Disclaimer: GRRM owns all.
Chapter 7
Rickon
In silence, they marched.
Wordless—their form faultless—moving in such perfect unison each collective step srikes the earth like a blow from a blacksmith's hammer. The personal guard to King Mazor himself. The eastern warrior elite. The deadliest fighting force in all of Essos.
The immortals.
Rickon had heard about them from Uthero when he arrived in Winterfell. They carry swords and shields made of wood and wicker; they wear brown cotton head garbs with shifts to cover their faces made of black linen. The armor they wear is mostly black cotton to cover their arms, neck and legs-but with a breastplate made of layers of leather to protect themselves. The immortals march as one unit in complete silence; a tatic, Uthero said, to frighten their enemies. When asked why they were called immortals, Uthero explained that King Mazor liked to keep their numbers only at 10,000—never going under that number. "As soon as one of them is killed, another is ready to take their place," Uthero had said. "Some say they can't be killed."
Now while we are fresh and at our full strength—before wounds and weariness have taken its toll—the mad king throws the best he has at us. Rickon hugged the wall of corpses with his king and his royal guard. They would not fight in the phalanx formation but in hand-to-hand combat using the narrowness of the pass as their advantage. Uthero said the immortals fight as one unit, but catch them off guard or get them to a one-on-one fight and their advantage is lost.
The sun had fallen from the sky, allowing moonlight to be their guide. Rickon held his shield and sword close to him, eyeing Jon who was right next to him. The King kept his poise, hugging the corpse wall as well. As the Immortals approached in silence Rickon eyes his men who were going through pre-battle jitters, he knew. The immortals had been talked about from Winterfell to the Hot Gates. It was the best the East had to throw at us. Rickon heard them stop marching at once when they reached the wall. All he could hear was their breathing. It was then he heard them all draw their swords in once swift moment. And now hubris would be their undoing. Mazor has taken the bait. And now the trap has been sprung.
"Northmen!" Jon yelled. "Push!"
All three-hundred of Winterfell's royal guard pushed the wall of corpses with all their strength. Rickon did the same and suddenly the wall fell down on top of the immortals violently. The men drew their swords, some used their spears, and ran down the pile of corpses to meet the immortals in battle. When Rickon saw them he did not think them too frightening—the only thing that was bizarre is how they did not make a single sound. Jon lead the charge down the wall holding his shield in one hand and his spear in the other. His black horse-haired crest bobbed as he lunged forward to stab an immortal who was pinned by the corpses. He pulled it out violently and growled.
Immortals. We put their name to the test.
The royal guard rushed at them, swords drawn and spears ready. Rickon rushed forward with them and the immortals charged to meet them. He watched as one royal guard blocked a blow with his shield, stabbing the immortal with his spear. Another used his shield to strike an immortal in the neck, his grey cloak wrapping around him as he did. An immortal came at Rickon with his sword drawn making no sounds. Rickon parried the strike with his shield and stabbed the immortal in the neck. Soon the battle became furious and it was not as easy as this morning.
The Royal Guard took casualties as well.
It took them time to get organized and there were more immortals than northmen, but the narrow pass stopped them from being surrounded. Rickon had finished stabbing an immortal in the stomach when he saw one of his men block a sword slash with his shield only to be stabbed in the back with a spear. Another had been thrown to the ground by three immortals, only to be stabbed in the belly through the breast plate with two swords. Rickon even saw one man slashed in the legs with a spear only for another immortal to stab him in the neck. Their losses were few, but each loss was either a dearest cousin or friend.
But the King fought like a mad man, as if he were twenty men in one. King Jon used his shield to block blows and jabbed his spear wildly. He would slash immortals in the neck by swinging the iron-tip, stab those in the face who would dare approach him, and stabbed many in the chest as well. Rickon did his part and killed many immortals. One immortal had tried to slash him in the face only for Rickon to block his blow with his shield, turn around and stab the immortal in the chest with his sword. Rickon noticed that Martyn had just finished stabbing an immortal in the neck, but did not notice the other coming at his backside. Rickon ran over to the immortal and before he could kill Martyn stabbed the whoreson in the stomach with his sword.
Rickon looked to Martyn and nodded, stabbing another immortal in the chest who was trying to run up from behind and kill him. As Rickon pulled out his sword he heard Martyn yell, "Captain Rickon!"
Rickon heard a loud thud, as if someone had collided with his shield and noticed Martyn beside him with his shield raised. An immortal was on the ground and Rickon realized that Martyn had saved his life. Rickon shoved his sword into the stomach of the immortal and Martyn in his neck. Martyn looked to Rickon and nodded, sporting a devilish grin. Rickon only nodded back in gratitude. Where is the King? Rickon thought.
He left Martyn and heard a loud growl. Rickon looked around to see the battle unfold and saw the royal guard were now gaining the upperhand. A few of them laid dead on the floor, covered in their greycloaks, but a lot of them were dead immortals. A growl was heard once more and Rickon saw before him one tall immortal—almost as tall as Hodor had been—and he was carrying a giant battle axe. With each step he loomed closer and suddenly Rickon saw an immortal coming at him. He swung at Rickon's head with his sword, but he ducked to dodge it. The immortal than hit Rickon in the head with his fist, taking off his helm. Rickon shook his head and slashed down to cut the immortal in the leg. Before he could react Rickon slashed the whoreson in his face.
The immortal dropped dead and from the corner of his eye Rickon saw another running at him. Rickon turned to his left and raised his shield to hit the immortal in the throat with all his force. The silent warrior fell on his back and Rickon stabbed him in the chest with his sword. As soon as he yanked it out another immortal came at him. Rickon hit him in the face once with his shield and the other time with his swordhand. The blow knocked the black linen off to reveal the immortals face. He was just a man, Rickon, saw but he had no hair on his head or face. The moment left Rickon speechless, but he wasted no time in stabbing the man in his stomach. When Rickon pulled it out he felt himself being tackled to the ground. When he looked up he saw an immortal looming over him, sword raised in silence. Rickon crossed his arms to cover his face, hoping his greaves would offer him some protection.
But it was not necessary.
Just as sudden as the immortal had raised his sword, he was stabbed in the neck with a spear. In shock, Rickon looked to see who had saved him and it was Jon. From under his helm Jon's mouth was contorted in anger. He pulled the spear out of the immortals neck violently and then stabbed the man in his belly. Once the immortal was on the ground dead Jon stood over Rickon, offering his spear to help him off the ground. Rickon took it sporting a smile and arose onto his feet to nod to Jon in-gratitude. Jon smirked and nodded as well, but Rickon saw something gleaming coming at them.
From behind his king he saw the giant immortal throw his battle axe at Jon. Rickon grabbed his brother-cousin by the shoulders pushing him down to the ground just in-time so the axe could go flying overhead. The giant immortal was running at them now with a sword in hand and came after Rickon. Rickon Stark grabbed his sword from off the ground and held it high to meet the giant immortal's blow. The shock ran down his arm when steel met steel, sending the shock down even to his chest. Rickon looked up at the immortal in terror but the big bugger did nothing—he only kicked Rickon in the chest sending him onto his back and on top of the wall of corpses.
Rickon shook his head, feeling dizzy and dazed, to watch the battle play out before him. The royal guard were fighting as demons, sending many immortals to their deaths. They stabbed, slashed and hacked and Rickon felt a swell of pride. He looked forward to see Jon facing the giant immortal, holding his spear and shield to face him. The giant immortal growled when Jon stabbed at him with his spear. The big bugger only grabbed the spear in mid-jab and cut it in half with his sword. He then proceeded to hack and slash at Jon, who dodged each blow. He ducked, moved right, moved left, and even moved his leg when the immortal tried to hack at that. The giant immortal then sent two strong blows onto Jon's shield, sending him down to his knees.
"My King!" Rickon heard someone yell. One of the royal guard came running at the giant immortal, who only turned around and hit the lad in the face with his sword. He turned around to face Jon again who was now on his feet with his sword in hand. The giant immortal rained down two more blows onto him but Jon blocked those with his shield. Jon parried one blow, ducked down to slash the immortal in his leg and then reached up to stab him in the arm. The giant immortal cried out but pulled the sword out of his arm slowly, throwing it to the ground. He then raised his sword over his head and came down at Jon who raised his shield to block the blow. The immortal hated that and then took his shield, throwing Jon and it to the side as if he was a rag doll.
On the ground Jon scurried, finding a sword to grasp. Rickon could only watch as he was too dizzy to even stand up. When Jon turned around, sword raised, he met the immortals blow just in time. The giant immortals sword hit the sword and even grazed his blow over Jon's eye. Were it not for the helm Jon would have lost his eye, but the steel helm saved it and made a loud screech when the sword cut into it. Jon laid on the ground now, moving from side to side as the giant immortal tried to stab him. Losing patience the giant son of a whore pressed his body down onto Jon's, their faces almost meeting. It was in this moment Jon reached over and grabbed what looked like a spearhead, stabbing it into the giant immortals eye. When he did that the big fucker yelled, reaching up to pull it out of his eye socket.
Suddenly Jon reached up, sword in hand and sliced the giant immortals neck open. Blood splayed everywhere when he did that and the giant fell to the ground with a big thud. Jon stood to his feet with his sword in hand, yelling, "Lord Karstark! Now!"
Rickon watched as Lord Karstark and his men came running out of the small hole in the Cliffside. They had come up with this plan earlier in the day where at the right time Lord Karstark would come out of there to hit the immortals in their flank. By the dozens they spilled out from the side splitting the immortal force in two. In their boiled leather and chainmail they shouted, cursed, and stabbed wildly. The Karstarks fought more like brawlers than warriors. They were brave men, though, who did their part.
Rickon stood up from the pile of corpses, grabbed his shield, sword and made for the king. Jon rallied his men and put on his helm, watching the Karstarks attack the immortals. Rickon came up beside him and nodded; Jon smiled at Rickon and nodded back. On Jon's helm Rickon saw the giant scratch left by the immortals sword, and underneath that he saw a fresh cut under his eye from the blow as well. Jon gripped a spear in one hand, held his shield in another and without warning charged at the immortals to fight alongside the Karstarks in battle. Rickon and his royal guarded followed suit charging alongside their king to meet them. He hit an immortal in the face with the edge of his shield, slashed another one in his neck with his sword.
The immortals stopped in their tracks in front of the royal guard after Rickon killed his man, looking at them in what Rickon thought was terror. Jon and him rallied their men, turned their shields to face them, huddling shoulder to shoulder. The immortals charged at them and crashed on their shields like waves. Men stabbed at them overheard with spears, others hacked at them with swords. But each time Rickon, the king, and the royal guard beat them back. The Karstarks fought them as well and cut them off from further attacks. After enough slaughter the immortals retreated and they killed the stragglers.
Triumph. The day is ours.
The dread immortals slink back to their camp like whipped dogs—and every warrior of Mazor sees this. Rickon wonders how this god king felt, wondered how he felt seeing his best troops so easily bested in battle. I'm sure he is feeling a very human chill crawl up his spine.
Even as we rub oil into stiffened muscles and seal torn flesh with red-hot iron—even as we bid farewell to our honored dead—each hour brings good tidings. Scouts had reported that there was an open revolt in Mazor's camp and he had begun to kill his own troops who dared to defy him. The men had cheered at the news saying there was nothing that could stop them, but Rickon told them not to get cocky.
The men celebrated that night around the campfires, singing, dancing, and cheering. Royal Guard and Karstark alike boasted about their kills in battle, while others enjoyed an ale or two. King Jon had forbidden getting drunk the night before battles and the men obeyed. "Who will Mazor dare to dispatch next?" someone had boasted. "Who will he dare send against the might of the North?"
The men continued to celebrate and Rickon did with them. But off in the distance he saw Jon looked at the coast by himself. Even he allowed himself to hope, Rickon knew, for more than just glory. Such a mad hope, but there it is. Against Essos' endless hordes—against all odds—we can hold the hot gates.
We can win.
-x-
Jon
The second day was upon them.
In the morning the eastmen marched down the pass for another day of battle and the northmen stopped them. Whips crack. Barbarians howl. Those behind cry, "Forward!" While thoese in front cry, "Back!" All of Essos descends upons us. Every army they have to offer. Funneled into this narrow pass their numbers count for nothing. They shatter with each advance. Scouts report that King Mazor has become displease. He reprimands his generals by executing some, promoting others, and even stripping others of their lands and titles. He dispatches all of his forces and like waves they crash and recede.
Jon watches from atop a hill with Rickon and his three-hundred, overlooking the narrow pass. His royal guard will let the others fight for now seeing as they defeated the immortals last night. Umber, Flint, Glover, Karstark…Jon sends them in to hold the pass using spear formations. They had wanted a crack at Mazor's men since the first day and Jon must appease his bannermen. Like the royal guard before them the northmen do a good job at holding their lines and beating the eastmen back. Javelin's are tossed into the lines of charging eastmen and they fall like blades of grass into the wind. Jon has the northern troops rotated for fresh ones every so often—during a battle pulse. Both opposing armies cannot fight continuously and the ground gets slippery with the blood of dead eastmen. During those moments he sends in fresh men to cover the advance of others.
The day wears on and in the afternoon Jon goes into battle with his royal guard. They assume the phalanx formation and hold the line. We lose few. But each man of the royal guard that falls is a dear friend, or even dearest blood. One man even broke rank after seeing his dear cousin fall; he goes wild. Blood drunk. It took Rickon and two other men to restrain him. His screams fill the night and no songs are sung. But the day is ours.
Mazor's camp goes deadly quiet.
Soon the light gives away to dark and camp fires are built. The hot water springs pour and the sound gives them all ease. Jon stands on the Cliffside overlooking the pass and the sea. The waves are small and crash alongside the cliffs without making much of a sound. His grey cloak had begun to tatter from days of battle, the ends of them beginning to tear. Rickon's and all of the royal guard's cloaks had begun to tatter as well. Jon stares out into the sea and thinks about what Bran told him... Then the North will mourn the loss of a king, a descendant from the Starks and Targaryens of old.
The royal guard are around their fires eating, sleeping, talking and tending their wounds.
"Tell the men a story," Jon orders of Rickon. "I would like to hear one as well."
Rickon nods and tells them the story of the Whispering Wood. Jon only stands around the fire with his men and listened, his helm feels cold in his hand. This tale was of the famous battle where the King in the North Robb Stark defeats the famous Tywin Lannister on the field, capturing the man's son Jaime Lannister. It was a perfect choice. The men huddled around and listened as Rickon told them of how King Robb lured the arrogant Kingslayer into battle using a small force of Tully men. Jaime Lannister had been attacking the riverlands lords in large numbers claiming victory after victory. But King Robb had sent two-thousand of his own men against Tywin to keep him busy in the east while Ser Jaime fought in the west. A diversion, Rickon told the men. A diversion to lure the Kingslayer away from his father. When Ser Bryden Tully lured the Kingslayer into a dense forest, the Whispering Wood, King Robb sprung his trap and killed many lions. When the battle was over Jaime Lannister was captured along with many others.
"For every northmen lost they took ten Lannisters with them!" Rickon bellowed. "Now as then we face similar odds. A mad tyrant comes to kill us and if he does we will take all of his men with us. We will fill them with so much fear, send shivers down their spines whenever they hear the name Stark, that those in the East will never think of invading the north again!" The men yelled at that, cheered for the King in the North. There was much laughter to be had as well.
But it was short lived.
"My good King!" yelled a man on horseback. From the looks of it, it was Lord Karstark. "King Jon, we are undone!" As fast as the wind the Lord of Karhold came into the camp of the Royal Guard and dismounted with ease. "Undone, I tell you!" He yelled. Jon approached him, the men stood from their fires to hear. "Destroyed! We have been betrayed! A traitor told King Mazor of the goat path that leads behind us! The Manderly men scattered without a fight, retreating back to White Harbor thinking Mazor will attack there first! This battle is over, King Jon! By morning the immortals will surround us! The Hot Gates will fall!"
"Keep calm, Lord Karstark" Jon urged. The men began to grumble around their fires.
"We cannot keep calm, my king. Now is the time to retreat and prepare to protect our homes. There's no victory to be had here—only surrender and death!"
"Well that's an easy choice for you, Lord Karstark. I have two-thousand men under my command to consider. I promised to keep them alive." Jon sighed loudly, cursing under his breath. "Go tell the other lords to convene here! We will discuss this."
Lord Karstark nodded and mounted his horse, going off to gather the northern lords. Jon thinks about what Bran told him again. Then the North will mourn the loss of a king, a descendant from the Starks and Targaryens of old. He knows in this moment that destiny had made its move. Jon knows that he will have to stay and fight…and die. He had to give his men time to retreat, hold Mazor back, and light a fire in the North that has never been seen. It was the only way to win this war.
"My royal guard!" Jon yelled, turning to them. "Gather around!"
The men did as bid and Jon said, "The gods favor us. By tomorrow we will light a fire not only in the North but all the Seven Kingdoms! By our own laws we must protect this land."
"What shall we do, my King?" a northman asked him.
"We must stand and fight," Jon said, standing in the middle of the fire. "And die if need be. We are the best the North has to offer. We three-hundred can give them enough time—enough time to allow the men to retreat back into the North and spread the story of what happened here. To unite the North and all the Seven Kingdoms in the fight against Mazor. Victory is upon us, lads. I understand if you want to go home—and as your king I will not stop you."
No one said a word. From the campfires all three-hundred stood, Rickon with them. One stepped forward, saying, "I'm with you, my King. To the death."
Jon looked to him and nodded. Another came forward and said, "I knew what I signed up for when I said yes, my King. I never expected us to come home alive anyway. I'm with you."
"My King," Rickon said now. Jon looked to him, nodding. "If this means we will echo in the histories—live in the hearts of the North. I will stay with you."
"The North remembers," echoed another lad. "I am with you!"
Soon all three-hundred with spears in the air chanted, "The King in the North! The King in the North!"
Jon looked to his men and nodded. He felt a swell of pride for them. "A king could not ask for better men. We will stay then, my friends. To the death."
The northern lords arrived soon after and they gathered around with Jon. The king told them of how he and his three-hundred would stay, buying them all time to retreat back to their homes. He told them not to seek out revenge against the Manderlys—that most lords would have done what he did in choosing to protect his town and people. Jon left them with a choice to stay or to go back, promising that no further kings would seek retribution for this. Most chose to retreat—all save the Umbers who with their lord the Greatjon wanted to partake in the glory. Jon thanked him for his service and told them they had to retreat in small numbers. "If we retreat all at once Mazor will take notice and attack at once. We must do it slowly so as not to arouse suspicion. Come morning we will go out into the pass and hold them." The northern lords nodded and were soon off to begin the retreat.
Jon looked to Rickon after they left. He knew someone had to go tell the council at Winterfell about what happened here. He had to tell them about the victory as the other two-thousand who were already retreating will do. "Rickon, let's take a walk."
Rickon walked with him and in the distance they could hear the men talking. Others had begun to go to sleep. "I would have you go back with the others," Jon said. "You must go back to Winterfell."
"But, Jon," Rickon began, "I would not be branded a coward. I will stand and fight with my men. Send someone else in my stead."
Jon braced his shoulders. "I know, but you have a rare talent like no other. I would have you deliver my final orders to the council—with force and verve—and you will make every northmen know of what happened here. You'll have a grand tale to tell."
"What tale, Jon?"
"A tale of victory."
Rickon snorted. "You gave other men the option to go, but leave me without a choice. Why?"
"I trust no one else save you."
"I will not go, Jon—I cannot. If you send me away I will only wait by the Cliffside until morning and you will find me by your side in battle."
Jon sighed heavily. "I see you're truly a Stark. So stubborn we are." He scratched his beard. Rickon had a point, Jon could not stop him. "I gave others the choice and so I shall to you."
"I choose to stay, then. But tell me your orders nonetheless."
"You know we will die on the morrow, Rickon."
"I know. Just tell me them, regardless."
And so he did. Jon told him his final wishes for the council and who should succeed him until Robb is ready. He ordered that all the North muster in response, that the South come with them as well. When asked what Jon wanted in return he told Rickon a simple wish…a wish that only Jon knew would stay in their minds forever.
"And what shall I tell Sansa—should I survive to see her. What should the other men tell her?"
Jon's face turned hard. Images of Sansa filled his mind—of Robb and Lyanna as well. The thought made him sad but he had no time for this. Jon reached back behind his neck, unlaced the necklace Sansa gave him, and put it into the palm of Rickon's hand. "You'll know what to tell her."
Rickon could only nod. When dawn came the Royal Guard arose rested and ready. Most began to do gymnastics—stretching their muscles. Others combed out their hair and oiled their muscles. Some polished their shields and sharpened their swords. Jon did the same and trimmed his beard. If he was to die this day he would look his finest. When the men were ready they strapped on their armor, picked up their spears, put on their helms, and carried their shields. Jon stood with the rest of them on the Cliffside and watched the rest of the northmen retreating back in small numbers back to their homes…to live another day.
King Jon Targaryen Stark turned back to his men, his face like iron. "Eat a good breakfast, lads. For tonight we shall dine with the gods."
