Chapter 3
Ned
Inexperienced generals, a lack of information, but most importantly, kindness resulted in the route of the Royal army, he mused.
Lord Tully's scouts had made the difference in providing accurate information to their army; something, it seemed, that Lord Connington had neglected since they had neither apprehended nor killed any Royal scouts. This had allowed the Stark, Arryn, Tully army to swoop in almost unnoticed until the last moment.
But it was Jon Connington's kindness, mayhaps his honor which had lost them the battle. The Royal army had the town in their hands for a couple of days. Jon Connington should have set the Stoney Sept on fire. The thought, when it came, startled him so much that he nearly dropped the sword and the whetting stone onto his legs. The thought was fleeting, but it left him shaken. The honor-bound part of his mind cringed at the thought but the pragmatic part agreed. The honor-bound part of his mind thought of the countless innocents in the town; the children, the women, the septons, and the septas. The pragmatic part saw the results: Had Connington set the fire, Robert would have been forced to come out; the forced march of the Stark, Arryn, and Tully army would have been useless; it was a bleak picture.
There was, however, another thought that would leave him sleepless for nights to come. What would he have done if he was in Lord Connington's place? The answer he received was mayhaps the most horrific. He would have made similar mistakes and he would have lost the battle, even his life. His honor and inexperience would have cost him his life. By the Old Gods!, if he lost his life, what would happen to Benjen; to Lyanna, if she was alive even; to the North; to Lady Catelyn? He couldn't bear these thoughts.
That the Old Gods were in their favor was without doubt. Connington's mercy and honor had given them time to reach the Stoney Sept. The Reach not joining the Targaryen army had been an unexpected but welcome boon. The combined numbers of the Targaryens and the Reach army would more than likely have defeated them.
Mercy and honor had cost Jon Connington the battle, mayhaps the war, and even his life perhaps. But then the same was true for his father, was it not; honor had cost Rickard Stark his life.
Once he had begun to understand things, understand his duty towards his house, understand his responsibility towards his smallfolk, he had made honor his standard. He had tried to behave honorably in his dealings with both nobility and smallfolk. War had shown him the results of honor though; his Lord Father dead at the hands of the Mad King; Jon Connington injured, perhaps dying; the Royal army routed. What a naive boy indeed! he thought.
War had already shown him the beasts and greed in men, something he thought he was above for he was fighting for justice. The thought of setting the Stoney Sept on fire though had shown him the beast within himself. It had been a glimpse, enough to make him shudder. It was necessary though, he understood that now; he had to let the beast out, the wolf in him, mayhaps the direwolf, for it would keep him alive.
The change in perception was jarring, the value he had lived his life by thus far, his honor, he would try and set it away for now, for honor had no place in war. He would be honorable during peacetime, he vowed, but now, he would be the wolf.