All rights belong to George R R Martin
Sorry for the long absence, but my schedules really kicking my ass
As of now, my artemis fowl story is on indefinite hold. I will get back to it, I promise!
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Dacey
The Ironborn came just after dusk, five longships flying the black horn of House Goodbrother. The Ironborn had taken the hall of the Mormonts almost without a fight, lightly armored raiders slipping over the walls and murdering the sentries. They had opened the gates and a hundred Ironborn had stormed inside. The battle was over almost before it began, guards surrounded and butchered, some locked in their barracks and burned alive. The Ironborn pulled women and children from their beds, dragging men outside to be beaten and chained, or slaughtered like dogs for resisting.
Dacey had woken just in time to find a sword before the Ironborn burst into the Mormont keep. Maege Mormont barred their way, the grim matron of Bear Island gripping a heavy mace in one hand, a sword in the other.
With a strength that many would not have thought possible, the old woman waded into the oncoming Ironborn, crushing shields and hewing limbs, howling like a mad woman. Dacey had leapt to aid her mother, battering away the shield of a Ironborn, and burying her sword in his chest. At the rear of the hall, her sister Alys stood over the youngest daughters of Mormont, a great axe in her hands.
Two raiders rushed Dacey. One she dispatched with a swift blow to the groin, seizing his round shield and hammering it into the face of the second. The man mewled like a child as the bones of his face shattered against the shield boss, and became a soft gurgle as Dacey buried a sword in him. Maege Mormont roared again, swinging her mace low, sending Ironborn tumbling backwards.
"Seal the doors!" The old woman yelled to Dacey. "Seal the doors!"
Dacey tried, she really did. She drove back the Ironborn before here, pushing her way to the heavy double doors from which the raiders poured inside. But there were too many. For every Ironborn she cut down, four more stepped forwards, laughing and cheering. The raiders had pushed far enough inside to form a shield wall, which both they and Dacey knew would not break from the blows of two warriors.
The Ironborn stepped forwards, over their dead, and Dacey knew the raiders had won. They drove her and her mother backwards, back towards the end of the hall, allowing dozens more warriors to clamber inside.
"Put down your sword." Maege Mormont grunted. "It's no use."
The old woman let her mace fall with a dull clank to the floor.
An Ironborn stepped out from behind the shield wall. He wore heavy mail jerkins and dark red tunics, embossed with the Goodbrother sigil. His head was bear, and long brown hair hung down over his pale, sunken eyes.
"I am Greydon Goodbrother." The warrior gestured at Maege Mormont. "You will give me your sword."
"You've no right to be here Ironborn." Maege growled, her hand still gripping her sword. "This hall is under the protection of the Starks."
The warrior looked around the hall. "Starks? I see no Starks here." He grinned, and his warriors jeered loudly.
"You will pay for this!" Dacey snapped. "House Stark will not stand for this attack on its bannermen."
The Ironborn turned towards her. "By morning, my men will be gone. The Starks will find only ashes, and no trace of my ships." He turned away. "Seize her."
Dacey struggled against the hands that grabbed her, dragging her from the hall. Maege screamed in fury, rushing to save her eldest daughter.
The last thing Dacey saw as she was dragged by her hair from the hall was a dozen raiders falling upon her mother, axes stained red.
T
The Ironborn chained her to a heavy cast iron grate, not far from a sodden group of weeping women who sat under the guard of five leering warriors. Dacey sat staring down at the ground, determinedly looking away from the guards who did not hide their stares. She had never wished more to be in armor. Her dress was rapidly becoming damp as thunder cracked the sky and rain began to fall.
"Dacey!" Her two younger sisters were being dragged through the mud by two big Ironmen.
"Where are you taking them?" Dacey yelled at Greydon Goodbrother, who strolled behind, followed by two more men dragging Alysane Mormont with them.
Greydon waved his men forwards, and knelt so he could look Dacey in the face.
"You're pretty for a Mormont." He smirked. "Not that that says much."
Dacey spat in his face.
His hand crashed into her jaw. "Those little bitches will be slaves in the Iron Islands. I know of a few men who'd pay good gold for a bed slave."
He turned away, ignoring Dacey's screaming curses. He also ignored Alysane, who tore away from her captors and hurled herself onto Greydon's back, nails digging into his face, teeth biting at his ears. Greydon swore and yowled, struggling futilely to throw the maddened woman off his back. His guards finally pulled them apart, but not before Greydon was bleeding from a dozen bloody scratches. Alysane spat and hissed, blood flying from her mouth.
"You bitch!" Greydon screamed, fists hammering Alysane's face. "You tore off my fucking ear!"
Alysane grinned, spitting a ragged strip of flesh from her mouth.
Greydon looked at Dacey, who was grinning defiantly. "You fucking Mormont women think your so strong." Greydon sneered. "Hadrik! Give this bear slut to the men." Alysane was dragged away, still fighting. Greydon stared at Dacey for a long time, anger clear in his eyes.
"Your sister will die ugly." He growled. "You we'll do for tomorrow."
In the distance, Dacey heard Alysane scream. "Stop them."
Greydon laughed. "Stop them?"
"Please! Don't do this!" Dacey had gone very pale. "Not my sister. You don't need to do this."
"No I don't have to." Greydon nodded. He grabbed Dacey's jaw in a vice like hold. "I want to." He spat blood, and turned away from her.
"I'll do anything!" Dacey screamed after him. "Anything! Stop them!"
Now the women around her where wailing as well, some clawing at Greydon and their guards boots.
"Shut these whores up!" Greydon barked. "Take them to the ships. Leave the Mormont here."
The women were dragged away, leaving Dacey alone in the rain, her only company the distant sounds of screaming.
T
The screams of her sister stopped after a few hours. Flames and dark acrid smoke billowed from the ruined buildings the Ironborn had set alight.
Dacey lay in the mud, wrists bloody from struggling against her chains, weeping and cursing futilely into the darkness.
Thunder pealed again, and the rain fell harder, icy cold. Dacey shivered.
The smell of sap drifted to her over the smell of smoke and blood. Flames, darker than the rest rose from where Dacey knew the godswood sat. The Ironborn where burning the Mormont heart tree.
Free me. She thought. Free me so I can kill them all.
The flames leapt higher, the dark blood red color spreading across to other fires. Thunder rolled again, and lightning forked across the sky.
Let me have vengeance. Dacey begged. Let me punish them for destroying my house.
Let me kill them.
Let me kill them.
She didn't know how long she sat, saying the words over and over. She must have fainted at some point, for when she looked up, the sun was peaking over the edge of the horizon, and the fires had become nothing more than smoke.
"Did you mean it?"
Dacey scrambled backwards. A short, wild looking man with spiky red hair crouched in front of her, a cheeky smile on his thin, weasel like face.
"Who are you?" he was dressed like a Southron noble. He wore a black tunic and breeches, a heavy sable cloak draped over his shoulders. A golden chain hung round his waist, a short sword on his hip.
"I have many names. Did you mean it? If you are free, would you kill them all?" Something about the man scared Dacey. He looked no older than thirty, but his eyes, dark and mischevious, looked far older. He seemed to be staring past her, into her heart.
"I can free you." The man said, and his voice echoed unnaturally as though a dozen men spoke instead of one. "But I must have your word you mean to kill them."
"Of course I mean it!" Dacey snapped. "Who are you!?"
The man shushed her violently, pressing a hand over her mouth. It was like having a brand against her skin. She recoiled, inhaling to scream, but the moment his touch was gone, so was the pain.
The man smiled at her, but the smile was icy cold. "Be silent. You will be free, when the sun peaks over that house," he pointed to a smoking ruin some fifty yards away.
"I don't understand."
"You don't need to." The man drew his sword. "I offer you a chance to escape your fate. It will not be easy, but it is better than waiting to be raped to death like your sister yes?" He danced backwards as Dacey lunged at him
"Bad choice of words, my apologies." The man smiled, clearly not sorry. "You will be free Dacey of Mormont, revenge on the men who killed your kin however, is your responsibility."
"What do you want in return for my freedom?" Dacey asked.
"Nothing!" The man cackled, his laugh like a crackling fire. "Your fate was to die here. I wish to see what you will do if you escape it."
"You aren't making sense."
The man grimaced, clearly growing impatient. "Do you accept or not?"
Dacey nodded.
The man grinned broadly. "Good." He grabbed her wrist suddenly, his iron grip burning on Dacey's skin. He dragged his sword across her arm, pressing the wound against his hand. Dacey screamed as steam rose from beneath the man's hand.
"There, all done." The man let go suddenly, Dacey wheezing and clutching her arm. Where the cut had been was now a small angry red scar.
"What are you?" Dacey asked once more.
"I am many things Dacey of Mormont," The man turned away. "I am the space between a lie and a truth, a flame and a shadow. A man and a monster."
"Are you a sorcerer?"
The man laughed, loud and long, and around him, smoking ash burst back into flame.
"A sorcerer!" The man cried, tears rolling down his face from mirth.
"A god then?"
The laughter stopped. The fires died, and suddenly Dacey felt very cold.
"Good guess girl." The man said. He seemed to grow larger, spiky red hair moving almost like the flames that had so recently burned around him. "I am Loki."
"Why are you helping me?" Dacey asked, her voice no more than a whisper, her back pressed against the wall behind her.
"Who said I'm helping you?" The man replied. He leaned forward till their noses almost touched. Her heart hammered in her chest, sheer animal panic gripping her. "I seek only amusement girl, and you might become quite amusing. I have changed the story that was your life girl, I have given you another page, another chapter, perhaps even more. You will be part of a story far older and greater than yourself girl."
Dacey could barely breathe, but as she mouthed wordlessly, the man-god seemed to understand.
""You will not remember me Dacey of Mormont, but I will remember you."
He touched her gently on the forehead and she faded into blackness.
She woke to rough hands hauling her to her feet, and the shouts of Ironborn.
She did not remember the man who was a god, but as she was dragged down towards the beach, away from her ruined home, she could have sworn she heard someone whisper;
"A fate unfinished,
A maiden broken,
A warrior made a King,
A song writ in ice and fire."
The whisper faded away with a faint cackling laugh.
T
They dragged her to the beach, where Greydon Goodbrother stood, looking out to sea. As she was forced down onto her knees, she caught a glimpse of his face. The Ironborn was paler, mouth set in a short grim line.
He is nervous Dacey realized.
"Who could have seen the smoke?" Greydon asked suddenly, whirling to face Dacey.
She looked at him blankly. He hit her.
"Who could have seen the smoke!?" He screamed.
She looked at him, bewildered. "I don't…" He grabbed her head and forced her to face out to sea.
"There!" He hissed. "See them?"
There were ships sailing towards them.
"Who could have seen the smoke bitch? Whose ships are those?" Greydon snarled. "Answer me!"
"I don't know." Dacey said, but she was smiling when she said it. There were ten Ironborn long ships on the beach, but at least twice that number sailed towards them. Twenty men could be carried in a long ship, which meant the Ironborn were heavily outnumbered.
"Rodrik! Get the men!" Greydon snapped at one of his warriors.
The ships drew closer.
Dacey could see the men on board now, and her heart soared. These long ships did not carry Ironborn. From the largest ship, a monster of a long ship, the wood a dark red, a long horn blast echoed out through the sea wind.
By now all the Ironborn stood on the beach, fully armored. Greydon watched the sips warily, his hand toying with the hilt of his sword.
Men clambered from the long ships. They wore heavy coats of mail over thick wool and leather jerkins. Some wore heavy tunics over their mail. All carried the heavy round shields that Dacey had associated with longships. In silence, these men walked up to the beach, standing just where the tide came in, facing the Ironborn. Above them fluttered a white banner, emblazoned with a black, stylized image of a bird.
A man stepped out from the line of men, and yelled at the Ironborn in a strange, rumbling, language. The Ironborn raised their shields.
"Wait, wait!" Greydon yelled to his men. "Wait!"
The man who had spoken glanced at Greydon and then spoke again.
"I am Sigurd, son of Ragnar. I speak for my brother, Ivarr."
There was a pause.
"I am Greydon Goodbrother of Wyk. Who are you?"
The man gave a short nod, almost a bow. "We are Norsemen, who are you?"
"We are Ironborn." Greydon replied. "This is our island. What do you want?"
The man looked back to the men behind him. "We have been sailing for many days. My brother saw smoke on the horizon and we came looking for supplies."
"There is nothing here for you." Greydon said shortly. "Go away."
The man called Sigurd looked back once more, and spoke in the same rumbling tongue he had first used. Another man stepped out from the crowd, and pointed at Dacey, still chained at Greydon's feet. Sigurd said something in reply, and the man waved him away. The new speaker walked, slowly and deliberately to a few yards from Greydon.
He was immensely tall. Thick furs hung from his shoulders, and he wore a fine coat of dark mail that reached down to his knees, and a coat of lamellar. A long bladed sword hung from his waist.
"I am Ivarr." The man spoke, his accent twisting the words into an almost rhythmic rumble. "My men are hungry."
"Then go somewhere else for food!" Greydon snapped. The Ironborn's eyes kept shifting. Dacey could almost see Greydon sizing this large warrior up.
"I do not wish to go elsewhere." The warrior Ivarr replied. "Give us some food, and we shall go."
Greydon looked backwards. Dacey knew he was counting his men.
"Fine." The Ironborn snapped. "There's food there. Your brother and five men can go fetch it. The rest of you must go to the end of the beach." He pointed.
The warrior Ivarr nodded.
"That is fair."
He turned away, and walked back to his men, barking in that same strange language. Greydon grabbed Dacey's chain, and hauled her back towards his men.
"Rodrik." Greydon hissed once he was behind his men. "Move men close to the supplies. Twenty of them."
"Why lord?" The ironborn Rodrik asked.
"I don't trust these strangers. They aren't here for food, of that I am certain. They mean to steal our prize. Are the slaves and the loot on the ships?"
"All the loot lord. Only the Mormont girls and the man slaves are on the ships. The lads had for the women last night remember?"
"Fuck me!" Greydon snarled. "Fine, leave them. We seize the brother of this Ivarr, and we use him to get to the ships."
"Yes lord." The ironborn moved away, down the line, whispering to the men he passed.
"And you…: Greydon snarled, jabbing his finger at Dacey, "Had best stay silent."
"Coward!" Dacey spat.
"Alive at least." Greydon retorted. "Better than your sister."
Dacey hated him. Greydon seemed to realize threats were no use, as he pushed a gag into her mouth as the strangers went to gather up the supplies. Dacey stared pleadingly at the tall warrior Greydon had argued with, hoping against hope that he'd realize something was amiss. For a brief moment, she locked eyes with the two eye slits in Ivarr's helm, and she saw him glance sharply towards his brother, his hand dropping to his waist to draw his sword.
Ivarr's men reached the supplies, and Dacey heard the slither of steel as Greydon Goodbrother drew his sword and screamed a warcry.