The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

AN: Sorry about the delay but a mix of university work and other commitments pushed this back. I hope you will all enjoy it.

Also, regarding Episode Three of Season Eight. Well, I loved it but it made me realise, how will the Farosi army deal with the Army of the Dead?

Chapter Twelve

The Storm and the Fires

The village, North West of Moat Cailin, was a ruin. The collection of a dozen hovels were sitting together, their thatched roofs burned off and their contents strewn about the place. The smallfolk who lived there were all dead, their bodies had been strung up on the nearby trees. All of it the work of the Ironborn.

Ned Stark looked across this scene, his face barely containing his anger. These were his people and he had failed to protect them, he should never have gone south, he should have refused Robert's offer and stayed at Winterfell, then he could have been able to stop this from happening and Jon would still be here, not risking his life as a spy in that pigsty everyone liked to call a capital city.

As soon as he received word that the North had been attacked by the Ironborn he had led all of his soldiers from the North back home, placing the Tully forces in defensive positions in the Riverlands under the command of Blackfish and Edmure. Ned had to deal with the Ironborn threat quickly, bands of their raiders were rampaging across the North, sacking the villages and holds stripped of most of their defences for the war. Just as importantly, he wanted to get to Winterfell to make sure his youngest sons were alright, he was confident in the castle's defences but most of its soldiers were with him, only a small force remained. Now he was actually glad that he let Cat stay at Riverrun, he had wanted to send her home to be with their youngest sons and to be there to welcome back Sansa and Arya but now she was safe in her family's ancient home.

'Father,' Robb said as he walked towards him, wearing his armour and being followed by several men, at the back of the group was Theon Greyjoy who looked as if he wished he was invisible.

'Well?' he asked.

'We captured the Ironborn who attacked the village but the others who were trying to take Moat Cailin have retreated.'

'The second our cannons started firing they didn't want to stay,' Ned remarked. 'Where are your prisoners?'

'We locked them in a store room and put guards outside.'

'Find something to use as a chopping block.'

'Of course,' Robb said and sent some of the men to carry out his fathers orders.

'You fought well,' Ned said to him and grinned slightly.

'Thank you. I just want to get the Ironborn thrown out of our land.'

'As do I but remember that this is just one front of the war, we still need to worry about the Farosi.'

'Of course I know that. Everyone knows that.'

'The Ironborn attack has been a distraction.'

'Has it?'

'Of course it has. Now that we need to retake the North, our battle against the Farosi has had to be delayed. I'm just surprised that the Farosi would supply them with their weapons.'

'I don't think they did,' Robb explained and gestured to one of the riflemen nearby who was carrying his own weapon and one of the rifles the Ironborn had used in the fighting. The soldier approached them and Robb took the rifle and handed it to Ned. 'Look down the barrel and tell me what you see.'

Ned did so and saw the inside of the weapon, the spiralling grooves on the inside and numerous scuff marks left by the gunpowder.

'This needs cleaning,' he said and handed it back to Robb.

'That doesn't matter. Compare it to the rifle we took from the Ironborn.'

Ned looked down the barrel of the other weapon and saw that it was different in construction, slightly longer than the other and with a barrel completely smooth on the inside.

'There aren't any grooves in the barrel of this rifle.'

'Because it isn't a rifle.'

'What?'

'Rifles have the grooves on the inside, they twist the bullet like the fletching of an arrow, I think Jon said a man named Riflen came up with the idea. That weapon,' he pointed at the Ironborn one, 'is a musket.'

'A musket?'

'Yes, the Farosi stopped using them nearly twenty years ago.'

'So the Farosi have been giving them outdated weapons?'

'It's not just that,' he said and held up the rifle, pointing to a small brass square near the trigger, displaying the intricately carved letters D S. 'Every Farosi rifle has this on it, a makers mark for Donley and Sons Firearms Company. Look at the makers mark on that one.'

Ned studied the brass marking, in the musket located on the underside of the stock. Instead of D S it portrayed the carving of a crown snapped in half.

'That's the symbol of Gwaithol,' he said and then anger filled him. 'They are using this war as revenge against Farsos.'

'That's what I feared as well.'

'They have armed the Ironborn. How many of those here were armed with muskets?'

'Maybe half of them.'

'They outgun us.'

'A single rifle can outrange a musket greatly and is much more powerful. We still have the advantage.'

'At least we hope so.'

'Lord Stark,' one of their men said and nodded his head. 'We have the block ready.'

'Bring out the prisoners. I'll deal with them now.'

Ned walked the short distance towards where the block had been set up, in the middle of the little village, ringed by his soldiers a twenty or so Ironborn, their hands bound together and their expressions bearing a mix of anger, defeat and fear.

'Bring their leaders forward,' he ordered and his men dragged three men in armour of higher quality than the others. 'The three of you ordered this village to be massacred, the women to be raped and the homes destroyed. Your men will be allowed to take the black, as for you three, two will die. You can choose.'

'They deserved it,' one of the officers spat. 'All you from the mainland are all weak, if they actually fought for their lives they'd still be here.'

'If you had never come they'd still be here. Choose which of you lives and dies.'

'Me,' another said and grinned as he stepped forwards. 'I'm not scared of death.'

'Kill him,' another said and pointed at the one who had bragged about the weakness of Northerners. 'It was his idea to kill everyone here.'

'No it wasn't,' he said back.

Ned silenced the two bickering men with a look.

'You two will die,' Ned told them and his men dragged them off towards the block, both kicking and screaming as they did.

When the remaining officer started laughing Ned advanced on his and grabbed him by the throat.

'You will be given a horse, you will go back to your people and you will tell them that I am coming for them. They better make ready and it doesn't matter how many Gwaitholi muskets they have. The North will triumph.'

He then threw the man to the ground before he was taken away by a soldier towards a horse and Ned progressed towards the block, which was I reality a barrel that one of the Ironborn was now being held down on while his companion tried to escape his own fate but couldn't beat the several men holding him. Ned drew Ice from its sheath and looked down at the first of the officers.

'Is there anything you want to say before you die?'

'Fuck you!'

Ned raised the sword and brought it down, the Valyrian blade slicing through bone and flesh as if it was butter and almost cutting through the barrel if he hadn't shown restraint. Just after the headless corpse was pushed off the other officer was pushed onto the barrel and Ned readied his sword.

'Is there anything you want to say before you die?'

'You're an ugly cunt!'

Ned resisted the urge to roll his eyes and just brought the sword down, slicing off his head and this time taking half the barrel with him. He then walked straight towards the other prisoners and cleared his throat.

'Your leaders were killed, for they were the ones who ordered these crimes to be done. You did not order it, but you did as they commanded and are just as guilty. Each of you must make a choice. Step forward and you will be allowed to take the Black and be escorted to the Wall to serve as sworn brothers of the Nights Watch and earn repentance through a life of service, protecting the people you sought to plunder and rape. Those who refuse will be hanged. Make your choice.'

About two thirds of them stepped forward, some quickly but some after a few moments to consider the choice. The remaining few stood there, anger in their eyes.

'You will be hanged and serve as a warning to the rest of your people. This is the North, and when you raid our shores and kill our people the only fate you will receive is death.'

Of course when they were hanged Ned kicked the logs they had been standing on out from under their feet himself. Although he was not swinging the sword he was carrying out the execution, it was his duty. Done with this task he planned to walk back to the tent erected in the heart of his armies camp for him but after only going a short distance he realised that he was being followed. He looked over his shoulder to see Theon walking towards him, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped.

'What do you want, Theon?' he asked him.

'I wanted to talk to you.'

'Very well. Come on.'

The two continued through the camp for a few moments as he waited for Theon to say what was on his mind.

'What we just saw, it's just that, when I was a boy on the Iron Islands we sung songs and told stories of the Old Way, when the Ironborn raided the coastline from the Mander to the Frozen Shore. We celebrated the great warriors and captains who led their crews onto the mainland, burnt castles and took captives back to the Iron Islands. Those stories, they were always good and we cheered at them but now.'

'But now you've seen what the songs left out.'

He nodded his head, his eyes not meeting Neds.

'All these people, they were killed for no reason. I killed at the Field of Smoke but they were soldiers, they had weapons, they were trained but these people, they were just farmers.'

'I'm glad you can see that. When I offered to take you as my ward I did it not just to spare you from being sent off to live with someone like Tywin Lannister. I did it because I wanted you to see the truth, that the Old Way is nothing but an excuse for violence and plunder. They pretend to be warriors but are no different from brigands, that must end.'

'And it will,' Theon told him, finally showing determination in his words. 'When this war is over, and we bring my father to justice, I will stop my people from ever doing this again. The Old Way is dead, it's about time we bury it forever.'

'Good,' Ned said and grinned so slightly at the boy he had brought to Winterfell and had become a man. 'You are a better man than your father.'

'Lord Stark,' one of his soldiers said as he approached them, a piece of paper in his hand, clearly a message from a raven, 'we just received this.'

'Thank you,' he said and took it, instantly recognising Maester Luwin's hand.

Lord Stark, a group of Ironborn attacked Winterfell this morning, they had rifles and were led by a Farosi. The breached the entrance courtyard but our men beat them back. We remain under siege. Your sons are safe but Ser Rodrick believes we need reinforcements at once. Please aid us, I do not know how long we can hold.'

As soon as he read it he knew what he had to do.

'We divide our forces,' he declared. Two thirds of our men will move to Barrowton and on to Torrhen's Square and relieve them. I will lead the rest straight up the King's Road to Winterfell.'

'Why?' Theon asked him so Ned handed him the letter. 'Gods no.'

…

'The first rank will kneel!' Sam shouted as loud as he could, his own voice causing him pain as he looked at the "riflemen" he was expected to train. After Renly's victory over the Farosi he had ordered all of their firearms to be collected and now Sam was training just over four thousand men as riflemen. 'The second rank and third rank will remain standing. At the command "Take aim" the first rank will aim at the enemy. On top of the rifles you will find two leaf shaped sights, one for a range of five hundred yards, the other for three hundred yards. Use those sights if you want to shoot your enemy.'

After he had been put in charge of training them he had selected twenty other men who he trained himself and then put them in charge of assisting him, making them the riflemen's officers and giving them the revolvers they captured. The force was organised into companies of two hundred men.

'When the first rank fires they will begin to reload. The second rank will then obey the command to take aim. Upon their officers orders they will fire. The third rank will do the same. The Farosi can fire three times a minute, I expect you to at least manage two a minute.'

He then walked towards the side of the formation, this company lined up in the three rank formation, their officer, Ser Folin Amber, began to issue commands as the men prepared to fire at the line of scarecrows in front of them, three hundred yards away.

'First rank kneel! Take aim! Fire!'

The soldiers followed the orders and as soon as the crack of fire was over they quickly began to reload.

'Second rank, take aim! Fire!'

Again the followed the order and began to reload as Sam kept an eye on his pocket watch, they were keeping up with the planned time so far, good.

'Third rank, take aim! Fire!'

The bullets flew through the air and Sam kept his eyes on the watch. It had been thirty seconds as the first rank prepared to fire again. Once all three ranks had fired after a full minute past he nodded, they had just kept up the rate of fire.

'Well done men,' he said as he walked towards the scarecrows to check how accurate the fire had been.

There were holes in the grass where the bullets had hit the ground. The legs and arms had holes as well, the chests had been struck in many cases but far to many of the bullets had missed.

'How did they do?' asked Ser Folin.

'They need to improve their aim,' he answered.

'Damn. But a leg wound will still put a man out of the battle.'

'I know, but we need to land as many kills as possible.'

'Do we have enough shot and powder to keep training the men?'

'Shot is easy, we just need lead. The powder though, it can be made but the stuff our men have been making is poor quality at best. We'll need to capture as much as we can from the Farosi.'

'Ser Samwell.'

He looked to see King Renly approaching him on horseback, his expression grim which was unusual. Since their victory he had been very upbeat as he gathered his forces to march on Oldtown.

'Your Grace. What's the matter?'

'We have a problem. Lord Stark has decided to march north instead of on King's Landing.'

'Good. He can deal with the Ironborn.'

'No it isn't. He's being distracted and I've sent a raven to tell him to focus on the real war and he can deal with those robbers later.'

'I see,' Sam responded but in truth he disagreed with the man. Lord Stark had to help his people, he had to protect his people or he'd loose the support of his bannermen.

'Anyway, I want the men ready to move in seven days, our spies say that Farosi reinforcements have begun to arrive.'

'Then we must strike now.'

'Exactly. Good luck Samwell.'

…

The flute's music drifted through the warm night air, the camp fires crackled as the wood burned while men checked their weapons for the battle the next day. Jon sat on a stool by his troops fire, looking into the faces of his men he had known for a year now, no, over a year. He met them two days after graduating from Whitestone Academy and the day before departing for Westeros. They had all been lined up on the parade ground, their uniforms freshly cleaned, buttons shining and their horses freshly groomed. To be honest, that had been the most terrifying moment in Jon's life, meeting the men who would count on him and who he would count on. Now, he knew all their faces, Trooper Hensin, who was playing the flute, not doing any real tune, instead just letting the music echo his thoughts, he remembered how well the man had spoken before King Robert once, telling the truth of what happened on the Trident in a time which felt like another life, Trooper Bonbin, with a ludicrously long moustache, Corporal Donley, reliable as ever, eating the last of his days ration of marching bread and Sergeant Osoni, his trusted second in command, was writing in his leather bound diary.

'How many battles have you been in sir?' Donley asked Osoni.

'Four,' he answered. 'I was at Morok, Belin's Hill, Corinno and Pyke.'

'Don't you think the riot counted as a battle?'

'No it bloody wasn't. A real battle's what we'll be dealing with tomorrow.'

'How many of them are there?' asked Trooper Harley, a skinny man whose uniform hung off him. 'How many Lannister's I mean.'

'Thirty thousand,' Jon told him. 'Give or take a few thousand.'

'Do we have a chance?' asked Bonbin.

'Of course we do,' Osoni said with a grin. 'At best they've got a few shotguns.'

'And numbers,' Bonbin added. 'We barely have eight thousand.'

'I don't trust the constables,' said Trooper Moory. 'Back when they were Gold Cloaks I saw some of them taking bribes from smugglers.'

'They wouldn't dare betray us,' Jon reassured him. 'Not with the MP's watching them.'

'I think we'd best write our last letters,' Osoni told them. 'Just in case.'

The usual custom of the Farosi was, on the eve of battle, to write a letter to your loved ones in case you didn't survive. Osoni reached into his kit bag and pulled from within it sheets of paper and envelopes, as the sergeant it was his job to keep them with him. Jon looked at the paper he had been given and, holding his fountain pen over the cream coloured sheet, he wondered who he should write to. Lord Stark or Robb? How would they even get it to them. Maybe Lady Stark, just so he could tell her that her husband had been concealing the truth from her all these years and she had been cruel for no reason. For a moment he was truly tempted to do just that but decided against it, she just wasn't worth the effort. He looked at Ghost who was laying nearby on the ground, eating some corned beef lumps that the men had been giving him out of their own rations. Ghost had his own food but everyone gave him treats anyway.

'Who are you writing to?' Jon asked Osoni.

'My daughter,' he answered. 'Well, the oldest one anyway.'

'How many do you have?'

'Three sir. Three girls and I'm telling you, when you and Her Highness start with children, get ready for a barrage of dresses and toys.'

'It's strange, we've known each other all this time but you never told me about them.'

'You always just focused on your work sir.'

'It seems pointless worrying about that now.'

'I suppose you're right sir. My oldest, Relka, she got married last year, just before we headed off for Westeros.'

'Is the husband a good man?'

'Not bad but she could have done better. He's a captain in the Unionton Police. The other girls, Tenee and young Helan, she's, oh by the Queen, she's only just finished school.'

Jon remembered that Osoni had mentioned his wife once before, having died three years earlier. Thee tough man reached into his coat and pulled out of it a small ambrotype in a steel case, a type of photograph on a piece of glass.

'Here are my girls,' he said and handed it to Jon.

The image was of the three daughters, all of them clearly his, they all their fathers prominent nose.

'You should be proud.'

'I am. You should hear little Helan, she's already planning on becoming a teacher.'

'I hope this doesn't sound like I was listening in sir,' said Donley, 'but if we're sharing pictures,' he pulled a folded photograph out of his pocket and showed it to Jon and Osoni, showing a girl a few years younger than Donley on it.

'Very nice if I say so myself,' Osoni chuckled. 'What's her name?'

'Ranea. We're getting married when we next go home.'

'Good for you lad. She's a bonny looking girl.'

'She certainly is. A bit of a handful but I love her.'

'You know, Mister Snow,' Osoni began, 'I envy you sometimes. The woman you're marrying isn't halfway around the world.'

'I suppose I am lucky,' he answered, looking into the fire.

'I'm going to bed,' said Trooper Bonbin. 'I'm bloody knackered after working on the breastworks today.'

As he stood up to head towards the tent he was going to sleep in, and Jon thought about heading to his own tent when a tune suddenly filled the air. All eyes turned towards Hensin who was playing the flute again, this time to a normal tune that they all knew. A few of the men began to sing along.

The Wind howled on the Morning.

Across the Sea on that Morning.

And yet at dawn, our Bonny Girl Did.

Look one last time on her Home.

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

She stepped alone in the Streets.

Across the streets of her Home.

And her guards bowed down when they saw her

The Duchess knew doom was at Hand

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

The Unicorn flew alone.

For the final Time.

So the young Duchess mounted her Horse.

To save her people and kin.

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

The Tiger Horde was too close

Her armies were fleeing

So she turned her gaze to the East.

To the King Across the Mountains.

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

His eyes glowed like flames.

His beard as black as night.

And his armies were so large.

He marched under the griffon.

But above all he wanted the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

Their wedding was small

There was so little time

For the Tigers were coming close

The Great Battle was here

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

The battle was so long

But the great day was won

Though the King fell that day.

And left his Queen with a son.

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

So the Queen left her Home.

And travelled to First Sight.

Where she carried her babe.

She was the mother of King Fornos

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera

And the Queen of Faros.

As the men began to repeat the old tune Jon thought about the story, the Duchess and the King, he remembered that great painting of them back at the Embassy, he had seen it on the night of the ball, when he had first kissed Radwen. He looked back at the paper in his hand and began to write.

AN: Anyway, I was looking forward to writing this chapter, especially the ending part. Writing that song was probably the hardest part of writing this chapter, I've never written a song before so let me know what you think.

So, please review, let me know what you think.

Have a great day all of you.