Westeros: Shadow Beyond the Wall
The blood of kings holds a great power within. The Others know this. They did not know just what power Jon Snow's held when it was spilt by his own brothers, accomplishing through blind idiocy what they had failed to do for so long. Winter is coming, carrying death with it.
I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. Nor do I own the Middle-Earth video game series or Lord of the Rings.
Review Responses
TysonG: No, I don't really keep to a schedule, I just type when I can and when I have the inclination until I have a chapter done.
ManwithaPlan113: Glad you enjoyed it!
Alvor the Warhawk: Wise words.
Tom2011: War does make for strange bedfellows, one might say.
TysonG (again): Gonna have to wait and find out, friend.
Sauron's Wrath: That was a little something I added for pointing out references. I meant to add more, but between work making me drag things out and some personal matters I ended up just forgetting. In that instance I was referencing a quote from Macbeth, or That Scottish Play.
velmir9: You'd be surprised at how one can willingly block out facts laid out before their very eyes.
n0mster: I do plan for Jon's actions to come back and bite him later, particularly when the other (less open minded) Northern Lords find out they could have had a legitimate Stark King. It was definitely the right move, but going by how proud and stubborn to a fault they were in the TV series I want an opportunity to show that even the politically and morally correct action can have ramifications. Because in the end you can't satisfy everybody.
Vallavarayan: Longclaw will see plenty of use.
Vallavarayan (again): The problem, contrary to what the show would have us believe, is that it is difficult to spot even an entire fleet far out at sea if you don't know where they are, where they are going and where they are coming from. Add to it that Stannis' fleet is all the way up by East Watch and Karhold, and interception just doesn't become an option for them. And that's without accounting for just how big even the Narrow Sea is.
Huge Fan: Goodness, I'd only hope to be in the same league as Dragons of Ice and Fire. It's actually one of my favourite stories of all time and did inspire some ideas such as the attack on White Harbour, though honestly I think that's something that needs to happen in the books anyways, else it will be a waste of a perfectly good setting that should be the economic and Andal cultural centre of the North. And while I don't have every detail planned out I do have the broad strokes figured out.
Mehdude: To be fair, the Bolton occupation and control of the North stretches several novels so far. I'm not even thirty chapters in and Jon is already on the path to avenging his family.
Xxx
Chapter Twenty-Eight: First Blood
25th Day of the 11th Moon of 300 AC
The North, White Harbour
"As their fleets cut us off by sea, their armies will close the noose around us." The Bright Stranger surveyed the plains beyond White Harbour's walls from the gatehouse atop the Gate of Garth, the only large gate to be found aside from the Gate of Wolves at the Wolf's Den, which adjoined the outer wall. "Their army will be well positioned, and with no shortage of wood for construction of siege weapons."
"Ours will have the ranged advantage." Jon looked to one side, seeing one of the larger catapults mounted atop the wall being tended to by a crew under the supervision of Maege Mormont, who barked and cackled as she directed the crew in loading it. "They have had training in loading and firing it, but they've never had to aim it. Nor will they know exactly when the enemy is within range."
"One cannot be wasteful in construction of large targets intended to be demolished." The Bright Stranger agreed. "But we can change the former and resolve the latter in one move."
"You have an idea."
The Stranger smirked. "Several."
Xxx
"This city has two gates large enough for an army to push through and six sally gates on the outer wall facing the land, half of them on the Wolf's Den where it adjoins the city boundary. They will need rams to break any of them."
"What if they can't reach them?"
"Then they will remain at a distance and bombard or besiege us. We want them to attack, Jon Snow. We want them to break upon these walls and remove them from this war. However, there is some wisdom from the gods that will aid us in this."
"Which is?"
"Lightning. The Sorcerer-Kings of Asshai in antiquity learned to harness it in powering their rituals. They captured it with great towers of iron, which the lightning was drawn to. They learned that lightning shall always follow the path of least resistance, so too must our foes."
"I believe I see what you have in mind. Something subtle, something effective…and something that won't block them from going to either of the gates."
"Now you are learning, Jon Snow."
Beneath the outer wall of White Harbour, Jon was accompanied by Wylis Manderly and a collection of labourers. They came to the outermost wall, marked appropriately to warn that in the event of sappers digging beneath the walls they would likely emerge from there. First Jon worked on enforcing the surrounding rooms and passages with pillars conjured by a swing of the Fist. He noted the looks of discomfort and awe upon the men as they witnessed genuine magic, but a look from Ser Wylis silenced any whispers.
Next he compelled the outer facing wall to crumble, and forged the collapsed stone into suitably sized rocks which were ferried back to the surface for the siege crews. After extending the passage almost fifty feet past the foundations of the wall and reinforcing it behind him, Jon worked tirelessly to extended it from side to side. The labour took an entire day and an entire night, but soon hundreds of rocks were piled upon and behind the walls for the benefit of Maege Mormont, who followed his command to have her men train in loading and firing.
The task would have proved impossible if Jon had not thought to use his powers creatively. By his request men had been posted at precisely chosen points on the surface, their purpose there twofold. Officially they were to observe the siege weapons firing and ride out periodically to mark their maximum reach. But the small encampments they made were visible to Jon through the many feet of earth overhead blue beacons, guiding him so that he remained a fair distance from the city walls.
Behind him, a growing number of workers reinforced this new outer passage and worked to keep pace with him. The only problem had been making sure that he avoided making the passage too large when passing by the Gate of Garth on the northern facing side of the wall or the Gate of Wolves built into the Wolf's Den where it adjoined the wall towards the eastern flank. To be safe he doubles back and extensively reinforced these portions until he was certain that even an army of mammoths and giants wouldn't be able to collapse it.
He left Ser Wylis and his men to prepare the passage to be collapsed and dug a few more tunnels to allow easy access to it from other portions of the catacombs and sewers.
"The men manning the siege weapons on the wall will act when commanded. What we need is to give their commanders a way to know when to loose their first salvo at the opportune time. We must mark the maximum distance at which they can reliably hit a target. The catapults and ballistae will strike furthest, but we must also mark where the scorpions and archers can launch their first salvo effectively."
"Would the enemy not think it suspicious?"
"Not if you disguise them correctly."
Jon went out into the plains before the walls of White Harbour during the twenty sixth night of the month and set to work. When the sun rose the sentries on the wall had only reports of flashing lights in the night, and their replacements beheld the forms of statues in the shapes of wolves sitting on their rear haunches, flanking the roads leading to both of the city gates. The pair furthest out from the walls were larger and made with white washed stone and had their heads raised as if howling to the golden morning sky. At other points along the roads were another set of larger wolf statues, these ones grey; a third set closest to the walls were black.
He made sure to remove every trace of the siege crews' training from the previous day and put the excess material to good use. Bolts from the scorpions and larger ballistae had already been retrieved by the men stationed outside the wall.
"The seaside defences are already adequate for repelling pirates and smaller invasion fleets, but they will not hold indefinitely if the invaders bring their armada to bear. The ring fort and siege weapons upon Seal Rock will be the only thing between them and sailing leisurely into the harbour."
"Aye, but Lord Manderly appears confident that this would be to their detriment."
"If the Fat Lord has a plan for defending his harbour then leave him to it. If it fails, we may deal with the consequences as needed. We've done enough to prepare his city on this flank."
Xxx
27th Day of the 11th Moon of 300 AC
Jon stood in the gatehouse over the Gate of Garth yet again, watching as barrels filled with arrows, piles of rocks and pots of oil were stockpiled.
"Something still feels amiss." He said. "These invaders must know that the very elements work against them. Why would they still risk crossing so far over Northern country, even to chase as many to us as they can?"
"We can act upon what we know, or worry about what we know we cannot act upon." The Stranger offered. "Perhaps they really are zealots who think their hollow Seven can avail them of winter's chill. Perhaps they have come prepared for it. We will find out when we come face to face with them."
A door opened, and Jon cut himself off from replying to see who intruded. Maege Mormont shut the door behind her and stepped towards the table, her chainmail rattling.
"You called for me, Lord Snow?" She asked.
"Lady Mormont." Jon nodded, seeing the Stranger fade out of view. "Thank you for being here. There is something which I've been negligent in, something which I must beg forgiveness for, both for it happening and for my not telling you sooner."
"You've been a busy wolf." Maege she shrugged. "If you bring word of what befell my brother, I will spare you the trouble. I've heard of his fate and that of his murderers. I'm at peace with it as a sister can be in the face of her brother's demise."
"That gladdens me, but it is not what I asked you here for." Jon lifted Longclaw's scabbard from his belt and set both upon the table.
"My brother's sword." Maege whispered, smiling fondly as she brushed a hand over the wolf's-head hilt. "I'd noticed you have another."
"I wish to return this to you not out of any preference, but because I have failed your brother." Jon sighed and braced himself. "He asked that it be given to his son, for Jorah Mormont to take the Black and redeem himself. That will no longer be possible."
Maege's face at first twisted into a grimace at the mention of her disgraced nephew, but then it softened and he could see some concern in her eyes. "What has happened? Is Jorah dead?"
Even disgraced as a slaver and a traitor, he was still Maege's nephew and she still held some love for him. Family made fools of even the hardest warrior, so long as they had a heart.
"I don't speak of your nephew." Jon grasped the hilt and slid the shattered weapon free, eliciting a horrified gasp from Maege as she took it with shaking hands.
"The weapon of my forebears…" She brushed a gloved hand along it and nicked open one finger on the jagged edge. "Still sharp and deadly…" Her jaw clenched as her eyes set on Jon again. "Who is the one who did this?"
"He lays dead on Skane, Lady Mormont." Jon informed her. "At my hands."
"Then some justice has been meted out already." She set the weapon back down. "I thank you for presenting this to me. Is the rest of Longclaw lost?"
"The rest of the blade lays at Karhold, in the care of Migna Alys of Thenn." Jon answered. "Once circumstance permits, both pieces will be brought together. There is some hope that they can be reforged one day, but those with the knowledge lay in Essos."
Maege slid the broken blade into its scabbard. "Then until that day comes, you may carry Longclaw with you still," She said, holding it out to him, "with my blessing. Better used as a dagger by you than collecting dust in Mormont Keep."
Jon accepted it and reattached it to his belt. "My thanks. I will let nothing else befall it, I give you my word."
Maege grasped one of Jon's hands in both of her's and patted one heavy gloved hand on his knuckles. "Oh…you look and sound just like your father back in the Rebellion." She sighed. "He led us from one victory to the next, and yet seemed all the sadder with each day that we grew closer to King's Landing."
Family murdered or held captive, a madman threatening everything he cared about and overall: thrown into circumstance he was never prepared for.
Even in a loose sense his story somewhat mimicked his father's. Had he faced any disloyal bannermen when he marched, dealt with traitors seeking to sell him to the Mad King? Were there points where he had to sacrifice want for necessity?
He married the Trout Woman, didn't he?
"Did you ever see him with someone besides lady Catelyn?" He asked her without any expectations. "Anyone who followed the Northern army?"
"Nay." She released his hand. "We all wondered, Lord Snow. But Ned Stark took no one into his bed after we marched. Whoever your mother was, she must have been a secret most precious to him."
Precious enough to keep her from me. Jon felt a pang of bitterness.
"After he brought you home, Lords fell over one another offering to foster you." She saw his surprise at this. "What? Base born you might be, but you're still blood of the Kings of Winter and a son of Ned. I won't lie and say we didn't hope to benefit from it, but any true Northman would have gladly taken you in."
"I was never told this." Jon furrowed his brow in puzzlement as he fumbled for understanding.
"And we never learned why he refused, both with you and his other pups." Maege replied. "Some thought he was just unwilling to let them go, others thought he didn't want to repeat what his father had done. Old Rickard and his southern ambitions would've been his end if Jon Arryn hadn't proven himself a good man."
This was another surprise to Jon, who had only ever heard that Rickard Stark was a honourable if not stubborn man. "Ambitions? You mean the marriages he arranged?"
"Hah! If only he'd stopped there." Maege spat on the floor. "Your grandfather was a good Lord, but by the gods he was a shit father and a weak man without his wife." The momentary burst of anger in her passed. "Understand, Lord Snow: Rickard was born Northern, but he lusted for southron glory. He envisioned a North no longer seen as a backwater of Westeros, rich and powerful as the other six kingdoms combined. But when he lost his dear Lyarra to sickness after birthing Benjen, that wretched rat of a maester, Walys, fed such ideas to him in his grieving."
Jon had heard only faint mention of Maester Walys, and only in the context that he had served Winterfell until a year after the Rebellion had ended.
"What was it that he encouraged my grandfather to do- beyond the marriages?"
"Rebellion." Maege spat. "Long before Harrenhal, Rickard confided in us that discontent rose in the south. Aerys the Mad was burning anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. Rhaegar the Rapist, then the Silver Prince, was sneaking messages off to the High Lords- Rickard included. He spoke of a bloodless coup, promised marriages, positions of prestige and wealth to any who involved themselves in it. And Rickard saw opportunity, which was why he agreed to wed his heir to a Tully and his daughter to a Baratheon; his role in forging an alliance of the greatest families in the kingdoms. Harrenhal was to be the meeting place to seal this alliance, disguised by the tourney Lord Whent threw."
Jon remembered what happened next. "And then the King attended."
"Aye. Whether he suspected treason or went on a whim, I know not." Maege nodded. "But there he went, and there went the plan. Perhaps another would have been convened, but then…your aunt was taken, your uncle and grandfather murdered and the kingdoms plunged into war. I know that we never saw the promises of Rhaegar fulfilled; no Northman sat on the Small Council, joined the Kingsguard or saw more than a pittance of coin for their service. We were discarded and forgotten up here once more…the land those southrons dismiss as a barbaric waste. They were quick to forget that on the Ruby Ford there were more Northern swords than any other among Robert's host."
The Lady of Bear Island pulled a wineskin from beneath her cloak, took a few swigs and offered it to him, but Jon declined.
"That is why we were so quick to rise for your brother: he promised us change without chaining us to a throne that knew nothing of us." She stowed the wineskin. "But those same ambitions that tainted Rickard had tainted us as well, I did not see it until I looked back to remember the day we crowned our King and claimed the Riverlands."
The least defensible kingdom of the seven. If the Vale had also risen there might have been a chance, but the North hadn't enough able bodied men to both feed itself and contest possession of the land most commonly scorched by wars across known history.
"We overreached, and our own arrogance fell on us like an avalanche." She gazed out over the road and the direwolf statues flanking it. "I would have crowned you king only because I gave my word to your brother, but hearing you reject a crown and preach reason, unity and honouring your word to Stannis and reuniting the kingdoms…" She turned and he saw her eyes watering. "In another life, you might have made a better King than any other, but in this one you're a better man than ten thousand others put together. Let none tell you different."
Jon felt a crack in the veil that he had surrounded himself in almost every day since his resurrection. Only finding Rickon had come close to achieving this before now. A warm aching swelled in his chest, around his unbeating heart.
But this was not pride or relief he felt.
It was shame.
If only she knew of Agros Stane. What would she think of me then?
"La-" He choked on his next words. "Thank you. Forgive me, but…I need to-"
Need to what?!
"It's alright, lad." She put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll see enough of each other before this is over. Take care of my brother's sword." She left him feeling like a mummer, and it took everything he had not to collapse into a chair before the door closed.
Xxx
Western bank of the White Knife, White Wall
Hundreds of miles away, Syronos spied upon banners fluttering over the ramparts of not one, but two castles. Nowhere near as big as the Twins and separated by a much smaller river, the narrowest portion of the White Knife where only two or three river barges could safely pass abreast to one another, nestled among steep terrain where landing would be difficult.
A boom chain connected the two forts, and a pontoon bridge could be fed across within several minutes thanks to a system of long cables that were held up high enough over the water that typical river traffic would not be at risk of snagging on them, but low enough that men with hooks upon poles could guide the two halves of the bridge out to be connected in the middle. This formed the titular White Wall, which now lay in the hands of men from Barrowton, the Dreadfort…and the Crossing.
"Of course they'd bring Freys to manage a bridge." Syronos heard a man to his left snort softly. "How many?"
"About…two hundred, if I had to guess, based on the size of the forts and the umber of sentries at the walls." Syronos frowned. "But the forts could have extensive sublevels for storage and housing."
With only one way to be sure, he returned to the encampment his men had set up a few short leagues away in the ruins of another abandoned village. Out of the eight hundred or so Free Blades alive that day he had only brought two hundred, both for the sake of guarding Castle Cerwyn and concealing his own movements. If need be he could call for another two hundred to give himself a numerical edge to offset the enemy's advantageous fortifications, but that was time he didn't feel comfortable spending.
What he needed was a plan, and Lady Cerwyn had left him the most reliable source of information on White Wall. He'd spent some hours each day going over the pages, but could not try to memorize every detail in so little time. So he'd assigned some of the more well learned sellswords to reading the book in shifts to seek critical details, be they from the current layout of the forts or ancient designs that might reveal a weak spot to exploit.
After having dreaded spending days reading in the cold he almost kissed Ariq, the latest Free Blade assigned to reading it, when the ex-Volantene and ex-slave gave him good news.
"Both forts are well designed, even for Westerosi standards." Ariq explained. "The Manderlies wasted little on making them look pretty like their city. The foundations are strong, the walls sturdy and despite their sizes they could host thrice as many men for months through a siege- even without fishing from the river."
"I'm waiting for the good news." Syronos stood across from him, rubbing his arms through his coat sleeves.
"This book details changes that the Manderlies and later the Cerwyns made to the forts. Two generations after the construction was finished, Lord Wallace Manderly ordered a sept to be built within them after raiders burnt down septs placed outside the walls three times." Ariq traced a finger around the sept where it was drawn as part of the lower level of the western fort. "He had a part of the sub levels down near the river excavated and converted into a sept, just high enough that the river at its highest could not flood in but low enough that it could not be easily reached from the outside. When the castles transferred to the Cerwyns the sept was removed and apparently sealed."
He flipped several pages over and settled on the more recent design changes made within their lifetime. "Between then and now, the room vanishes from these designs. It could be that the room was filled in and blocked off, but alternatively…"
"It could still be there." Syronos grinned. "With a window you say?"
"Or at least a weakened portion of wall." Ariq tempered his euphoria with pragmatic caution. "The foundations are solid, but to make that window they would have needed to carve it out and more recently fill it back in. It might have lasted for a long while, but almost two hundred years have passed since."
"It is better than nothing." Syronos clapped him on the arm. "Good work, Lieutenant."
"My pleasure, Captain."
"I have another task for you, now."
"I live to serve, Captain."
"Gather kindling." Syronos rubbed his palms together, both from excitement and to get the feeling back in his fingers. "Lots of it. The dryer, the better. I need to see about this window."
Xxx
Deepwood Motte
"Shield. Up." Beshka said sternly as Maraiya rubbed her now throbbing side. "Or in a real fight you'll get cracked over the head. Same with you, Ryon."
In the absence of the Free Blades of Braavos, Beshka had appointed herself to providing the two wiith the training they desired. Lyanna Mormont would sometimes intercede to provide her own version, mainly for sparring with Ryon, but the young Forrester had come to dread these more than when Beshka alone took charge.
At least she only hit them to point out a mistake.
"I still don't see why you subject yourself to this, Lady Maraiya." Sybelle Glover said, sitting off to the side as she watched her children rolling a large, lumpy ball of hardened snow towards a slightly larger one. "The She-Bears have always been an exception, not the rule."
"My father believed differently." Maraiya gasped from exertion. "He wanted me to wield Nightfall instead of my half-brother Marcus. My mother disagreed."
"And her opinion counts for less than nothing." Gwyn Whitehill said, looking solemn as she had since being brought from Highpoint- surprisingly not as a hostage. "I think women should learn to wield a blade. You'd be surprised how often we need it most."
"That's all well and good for you young ladies, but I'm past that stage in life." Sybelle watched her children stack the snow higher. "Motherhood does that."
"Not to my mother." Lyanna Mormont declared boldly, watching the sparring ring with Elaena and Talia Forrester by her sides. "Or to my sister Alysanne. Bears are strongest when protecting their cubs."
"Unfortunately not all of us have the inhuman constitution of you Mormonts." Sybelle tittered as her children added a third lump of snow for a head. "My Robett always said you islanders are raised right alongside the bears you share the land with. Mayhaps he wasn't far off from-"
"Lady Sybelle!" A rider called as he rode in from the gate. "Lady Sybelle, word from Widow's Watch! The Widow's Eye shined west!"
Sybelle paled. "When?" She demanded.
"Three days ago, my lady." The rider dismounted. "It shined west for near an hour before falling dark. And ravens flew telling of a fleet bearing a crest of a sword over a red star."
Beshka paused mid-swing and looked over in alarm. "Wha- FUCK!" She dropped her sword and glared at Maraiya, who shrank under the sellsword's gaze before Beshka gave a snort and a laugh. "Might be hope for you yet, Bell."
Taking this as a sign that sparring time was done, Maraiya used her remaining strength to join her friends and collapsed in a space made available. Ryon handed her a water skin which she took gratefully and sipped from while listening.
"I know that crest." Beshka stated. "That's the Company of the Axe."
"Why wouldn't they have an axe in their crest then?" Talia wondered aloud.
"They're crazy fuckers who burn anything that has anything to do with a god that isn't one of their Seven; ask them." Beshka shrugged. "Crazy, but also deadly. And if they're here, it ain't to help Stannis."
"The King and his captains spoke of this weeks ago." Sybelle admitted. "Young Lady Bell there delivered to us the first warning of their coming. I just didn't think it'd be so soon."
"More sellswords." Lyanna Mormont clenched her jaw and stood up, gripping a hand axe and flinging it at an abandoned target with a roar of fury. "More fucking sellswords!"
"And these ones are zealots." Beshka nodded.
"Seven thousand men could turn the tide, but they'll never survive ranging this far north." Sybelle said. "All the same, it's good to know that Maraiya's loyalty will be beyond question, no matter what her traitorous mother says or does."
"If only it were seven thousand." Beshka snorted.
"What?" Lyanna Mormont had retrieved her axe, and Beshka made sure to keep an eye on the young girl before answering.
"They don't range out of their lands with so few." The sellsword explained. "When they go to war with the Men of Ibben, they bring their pilgrims with them. Ain't usually made of sellswords, but they've a blade in hand and enough teaching to hold a line or loose an arrow."
"Why am I only learning this now?!" Sybelle demanded.
"Well I wasn't exactly invited to your bloody king's table, was I?!" Beshka snapped back.
"Please, peace!" Elaena hurried over to part them. "Lady Sybelle, you can't blame Beshka for not telling us this when she couldn't have known about this Company of the Axe being involved in the war." She looked placatingly to Beshka. "How many pilgrims would they bring?"
Exhaling heavily, Beshka thought it over. "…at least ten thousand. Some are slaves they bought and promised freedom if they fight, others are criminals who had a choice between a block, losin' their cock or fighting and being forgiven. Some are even smaller companies they bribe to march under their banner for a time."
"An unusual way of expanding the ranks." Sybelle muttered.
"An efficient way of keeping the meat of your host intact and shedding the fat." Beshka countered. "Few pilgrims ever survive to be paid, that's why they make sure to bring many. They'll use them to bolster their numbers, look bigger than they are and garrison places they don't want real troops bogged down in."
Little better than levies in that regard.
"That could-" Maraiya coughed a bit, "-Bolton could win with those numbers!"
"The King must be aware of this by now." Gwyn assured the younger women, more for Elaena's sake as Rodrik marched with Stannis' host. "He's so far out east he might have known days ago and is already dealing with it."
Or he was caught between two armies as big as his and about to be pinned between them at this very moment.
"I will not sit here idly as invaders set on destroying the gods of my forefathers run rampant over Northern soil." Lyannna Mormont flung the axe into the same target as before. "Let us gather every fighting man and go join the King!"
Even before Sybelle answered Maraiya knew this would not make any difference. Some five hundred held the Motte when the King departed, but Sybelle had worked day and night to train more recruits. With harvest now long past over, the able bodied men left behind when Galbart Glover marched south were being scavenged from every village, as was every boy as young as twelve. At Lyanna's urging even girls were permitted to volunteer, though most favoured learning the bow.
But for all this, in the weeks since Stannnis left, barely three hundred had arrived at Deepwood Motte for training and arming. And they would take weeks yet to train to even become even passable as fighters.
In all that time, the war could already be over…so many who were lucky to survive the war before would lay in the ground. The King, the Big Bucket…the Free Blades…
"The Wildlings at Queenscrown."
Sybelle halted mid-lecture. "What did you say?"
"The Wildlings!" Maraiya repeated herself. "If the King knows about this Company of the Axe, surely he would summon them."
"Word was he'd already called some of them down." Beshka informed them. "Along with giants, if you believe it. Giants with some hairy elephants."
Whether the sellsword japed or spoke truth, Maraiya cared not. "We should join them with every man we can spare. The king will need every set of fighting hands he can get."
"You're not a fighter," Beshka reminded her, "not yet."
"And you are a ward of the King, who commanded that you stay here until he says otherwise." Sybelle added sharply. "Even if I were to let you leave he might have your head."
"And if he is defeated, I'd rather lose my head anyways." Maraiya replied, knowing what she could expect if her mother and kin got ahold of her again. "If I'm not willing to fight to free the North, then…"
She thought back to a pearly grin and red eyes.
"…then the Big Bucket and Captain Dirrin would have been better served leaving me to the Boltons' mercy."
The ghost of a smile crept onto Lyanna Mormont's face, her eyes filling with what Maraiya hoped was respect. "Aye." She tossed her axe into the target once more. "They might be Wildlings, but the Wall will fall before I let anyone say they would march to free the North before a Mormont would."
"Oh no, no you don't." Sybelle shook her head. "You are not leaving and that is final!"
Maraiya almost shuddered as she saw a glint in the ten year old girl's eyes, combined with an almost feral smile.
What do they feed the girls on that island? She wondered before Lyanna Mormont very clearly outlined a string of reasons detailing why the Lady Glover would not keep them from leaving. This list was sixty two reasons long and every last one of them was a battle starved and pissed off Bear Islander assigned to her retinue by her sister Alysanne.
In the end, begrudgingly, Sybelle Glover was forced to concede that they would be leaving, and Maraiya found herself leaving Deepwood Motte at the head of a column of a hundred Mormont, Glenmore, Glover and Forrester volunteers. By her side rode Lyanna, Ryon, Talia, Gwyn and Beshka. Helaena, confirmed to be pregnant, remained behind with Sybelle and promised to send word far and wide, calling for any fighting man or woman to take up arms.
Beshka flashed a grin at the young Mormont. "I'm really starting to like you, girl."
"And I'm starting to think you're not all that bad for a sellsword." The She-Bear replied. "Don't make me regret it."
Xxx
White Wall
As night fell, the first fires in the western fort were lit. Excess kindling had been gathered in the abandoned sept and set ablaze, letting the smoke travel up through the old boards and the fire to spread as the garrison, most of them slumbering, began to take notice of the odour.
The first sign that anything was happening were the shouts, frantic and multiplying. The men in the western fort were lucky to awaken at all with the fire spreading so fast and smoke rising up from the lower levels. Those in the eastern fort took notice and began to shout across, seeing their neighbour in flames.
That made it easy for Syronos' company, who'd spent the day trekking south to the nearest point at which to ford the White Knife and then back north to a nestling of trees, to reach the walls before anyone realized they were there. At a low point along the wall Syronos turned and cupped his hands using them to provide a base for Ariq to jump up and grab the ledge, pulling himself over before letting down a rope fixed to a secure point.
Syronos was the first up. Four more made it before the shout rang out. "EAST WALL! EAST WALL! TO A- uh!" Ariq flung a knife into the sentry's throat as he raced for the steps, but the damage was done even before the man's corpse tumbled down in a loud cacophony of clattering metal to land at the feet of several other men.
"Shit." Syronos had hoped for another dozen men on the wall before this point.
Men raced up the stairs, armed and angry. Ariq was positioned perfectly, opposite from the direction these men would be facing when they emerged, and knelt to further enhance his anonymity. Upon the first group of five reaching the top he flung another knife which landed dead centre in the back of a man's neck. The second man tripped over him and tumbled off the side of the wall with a squeal. The third was met with Syronos' rapier to one of his eyes as he tried to bring up an axe to defend himself.
The next moments needed to deal with the last two were filled with a dance of steel and blood which bought time for grappling hooks to be thrown over the battlements. More Freeblades hauled themselves up as Syronos and his men worked to hold the stairs, buying time for one-score to climb over before armed and armoured fighters thundered up to the walls.
"Free Blades of Braavos!" Syronos bellowed, holding his rapier high. "It will make a nice pin cushion!"
"ROOSE! BOLTON'S! ASS!" His men chanted back to him before leaping forward to meet the fort's defenders near the base of the stairs.
Taking Brandon's Den had been pathetically easy. Undermanned, underprepared and held by undisciplined fools led by an equally foolish leader. But White Wall would not fall so easily. Its men were better trained, a diverse mix of fighters from several different houses so far as Syronos could tell, and their number included knights in full armour who proved to be just as difficult as he had warned several weeks ago in Deepwood Motte.
One in particular bore an unmistakable sigil of twin blue towers over a field of white.
House Frey.
"Stand your ground, you fucking rats!" The Frey Knight, an absolute ox of a man with a powerful square jaw and broad shoulders, roughly grasped a man who'd taken a few steps back from the melee and flung him back into it where he was immediately bludgeoned by a mace. "Fight! Fight to the last man!"
Syronos was surprised when the Knight followed his own words and charged in, slamming one man off his feet and cutting down a second with one swing of his great sword, almost bisecting the Free Blade. Around this man, the defenders began to rally and push back.
"STAND! TOGETHER!" The Freys chanted, beating their weapons against their shields as they advanced as a single unit, pushing through the battle and cutting down any Free Blade to cross their path.
In the midst of a riposte that cut a bloody line across a Bolton man's face, Syronos glanced up at the walls. "Arbalests!" He called, seeing that a few of his skirmishers had managed the climb, and pointed to the advancing line of Freys.
They quickly loosed a volley, and though most of their bolts were deflected by shields two of the Frey men crumpled. The knight leading them looked to Syronos and snarled, shoving his own men aside and cutting down two more that got in his way.
So, this is your wish? Syronos pulled a dagger from his belt and held it in tandem with his rapier, positioned further back while the longer, more slender blade was levelled at the advancing knight.
So be it.
With a roar, the Frey handled his great sword with one hand at the pommel and the other above the cross-guard but below a set of parrying hooks forged into the blade, swinging it up on his left side and using the momentum to bring it to rest in a position that let him stab forward as Syronos side stepped the first attack. The second attack came so quickly that it actually cut into the side of Syronos' armour, glancing off but still bruising.
Shit! Faster than he looks, and competent.
Against a weapon that large, with so much strength behind it, he could not hope to survive blow-for-blow, making speed his best advantage. But Syronos quickly learned that his foe was not blindly swinging, but carefully controlling his weapon so that he would not over-swing or overreach. A few times Syronos found an opening to counter, but his rapier bounced off of the plate armour or glanced off of the other multiple layers beneath.
Astounding. The First Sword of the Free Blades noted as he tried to stab under the Freys helmet only for his dagger to scrape across chainmail. All the ferocity of a brute combined with the economy of a water dancer.
But this time was not wasted. Syronos had the chance to note a few weaknesses in his form, the fact that his movements were slowly beginning to turn sluggish, and most of all: the knight had either been neglectful or simply lacked a full helmet with facial protection. Instead he had an open helm which left his face visible while protecting the other sides of his head.
But the fucker was good at anticipating and repelling attacks on that area, as Syronos learned the hard way.
Accounting for a weakness too? He staggered back, actually feeling himself become winded from the duel. If I didn't need to kill this bastard I'd buy him a drink.
At one point they were separated in the melee and Syronos saw one of his men charge with a spear, only for it to become ensnared by the Frey's parrying hooks which he used to force the weapon aside and sink the tip of the weapon into the spearman's throat. Then he pulled back and parried a swing of an axe, forcing it up and to the side before skewering the wielder through the torso.
Fortunately, this brief respite both gave Syronos a pause to catch his breath and let him survey the surrounding battle. Resistance was already dying down as his arbalests brought down small knots of defenders, focusing on knights to pepper them with several bolts until one hit its mark and either killed them or wounded them enough for others to finish them off. And by the time the Frey Knight had a direct route towards him again Syronos had formulated an idea.
Cheating.
Syronos raced forward to meet him, rapier poised high. The knight's attention was drawn to it, even if he didn't realize it, and he held his sword high as well. In the final instance as the distance closed between them Syronos threw himself to one side, rolling as the knight swung down, the added momentum throwing him off balance long enough for Syronos to roll up and stab him in the unprotected back of his knee.
"Uargh!" The knight twisted around and struck him across the face hard enough to knock him over, but Syronos retained his senses enough to roll out of reach as the great sword came down, chipping away the stones where he'd been laying.
The knight was taking great heaving breaths, favouring one leg and struggling to bring his weapon back up. Syronos seized the initiative and raced towards him before he could recover, hooking both his rapier and dagger across the immense blade and sliding them up in a shriek of metal and a rain of sparks, keeping the larger weapon forced down. As he found himself almost right up against the Frey he used the knight's good knee as a stepping stone to nimbly swing himself up onto the armoured shoulders and bring his dagger down, stabbing down into the knight's exposed face.
A strangled gasp escaped from the man as he drew his last breaths and tumbled forward.
"A lesson for the next life." Syronos rolled off of the man as he slammed face first into the ground. "You were a knight. Wear a full helmet."
Around him, the last of the defenders were fleeing deeper into the fort or throwing down their arms. As he made to join in routing the remaining fighters his body screamed in protest, reminding him of the hits the Frey knight had managed to land on him.
"Ugh…" He groaned and took a deep breath, leaning against a wall as he glared at the fallen knight. "Laugh it up down there."
Even with his need for a short rest, his men were able to clear the fort. From the sound of it, the attack on the western fort had been even easier with the flames to distract the garrison. But a small group took shelter in the centre of the fort, within a great hall where his men found, after breaking down the doors: every last surviving fighter with women and girls held at knife point.
"Stay back!" A tall, bald, pointy nosed excuse of a man in Frey colours shrieked, his watery eyes bright with terror as he gripped one woman by the roots of her hair. "Stay back or we'll gut them!"
Syronos stepped to the front of the mass of men at the shattered doorway. "That would be most unwise." He cautioned. "You might walk away with your life if you release them."
"Don't insult me, foreigner." The old man sneered. "I know that I will find no mercy from Stannis Baratheon or any who follow him! Only death or the Wall are what I can expect!"
"You, perhaps." Syronos nodded. "But the rest of you…"
There were no knights among the other Freys and Boltons in the room. From the state of their attire and arms they could not be more than conscripted smallfolk.
"The King does not blame you for following your Lords." Syronos spoke soothingly. "Lay down your arms, release your captives and return to your families. Don't die for this one's stupidity."
"Shut up!" The Frey shrieked, and made the mistake of looking away to address his men. "Don't you fucking listen to this-"
Thunk!
Syronos' dagger sank into one red tinted eye as the man glanced towards him at that point. The Frey's mouth fell open, his last words dying on the tip of his tongue as he dropped the dagger in his hand and slumped to one side, leaving the woman he'd held on her feet and trembling like she'd been dunked into ice water.
Hand still outstretched, Syronos looked to the survivors. "Well?"
They dropped their weapons and stepped away from their captives, allowing themselves to be bound and led out of the hall. As they did so, Syronos looked over the collection of prisoners and saw their bruised faces, the signs of further abuse beneath their thin ragged clothing and felt a fury rise in his chest.
He later learned they had all been taken from nearby villages, officially to be worked as servants and keep their families in line. Of course, their families had not been told just what services they had been forced to provide.
Those of the White Wall garrison who surrendered that night did not die for the sake of Hosteen or Aenys Frey- both of them slain personally by the Free Blades' captain, but they died all the same. Their bodies were hung from the trees outside of both forts, with the word 'rapist' carved into their chests and foreheads so that even in death they would carry proof of their actions. Not all of them had been dead when those words were carved, but they'd been thoroughly gagged so the girls could be lulled to sleep with the assurance that their nightmare was over.
As the sun of the twenty eighth day of the month rose over White Wall, Syronos forced himself to stay awake just long enough to watch the bodies of Hosteen and Aenys Frey be hung up, stripped naked and mutilated with words carved into every inch of available space.
Syronos had added his own personal touch in a sign hung around their neck. He wasn't a pious man, nor did he know anyone who'd been slain at the Twins, but he was still inclined to provide a gift for any Northman who saw the rotting carcasses any moons from that cold morning.
Winter comes for House Frey.
Xxx
Western bank of the Broken Branch
28th Day of the 11th Moon of 300 AC
Commander Hugh could not contain his delight at the sight of Ramsgate, now a blackened and silent ruin. Settled on an island which divided the mouth of the river and connected to both sides by drawbridges, it had caused him no small amount of grief in storming it.
But the Seven, as always, showed him the value of patience. The previous day several ships sailed down the coast from Widow's Watch and lobbed flaming projectiles into the castle, one of them breaking open part of the outer walls and allowing Hugh's forces to flood in. Even then they lost so many that the passage almost became choked with bodies before the last defender was slain.
Now, a great column of men in red and white led by knights in splendid armour decorated with the seven pointed star marched across the Broken Branch, bringing with them horses and siege engines while waving the banner of the Sword and Stars. Many had been lost to carelessness before now, all of them pilgrims and the occasional Poor Fellow who did not heed the many warnings: even in summer, Northern chill was the death of the careless. Not one knight had fallen to such hubris, taking care to follow the years of training put towards the day that they would have to endure this hellish land in order to cleanse it.
There was no Godswood to burn, as Ramsgate was first and foremost a military outpost for guarding the Broken Branch. But Hugh satisfied himself by sending forth raiding parties to continue herding the heathens to their greatest city.
And when the gates of that city fell, Hugh's destiny would be fulfilled. For as long as he had been raised in the light of the Seven and displayed strength of arms greater than any boy his age and even greater than some men twice his age he had been told that he was destined to achieve what his predecessors had failed at. With a hammer in each hand he could crush the wretched Men of Ibben into pulp by the scores and not come close to spreading the seven pointed star and its wisdom. But at the head of an army, he could avenge the ravaging of his peoples' homeland and extinguish the light of a pantheon of false gods that had persisted for far too long.
"Final count is in, Commander." One of his Knights reported to him. "We lost over a thousand of the pilgrims in taking this castle."
What were a thousand dead pilgrims, most of them as ungodly and sinful as the Northern pagans themselves, in the face of the company's mandate finally being fulfilled? Their purpose in this crusade was to serve as fodder in place of the true, righteous crusaders anyways.
But there was another purpose they could fulfill in death…
"Gather the bodies and feed them to my pets." Hugh ordered. "We always want to conserve on rations in this frigid, godless backwater."
Unlike them, his pets still served a real purpose.
And they had such grand appetites, befitting both their size and value.
They could feast on pagan flesh after the walls of White Harbour fell and the light of the Seven truly began to shine across this bastion of heresy.
Xxx
End of Chapter
