Rise of Silverpine chapter 47
I do not own Warcraft/ASOIF
A strange feeling was raging inside Arya's chest.
For years, now, she had fought against the undead. She had bled, suffered defeats and humiliations. Seen friends die. Shadowfang and its liberation that now felt both yesterday and a thousand years ago. The assault on the Sepulcher and her first taste of the Forsaken. Tarren Mill and her first taste of defeat. They won the battle, but lost the small town.
All the diplomatic mission, the haggling, the deals, the battles, the struggles. Back then, all those years ago Arya would only in her wildest dreams imagine herself leading an army in the tens of thousands. And even then, it was not she herself leading it, but rather Arya reborn as one of the great Targaryen female dragon riders.
And yet, here she was now, with a host nearing a hundred thousand behind her, the combined might of Silverpine, the North and Stromgard, marching into the heart of Tirisfal forest. Just the thunder the men and women made as they marched filled her with immense pride, her glowing silver eyes seemingly even brighter.
'I wonder if someday, somewhere another little girl will hear the tales of the wolf queens and dream, just like I did of Targaryen princesses…'
After the reinforcement from Stromgard arrived and they "liberated" Scholomance, they had quickly pushed the Horde back to the Bulwark, the border of Tirisfal. It would seem that Stromgard knights were not to be underestimated in an open field, just like the one that lay outside of Andorhal. And add to that that most of them were veterans from Outland, with plenty of experience fighting fel-infused orcs.
The Horde forces were quickly scattered and some of her senior commanders advised her that the Orcs' initial attack was probably a last-ditch effort to begin with. The Forsaken had low number to begin with and even if they used their entire navy, there were only so many soldiers that the Horde can ferry. It was an attempt at a defeat in detail, yet now that the Stromgard was here, it was impossible.
And thus, they retreated to a choke point. The Bulwark.
It was a narrow passage, barely a hundred feet end to end with two square towers guarding the way. The gate itself was a simplistic construction of twisted metal that can be lowered, not dissimilarly to a drawbridge.
Yet this time, Arya was prepared. Her raven scouts flew constantly, now the queen been able to maintain two at a time. Around the camp, beyond the Bulwark. She kept track of everything. Nevertheless, tiredness seeped in, with Arya taking constant half-hour naps as their assortment of cannons blasted away at the fortifications of the Bulwark for almost a day and a night, the cannons constantly been rotated in and out as some became too hot to be used and had to be cooled down.
The downside was that with the constant banging, the men themselves had to be rotated in, been unable to sleep close to the cannons, especially the Westerosi who were still new to this technology. A few Scarlet crusaders also returned to the camp, having been routed in the initial Horde counter-offensive.
Arya was unsure what to think of the men and women dressed in red, bearing the old mark of Lordaeron. It was wide-spread knowledge that they were fanatics and while so far there were no conflicts between them, they still had a common enemy, the very arch-enemy of the crusade, no less.
Once the Forsaken were gone, who knew what they would do, how long it would take for them to point their swords south at Silverpine. With more and more of her people converting to the faith of Elune every day, it was not unthinkable for this to happen. And with Westeros bringing their own separate religions, things were looking even worse.
Lord Bolton was surprisingly growing to be her favorite advisor, in a way.
She knew full well the stories, the history, the anger and hate between House Bolton and essentially the entire North. And yet, the leech lord offered sensible advice. Crude and cruel, yet sensible. And she was more and more tempted to take it. With final victory all but assured, the Scarlet crusade was throwing their entire force into the fray so as to appear that this was their victory, so that the crusade can have a claim. Yet that force was still small compared to the great host of Silverpine.
And all that Arya had to do…was to let them be in the front lines. Let the crusade attack Lordaeron first. Let them claim their glory…and let them claim their death.
Every time she thought of this, she shuddered, and did so once more when she though just how this simple thing would decide all her post-war problems in the north, tempting her even further.
She buried the gloved fingers of her left hand in the soft fur of Nymeria, whom she was currently riding, hoping the reassurance of the presence of the giant direwolf will ease her mind and somehow show her the right decision. Her "little" companion was now almost the size of a horse, easily big enough for Arya to ride upon without much trouble, especially given that Arya still remained relatively short and light, even for a woman her age.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to focus on the now before reforming her two ravens and sending them out to the north and west. On their last run not an hour ago, there was nothing for leagues ahead, but she learned the value of caution the hard way. There were still mounted scouts moving before the army, but they were preoccupied with more practical tasks. Finding the road, finding water in this cursed land for there was only so much an army can actually carry with them, finding a place for the army to set up camp for the night where they will not be an easy target and so on.
A horse momentarily startled her as it came to a stop close by her. Her father mounted on top gave her a quick apologetic look before asking:
"How long to the capitol?" he asked, seemingly impatient.
Raising an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic impatient of her father, Arya returned.
"Two days at our pace, maybe more. Though I fear we may have to divert and attack Brill. We cannot siege the capitol with a potential army at our back."
Her father, in turn, sighed heavily, peaking her interest.
"Robert has recalled the whole army back to Westeros. He is becoming paranoid because of the Targaryen girl."
"Cannot say I blame him, with three dragons and all…" mumbled Arya. "Isn't he your friend? Can't you just refuse?"
Her father laughed at her statement.
"Been queen had made you forget what it is to not be on the top." Said Ned through good-natured laughter. "He is the king, Arya. I cannot refuse."
"Besides…me and Robert…I am unsure of what we are…" trailed the northern lord, earning himself a puzzled look from his daughter.
"What do you mean?"
"When you and your sister disappeared at the crossroads…I was quick to blame the Lannisters. They were the ones that were hounding you that day before you were found after the incident with the prince. One thing led to another. Words were exchanged." He was clearly uncomfortable, recalling the bad memory.
"When I saw you all those months ago, healthy and queens no less, I knew I was in the wrong. Yet I was a prideful fool. I did not make my peace with Robert."
"You mentioned he was becoming paranoid. Pardon me, father, but how would you know? I mean, you have not seen him in months, and given that you are not on the best of terms, I doubt you two would have been writing letters."
"Robert…he is no the sanest of men when it comes to Targaryens." Sighed Eddard.
"Everyone knows how he smashes Rhargars' breastplate on the Trident. Few know how he stood over the bodies of the Targaryen children and smiled, dismissing their deaths because they were 'dragonspawn'."
"He was worried about Daenerys Targaryen way back when we were all traveling to the capitol from Winterfel, all those years ago. Even back then he wanted to send assassins and a part of me believes he even considered sending armies. At that time, Daenerys would have been around your age."
"Well, given what I did at that age, maybe he was not wrong." Arya tried to make a jape, to lighten the mood. "At any rate, Sansa had already ordered for our Necropolis to be moved to Westeros. It should be somewhere over the sea by now."
"Surely you jest. The necropolis? I would understand it in these lands, but in Westeros?" her father was practically outraged, a reaction Arya would have expected from her mother and not him.
"Well, we cannot exactly move the army there now." She raised her voice in return, gesturing wildly to the marching soldiers before them.
"You are missing the point." Ned argued back "Moving that thing, that undead construct to Westeros…How do you think people will react to something this unnatural?"
"Unnatural? I though I already explained it to you! It was only built by the undead, but it is powered by mundane arcane magic!"
"No, Arya, this is not what I meant. Having spent a lot of your time amongst the common people back home you would know full well how they would react, even worse in the south."
Arya hated to admit it, but her father was right. Grinding her teeth, she responded nonetheless.
"Well, do you have a better idea? We cannot send the army right now, now can we?" she snapped at him, perhaps more than she meant to. "And even if we did, then what? We cannot keep them there for years. Who knows when will Daenerys attack?"
Her shoulders slumping, she whispered in a tired voice, just loud enough for Eddard to hear her as she averted her head, looking onward.
"No…the Necropolis is the best we got right now…"
For the next day and a half, neither saw the other. That first night, Arya was unable to sleep. She put it down to been in Tirisfal, but deep down she knew why it was. The next morning, she awoke to a massive wall of smoke to the north-west. Her ravens flew for hours straight towards it that morning, yet they never reached it, the sheer size of the fires dawning in on her.
For the whole day that they marched, the smokes never went away. If anything, they seemed to be moving if not towards them, with them.
And when they were a day away from the capitol, Arya finally saw the cause of the smoke.
Thousand upon thousands of men and women clad in blue-tinted plate.
The Stormwind army.
They had landed in the north and were heading straight to the capitol, burning everything in their wake. When she, or rather her ravens found them, they were in the process of incinerating Brill. What surprised Arya was that amongst the defenders, there were barely any races of the wider Horde. Sure, there were plenty of adventurers, their bright and colorful tabards and armors standing out amongst the dark lands, but aside from those handful of people, everything else was undead.
A feeling of reassurance sparked in her chest as Arya returned to the present, a tender smile gracing her face.
The end really was approaching.
For hours had they walked, steadily east until the massive smoke appeared before them in the distance. And when it did appear, they felt trapped. It seemed to envelop them from all sides aside from whence they came. For what felt like hours but was barely a minute, they felt what to do. Every time a 'gap' in the smoke would appear, it would just as quickly close.
But it was the sound of horses that convinced them to turn back and run. The forest floor was even and the forest itself not as dense.
'We would be easily spotted and easily pursued.' Reasoned Jaime as the sound of hooves grew. As they ran back, he would occasionally glance back and see the barest glimpses of something white shining through in the otherwise dark forest.
Shouts were heard not long after as the sound of hooves began to grow at an ever-steady pace.
Having been in battle plenty of time, the Lannister knight knew that they were already too close for them to escape, yet he kept on trying, for Myrcellas' sake.
And suddenly, almost out of nowhere, a pair of distinctly human riders on very much alive horses appeared on their right, cutting them off with the pursuers of the two Lannisters catching up not two moments after.
As Jaime on instincts drew his sword and Myrcella removed the covering of her hammer, did the older knights get a good look at the riders. Jaime was never much for houses and mottoes and colours, but the Stormwind colours and insignia were unmistakable. Add that to them been living in the lands of the dead was enough to convince him. Now, it was just a matter of convincing them.
With the what Jaime imagined to be Stormwind scouts given their light attire surrounding them, a slightly heavier armed and armoured rider came forth and looked at them with scrutiny in his dark eyes.
Lowering his sword, Jaime took half a step forth to the leader and cleared his throat.
"I am Jaime Lannister, kingsguard to Robert Baratheon and this is Myrcella Baratheon, princess of the Iron Throne."
Murmurs broke out amongst the men surrounding them.
"Westerosi?"
"Princess?"
"HAH!" barked out the leader, silencing the surround mumbling. "Now, if you had said you were two stupid adventurers that got lost in Tirisfal, I would have been more inclined to believe you rather than this."
"Sir, didn't the Westerosi princess go on a quest to find the Silver Hand?" asked one of the men.
"Yes!" quickly exclaimed Myrcella "And it is right here!" she happily raised the hammer up, the glowing hunk of metal drawing eyes.
"Yes, she did." Condescendingly began the leader. "But last we heard, she went to Northrend. Are we in Northrend?" the rider that spoke up just shook his head.
"Can't hear you…"
"No sir!"
"Good! Besides, that hunk of junk she holds proves nothing. Adventurers run around with enchanted gear all the time."
"Now, listen he-"Began Jaime
"What about this?" asked Myrcella, holding out a wrinkled letter with a broken seal.
Moving his mount closer to take it, the leader nearly tore open the already fragile letter from when they had to swim all those days ago.
"Hmm, this is very nice, but you see, this" he held up the letter up high "is from the queen of Silverpine, but we are the Stormwind army. I believe you can already see the problem. Besides, you could have easily just taken it from the Westerosi princess's dead body."
He turned back to his men, letter still in hand before letting it fall to the ground.
"After all, there has been no word of her in what? Months? Half an year?" he sighed heavily.
"But I am feeling generous. It has been a slow day with no undead to test my patience. We will take you back to the main army and maybe, just maybe, even get you before the king." Stated the leader in a magnanimous voice. Sharply he turned to his men, his demeanor changing in an instant.
"Take their weapons and bind them."
"What?" Myrcella shouted as the two of them barely had any time to react as the surrounding riders reached down and grabbed her hammer just short of the head.
Jaime, on the other hand, while surprised, let himself be taken. He was confident he would have been able to fight them off, but they did say they were going to take them back to the camp of the Stormwind army and right now, at this very moment, he simply wanted for this adventure to be over.
As his sword was taken and his hands were bound, the Lannister knight took one last look at the face of the leader and remembered it. Remembered it well.
I don't even know what to say. I was stuck with 90% of this chapter done for months….. Not the Jaime/Myrcella part, mind you, but the Arya one. I don't know… Hopefully the next one will come out abit quicker. My inspiration always come at the worst of times. Right now, for example, I feel as if I can write three chapters in a row, but I actually have to get to bed because I have work in six hours….
Thank you for reading.
