Ned's armour was strapped tight and proper. The plate fit comfortably across his shoulder and his legs were free to move. Ser Rodrick had been meticulous in his training, so the Argil brothers were nearly experts at the task by this point. He ran his hand across the shield on his left arm. A grey direwolf on a white field, the same sigil he had worn into battle during the Rebellion. Robert had tried to convince him to create a personal coat of arms but it felt inappropriate. He knew Brandon had added a sword in the wolf's hands, and his father had added a pair of jeweled bracelets to his. Such performatives had always seemed frivolous but it was past time he did. Perhaps a burning longship? Ned smiled to himself.
At Ned's waist was a sturdy blade from Winterfell's forge. Ice had remained in the castle. A greatsword was impractical for all but the most desperate battles. His ancestral blade served well for official duties; but few Stark Lords in the past had trained specifically to wield the huge blade in real combat.
Stepping out of his tent, Ned surveyed the men as they readied for battle. Lord Rodrik was speaking intently with Roger, no doubt imparting last words of advice. The heir to Swift Bank would be by his father's side, but the midst of the charge was not the place for morbid goodbyes.
"Are the men ready?" Ned asked Ser Rodrik.
His master-at-arms was similarly decked out in his full-plate armour. His shield of ten wolf heads, the sigil of House Cassel, included a single grey head at the base of the image, a nod to Rodrik's position of prestige in Winterfell. Ser Rodrik had both a sword and a mace at the ready. The gruff man had quietly passed over a letter to his daughter, Beth, and nephew, Jory, the night before. A true veteran of the field, Ned was always glad to have Cassel at his side.
"Yes, my lord." Ser Rodrik replied. "The foot have been mustered and the archers ordered. They await us."
Ned waved over to the Ryswells in a final gesture before setting off, Ser Rodrik and the Argil brothers behind him. Maw was out in the bushes near camp, keeping a wary eye on their targets.
The northern soldiers stood in clean ranks, arrayed behind the hill they would walk over. Then for ten minutes they would cross open fields to reach Hookhamel. The route had been carefully marked out by scouts in the dead of night.
Lord Cerwyn addressed the infantry, ensuring Ned's orders were clear and understood: "I now present to you, the Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark!" Cerwyn shouted.
The infantry fell quiet, all eyes rested on Ned.
He took a deep breath, the killing would start soon, so would the dying. Unlike Robert, who found these pre-battle speeches invigorating, Ned only found they hardened his nerves and swelled his fears.
"Men of Winterfell, Men of Swift Bank!" Ned called out. "Our march today has one purpose. These brigands have deemed the North weak, and think our land ripe for plunder. These murderers… These slavers have dared to land on our shores and take from us. They think that because they come by sea, they need not fear us. They believe that because they have pillaged the poor folk of Stony Shore, that the High Lords of the North will ignore them. That justice will not find them." Ned pointed to the Direwolf and Horse banners flying high among them. "They are wrong!"
His men gave a cheer and began crying out in exaltation, working themselves up for the conflict fast approaching.
"Northern steel will cut them from their vaunted ships."
"Stark!" They screamed.
"Red lances will bring them to the mud!"
"Ryswell!" They screamed.
Ned drew his sword and thrust it above his head as he bellowed: "On proper northern soil, we shall teach them justice!"
"Winterfell!" They cheered.
Ned mounted his horse, reached down and picked his helmet from one of the Argils. He took a brief moment to examine it. Sansa and Catelyn had presented it to him before his departure so many weeks ago. The plain and sturdy design had been altered slightly. The back of the helmet leading up the peak was embossed with the outline of a weirwood. The face plate, previously plain, now bore three snarling wolf heads on each cheek, one for each of his children. Ned donned it and gave a silent prayer that he could return home with it intact.
He raised his arm and the troops began to move. The seriousness of the march allowed his forces to iron out their coordination and properly settle in their rhythm. Sooner than he expected, Ned saw the hovels and yards of Hookhamel. A cry went up from inside the settlement, he could see the shapes of men frantically running to and fro.
"Make for the beach!" Ned commanded, and the army truly began to speed up.
Hookhamel was built at the base of a long ridge, giving them cover from the wind and rain. It was also a short distance from the shore, where Ned could see four longships beached next to numerous small piers. His goal was to put his men between the raiders and their ships.
Arrows began flying from the hamlet, slamming into his ranks. A few pained cries quickly ended when the ranks closed tight and shields were brought to bear towards the enemy, Ned's back now faced the ocean. Ser Rodrik directed their own bowman to begin responding. The Ironborn had at most five or six archers compared to Ned's 20. Quickly, a clot of enemies streamed out of the hamlet in a strong line, shields raised to protect them. Ned had to ensure they wouldn't break, he needed to draw them out of the buildings. He dismounted his horse and passed the reins off. Better to leave his steed with the archers.
"We shall advance!" Ned shouted, the command taken up across the line.
His formation had been set up with long, tight columns to better disguise their numbers. The dim light of the nascent sunrise hopefully would give the impression of 50 or 60 men, not 80. It appeared to be working. Their lines inched closer and closer, the occasional raider fell to an arrow.
It was the Ironborn who made the first move. The bravest of their ilk broke ranks and sprinted hard forward those last few feet, slamming into the northmen, locking the first ranks together. Shields clashed in desperate shoves with spears flashing out into fleshy gaps. Ned peered over the men and saw what he hoped were the last stragglers rush out of the hamlet to join the melee.
He turned back and waved his shield. Moments later, a clear horn call echoed off the battlefield. An answering tone came from the south and quickly, the thundering of horses rose up over the battlefield.
"Widen the line!" Ned shouted.
With strict discipline, the men at the very back of the northern blocks streamed to the left and right. The Ironborn attempted to match them, desperately attempting to stop their flanks from being hemmed in, but they had underestimated their numbers. Ned's men pushed hard into the enemy and the shield lock broke, the two forces mingled and danced in chaos. Ned and his guards did their best to stay away from the heart of the fighting but were forced to act when a group of Ironborn began to move through the left line.
"For the North!" Ned cried, and led his men into the massacre. His sword quickly drenched itself and his shield was nicked and bent. He parried a clumsy thrust and opened the wielder's ribs. The Argils were young and fresh, they cut three men down in as many swings. Ser Rodrik was not to be outdone and cleanly disarmed a giant, roaring Ironborn then thrust his blade through the brute's lungs. With Ned present, the northern line quickly pushed back.
The northern cavalry entered the fray in a frightening charge right into the side of the enemy. Men were sent flying over their comrades and armour was crushed under unrelenting hooves. The ironborn retreated, but the survivors didn't even make it back to the shelter of the hamlet before outriders led by Roger Ryswell chased them down, capturing those they could. Ned ordered the same. Captives were valuable after all.
Ned suspected there had been 50 or so Ironborn left behind, of which only 8 had been taken alive.
"Lord Stark!" A shout from the hamlet.
Ned whipped back to track the voice's source. He saw Roger Ryswell on his steed motioning to the north. Ned mounted his own horse and peered into the distance. With dread, Ned saw a trio of men looking at the town from the cliffside. Quickly they turned back to some unseen direction and waved.
Danse stepped forward, "Perhaps some brigands were already on their way back?"
"Or the Glovers were caught moving earlier than we thought. If that's the case, the rest of the Ironborn may be on their way." Ned speculated.
In a split second, around the far bend in the rock, a swarm of 100 screaming reavers spilled down into the field, shedding supplies as they ran. He grabbed Danse by the shoulder and ordered him to reform the archers atop the cliff face to overlook the hamlet.
"Into the village! Into the village!" Ned screamed as he rode hard for Hookhamel.
His men were spread out across the entire field, they didn't have the time to merge back into line before the Ironborn were on them, their only chance, as far as Ned could see, was to seek shelter in the hamlet. Lord Rodrik had already rallied the cavalry and retreated back to the beach; to ensure the Ironborn wouldn't try to take the boats.
Ned reunited with his guard just in time for the first axemen to rush into the hamlet. The northmen had grouped together around the buildings, blunting the enemy's reckless charge. Ned cut into a man's shoulder, kicked his blade free and slammed his shield into a young man's face, destroying the boy's nose and caving in his jaw. More and more came, kicking up dirt and dust. Screams blended and thickened the air. Ned's heart was beating too fast to feel, his muscles burned as he continued to slash and stab.
The mud pooled with blood as reaver after reaver fell. With a wail, Ser Rodrik fell back into Ned, a spearhead jutting from his armour. Before Ser Rodrik's assailant could bring his sword down for a killing blow on the unbalanced Ned, Lord Cerwyn intercepted. With a great cry, the Lord brought down his axe and cut clean through the brigand's elbow and then buried the weapon in his jaw. Ned and the Argils dragged the knight into a protective circle with nearby soldiers and rejoined the fight.
A whisper of steel and a guttural grunt alerted Ned someone had maneuvered behind him. He turned in time to see the mace-head flying for his face, when the massive body of Maw dropped from a roof and flattened the attacker. Maw's teeth tore through the chainmail protecting the Ironborn's neck and his victim's helmet filled with blood. Maw raised his red jowls and gave a growl that sent ripples across the crimson pools at their feet. The northmen took Maw's appearance to heart and hit back with a cheer.
The narrow streets were turning against them, Ned saw they were being surrounded. Thankfully, the archers above them concentrated their volleys and a path out of the hamlet opened.
"Retreat to the beaches!" Ned ordered.
Steadily in one large mass, the northern force extracted themselves from the buildings and made for the shoreline. The chasing reavers were easy pickings for Danse and the archers. The Ryswells swung their cavalry wide to the left, making room for Ned's men to fall in. The Lord of Winterfell looked upon the enemy and prepared to meet their charge when a warhorn blew clean in the wind.
From the same bend the Ironborn had burst from, a thrust of heavy armored cavalry emerged flying the silver-gauntlet of House Glover. Together, Glover and Ryswell horses pinned the reavers between them in simultaneous charges and smote the enemy in their path. The survivors either surrendered or were massacred.
Ned stepped back and opened his helmet, he took a deep breath of sea air to mask the corpse stench. The battle was over.
/
Ned clasped hands with the nearby men, congratulating and praising even the common spearman.
"Lord Cerwyn, I owe you my life." Ned thanked.
"I'm simply repaying the favour for your own actions at the Trident." Cerwyn refuted.
Riding up to them, Ned recognized the faces of Galbart and Robett Glover. A happy reunion for all involved. The men of Deepwood Motte had liberated Till's Mill but the Ironborn scouts had marked their approach and fled. The small folk had been rescued and the timbre recovered.
The grim task of separating the dead came next. The northmen were lined up outside Hookhamel and his captains took time to identify each body. The ironborn were lumped together in a great heap, their clothing and possession stripped.
Of the 200 Northmen, 40 had died or would soon perish from their wounds. Lord Glover's vanguard of 100 horsemen had suffered no casualties, thankfully. Of the 160 Ironborn, only 30 prisoners remained. Most of their captives were common raiders but 2 Captains had been subdued.
One had the characteristic goat-belt of a Goodbrother of Great Wyk, perhaps kin to Ned's other prisoner. The other was an older, hardier man with a look of experience mixed with pain, most likely due to his three missing fingers. Ned guessed this was the raid leader judging by the expensive rings and armor found on him. With that many captives it was easy to make some talk with promises of food and medicine. Their leader was Borreg Pyke, a bastard son of Dunstan Drumm, the Lord of Old Wyk. This signified the involvement of at least two separate Great Houses of the Iron Islands.
Days ticked by while riders were sent back to Swift Bank and Deepwood Motte. Camp and a makeshift triage were constructed in the meantime. Ned considered Borreg and the Goodbrother. Even with their confessions, there was no concrete proof that their attacks had been ordered by either of their Lords. It was plausible that Balon had nothing to do with this at all. Ned had to think carefully on his next move.
On one hand, if he sent notes of ransom it could serve as an adequate threat. Balon would need to make excuses for his vassals and if they had been acting outside his knowledge, it could sow discord among his court.
Not to be forgotten, Robert's visit was only six or seven months away. Ned could simply imprison the raiders until the King's arrival. Hard proof of Iron Islanders breaking the treaty would definitely elicit a reaction from the Crown. On Balon's orders or not, Ned could use the attack as leverage to gain concessions from Robert and Jon Arryn.
A delay would also give him time to think on what to do about Theon.
Ned eventually ordered that the prisoners be split between the Glovers and Ryswells and held until a later date. Three of the longships were stripped and burnt, the last was sailed up the Saltspear to Torrhen's Square for storage.
As the sails of the ships burnt within sight of the Stony Shore, Ned thought of the busy months ahead and found relief in his swift return home.
/
The march back to Winterfell was delayed by the frequent happy reunions of the freed small folk with their families in the Rills and Barrowlands. Ned grimaced, when he realized that yet another wave of babes will likely bear the name "Edd" and "Eddara." He could only hope that an equal number of "Rogers" and "Rodra" balanced the trend.
Not to be outdone, the joy Ned experienced as he rode through the gates of Winterfell was euphoric. His beautiful daughter and adorable son rushed into his arms, followed by his lovely wife. His family stayed firmly by his side for days on end, even when he witnessed the funerals of his fallen soldiers. Green Eyes and Maw were likewise inseparable for many weeks following their return.
Ser Rodrik slowly recovered from his wounds, finally recognizing that age had caught up to him. Ned felt compelled to acknowledge the prowess displayed by the Argils. For his valiant command of the archers, Danse was appointed to be Rodrik's successor as Master-at-arms, to be trained until the venerable knight chose to retire. Oryn's stalwart swordsmanship earned him a full set of armor commissioned from Winterfell's own blacksmith.
Lord Cerwyn's bravery did not go unrecognized, Medger's prize was different. A betrothal sponsored by the Starks between his heir, Cley Cerwyn, and Eddara Tallhart. Ned knew that Eddara herself was a charming young woman who had been a great influence on Sansa, Jeyne and Beth Cassel; she would be a wonderful Lady Cerwyn. A union to connect the two houses who would hopefully be expanding the North's lumber industry by leaps and bounds.
Once he was properly rested, Ned took a short trip to Moat Cailin to check-in on the new road linking the Moat to White Harbour. It was the first of his endeavours that would hopefully inspire other Houses to take initiative. He knew from the foreman that other nobles from as far afield as the Hornwood had made visits to witness the project.
He exchanged more letters with Lord Hoster and managed to negotiate for a number of Riverlords to send excess labourers up the King's Road to join the growing pool of men working on the Wolfswood Canal. The canal had to be dug in stages. With the bricks and mortar being supplied by the Vale, they had plenty of time to get the excavations underway. Final dimensions approved by the architects put the canal at 4 meters wide and 2 meters deep. Enough for two barges to pass each other side-by-side and deep enough to prevent a full freeze in the winter. 600 men and their families had already settled into Wintertown from across the North. The promise of an extra income before the arrival of the next winter had attracted people from across the kingdom. All of this gave Ned hope that similar large-scale projects were not out of reach, that the right motivation and careful planning could bring the North to new heights.
Months later, the royal visit loomed large in Ned's mind. He finally received another letter with the royal seal. It had been sent from Harrenhal by Jon Arryn. His foster father informed him that their convoy had left King's Landing with 400, not 200, labourers and their families in their wake. The royal party would meet with Lord Hoster at the Twins and arrive at Winterfell together. The extra men would not go amiss. It was fortunate that Wintertown could accommodate them and more.
Time to reveal the truth of the raids on Stony Shore was fast approaching. The Ironborn had been moved down to Torrhen's Square. Ned planned on taking Robert and Jon with him to visit the ship, and there away from outside voices, Ned planned to push for serious compensation.
He'd been hesitating for weeks on the honour in this act. Cregan Stark's words had pushed him forward. If Ned had been a southern Lord Paramount, the sheer power he could have wielded with Robert on the throne was staggering. Cregan's reign in King's Landing had lasted a mere seven days but ended with a Manderly as Lord Regent. Winterfell had wielded strong influence during the childhood of Aegon III. Unfortunately, the many treaties and agreements made by Cregan during this time were dashed by the Winter Fever of 132 AC and Cregan's own abandonment of the position (though in his words, he believed that the South, especially the Faith, would have little tolerance for a Stark Regent in the long term). If Ned managed to pull together even half the potential from Robert's reign that Cregan had held under Aegon III, then he could set the North on a path to prosperity for a generation to come. Ned did not want to abuse his foster brother, for he knew that Robert felt deeply and blindly. He had to reason with himself that if the Iron Islands was preparing for war, then the North would need all the support it could get.
His only remaining apprehension about the approaching reunion was a note added to Jon Arryn's letter:
I shall send another letter before we cross the Twins, though doubtlessly word will travel the King's Road ahead of us. Lysa and Robin do not particularly enjoy the rigors of the road, and my aged body agrees with them, I shall look forward to the comforts of Winterfell.
I also have some important news that can only be shared in the strictest confidence.
Ned sat back in the safety of his castle and heard the winds blow against Winterfell's walls. Ominous words… ominous words.
/