Author's Note –
And this is the chapter where the fic starts to earn its rating.
Still trying to not mistype character's names. I guess that's why Martin is using such an old computer. Damn spell-check.
Marach
The feel of the bloody, raw flesh felt surprisingly slimy as the former assassin bit into the freshly killed rabbit. It was not the first time that he ate the tiny mammal raw, nor would it be the last. Crossing the mountains of the Westerlands was not easy, but he knew that lighting a fire was out of the question. Pauline had spotted two patrols that day as she slipped through the treetops. Wilfrid had spotted fresh tracks from another patrol and nearly encountered another one after dawn.
Keeping to the rocks as much as possible they spent the last few days moving in tandem, teleporting in turn into the brush, behind trees or into sturdy branches. They had camped in the trees as well to avoid a chance encounter with the shadowcats, wolves, and bears that caught the scent of their kills.
Wiping away the blood from his mouth Marach kept his eyes and ears focused, ready to detect anything that might suggest that they were not alone. Ramza was busy with his own concerns in the north, but the fact that he had not checked in with Bert and Rose in days meant that the ninjas could not relay any messages from Ramza to him.
The gentle rustling of boiled leather boots stepping on dry dead leaves caught Marach's attention. It was loud enough to wake the bard and dancer as well, their training kicking in. Though trained in the music arts, they were also skilled ninjas, geomancers, and lancers along with a handful of other job classes.
Clouds obscured the moon, leaving the night dark and full of shadows.
His eyes adjusted to the dim light, but he knew better than to rely on just his eyes. He counted six sets of booted feet. Listening he turned to the origin of the steps. They were coming from the south-west, marking them as likely Lannister men. 'Or poachers,' he mentally added.
The sound of chainmail rubbing against hardened leather soon corrected him. Poachers were not likely to wear chainmail even when hunting bear or boar. Pulling out a makeshift weapon made to mimic a shadowcat's paw he put it over his right hand before drawing out a pair of shadowcat's fangs. If this patrol was to die they would have to appear to have been killed by a cat or bear, not at the hands of man.
They waited for the patrol to move past them, making sure that there were only six of them and no more. The men stopped around the trees that the three Stormriders were hiding in, though not perfectly around them. They were spaced five paces or so away from each other, providing the Stormriders with more than adequate room to strike.
In an instant the three Stormriders vanished only to appear behind their designated targets. As one the trio struck. Marach raked his man's stomach with the fake paw just between his chainmail shirt and pants. Before the man could even cry out in alarm or pain Marach jammed the twin fangs into the man's jaw, clamping his mouth shut and sending a spray of blood into the air.
At this range he needed not teleport. Picking up his downed opponent's blade he tossed it at the man to his right. The blade struck true, piercing the man's face as he turned to his now dead companion. He could hear the man's skull fracture as the force of the hilt destroyed his face even as the point of the sword exited through the other side of his head.
The kills were quick and silent; none had been able to let out a cry of alarm. Six men were not likely to have come this far into the woods afoot. They had to be part of a larger party. They would have to hope that the stray shadowcats in the area would dispose of the bodies.
Teleporting back into the trees they continued their trek west. Casterly Rock was less than three days away, but the patrols had increased in number.
Reis
Bran was a ball of energy, keeping the dragonkin occupied as they prepared to leave Winterfell. Between climbing the buildings, running off with his direwolf Summer, and trying to join in on the swordplay he was doing little to focus on the magical lessons. Still, he needed to learn the basics before he could master the mystical arts.
Another fierce blizzard was upon them and the rumors of a terrible monster roaming the Wolfswood kept the troupe from departing from Winterfell. With Rob Stark called upon to marshal the Lords of the North for the King, he had requested the aid of the Stormriders in dealing with the mysterious beast that stalked the Wolfswood.
It was no surprise that Ramza offered to help. He had always been the type of man to help everyone in need. It was how he had encountered Beowulf and Reis after all. Other members of the troupe had been asked to assist in other jobs that needed to be done around Winterfell. Gendry remained with Winterfell's smith, learning the trade from another master while the group took on other jobs.
Ramza, Joffrey, Sandor, Meliadoul and her trainee Katia formed one team while Reis, Alma, Bran, Beowulf, and Mycah comprised the other. Both teams moved through the Wolfswood less than a day's travel from each other. The addition of the Starks' direwolves to their small teams helped them pick out the scents and trails of the wildlife and allowing them to travel further each day.
Unlike the Kingswood, Reis did not need to sneak away to plant weirwoods as there were several groves of them that radiated untapped power. Selecting the largest in each grove she called a halt so that she could transform them into a godswood.
Summer bristled as he stood beside Bran's mount, warning their group of the presence of a half dozen people.
"Hello there," Bran called out, acting the part of the young lordling. With his elder brother Rob off to deal with the Boltons and Hornwoods he should have been the acting lord of Winterfell, instead his acceptance into the Stormriders placed that distinction on his younger brother, though it was Sansa who played hostess.
Four men, a boy and a girl stood before them. Each was dressed appropriately for the weather and all but the boy were armed with short tridents and nets wrapped about their other arm.
"Hello," the girl returned. "We are from House Reed. I am Meera Reed, and this is my brother Jojen Reed, heir to our house."
"I am Bran Stark," the boy stated as he pulled his mount forward. "How is it that you have come this far already when the summons was just sent."
"Is that a direwolf?" the boy Jojen asked as he stepped towards Summer. Holding his hand out in a non-aggressive motion he cautiously approached the direwolf. "I've never seen one before."
Curiously, Summer matched the boy's steps, moving forward to sniff at his offered hand.
Suddenly Jojen turned to Reis. "We are not here because of the summons, though we will go to Winterfell. We are here because I dreamt that you would be here, and here you are."
She could feel the boy's aura, and while it was not as powerful as Bran's, it was more powerful than Arya's. But what was significant was that his aura suggested that he had been trained in this world's magical arts.
"You came here to turn this weirwood into a godswood, did you not?"
She nodded.
"You are planning to head north of the wall, are you not?"
This time she hesitated, though it was Beowulf who nodded instead.
"I wish to go with you," Jojen stated. "Not as a Stormrider, but as someone who can learn as much from you as you can from me."
Arya
Winterfell had changed much since she had departed it months ago. Her father had taken many of the best men south with him to King's Landing but Rob had made an effort to promote those that remained.
Fortunately Rodrik Cassel had remained as the Master of Arms needed to train a new batch of men at arms and guardsmen. Unfortunately it appeared that the new men were lacking in ability as the handful of new recruits that the Stormriders had taken on were regularly besting the new guards and men at arms.
Cid oversaw their recruits, motioning a member forward while Sir Rodrik picked one or two of his men in turn. While the Stormriders held their own, it was clear that the Winterfell men were not happy. Loses to Brienne of Tarth, Walder Vance, Alyn Haigh, or the hedge knights were acceptable as each had earned the distinction of being knighted, but Katrusia, Anya, and Brea had no prior experience with swords and had recently been training in a whore house.
Beside her, her mother fussed, dismayed at the inability of the Winterfell men against the girls and at the fact that a good number of the Stormriders were girls. Arya knew that her father had withheld the fact that he had hired a water dancer to instruct her, and it was clear why. While her mother was pleased that Arya could fend for herself, she was not happy that her youngest daughter had taken up something so unlady-like.
"They are improving," she heard Temperance say as the dragoon and large knight approached the field.
Kenneth nodded. "It is good that we have time to actually practice and not just throw ourselves into a battle. Still, it's good that the girls bloodied themselves in the Kingswood. Ramza was right about them; they are quick learners and should as the hedge knights soon."
Throwing a glance at the handful of prisoners behind him he looked them over. "It is good that you kept a few of them alive though."
"They surrendered peacefully," the dragoon shrugged. "It would have been a slaughter otherwise."
Her mother put a hand on her shoulders before taking a step away from the Stormriders.
"Why do you follow him?" Arya spoke up and took a step towards the pair of warriors. Both Stormriders turned to the young Stark and her mother. "Master Orlandeau speaks for the Stormriders, but Ramza leads – but why do you follow him?"
The raven haired Kenneth eyed her. "He has led us through much, and never asks us to do anything that he is not willing to do himself."
She could tell that there was something unsaid, but the answer had been straightforward and honest.
"He is like your father," Temperance added. "If he believes someone is to be executed than he will be the one to do so. He does not take us into a fight lightly, and he values and treats us all as equals. He east with us, cooks with us, shares his food with us, and does everything with us. How many lords do you see doing that with their men?"
"But he is no lord," her mother stated, her hands still on Arya's shoulders.
"He is not," Kenneth agreed. "He is better than a lord. We do not fight for glory or honor, we possess no lands and there are no lords that we are bound to – yet when Ramza sends us onto the field we know that he does so because he knows it is the right thing to do and not because we have something to gain from it.
"I admit Lord Eddard Stark is a fine lord. He considers his the people that are bound to him and his lands, and he does not take them lightly. But I would rather follow Ramza.
"Gendry," he said as he turned away and called out to his trainee, "it is time we visit the smith."
The powerful boy rushed to the knight's side hauling his armor and weapons.
Behind her, her mother stiffened as she eyed the boy.
"What's the first rule," Kenneth asked as he eyed the raven haired youth. He was nearly as old as Sansa, but as tall as Rob but with a more powerful build. The way he carried his weapons and armor suggested that he bore the weight without much regard.
"Always be prepared and keep my armor on," Gendry replied. "I was working on my armor so I could not wear it."
"We need to get you another set of armor then," the big knight stated. "Do you have the materials?"
"I get to make my own set?"
"Only if you can convince Winterfell's master blacksmith to use his forge," the large man replied with a playful pat to the boy's shoulder. "You will have the distinction of being the only Stormrider to make your own armor. I just hope it holds up. I will show you which runes to add to keep a dragon from melting you to slag, and to survive being struck by lightning."
Gendry paused, staring at his mentor. "You can do that?"
"You really though I was serious?" Kenneth asked as he put his arm around the boy. "I'd have to be a master smith for at least a decade to know how to do that. I can only show you what I know. Mayhap when we see Wilfrid he could show you what you need to do."
Arya watched them go.
"You will not be going with them," her mother informed her, letting go of her shoulders.
"But they're only going to the Wall,' Arya shot back. "You heard them say that they were going to be coming back."
"Yes, they are coming back in a few months." Her mother stood firm.
"Lady Reis says that I have the gift too," Arya pleaded. Her mother stiffened. "I'm older than Bran and I won't be staying with them, I'll just go with them to the Wall and back. Someone should go with him. Rob needs you here to help Sansa, and Ricken needs you here too. I can go with Bran and make sure that he'll be alright."
"The Wall is no place for a girl to be, especially for a few months much less for a winter. Perhaps when they come back," her mother repeated. It was the same argument that she had used each time Arya had suggested that she travel with the Stormriders. "If Master Forel believes that you are capable then you might be able to go with them to King's Landing in the spring."
Arya scowled. She knew that her mother would never allow her to leave with the Stormriders. Though she loved all of her children, her mother's ideas of duty to family meant that Arya and Sansa, if not all of her children save for Bran, would be used to increase the standing of the Starks and Winterfell, just as her own fate had been tied to first House Tully and now House Stark. As such it would never do for Arya to take up the sword, not when she was more useful as a wife somewhere else.
There was also the fact that her mother was a faithful follower of the Seven. Having witnessed the healing of Bran though had shaken her to her core. The strange ritual and especially the display of magic that Alma and Rapha had performed was beyond anything that her mother had ever witnessed.
But she was not alone. Theon Greyjoy, the victim of a short lived spell, was terrified as well. Word of his transformation into a frog had spread like wildfire. Though Winterfell was one of the largest keeps in the North, it was significantly smaller than White Harbor or any of the port cities.
Some of the men attributed their losses on the practice field to the Stormriders' magic, though their recruits were trained only in the physical arts. Still, Kenneth's casual jests to Gendry about enchanting their armor did give Arya pause.
Eddard
King's Landing was a flurry of activity as King Robert Baratheon summoned the lords loyal to him. After a fortnight a third of the lords from the East and South had gathered with word that more would meet the King's Host once he was on the Goldenroad. Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon had sent word from Highgarden that they had come to an accord in regards to a marriage to Margaery Tyrell and the King. Their marriage would solidify the King's forces and legacy though Eddard had his doubts.
Since the departure of his daughters the Tower of the Hand had been empty and cold. His duties as the Hand of the King kept him busy each night as he helped his lord and friend plan the march against Tywin Lannister and Casterly Rock. He was glad that Sansa and Arya had not remained in King's Landing. They had complained enough about his inability to sup with them at night or breakfast with them in the morning. He had thought that he had been busy then, but now with the kingdom on the verge of war he was far busier.
The Kingdom had gone broke under Robert, and now that they were preparing for war he was having a hard time finding the coin to pay for the weapons and supplies that the King's Army needed.
"How is your arm?" Robert's booming voice filled the unusually empty throne room.
Absently Eddard rubbed at his still healing forearm. The cut that he'd taken in the fight with the rogue Kingsguard was slowly healing. The wound had been deep, severing muscle so that he could not grip Ice properly. Had he not worn his grieves he knew that he would have lost his hand completely if not more. "It is healing," he replied. "By the time we reach Casterly Rock I shall be able to cut down any who dare to defy you."
He could not help but recall the night of the failed assassination. The rogue Kingsguard had caught him by surprise when he had met with Rob and Lord Renly in secret to reveal the reason why Jon Arryn had been killed. It was only by chance that he had kept his grieves and Ice with him after meeting with his own men, though it was the interference by the hidden Stormriders that had saved all three of their lives.
In truth he did not like having to use them, but he liked using the Spider even less. At least Marach followed an honorable man, even if some of their methods were less than savory. He trusted them to deliver Sansa and Arya safely to Winterfell and to keep Joffrey from trying to claim what the boy might have thought was rightfully his, but there was much more to them than what they let on.
He could not help but clutch Ice's hilt as he scanned the nearly empty throne room. None of the members of the small council were present, though the three remaining members of the Kingsguard were.
"I know how you feel," Robert stated. Beside the Iron throne the King kept his trusted Warhammer well within reach should he need it. The once polished weapon had a thick layer of dust on it as the king had last pulled it out prior to the Melee that Ramza Snowstorm had won to honor the Hand. Now it was looking battered and in need of a decent polishing as the King had taken to training in earnest. "But that is not why I called you here."
Eddard nodded even as he approached the throne.
"I fear that this war will be my last," Robert sighed. "You were right to tell me that I was too fat to participate in the Melee, but I will need to be part of this war. I am not the man I once was and all it takes is for one moment of weakness or one mistake for one of the upstart knights to end my reign. We both know that it was the Stormriders that allowed us to keep our heads, but I doubt that they can protect us that well once we are on the march.
"I love my brothers, but I fear that should I pass without an heir they will tear the kingdom apart. Stannis is a proud man, and he has done much for me in the past, but I know that he resents his placement as the Lord of Dragonstone. Renly is loved by many, but too many in his court are far too ambitious for my liking."
Eddard nodded. He was not surprised that the King did not get along with his brothers despite having appointed both to their own titles. Lord Stannis had a daughter while Lord Renly had yet to take a wife, leaving both without legitimate heirs to the Baratheon name.
"I wish to name an heir," Robert finally said, his mood surprisingly somber and grave. "You must understand this heir is only to take the throne should I not father a son with Margaery."
He nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Only the King could legally have a lord's bastard child legitimized, and Robert had many. "Are you sure of this my lord?"
"I am not," Robert admitted. "But I fear that it might be necessary. If word of this leaks out it may well spark a war between my brothers, but they are likely to war should I not leave a clear heir."
"But Stannis is your heir."
Robert nodded, "He is, but should he or Renly fall then who would continue the Baratheon name? A month ago I had two sons, but now I find myself with none. I may still have it in me to father more, but with this pending war… I want you to rule as Regent until my heir is old enough to rule and to stay on as his Hand. Make him into a better king than I have been."
"You will father many sons," he said, comforting his friend.
"Aye, I shall, but it will be a long time before they can rule. I want you to watch over them and guide them. Mace is an ambitious man, but it is his mother Olenna that worries me. The Queen of Thorns is said to be just as conniving as Cersei. If Margaery is even a quarter of what her grandmother is than I fear for any children we would have. I told you I did not trust Cersei, but I do not think I can trust the Tyrells either."
Sighing, Eddard accepted his king's decision. "Should you not find a good steward to care for Edric then? Shall I find some trustworthy knights to send to Storm's End?"
The King waved his idea off even as he stepped down from the dais. "Edric does have noble blood, but I fear that sending men to Storm's End might alert Renly. No, I wish for Gendry to be my heir."
That gave Eddard pause. "My lord?"
"You saw the boy - he looks as I do when I was his age."
Though he had met the boy twice it was clear that he was Robert's son. The two times that he had seen the boy it was clear who his father was even if the boy failed to recognize it. That he rode with the Stormriders though complicated things. "But all the Stormriders have sworn off any noble claims."
Dark curls bobbed as the king nodded. "Only those of age can be a Stormrider, and he is not yet a man grown. Even they cannot ignore a royal decree. I hope that it will not come to that. I know that you trust them, and that they return that trust. Please speak with them about this."
"Then you want me to speak with them before you draft your decree?"
Rob shook his head, "I have drafted it already to await your seal. I trust that you will deal with the Stormriders."
Ramza
The flickering light of the fire illuminated the tiny camp as the Stormriders settled in for the night. From his vantage point he couldn't see the distant fire used by the other camp further to the south, but he could see the smoke. The signal that they sent was not that they had found the beast, but that they were returning to Winterfell.
"They're sending you a signal?" The big man sat furthest from the fire, a telling distain for its warmth another reminder of the burn that he had suffered as a youth.
Ramza nodded. "They must have encountered some travelers."
They stood there in silence, both eyeing the horizon until finally, "What I don't get is if your magic is that powerful, why not just lay waste to everyone who stands against you?"
A smirk curled his lips, "Magic is useful, but its effectiveness varies. Steel is reliable and as long as your sword arm is good you can trust it. But magic is capricious – erratic. The results can be devastating and at times miraculous but they can also be underwhelming. Simple spells to create fire, ice, or lightning are effective, but not always as effective as a sword. That is why they used the potion to cure Theon instead of using a spell to cure."
"There are potions that can cure those things?"
"Some things can be cured with a potion, but sometimes it takes magic to cure magic." He eyed the other man. Sandor was perhaps as tall as Kenneth but had much more muscle mass than the young Fell Knight. "Your wounds are too old for us to cure and magic would only heal your physical wounds."
"What can you do with magic?"
"Kill the dead and make sure that they stay dead," Ramza answered.
"You can kill the Others?"
"They hate fire," he stated. "Magic works well against them." He had not fought against the Others of Westeros, but he had fought his fair share of undead in Ivalice. "Turning them into undead frogs works too."
Sandor grinned. "Have you really?"
"Once or twice… maybe more. Magic is unpredictable, that's why there are undead. Something had to bring the dead back, and now there are Others. The Wall is enchanted, that is why none of the Others comes south."
"You want to see the Wall to see how powerful the magic in it is," Sandor concluded.
"He wants to go there because he would rather serve as a Crow," Meliadoul's voice interjected. "Ramza wishes to simply serve, but with the rest of us following him he knows that we cannot go. The Night's Watch does not accept women, and there are many women in the Stormriders so we cannot take the black. If he takes the black then the rest of us have nowhere to go.
"I may not have been with them all from the beginning, but I know that the others would be lost without him. Ramza is their rock, he is our moral compass. That is why even Cid and Beowulf are willing to follow him regardless of where he leads us.
"We go to the Wall because Ramza does not want to fight about who should be king. At the Wall we can still serve the Kingdom without involving ourselves in the war. That some of us are curious about its magic is merely an added benefit."
"If I had run, would Alma have turned me into a frog or are there other things she could turn me into?" Joffrey asked from his furs.
"Frogs are most common," Meliadoul replied. "Alma has just been itching to use her magic and that was the first chance she had to use it. But don't worry, if you want, we can turn you into a frog."
"Be careful around the girls," Ramza cautioned Sandor. "Magic usually affects an area. When you target a person you tend to target the area around them too. If you're too close to an opponent who has been targeted you might get hit. Though if your opponent knows how to use magic then you have to be careful."
"Were you going to teach us to use magic?" Katia asked as she also joined in on the conversation.
Ramza glanced at Meliadoul, "How long into your training did you wait to learn magic?"
"Six months," the former Templar replied. "You?"
"Our training got cut short so we learned in the field," Ramza answered. "A month into field training and Kenneth started practicing, but it took us three months for most of us to start training in magic. We only learned battle magic and basic healing magic in the field. Only a select few can do what Meliadoul, Beowulf and Cid can do with a blade and magic."
"At the Melee"
Ramza shook his head, cutting off Joffrey. "That would not have been honorable. Besides, we were fighting several score at once; there was no time for us to cast any magic when we were so focused on fighting. Like I said, magic affects an area not just a single target. If we had used magic in the Melee dozens would have fallen in an instant with no blade striking them – that would have caught someone's eye."
"But Greyjoy was standing beside Rob Stark," Joffrey remarked as he thought back on their reception.
Ramza shook his head, "He'd moved five paces to the side so that he might catch me unawares when he shot at me with his bow. He was still several paces away from anyone when Alma spelled him."
"That thing you did with the arrow"
"Most of us can do that," Ramza finished. "If any of us has a bow in hand we'll even shoot the arrow back at you."
The big man eyed him then asked, "How many men have you lost?"
"As a result of battle, none," he replied. "That does not mean that we have not retreated or lost battles; merely that we knew when to run. As I told Joffrey, we only fight when it is necessary and unavoidable. Unfortunately we find ourselves fighting vary frequently. I've lost track of how many battles we've been in.
"We left a few behind though. They decided that this was not the life for them and they had family"
"You mean they wanted to start a family," Meliadoul smirked. "Everyone knows that Mustadio had his eye on Agrias."
Ramza smirked, "I remember how hard of a time he had finding that rouge he finally gave her."
Turning his gaze to Katia, Joffrey, and then to Sandor he sat straight in his furs, "We are a small band, but we always support each other. We do not leave a man or woman behind. We share our glory and our misery, but as long as we are together we are never alone."
Slowly the others began to nod off, his words echoing in their minds and perhaps dreams. "I'll take first watch," he finally said to Meliadoul.
"I know," the brunette replied as she leaned against him. Resting her head against his armored shoulder she smiled gently, "Wake me when it is my turn."
Radd
A chill wind rustled the snowdrifts within Winterfell. The cold reminder of the approaching winter stayed with the Stormrider as he and Walder Vance made his way through the vast open yard of the ancient northern castle. Ramza had insisted that each of the original Stormriders pair up with a trainee because the way that the Stormriders operated was very different than how squires and knights were trained in Westeros.
Spectators had balked at the Stormrider's tactics in the Melee but they had been impressed with the results. Rather than standing back to back or shield to shield each fighter controlled a space roughly five paces by five paces, more if their weapons were significantly longer such as the spears or staves/poles. Their trainees were still learning to handle their weapons, but the girls had at least learned that tactic, though it was easier for them as only Brienne had previous weapons training.
"Should armor not feel solid and heavy?" Walder's question reflected the Westeros' ideal of weapons and armor. Thick platemail would be heavy, but the armor that the Stormriders favored was as light and flexible as chainmail but protected just as well as full mail.
"Heavy armor as you know will keep you pinned down," Radd explained. "You need something lighter so that you can move around in to avoid your enemy's blades. If you stay still it is more likely that your opponent will be able to hit you, but if you can move around it is harder for them to hit you.
"We have you keep your armor on all day because you need to feel comfortable in it as well as to get used to the weight. Do you not feel lighter on your feet when you aren't wearing armor?"
The boy's light brown hair dripped with sweat despite the chill air. It was clear that he was still not used to the mail, but had he been wearing a full suit of Westeros mail he would likely have passed out hours ago. "Yes," he panted.
Of their new members only Walder Mycah had not developed the endurance needed to wear full mail all day, though both did have the nimble fingers that a chemist and mage needed. Each day that they were not on a job the recruits were forced to take long walks with their mentors. The marches were a sore spot for all of the trainees, though the score of prisoners found it entertaining during the week long trek from White Harbor. While the Stormriders who remained in Winterfell were tasked with various jobs, the mentors and their trainees often took long walks after dinner and before first watch.
"You'd look a mite prettier without that on." The gruff voice carried by the wind reached their ears.
Given the hour it was not unusual for the men of Winterfell to be out at this hour. Like the Stormriders this was the time of day when they were free to loaf around.
"Why are you girls playing at being knights?" another voice asked.
Radd's pulse quickened as he realized the situation. While it was uncommon for women to take up the blade in Ivalice, it was not as rare as it was in Westeros. Agrias and Meliadoul were prime examples of that. Hell, nearly half of the Stormriders were women. What was really surprising though was the attitude that many men had about women and their "place" or "role" in battles, or after battles as the men in Westeros seemed to think.
What worried the mercenary was not the wellbeing of the women – they had been trained to deal with such situations – but should they injure some of the Winterfell men at arms things would get messy. Tensions were already high as they were. Men such as Theon Greyjoy resented being constantly shown up by the female Stormriders, especially the trainees. To make up for their impotence on the field or pitch they often tried to make up for it at night as they attempted to hound the girls.
Radd mentally reprimanded himself for not talking to Cid about ensuring that the men and women of the troupe needed to go out on their walks together.
"Did I hit your head too hard today?" The woman's question reached his ear. Though it was far lighter than the men's voices it held enough malice to signify that the woman did not want the company of the men who had approached her.
'Katruisa,' Radd thought as he placed her voice. 'She must be with Anya and Brea if she is not with Temperance.'
"You only bested us because of your sorcery," another man's voice proclaimed. "There is no way that we could lose to the likes of you in a fair fight."
"So this is what you think is a 'fair fight'?" That was Anya. Her usually honeyed tongue had previously been employed to sooth and relax the men that visited her yet her keen mind and sharp tongue had become less repressed under Temperance and Kenneth's instruction. "Twelve to three – that leaves us with four a piece, not enough to keep us entertained."
"Yeah," that was definitely Brea. The slender dancer had masterful footwork, slipping outside of her opponent's attack range and then quickly rushing in once they were exposed or unbalanced. "The way they handle their swords you'd think they would spend their time practicing with Sir Rodrik instead of trying to get lessons from us."
"Oyh, you're the one interrupting us," another man shouted.
"Yeah, twelve on one," Anya shot back.
Radd's footsteps came quicker even as he threatened to leave Walder behind. "Hurry up!" he urged the boy. "Or I'll have you walking all the way to the Wall!"
That got the boy's feet moving.
"Twelve on one," Brea repeated. "Guess she's too much of a woman for them to handle one at a time."
"I'm more than man enough to handle any woman." It came as no surprise to Radd that Theon Greyjoy had been part of the group. There was something about the Ironmen that seemed to suggest that they viewed women as human chattel. "I hear that the three of you used to work the whore houses in King's Landing. I guess the Stormriders like their women to look like men. Mayhap we should be glad that they aren't here to try and have a go at us."
"We might be manlier men than you lot," Katrusia interjected "but do not hold that against us. We can't help that the only solid thing about the Ironmen is their name."
"I heard that the only way the men in the north get their pricks hard is to freeze it," Anya's sharp tongue cut into the north men's pride like a finely honed blade.
"Why don't we show these whores what we can do with our swords," Theon urged the men on.
Radd rounded the corner of a building. He was still a ways off from the stables, but he could see the crowd of men as they tried to encircle the three Stormriders.
"Enough!" Everyone outside of the stables froze in their tracks as Winterfell's Master of Arms walked around the corner of the stable. Beside him was Cid's massive form, a skin of wine in his hand. "This is no way for men of the North to behave." Sir Rodrik eyed his men at arms while they averted their eyes. "This might be how Ironmen treat their women, but we do not do things that way in Winterfell. If your cock has an itch than take yourself to a brothel to get it scratched. There's plenty of time before you have to be back for first watch so get going."
The men quickly responded, each saddling a horse quickly and setting off for the brothel. Only a few men remained, one of them assisting the wildling woman out of the stables before tending to the remaining horses.
"Cid, Sir Rodrik," Radd greeted as Walder caught up to him. "Katrusia, Brea, Anya."
The girls nodded in greeting even as a winded Walder returned the gesture.
Cid offered a slight bow as well before he turned to Sir Rodrik. "Your men lack discipline."
The Master of Arms reluctantly nodded in agreement. "I apologize for their unseemly behavior."
"Do not apologize to us," Katrusia said as she walked over to the wilding woman.
The mercenary remembered hearing of the chained woman. The heavy chains about her ankles were meant to weigh her down should she ever decide to run, a punishment for associating with rogue crows running from the Night's Watch and attempted kidnappers and killers. The lone survivor of the group she had surrendered and willingly served the acting lord of Winterfell even while being chained and apparently being raped by the youths training to be men at arms.
"We came to check on our horses but ran into those scoundrels," Anya explained. "They weren't happy with the fact that we've been handing them their asses in training and appeared to be taking it out on the wildling woman."
"No more training sessions with their men at arms," Radd suggested. "If things are bad now, imagine how things will be at the Wall where they don't see women at all."
"He's right," Cid seconded. "I know you girls can handle yourselves, but the Starks already dislike us, what would it look like if you seriously injured them?"
"We should just leave," Anya stated.
"We sill," the gruff veteran replied. "We just need to wait for Ramza and the others to return and for everyone else to finish their jobs. As important it is for you to get some field training, it's just as important for you to complete those jobs so that you can gain experience in using your training."
"What we're teaching you isn't just to make you better fighters," Radd interjected. "It's about making you better people. You'll learn to maintain your armor and weapons so that you don't have to rely on a smith all the time. You'll learn that your words as well as your actions can start battles and maybe wars, but they can also end them.
"Being strong isn't just about making sure that everyone else knows that you are strong, it's about knowing when to use your strength and when not to. Just because you know how to use a sword does not mean that you use it all the time. Would you use a sword to cut your dinner? Or a staff to fix your horse's shoe?" The girls shook their heads. "There is a time and place for everything and just because you can do something does not mean that you should."
"But they were forcing themselves on her," Katrusia reiterated as she pointed at the wildling woman.
"It is nothing new," the woman shrugged. "They normally don't come at me like that, usually just one or two of them, usually separately, pull me aside. I don't mind so much, they aren't rough or anything, but since your lot came here…."
Radd eyed the girls and knew what she was inferring. "The point of training with the men at arms is not to show them how good you've gotten, but to learn from them. Learn their tactics, their styles and their techniques; not beat them bloody. If we were to get new recruits could you instruct them on how to properly use a sword or how to spot the weaknesses in your opponent's armor? What have you done other than beat up some men who have less sword training than you?"
Appropriately reprimanded he nodded at the stables. "Tend to your mounts."
The four trainees did so, rushing into their respective mounts.
"I shall see to the wildling," Sir Rodrik stated, leading the girl away and leaving him with Cid.
"You make a good Ramza," Cid jested. "All you need is his good looks and blue eyes."
A/N
I think I'll leave things there for now.
Dreamingfox