ARTHUR
His young would-be squire, Sandor, was an angry boy, far angrier than he had been before reuniting with his missing his sister, Calena. For though the reunion was quite a relief to him, his would-be squire also came to learn that Calena had been raped and now carried one of the two Greyjoy brothers' bastard children within her as many of the previously captive women did. Sandor fueled his anger over this into his training, which led to very intensive practice sessions. And ever since they were told to prepare for going north to Bear Island—Sandor was eager to at last meet some proper Ironborn in battle as Arthur had left Sandor on the ship when taking Pyke, and on Pyke when taking Great Wyk with Stark. But going to Bear Island they were taking not only the Mormont men but also the replenished Northmen troops rallied by Glover, Reed, and Dustin—who had hardly a chance to battle in the siege of Great Wyk before the white banner had been flown. It was a smaller force and so would need every person capable of swinging a sword in the party, which Arthur was permitting Sandor to do if he proved he was taking his lessons to heart well enough. After being left out of any kind of battling since Fair Island though his would-be squire's frustration had had some opportunity to build, leading him to well…
"Calm down, you're getting sloppy," scolded Arthur as they dueled with practice swords taken from the keep on Great Wyk.
"I don't fucking care!" snapped Sandor as he thrust his sword.
Parrying his thrust, Arthur clucked, "You should—not caring is going to get you killed."
Swinging near wildly, Sandor snarled, "I'm gonna kill every last one of those fuckers!"
To prove his point, Arthur doubled the speed of his movements, his precision and fluidity of his movements became harder for his would-be squire to dodge or block until not a minute late did Arthur knock the blame from the boy's hand and bring his blade to the would-be squire's gut.
"Yield!" screeched the boy in his adolescent voice.
But Arthur did not stop, instead giving the moment to knock Sandor to the ground with his foot. This would be one lesson Sandor would learn and learn well. Arthur would be sure of it.
"When a warrior gets sloppy, he ends up with a sword through him. Never forget that."
Arthur then held out his hand for Sandor to take, but the hate-filled adolescent would have no help getting up, so Arthur let him do what he felt he had to. In the meanwhile he took a piece of cloth he'd ripped off the tunic of a Greyjoy soldier he'd slain on Pyke to wipe the sweat from his brow, and tossed it to his squire.
"What's this for?" asked Sandor.
Arthur expounded, without giving too much away, "It's going to teach you a lesson in finesse."
"How can a bloody piece of cloth do that?" grumbled Sandor.
"Tie it round your eyes and see," said Arthur. He then smiled at the memory of he and his brother Aster being told the same thing when he was about Sandor's age. Oh how Aster had balked about it, and he… well… he had never questioned anything he thought might bring him one step closer to being the Sword of the Morning. He'd rarely questioned anything at all before now...
Sandor's eyes narrowed. Despite his obstinacy, Arthur knew the boy to be quite intelligent, able to discern things quite quickly when he wanted. This was apparent when Sandor shouted, "Fuck no!"
Arthur rapped the the flat of his blade down against his left shoulder or his would-be squire's non-sword arm.
"I said tie it round your eyes and see, or would you rather return to Pyke?"
Growling and grumbling the entire time, Sandor did as he was asked, tying the cloth around his eyes.
"So that you can't see anything," reprimanded Arthur, noticing Sandor was positioning the edge of the cloth so he could sneak looks to the ground beneath his feet. Arthur moved the cloth further down until his would-be squire's eyes were in the direct center of it.
"Now I can't see a ruddy thing…" grumbled Sandor.
Arthur spoke while circling his would-be squire, "That's the point. Now take your starting position. Good. Sight is tangential to fighting—it surely helps, but a blind man can fight a man-with-his-eyes if trained properly."
"How the fuck can he do that?" asked Sandor as he moved to keep his front in the direction of wherever he heard Arthur moving.
He's catching on without realizing it...
"Why are you moving about?" asked Arthur.
"You're moving," barked Sandor
"How do you know that?" asked Arthur.
"I can bloody well hear you—that's how!" snapped Sandor.
Arthur smirked, saying, "You're learning quickly."
"You have to when bloody squids take your sister and your keep," countered Sandor.
Arthur again gave a slight rapping at his would-be squire's left arm, hitting it in just the right spot to set off his funny bone and cause the boy to stop and reel at the shooting pain in his arm.
"Fucker!" screeched Sandor.
"You were getting sloppy again," chided Arthur.
With his sight taken, Sandor would have to put aside all his anger and focus his attention on making up for his missing sense, which would cause him to be more careful and attentive.
Sandor was much bruised and worse for where when their final practice session on Great Wyk was done, but his would-be squire had learned that he could read a man's movements more from the sounds he makes than the sight.
The journey to Bear Island was long, and frigid—he had thought the Iron Islands rather nippy with the constant brow beating wind always blowing—but this was nothing compared to the freezing cold winds that cut through a wool cloak going further North. Stark seemed to revel in the absolute chill as they sailed along an iceberg filled Bay of Ice round Sea Dragon Point. Stark was looking out over the still calm waters strewn with the glacial white floating mountains in the early hours of the morning.
"How many men do you think Euron Greyjoy has?" asked Arthur casually.
"Enough men to take Bear Cove and keep Maege or one of her daughters captive in Mormont Keep. Jeor and Jorah agree with me—there's no other way Maege would surrender the island to him," confided Stark
"How hard is the island to take?"
Stark stated calmly, "Hard enough that King Rodrik Stark only won the island from the Hoares in a wrestling match."
How barbaric…
Stark oddly enough continued, "Jeor says sailing into the cove would be folly—we'd do better to sail round and make landing by Woodfoot Bay and use the woods as cover to mask our approach upon the keep and cove."
"Haven't you been there before?" asked Arthur.
"No, I haven't. My brother Brandon did," answered Stark detachedly.
Any potential for further conversation between them ceased as Lord Jeor Mormont asked to speak with Stark, for which he left Arthur without any further word. It was only later that Arthur remembered that like himself, Stark was a second son. Second sons were hardly known what to do with. An existence brought about by a necessity to ensure the safety of the line, but a life spent receiving less than their elder brothers to keep them from turning on their brothers. Arthur at least had had a goal in which to put all his effort into being: becoming the Sword of the Morning and a Kingsguard. What had Eddard Stark wanted to be? What had he wanted to do, before the cup of lordship was passed unto him? No answers came to Arthur, but he was vaguely intrigued to discover more about his nephew's sire.
They arrived as planned at Bear Island—they were kept from sailing too close to shore as the only port on the island—Bear Cove—would likely be under the occupation of the Ironborn. So they would have to transport the troops by dinghy—which would leave them helpless should any Ironborn come sailing. So it was decided to do this under the cover of darkness. Doing so they managed to bring their entire fighting force onto the island and they began the long march through the woods to Bear Cove and Mormont Keep. The woods of the island were unlike anything Arthur had yet seen—filled with old gnarled oaks, tall pines, flowering thornbushes, moss-covered grey stones, and steep hills with streams. In what little moonlight penetrated the dark forest of the woods, Arthur could tell that Bear Island was a wondrously rugged, wild, and terrifying place—but yet with its own beauty as well. In the night he'd hear the roars and howls of wild animals he could only imagine what they were.
Jeor Mormont noticing this one evening before they were to continue their nighttime approach clucked, "Don't worry, that shadowcat's a long way's off yet."
Arthur had only ever heard of shadowcats in tales his wetnurse had once told him of the wild North and lands beyond the Wall—which being from Dorne were quite limited, but they were still told in a House with First Men roots like House Dayne. So hearing that the fearsome grey monster who moved like smoke, and was silent until it sighted its kill, the beast which had haunted his childhood's nightmares for a time, could actually exist…
"Leave our fallen star be, Jeor—you're frightening him," chided Stark with what almost appeared to be an amused look about his typically frozen face.
He had been the Sword of the Morning—he could not appear to be frightened by a bunch of backwoods Northmen, especially not in front of his squire—no matter what childish nightmares he used to have from his wetnurse's stories.
"Hardly, Stark, I've killed a giant of a man—an overgrown kitten would be nothing compared to that," Arthur said with as much confidence as he could muster to quiet the old childish memories that had been long dormant until this moment.
Jorah, who was nearby sitting with other members of Stark's guard like Glover, Reed, and Dustin, began to laugh, though didn't continue to do so for very long once Arthur met his eyes.
"No shadowcat has been seen south of the Wall in several centuries," assured Stark.
"I wouldn't be so sure about Bear Island, Ned. There's more here than just us bears. During winters sometimes the Bay o' Ice lives up to its name and we get a few Wildlings crossing it and giving us a bit of trouble. Now if a few wildlings can do all that—what's to say a shadowcat, a direwolf, or even a mammoth can't follow 'em?"
Stark secretly rolled his eyes—which only Arthur managed to notice—before saying, "Mayhaps you're right Jeor, and mayhaps Mormonts can truly share skins with bears."
"No more than Starks can with direwolves," added Jorah.
They continued their march not long after. As they did so, Arthur noticed Sandor would occasionally stumble or loose his footing over a root in the dark. The boy's overgrown feet made him slightly clumsy to begin with, but the added problem of the vast network of roots which seemed to plague every trail they blazed was not well fitted for an adolescent squire still in his awkward phase of growth.
"I can't fucking see anything!" complained the exasperated boy after the seventh time.
To which Arthur gave his would-be squire a knowing look to the excuse, and Sandor bit his tongue on any further complaints.
It took them a good four days to cross the island with their force, but they did so nonetheless, footpaths became rudimentary roads the closer they came to the other more populated side of the island. However to their ultimate surprise they found Bear Cove not occupied at all. In fact there wasn't any sign of any Ironborn anywhere near the port nor near the earthen palisade of the wood-walled Mormont Keep on the hill overlooking the overgrown village. In fact there wasn't a sign of a single soul anywhere—it was as though the entire population of the sleepy little hamlet had
The Old Bear was the first to speak, saying, "Something isn't right, here…"
Suddenly a roar was heard from Mormont Keep—an unearthly roar that seemed to shake the very ground they stood upon—or at the very least startled them. Upon gathering all their wits, Stark agreed with Mormont that whatever had made that sound, it seemed to come from Mormont Keep.
Cautiously they made their way through the sleepy hamlet—which to their shock they barely found any sign of life—some children who had been lolling about hurriedly scurried the nearest house the moment they heard footsteps approaching. In fact as they continued to pass through Bear Cove they noticed that the only inhabitants left seemed to be the children, who were at first frightened into hiding by the sight of the army. By the time they had made it to the foot of the hill that Mormont Keep stood upon, they had all come to realize that there was not a single adult, besides themselves, left in the town.
After climbing the steep hill through a few switchbacks, they reached the massive wooden gate of the earthen palisades, which were oddly enough left slightly ajar. They entered to find that in the yard surrounding the great wooden keep of the Mormont's was what appeared to be two great large lumbering bears fighting it out, with a girl, who looked barely older than the Greyjoy girl had, attempting to pull them off each other—only succeeding in annoying the two creatures.
"Dacey!" called out Mormont with fear upon seeing the sight.
"Nuncle!" cried the girl, who losing her attention for one moment was knocked off lazily by the large paw of the black bear she'd been gripping. Immediately the instinct to meet the giant beast in battle and to rescue Mormont's niece overcame Arthur's shock at seeing the animal and several men along with him charged at both creatures, who seeing the large throng of people took a swipe or two before running around the yard, attempting to climb the palisades in several spots and failing, before charging out the gates and out of the castle.
By this point Jeor had managed to revive Dacey, who groggily asked as he held her tight with joy at her waking, "Where's Mama? Where's Alysane?"
Jeor's smile saddened at this slightly Arthur noticed before he said, "I don't know my little she-cub. We haven't checked the keep."
"No, they were out here!" swore Dacey, putting more strength and force behind her words.
Jeor shook his head and said solemnly, "I don't see anyone but you out here, Dacey."
"They're gone now, but they were fighting and I was trying to get them to stop!" insisted the girl
"Dacey—are you trying to tell me that—" began Jeor
He was interrupted by the ravings of his niece, who quite obviously believed every word she spoke, "The squid came and then turned them all into bears! He said he gave them that blue drink… and the next day there were bears all over! I swear it nuncle!"
"Jorah, take your cousin inside, if you can…" said Jeor quietly, handing off the girl to his son, who eagerly scooped her up and held her tight despite her squirming to be released.
"But nuncle! It's true, it's all true!" insisted Dacey over Jorah's shoulder before they entered the keep.
But Arthur could see that the little girl's protests were all in vain, not that he blamed Lord Mormont for doubting her—it was too wild a tale to be believed. And that it turned out to be as the slightly younger Alysane was found asleep in the keep, though Maege Mormont, like every other adult on Bear Island, was nowhere to be found.
