Ch. 6
The Butcher
Tom strolled down the streets of White Harbor clad in fresh silk and garbbed in a rich fur cloak. Today was his big day, Aye, the day of his wedding to his soon-to-be Merling wife, even the usually gray clouds looked jolly. He was careful to not dirty his newly-bought steel-toed boots on the muddy road where speckles of fresh spectral snow fell. Oh! How exciting it was, to finally be a man complete. Nay, not just any man, The new Lord of this booming city. To start anew not as a sellsword, but as a high lord with his own household and sigil.
Shouts and screams. A commotion ahead disturbed his wishful thoughts. A menagerie of smallfolk gathered in a circle, bickering amongst themselves. The bricked houses to his right dimmed in color. There was trouble ahead, he could feel it, his brows creased uncontrollably. By the west of the gathered crowd, He spotted a face he knew, yet the visage was blurred to him. "What's happening here?" He asked, the mysterious face perhaps, or maybe to himself. Before a voice could answer, however, a tiny street urchin grabbed Tom's hand and jerked it. The face of the child was thin and gaunt, the cloth he wore dirted and brown.
" Captain! Captain!" The urchin yelled, urgently. What the fuck is this?
" Captain!" The urchin yelled again, his high-pitched noise obnoxious to Tom's ear.
" Shut it!" He yelled back, slapping the urchin with the back of his hand.
" CAPTAIN!" It pierced through his ears.
Spotted Tom, known by many as the Butcher, woke begrudgingly from his makeshift bed. His crony and second in command, Jericho of the White Knife, stood over him. Jericho was a short and thin man with a pointed nose and clean-shaven face 'cept a few short whiskers above his lip. He wore rusted mail, a muted brown coif, two short dirks on his belt, and a Braavosi sword. He was one of Tom's companions who escaped Wolf's den with him some ten years ago.
Tom rubbed his eyes, his vision still fogged from his slumber. " What the fuck is it, you dolt? I told you not to wake me before the sun reaches Blenon hill!" Tom shouted. Only the Gods knew he needed his sleep to deal with these good-for-nothin's.
" Captain!" Jericho caught his breath. "That Lyseni pirate, Saan, he tried to burn our ships!"
" The fuck are you talkin' about? He's part of the band, you dumb cunt!"
" I saw their standard meself, captain. The lyseni pirates tried to…" Tom shoved the man to the side and opened his tent. The sight that greeted him was of flames and panic. His men ran back and forth, carrying buckets of water, attempting to quell the flames.
" Not drinking water, you whoresons! Use sea water!" He shouted to the dumb ones running to one of the freshwater ponds.
Beyond the coast, to his west, he saw a fast ship with the Samarro Saan's black standard sailing northward.
"Get me my far-eye!" He said to Jericho.
The looted Myrish lens didn't help much. The ship was too far to make out the details by now, but Tom saw something. "That's that silver hair alright. Oh, damn these treacherous pansies. Get me the corpse-lover! We need to send a raven to Blackfyre!"
…
Tom hailed from the slums of White Harbor. A Butcher's son, he was big as a bull compared to boys his age and had a knack for fighting. Tom was six and ten when he brawled with two drunk Manderly men, crippling one of them. Lord Manderly had been in a foul mood then and sentenced him to the Wolf's Den. An old, ruinous castle by the river of White Knife that housed criminals, low-lives, and all manners of scum.
A few years later, he broke out with thirty prisoners, twenty made it to White Harbor, and six made it across the narrow sea. They joined the Voiceless Mercy, a sellsword company led by a Lorathi named Galog. Not long after, a sound defeat in the hands of a Dothraki Khal and the death of its leader sealed the company's date. Spotted Tom and Jericho, the last ones who yet lived, made their own. And now the butcher's boy led The Butcher's boys. Nearly a thousand strong, with five hundred foots, fifty-some crossbows, and three hundred mounted spears.
Yet in his folly, he left his three hundred riders with Maelys Blackfyre and the Golden Company in the disputed lands. And the rest followed him to reinforce the defense against the Targaryens in the Stepstones.
Unlike bloodstone which had some semblance of trees, bushes, crops, and grass with meniscal hints of civilization, the biggest rock among the Skull isles was just that, a big barren rock. To the east of the rock, stood a bare hill that blocked the sight of the sun until noon, named Blenon by his men from Essos. For weeks, they have camped here, waiting for the incoming Westerosi host. And in these weeks, the men had become restless, one was stabbed in the gut for cheating in a dice game, another had his throat slit at night for gods know why, and three had gone missing. The Butcher's boys were known for their savagery and aggression in battles and skirmishes, not for their calm and patient demeanor in holding defenses.
That evening, he sat in the only pavilion on the island. Around him were his lieutenants, each more irritated and angry than the last. To his right was Jericho, and then after him, Narrak, Maello, and Ser Jacobs. Toward the other end of the pavilion, the corpse-loving maester tallied the losses.
" Forty-three dead, Captain. Most of them sailors. And only a cog, a longship, and two galleys survived the flames." Qyburn said as he read off a parchment.
" How many days 'til that bird brings back the message?" He asked.
" Six days at the very least." The exiled maester said.
What? "Six fuckin' days! And what do we do now? piss and shit and eat and sleep 'til that freak with two heads tells me what the fuck to do?" The cups shook as he pounded the table hard.
Narrak the Norvosi stroked his long, braided beard, and joined in:" This alliance of nine relies on a sacred oath of brotherly trust, but we should have never trusted these pirates. The words of a Qohorik mean more than theirs. " To his left, Maello short-hair nodded in agreement. The copper bells on his oiled dark locks jingled as his head moved.
" Captain, I'd advise you to await the letters from Maelys Blackfyre, he might provide us with some valuable insight," Said Qyburn. The exiled Maester was a traveling healer in Volantis when he met him, the man had cleanly treated a shoulder wound Tom suffered and so was convinced to join the company, albeit with some chilling conditions. Qyburn had a gentle smile, lean frame, and kind eyes, but tales of him laying with corpses ever since his addition to the Butcher's boys had unsettled many in the company.
He weighed his choices. He held no allegiance to the Blackfyres, all he wanted was to return to White Harbor in splendor and glory. " No, Fuck him, and fuck those lyseni cunts. We strike at them at the hour of the bat. Gather the men. We sally out on the ships we have and capture theirs. But more importantly, get off this damned rock and go back to Essos."His lieutenants cheered. It was no secret that many have been disgruntled by days of boredom the company endured.
…
Bloodtown was an apt walled settlement on the North end of Bloodstone, mainly inhabited by exiles and criminals from Westeros and the Free Cities. The town was named after the piece of rock on which it was built upon, or perhaps from the countless numbers of razing, reaping, and bloodshed that took place. And it had changed hands just as many times as the island itself. But Bloodtown stayed, Its driftwood houses were burned and rebuilt, stacking on top of old ashes and blood that spilled before. Now it served as a home for Samaaro Saan and his pirate crew.
The butcher wielded a large Westerosi- style executioner's sword. Its point was made to be flat and dull while its two edges were crafted to behead criminals cleanly and swiftly. It was a clumsy show blade, good for lobbing heads off when they sat nicely on a block, yet hard to use in real fights. But the butcher knew it well, knew its weight, knew its balance, knew how much strength he needed to cut a man in half.
He wore a set of finely smithed chain-mail, over a pentoshi-style tan-colored gambeson. As well as a slightly dented steel breastplate and a set of massive shoulder pauldrons taken from some warlord. He also had a newly crafted steel half-helm gifted by the Golden Company. It was a pretty thing compared to the rest of his armaments. The borders were gilded with gold, and the nose guard was carved into the shape of a dragon.
They landed quietly by the East, four hundred foots were all the ships could carry. None held torches or oil lamps, with only the moonlight guiding their path. Tom could see several pits of fire scattered between them and Bloodtown, with shapes of men resting and sleeping. He jumped off the longship, knees deep in seawater, and advanced. His men shortly followed.
A meager group of pirates sat by their fire, drinking wine and eating fish, singing about the whores they bedded, and the treasures they've each won. The smell of smoke and soured fruit filled the midnight air. One of them slid away from the group to release his waters, his drunken senses dulled with wine unaware of the ambush behind him.
"Oi." The butcher yelled.
The pirate turned back quickly, surprised at the sudden shout.
" Meet my blade." He plunged his sword down with both hands, and the giant sword cut through both skull and brain. The drunk died without a scream and fell into his own filth. Though the man had lost his voice, the sheer swoop of the sword had sliced the winds and led to a blaring noise. His friends by the fire pit cried in panic, one simply ran toward the town screaming in their own tongue.
Nine corsairs stood in front of him with swords and spears in hand. Only two of them wore armor though, and it was made with old boiled leather. They charged at him with fear behind their eyes. Fear that The Butcher knew well, fear that The Butcher relished in.
"Come here, you bastards, come greet the butcher!" He shouted. Left and right he swung, cleaving through the first man's belly, splitting the skull of the second in half. The third thrashed with his sword, but Tom's huge shoulder pauldron bounced the blade off harmless. He slammed the back of his elbow into the pirate's face. The man dropped to the ground, and a harsh hack ended his life.
He felt a sting on his thigh, one of them had snuck to his side and stabbed him with a spear. Tom spun around and swiped his sword back, feeling the impact of the blade as it crunched through cloth, meat, and bones.
More and more corsairs joined the fight, but his men had caught up also. Jericho cut down two, Maello short hair took the life of three others with his moon-shaped arakh, Logan nine-fingers threw a javelin and it struck true in a man's chest. He could hear the bells ringing in the town, no doubt that Saan was alerted of the attack. The Butcher's boys marched on, slaying the occasional pirate crew who stupidly stood their ground. They reached the wooden walls of Bloodtown soon enough.
The walls were made out of thick oaks and stood around three yards tall. The top was sharpened into spikes to prevent climbing. Thankfully, Bloodtown had no battlements, preventing its defenders from dropping rocks or boiling water on top of the besieger. His men brought the ram forward. Once, twice, thrice, they charged at the gate. It buckled but did not break. " Put some bite into it, boys." He said.
" Come out Saan, come out! Answer for your treachery!" There were voices behind the wooden walls, but none answered his call. He turned to his men. " Bring some fires from the pits, burn these fucking walls down!" Soon enough, his men brought the torches over, they held them over the walls. Though the walls were made of wood, the constant sea winds had made them damp and hard to set ablaze. After many attempts, only a small set of them burned and most remained unyielding.
A voice came from behind the stubborn walls. " What business do you have here, butcher? Maelys gave you his orders, man the skull isles so the Targaryen's ships do not pass. Instead, you've come to slaughter my men and ruin my night."
" You fucking sneak. Let it be decided here! You and me, to the death!" Yet there was no reply, no doubt the pirate lord was a coward and had little interest nor will to duel his betters. " Fucking craven!" He shouted. Again, no replies. The other voices behind the walls soon quieted too. The only sound that can be heard was the rhythmic pounding of the ram.
Silence.
Ram.
Silence.
Ram.
Silence.
Ram.
First came the whistle of winds, then came the whistle of arrows. One went through Old Steff's neck, another hit Narrak in the thigh. More and more arrows followed, his men who had shields raised them, and the ones who did not, ran for whatever cover they could find. The steel-tipped rain came in volleys, and with each volley more of his crew wailed in agony.
He heard a whistle close to him, followed by a sharp pain on his left cheek. He had been hit by an arrow. The taste of iron welled in his mouth. It throbbed whenever he moved his face. These honorless fucks, I will kill ya, I will butcher every last man-
Tisk. He heard the bar that blocked the gate snap harshly, the ram had finally succeeded.
" Move." He blurted out. He could feel his cheek tear more as he moved his mouth, but pain no longer mattered. He drove his own body to the gate, and with a heavy smash, it was opened. The soon-to-be-dead men behind the walls held their swords, he could see the trembling of hands and chittering of teeth. The shivering eyes and the nervous sweats.
He charged at them. One of the defenders held his shield up at the downward swing of The Butcher's giant sword. The shield, made with some kind of hardwood and reinforced with borders of steel, held true. But the arm of the man who wielded it did not. The force of the swing had broken the sod's arm. His shield lowered, the Butcher's sword lowered with it, and the man's head was halved. The next, sliced from shoulder to armpit. The next, stomped with his heel in the head. The next, cut across the waist.
Where are you? Where are you, Saan? He barged into huts and houses, cleaving any living thing in his path. Women, children, he did not care. None of them were Samarro Saan. Where are you? Men ran at the sight of him and his sword, but he did not chase after them, for what he wanted most was to end the miserable life of that silver-haired worm.
The town now blazed in flames. The house to his left collapsed in its own blackened ashes. Where is he? He eyed the streets, some of the Lyseni pirates had silver hair also, but a difference can be told in their dress. Samarro Saan wore nearly half of his worldly possessions with him. Jewels, gems, silks, whatever the man could find. There, he saw a house, a three-storied house, with a foundation in stone. At least a dozen of Samarro's men defended it. He must be there.
" Captain!" he heard Jericho's voice. He huffed in breaths, trying to catch his wind.
" Cap'tain!" There was a sense of worry in his tone.
Out to the east, the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon. The sky was painted with shades of purple, and the visage of the moon slowly dissipated to his eyes.
" Wha.." His cheek burned and the arrow tore through more of his flesh. He swallowed a few more drops of blood that filled in his mouth. His knees were weaker, weaker than mere moments ago.
Hooooon.
He heard the sound of horns outside the town. War horns, yet not his horns, foreign horns. Followed by black banners, black banners with red dragons on them.
" We need to leave now, Captain! The Targaryens have come." His irksome lieutenant called to him. Leave? Tom looked at the defended house again. But I have to kill Saan firs…
Darkness.
Note:
There are two distinct easter eggs from other universes in this chapter. Can you spot them? One is very easy, the other might be slightly harder.
Might have gone a little too ham on nicknames, but oh well, that's worldbuilding
Included a qyburn cameo, because why not. He's most likely already exiled at this point, and it's in character for him to just follow a violent mercenary company imo.
Search up what an executioner's sword is if you are confused by it.
In canon, the butcher is never given much detail except he's a westerosi, and he is a captain of a company. So I thought because there aren't many northern exile representations (at this timeline), I will make his origin be north.
Hopefully, there's a pretty distinct contrast between how the butcher fights vs how maegor fights.
If you have any questions comments, or ideas, feel free to leave them.