-threatening. Behind him, Ignotus and Cadmus flanked him, their retinue trailing cautiously.

The villagers emerged slowly, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and wariness. They were simple folk—men, women, and children dressed in homespun garments, their faces weathered by a hard life. The village elder, a stooped man with a thick gray beard, stepped forward to meet them. He leaned heavily on a gnarled staff, his sharp eyes scanning the group.

"Who are you, and what brings you here?" the elder asked, his voice gravelly but firm.

Antioch inclined his head respectfully. "We are travelers, lost in unfamiliar lands. We seek only shelter and answers."

The elder's gaze lingered on their armor and swords. "Travelers with steel? Strange company for these parts."

Ignotus stepped forward, his tone steady but direct. "We've been through strange lands and stranger circumstances. If we seem out of place, it's because we are. Can you tell us where we are?"

The elder hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly. "This is Powys. You're deep in the Welsh Marches."

"Powys?" Cadmus repeated, frowning. "We've never heard of it. Is it part of Westeros?"

The elder blinked, confused. "Westeros? I know no such place."

Antioch stepped in, his tone measured. "What of the Riverlands? The Neck? The North? Surely you've heard of them."

The villagers exchanged uneasy glances. A woman holding a basket of kindling whispered to the man beside her, her expression suspicious. The elder shook his head slowly. "No. These names mean nothing to us."

Ignotus's jaw tightened. "Then tell us the year. What year is it?"

The elder gave him a strange look, as if the question itself were foolish. "It is the year 923 since the birth of our Lord Christ."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Antioch and his brothers exchanged stunned glances, their minds reeling. The concept was alien to them; they measured time by the reigns of kings and the cycles of the moons. What was this "Christ," and how could its birth be used to mark the years?

"What do you mean, the birth of Christ?" Cadmus asked cautiously.

The elder's expression darkened, suspicion sharpening his features. "You mock the Savior? The Redeemer? Are you heathens from across the seas?"

"No," Antioch said quickly, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty. "We mean no offense. We… come from far away, where such things are not spoken of."

The villagers murmured among themselves, their unease palpable. The elder tightened his grip on his staff. "Far away indeed, if you know not of Christ or His teachings. Tell me truthfully—are you of this earth, or do you come from the otherworld?"

The brothers said nothing, the weight of the elder's question settling heavily over them. The villagers' gazes turned from wary to hostile, their hands tightening on tools and makeshift weapons.

Antioch raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "We mean no harm. We are lost, that is all. If we've offended you, forgive us. All we seek is food and direction."

The elder studied him for a long moment before nodding reluctantly. "You may stay for the night. But come morning, you must be on your way. And keep your strange questions to yourselves. The people here are God-fearing, and we will not tolerate blasphemy."

Antioch inclined his head. "Thank you. We are grateful for your kindness."

The villagers dispersed slowly, their whispers lingering like smoke in the air. The brothers and their retinue were led to an empty barn at the edge of the village, where they could rest and eat. The mood among the group was tense, the unease of the villagers seeping into their own hearts.

As night fell, the brothers sat in a circle, their expressions grim. Antioch spoke first, his voice low. "We're not in Westeros anymore. That much is clear."

"No," Ignotus agreed, his tone bitter. "This is something else entirely. Another land, another world, maybe even another time. Those people don't know the Riverlands, the North, or even the Andals. And what is this 'Christ' they speak of? A god we've never heard of."

Cadmus looked thoughtful, though his face was pale. "If that's true, then how did we get here? And more importantly, why?"

Antioch rubbed a hand across his face, his weariness evident. "I don't know. But whatever brought us here—be it gods or fate—it's not finished with us. We need to be ready for whatever comes next."

Outside, the village was quiet, the only sound the distant croak of frogs and the rustle of wind through the reeds. But the brothers knew that the answers they sought would not come easily—and that the land of Powys held more questions than they could fathom.