"There has been no word from the Gittens, Lord Stark."
Taking a deep breath, Ned absorbed Lord Rodrik's announcement quietly. Whether by ill-luck or sabotage, they had not received any responses from House Glover either.
"We cannot tarry," Ned decided.
At his command the gates of Swift Bank were opened. Ned rode out ahead of his 80 men-at-arms and 40 horsemen, behind them came Lord Rodrik and Roger with 20 men-at-arms and 60 horsemen in Ryswell livery. Their force numbered 200 all told, not counting the smaller retinues of sworn swords that accompanied each Lord.
Following the well-maintained paths, Rodrik led them to Lame-Leg Crossing just north of Swift Bank. They forded the low point in the river and began their search. Quickly coming upon a few farms and hamlets built along the edge of the Rill, separated by rocky hills and small crevices.
Owned by small folk who eked out simple lives with little in the way of luxury even compared to those near Winterfell. They recognize the Direwolf and Horse Head sigil well enough. Ned learned smaller bands of refugees had continued making their way east over the last week, though their numbers had lessened considerably. The brigands appeared content to remain near the sea.
Aiming further south, they made good time to the edge of Blazewater Bay before turning west. Wary of any ambushes, Ned ensured small scouting parties ranged ahead of them, investigating any homesteads or shelters for traps. It was fortunate they did.
Two days later, Ned had finished breaking his fast with Rodrick and Roger when a sentry called out: "Riders returning! With captives!" The Lords assembled outside. The Argil brothers and their men cantered into camp. Tied to the back of a saddle were two bruised and battered men.
"Lord Stark!" Oryn called out, "We captured these men some leagues west. They were picking through a burnt out farmstead."
"Fine work, all of you. Take your men and grab some food." Ned ordered. "Ser Rodrik, secure these criminals."
In proper order, both prisoners were manacled in separate tents. The two men had uncut hair and numerous scars, they certainly resembled bandits. The Argils had stripped their arms and armour along with any stolen goods.
Ned knew there was an art to interrogation. He stood outside the tents, listening as Rodrik's men handled the questioning. They were making little headway. Neither of the prisoners spoke, even after a few blows. However, all it took was a single slip.
"What are you doing with the villagers? You've violated the laws of the Gods by taking slaves." The interrogator pressed.
"...just thralls." It was only whispered but Ned's ears were sharp.
Ned threw open the tent flap and barged in. He took a seat, the interrogator standing as his guard. The posture of the prisoner straightened, his eyes brightened, wariness and hatred twisted his face.
Ned schooled his features, embraced the moniker of the Quiet Wolf. "You will tell me of your presence in my lands," he ordered.
His prisoner swallowed some kind of retort. Ned could hear him twisting his shackles. They sat in silence for a time. Another tactic was needed.
"Did you fight at Pyke?" Ned asked.
Another strangled answer, the prisoner was breathing heavily, his temper frayed. Ned's own fury was beginning to rise. These murderers saw fit to reave the lands of his family, saw fit to steal what belonged to his people. His heart sped up, the rhythmic pace had become more and more common over the last year. Ned wasn't surprised when Maw nudged the tent open and stalked in.
That got the brigand's attention. Maw came up to Ned's ribs. Seated as he was, Maw towered over the prisoner. Ned saw the sweat form and drip down his face.
The interrogator stepped closer and whispered: "Lord Stark, a map was found among their things."
The temptation to unleash Maw was palpable. Ned stood, took a deep breath and slowed his heart. Maw stepped back and sat as a sentry. Outside Rodrick and Roger bent over a scrap of thick vellum laid across a makeshift table.
"Lord Stark, we think we've found their base." Roger explained. "It seems the raiders made a map to avoid getting lost. They landed along a wide length of beach within sight of Hookhamel, House Hook's township. Once they'd occupied it, they moved further north to Till's Mill."
Ned nodded, tracing the routes on the makeshift map. "So they've split themselves. The group that delved into Glover lands must have originated at the Mill. If they are here for lumber, it would be best to harvest along the fringes of the Wolfswood, then send it down the coast to their larger ships."
Lord Rodrick frowned, "They are Ironborn then?"
Ned reached down and picked up the large bag of stolen goods. He dumped it out onto the table. A bunch of turnips, some wooden cutlery and a pair of knives spilled out with ease. Beneath that was a chainmail shirt, a worn-down gambeson, an axe, dagger, an arming sword and strangely, a belt made of thick hair.
"I am convinced they are. Reavers or no, when they catch sight of us they'll flee for the sea." Ned revealed. "I want you to send a swift rider to House Glover. They are to march down the coast into the Shore in one week. We will do the same from the Bay."
Lord Rickard hummed, "If our timing is right, the Glovers will drive the ones at Till's Mill down to Hookhamel, in the confusion they'll start planning a strategic retreat with as much as they can carry."
Roger jumped in, smiling widely, "Then we'll catch them by surprise and cut them off from the ships!"
"If all goes to plan" Ned reminded.
"What are we to do with the prisoners?" Rodrick asked.
Ned re-examined the captured weapons and armor. The chainmail and sword spoke of wealth and connection to a skilled blacksmith. The blades of the Iron Islands were always sharp, always straight, fine pieces of work all. Ned saw that on the hilt of the sword was a small warhorn sigil seared into the pommel. On the table, the belt of hair was brushed around by the wind.
Turning back to his personal tent, Ned went inside and opened the pages of The Hungry Wolf's diaries. He flipped through page after page, searching for a half-remembered passage that was… there!:
A great haul from the battle today, I walked with Barris among the corpses of their Magnars, taking choice trophies from each.
Bloody Moon pendant from a Wych of Pyke
Whale Bone earring from a Volmark of Harlaw
Goat Hair belt from a Goodbrother of Great Wyk
Storming out, he called, "Lord Roger! Fetch us some wine! We now have a hostage!"
The raider was young enough to be one of Lord Gorold Goodbrother's sons. Maw had maintained his watch, the Goodbrother was too terrified to flinch at Ned's entrance. He set the wine sack down in front of the man's feet.
"Forgive me, I have acted improperly." Ned apologised, confusing the prisoner. "If I'd known my men had captured a Goodbrother of Hammerhorn, you would have received better quarters."
Ned barrelled on, not even providing a pause to be answered.
"Though perhaps I've misjudged you. After all, no Lord of Hammerhorn would be sent on such a minor errand as stealing tree trunks. Perhaps you're kin rules from Crow Spike or Downdelving. That would fit better."
On and on Ned goaded for nearly ten minutes. The Goodbrother, for Ned was now certain of his identity, became red in the face and his neck and biceps bulged.
"I wonder if your Father will pay ransom for you? Perhaps not," Ned slid the proverbial knife in, taken directly from King Rodrik Stark, who had driven the Ironborn from Cape Kraken, "Any Ironborn caught on land might as well be gelded then forgotten. What Driftwood Lord would pay the gold price for a failure?"
"I AM NO FAILURE!" The man thundered.
Ned nodded, no sign of the smugness he felt. "True. Every captain who sailed with you will soon share the same fate. Make it easier on yourself and I'll ensure your body is given back to the sea. How many ships crossed the Bay?"
It was like pulling hen's teeth. Maw was needed to fully coax the man into compliance. Yet he'd broken his silence, in a way he admitted defeat.
Four longships sailed from Great Wyk, each crewed by 30 or 40 souls. The Goodbrother hadn't known their purpose or who had ordered the raid, only that his grandfather, so not a son of Lord Goodbrother after all, had called for men to row and reave. They'd made landfall, killed any who resisted and put the rest in chains. His crew had been sent to scrounge foodstuffs away from Hookhamel while the majority of the men set off, taking the thralls to begin chopping down trees.
Ned stood at the end of their talk. Reached over, and allowed the noble to take a few gulps of wine. He left for the final time, found Lord Rodrik and ordered the two prisoners to be sent back to Swift Bank. They would be judged in due time.
With only a desperate hope that the Glovers would be ready, Ned marched with his 200 men to clash with at least 120 Ironborn.
/
The sparsity of Stony Shore was apparent everywhere Ned looked. There was enough to carve out a small life but nowhere near the resources available to even the Mountain Clans. He conversed with Lord Rodrik, asking why his House never pushed for direct rule of the Shore.
"Quite simple, my lord, no good land for horse rearing and we've no need for more fish with the Rill by our feet."
Ned considered the Stony Shore. How the only truly powerful House to ever claim it prior to the Starks were the Warg Kings, from their home on Sea Dragon Point. The Warg Kings had access to the Wolfswood, the northern tip of the Rill River. The Shore was used as a source of taxes and manpower for their wars against the Glovers and Ryders. House Fisher could barely be counted, the Stark records were so devoid of information on them they were mostly hearsay after the Conquest. The Fishers were poor and held power because they were the only ones on the Shore who bothered to. A few political marriages, some kind of debt from the Glovers for a favour long past, secured their neutrality in the region. Their House lived with the smallfolk and their scant vassals in compliance and complacency. They would sail to Barrowtown and sell their large catches of crabs, lobsters and clams, but little else. They certainly never stopped any Ironborn invasions, frequently being the first to pay tribute to any longships that came across them. At best, the Fishers provided early warning to the rest of the North when their boats and cogs went missing.
Ned resolved that for anyone to desire the Stony Shore, or the Gods willing, prosper here, new wealth must be found. Each idea he could summon up was easily countered: Any new ports or shipyards would be better served further inland, at Barrowtown or Torrhen's Square, a new fortress akin to the Wolf's Den would suit the Rill River and Saltspear rather than the coast, the scant farmlands meant no place for a winter refuge; when the snows set in the Shore folk retreated to Deepwood Motte or Swift Bank.
The grey peaks and spikes once again drew Ned's eye. The rocky hills that ran the length of the land up to the southern edge of the Wolfswood. Perhaps members of the Mountain Clans could be persuaded to survey the area. Minerals may yet be found hidden in the crags and caves. If there was at least the promise of some unearthed resource it would be far easier to find a House to accept stewardship over the area. A new Masterly House would be best, as to not cause offence to the Glovers or risk tensions with the Ryswells. Another project for another year, Ned sadly decided.
These thoughts and his daily duties occupied Ned's time until the eve of battle arrived. Camped out far enough away from Hookhamel but close enough for their coming charge. Ned sought solitude away from his men.
The Greyjoy Rebellion had only been seven years ago, less than a decade. The Iron Fleet's initial attacks had focused on the Westerlands, aside from that misguided siege of Seagard. Ned had no doubts that if they had the time, the longships would have attacked Cape Kraken. This whole chain of events presented a dire warning that Balon Greyjoy may once again be heading straight on into madness.
The siege of Pyke had been a bloody day, but one that reminded the rest of the Kingdoms that the North was not a foe to be trifled with. Stark, Bolton and Umber banners flew over the rubble of Botley castle as the Northern foot cut a bloody path through the defenders in Lordsport. Robert had breached Pyke itself, but Ned had captured the ramparts. It was his bannermen who had killed Maron Greyjoy.
It was strange to look back and realise how momentous that occasion had been. Not the invasion of the Iron Islands as a whole, the Westerlands had put the isles to the torch more than once. Rather that Ned was the first Stark to ever attack the islands themselves, despite the long history of war between their two kingdoms. He had stood in the throne room of Pyke and watched the King of the Iron Islands pulled from the Seastone chair and brought to his knees. It was hard to imagine that in the future The Quiet Wolf might be a name remembered alongside The Hungry and The Laughing. For Ned had seen much war, more than many of his predecessors.
Focused as he was on memories of battle, Ned's heart quickened. The fresh night air whipped past his hair as he crept up the hillside, keeping low to the ground. The rocks gave plenty of steady footing. Slinking up the hillside under the moonlight he reached an overlook that gave a wide view of the field below. Scant grass and gravel carpeting the way to the distant wave-drenched shore.
Far in the distance the hinting notes of smoke and roasted meat underscored the occasional shout or argument. He could easily imagine those shouts turning to screams, the roasted meat overwhelmed by blood. Stomping forward he raised his head and unleashed a terrible howl, a warning. It echoed off the cliffs and stone, folding in on itself. His foes quieted, their laughter and arguments forgotten. In some deep, secret part of them, their hearts trembled. They would sleep uneasily tonight, unwilling to admit that their fates had come calling.
/
AN: Hope everyone is enjoying the story and staying safe. My sibling and I managed to catch bronchitis, but not COVID thankfully.
We're reaching a climax for both Jon and Ned, I'm very excited for this as you can probably tell, by how fast I'm pumping these chapters out.
I was looking for some feedback!
With the Ironborn being brought into play, I need to decide what to do with Theon. I'm toying with the idea of having him learn about the harsh realities of Ironborn history. Not by simply having him confront the idiocy of his father but also learning about the periods of prosperity and strength his people reached when following the New Way (like under the rulership of his grandfather, Quellon, or the Hoare dynasty). This is a fix-it fic but I don't want to make things too easy for anyone. What do you think?