osite2-audiotest

by Hankton

an audiotest of stuff not ready to publish

2. whalesunicorns1(si)

Prologue: 298AC

Joggen Stirn stared at the rocky shoals of Skagos.

Less than two decades ago, such sights would have caused worry in the whaler's mind. If the tide and rocks didn't finish off him and his crew, the inhabitants surely would. The Skagosi were said to devour the flesh of any that washed ashore, so most traders stayed well clear of it. Only those heading to Eastwatch by the sea might chance the waters around that accursed isle.

But in the last seventeen years things had changed. The isle had taken to whaling with almost as much fervent enthusiasm as his own people, the Ibbenese. The great port of Kingsdown where whales were slaughtered, where great vessels, some of the greatest in the world, were constructed. Where oil lanterns were lit, allowing the isle to be seen as far as the mainland Westeros.

The autumn winds were beginning to set in now, with summer nearing it's end. The Ibbenese, like the Skagosi, were used to the terrible cold, but none wished to experience it. Sadly, it was part of the day job, to sail the shivering sea and hunt the most dangerous game. The Essosi may have their wars of steel and gold, the Westerosi of fire and blood, but it was the bone and ivory of whales that Stirn fought against every day. The last haul had been quite successful, a great humpback whale a hundred miles north of Skagos.

Stirn had been working around Skagos for near on seven years now, free of the competition of seas closer to Ibb, more generous bounties and less strict ports. The sea had been kind to him, and he'd grown as fat as the whales he hunted, with more than enough money to keep his family in wealthy accommodations in one of the strange half buried houses of Skagos.

One, however, did not get rich without the high lord of Skagos knowing about you, and it was this reason that Stirn thought back to harsher years. Cregan Magnar had sent out word for as many ships to return to Skagos asap, to be conscripted into his naval force. The North was going to war, and anyone with a whaling vessel was being dragged into it. If there was one thing Stirn had missed from his days living in Ibb Sar, it was peace. Westeros, even in the last decade of peace, was far more volatile than Ibb.

It had been a decade since the whalers had been conscripted last Stirn heard, their ships barely making it time to join the Stag's fleet at fair isle. Still, their actions, and the actions of the High lord, had brought them greater relations with mainland Westeros, which in turn had earned everyone more money through trade. Part of Stirn felt giddy at the chance, to sail against some terrible enemy and destroy them at sea. Another part of him felt pure terror at the thought. He was no knight, no sellsail captain or pirate. He was a short man with a harpoon.

He ran through the words, shouting commands at his crew and watching the flares and flags that signalled where he could anchor. Every dock was full, and dozens of massive whaling vessels were anchored in the bay. Through his far eye, Stirn finally saw the signal for dropping anchor. The ship floated in the cold water, bobbing in the surprisingly calm sea.

Now free to look at more than just the signals of other ships, Stirn looked across to Kingsdown port itself. The wooden and stone town seemed half sunken into the ground, their houses looking tiny, only slightly taller than an Ibbenese man.

Stirn saw Lord Magnar's personal vessel, "The Dawnstride" sat proud in the bay, one of about twenty true war galleys, though the Dawnstride itself was closer to a dromond in truth, a master of ranged sea combat with it's scorpions and catapults upon it's deck. Drunk men in one of Kingsdown many taverns spoke of some "secret weapon" hidden inside it, but no one who served aboard ever spoke of the ship being anything truly out of the ordinary.

"Sir, the boat is ready." Said Stirn's first mate, Irren Norn. Stirn nodded, flashing him a toothy grin that desperately hid his fear and climbed aboard the small row boat, before she was lowered into the water.

It had taken almost three days before the captains were finally called to Castle Kingsdown itself. Lord Magnar had paid for the expenses of the men staying in the taverns and watering holes around the city, but the money had finally been taken from them, along with explicit orders to head to the keep.

Stirn saw hundreds of captains. Bravosi, Skagosi, the odd wildling immigrant, and of course, other Ibbenese. Amongst them were the Lord's Vassels. Lord Varymyr Stane, a man in his forties missing a significant part of his nose, his whaleskin coat embroidered with silver, covering the Skagosi steel plate beneath. Lord Tolmar Crowl of Deepdown, a young man no older than six and ten, wearing furs and whaleskin, clearly dressed for the cold.

And finally, walking in with his younger nephew, was Lord Cregan Magnar, high lord of Skagos. He was dressed with black steel plate, along with a dark whale skin coat trimmed with bear fur, the top jaw of a bear on his right shoulder.

At his waist sat his sword, a bastard sword with a unicorn horn hilt. Tavern talk said the blade was called "Leviathan", since Cregan been aboard a whaling vessel that had killed and butchered a baby one five years ago. Of course, Tavern talk spoke of it being Valryian steel and made of starmetal. Tavern talk was just that.

"Lords, Captains. Thank you for coming." Said Magnar. Someone dressed in the steel plate of the Kingsdown guard brought in a map and unfurled it, placing it at the table they were standing around. The room was crowded, and Stirn didn't get a decent look at whatever Lord Magnar pointed at.

"Lord Robb Stark has called the banners after the new king on the iron throne imprisoned Lord Eddard Stark. We are to sail fast for White harbour with all hast. Any seaworthy vessel able to make it to White harbour will be needed, as well as your crew and our levies. I have hired sell swords from across the narrow sea and gathered Wildlings willing to raid the south in exchange for land upon my isle and to bend the knee to me. I will be splitting our forces amongst your ships, but rest assured the ground forces are under the command of my commanders, not under you captains. Concurrently, my commanders are not to interfere with the operation of my naval forces or the conscripted captains." Lord Magnar ordered.

The other two lords behind him stood still, it seemed they had already been well informed of the plan. Indeed, despite sounding like time was of the essence it seemed strange that Lord Magnar had managed to gather these forces. Stirn had been out of port for quite some time, but Tavern talk from the last few days had spoken of Lord Magnar gathering forces for months, and hiring sell swords from Essos. It seemed likely he had somehow seen this war coming.

"You have all lived your lives and enjoyed the bounty of the shivering sea, of Skagos and it's protection. And now I ask you follow me to war. The Lannisters fleet is on the other side of the continent. Except for the fleet under Kin... Lord Stannis, we are unchallenged at sea for the next few months. We will reap the ocean and end the tyranny of this boy king, who would imprison men without trials, who would kill his own father, the beloved King Robert Baratheon." Said Lord Magnar, placing his hands behind his back. "Lord Stane will command the 3rd fleet, Lord Crowl the second, and Joramun Magnar the first. The third fleet will defend the waters of the North, and will entreat with the Sealord. They will ensure that our armies south will remain supplied with the arms and armour of our forges."

A young man began to walk through the crowd, quietly asking names and handing out small pieces of paper. When Stirn told him his name, he was handed a piece of paper;

Captain Joggen Stirn

Ibbenese Whaling captain

Captain of the Ibb-Skaganor

1st fleet, Under direct command of Joramun Magnar

The paper was written in perfect Ibbenossen. Magnar himself was said to speak and write the language, but Stirn knew his hand writing was too terrible for the note to have been written by the lord himself.

"The second fleet, under Lord Crowl, will transport as many northern troops south from White Harbour towards wherever Lord Robb commands. He will be placed under Lord Robb Stark's command as needed, as will all of you." Said Lord Magnar.

"Finally, the 1st fleet, under my nephew Lord Magnar. You will be heading south." Said Lord Magnar.

Vague orders? There is something he is clearly not telling us. I would guess most of the whalers are working under Lord Crowl, so why am I in the younger Magnar's fleet?

At least Joramun isn't a bad captain. He's not his cousin, but Joramun is Cregan's right hand man, and is almost as good a captain as any of us.

It is strange Lord Magnar himself isn't leading the fleet. Perhaps he's in some higher command position, or will be fighting on land.

"I have three rooms here, you will report to your Commanders and follow their instructions. We set sail in two days. Dismissed." Said Lord Magnar.

281AC

His second day in Westeros was a fair bit better than the first. He spent most of the day before screaming hysterically and sweating from places he'd thought he'd never sweat, or alternatively shivering from a cold he had been used to since birth.

It all started yesterday. Father... His father?

A man previously called Lord Magnar had died, leaving him, young Cregan Magnar, at the tender age of fifteen, as Lord of Kingsdown.

At the same time, he had collapsed, and dreamt of an entire life as another, older man. A man from a different world.

Or, he was... well, the name escaped him, but he was a twenty two year old man from England who woke up in the freezing fucking cold being told he was the lord of some place he'd never heard of.

It had taken a while for him to even attempt to reconcile the two memories, and several things had to have been thrown away in the progress. His older name, Magnar's hydrophobia, something to do with sulphur...

It wasn't what was missing that had worried him, but what was not. Memories, or visions, or something of the Others marching south with an undead army at their back. Five kings warring with each other, and a kraken drowning the living.

Cregan stretched, clicking his shoulders. It was nearing the end of winter, though the chill was there, especially this far north.

Putting on some furs that constituted clothing up here, equipping a poor quality steel sword to his waist almost by instinct, and slapping himself in the cheek.

Still awake?

Shit

And, giving up any chance of waking up from what he wasn't sure wasn't his real life, Cregan walked into the great hall of Kingsdown keep.

The corridors of Kingsdown were dark, the braziers and torches barely keeping the grey sky and shadows at bay. Cregan moved from his worried shuffle to a calm stride, his two hands fell upon the doors of the great keep, as he lowered his head and took a breath. Last chance to run. Last chance...

Letting out a deep breath, Cregan pushed the door open and opened his eyes, striding into the great hall.

His new/old body at least leant the manoeuvre some kind of drama. At 6ft 1, and still not fully grown, Cregan at least seemed to have kept in shape. He had dark grey eyes, and long dark hair, with three braids in it. One in the middle on the back of his head and two in front of his ears.

"Lord Cregan Magnar." said someone with the hall. The gathered men and women, no doubt highly confused at why their lord had not been eating earlier, stood up.

Cregan swallowed his doubt and faux confidently stepped towards the high chair on the dais. The chair was pulled out for him, and he walked in front of it.

Cregan looked in front of him. Poorly dressed people drinking cheap alcohol, subsisting off fish and turnips.

Of all the place in Westeros to be dumped, why the ass end of nowhere?

Cregan held up a hand.

"Lords and Ladies. My father is dead. And it falls to me to become the man Kingsdown needs."

281AC

Year of the false spring

Last edited: Jun 3, 2019

"I mostly assumed it was you shitposting but on a level of irony where you had become genuine as well" -Fancy Face

"If you've read any Carcosa fic, you know not to keep your hopes too high." - The Last Bullet

"I know right! Best not to hope for anything, then be surprised by everything." - Alucardan1

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#16

Skagos was rather unforgiving in winter. Cregan knew this one had been light, but they were far to the north and took the full brunt of the cold winds from the east, from the aptly named shivering sea.

Still, he stood upon a rock overlooking a bay on the south of the island. It was only a few hundred metres from the keep of Kingsdown, but it looked as wild and deserted, much like the rest of the island Cregan had seen, or Cregan had grown up knowing intimately.

His mount behind him was chewing on some grass. A great shaggy unicorn, it's long stark white hair covering every inch of the beast. More akin to a mountain goat then some pure white stead from a fairy tale. Indeed, it had red eyes without pupils, and seemed to have teeth more akin to a dog than a horse. Cregan had feed it meat in the past, so Cregan would continue to do so, no matter how much that weirded him out.

Closing his eyes, Cregan felt the wind flow through his hair as he stood on that rocky outcrop. He stayed like this for a few moments before he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.

"I'm glad your first winter is light enough for you to actually step outside." Said a female voice. Some part of him recognised who said it. Val Stane, his mother. She had slowly greying brown hair, though she was no older than 40 in real terms. The bleakness of Skagos just aged people it seemed.

"I've heard enough tales of a real winter from father." Said Cregan. "That I actually felt as if I was there."

Real winters.

When men couldn't leave the caves and caverns that dotted the isle. When men fed on bats and mushrooms.

When they fed on human flesh.

"You will need that. You and your siblings are summer children." said Val. Always the nagger that woman.

"All summers turn to winter. And all winters..." Cregan stopped himself, remembering the ancient enemy far to the north, and with them the cold and death.

"Lord Crowl is growing restless. Come spring, he might try and raid us." Said Val.

Cregan thought on this for a few moments. The last time the Skagosi had been united it had been under a Magnar of Kingsdown, attacking the North during the reign of King Daeron the 2nd. That had been almost a hundred years ago, and the Skagosi had fought between each other ever since. Every other generation there would be one intermarriage that kept the peace for the time, as had been the case with his father and mother, the heir to Kingsdown and the eldest daughter of the now quite old Lord Stane.

The time of peace was coming to an end of Skagos. Before Cregan could even deal with things in the wider kingdom, with the war that he knew was coming and anything like that, he need to bring peace to his lands.

The Magnar's of Kingsdown had two vassals sworn to them. The Whaleborne of the deep caverns, and the even smaller house of Goodbrook, who owned a tiny wooden keep on the banks of a tiny river that cut through the isle. They had barely two hundred men in total sworn to them. But they were the closest to the lands of Lord Crowl.

He knew what to do. He'd need to make sure Lord Crowl did attack. He need the Causus beli to make Crowl sworn to him. With that power behind him, he could offer terms to the Stanes, and become high lord of Skagos. If he could do that before the Tourney of Harrenhal that he knew was coming later this year, he would have at least some influence, both politically and militarily, before Robert's Rebellion begins in earnest.

It was a tight window. There was no way he was going to develop advanced technology and win via being better armed in time. Magnar was a student of at least some strategy, but he was no Stannis. He was ten and five, no old man with years of experience.

Starring across the vast cold ocean to the south, Cregan thought on this for almost a full hour, before finally getting back on his mount, his unicorn Ishmael.

"Not spring. He knows we are weak now. I will be ready for him. Thank you mother." Said Cregan, though when he turned around she was not there. He smiled to himself.

The sun set quickly during this false spring it seemed, as it was dark by the time he left the bay and returned to Kingsdown keep.

The keep itself was a strange building. A small one story hall with some rooms in the wings, it had a great tall roof with a small whale skeleton hanging from it. It was what was below that was especially interesting. The island of Skagos was covered in caves and caverns, some which were miles below the surface. This was true of Kingsdown keep. Below it were a strange and complex network of caves, where most of the castle servants lived. Cregan himself had lived in a rather comfortable cavern within the network for the last fifteen years, but now he had that and a room on the surface.

Tonight was the feast before the funeral of his father. For the last hour Cregan had been thinking of the speech he'd say before lighting the funeral pyre. The followers of the old gods on Skagos were closer in religion to those beyond the wall than those south of it. They did not bury their dead in barrows or crypts. The dead were burnt, their ashes thrown into the icy sea.

After a dinner of root vegetables and seal meat, Cregan slammed his mug of dark beer on his table, silencing the hall.

"It's time." Said Cregan simply.

He stood up, moving to grab a torch from one of the walls in the keep as the others walked out into the cold. Steeling himself, Cregan quickly followed.

A short walk away from the keep was a great pyre, of birch and pine wood. Atop the pyre, lying down with his eyes close and his hands around a sword of steel, was the man that had been Cregan's father.

Three days had started the decomposing of the body. The face of his father was tight and white, his fingers looking akin to the bone surely beneath the skin.

Holding the lit torch against him, the one light in the crowd, Cregan turned to look at the men around him. He saw his young cousin hugging his elder sister. He saw his much younger brother shivering in the cold. He saw his mother fighting tears.

"Lord Magnar was a good man, and a good father. For forty and seven years my father has served our isle. A servant of the Old gods through and through, Lord Magnar was Lord of Kingsdown for twenty years, and in that time we have flourished under his brilliant rule. But now his flame has gone out, and we may only light it once more. May he join with the old gods in the Weirwoods." Cregan said.

And like that, it was almost over. He placed the torch against the kindling of the pyre and slowly the fire spread.

Embers begin to fill the air, and the smell of cooking meat was nauseating.

I took a few minutes for the pyre to lit entirely, but everyone had to take a step back when it did so, the flames roasting those that stood to near it.

Cregan, the boy he was before the fit and seizures of three days ago stared into the flames of his father's funeral pyre.

And Cregan, the man that had lived two lifetimes blinked.

He awoke early the next day. Dawn was late at this point in the season. As Cregan threw on his furs and brigandine he wondered how on Earth anyone could (falsely) think this was the beginning of spring. Alas, everyone else wasn't on a frozen isle at the most northerly point before the Wall. He had sent an edict to the men of Kingsdown. Practise and training, from sunrise to sunset. No arguments.

If he couldn't bring more esoteric advantages to the war he knew would be coming in mayhaps a scant few weeks, then he'd get whatever he could. Train his men until they could fight off raiders in his sleep. He had even sent a boat out to Hardhome in the middle of night, offering lives on Skagos or gold to any tough Wildling raiders willing to fight with him. Whether they'd be back in time for the battle would be anyone's guess, but having an ace up his sleeve wasn't something to be sniffed at. Only he knew about this mission.

But training his men was something that would be obvious. It was also meant as a message to Crowl. Either get your ass in gear and attack or back down and hide. Cregan desperately hoped he'd try his luck.

As he walked in the now silent and cold hall, the eyes of the unicorn and stag heads watching him as he past the cold ashen firepit, he tightened his sword belt.

His current weapon was given to him when he was two and ten, a poor quality steel longsword, blunted and rusting. He knew what he'd need.

Stepping into the cold dark morning air, he turned his eyes to the ashen pile he had stood for hours beside the night before. The cinders were barely glowing now, embers that glowed and dimmed like the beating of a heart.

Cregan loomed over the ashen pile, looking at the charred black bones of his father. Still in his skeletal hands was the sword of house Magnar. Each lord of Magnar died and was burnt with the sword in their hands.

He reached into the bones and gently moved the fingers apart, grabbing the completely burnt handle which began to crumple in his grip.

The hilt of the sword was still warm to the touch, leaving a white burn in Cregan's right hand, but still he gripped it tight, pulling the sword from it's iron sheath.

Leviathan.

A bastard sword made of Star metal found far far north by one of the Magnars, back when they spoke only the tongue of the first men. The sword did not glow as Dawn purportedly did, instead it was a mix of blue and sea green, one edge deep sea green, then shifting until it reached the other edge, which was a deep dark blue.

Cregan remembered the stories his father told him. The sword was burnt with the man, and each Magnar replaced the hilt for himself. If the Lord Magnar was crippled or unable to wield the blade for whatever reason the hilt would be removed, and the sword never seen until his death.

For now, he needed a simple hilt, likely quickly taken from his current lacklustre sword. When he knew that Kingsdown was safe then he would build his own. But that day was not here yet.

Torrhen Whaleborne looked to his new liege Lord. The call to arms had been received the day before, and it was a strange one. His cavern city had a few hundred men at arms, which he had supplied, but his father had insisted on coming along to size up the young Magnar.

To be honest, he was rather surprised. When he had previously met Cregan Magnar the boy had seemed distant and strange, starring into space. Deathly afraid of the sea. This lad had been drilling his men on the shores of Kingsdown bay for a week now. When he wanted to cool down he took off his furs and quickly swam in the angry waters. He might shiver when he got out, but the smile he wore as he thanked the first man who threw their lord some furs to dry him off seemed far removed from the sullen boy he had once been.

Perhaps boy was too harsh. Torrhen was only a single year older than his new lord, and the boy was taller then him. His first men blood evident there. Legend had it the first Whaleborne where actually the crew of a Ibbenese vessel that crashed on the shores during a summer a thousand years ago. Short blood ran through their veins, regardless of the truth to this tale.

It wasn't just the change in attitude that surprised Torrhen. Everyone knew that the previous Lord Magnar and Lord Crowl hated each other. It would take the Others descending upon their harsh isle to unite the two.

So, a fair few men expected Crowl to pounce on the chaos of his rival's death. But it seemed Cregan had predicted this.

He was currently "jogging" as he called it, the men following behind him, chanting some strange songs about how Thenn's cunts are mighty cold.

Torrhen was excused from the current run, given as he was supposed to be leading the spear practise for a hundred men, but the men were catching their breath from the multiple mile run they had just been on. Where Cregan got his apparent infinite reserves of energy Torrhen couldn't guess, but the men below him were not blessed with such things, so Torrhen allowed them their break.

The spears they had to practise with were the same they might well go into battle with, and they were not great. Pig iron it was called, essentially slag that had cooled into something approaching the shape of a spearhead. A few were using dragonglass instead. Since only a scant few people on the isle had anything approaching decent armour, this wasn't a bad call.

What was strange was Cregan's reaction upon seeing the multitude of dragonglass weapons. He had been surprised it seemed. Torrhen could not guess why. The Skagosi had used their natural reserves of dragonglass for weapons as long as there had been men on Skagos.

But Cregan had almost asked Torrhen not to use the Dragonglass. But then he seemed to stop himself.

"You milkdrinkers ready for drills?" Shouted Torrhen. The men moaned, but did get to their feet. Torrhen smiled to himself. There were four peoples in the world who made great spear-men. The Dornish, the unsullied, the Ibbenese and the Whalebornes. To the soft mainlanders spears were for planting in the ground and holding very stiffly, hoping that Calvary would crash into them. To the Whalebornes, it was an art form, akin to the water dancers of bravos. To lunge in once second, then pivot and block the next.

The men from the deep caverns likely knew the style already, but those sworn to his liege lord did not. A "crash course" Magnar called it, was in order.

It was going to be a long day.

"Crowl is moving his army over the mountains. He will be within our lands in three days." Said a scout. Cregan was standing in the great hall of Kingsdown, his two vassals and a few men who seemed like decent leaders looking at a map of the isle.

"Where are they likely to cross?" Asked Cregan. The scout pointed to a pass between two mountains known as the Windshear pass. An ironic name, given that it was part of the least windy part of the isle. Cregan smiled to himself. Crowl was being predictable, hoping to rush towards Kingsdown as fast as he could. The boat he sent to Hardhome had not come back yet, and he doubted that he could rely on such forces. None the less, things were moving in his favour. At the end of the pass Cregan had hastily constructed a small fort. It wasn't large enough to block the pass, but it had the few archers he had at his disposal stationed there. In the mountains were men with picks, hammers and stakes. They would bring half the mountain down on Crowl if they needed to.

"I must insist a change of plan my Lord. Lord Crowl knew of your fathers illness for months, and he has gathered a great host. Even one of the Stane's vassals have gotten themselves involved with his army." Said Armon Goodbrook.

Cregan knew this already, but he had to ask about what he did not know.

"Who is this traitorous Vassal?" Cregan asked, a low growl barely hidden beneath the words.

The Stane's were not coming to their aid, their alliance dying with his father, but they had sworn they would not attack. Lord Stanes eldest and favourite daughter was here for Gods sake.

"The driftwoods." Said Torrhen Whaleborne, his second in command.

"Ah. They are probably trying to forge an alliance with Crowl." said Cregan.

The Driftwoods. They had once claimed the isle just of the main isle of Skagos, but the Stanes had driven them from it five hundred years ago, forcing them to bend the knee and live in a small village on the northern coast of the isle. The Stanes had taken their hall for their own. The resentment was clear.

Inwardly Cregan laughed. Even in the worst part of Westeros there was always that one weaker house that resented their overlords.

"You would have me be besieged in this hall?" Asked Cregan. "Storm's End this is not. They can burn this keep down in a few hours."

"Then the caverns..." Said Goodbrook.

"If we have lost the surface it will be said I lost, regardless of whether or not I bleed his army inside. Crowl can just sit comfortably in the ashes of this hall forever. We will live and die in the Caverns, unable to leave. I consider that a loss." Said Cregan simply.

"We must face Crowl in the field. Here." Said Cregan. He pointed to a grove just beyond the pass. "Our men will bleed the army as they cross the pass, then we will crush them in the woods. We will cut off their escape with a landslide. They will fight or surrender."

"And if our men are too successful? And Crowl retreats back in the pass before he reaches the grove?" Asked one of his newly appointed commanders.

"The men have their orders. They'll retreat the moment things look difficult. Let the army chase them out of the pass." Said Whaleborne.

"Will we offer terms?" Asked Goodbrook.

Cregan shook his head.

"They have the advantage in numbers. If the Driftwoods follow with him that's 1200 men against our seven hundred. We will fight them then dictate terms to them." Said Cregan. The commanders and lesser lords nodded their understanding.

Cregan ran a hand through his hair, now free of the stupid braids and other paraphernalia. Instead, it was simply swept back, looking as if they had never seen a pair of scissors in their life. His beard was much less impressive, a thin scraggly looking light brown thing that clung to his upper lip and around his chin. Still, for a fifteen year old it wasn't bad.

"We march now. We will encamp at the grove and no sooner. Spread out the tents as much as possible, have each man dig his own latrine pits. We will melt the snow for drinking water." Said Cregan. "No visible night fires."

"Our men will freeze." Said one commander. It was a fair complaint.

"Small fires only. Nothing that can be seen from a long distance. Have one man guard the fire at all times, I don't want to burn the forest down." Said Cregan.

There were a few moments of working out who was in control of what. Torrhen obviously was in charge of the "heavy" infantry, those armed with dragonglass or iron spears and wearing leather armour.

Cregan himself had the cavalry. Skagos lacked heavy cavalry, even he lacked a suit of plate, but long lances and terrifying unicorns made decent troops. Goodbrook was given the archers, mostly because there was little else to parcel out. All in all, it was four hundred under Torrhen and his three sub-Commanders, 150 or so under Goodbrook and 150 under Cregan himself.

Cregan clipped on his sword belt as the men around the map did the same. Torrhen simply picked up his dragonglass spear from one corner of the room.

"Lord Crowl will learn the price of fucking with a Magnar's family!" Shouted Cregan, as he drew Leviathan from it's sheath. For the moment the hilt was plain, which Torrhen told him was a sign of practicality in Magnars. Some used Narwhal horns or Unicorn horns, others used Antlers or weirwoods. One crazy Magnar two hundred years ago had one of solid gold that had almost bankrupted the family. His brother who became lord Magnar had simply sold the hilt off after his pyre burnt out.

His men shouted their cheers, though Cregan doubted their sincerity. He had not proven himself a Lord yet. His proving would come in what would be known as the first battle of the year 281 AC.

The battle of the Ashen Grove.

Last edited: Jan 17, 2018

"I mostly assumed it was you shitposting but on a level of irony where you had become genuine as well" -Fancy Face

"If you've read any Carcosa fic, you know not to keep your hopes too high." - The Last Bullet

"I know right! Best not to hope for anything, then be surprised by everything." - Alucardan1

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Jan 1, 2018

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#63

Say what you will about being in the arse end of the arse end of the world, the sky sure was pretty here.

It was the first time he had ever seen the Aurora Borealis in his life. The sky was filled with that interplay of green, blue and violet light.

He placed a chunk of seal meat in his open palm and continued to stare into that dancing sky as Ishmael ate out of his palm.

It had always been on his bucket list to travel north and see that. That had been a lifetime ago, in a life he could scarce remember. He reluctantly dragged his eyes from the northern lights and settled his eyes on a nearby small camp fire.

Shaded in the thick trees, he could only see 2 or so from where he was, which was at least some benefit. He doubted that Crowl would be made enough to risk travelling at night through the pass. It was treacherous without the men he had in the mountains purposefully making life difficult for them.

"You seem fine in this cold." Said Torrhen as he sat beside him. Cregan leant back, placing his palms in the snow behind him.

"I didn't spend my entire life in the caverns Torrhen." Said Cregan with a smile on his lips and in his voice.

"Aye, I suppose not." The short man replied. The two of them sat there in the snow quietly for a few moments, until Cregan dared to break it.

"What do you know of the Ibbenese?" Asked Cregan.

"Just cause I'm short I know about those hairy whale fuckers!" Barked out Torrhen. Cregan blandly looked at him for a few seconds, a single eyebrow raised, before Torrhen began to laugh.

"Sorry. Yeah, we deal with them occasionally. Lots of them stop at Eastwatch and don't risk getting to close to their isle, but I've traded with them in the past." Said Torrhen.

"Know their language?" Asked Cregan.

Torrhen shrugged.

"The odd word. Whale. Money. Some numbers. Not much more." Said Torrhen. "Why do you ask?"

Cregan looked contemplative for a few seconds, mulling on the question before answering.

"I kind of want to hunt a whale." Cregan lied. The lie was obvious to both of them, but neither commented on it.

For a few moments they stayed like that, the cold night air disturbed only by the odd light snore or baying of some unicorn.

"GET UP!" Shouted some distant voice.

The two men sat in the snow shared a look with each other before launching to their feet and grabbing their weapons, Cregan unsheathing Leviathan.

"They're coming!" The voice shouted again. Cregan's eyes widened. They stole a march on them. Their plan wasn't enough to slow them down.

"Skagosii! With me!" Shouted Cregan as he climbed atop Ishmael and kicked it into action. Men awoke other men, putting out their fires with fists full of snow, nervously equipping what few armaments they had. The camp was quickly descending into chaos. A chaos Cregan could not abide. He rode past tent after tent, shouting commands to get up, get armoured and prepare for battle. To report to your commander. Behind him a few more Unicorn riding cavalry men followed him. Then more. And more.

They rode into a large clearing at the edge of the forest, a great semicircle opening in the forest. At the centre was a small frozen pond, with a single dead willow tree beside it.

And there, in the distant, heading through the mountain, was a thousand torches.

The full moon shone down upon the rocks and trees, previously being enough light for them. But now, as Cregan stared into the fire of those torches, at the men that unnumbered his, at the warriors demanding his blood he could see little else besides those torches.

His Calvary was looking at him. Waiting for his command. He sat there, unable to move for a few seconds.

What was he doing? He wasn't a soldier! He wasn't made for this!

Cregan shook his head. His actions had gotten him here. He would reap what he sowed.

Someone handed him a lance, he could not tell whom, so great was his concentration on what to do.

"Men of Kingshouse!" He shouted in his loudest voice.

The unicorn mounted lancers lowered their weapons, their 3m long lances aimed squarely at the 1000 men before them.

He had to draw them into the forest. The men had been mapping it out, setting traps and learning the lay of the land. In the forest they'd crush them. But in the forest they'd lose the advantage of cavalry, the woods too thick to easily charge upon them. The plan was simple.

Charge and retreat. Charge and retreat.

Cregan sheathed Leviathan on his left and gripped the lance in a death grip. Ishmael bayed and shivered briefly, until with a deafening scream he kicked his mount forth, riding hard into that great torch lit mass.

At first he heard only his own hoof-steps. For a scarce moment he feared he was riding at them alone. But still he rode forwards, ever forwards.

After a mere few moments he heard the crunch of hoofbeats in the snow behind him, heard the roar of 100 men atop unicorns baying for Crowl blood.

The thunder of their charge filled the night air. Cregan's vision narrowed, focusing only on a small pinprick of light ahead of him. A shaking torch, moving slightly back. He steadied himself and plunge. The lance shook with barely contained fury as it pierce through the chest of one poor man. Ishmael continued forwards, running down man after man in savage fury.

It could not continue, waving torches, thrusting spears far to close to Cregan for his liking, jabbing and stabbing at Ishmael in his legs and chest. The other cavalry men had finally reach the mass of men, and in the chaos Cregan pulled back on the reins of his mount and turn the unicorn around, trotting weakly off towards the forest again.

Blood had almost completely painted Ishmael, and it was wheezing badly. The dense forest meant that he could not gallop, and he was in no state to do so. Cregan leapt off the horse and unsheathed Leviathan, slapping the unicorn to get it to fall back further into the forest. Cregan's cavalry did the same, retreating from the now prepared mass of spears and torches. A few did not make it back, lying on the cold snowy ground, and in horror Cregan watched as the men under Crowl simply walked over the slain. Cregan couldn't tell just how many survived the charge or how many they killed, but it seemed at least over a hundred made it back to the forest. Hopefully they'd keep to the plan.

Cregan ran to keep up with them as they made their way to the great grove, where they had plained to trap the enemy. Compared to the thick dense forest around it, the grove had only three heart trees in a wide clearing about one hundred metres wide and deep.

Cregan watched as the mounted riders of his sped on ahead, saw the dragonglass arrows fly behind him. And heard hoofbeats behind him. They could not be friendly riders. He broke into a full on sprint now, aware of the roaring riders behind him. Strangely, with every step the forest seemed to come alive with a orange glow.

Cregan jumped over a fallen log, the snow crunching as his feet landed. He slipped, falling to the floor, as the first rider leapt over the same log, missing him by moments. The riders kept coming and coming over and over, the sound of their charge filling the air.

And the man breaks. He runs, or crawls over the dead after the battle, or sneaks off in the night.

Cregan looked up, through the canopy of oaks and pine, to see a moon shining. He thought back to his days training with his father, or with some of his soldiers. He thought of home, and rather than thinking of that place in the countryside with two brothers, he saw his eldest sister, his younger sister, his stern father and shrewish but kind mother. He saw Kingshouse.

He felt his eyes roll into the back of his head.

He saw a lone rider on a unicorn. He looked tired, half slumped in the saddle. The scenery around him was hilly, long tall grass following a small stream. No.. He wasn't alone. Beside him was a man and his dog. A broken man.

Cregan shook himself awake, the riders ahead of him now, screaming and hollowing, but the ground was still shaking. He got to his feet and looked behind him.

The moon was no longer the only light source. Fire was spreading from tree to tree, and in front of that roaring fire was men, marching, holding spears and swords and sharpened hoes. Men wearing furs and sealskin. Cregan watched briefly as the flames roared.

They intend to burn us all.

Crowl was mad. He sent his own men into a forest then set it on fire. He would kill them all.

Cregan picked up Leviathan from the ground and ran, ran away from the flames, towards the great grove. He heard shouts and screams, and ran in their direction.

In a few moments he was there. Four hundred spear-men successfully holding off a charge of unicorn mounted riders. They had thrown down logs and obstacles to slow and funnel the riders, and under his and Torrhen's training and years of raiding practise the army had held. The Riders charged into their spears of dragonglass and scrap iron. Unicorns screamed and half roared half whinnied as spears pierced through them.

The bodies of the unicorns and their riders served as a shield for the infantry, and the remaining riders tried to turn around and retreat.

"For Kingshouse!" Shouted Cregan, as he ran towards the unicorn mounted riders. They turned around, and seeing the distraction, Torrhen's infantry began to fight in earnest, quickly stabbing and lunging towards the riders. Some of the riders were heading towards Cregan. As one came close Cregan swung Leviathan with all his might into a rider's chest. The starmetal blade dug into the riders flesh and the rider was dragged off his mount. With a roll Cregan narrowly dodged the sharp unicorn of the near feral unicorn. Stumbling to his feet Cregan dodged another charge of a unicorn and a lance, then again, reaching his men at the centre of the grove. Cregan turned around, placing both hands on his sword, holding it in a defensive position.

Ash and cinders were filling the air, flames rising higher and higher, the orange glow lighting the grove as the moon no longer could, blocked by smoke and smog.

Despite the cold snowy conditions, the trees were lighting impossibly quickly.

The men retreated back slightly, their back protected by the forest to their rear, which had yet be set aflame.

Out of the fires in front of them, backed by the remaining riders on their flanks, 800 infantry ran out. They were trying to escape the flames too. Their faces seemed black from ash and soot, and afraid.

At the front of this army was a middle aged man with a wicked grin on his face. He had scraggly red hair that looked as wild and angry as the flame behind him. Some memories reminded Cregan of who he was.

Lord Brandon Crowl.

Cregan held up his hand as his army took a step back, Cregan taking a step forward.

Atop his unicorn, Crowl took a step forward too.

"Stand down Magnar. I will take my due from your father's lands and be gone. Your pathetic attempt to fight me is over." Said Brandon, a wicked grin playing upon his face.

Cregan desperately tried to listen for the sound of hoof-steps he was waiting for.

"My lands. Stand down Brandon. Lay down your arms. 100 years ago a Magnar united the Skagosi under one banner, and I will do so again." Said Cregan, a spark flying past his eyes as he said this.

"AHAHA!" Barked out Brandon. "You're a braver sot than your father, I'll give you that. But I have the more men."

Cregan pointed Leviathan at Brandon.

"1 on 1 old man. Let's see who is the better leader." Said Cregan, before placing both hands upon the plain hilt of his sword and holding it over his shoulder, pointing towards Brandon.

"With that blade? I'll enjoy hanging that over the firepit I'll roast your body on Magnar. I've tasted Mutton of Magnar, how does Mangar Lamb taste?" He asked.

Brandon charged atop his unicorn, holding the greatsword with just his right hand, ready to swing it at Cregan as he rode past. Cregan charged, moving his stance from an over the shoulder grip to by his chest, holding the sword up. The two leaders of their clans charged towards each other, one on unicorn back the other afoot.

In the sight of free heart trees, the two blades connected. With enough force to break bone, the Steel Greatsword of Crowl smashed into the Starmetal bastard sword of Magnar.

And the sword broke. Wrenched from his hands, the steel had cut into the Starmetal halfway into the blade. Cregan ducked and was forced to let the sword go, now defenceless. Brandon turned around, his unicorn facing on of the silent heart trees on Cregan's right, as Brandon laughed. He pulled the ruined Starmetal blade off his greatsword.

"Your father never tell you this is just for show boy?" Asked Brandon, as he chucked the useless blade to the side. He lifted his greatsword, the point aimed directly at Cregan's chest.

Cregan paled before the blade, before sighing.

"Worth a shot." He said. He looked to the sky, though the dark clouds of ash had completely blocked the stars, aurora or moon.

Brandon barked out a foul laugh, then turned his unicorn towards Cregan.

Cregan held his arms up, displaying his chest. He wondered where he might end up next.

Brandon kicked his unicorn into action, and the mount sped on, head down, horn aimed squarely at Cregan.

Cregan closed his eyes and counted to three.

When he opened his eyes he ran towards the unicorn, shouting and screaming as he broke into a sprint. Brandon held his greatsword behind him, ready to send a heavy swing straight into Cregan.

An arrow of dark glass slammed into the unicorn's eye, and the beast stumbled, falling to the floor. Brandon fell over the mount, launched out of his stirrups and crashing into the ash covered snow. Cregan reached to the small of his back and drew a small dragonglass dagger, placing it against Brandon's throat as he dragged the older man to his feet.

"You forgot I didn't just bring infantry." Said Cregan with a smile.

Arrows rained around them as Cregan elbowed Brandon in the face and dragged him back to the cover of his infantry, who were starting to march forward. One hundred and fifty archers marched slowly out of the burning forest. Snow and Ash fell around them. Whoever Brandon had put in command below him was stuck. A burning forest fire behind him, a well entrenched infantry force supported by archers in front.

Cregan looked to his right, and behind the weeping heart tree came his mounted riders, led by a angry bloodied unicorn. They slammed into the terrified riders on the right flank. Without room to manoeuvre, their flank crumpled. The men surrendered en mass, between the roaring flames and the now charging spear wielders, unicorn riders and the rain of glass arrows, they couldn't hold.

As the late winter sun rose over the ash and snow, the trees were still smouldering. Almost a mile of forest had burnt down before the flames died into embers. Ash and snow filled the air, and the sound of men melting snow on the still cindering trees filled the air.

Cregan stood before a heart tree, the body of Ishmael and a man sitting in it's branches. Despite it's heroic last charge, his mount had not survived the night, and Cregan gave it the gift of mercy, spilling it's blood in the roots.

A skinchanger named Rodrik had taken credit for the fire, attempting to say it was a move to trap the Crowl army he had betrayed. His heartless body hunched before the heart tree. A portent of the justice he'd have to bring forth today.

Cregan turned around, facing Lord Crowl.

"We are going to Deepdown. You will surrender the castle and name your son it's lord before taking the black." Said Cregan bluntly.

He pointed the sword he had taken from Lord Crowl.

"Or I will kill you and burn down your keep as your men burnt down the forest." Said Cregan coldly. "None will be spared."

Brandon seemed to be looking around Cregan's eyes.

"I see two souls... at the edge of your eyes. And a third, between them. The Oldest of all." Said Brandon.

"Must you be taken before the heart tree too Brandon Crowl?" Asked Cregan angrily. "Your blood will feed the old gods, and then your son's and daughters will do the same."

"Who is talking now? The first soul? Or the second?" Asked Brandon. Cregan really looked at the older man. Far from the anrgy barbarian he was last night, the man seemed broken, tired. Green eyes were shaking in their sockets.

"Talk sense old man." Said Torrhen Whaleborne as he walked beside Cregan.

Brandon shook his head, as if trying to shake lose something from his head.

"Cregan? Where..." Asked Brandon.

"Surrender or die Brandon. I will not ask again." Growled Cregan.

"...Very well Magnar." Said Brandon. "I surrender."

Torrhen and Armon grabbed Brandon by arms and lifted him to his feet. A fur wearing rider handed the reins of a young male unicorn to Cregan.

Strange, to have an emotional attachment to a creature I can scarce remember.

As Cregan climbed atop his new mount and Brandon was tied to it Cregan's thoughts turned as they so often did to the future.

He had won the battle. But that was mostly luck. Deepdown would soon surrender to him, but then what? He wanted to bring the Stanes to him to. To unite Skagos and become it's high lord. That might take some convincing. Lord Stane was his grandfather, but would he bend to a boy only five and ten? And then he'd need to ride to Winterfell. He'd need to renegotiate Skagos' place in the North.

And of course, the year of the false spring had several things coming up, most of all the Harrenhall tourney. Tying his new greatsword to his unicorn, Cregan finally began the ride towards Deepdown, the future ahead of him.

"I mostly assumed it was you shitposting but on a level of irony where you had become genuine as well" -Fancy Face

"If you've read any Carcosa fic, you know not to keep your hopes too high." - The Last Bullet

"I know right! Best not to hope for anything, then be surprised by everything." - Alucardan1

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Two months. Two months It had taken to brow beat the Crowl's into submission. Brandon was a sworn member of the Night's watch now, with his son Theon now lord of Deepdown and a vassal of the Magnar's. Cregan's sister Orlia had given birth to a son, Joramun Magnar, who was currently heir to Kingshouse. Theon had sworn his fealty before the Ashen grove heart trees where his father and Cregan himself had almost died. Orders were given to begin drying wood from the forests in the lands sworn to Deepdown, as Kingshouse did the same.

So, with that the largest isle of the three isles of Skagos was now under his control. All that stood was the house of his mother and Grandfather. House Stane of Driftwood Hall, located on the Skagosi island of Skathorn.

With Cregan was Torrhen Whaleborne, now appointed his master of arms, Armon Goodbrook, his justicar, and Theon Crowl himself, as proof of a united island of Skagos.

They were in a low boat rowing across the strait of Skagos. The wind running through Cregan's hair as he stood proud.

He had returned the greatsword of Crowl to it's rightful owner, Theon, though in return had gained a hostage in the form of his younger brother and heir presumptive Orson Crowl.

Should anything happen to Cregan, his sister and mother had explicit orders to execute Orson immediately. But without Maesters or even Ravens, news travelled far slower in Skagos than it did elsewhere in Westeros.

For now, Cregan's only weapon was a dragonglass spear, something he'd hope to rectify shortly.

He could see the shores of Skathorn, and several men in furs with spears standing on it's shores.

Cregan reach into the middle of the boat and tied things around his spear. He heaved the spear so that it's end was in the floor of the boat, and unfurled the lump of clothe now attached to it.

Flowing in the sea wind, a flag proudly displaying the green lobster of house Magnar, in it's claw a black harpoon. The sigil of Kingshouse.

By the time he landed on the shores of Skathorn Cregan's arms were beginning to go dead, so he handed his flag off to Torrhen as he strode confidently onto the shore, the wet black sand squelching beneath his seal skin boots.

On the shore were six men. Four of them were simply guards, armoured in leather and with iron spears. At the front were two people Cregan recognised.

Varymyr Stane, Grandson of Lord Stane and heir after his father died of the Cannibal disease. And his uncle, Hugo Stane.

Cregan stopped a few feet in front of them. Varymyr had swept back black hair, with a widows peak. He had a broken nose and deep set grey eyes. His uncle had white hair and a large beard that battled with the wind blowing from the west. Varymyr wore a fur coat, looking like unicorn fur, pure stark white. Hugo wore a simple black jerkin.

"Greetings Lord Magnar." Said Varymyr, his voice barely picking up above the sound of the wind. "My Lord Grandfather apologises for not being here, but his legs aren't as good as they used to be."

Cregan nodded.

"I bring your traitorous vassal. If your Lord Grandfather wishes to enforce justice himself he may do so, or we can arrange something." Said Cregan, as Jon Driftwood was dragged forth unto the beach, his mouth and hands bound. Varymyr's eyes narrowed at the prisoner, pure malice roaring behind those grey orbs.

"We will bring him before my Lord Grandfather. Here." Said Varymyr. He walked forward and presented Cregan with a burlap bag. Reaching in, Cregan drew a piece of hard black rye bread covered in salt.

He took a bite, swallowing the food, before passing it to other members of his party.

Cregan and Varymyr nodded to each other, and the older man lead the way.

"So, the Great Magnar reborn approaches!" Shouted a voice as soon as the doors of Driftwood hall opened.

Cregan smiled, his arms widening.

"Alas Grandfather, I am here." Said Cregan with a smile.

"Like a gods damned mainlander. Let me get a look at you boy." Shouted the old man, as he shakingly got to his feet, leaning heavily on a cane of weirwood.

Cregan walked past the firepit towards the dais, towards his ageing grandfather. The two of them stood in front of each other for a few seconds.

Lord Torwold Stane was an old, old man. Cregan vaguely remembered he was a babe when Artor Magnar "The Great", Cregan's great grandfather, died as the last high lord of an Independent Skagos.

He had liver spots all over his skin, which was loose and almost translucent. He had dull blue eyes surrounded by deep crow's feet. His smile was filled with yellowing teeth, a few missing or blackened with rot.

"Huh. It seems my besotted git of son in law beget one decent son." Said Torwold.

"Charming as ever Grandfather." Said Cregan.

Torwold's voice lowered and he turned far more serious.

"Clear the room." He said to his grandson Varymyr. The heir to Driftwood nodded, and the few guards and courtiers left the hall, heading into distant rooms. Soon, it was just Cregan and Torwold.

"Sit down Lord Magnar. We have a lot to talk about." Said Torwold, as he sank into his high chair, gently patting the chair on his right.

Cregan nodded and sat next to his maternal grandfather.

"So... High Lord of Skagos?" Asked Torwold. Cregan steeled himself and nodded.

"It has been one hundred years. Nothing has changed since my Great Grandfather united the isles. We continue to live little better lives than the free-folk." Cregan began.

"You think yourself Artor Magnar come again? You have a young energy to you, I'll give you that."

Torwolds eyes stared into Cregan's own, and to Cregan's shock those dull blue orbs flashed green.

"Do you know why the Sword of Magnar's broke?" Asked Torwold. Cregan began to blush a little. It was rather stupid of his father never mentioning to Cregan that the sword was just decoration. But it was equally stupid of Cregan to go into battle with something he had only sparred with pig iron against.

"Because it's meant for a mantle, not for a man." Said Cregan jokingly.

Torwold shook his head.

"It is a sign. Our old institutions are dying, cracking. New steel is beating old Starmetal." Said Torwold. "That blade, Leviathan, was your father's sword. But yours... Yours will be different. I see the plans you have began to weave. I see whales... Steel. I see a young woman in a bed of blood." Torwold shakingly placed his withered right hand in Cregan's.

"I see... The cold. Inside and without...Beware the fire too, and it's servants." Said Torwold, his left hand gripped his weirwood cane in a deep death grip.

"The Others." Said Cregan, the temperature in the room seeming to drop by a few degrees as he spoke.

Torwold shook his head violently, before his eyes returning to Cregan's own, the dull blue shaking within them.

"My first winter was... Decades ago. Spent the entire time in this hall. We only left to gather firewood, or those rare few that would say they were going... going to hunt. They went in pairs, though only one would return. Return with some meat for us to eat. We all knew. We...We all knew." Said Torwold. "I do not want to ever experience that again. I want none of us to experience that again."

Torwold took several deep breaths for a few seconds, before he spoke again.

"My body... My son's and Grandson's bodies are tainted. We have done what was necessary, and in doing so made ourselves little better than beasts. Only you, you who have never...Never... Never hunted may change us. Save us." Said Torwold.

Cregan tightened his grip on his grandfather's hand.

Torwold smiled, turning to his grandson's hand, then to his face. The temperature rose again, Cregan's breath no longer freezing in his throat.

"My Grandson and Nephew understand the importance of a united Skagos. Before the Heart tree, I will proclaim you, Cregan Magnar, the High Lord of Skagos, and my liege-lord." Said Torwold.

"Thank you Torwold." Said Cregan.

"Don't let us down son. Please. I...I will not see the new world you will build, but it must be better than the one you leave behind." Said Torwold.

It was a grand ceremony, at least by Skagosii standards. In the ashen remains of the forest of the Windshear pass, between three heart trees, all of the Lords of Skagos proclaimed their loyalty to the new lord of Kingshouse.

Lord Gorne Whaleborne of Deep Caverns, the father of Torrhen Whaleborne.

Lord Armon Goodbrook of Goodbrook, Lord Theon Crowl of Deepdown, Lord Hugo Horsebreaker, Lord Terhn Thenn of Sunderbay, Lord Torwold Stane of Driftwood hall and the newly created Lord Hugo Stane of Sahn keep.

Before the heart trees, they proclaimed Cregan Lord of Skagos. By Iron and Earth, by Ice and Fire, by blood and water, they swore to serve him and his heirs to the best of their abilities, and to aid in the advancement of Skagos.

Cregan's first proclamation was naming Torrhen Whaleborne the new lord of the tiny island of Skane to the north. The isle had been raided five hundred years ago and left completely abandoned, but their were ruins that could be rebuilt. It was just a few days before that 200 wildling men and women had made the trip from Hardhome to Skagos. Since the battle of the Ashen Grove was the only battle in the war for Skagosi unification Cregan gave them a new choice. Serve as the subjects of the New lord of Skane Torrhen Whaleborne and forge new lives, or return to Hardhome. Since the sea trip had been very dangerous for them out of practicality most of them agreed to serve Torrhen, though Cregan knew he'd need to keep an eye on them. But Lord Gorne Whaleborne had proved useful on this front, handing Lord Torrhen 100 decent Whaleborne warriors to serve as his army and peacekeepers.

Cregan also stripped Lord Crowl of one of his vassals, Hugo Horsebreaker, who ruled a valley in the mountains of Skagos where many unicorns were breed, and Cregan gained a new bannerman. He named Hugo Stane Master of ships, to begin construction of longboats once the wood my subjects were now cutting down dried out. It would serve as a basis of a new fishing fleet, and after that...

Lord Torwold declined the offer of castellan, so Cregan named Lord Gorne Whaleborne instead, as he was an experienced man and the closest vassal to Kingshouse. Lord Armon Goodbrook was named treasurer and master of works, which would be important later. Cregan's sister Orlia Magnar would be named Lady Regent, her son Jorramun Magnar heir apparent, and finally, Lord Hugo would be his official diplomat. Cregan sent him off to Hardhome, to begin peace talks with the current tribal leader occupying the ruins of that city.

But the first thing would be most important. Lord Rickard Stark needed to be informed of the change's in Skagos. So, after three weeks consolidating his power, writing instructions for Orlia and gather the gifts he'd be presenting, three Longboats departed from Kingshouse bay, carrying Lord Crowl, Varymyr Stane and Lord Cregan Magnar. Their destination, Karhold. And after that

Winterfell.

Appendices: Lord Thenn

The Thenns of Skagos stretch back 400 years, where the seventh son of Magnar Jorramun Thenn set off and declared fealty to Lord Arstan Crowl of Deepdown. Since he was bringing with him riches and 700 people from the frostfangs Lord Arstan accepted, giving the Thenns a wooden keep overlooking a small bay on the north side of the isle of Skagos.

Last edited: Jan 3, 2018

"I mostly assumed it was you shitposting but on a level of irony where you had become genuine as well" -Fancy Face

"If you've read any Carcosa fic, you know not to keep your hopes too high." - The Last Bullet

"I know right! Best not to hope for anything, then be surprised by everything." - Alucardan1

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Threadmarks Family tree of Magnar's and Crowl's

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#130

The family tree of the Magnar's of Kingshouse and the Crowl's of Deepdown

Ygritte Magnar is very young before she is married off to Harrion Crowl

Last edited: Jan 3, 2018

"I mostly assumed it was you shitposting but on a level of irony where you had become genuine as well" -Fancy Face

"If you've read any Carcosa fic, you know not to keep your hopes too high." - The Last Bullet

"I know right! Best not to hope for anything, then be surprised by everything." - Alucardan1

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Lord Rickard Karstark had not enjoyed the arrival of his newest guests.

Some villagers had been sent by this party to inform him of the arrival of this party, but Rickard hadn't believed it. Skagosi riding unicorns. He'd never seen such strange mounts. More like angry goats than horses, their beady red eyes glaring at his horse as he rode towards them. There were ten unicorns in total, two of which had no riders. Five of the unicorns were clearly ridden by the guards of the men at the front of their party.

The men atop those creatures were equally strange. One wore simple leathers with a plain looking steel Greatsword tied to his unicorn. There was an older man with grey eyes wearing a bear fur coat. His weapon seemed to be a short iron dagger, not castle steel. And then the leader of the group, and the youngest of them strangely. He had short recently cut brown hair, pulled back and to his left. He wore a fine stark-black cut of shadowcat fur, with white stripes running down it. Underneath he wore a plate of recently polished bronze plate. His weapon was simply a long spear of dragonglass tied to his unicorn.

It was this young man, no older than five and ten, who spoke.

"Lord Karstark." Said the boy, bowing his head as he did so, before he hopped off his mount.

Rickard didn't have time for pleasantries. Skagosi did not head to the mainland, except for battle. Rickard's hand fell on his longsword.

"What are Skagosi doing on my lands." Rickard said bluntly. He had received no Ravens, no word. If he had to slay these raiders he would.

"My apologies Lord Rickard. Skagos doesn't have maesters or ravens. We cannot send messages. I am Lord Cregan Magnar, High lord of Skagos and Kingshouse. This..." Said the boy, pointing to the oldest of their young travelling party. "Is Varymyr Stane, heir to Driftwood. And that is Lord Theon Crowl, Lord of Deepdown."

Rickard took all the boy had just said. High lord of Skagos? That was... Worrying.

Still, the lad seemed polite enough. His hand left his blade.

"Apologies Lord Magnar. Now I must ask. What exactly are you doing on my lands?" Asked Rickard, his voice barely hid his disgust and scorn of the Skagosi before him.

Skagosi were not to be trusted. Savage cave dwelling cannibals that purposely crash ships that dare travel to close to their isle.

"We intend to head to Winterfell and swear our fealty to our liege lord. Our ships aren't so great Lord Karstark. We cannot make the trip to White Harbour. I'm afraid we had to make landfall on your shores." Said the boy.

Rickard snorted.

"Get on your way then boy. I hope you enjoy your journey." Said Rickard, turning around and making to leave. His men, twenty in total, began to follow after him.

"Lord Karstark!" Shouted the boy. Wearily Rickard turned around, shooting the boy a wry look.

"What is it boy?" Asked Karstark.

"We are weary from travelling these last few days. Could I trouble you for a nights rest?" Asked Cregan.

Rickard growled under his breath, before turning to the setting sun. Like everyone else, he had saw the White Ravens fly, and so far this year had been warmer than the last few. But the sun still seemed to set as quickly as it did last year. It would be dark in an hour at best. He turned to the party, the savages little better than wildlings. They were vassals of his Lord, he could not deny that, as much as it pained him to do so. Some part of him feared having these primitives around his newborn Son

But having these savages that almost neighboured his fief think ill of him might not be a great idea when they inevitably rebel again.

"Very well Lord Magnar. You may stay here one night. Follow me." Rickard relented.

He could not help but glower at the savages as they ate. His mutton and potatoes were being torn apart by the Skagosi, who refused any sort of eating utensils, preferring to grab and rip with their bare hands and shovel the food into their mouths.

Only Cregan Magnar, who was sat on the dais with him, refrained from such ill manners. Northerners did not usually hold people to as high standards as those prissy southerners, but their were limits.

"I apologise for my men Lord Karstark. They are used to eating in the dark after all. They don't usually have to watch." Said the young lord with a grin evident in his voice.

"Don't bother me none. But the wife..." Said Rickard. He turned to his wife, Alysanne Moss, who almost imperceptibly shrugged at the words. Rickard turned to his guests. Only his son ate as poorly as they did, and he wasn't even ready for solid food yet. Little Harrion likely had better manners.

"I understand." Said Cregan.

With a little effort Rickard tore his eyes away from the Stane heir, who was currently chewing on a sheep bone like a dog, and looked at the young lord on his right.

"How does a young man get named High lord of Skagos? You look barely any older than my son." Said Rickard, his voice filling with mirth.

Cregan returned the smile.

"Burning down a forest and sending my cousin to the wall." The young lord replied.

Rickard poked further, and eventually Cregan told him the full story. Of how he had held off one thousand two hundred men with merely seven hundred, how he had duelled with the previous Lord of Deepdown and won even after the man broke his sword.

And how he had peacefully gotten his other banner-men, the apparently very elderly Lord Stane, to agree to become his vassal. Rickard barely remembered his lessons from his youth that told him the Stanes ruled the island of Skathorn, and that the Crowls ruled from a keep named Deepdown on the same island as the Magnars.

With a bit of prodding the young lord eagerly leapt into stories of his isle. From his great grandfather "Artor Magnar the Great." Who unified the isle from sword point, or of the valleys in the mountains of Skagos, where wild and feral unicorns ran through the long wintergrass. Of the numerous natural heart trees that dotted the isle, always watching the men. Of the Caverns he had spent much of his childhood in, exploring the depths with his eldest sister.

Rickard in return told him a few stories of his youth. Cregan laughed at his tale of he and his brother having a drinking contest with some of the Royces and absolutely trumping them, only to be drank under the table by the young Greatjon.

He listened intensely to Rickard's tales of the war of the ninepenny kings, and the storming of Grey Gallows.

The talk of the past and older, better times continued on till late, long after the sun had set.

After quite a number of Last Hearth stouts, the two of them were alone in the hall, barring the servants. Rickard's wife had left quite a while ago, as luckily had Cregan's retinue.

"fucking... Fuckin hate Skagos man." Slurred Cregan drunkenly.

"Fuck... fuck? Fuck you talkin boy?" asked Rickard, his head in his right arm, staring at the ground as it span and span beneath him.

"Boy.. I'm sposed to be fuckin 22 man. I think?" Asked Cregan to himself. His mood suddenly turned sullen and regretful.

"Can I dwell? On what I can scarce remember? Who was I... New friend? Are you my father?" Asked Cregan, tears welling in his eyes.

"Shut up... You drink." Said Rickard, not moving his head up as he took a deep swig from his tankard. Cregan quickly did the same.

"Is it Carhold or Carhole? Moe says something alon...Along those lines but I can never tell." Said Cregan.

Rickard finally shot the young drunk a look.

"Go to bed Cregan. You're drunk." Said Rickard.

"Yeah man... Fucking need to make Vodka asap." Said Cregan, as he straightened out his tunic and stood up out of the seat, stumbling as he did so.

Rickard moved to do the same, but he felt a sharp pain in his head as he attempted to do so. It seemed six hours of drinking had taken his toll on him as well.

"Need a hand?" Asked Cregan as he stumbled, trying to stand still and failing miserably.

Rickard sighed.

"Sure. Not... Too quick. Don't wanna throw up." Rickard replied. Cregan nodded and stood behind Rickard, slowly, painfully slowly, pulling his seat out. The high pitch noise of wood scrapping against stone hurt both of them, but it quickly ended. The tall lad then came around to Rickard's front and without warning grabbed his arms and pulled him up. The two of them stumbled, using each other for support.

The two of them managed to stay on their feet and mostly upright, and Cregan began to walk out of the hall, dragging Rickard with him as he did so.

It wasn't until he got into the corridors of the castle that Cregan realised he had no idea where he was supposed to be going. He turned to Lord Karstark, who had his eyes firmly closed and was currently drooling on Cregan's tunic. With a sigh, Cregan set off in a random direction.

"Fair travels Lord Magnar." Said Rickard. The lord of Karhold looked completely haggered, dark rings hung under his eyes, his hair seemed fairly wild and unkempt. He was almost squinting beneath the early morning sun.

"Thank you for having us Lord Karstark." Said Cregan. If the lord of Karstark looked bad, the High lord of Skagos looked terrible. Half his face was red from sleeping on the floor, his short hair was straight, hanging over his eyes in an attempt to shield them from the sunlight. Even atop his unicorn he swayed slightly, his words sounded far deeper than his normal voice, and much more strained. "And thanks for sending that raven. Sincerely."

Cregan didn't want a repeat of the day before, and after breaking his fast asked if he could borrow Rickard's Maester to send a raven to Winterfell warning Rickard Stark of their arrival.

When breaking his fast Cregan had asked coffee. Which no one had understood. Instead, Cregan sighed, and simply drank two tankards of fresh water, refusing food or anything else to drink.

Rest assured, the young lord had fallen asleep on his unicorn after they had left the castle, telling his men to wake him only if it looked like he was going to fall off.

He did not awaken until much later in the afternoon, only to throw up in a bush along the trail they were following.

Varymyr smiled. A true lord to aspire to, a true lord to follow.

Two weeks after leaving the comfort of Karhold, staying at inn houses along the way and biting into their fairly scarce money supply, the party had finally reached Wintertown.

Cregan had been sending fast riders and Ravens when he could to the Lord of Winterfell to discuss terms. Terms that would be finalised when he reached the castle.

Cregan starred at the gates to the castle of Winterfell. Once, a lifetime ago, he read about this place. But that was seventeen years in the future and... Some time ago.

Cregan and his party fell in, Cregan at the front, followed by Lord Varymyr and Lord Crowl, then their guards. Astride their unicorns, they waited patiently. Eventually the gates to the castle opened, and slowly but surely Cregan trotted in.

As soon as he entered the courtyard he saw the Starks in front of him. Standing tall and not looking entirely amused was Lord Rickard Stark. To his right his eldest, standing at the same height as him and looking tough in his mail, wearing a furs over it, was Brandon Stark. Rickard's left was his other son. Eddard Stark. He was shorter than his eldest brother, and looked far more melancholy than his elder brother, the already well known "Wild Wolf". To Edd's side was a younger lad, even younger than Cregan, with long brown hair. He was lanky and thin, the only one of them wearing a smile.

And finally, at Brandon Stark's side, one of the loveliest girls Cregan had ever seen. She wore a blue dressed lined with white fur, likely from a minx. Whilst the dress swept down to her ankles, Cregan could tell she was wearing riding boots beneath. She was of Cregan's age, with beautiful grey eyes and dark, almost black brown hair. Her eyes fell upon Cregan, but quickly left to look at the strange stead he was riding, a small smile playing upon her lips. Cregan couldn't help it as one appeared upon his own face, but steeled himself quickly.

She was off limits to him, and he wasn't insane enough to try.

Cregan slowly rode forth, starring straight at Rickard Stark, not taking his eyes off the elder but still well built man. Rickard had both of his hands upon a massive greatsword, it's blade as dark as smoke. It seemed almost as tall as the youngest boy, if not taller, though only up to Rickard's shoulders in totality.

Eventually, when he was ten feet away from him, Cregan brought his unicorn to a stop. His mount and those of his party had were muzzled, to prevent them biting other horses or stable hands. Surely, Cregan climbed off the unicorns back. Before walking towards Rickard, Cregan went around to the rear of the mount, as the others in his party arrived in the courtyard and similarly dismounted. As two Unicorns were brought forth by Varymyr, Cregan unclipped a sack from his unicorn, carrying it forth.

For a moment Rickard Stark and Cregan Magnar stood eye to eye, never breaking contact. Cregan stood only a few inches short of the older lord, but it wasn't his height that scared Cregan. It was his eyes. Cregan had grey eyes, as grey as the skies above Skagos. But Rickard's and his children's eyes were different. They were beyond cold, despite the warmer smiles on two of them.

Cregan reached into his rucksack and grabbed something. He got on one knee, his men quickly following him, and in a single motion, pulled out an object from the sack and presented it to the Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan had seen it in Kingshouse. Almost 100 years ago his great Grandfather had worn a crown. It was two human ribs with points of Unicorn horns and dragonglass inserted into it. The Crown of the Skagosi, made especially for King Artor Magnar of Skagos. When the Starks had sundered the isle to end their rebellion the Magnar's had hidden the crown. But they could not hide it from their own. Cregan would wear no crown. He knew that at least.

"Lord Stark. For 100 years the Skagosi have been a divided and forgotten people. We have been a part of your realm in name only, only paying the barest minimum of tithes. The North fears us. This must end. I humbly present to you the Crown of Skagos, to be done with as you please." Said Cregan. He kept his head down, perhaps waiting for the bite of that greatsword. But luckily it never came.

Cregan finally risked turning his head up and stood up, his gaze once more returning to the Lord of Winterfell.

"I come here with a request my Lord. My people wish to name me the High lord of Skagos, to be your intermediary between the people of Skagos, Skane, Skathorn and Skanori. Lord Crowl of Deepdown, Lord Whaleborne of Deep Caverns, Lord Whaleborne of Skane, Lord Goodbrook of Goodbrook, Lord Stane of Driftwood, Lord Horsebreaker of the valley, Lord Stane of Sahn Keep and Lord Thenn of Sunderbay have all wish to proclaim me high Lord. Will you do me the honour?" Asked Cregan.

The Lord of Winterfell starred at him for a few seconds. Perhaps he wondered why they could not do this inside, why the Lords had named a boy of five and ten their Lord.

But after a moment's pause, Rickard removed one hand from his sword and placed it upon the crown of Cregan's great ancestor. Cregan let go, and Rickard took the crown, quickly handing it of to Brandon.

"I bring more gifts for the Starks. The wealth of Skagos." Said Cregan, somehow managing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice on that last line.

He reached into the sack and felt his hands around a dagger. He drew it, then another, then another. He wish he had brought two more, but that might seem rather presumptuous.

"These are dragonglass Daggers, sharp as valyrian steel, though not nearly as tough." Said Cregan. Almost imperceptibly Rickard nodded, and Cregan handed one dagger to Brandon, one to Eddard and one to Benjen.

He then signalled forth Varymyr.

"I hear the Stark's are excellent riders. So I present to you some of the rarest mounts in the seven kingdoms. A Male and Female unicorn." Said Cregan. He glanced over and saw Lyanna's eyes light up as Cregan grabbed the reins from Varymyr. Rickard once again subtly pointed to first Lyanna, then Brandon, and so Cregan handed over the reins of the Male unicorn to Brandon and the female to Lyanna, shooting them both a small smile as he did so.

"Finally, for the Lord of Winterfell." Said Cregan. He reach into the sack, a drew another dagger. This one was heavier than the dragonglass ones, and had a hilt of white polished whalebone, with rings of bronze around it. It's pommel stone was a small ball of polished amber, with a insect still inside. It's sheath was plain leather.

Cregan presented the dagger with both hands, and Rickard took the dagger from him. Unsheathing the blade, Rickard's eyes widened. The blade was meteoric iron, it's colours shifting from a deep red to a light purple to blue. Exceptionally pretty, but useless as a blade. The exact opposite of Cregan's needs, hence when he found the blade next to the crown he figured it would be as good a gift as any. He had kept Leviathan, hoping to make a decent sword out of it, but the dagger was useless to him.

After a few moments inspecting the blade, Rickard finally broke his stony silence.

"Welcome to Winterfell Lord Magnar."

Appendices: Meteoric Iron.

Beyond the wall, along the barren coasts of the shivering coast, where there is little else but snow, wildlings are known to search for small rocks that have fallen from the aether. Some of these rocks contain iron, and other than the bronze of the Thenns are known to be some of the only sources of metal for the tribes beyond the wall. For some reason blades made of this metal share none of the properties of the storied blade Dawn of house Dayne, suggesting some means of magic used in it's forging.

Blades made of Meteoric iron are remarkably weak, similar to blades of bronze. It is unknown why this is. The blades however have many pretty colours within it, shifting slowly across the blade. Since such blades are rare in the south Archmaester Harodon has not worked out the component metals of such blades.

277AC

Last edited: Jan 4, 2018

"I mostly assumed it was you shitposting but on a level of irony where you had become genuine as well" -Fancy Face

"If you've read any Carcosa fic, you know not to keep your hopes too high." - The Last Bullet

"I know right! Best not to hope for anything, then be surprised by everything." - Alucardan1

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Threadmarks High Lord of Skagos part 3

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Lost Carcosa

Lost Carcosa

Take off your mask

Jan 5, 2018

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#170

Rickard's solar was an interesting one, especially compared to the cave Cregan had used to do his paperwork. Hanging from the walls were hunting trophies, mostly dear and elks, thought their was a single wolf's head hanging above the fireplace.

Cregan was sat across from the Lord of Winterfell in a rather comfortable seat, with a cushion of goose feathers beneath him.

Still, the power dynamic was obvious here, Rickard's chair just so happening to be taller than Cregan's, happening to be made of a dark hard wood with armrests, with what looked like a open wolf maw on each rest. The lord sat in that chair was similarly trying to subtly appear powerful, his fingers arched in front of him as his elbows rested on the desk with the solar. Cregan wanted to lean back into his chair as if he met with people who could actually demand his execution every day, but he wasn't insane or robbed of all sense. He sat straight in the chair, one arm resting on the desk, matching Lord Rickard's stare.

In the end, Rickard broke the silence.

"Skagosi haven't visited Winterfell in two hundred years." Said Rickard, pointing to some very old book sitting upon the desk.

"A lord of Winterfell only visits Skagos to burn the isle. These are strange times." Cregan replied.

"Let me tell you what I have heard from my isle of Skagos in the last few weeks" Said Rickard. Cregan heard the use of "his isle" but decided against commentating upon it for now. "A lord in service to me is sent to the wall. Longboats are seen sailing the shivering sea. Unicorns are spotted in my Vassal's lands, without invitation or warning. Cregan Magnar is introducing himself as the High Lord of Skagos, a title that has not existed for well over one hundred years."

"Cregan Magnar can drink for six hours, but hasn't the practise to survive a real hangover." Said Rickard. Cregan smiled at that. He'd certainly get practise on that front, that's for sure.

"In my defence, I slept on the floor of Karhold. Rickard was far too drunk to actually tell me where I was supposed to sleep." Cregan added jokingly.

"So. Elaborate. What is happening on the Isles of Skagos." Said Rickard, leaning forward slightly.

Cregan sighed.

He leapt into a familiar tale, of his father's death and Brandon Crowl's hatred. Of the battle of the Ashen Grove. Of subjugating the Crowl's. Of peacefully vassalising the Stane's.

"So. You are de-facto the lord of Skagos. I understand that. But why? You are no older than five and ten. That's a lot of ambition for a man who's been Lord for less than three months." Said Rickard.

"I... Skagos needs to change. For as long as their has been men on our isles we have been seen, mayhaps correctly, as little more than cannibalistic cave dwelling savages. What Magnar or Stane or Crowl has done anything of true worth in a thousand years? My great grandfather is called "The great" by my people, but all he did was get our fleet destroyed and ruin the unity of the Skagosi. I can't even name another famous Skagosi." Cregan explained.

"So that's it? Fame and glory?" Asked Rickard, a tad condescendingly.

Cregan shook his head.

"No, it's more than that. I have... A dream." Said Cregan.

Before Rickard could interject Cregan continued.

"We are the most northerly point of the Seven Kingdoms. To our north is the bounty of the Shivering Sea. Only one other civilisation has truly tapped into the wealth of that great ocean. Oh sure, the odd fishing boat may sail close to the shore, but that isn't what I am talking about. Imagine whaling boats, hunting the largest animals in world except for dragons. Bringing forth Ivory, Ambergris, Bones, oil. And perhaps most importantly, Whale meat. Imagine, a place that can feed the North even in the deepest darkest Winter, when men fear to step beyond the dying warmth of their fires. Imagine a fleet to rival Brandon the Shipwrights." Cregan spoke passionately, of the bounty of the sea. Of his dream.

"Such an endeavour would be beyond expensive." Said Rickard bluntly.

"Indeed. I have quite a number of ideas to gather the funds. I have men even now heading to Ibb to report on the current situation of that distant land. I have plans and dreams, but they will take time." Said Cregan. "The Iron bank wouldn't lend a lord of part of an isle of cannibals a loan. But it's high lord? With the support of his liege lord? That may be a different tale."

"You would in-debt yourself to the Bravosi for a dream?" Asked Rickard.

Cregan shook his head.

"I have over one thousand years of ancestral knowledge of the waters of the Shivering Sea. I have the know how to construct a small fleet simply on my own. And I think we both know that the current political situation of the Seven Kingdoms may not stay stable for much longer." Cregan replied.

Rickard's expression grew cold at those last words.

"What do you know." He asked, his tone brokering no avoidance of the command.

"That every Lord Paramount in the Seven Kingdoms is making marriage alliances outside their Kingdoms. That the king is not the same man he was before the defiance of Duskendale." Said Cregan bluntly, his face turning almost as steely and cold as Lord Stark.

"What you are saying is treason." Rickard pointed out.

"The same treason all men speak. If you were to execute me for such comments you best get many chopping blocks ready." Cregan bluntly. "I am not treasonous in the least. But my allegiance is to the Lord of Winterfell. Not whoever sits the throne."

"Indeed." Said Rickard, leaning back slightly in his chair.

"May we talk theoretically Lord Stark?" Asked Cregan.

Rickard seemed surprised at those words, probably because no one would imagine a Skagosi using the word "Theoretically." but he nodded.

"Let's say in the next few years the Seven Kingdoms is plunged into war, and let's say it would be quite easy to guess where people's allegiances may lie in such a theoretical war. With your help, with a small loan and your support I could get a fleet ready to raid these... Particular lords." Said Cregan.

"I could turn to Manderly for a theoretical fleet. Why should it be you?" Asked Rickard.

"Manderly is a loyal vassal to the Starks with a blood debt that is well known and can never be repaid. Manderly is a lord that has decades of inbuilt enemies and friends across the Seven Kingdoms. Manderly does not control all the land he wishes too. I have every vassal and piece of land I could want. I am a brand new lord with no preconceived reputation except that my people are some of the least loyal vassals in the Seven Kingdoms that haven't had a song made about them." Cregan replied. "You build up a Manderly fleet, everyone in the Seven Kingdoms will know that you believe that a war is coming. A war the North is going to need to ship troops to distant locales."

"And if you were to build such a fleet?" Asked Rickard.

"Then I am a young overly ambitious lord "planning treason" against the Starks. I am a complete nobody at the arse end of Westeros." Cregan replied.

"And if such fears were more than warranted?" Asked Rickard. Cregan sighed.

"Then perhaps a hostage might keep us bitter? Bitter but powerless?" Asked Cregan. He hated this thought, but it was logical. Despite the show of handing over a crown and a weapon, as the King in the North had 300 years ago, less symbolic evidence may be required.

"What have you in mind?" Asked Rickard.

"I have a younger sister of nine years. My heir is too young to be kept in Winterfell and his mother is my regent. But my Sister is third in line for the Lordship of the island of Skagos. An effective bargaining chip for any lord." Said Cregan.

"And what do you get from such an arrangement?" Asked Rickard.

"A member of my family who isn't brought up on an isle as harsh as Skagos." Cregan replied bluntly. "Since neither of us have suitable marriage proposals, such an arrangement is all we could have."

"I have a younger daughter..." Asked Rickard, prodding at Cregan. He didn't fall for the bait.

"Who I'm rather sure has a far greater betrothal. I am not stupid my Lord." Said Cregan with a smile.

Rickard smiled back.

"Indeed. It shall take time to consider such an enormous proposal Lord Magnar. Rest assured I shall name you High Lord of Skagos. It seems at least that your loyalty is in part genuine. As for your offer? That may take time." Said Lord Stark.

"That is all I could ask my Lord. Thank you." Said Cregan. The two of them shook hands over the table, sealing the deal.

"When do you intend to return to the isle?" Asked Rickard.

Cregan raised an eyebrow.

"Once our dealings have been concluded in truth." Cregan replied. Rickard shook his head.

"No doubt ravens do not fly towards your home. There is to be a great tourney at Harrenhal. Almost every lord in the land will be attending." Rickard explained. "If your are truly as ambitious as you claim, you would be best prepared to use such an fantastic opportunity. We leave in a month."

"That is... Very kind of you Lord Rickard. I would be honoured." Cregan said, smiling very widely inside. It had been his attention to go regardless of such an invitation, as it truly was too good of an opportunity to pass up, but an actual invite from the Lord of Winterfell would go a long way.

"Very well. Enjoy Winterfell Lord Magnar. We will speak again." Rickard said, as he grabbed a book and began to read it intently.

Cregan nodded, standing up out of the seat and bowing and making his way to the door, knowing a dismissal when he received one. He managed to get the door open and step through the doorway before Rickard spoke again.

"Thank you for the gifts by the way Lord Magnar. I'm sure my children very much appreciate them." Rickard said. Cregan turned around to the stony lord of Winterfell and nodded, smiling as he did so.

"My pleasure Lord Stark."

It had been three days before Magnar discovered the location of one of the hot springs located in Wintertown, and such luxuries were not one he was going to pass up. Naked as the day he was born he slipped into the near boiling hot water. With a comfortable sigh he sank slowly but surely into the warm water. Since it was midday and most everyone else had duties and jobs to do Cregan was alone in the pool.

God, I could stay like this forever.

He leant his head back against the hard stone edge of the spring, closing his eyes contently. He hadn't had actual warm bath in near on three months, simply washing in a cold basin or river. It was a shame there wasn't much soap in the world, but he had manage to grab some Lye soap from Winterfell and began to wash.

He had just started on his hair when another person entered the covered spring.

"Lord Stark?" Asked Cregan.

"Lord Magnar." Brandon Stark said with a nod, as he began to remove his clothes. Cregan looked away as Brandon removed his small clothes, only returning when Brandon stepped into the spring, the water continuing to bubble away.

"Scared Lord Magnar?" Asked Brandon, a wicked smile on his lips.

Cregan laughed.

"Believe me, they breed them big in Skagos." Cregan replied.

Brandon Stark laughed. Before the conversation could turn anymore homoerotic Cregan changed it.

"How are you finding the unicorn?" Asked Cregan.

Brandon mulled over the question for a few seconds.

"A strange mount I must admit. At some points it's seems as docile as a Rill pony, at others it is as feral as a shadowcat. It will take me some time to get used to it, but I appreciate the gift." Brandon replied.

"My sister is the better rider of us too. A real natural, even with your half feral unicorn."

Cregan raised an eyebrow.

"Glad to hear." Said Cregan.

Brandon's eyes narrowed slightly.

"How did you know she was a rider?" Asked Brandon.

Cregan raised an eyebrow.

"Its pretty well known in the North..." Cregan replied simply.

"Sure. Skagos though, when do you people get any sort of rumours?" Asked Brandon.

"We are a part of the North." Cregan replied.

"In name only Magnar." Said Brandon.

"Something I intend to change." Said Cregan to the older man.

"And why is that?" Asked Brandon.

For a moment several images flashed before his eyes. A man choking as he reached for a sword, another being burnt alive. He saw a bed of blood, and a man being decapitated. Dying shivering in the cold, a figure of ice standing before him.

"Because I don't want to face the same harsh choice my forefathers have faced every winter since man has lived on Skagos. Because I want none of us to face that fate." Cregan explained.

Brandon's expression changed, showing the slightest amount of fear. An odd look for a man usually so sure of himself.

"Is it true? Do Skagosi... eat people?" Asked Brandon.

Cregan sighed.

"Winters on Skagos are probably the harshest south of the wall, mayhaps even south of the land of always winter. The harsh easterly and northerly winds batter our shores. With limited space, there is little room to grow crop. Animals hibernate where they can, but many simply die. Some winters the idea of even stepping outside our caverns is beyond foolish. We live in die in caves. Babies are born and never named, left outside in the snow so as not to deplete what little food with have." Cregan explained, his expression growing darker and darker as he remembered the tales Rodrik Magnar told him of 'True winter'.

"Bats and mushrooms cannot sustain us for long. Eventually they run out, and all we have... Is each other. So, a pair of men step out into the cold. And one man returns. We eat, and do not ask questions. A few men are driven mad." Technically Cregan knew that was likely because of the Cannibal prion disease, but it was also likely the trauma of eating a sapient being. "The man breaks. He shuts down, his body rejected his sin. And the cycle continues. In summertime and during weak winters we burn the dead. We have not the luxury in high winter."

Brandon looked pale, despite the near boiling water they were sat in.

"Have you... Ever..." He began to ask.

Cregan shook his head.

"This is my second Winter. I was a babe during the last one, and that was a fairly weak one at that. I have been lucky. But every winter brings the chance... A chance it is my duty to remove." Said Cregan resolutely.

Brandon looked at the Lord of Skagos with new eyes. There was something so unflinchingly honest about his words. And terrible about their content.

As nice as hot baths and lying in was for Cregan, such things lead quickly to boredom. It was for this reason he went for a ride into the Wolfswood.

His still unnamed unicorn he was simply calling "his" was trudging through the thick undergrowth of ferns, frost clinging to them creating a blanket of green and white throughout the forest, the trees leaning overhead. 'his' was sniffing constantly, something on it's mind, but Cregan could not tell what.

His unicorn looked behind him, starring at something Cregan couldn't see. The young man turned around, to see a white moving shape coming through the forest.

Cregan pulled on his mount's reins rather unnecessarily, waiting for the shape to come closer. He could make it out far better now. A unicorn and it's rider, moving through the trees.

Either Brandon, Varymyr, Theon, his men or Lyanna. Slowly he could make out the rider. Given the long brown hair and small face lacking facial hair Cregan had a pretty good idea of who was riding the unicorn.

He waited until she got closer before saying;

"Lady Stark." He said, wearing his best smile.

"Lord Magnar." She said, not bothering to bow her head or anything like that. "It is rare to find you up so early."

Cregan laughed.

"Some mornings one cannot stand lying in bed, starring at the ceiling." Cregan replied.

"Then the baths?" Asked Lyanna, smiling as she spoke.

"I fear pruning. Too long and I'd look like that Frey Lord." Said Cregan as he stroked his own cheek.

Lyanna snorted.

"Give it sixty years Lord Magnar." Said Lyanna.

"Cregan." Said Cregan, before immediately cursing himself.

"Lyanna." The young Stark girl replied. Lyanna rode on ahead slightly, and after cursing under his breath Cregan shortly thereafter followed her.

"How are you finding Winterfell?" Asked Lyanna politely as the two of them rode side by side.

"Comfortable. I wish we had a hot spring at Kingshouse." Cregan replied, looking as a Sparrow flew through the trees.

"You would never get anything done Cregan." Lyanna pointed out.

"True. Perhaps snow is the best incentive I could have to work with. After all, it brought me here. Where I get warm water." Said Cregan.

Cregan watched as a small ferret climbed up a tree, and smiled. Life was a lot calmer here than the harsh isle of Skagos. But Skagos was home, whether he liked it or not.

"You know Cregan... You're not exactly what I expect from a Skagosi." Lyanna said after a moments pause.

"Oh?" Asked Cregan, turning to the young woman.

"I thought Skagosi were supposed to be tough and blunt, incapable of multiple syllable words. Your Lord Crowl has made that quite evident." Said Lyanna.

Cregan thought back to dinner last night, where Theon attempted to seduce a serving woman. To Cregan's total lack of surprise, grunting whist moving his hips hadn't worked. To be fair to the boy boy (who was in actuality two years older than Cregan, even if he did not look it.) He was rather drunk at the time. After the cold slap he had received Theon had been drunkenly starring into a bonfire, as he seemed to do most nights.

"Try me whilst I am drunk I am as Skagosi as they come." Said Cregan. Lyanna laughed.

"You drunk mostly rant about travel times and 'jet-packs' for some man called littlefinger, or... What was it? Teleporting dwarves?" Lyanna asked.

Cregan groaned as he ran a hand down his face. His tolerance was getting better, though the stupid content of his drunken conversations had not.

"All right. Perhaps hungover I am a proper Skagosi." Said Cregan. "Varymyr seems to certainly think so."

Lyanna laughed, and they rode in comfortable silence for a few moments.

"I hear you will be escorting us to Harrenhal." Lyanna said.

"Aye, along with half the North it seems." Cregan pointed out.

"Should be a good opportunity to court someone. I'm sure some young woman wants what even we 'northern savages' would call a northern savage." Said Lyanna.

"Great. I can make a fool of myself in the tourney and the dance floor." Said Cregan.

"Dance floor?" Asked Lyanna.

Cregan shook his head.

"Have you ever danced before Lord Cregan?" Asked Lyanna.

Cregan thought back to a monopoly pub crawl he couldn't really remember even before he became Cregan.

"Not exactly." Said Cregan, stopping just short of shuddering at the memory.

"You can become a high lord off your own back at the age of five and ten but you cannot dance?" Asked Lyanna jokingly.

"I could live to be one hundred and ten and I probably still could not learn to dance. Only after a litre of Vodka..." Cregan replied, smiling at the memory.

"Vodka?" Asked Lyanna, confused at the strange word.

Cregan shook his head as his unicorn snorted.

"A drink that I still haven't invented yet." Said Cregan.

"Of course, Cregan the great brewer. Such a ring to the name." Lyanna said sarcastically.

"One day Lyanna." Said Cregan, the name sounding strange on his tongue. "And what about you? Are you some great dancer? Or are you as four legged as your unicorn?"

"I'll have you know I've had years of courtly lessons which I have imbued with as much enthusiasm as I could possibly muster." Lyanna replied, attempting to sound snooty.

"So none at all I assume?" Cregan added bluntly.

Lyanna laughed.

"You will have to see Lord Cregan. I'll dance when you do." The young girl said with a smile.

Sirens blared in Cregan's head. He was stepping into the kind of teritory that got him a one way trip to the wall or his head lying in the dirt separate from the rest of his body.

"We should make our way back. Your father will wish to know you are safe." Cregan said, trying to make his voice as cold as possible.

He pulled on his unicorn's reins, turning the mount around, back towards Winterfell. He heard Lyanna sigh, but she shortly thereafter followed suit.

It was only a few days later that Cregan found himself once more in Rickard's solar. Two weeks after his arrival in Winterfell, and this was the second time the two of them spoke to each other outside of dinner.

In a move that reminded him of Tywin Lannister Rickard was writing a letter when Cregan arrived in his solar after his 'invitation'. Rickard gestured to the seat whilst continuing to write. Fighting the stupid urge to stand until properly offered the seat Cregan sat down and leant back slightly in his chair.

Rickard eventually finished writing the letter by the time Cregan counted 140 stones making up the wall of the solar.

"My children seem to have nothing bad to say about you." Said Rickard, the sound of his deep commanding voice a stark change from the light scratching of quill on paper.

"I am glad to hear that." Cregan replied.

"Brandon says you are quite the fighter." Said Rickard. Cregan smiled. The two had been sparring for the past week. Whilst Brandon was no doubt the better fighter, ferocious, fast and strong, Cregan could usually keep up with the older man. Eddard was slower, more methodical with his fighting style, and Cregan actually had more difficult sparring against him, as Cregan was used to the feral fighting style of the Skagosi as opposed to the more refined southern influence in Eddard's. Something Cregan knew with certainty he'd have to correct.

"A high compliment from him. Your boy is a fierce one." Said Cregan.

Rickard raised a single eyebrow.

"You sure you did not foster in the Vale? You speak like a southerner half the time." Said Rickard.

Cregan laughed.

"I put it on Stark. I have no idea how to talk to lords with anything but unflinching and dull politeness." Said Cregan, grinning as he spoke.

"Something you should stick with. Even my most... Northern of Lords will not appreciate a Skagosi talking to them without due deference." Said Rickard.

Cregan gritted his teeth but nodded, a sad fact that despite being a high lord many would see themselves as better then him.

"But we are not here to discuss your tongue. Or at least, not in day to day conversation." Said Rickard. He stood up and began to pace behind his desk. Cregan leaned back and attempted to look casual.

"You are right. The fact that the North lacks any decent force on the waves is a severe oversight. It is not one the Starks have been blind too, but it is difficult to build a fleet so many miles in land." Said Rickard.

"However... Giving you leave would very much anger Lord Manderly, one of my most powerful vassals." Said Rickard. Cregan waited a few moments before speaking.

"I doubt he wishes to take on the enormous cost of building a navy. And my intentions are not for simply for war, or even for trade." Cregan pointed out. Rickard nodded.

"Yes. Your whaling idea. An intriguing one I must admit. Do you know a lot of the Ibbenese and their ways? You seemed familiar with them..." Asked Rickard.

Cregan had not been wasting his time at Winterfell. The castle had one of the best libraries in Westeros, and with that came a lot of very usual knowledge. The book 'The Frozen country' had been most illuminating, especially since it included quite a lot of translations of key Ibbenossen words.

"Yes. I know a fair amount. My people actually do a fair amount of trade with them if they chance the waters around Skagos." Cregan replied.

Rickard nodded.

"Good. If you are to gain the expertise required to get your endeavour underway, you must head to Ibb." Rickard said bluntly.

Cregan looked shocked.

"A trip I would be interested in funding. As soon as the Harrenhall tourney is over you and a few of my lords are to travel to Ibben and learn what you can, gather what resources you can. I fully believe in your endeavour. If not for Skagos, then somewhere else on the coast." Said Rickard.

"My lord... I am thankful. But the Unification of Skagos is recent... I need to be there and solidify..." Cregan began.

"You will have the full support of Winterfell whilst you are gone young Magnar, rest assured, for now the interests of Skagos are very much the interests of the North." Rickard explained.

"However. Your success in Ibb will dictate just how many resources I put into Skagos. Should you completely fail, and you can see your high lordship taken away just as easily as I bestowed it."

Cregan blanched at the threat. The last two months had been simple compared to the mission Rickard was bestowing upon him.

"I will not fail you Lord Stark." Cregan said resolutely, though he did not feel as secure in those words as he sounded. Still, Rickard nodded.

"I should hope not. This is your dream Lord Magnar." Said Rickard.

"I will be sending with you a few lords. I shall tell you who when they accept. Rest assured, any treason will be noticed." Said Rickard.

"Rest assured, any treason is far from my mind." Cregan replied. Rickard cracked a small smile.

"We shall see Lord Cregan."

Appendices: Stane Family tree:

Last edited: Jan 5, 2018

"I mostly assumed it was you shitposting but on a level of irony where you had become genuine as well" -Fancy Face

"If you've read any Carcosa fic, you know not to keep your hopes too high." - The Last Bullet

"I know right! Best not to hope for anything, then be surprised by everything." - Alucardan1

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Lost Carcosa

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Threadmarks A night at Winterfell

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Lost Carcosa

Take off your mask

Jan 8, 2018

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#212

Theon Crowl watched the embers and cinders of the nightfire. Now he was away from Deepdown he was the only member of his flock, but loneliness was no reason to stray from the Lord's light.

He hoped his brother maintained their ordained vigil. Even if he was a prisoner in Kingshouse, he should be able to light a fire each night and pray to the lord of light.

It had been father who had taught Theon the great truth. The old gods were simply trees, not gods. The fire priestess that came to Skagos all those years ago was capable of real miracles. She had cleansed Orston of his affliction, of his... wrongness. If it wasn't for that damned Magnar he would be married by now. But the new "lord of Skagos" wasn't stupid it seemed. For now, Theon would nod with every word he said. He would follow his orders and appear bent and broken. But Theon would never forget.

Whilst the people of Skagos could never know that Theon worshipped the lord of light, surely it was better than having this mainlander in stone-born clothing. Oh, Cregan pretended to be Rodrik's son. But father and everyone else had known that Rodrik was barely a man. It had taken him almost a decade with his Stane wife to father even a daughter. Even just listening to Cregan talk you could tell he was no Skagosi. He spoke like a damned southerner. All flowery and weak. He said what others wished to hear, not the truth.

Father had thought the sacrifice of the Heart trees of what was now called "The Ashen Grove" would be enough to guarantee victory. But father had failed to set the trees alight. And the heathen 'gods' of the trees, the servants of the Other, had denied father the victory he deserved. It would be up to Theon to ensure the survival of the Skagosi. Yes...

Cregan would turn them into just another bunch of northerners. He would have them bow to the Winter Kings as if they were better than them. Theon had heard his words when Cregan was in his cups..

The boy hated Skagos. He hated the rock. He hated the hardship. He hated the old ways. The same man who would name him a heathen for worshipping the one true god was a traitor. The boy would no doubt bring home a mainlander wife, or even god forbid a southerner. He would father half mainland children who he would coddle. He would change Skagos for his comfort, rather than change himself to survive Skagos. Skagos was a rock, unchanging despite the harsh winds and tides that battered it. Cregan thought himself a stone mason, chiselling something 'great' from the untapped potential of the isle.

Winter would surely come for the young Magnar. The lord of light would cast aside this servant of the Other and Theon would take his rightful place as Lord of Skagos.

Watching the flames, slowly but surely he saw shapes appear. A tall man offering a short man a crown. A storm of ice and mist. Someone unsheathing a blade as half a hundred horsemen scream for blood ride towards him.

Was it him? Was he being crowned? Theon was not especially short, standing at 5ft 9, the man in the flames seemed almost like a dwarf. The storm looked to be at sea perhaps. And the horses were not unicorns. Brandon had always been better at looking into the flames and divining meaning. It had been the flames that told him to hate Rodrik Magnar. It had been the flames that told him to attack Kingshouse after Rodrik's death. It had been the flames that demanded the forest be burnt.

But these actions had gotten father nowhere. Clearly, it was for Theon to pick up his father's sword and finish the fight. To plunge his greatsword into the pretender's heart and draw Lightbringer.

Theon watched as Cregan walked out of Winterfell's hall, laughing with his arm around Brandon's shoulders as the two walked off, talking about the upcoming feast for the lords of the North, before they made their way to some castle in the south.

Theon narrowed his eyes. Soon the pretender would be dead. Soon there would be a king of Skagos. A real king.

A king needed a crown though. Theon looked towards Winterfell's keep.

The great hall was absolutely packed tonight. The servants were having quite a bit of trouble keeping up with the demands. Drinks were flowing like water, as seemingly every lord in the north tried to out drink each other. So far the Umbers were keeping with their dreaded reputation, but a few other teams were doing their best to keep up. The Manderly heir Wyman had teamed up with Lord Ryswell and Lord Slate.

A more interesting team had formed of Lord Thorren Forester, Lord Rickard Karstark, shouting on their team mate Cregan Magnar as he downed a flagon of mead faster than Lord Jeor Mormont.

"Drink is for the young Mormont!" Shouted the boy, wiping his mouth as he spoke.

Jeor rolled his eyes, then tapped his own team mate on the shoulder. As Jeor stood up, Lord Glover sat down opposite the Skagosi lord.

It was the night before most of the lords in the north would make the long journey to Harrenhal. Rickard would not join in with the drinking games, content to watch his eldest best most of the younger heirs and lords in the North. Eddard was sat beside him, content to calmly drink his flagon of mead.

Have I failed the boy? Perhaps there is too little of the North in him? Sending away Ned so young has made him almost unrecognisable.

But they all are. It seems like just yesterday the three of them would play in forest, pretending to be the Last hero and his companions. When was the last time Brandon and Eddard talked to each other on decent terms? Ned acts like a beaten horse, he can barely look Brandon in the eyes anymore.

Does it matter? He will rule a holdfast when the time comes, and serve his brother loyally. A dutiful son serving the reckless one. A tale as old as Westeros.

Rickard stood up and slammed his tankard down on the table, the noise echoing through the hall. Even above the noise of the hundred lords drinking and shouting the noise could be heard.

The assembled lords in the hall turned to their liege, finally stopping drinking and talking.

"My Lords! The hour of the wolf will soon be upon us! It will be a long long ride to Harrenhal, and perhaps the lords of the north need to stop drinking?" Rickard shouted, looking around the hall at his vassals.

The crowd shouted their joking displeasure.

"Of course not!" Shouted Rickard. Despite this, he knew he needed to leave. He would need rest, and there was a private conversation he would be having... "If any of you fall off your horses tomorrow you only have yourselves to blame!"

The crowd laughed and held their mugs and flagons to the air, before ceremoniously downing their contents.

Rickard placed his hand on Eddard's shoulder, then shared a look with Wyman Manderly. The lord nodded, and made his excuses to leave.

Rickard made his way out of the hall to his right walking through one of the side corridors of the castle. The stone wall felt warm to the touch as he climbed the stairs towards his solar. He entered the room and looked around. Nothing was out of place by the looks of it, but spies were trained not to disturb documents on a lord's desk.

He made his way around the desk and almost fell into the chair. The days activities had taken their toll on him, and he truly dreaded the long ride ahead of him.

It took only a minute for Wyman Manderly to enter the solar. With simply a nod he sat in the chair opposite, crossing his arms over his chest. The Manderly heir was a fit man, a rather famous rider. He was also one of Rickard's most important men. His father had left most of the ruling of White Harbour to him, and it was Wyman Rickard talked to whenever he needed White Harbour.

"How much do you know?" Asked Rickard, not bothering with pleasantries. Wyman was a smart man. He likely had spies across the North, and he would know about the new Lord of Skagos.

"The boy has been discussing a new Skagos fleet. That's mostly it." Wyman replied simply.

"What do you know of him?" Asked Rickard.

"Lord Magnar? Young. Seems like a smart one. Talks like a southerner." Said Wyman.

"That's not all you know. That's just common castle talk. I expected better of you Manderly." Said Rickard, raising his brow.

Wyman laughed.

"Of course. What do you know Lord Stark?" Asked Wyman. "Do you know that most of his men think that his father's death seems to have utterly changed his personality? That his vassal Lord Crowl intends treachery at some point? That he is talking to your daughter?"

Rickard gripped his chair.

"I know that Wyman. The boy isn't stupid though, he will not pursue that less he wishes his hands and head to adorn the walls of Winterfell." Said Rickard.

"Fine. More esoteric knowledge then. Rumours from Skagos is that the boy is in contact with the Company of the Rose, using the heir to some fief named Deep Caverns as a mediator. He is talking to Varymyr "Five skins" of Hardhome and has already taken in two hundred wildling immigrants. That he intends to marry off the aunt of his vassal Lord Crowl to a Goodbrook and use that to seize Deepdown." Wyman explained, leaning back in the chair.

Now this was interesting. The Company of the Rose was a mercenary group started by lords of the North that had refused to bend the knee to the Targaryen's 300 years ago. Whether any of those in the company had any actual northern blood now was a good question, but not important. Rickard knew Cregan knew war was coming soon, and Cregan didn't have the levies to truly help if the war was this year or next. But the boy also lacked the coin to pay for the Company. So what was he offering...

The Wildlings Rickard knew about. The watch was always a friend of Winterfell, and informed him that several small boats had sailed past Eastwatch, only to settle on a isle in the north of Skagos. Cregan was making an enemy of the wall, but for now there was nothing they could do about it. The fact that Cregan planned to seize Deepdown suggested he knew that at least in some way Lord Crowl was planning treason, but how and when would be the more important question.

"The lad is already constructing a fleet of small boats, and had started long before he left to travel here. So far captains say they are content to stick to fishing and lobster catching near the shore, but I'll be keeping my eyes on them." Said Wyman. "Oh, and his sister is pregnant again."

"Thank you Wyman." Rickard said, nodding to his heir.

"I've heard other things Lord Stark. Things I would ask you about." Wyman said accusingly.

Rickard sighed. He could guess where this was going.

"What is it Manderly?" Asked Rickard.

"They say you intend to build a Skagos fleet of Whalers. That the boy is to leave for Ibben once this tourney is over." Said Wyman.

"That is true. A few lords will be following Lord Magnar, and I will be watching Skagos very closely." Rickard explained.

"Could I perhaps ask why you have not come to me with this! Cregan is a damned Skag! The great-Grandson of a traitor and a cannibal!" Wyman shouted. Rickard lifted his hand, and Wyman lowered his voice.

"We have been nothing but loyal vassals of the Starks for a thousand years. We are your servants until the end of days. Why would you turn to a young unproven man for..."

"Two reasons Lord Manderly. One. Aerys." Rickard explained.

Wyman stayed quiet, so Rickard continued.

"Aerys' new spymaster is far far too good at his job. He knows about the web of alliances we are forming. He knows that the realm, from Dorne to the Wall, sees the King as a madman. He is sniffing for even a scent of treason." Said Rickard. "And should that damned eunuch smell it, you can be assured we will suffer the same fate as those that cross Aerys always receive."

Rickard watched Wyman shudder. As the de-facto lord of the biggest port in the north, Manderly received quite a bit of gossip. Including the king's new favourite method of execution.

"You building a fleet, of any kind, will be seen as me plotting treason." Rickard explained. Wyman sighed.

"And the other?" He asked.

Rickard looked to one of the Stag's heads, it's eyes seemingly starring at him.

"For all his faults the boy is motivated. It was his idea, and the boy seems to know what he is doing. And if he fails, happens to die in Ibben or drowns at sea, I lose nothing. I can afford to lose a Skagosi. I cannot afford to lose a Manderly." Said Rickard, allowing a small smile to play upon his face. Wyman grinned.

This wasn't entirely the truth. As Manderly said, loyalty to the Stark's was in their blood. Should Wyman die then Wylis would serve as a fine replacement. But a Skagosi that actually wanted to bring his islands closer to the North was a far rarer thing. If he lost the young Magnar it would destroy that chance. His heir was a babe of less than a year. The other lords of the isle were either too old or too hostile to do what Magnar planned.

But flattering his most powerful vassal would not hurt him.

"For now I trust the boy. He has given me the crown of Skagos in good faith, he has made friends with my son and I doubt he actually plans to do anything untoward towards Lyanna. So, for now Wyman, I ask you to trust me on this." Rickard finished.

Wyman nodded.

"By your command my Lord." Wyman said, placing his hand above his heart.

"Sorry about the mess." Mumbled Cregan. Brandon opened the door to his friend's room.

The bed was a crumpled mess, the sheets tangled in side of themselves. The desk was littered with small pieces of paper, and the fire had the remains of several pieces of burnt and charred paper. A tome called 'The Frozen country' sat on his bed. Brandon dropped off the young lord onto his bed and made his way over to the desk.

He looked at one of the pieces of paper. On it was half a hundred words, starting with the word "Aaron" and ending with a "Harry" at the bottom right of the page.

"What's this?" Asked Brandon, holding the paper aloft and showing it to Cregan. Cregan sat up in the bed and squinted at the page, trying to read it. His eyes widened and he nodded, turning back to trying to get comfortable on the bed.

"Names." Cregan replied simply.

"Yeah, obviously." Brandon replied snarkily.

He could hear Cregan roll his eyes. Which wasn't hard, since Cregan actually mumbled "god dammit" under his voice.

"I'm... I'm trying to remember a name I've forgotten."

The boy sounded melancholy. Brandon wasn't sure if it was the drink talking or simply Cregan's own mood.

"Who's?" Asked Brandon. Cregan didn't answer. "Did you find it out?"

"No. It's gone. It's all gone." Said Cregan. The boy got up in his bed again.

"I dreamt I was someone else, but maybe that was all it was. A dream. A memory of a memory, long gone and false." Said Cregan.

"Go to sleep Cregan. Big day tomorrow." Said Brandon wryly, smiling at the drunken stupidity of Cregan. One day drink was going to be the death of him. Cregan nodded and mumbled a good night, covering himself in the blanket. By virtue of being stupidly early Cregan had secured a fairly decent room in the keep, whilst many lords were sleeping in inns in Wintertown. Not that they likely minded, since it meant that they had rooms for their families.

"Good night Lord Stark." Said Cregan as he dozed off to bed. Brandon smiled and left the room, slowly closing the door behind him. The braziers and torches were still lit, even at this late hour, lighting the corridors of the Keep of Winterfell.

It took only a few minutes for Brandon to make his way to his room, but before he could pass the threshold of his room a small arm blocked his passage. He turned to look at the owner of the arm, someone he had somehow missed as he drunkenly walked back to his room.

"Lyanna. You're up late." Said Brandon, smiling wolfishly at her.

"Cut it Brandon." Lyanna said bluntly.

Brandon dropped his smile.

"What do you want?" Asked Brandon.

Lyanna briefly looked away from Brandon, her grey eyes following the shadows that stretched along the hallway.

"How was the feast?" She asked. Brandon smiled again. Lyanna and most of the other ladies had left once the food had been eating, sojourning to their needlework or reading or whatever it was women did when men weren't around.

"The Umbers won, as they always do. I didn't get involved too much. Didn't want to show them up. Plus, even they will regret it tomorrow." Brandon replied.

"How's Eddard?" Asked Lyanna.

"Good. He talked to Lord Bolton for a bit about something or other." Brandon replied. "He left the feast about two hours ago. He's probably asleep now."

"Benjen?" Asked Lyanna.

Why is she asking what she could have easily discovered for herself?

"He left when you did Lyanna. You know that." Said Brandon. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Lyanna accusingly. "What do you really want to ask me?"

Lyanna sighed.

"Do you know who Eddard is to marry?"

Brandon almost flinched at the question.

"I suppose he will marry a Bannerman of Father's, to make up for me and you. As far as I know father hasn't got anyone in mind yet." Brandon replied.

"Perhaps he will get to choose." Lyanna mumbled sadly.

Brandon placed his hand on Lyanna's shoulder. It was a pain they both shared. Brandon knew his soon to be wife. A young Riverlander girl who probably lived in a sept and had never been cold in her life.

Lyanna had a braggart and a Lecher to marry. Ned might speak well of Robert, telling stories of his strength and generosity. Hell, he sounded like exactly the sort of man Brandon would love to meet. But being a demure southern wife was not in Lyanna's blood. She was a wolf, not a lamb.

"Give him a chance Lyanna. I know you think otherwise, but love can change the nature of a man." Brandon consoled.

"Nothing can change the nature of a man Brandon. We are born the same as we will die. You will always be a wolf, Father was born ambitious, I was born to... To ride." Lyanna said. Brandon knew what she had wanted to say. That she was born to be free.

"You think that Skag lord was born a southerner? He was born amidst cannibals and stone. He changed himself Lyanna." Said Brandon. He smacked himself. Bringing up the young Skagosi was not the smartest idea. The two of them were clearly friends, and being Lyanna's friend was dangerous. If Rickard didn't kill him, Lyanna might do something stupid. He trusted her to make the right choice in the end, but Brandon wasn't so sure of Magnar.

"Lord Magnar probably got kicked in the head by that damned unicorn of his." Lyanna said angrily. Brandon was surprised. Lyanna rarely spoke badly of the Skagosi.

"Are you alright Lyanna?" Asked Brandon.

But Lyanna simply shook her head.

"I will see you tomorrow Brandon." She said simply. And with that, she walked away.

"I mostly assumed it was you shitposting but on a level of irony where you had become genuine as well" -Fancy Face

"If you've read any Carcosa fic, you know not to keep your hopes too high." - The Last Bullet

"I know right! Best not to hope for anything, then be surprised by everything." - Alucardan1

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Threadmarks The Harrenhal disaster: Part 1

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Lost Carcosa

Take off your mask

Jan 11, 2018

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#268

Cregan had never been so warm outside in his life. If this was what Southerners called winter he feared the summer he knew was coming.

He had forgone his usual shadowcat fur coat and was now wearing a dark clothe shirt. It was made of little better material than a potato sack, but Cregan had to be as frugal as possible until after Harrenhal.

For now, he had 20 dragons to his name, and that had been hard to scrounge up on Skagos. Most of that had come in the form of tribute he demanded from the Crowls, but also some coins left in the caverns beneath Kingshouse. Cregan had gotten Mikken in Winterfell to reforge Leviathan into a blade that might actually work as a real sword, but that had not succeeded. For now Leviathan would be an excellent tourney sword, shiny and good to look at, but as blunt and dull as a wooden spoon.

The next problem was armour. There was absolutely no way Cregan was going to be able to afford plate armour, and he didn't have enough time to get fitted for that even if he did. Brandon had been kind enough to offer Cregan some chain mail from the armoury at Winterfell until the Tourney was over, something Cregan was extremely grateful for. Still, Cregan was frankly just too poorly equipped to take part in the joust. And he lacked the years of training to do so. He had been lucky to survive and do well in the charge at the Ashen Grove, and that was Ishmael doing most of the work.

Hephaestion, his new unicorn he had finally gotten around to naming, was dealing with the heat about as well as he was. Still, the unicorn continued ever onwards towards the great ruins of Harrenhal that had just crested over the horizon.

In two days time the largest tourney in history would begin. Hundreds of houses from all over the continent were in attendance, from the Arryns to the Yronwoods. There would be a melee, divided by Kingdom, then a final where the best fought, and then there would be the legendary joust. Cregan knew who would win. Indeed, he knew Rhaegar would cheat, and would be placing all 19 of his remaining Dragons on that bet. But it would be who fought during the joust and if Rhaegar would make the stupid stupid decision he did at the end of the Tourney last time.

And then there would be the less storied but still interesting events taking place outside the joust. Feasts, dances, duels and political scheming. Since Aerys was making an appearance no one be actively plotting his death, but no doubt that the maester/Hightower led anti-Targaryen alliance would be plotting to strengthen their ties to each other.

Indeed, it was who wasn't here that revealed their plotting. The Tullys, despite the journey taking part in their lands. The Hightowers, despite their Liege lord coming. Lord Stark himself. He had said that he was going to go, but for some reason had change his mind before the past between the three towers of Moat Caillin.

Cregan would take no part in such things, at least for now. His duty was to the Starks of Winterfell, and he cared little for things beyond the North. Part of him screamed at himself to kill Rhaeger there and then and prevent the chaos of the next year, but that would just end up with him burnt alive.

The Northern delegation would not be the last to arrive. By all accounts the Daynes of Starfall were the ones travelling the furthest distance. He would be keeping his eye on them. Somehow they were mixed up in the story of the Harrenhal tourney, and it would be important to find out how.

But for now, Cregan was content to wipe his brow of his sweat.

"Come on Skag!" Shouted Greatjon Umber, barking at him to catch up with the others in the northern train.

Cregan spared a long hard look a the melted towers of the castle ahead of him. Blackened stone that looked like harsh black ice, like melted glass.

Shaking his head clear, Cregan moved Hephaestion ahead. The King's road had been busy since they made it into the Riverlands, where a few north Vale houses had joined them.

"You're really going to face him in the melee?" Asked Lord Triston Sunderland, High lord of the sisters.

The Sisters were three ill respected islands under the Vale's control. Once they had been part of the north, but the Vale had claimed them in the war across the waters one thousand years ago. The Sistermen held deep seated resentments of Northerners, but as Cregan was trying to seem as resentful to the Starks as possible it seemed a good cause to befriend them. The fact that they could easily control movement to and from White Harbour was merely a side benefit.

The two of them had a little in common in truth. Lord Triston had hoped for greater ties with his liege lord and the rest of the Vale, and Cregan wished the same, despite the fact both were a little bitter at their peoples treatment. Well, in truth Cregan figured past Skagosi deserved most of the insults they got.

Triston rode a small horse, barely more than a pony. The Sister isles were not great places to raise steeds, and they had to be imported across the water.

"I will face as many men as dare challenge me." Cregan replied faux confidently. He placed his hand on Leviathan.

"You're a fool Lord Magnar." Triston said jokingly. "But that's likely the stupid northerner in you talking."

Cregan bit his tongue, before speaking in turn.

"Best watch ourselves Lord Sunderland, we travel with Northerners." Cregan pointed out. The Sisterman nodded.

"Most of the Vale knights are travelling with Lord Jon through the high road. They will be jousting I assume. Wouldn't sully their hands in a good fight." Said Sunderland.

"Are you good with that sword?" Asked Cregan, looking towards the short sword at the Sisterman's waist. Sunderland shook his head.

"I do not fight with a sword Skag. The Shield is my weapon. Strong oak to bash a man's head in." Triston said, patting the kite shield strapped to his horse. "So many men believe the aim of battle is to stick the other man with the pointy end. So few see the wisdom in not getting stuck with one."

Cregan smiled.

"I would be one of those men I'm afraid." Said Cregan.

Triston rolled his eyes.

"You do at least wear a helmet right? So many brave men ride off into battle, their glorious hair flowing behind them. Only to come back a moron."

"During the melee? Absolutely. But Skagosi do not usually wear head protection. My Grandfather spent much of his life starring at the firepit in our hall." Cregan replied, nervously rubbing the back of his head.

"Mine decided to try and raid the Stepstones during the Ninepenny war. Old fool was too slow and took an Arrow straight to the head during the assault on Hangman's isle." Said Triston. "Should have worn a bloody helmet."

Cregan couldn't help himself and laughed, Triston soon joining in.

"So, who's your favourite to win the tourney Lord Magnar?" Asked Triston.

"I'm just a wildling savage Lord Sunderland, I wouldn't know the intricacies of the fine and noble..." Cregan replied.

Triston huffed.

"Cut the crap Magnar, Wildlings don't talk like that. Who would you bet on." Cregan sighed and laughed.

"Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy or Jaime Lannister." Cregan lied. "Arthur is the best fighter in the Kingdom, Barristan is a legendary jouster, but Lannister is a young buck, and a skilled warrior."

"So who would you place a bet on?" Asked Triston.

"Probably Barristan in truth." Cregan said, though he knew full well who he was actually going to place a bet on.

"Fair enough. I was thinking Ser Jon Connington. I hear he's an excellent fighter too. Lord Pryor said to me he is betting on Lord Baratheon, but I told him as legendary as Jon's ward is in a fight, his skill with a lance is lacking." Triston replied.

"He's probably my favourite for the melee, even if I am fighting in it." Cregan said.

"His brother is coming, though I hear he isn't taking part in either the joust or the melee."

Cregan's eyes widened.

"Wait. Stannis Baratheon is coming?" Asked Cregan, highly confused.

"Is that his name? Yes, the regent of the Stormslands is Bryen Caron until the middle Baratheon brother returns I believe, something the old man is annoyed about." Said Triston.

Stannis Baratheon never came to the Harrenhal tourney last time. It seemed strange for him to come now. Stannis was not one for such frivolities, and it seemed drastically out of character for the man to be coming at all. Stannis was always a dutiful man, it seemed strange he'd put the duty to rule the Stormlands in someone else's hands at all. Something was going on there...

"Any rumours as to why?" Asked Cregan.

Triston smiled.

"None that I have heard. Though I hear from some men at the Eyrie that Lord Robert was surprised at the news as well. Robert has not returned to Storm's end in a number of years, and the two brother are distant from one another, so I doubt it is moral support."

"Indeed." Cregan muttered simply, wondering how things could already be different.

Harrenhal was an enormous castle, as all men in the seven Kingdoms knew, but even it couldn't contain all of the Attendents of the Harrenhal tourney could fit inside. Cregan and his fellow Skagosi had set up camp outside it's dark and ruined walls, near the shore of the gods eye. After quickly setting up his tent Cregan had been content to sit on the shore, too tired from the days ride for any training. There would be a feast in the great hall of Harrenhal, an enormous structure Cregan had not seen yet, but for now he was fine with attempting to fish on the banks of the lake.

Varymyr Stane had decided to join him, and the two men had sat there as the sun began to set on their right. Cregan took a swig of wine from a skin before passing it to the heir to Driftwood.

"Lord Crowl plans betrayal." Stane said, breaking the silence between the two men.

"I know." Cregan replied bluntly, checking on his line.

"Are you going to kill him?" Asked Varymyr. Cregan shook his head.

"Until I have proof it would be in poor taste. There are only three members of his house left, and making it extinct would not cement my rule as a just one." Said Cregan. Varymyr took a swig of wine.

"Would you support him if he were to declare me tyrant? Perhaps offer you Kingshouse or one of my Vassals?"

Varymyr shook his head.

"You are many things Magnar, and some of those things are bad. But in you I see a good future for Skagos. For me most importantly. In Theon I see another winter where I have to eat..."

"Best not discuss such things in the south Lord Stane." Said Cregan, interrupting Varymyr's admittance of his sin. Varymyr nodded.

"Sure." Said Varymyr. The two sat in silence for a few moments.

"You aren't married are you Varymyr." The young lord shook his head.

"I was once. She birthed my young son Gorne, but she died during the birth." Said Varymyr.

"Does Gorne live?" Asked Cregan carefully.

"For now, but we will wait for his second year to declare him heir. Better to be sure whilst winter is upon us." Said Varymyr.

Cregan smiled internally.

"You know, the third in line is the youngest daughter of Harrion Crowl. She is still just of childbearing age. You marry her... I could see one of your children being made Lord of Deepdown." Said Cregan carefully.

"Indeed? Would he have to take the Crowl name?" Asked Varymyr.

"Up to you. It might make the Stark's less scared of us. After all, if we are willing to wipe out one house under our control, what are we willing to do to those that aren't?" Asked Cregan rhetorically.

"Perhaps the Stark's fearing us would not be a bad thing." Varymyr pointed out.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps we need them and their money." Cregan said bluntly. Varymyr nodded.

"Say, if you second Son was named Crowl and taken out of the line of succession for Driftwood?" Asked Cregan.

Varymyr thought on this.

"What do you want in return?" asked Varymyr.

"Only house Stane's loyalty. Once Torwold dies our blood ties end. My mother isn't going to live forever, and I'm sure in a few years she will return to Driftwood, especially since... Since I have sent her daughter off to Winterfell." Cregan said.

"That can't be it surely." Said Varymyr.

Cregan shook his head.

"Crowl, both Theon and Orston, are on borrowed time. No two ways about it. Theon will rebel, Orston will be executed. I have given them mercy once, but twice is asking too much." Said Cregan. "If I get a new heir to Deepdown under a loyal house, I'm sure we can talk about how much land I can take off their fief." Said Cregan. "land and people."

"So that's it? In our gratitude to you gifting us Deepdown you'd add more land to Kingshouse?" Asked Varymyr.

"Is it wrong to do so." Cregan said. Varymyr shook his head.

"I would accept such a deal, but whilst my Grandfather is Lord all dealings must be done through him. He'd probably accept the offer though." Varymyr said. Cregan smiled. His line began to shake in the water, and Cregan grabbed his fishing rod. With a great heave, he pulled a Small pike out of the water.

Cregan was wearing his best furs, a silky smooth white Arctic bear fur cloak, with a clasp of rough shorn dragonglass and bronze. His boots were sealskin with white fur innards. His trousers were leather he had bought in Wintertown, and he wore a simple black woollen shirt.

Compared to the resplendent grey and whites, black and golds, reds and silvers and hundreds of other colours of some of the other's in attendance of this feast he seemed wretched by comparison, but on the table with his fellow Northerners, he fit in rather well.

The feast was a combined Stormland/Northern one in one of the many halls of Harrenhal. Many of the guests had yet to arrive, and the King and his family were having a private dinner... Somewhere. Robert had gotten someone to arrange this, in celebration of the betrothal of Stark and Baratheon for the first time in three hundred years. Cregan could spot Conningtons, Carons, Tarths, Bucklers, Cafferens, Errrols and Estermonts. The rest of them even Cregan did not know, though he did notice the absence of house Dondarrion.

Cregan looked to the Starks, who were sat at the end of the long table on the dais. The four young Starks were happily eating their food, Eddard sparing glances to his friend Robert.

And there he was. The man who would be King. He was probably the tallest man in the room, looking like a giant out of legend. He wore long pitch black hair, his deep blue eyes shone with mirth. He had a strong hairless chin. Quite different to the man sat next to him.

If Robert was instantly obvious, then Stannis was less so. He was tall, though not as tall as Robert. Even at his younger age Stannis had thin hair, though it did at least cover his head. His eyes were darker, with bags underneath them. He was thinner then Robert, but didn't lack for muscle. He looked disdainly at the crowd of nobles chomping at their food. His mood was as obvious as his brothers. So the question was, why was he here?

Cregan returned to his food. Roast Venison, with leeks and cauliflower, along with gravy and some wine Cregan didn't recognise. The Northern utensils had wolves imprinted on them, and somehow Cregan could bet the Baratheon ones would have the Stag.

Cregan heard the man on his left move slightly on the bench, and Cregan turned to find a long haired man sit down next to him. A shudder ran through his body.

The man had the most pale eyes he had ever seen. They seemed inhospitably cold. His long hair was somehow both dark and light at the same time, sat upon a gaunt expressionless face. The man wore dark black leather, with a pink spotted leather cloak. It was clipped with a clasp of bloodstone, with a man on a cross etched into it.

"I apologise Lord Bolton." Cregan said, moving in his seat, keeping the fear out of his voice.

"Skagosi rarely apologise." Roose Bolton whispered, barely audible above the chatter of the hall or even the chewing of food from Cregan's left.

"Skagosi rarely sit down and eat." Said Cregan with a smile, before attempting to return to his meal. He could feel those cold blue eyes bore into him, even as he heard Lord Bolton take small mouthfuls of food.

"I hear you are to be heading off to Ibben once the Tourney is over." Said Roose Bolton.

Cregan turned to the man. That was interesting. Such a thing was not common knowledge. Perhaps Rickard had offered Roose the chance to travel with him.

"Should I be making provisions for the lord of the Dreadfort to be travelling with us?" Asked Cregan.

Roose shook his head.

"Lord Stark does not wish to send Lords without heirs of their blood. My wife is pregnant, but she has failed before." Said Roose, as if talking about miscarriages at a feast was usual. Cregan shot him a plain smile.

"I'm sure could use someone like you Lord Bolton." Cregan said.

"Indeed." Roose said simply in return.

Cregan bit into a chunk of dear, ripping the flesh of his fork.

"Is it true you have a young sister?" asked Roose, as if he was talking about the weather. Somehow even this sentence seemed menacing. Cregan swallowed.

"Yes. Taken hostage by Lord Stark until I have proven myself." Cregan said darkly, briefly glancing towards Brandon Stark on the dais.

"She is the only female member of your family unmarried is she not?" Roose asked.

"She is." Cregan said simply in return. To which the Lord of the Dreadfort simply nodded.

Cregan continued to eat in silence, occasionally feeling the cold look of Lord Bolton on his neck. Cregan took a small sip of wine. Whilst in the presence of so many people who's fate he knew, he was going to have to be careful about how much he drank. It seemed in his drunken state he had taken to blurting out facts and opinions he had once had in a previous life. Facts and opinions that were rather dangerous to know and have. Around someone like Robert, Stannis and especially Roose that was a one way ticket to being executed.

There was a dance, where Cregan had stayed at the side. He was not drunk enough to dance, and lacked the skill to do so. Many daughters of the north were resting from the long journey, and from the looks of them many of the sons should have as well.

Cregan shared a look with Lyanna, who was sending him some kind of pleading one, but Cregan shook his head, and walked out.

He walked into the cold night air. The sky was alight with stars. In a previous life, the light would have been extremely pretty to him, but Cregan had been brought up beneath Northern lights and northern stars, and found it lacking. Still, he looked up at the sky, watching a falling star streak past the ice dragon, before fading into the darkness. It was whilst he was starring up at this sky that Cregan bumped into someone.

"Sorry." Cregan said instantly, as he looked down. He saw a small teenager in the dirt. Cregan reached out a hand, and reluctantly the boy took it. Cregan dragged him up to his feet. "Sorry, I was looking at the stars."

"Of course." the boy said bitterly, as he dusted off his clothes. Cregan's eyes widened. The boy wore dark clothes, wool and leather. He lacked a cape, and seemed to be shivering slightly. He was pale, and thin. He reached only up to Cregan's shoulders. The boy looked at him with laughing green eyes, though they seemed to lack any mirth, or really anything. Even the annoyance in them somehow seemed feigned.

Cregan's eyes widened, until a grin broke upon his face.

"Lord Baelish?"

AN: Stannis has his reasons for coming to the Harrenhal tourney. Some of you may even be able to guess it. Other than he and Baelish, I am trying to be as canon to who is at the tourney as possible, for those we know about at least. Seeing as it's the biggest social event of the decade, we can expect a hell of a lot of people to be there.

Last edited: Jan 15, 2018

"I mostly assumed it was you shitposting but on a level of irony where you had become genuine as well" -Fancy Face

"If you've read any Carcosa fic, you know not to keep your hopes too high." - The Last Bullet

"I know right! Best not to hope for anything, then be surprised by everything." - Alucardan1

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Lost Carcosa

Jan 11, 2018

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Threadmarks The Harrenhal disaster: Part 2

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Lost Carcosa

Lost Carcosa

Take off your mask

Jan 17, 2018

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#329

As daylight shone through the tent door Cregan stretched on his sleeping furs, clicking his arms before scratching his chest and sitting up. Wearing only his smallclothes he stepped out into the morning air, morning dew between his toes. He began to sing to himself as he made his way to the shore of the God's eye, the sun barely peaking over to his right. It's orange glow revealed hundreds of tents, from grand canopies that looked like clothe houses to tiny things Cregan had seen at Glastonbury. Wherever that was.

"From the dusty mesa... her looming shadow grows." Cregan sung quietly to himself. "Hidden in the branches of the poison creosote."

Eventually he reached the shore of the lake. He glanced down at his small-clothes. He had at least three spare with him, but he didn't want to have to use one of them up. So he removed them, touched his toes, stretched his arms and psyched himself up, before walking gingerly into the lake.

Cregan may have been used to the shivering sea and it's sub zero waters, but even the God's eye waters were cold enough to make him shiver for a bit. Eventually it reached his hips and Cregan yelped as the cold bit at him. After three minutes his body got used to the cold and Cregan risked it, diving into the cold water. Cregan swam until the waters depth for too deep for him to stand in the water. Once he resurfaced and began to tread water Cregan looked to the shore line. It seemed Cregan really was an early riser, there was no movement on the shore, in the field of tents and pavilions.

Cregan leaned back in the water and began to float upon the slow waves. Part of him wanted to swim towards the isle of faces, but that was a swim of several miles, he could barely make out the island from the banks of the lake and Cregan had work to do today. So instead he floated on that water contently.

Cregan briefly closed his eyes.

And felt himself being pulled underneath the waves. He struggled and tried to right himself, but what was once calm water was now a fierce whirlpool, dragging him beneath the waves.

Water began to fill his lungs as he uselessly tried to scream.

Beneath the waves he came to find a hall, filled to the roof with water. Inside water logged bodies floated in the water. Their faces were bloated, their eyes bloodshot and dead.

Many had their mouths open in silent screams. Braziers burned with black wicked flames that seemed to absorb what little light was around them, the only true light in the room came from 3 strange black candles sat on the tables, but the fire was dying in each of them. Their unnatural light seemed to make the colours of the objects around them stronger. Reds turned to fire, blacks turned to night. Whites turned to a burning, blinding light.

Floating above the throne was someone with a crown of red gold, but Cregan didn't recognise his face. Cregan breathed, filling his lungs with thick murky water.

At the king's side was another dead man, wearing dark furs, with a direwolf sewn into his clothes.

The room was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of the dead. Cregan saw sigils and flags from all over Westeros, and thousands Cregan did not recognise . Rusting swords that had sunk to the cobblestone floor, quickly being covered in coral. Longswords, Pikes, spears and harpoons. The curved blade of the horse lords of Essos and the Dragonglass and rust blades of Asshai.

Cregan turned away from the dais, and at the centre of the room, smiling with the most malevolent grin Cregan had ever seen, was a one eyed man. His black hair waving in the water, though the man was alive, blinking, grinning, standing on the floor. Cregan began to float towards the ceiling of the hall, tried to find some way out of the hall, but his movements grew weaker and weaker, his vision narrowed. Cregan felt some squishy, unnatural dark limb wrap itself around his waist. Cregan screamed as he felt himself being dragged deeper, deeper. Deeper into the dark.

Cregan coughed up water as he hurriedly tread water, blinking his eyes free. He took several deep breathes, clearing his throat of water.

Rubbing his eyes, Cregan found himself near land. Cregan swam towards it, desperate to get out of the water.

Perhaps there was a reason Cregan had hydrophobia before I... Cregan? Fucking hell, before Cregan became me.

Cregan quickly swam towards the sand, wheezing as he flopped upon the shore. He coughed up the last of the water in his lungs, before turning to lie on his back, starring up at the sun.

"Interesting place to take a nap." Said a male voice Cregan didn't recognise. He turned over. In front of him, leaning on a trident, was a short man. He had short brown hair and green amused eyes.

Cregan coughed as he got to his feet.

"You may want to wear something." The man said, briefly looking down before his eyes returned to Cregan's face.

Cregan covered himself.

"Where am I?" asked Cregan, looking around the beach. It was too small to be the shore near Harrenhal, the sand was a dark brown.

"You're on the isle of faces friend." The man replied.

Cregan looked into the man's eyes and instinctively knew who he was.

"Are you Howland Reed?" Cregan asked. Howland nodded.

"I'm not surprised you were able to figure that out." Said Howland.

Cregan took a step back. Despite his calm eyes Cregan could feel his very soul being bored into by the Crannogman.

"Come. I have a boat to get us back to the lake shore." Said Howland, glancing over to his right. Cregan followed his eyes, looking at a small rowboat.

"Do you have anything I can wrap myself in? I don't want to come ashore naked, there's a lot of people there." Said Cregan.

Howland looked confused at that.

"Is there?" Asked Howland. Cregan didn't believe he didn't know about the Tourney. Night fires would have been visible from the isle, and every single person in the Riverlands was likely talking about the tourney, even if Howland somehow missed the news through more normal means.

"Yes. There's a grand tourney going on. Half of the Seven kingdoms is in that castle. And I don't want their first meeting of me to be me gingerly covering my privates." Said Cregan.

Howland seemed confused, before nodding. He took off his small green cloak made of some strange green fur and threw it to Cregan. Cregan tied it around his waist, and with a nod the two of them made their way towards the Rowboat.

Together Cregan and Howland pushed the boat into the water, the two men running towards the now floating boat. Cregan climbed into the front of the boat, looking towards the centre of the isle.

A wind blew through the trees. Dozens and dozens of heart trees, their blood red leaves shivering in the wind.

It sounded like a whisper, but Cregan could barely make it out. He shook his head clear.

He grabbed an oar as Howland did the same, and the two began to row.

"What where you doing on the isle?" Asked Cregan, trying to keep his voice light, but he couldn't entirely keep the tone of accusation out of his voice. Cregan did not trust Howland Reed. How a man who was a good enough fighter to kill Arthur Dayne couldn't fend off three squires younger then him he did not know, and likely it was not without some complicity from the Crannogman.

But if Howland heard and understood his tone he ignored it.

"Pilgrimage. More men should visit the isle. The Old Gods are strong there." Said Howland.

Bloodraven or the Children he means.

"I hear the Old gods are strong on Skagos, but I have not visited the isle." Said Howland causally.

"I never said I was a Skagosi." Cregan pointed out. He kept his fear and confusion out of his voice this time.

"No. But it's written on your face. On the edges of your eyes." Said Howland. "There's a lot written at the edges of your eyes. I can see your soul... Soul."

He said that last part hesitantly. Cregan shivered. He had heard this before.

"Anything else written there?" Asked Cregan.

"Can you close your legs?" Howland asked. Cregan apologised and briefly moved his cloak/kilt before his hands returned to the oars.

"Anything else? Why would you ask that Cregan Magnar?" Asked Howland. His voice, despite sounding light and pleasant, seemed to lack any real warmth behind it.

"Nevermind Lord Reed." Said Cregan bluntly.

Howland seemed to study his face for a few seconds. Before his gaze turned to something on his right shoulder. Cregan looked behind him, but he only saw the looming ruins of Harrenhal, coming ever closer.

He returned to looking forward, only to see Howland looking terrified at something.

"The mist..." He mumbled. Cregan raised an eye brow. There was no mist on the lake.

"The burning." Howland mumbled again, his hands leaving the oar.

"Lord Reed?" Asked Cregan. Howland began to shake, his hands clutching a small piece of weirwood tied around his neck.

Howland began to foam at the mouth, fully in the grips of a seizure. His eyes rolled over white. Cregan let go of the oar, reaching towards Howland. One of his hands touched the weirwood necklace. Cregan felt his eyes roll into the back of his head.

The mist had fallen from the mountains now. Cregan gripped Leviathan tightly, his other companions telling him to run. But they couldn't outrun the mist, and the creatures that dwelt within. Ighen Dorn shouted that they could make their way to the nearest Totem, but it was miles away by now. It was fight or die. The mist had surrounded them now, and Cregan heard an unearthly scream.

Cregan felt his hand let go of the weirwood pendent as he fell back in the boat, rocking in the water. Howland's shakes slowed down and grew less intense. Howland took several deep, long breaths, his eyes squeezed closed, before he opened them. He wiped his mouth free of spittle and coughed.

"What the fuck was that!" Shouted Cregan.

"A.. Green vision." Howland said slowly. "But how could you see..."

"Look, just row." Said Cregan, no longer willing to put up with Howland's cryptic nonsense. He had had enough of visions for the day, and it wasn't even midday yet.

Howland weakly nodded, and his hands returned to the oars. Howland tried to speak but Cregan shout him a dark look, and the two of them simply rowed to shore in silence.

Cregan walked through the field of tents, ignoring the looks he got as he held Howland's cloak around his waist. He began to make his way to his tent.

"Have fun last night then Cregan?" Asked Brandon Stark, as he made to follow the Skagosi. Cregan rolled his eyes.

"Went for a swim and ended up nowhere near where I left my small-clothes." Cregan said. A half truth, but a good enough one.

"Indeed? Who's is the cloak then?" Asked Brandon.

"Howland Reed of the Neck. Not my type." Said Cregan jokingly, his foul mood beginning to lift.

Brandon laughed.

Cregan finally reached his small tent, too small to even stand up in.

"I'm going to put some clothes on, could you wait outside?" Asked Cregan. Brandon nodded.

Cregan moved the tent flaps apart and crouched down. He grabbed a cloth shirt, quickly putting that on before placing Howland's cloak on the ground. He quickly put on one of his extra pair of smallclothes, then some leather pants, quickly put on some comfortable fur lined sealskin boots and finally clipped his white bear fur cloak on. Cregan crawled out of the tent and stood up, clicking his back as he did so.

"Hey, we are going to have lunch. Want to join us?" Asked Brandon.

"...Thank you, I'd love to. Haven't eaten since last night." Cregan said.

Brandon nodded.

"Did you stay for long?" Asked Brandon. Cregan shook his head.

"Probably just as well. There was this dance. Lyanna's future husband danced with her." Said Brandon.

Why is he bringing this up?

"That's good to know." Said Cregan. "They'll make a lovely couple."

"Yeah, well he also danced with every other woman that battered her eyelids at him." Said Brandon, his voice turning harsh. "He also may have asked Lyanna to bed. She wouldn't say."

Jesus Brandon. Why the fuck are you telling one of your bannermen this?

"Robert's a boisterous lad. I doubt he truly wanted to dishonour her." Cregan simply added.

"Lad? He's five years older than you Cregan." Said Brandon.

"Doesn't act like it." Cregan couldn't help but mumble, before growling at his own fucking stupidity for saying that.

But Brandon only glanced at Cregan at the comment.

"You miss the dance for any particular reason Cregan?" Asked Brandon. "There might well have been a few women looking your way."

Cregan wondered if he meant southerners or Northerners, but didn't ask.

"I wanted to go for a swim in the morning, and I was rather tired from the journey." Cregan replied somewhat honestly.

"So you went to bed after you left?" Asked Brandon.

Cregan thought on the conversation he had with Petyr Baelish.

"Sure." Cregan replied blandly.

Brandon nodded. Eventually the two of them made their way to a large tent. Brandon moved aside the tent flaps.

Cregan took in who was inside. Lyanna, Ned and Benjen were sat around the table, but also there was Stannis Baratheon, who looked at Brandon then turned to Cregan briefly.

"My Lord. This is Cregan Magnar. One of my father's newest bannermen." Said Brandon.

"Right. The Skagosi." Said Stannis bluntly. Cregan wearily sat down at the table, next to Benjen. A servant placed a plate of bread and some cheese in front of him.

Cregan wasn't sure what to do. Was he supposed to just eat? Should he more properly introduce himself to the future lord of Dragonstone? Flowerly language wasn't Stannis' thing, so Cregan just began to eat, keeping in mind his table manners.

"I would have thought Robert would join us." Lyanna said. It sounded pleasant enough, but there was an undercurrent of accusation in her voice.

"My brother will not be joining us, he is hungover and throwing up constantly." Stannis said bluntly.

Cregan laughed, despite himself. Stannis shot him an angry glare.

"My apologies Lord Stannis. I thought Southerners pretended they didn't get hangovers." Said Cregan.

"Robert has never been very convincing at hiding them." Said Eddard with a smile. Stannis gritted his teeth. Cregan could guess that he did not appreciate that Eddard was closer to Robert then he was.

Cregan kept quiet, calmly eating his bread and cheese.

The sound of people eating was the only thing echoing within the tent. Cregan observed that Stannis was somehow eating angrily, almost gritting his teeth with every bite.

Cregan was never one for awkward moments.

"So, Lord Baratheon, I hear you're a falconer?" Cregan asked.

Stannis' eyebrows rose, and a brief sad look past across his face, but it disappeared as soon as it came.

"When I was younger. Running the Stormlands takes most of my time nowadays." Said Stannis.

Cregan nodded.

"I hear you have recently become a lord at a young age yourself?" Asked Stannis, though he didn't sound truly interested.

"My father died just three months ago." Cregan admitted. Even though young Cregan had few pleasant memories of his father, part of him still mourned the man. But not much, since there was a part of him that never even knew the man.

"Indeed." Stannis said bluntly. Cregan shrugged. Stannis had his way, and Cregan objectively was a lesser lord than the eldest brother and heir of a Lord Paramount.

"Will you be taking part in the joust Lord Stannis?" Asked Brandon, leaning back in his chair as he took a bite out of a piece of bread.

"No." Stannis replied bluntly.

"The melee?" Asked Eddard.

"No." Stannis replied.

"The dancing?" asked Lyanna jokingly.

"No." Stannis said.

Cregan looked at Stannis above his flagon of light beer. Stannis took a sip of what Cregan could guess was water with some lemon in it.

From the corner of his eye Cregan could see that Brandon and Lyanna were sharing a look.

So Stannis, why are you here?

But surprisingly, Stannis actually answered Cregan's question

"Your Lord Father sent a letter to Storm's end not less than three weeks ago. It seems that he wants us to more firmly discuss the joint future of the North and Stormlands." Stannis said suddenly. "Robert is many things, but I rule in his absense. I understand his realm better, and in real terms I will be ruling until Robert is good and married in the future. Apparently one of you is making their way to a distant land."

Stannis turned briefly to Cregan.

Is he coming to Ibb? No, that would be insane. Stannis is Robert's heir. Hell, Rickard knows that Stannis is de-facto lord of Storm's end for now.

Stannis' gaze returned to Brandon Stark.

"He wondered if there were any second or third sons from lesser Stormland houses that might enjoy the chance for a Stark sponsored" trip to Ibben. I named a few." Stannis explained.

Cregan placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers.

"Who?" Asked Cregan bluntly.

Stannis turned to Cregan, knowing that he was the one nominally in charge of the trip.

"A Caron Bastard, Ser Endrew Tarth, Ser Horace Selmy." Stannis replied simply.

"Why these knights?" Asked Cregan. Brandon continued to lean back, content to watch the two men discuss business.

Stannis scoffed.

"They aren't remotely in line to inherit, and they are decent enough fighters. They also know when to keep their mouths shut." Said Stannis.

Yeah, and likely when to open them

"Are they sailors?" Asked Cregan.

"Ser Endrew has some knowledge of ships. Ser Horace can swim." Stannis replied.

"And Ser Rolland Storm?" Asked Cregan. If Stannis seemed surprised that a Skagosi might know the name of a bastard of the Stormlands he didn't show it.

"A young lad. He can learn." Said Stannis.

Cregan nodded at the young yet fierce lord.

"Do they happen to know any Ibbenossen, or Ibbenese culture?" asked Cregan. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth.

"No. Do you Lord Magnar?" Asked Stannis bluntly, his eyes starring straight into Cregan's own.

"Gor sturkin iv nar gori Ibbenossen." Cregan replied, his tongue only just making the proper rolls and growls of the strange language.

"Well, then they can learn." Said Stannis.

"Maybe they can." Said Cregan, nodding at the lord.

"That cannot be the only reason you are here Lord Stannis?" Eddard asked. Stannis stare turned to him.

"Does my presence offend you that much Lord Stark?" asked Stannis harshly.

Eddard stumbled.

"Of course not Lord Stannis. It was simply a surprise to Robert that you would come to this tourney." Said Eddard.

"My reasons are my own. When you see my brother perhaps you can remind him he has his own duties in Storm's end that perhaps he should attend to?" Asked Stannis. Cregan smiled behind his cup, but was careful to quickly wipe the expression from his face.

It was a bit harsh. Eddard knew what is was like to be in the shadow of his eldest brother. Although, perhaps being allowed to spend his youth in luxury at the Eyrie whilst Stannis had to essentially rule the Stormlands since he was fourteen made them too different.

Cregan finished off his bread. He shook his head at the servant bringing over another loaf.

"I must apologise my Lords, but I have to practise for the melee tomorrow." Cregan said as he stood up out of his chair. He nodded to Brandon, who returned the gesture, and to Stannis, who didn't.

"I've been meaning to explore Harrenhal a little. Lord Magnar, would you accompany me?" Asked Lyanna.

Danger! Danger!

"Of course my lady." Cregan said with a nod. He turned to the youngest Stark. "Would you like to join me Benjen?"

Both Brandon and Cregan not so subtly looked pleadingly at the young Stark, but if he noticed these looks he didn't show it.

"No thanks." Said Benjen. Cregan gritted his teeth for a moment.

"Lord Eddard?" Asked Cregan almost pleadingly.

Eddard looked to his brother, then to Cregan. He opened his mouth until he looked to Lyanna. Cregan couldn't see what she said to Eddard because she was facing away from him, but he did see Eddard sigh.

"I'm afraid not Lord Magnar. I have to speak to Robert." Said Eddard.

Fuck.

"Fuck." Brandon mumbled, almost too quietly for Cregan to hear.

Stannis simply looked at the Stark's, rolling his eyes briefly. Smug fucker.

"Fine then. Lead the way my lady." Said Cregan almost begrudgingly.

Lyanna looked towards Cregan and smiled, standing up out of her chair.

Lyanna stepped out of the tent and Cregan sighed quietly, following after her.

The two of them walked through a dark corridor beneath Harrenhal castle. Cregan guessed they were heading towards the Harrenhal docks, though he could not tell in truth.

"Lyanna this has to end." Said Cregan simply, turning around to face the young Stark. His expression was steely, devoid of warmth.

"What are you talking about?" Asked Lyanna.

"I have rejected you once. Before the feast. I will not change my mind." Cregan said bluntly.

"You seemed hesistant." Lyanna pointed out, standing straight and looking at Cregan fiercely in the eyes.

"That has changed. I don't love you Lyanna. You do not love me. This charade must end." Said Cregan harshly. He had had enough of dodging the issue.

"How could you..." Lyanna sounded hurt, but Cregan knew better.

"Cut the shit Lyanna. You've known me for all of a month. You simply thought that I was a skagosi savage that might steal you away like Bael the bard did." Cregan said.

Lyanna's expression changed from one of shocked insult to calm.

"Fine. Of course I did. You have seen Robert." Said Lyanna.

"Aye. I have. And what is his supposed crimes? Father a child? A child he loves and regular sees whilst he is in the Vale? Is there a crime in that?" Asked Cregan.

"If he was willing to do that before we are too be married, what makes you think he will stay near when we are married?" Asked Lyanna.

Cregan sighed.

"Of course there is that chance." He replied, thinking on the past, when Robert may well have had sixteen Bastards. Cregan only knew about five, but there likely were more. "And that chance is the same for every man. For everyone."

"Have you a Bastard?" asked Lyanna.

"I am Five and Ten. Too young to have one. I've no doubt one day I will fail to wait for marriage and accidentally father one, perhaps. I am not made of stone." Cregan replied.

"Ironic, you do not remember your houses words." Said Lyanna. Born from the old stone. The words of House Magnar for six hundred years at least. Cregan did not know of any of his line older than that, but their legacy did stretch back to the dawn of days, seeing as Cregan could speak the old tongue.

"And yours Lyanna? Winter is coming?" Asked Cregan. "Great or small, we must all do our duty. Your marriage to Robert will ensure that the realm remains at peace, that the smallfolk will prosper."

It felt wrong to lie to her, but Cregan knew it was the only way.

"You sound like that other Baratheon. Perhaps I should marry him. He doesn't seem the type to stray from our bed." Said Lyanna.

Cregan paused for a second. Robert would never accept losing Lyanna to his younger brother, and Rickard would his daughter married to the lord of Storm's end, not the heir. No, it would not happen.

"Lyanna. Who are you and what do you want?" Asked Cregan bluntly.

Lyanna seemed taken aback by the question.

"I... I am Lyanna, daughter of Rickard Stark. I want you." She said, fluttering her eyes.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Asked Cregan again, his tone not changing.

Lyanna seemed even more confused, but recovered after a moment.

"I am Lyanna of house Stark. The Lady of Winterfell. I want to not be married to a brute like Robert." Lyanna replied. Cregan took a step closer to the girl

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Lyanna seemed almost frightened by the question. Tears began to form in her eyes.

"I am Lyanna Stark. I want... to be able to marry whoever I want, whenever." Lyanna replied.

"What do you want." Cregan said, louder this time. Lyanna looked into those grey eyes to find them unflinching, unmoving. As if some great force had seized Cregan, as if he was finally taking this seriously.

"I want to ride horses in Winterfell, and the Wolfswood." Lyanna replied. She glanced down, and back up into Cregan's eyes, hoping for relief, for him to smiling again, for him to accept that answer. But they were as cold as they had been before.

"What do you..." Cregan began.

Lyanna fell to her knees.

"I want to be free!" She screamed. Free. Free. Free. The words echoed off the walls.

Cregan knelt down beside her, before sitting on the cold stone with her, placing his hands behind his back.

"None of us are free Lyanna. You think I want to be here? I remember... I remember a life where I was just a man. I wasn't a high lord or even from a rich and storied family. I wasn't under the control of my father or thousands of years of history. But I had responsibilities all the same. We all do." Said Cregan.

Lyanna looked to the young man.

"Lyanna. If you don't marry Robert do you know what might happen?" Asked Cregan. Lyanna shook her head.

"Aerys will burn countless people. His son Rhaegar is as mad as he is, the people don't know it yet." Said Cregan. "Who knows how many people he will kill. Without an alliance to stop him, the king will think he can do as he pleases."

"We must all suffer the consequences our actions, but sometimes we must arrange those consequences." Said Cregan.

"It's not fair... You get to be whoever you want just because you are a boy." Said Lyanna. Cregan sighed.

"Brandon has his duty. He has to marry a woman he's never met. Eddard had to spend his entire childhood away from his family. I will likely die at sea." Said Cregan. "None of us are free."

Cregan ran a hand through his hair.

Lyanna and Cregan sat there in the near dark, leaning slightly on each other.

Cregan stumbled into his tent. A full afternoon and evening of practising his swordplay had revealed one key thing.

Cregan was not going to win the melee. Not only was he only a decent swordsman, but more importantly he lacked decent armour. Chainmail might help against stabbing. But it would do very little to deflect blunt tourney swords. Cregan was going to break some bones tomorrow.

Of course, he didn't need to win. His money was going on Rhaegar, since he was certainly going to win. The jousts would start tomorrow, as would the first rounds of the melees. The melee was being divided by kingdoms, then the best seven fighters from each kingdom would face each other the next day. The jousts would continue for three days, tomorrow, the day after and the last day of the tourney.

But even if Cregan knew the eventual winner of the tourney, and the likely terrible consequences of that, there was the other events. Eddard and Ashara. Brandon and Ashara. Howland fucking Reed. And the knight of the laughing tree.

Then there was the things Cregan had done last night.

"Lord Baelish?" Asked Cregan, looking down and the short thin man as he got to his feet. His grin soon fel, as he remembered the almost innumerable crimes of this small unassumming man.

Cregan's fell to a dragonglass dagger on his hip. The urge to rid the world of this man was almost overpowering.

"I'm sorry, I don't know who you are?" Lord Baelish asked, confused at the Skagosi before him.

Cregan grip tightened on his dagger.

He spared a glance to the moon, and realised that for all his possible crimes, Lord Baelish so far was innocent of them. He felt the words in the back of his head. He couldn't kill him yet.

"Sorry. I met Brynden Tully a few months back. He spoke highly of you." Said Cregan with a smile, his hand leaving the dagger.

The lie was not a good one. Why on Earth would a Skagosi lord meet the brother of a lord Paramount? But it was the only way he might have heard of the son of a poor lord of the vale.

Baelish would likely realise the lie fairly quickly. But he'd burn that bridge when he comes to it.

"Oh." Baelish said simply.

"Say... I hear you are a smart man Lord Baelish." Said Cregan.

Baelish simply squinted at Cregan.

"I'm sorry... Who are you?" Asked Petyr.

"Lord Cregan of Skagos." Cregan said simply. The urge to kill Petyr came again, but Cregan once again turned to the moon, and he calmed down.

"Right..." Petyr said slowly.

"Say... Are you busy right now Lord Baelish?" Asked Cregan.

Petyr looked behind him briefly, but returned his gaze to Cregan.

"Not right now."Said Baelish.

"Great." Said Cregan. "I have an offer for you..."

Now beyond the oppressive gaze of the moonlight, Cregan wish he killed Baelish. He hadn't had that bloodlust before, not to this extreme, but Petyr Baelish was a piece of shit. But what was done is done. If Baelish died in Ibben Cregan would not exactly shed a tear, but he did need someone who was not under Rickard's thumb on the trip. Stannis' men were a step in the right direction, but they weren't entirely to be trusted either. But trusting Baelish was not something Cregan would do either.

Cregan sighed. This trip to Ibben was going to be tiring. Part of him wished he would just return to Skagos and be content with the rocks and trees.

But that was cowardice. Cregan would do whatever he had to do to save Skagos.