Author's Note: Weeeeell... how do I put it... I began with this story after I had a sickness period during the last spring. Had nothing to do and was itching to occupy myself with something, and so I wrote. I got sick four more times after that in two months, which gave me cause to worry. After several tests and doctors, I've been diagnosed. It wasn't pleasant. I am optimistic with the outcome of all this, but just in case I'm going to update the story with the second chapter (which was written months ago, but I was never satisfied with the result and rewrote it several times. I'm still not 100% satisfied with it, but I might not have the time to waste second guessing me so much, hehe... heh... *cough*) because it was just about damn time, wasn't it? I apologize for the delay and I hope the wait was worthwhile. It's shorter than the previous chapter, but I intend to make it up on the next one, that I'll try to cook up as soon as possible.
For Sovngarde!
The Dark Chronist
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls franchise nor A Song of Ice and Fire, each belonging to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin respectively. All characters, places and events other than those of my own invention are their intellectual property. All other intellectual property as songs or poetry or quotes belong to their respective owners.
Stannis I
"The castle has been taken, your Grace" said the knight leading the scouting party, a burly man in Chyttering colors.
Clenched teeth began grinding together.
"By whom?"
The two riders behind the Chyttering knight looked nervously at each other. The scouting leader swallowed and looked sheepishly at his visibly upset liege.
"We… don't know, your Grace."
The grinding intensified.
"You don't know." It wasn't a question.
"No, my King. None of us recognize most of the banners, sans for the Glover's colors on the wall and towers. No Krakens, though, nor any of their vassal houses. The northerners claim that they don't recognize them either."
"Aye, m' king" a hairy clansmen in furs and rusty chainmail sitting atop an even hairier horse interjected from beside the Chyttering. "Wherever those banners are from, they ain't from these lands."
So, neither southern nor northerners. Interesting.
"How many are there?"
"From what we could tell, the walls are well manned and there are several dozen men working outside the place, setting up further defenses. Maybe some hundred and a half, but could be more inside the Motte."
The jaw unclenched some, the grinding halted for now.
"Did you attempt to parley?"
"No, your Grace, not without your consent."
Stannis Baratheon nodded, content. They could use more initiative, but at least they respect the chain of command.
"Ser Justin."
"Your Grace?" answered the blonde, quickly stepping to his side.
"You will fly the parley banner. Mount up. Wull, Fell, Horpe and Farring, you're coming as well."
===O===
The six horsemen rode for half an hour through the woods in mostly silence; Stannis at the head, with Massey with the rainbow coloured parley banner at his right; then Wull and Horpe with the Direwolf and the Stag banners respectively, and Fell and Farring closing the column. They all were nervous and eager to find out just who occupied the Motte now. When they were nearing the end of the tree line Stannis squinted to shield his eyes from the morning light, so absent under the shadow of the Wolfswood. As his eyes adapted to his surroundings, the first thing he noticed were the arrow shafts sprouting from the grass like rigid flowers. There were a few here and there, but the grass was remarkably clean of blood around the arrows or anywhere whatsoever. A closer inspection of the ground revealed many dozen arrows strewn around the grass, that had been stomped by dozens and dozens of foots. Further signs of battle couldn't be seen until his gaze reached the walls, where the gatehouse exhibited splintered edges around where the hinges of the gate once should have been. Just outside the walls four men worked two large hand planes to give the finishing touches to the replacement of the doors destroyed in what likely had been the storming of the place. By whom, it still remains to be seen. As the scouts had said, two scores of men worked on deepening and widening the moat surrounding the walls, setting up a small circular palisade of dirt and a line of sharpened stakes along it. The work was overseen by several armed men, around half of them in Glover colors, the rest in queer armor and sigils that he had never sighted before. Not just in the coats of the soldiers, but the wooden towers and battlements sported as well various banners that the Baratheon had never seen. Sure, the Glover mailed fist and the Stark direwolf flapped proudly on the main keep and on the towers, but as for the others… A sable wolf in a field of gules, an argent bear in a field of azure, three golden spirals in a field of green… paramount above the rest was a massive banner sporting a golden dragon over a field of bright crimson crowning the main gate. The sight of the dragon sent Stannis' jaws into clenching mode, but he forced himself to relax. The Targaryen dragon (or the Blackfyre at that) was of a different colour and had three heads; yet the memory of the dragon flag flying alongside the golden rose and the red huntsman in front of his starving eyes was as fresh in his mind now as it had been for the last fifteen years.
The guards had spotted his half a dozen riders as soon as they exited the forest and now eyed them, cautiously and warily the Glovers and curiously and somehow amused the strangers. Stannis decided that it was time to learn who these folks were and to whom they owed loyalty, and so he spurred the horse forward, prompting his men to follow suit. As they approached, he observed an elderly man at arms in Glover colours whisper some words to a young lad working on the replacement doors, which nodded and ran off into the Motte. When they were some four meters away from the dirt mound, the same old warrior raised his hand.
"That's close enough, m'lords. State yer business."
Justin, with that stupid lazy smile of his ever present, leaned forward on his saddle and began, his voice clear and loud.
"Greetings, Ser. This" he said, gesturing in his direction "is His Grace King Stannis of House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I'm his sworn knight and voice on this parley, Ser Justin Massey of Stonedance. With us ride Lord Hugo Wull," the clansmen snorted upon hearing the title, which Massey ignored, " Lord Harwood Fell, Ser Godry Farring and Ser Richard Horpe. Who is addressing us?"
"Well, firstly, I am no Ser" the northerner spat into the moat and looked up again. "I'm Fred of Frosty Point, sergeant of the guard to House Glover. I reckon that I'm not the best suited to talk wharever matters've brought ye here, so if you would wait a few moments for the lady…"
As if on cue, a middle aged woman in a blue and gray quartered gown appeared hastily through the gate; the fetching boy, several handmaidens and four guards at her tail. The Glover men parted and bowed at the lady, with the foreigners just stepping out of her way. As she neared the Fred man, she stopped a pace behind him and bowed her head at the party.
"Greetings and welcome, my lords, to Deepwood Motte." she stood up and fixed her pale green eyes on Stannis' ones. "I am Sybelle Glover, acting master of the castle. If I've recognized the sigil on your coat correctly, I am in the presence of His Grace King Stannis Baratheon. It's an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Highness" said the woman, bowing again.
"Likewise, Lady Sybelle" answered the King, bowing his head slightly and stiffly.
"Sybelle! It's good to see you're safe and sound, child." boomed Hugo Wull from behind the King, making him start grounding his teeth yet again.
"A shared sentiment, Lord Wull. It's good to see a friendly face after such a long captivity." answered Sybelle with a warm smile and another curtsy.
"Precisely" interrupted Stannis."If you don't mind, I would rather cut short the pleasantries and get to the matter that has brought us here, my lady."
The woman rose from her bow and leveled a calm and composed stare into the blue eyed gaze of the stormlander.
"Very well, Your Grace. What brings you here of all places, sire? The last we heard of you, your host had been defeated by the combined armies of the Bastard Joffrey and of Lord Tyrell."
Stannis grit his teeth at the memory.
"That was… unexpected. And to be blamed on your Young Wolf letting Tyiwin's host escape the Riverlands." the lady frowned slightly at this for the briefest of moments, but Stannis didn't fail to see it. "But no, that was many moons ago. After that we reorganized our forces and sailed for Eastwatch-By-The-Sea. Didn't you got the ravens? Did your captors keep you in the dark about the Realm's whereabouts?"
"For the time I was firstly imprisoned I was, aye." her gaze fell to the floor for some moments, then rose to meet Stannis' eyes again. "The lady Asha would allow me to keep my children and handmaidens by my side and as comfortable as a prisoner can get, but she wouldn't let my maester visit us. When that cursed Balon died, his daughter took us to the Iron Islands with her, where we were imprisoned in Ten Towers. Althought…"
"Yes?" pressed the Baratheon.
"Well, 'imprisoned' might not be the best wording for it. The Lord Rodrik wouldn't treat us as such, at least. He shared his condolences for King Robb and for my husband's second imprisonment after the Red Wedding, and allowed us free passage around the castle and to the outside."
"Did he not fear you trying to escape?" interrupted Massey, to Stannis' annoyance. He leveled his knight with a glare, but dropped it as soon as the lady resumed her explanation.
"What escape, my lord? We had no coin, no keep nor army to use as leverage to get the locals to smuggle us out of Harlaw, and I would rather not trust the goodwill of the ironborn for that anyway. But he, the lord Harlaw, would treat us with deep respect and courtesy. He is unlike any other ironborn I've had the displeasure of knowing, so well mannered and erudite." she shook her head slightly and continued. "After the Crow's Eye crowning, though, Lady Asha wouldn't let me bring my children with me to the mainland. She needed me to secure the obedience of my serfs, but it would be easier for my children to slip out of her grasp than I am" she sighed. "Yet Lord Harlaw made a solemn oath to take care of my children, and he's been allowing them to send me letters every fortnight since. But that's all I've heard from the exterior since, and the Greyjoy would give me the letters from her own hand."
"I see", nodded the King immediately. "Well, the Wall has been under siege." the eyes of the woman widened at that, with her guards and maids getting startled by this and exchanging worried looks between themselves. He continued nonetheless. "The Watch was undermanned, less than one hundred brothers, and the Lord Commander Mormont had been slain by a handful of traitors during a failed expedition with most of the Watch's strength. One hundred thousand wildlings, led by their so-called King-Beyond-The-Wall, assaulted the Wall at several points immediately afterwards."
"By the Old Gods…" murmured Sybelle, visibly paler at his words. "Poor Jeor… But the wildlings, one hundred thousand?! Did they manage to break through?"
"Nay. The maester of Castle Black sent word to all of the castles on the Realm, and I answered his call. We managed to arrive at Castle Black in time with my cavalry, break their lines and capture Mance Rayder and most of his commanders. The rest of the force scattered into the Haunted Forest and don't pose a threat anymore."
The lady sighed out a breath of relief.
"Oh, thank the Gods for sending you, Your Grace."
"The Gods had nothing to do with my actions, Lady Glover. Only my conscience." declared Stannis sternly, and after an instant, "And a certain knight's counsel."
"Then I shall thank both them and you, sire." replied Sybelle looking back up to his eyes with a small smile. "You have saved the North."
"That is precisely what brought me here, my Lady. We reorganized our forces for several days and then set out to retake the North from the ironborn and the Boltons. In our march south, we enlisted the aid and oaths of fealty of all the clans of the north-west, and then of the Mormonts of Bear Island. We intended to take the Motte back from the ironborns for House Glover, but…" his gaze flew upwards, to the flags waving proudly in the breeze, "it would seem someone else beat us to it."
The woman looked up to the golden dragon banner as well, a strange smile upon her face.
"Indeed. It came as a surprise to us all, even the ironborn."
"This is why we opted to ride forward with a parley banner, Lady Glover", resumed Stannis, once again locking his steely gaze on her. "We don't recognize most of the banners on display, nor can we figure out who could have sent a force to take the castle. The last we heard from the Mormonts, Moat Cailin was taken recently by the Boltons, but I don't believe they would have flown the Direwolf and a Dragon banner and not the Flayed Man had they captured the Motte. Just who occupies your castle now?"
Sybelle tore her gaze away from the flag and locked eyes with the King. A bright fire burned on her eyes, with such a force and intensity that they gave the stormlander pause.
"Those, Your Grace, were the envoys of the Old Gods."
Stannis stared at her for some seconds, unblinking and stony-faced. The riders of his party shifted uncomfortably on their saddles.
"That's not very specific, my Lady." he said, several painfully slow moments later.
A small chuckle left the woman's mouth. She smiled again.
"I know, sire, and I apologize, but I'm afraid that's as close as one can get to describe them. But please, let's not talk further here. You are a guest of honor both for my House and for all the North, and I won't have you discuss such grave matters on the saddle of your horse. Captain Huss?"
"M'lady!" one of the guards following the lady, a balding man in chainmail and the colours of House Branch with a war axe at his belt and a round shield strapped to his right arm snapped to attention, nearing his liege.
"Escort His Grace and his men to the stables, and have them meet me at the Small Hall. They were deprived of their chance, but nonetheless they came here to free us from the ironborn, and as such we shall treat them as our liberators."
"At once, m'lady."
===O===
Some ten minutes later, Stannis and his party –sans Fell and Farring, sent back to the army to bring them to Deepwood- were being seated on the private hall of the Glovers, just above their Great Hall. On their way here, the party could take a closer look at some of the strangers they crossed paths with. Some of them looked normal enough, with plate armors and chainmails and leathers and plain faces. Others reminded Stannis of a weird mix of ironborn and wildling, for their braided beards and the style of their gear and smith work, but all individuals of this specific type he saw were remarkably tall; enough as to make Gregor Clegane look –tall- among them, but not monstrous as he usually struck people as. Then he noticed that several of the warriors whose helmets didn't conceal their faces had the most diverse complexions, from the dark ebon one would expect on a summer islander to ashen gray, green, golden and red. There were several females among their ranks, to his surprise. Others wore unnerving masks that seemed shaped as massive felines or lizards that concealed their faces completely, sans for their eyes, that he could have sworn were slitted as they followed him across the courtyard. He would have to ask Lady Glover about it.
Captain Huss scorted them to the room, were lady Sybelle already awaited for them, and stayed outside. Stannis and Wull sat on twin chairs in front of the woman, who sat on an ancient oak throne, its armchairs carved in the fashion of two balled gauntleted fists. Horpe and Massey stood at either side of the seated men. Various foodstuffs (sausages, cold smoked and salted meats, half a wheel of cheese, a cask of mead, several bread loaves and a small plate with salt) had been placed by the servants before their arrival in the room at a small table between them, but Stannis paid them no mind; not so the Wull, who was stuffing his mouth with smoked sausages with his right hand while holding a mug of mead on his left. Stannis glared at his newest vassal and simply took a pinch of bread that he pressed against the plate of salt. After he had taken a bite of it, methodically chewed and swallowed, he locked eyes with his host.
"Let's get back on topic, my lady. You were about to explain us about the conquerors of your castle."
"Of course, of course" said the woman smiling with eager anticipation. "I've sent word for the leader of the host to join us here as soon as possible, so meanwhile I will try to explain you what I can to the best of my abilities."
Stannis nodded, pleased.
"Very well. You said that this force had been sent by the gods. Could you elaborate on that?"
"Of course." Sybelle smiled. "You see, sire, the details of the nature and origins of these warriors I think would be best explained by themselves, but you should know that they arrived here sailing from the Sunset Sea." Stannis arched an eyebrow at this.
"Is that so?"
"It is, Your Majesty. They say so, and it has been confirmed by my people. Yet they're not ironborn, nor westerlanders, reachmen or Westerosi at all. They don't speak any kind of valyrian that my maester could come up with, and quite frankly, I highly doubt them being essossi, from Assai or even Yi Ti. No land we ever heard of."
She leaned forward in the throne, smile widening.
"I think they actually came from the world of the Gods and the spirits, my King. There is no other way to explain the might they wield nor their strangeness."
Stannis snorted derisively. The two knights in the room looked at each other, worried that the bluntness of their liege would upset their host. However, the smile of the lady did not falter.
"I'm sorry if I sound rude, Lady Sybelle, but that sounds terribly unlikely."
"Ah, but it won't be for long, Your Grace. You see, they landed a couple weeks ago, on Sea Dragon Point. They chanced upon a village being ravaged by an ironborn party, and while being completely oblivious to the laws and customs of the Realm they charged to defend the villagers. They slaughtered most of the islanders, but some fled back here, to report to their lady Asha, and so the foreigners pursued them for several days; when they arrived here, the ironborn met them with a hail of arrows and locked gates" her smile was immense by this time. "Now tell me, My King, what would you do if you found yourself in this situation?"
Stannis answer came immediately.
"After a chase of days, just after a disembark and with a force that hasn't rested since its last battle? I would set up siege lines and put my men to build some mantlets, ladders and a battering ram. A covered one."
"Aye, so would every competent commander in the same situation. Yet, that isn't what the commander of this force did."
Her voice was shaking by now with fervor and zeal, her smile absolutely wolfish, her rear barely in contact with her seat. Stannis resisted the urge to lean forward on his own seat in turn.
"What he did, and I swear by my children, my lord husband and all the gods that I saw it with my own eyes from my quarters, was to walk up from his troops' formation to stand before the gates, as if he didn't had a care in the world, as if there weren't stones, arrows and javelins raining on him. He squared his shoulders, planted his feet and…"
All four men were intently staring at the woman now, unblinking. Wull had even stopped munching on his sausages.
"…he shouted. He simply shouted."
Several seconds of blinking followed this declaration.
"…shouted?" murmured Stannis. "That's it? He shouted?"
"He shouted, yes. And the gates exploded as if the giant of the Umbers had crashed through them."
Some more moments passed. The three men lacking a crown exchanged several looks some seconds after Sybelle stopped talking, but Stannis kept his eyes trained on the woman, who had leant back on her seat and seemed to be incredibly amused with the whole situation. It was her who finally broke the silence.
"I assume that you are taking me for a lunatic right now, Your Grace. But-"
"Sybelle" Wull intervened. "Is this man within the castle?"
"Aye, my lord. On the Maester's Tower."
Stannis eyebrows furrowed together.
"Really? Why?"
"He craves knowledge" replied the woman. "He's been up there with his translator and maester Mort since after yesterday's supper."
"His translator?" an eyebrow started a slowly ascension. "I thought you couldn't identify the language of this people. Do they have someone who speaks Westerosi?"
The smile of Lady Glover turned a tad sad, her eyes dropping a little.
"Not quite. This translator is a girl from the village they landed on. She has told me some of the torments that she and most of my smallfolks have been suffering under the ironborn occupation. She doesn't speak their language, but they gave her a magic trinket that somehow allows her to communicate with them."
"That sounds a bit far-fetched, child…" murmured Wull.
"I tried the necklace myself, Hugo" Sybelle cut him. "I assure you that it works. I would have kept it myself so we could avoid the intermediary, but the Jarl was adamant in the girl keeping the object."
"The Jarl?" asked Stannis.
"It's his title" she explained. "The one of the commander of this folk, I mean. He is a nobleman in rank, but is revered as a god by his men. Well, and women" she smiled. "He's got many women in his ranks, like the wildlings or the Mormonts, just so many more than they do. You see-"
She was cut short by a curt knock on the door.
"My Lady, the Lord Hasser is here." came the muffled voice of Huss from the outside.
"Oh, marvelous!" the woman clapped her hands together. "Take them in!" she turned towards Stannis with a smile. "Let's proceed with the introductions then, shall we?"