Tom stared at Mya as the two of them left the hut, unsure as what to say her after he witnessed the shocking barrage of insults she'd unleashed on Visneya, other than to get her away from the other woman. Tom examined her more closely, and after taking a sniff, he could smell the distinctive odor of beer on her breath.
"Uh Mya," he said in a low voice, "Why do you smell like beer?"
"Because I decided that after all the shite I'd been through this morning, I deserved a nip."
She answered so matter-of-factly it made Tom blink before he then asked her, "Uh how much is a nip?" He was a little surprised at this, there was no way she could have had that much they'd only just got back.
"Wasn't that much, m'lord," she said with a shrug.
"You're drunk aren't you?" Tom deadpanned, not really believing this insanity.
Mya seemed to puff up and retorted, "I'm not drunk!" She snatched her arm out Tom's grip, "I'm angry!" She turned towards the other villagers and with a more powerful voice than her petite form would indicate she roared,"Alright you buggers! Everybody line up! Ser Dovahkin's got a task for you!"
The entire village as one turned their heads towards the tiny redhead standing next to their savior and groaned.
"Seven curse it!" Rolf exclaimed, "Mya, what happened?."
"Not too much. Just told the lord's 'lady wife', what was what, that's all," she replied smugly.
"You were hitting the ale again, weren't you?" he said with a frown.
"I just finished off the jug. I'm fine," she said almost flippantly, "Besides, after this morning I needed something to calm my nerves."
Tom's eyes almost bugged out of his head. Finished off the jug? Oh, for the love of God. He didn't know how much had been left in that jug, but he had a feeling it had probably been enough to make him lose his own head, but here she was, a girl that probably weighed about as much as one of his legs, perfectly functional albeit somewhat maniacal.
"You did what?" Rolf turned to Tom and almost begging, said "I apologize my lord! When Mya gets drunk she gets rather... spirited."
"I'm not drunk!" she replied in a huff, "Girl decides she needs to take the edge off and speak her mind, and they think its all up in the ale!"
"Damn," one of the younger men cursed, "Enough to put the bug up her arse, but not enough to make her friendly."
"Believe me, Castor, there isn't enough ale in this world to make any lass as friendly as you'd prefer," she replied coquettishly, "I'd stick to the sheep if I were you."
The other young men exploded into laughter, while Rolf simply crossed his arms and glared at her. "Mya, what is this all about."
"Ranna's sister was taken by the Ironborn," That statement alone took all the cheer and levity from the situation. At once everyone was focused on her, their brows furrowed, and the tension heavy enough to cut with a knife. "But we know where she is. She's taken ill and isn't good to travel, so we have time for a rescue."
To the people of the Riverlands, the idea of a rescue, of snatching a loved one from the jaws of the Ironborn was a faint dream, something everyone fantasized about, some even attempted, but few were able to accomplish. The very idea was enough to still all conversation and put all, undivided attention on Mya.
"We need to make their longship seaworthy and mend the sail. Then we'll need a volunteer crew to tend her. Anyone left behind will probably need to take shelter with nearby kin in case the bloody Harlaws show up while Ser Dovahkin is saving his 'wife's'," it was a testament to her acting ability that she was able to say the word with a straight face, "kin. So the menfolk better start looking for a good tree and the womenfolk better start mending that sail."
The villagers lined up and set to work with great elan. As the villagers threw themselves into their individual tasks, Tom looked for anyone who was not being berated by the woman.
To his joy he spotted Rolf leaning against a hut wall, laughing himself sick though he kept it quiet. Tom walked over to his side and the two of them watch Mya browbeat the villagers. Rolf then leaned over to Tom and muttered, "So she got into the ale again huh?"
Tom snapped his head and said, "Again? You mean this has happened before?"
Rolf nodded, "Oh yes. My little Mya's a very spirited girl, but whenever she gets grog of any sort in her," he paused for a moment."You know how we think one thing and say another?"
"Your internal monologue?" Tom offered weakly.
"Aye. That. She has trouble keeping her tongue on the best of days," he replied, "Get a little drink in her and everyone gets to hear what she thinks, like it or not"
"Great," Tom muttered as he noticed how the young woman was all but chasing half a dozen men, all carrying axes, into the forest.
"Now it even gets worse when that little temper of hers goes flying," Rolf observed.
As he listened to Rolf's commentary, he now glanced at Mya who'd moved to browbeating the other young women into getting started on the sail. "Little temper huh?"
"Oh yes m'lord, you should see what she is like when her dander is truly up." Rolf said only half seriously.
"God have mercy that never happens." Tom said dramatically with a hammy shudder.
Rolf nodded, then patted him on the shoulder. Then hopefully stated, "M'lord, you are taking her with you when you leave, right?"
"Take her? I'd be a fool not to. She's got a gift there." Tom commented, watching Mya turn the entire village to their new task.
As they were watching Bannon strode up beside them making a low whistle, "For once I can't condemn my late cousin's taste in women. His idea of courtship though, I still view as morally lacking."
Rolf visibly bristled at the sight of the Ironborn, but as the situation with Bannon had already been explained to him, he didn't go any further than a curt, "And what do you want?"
"I was just going to offer my services to direct the repair of the ship. I'm an Ironborn, shipbuilding is in my blood." He replied.
Rold bristled again and retorted, "We're fishermen, we live on the sea our entire lives, do you honestly think that we can't do it ourselves?"
"Fishermen you may be, but there is a reason my people are feared as the most skillful seamen in the whole of Westeros." Bannon retorted with a slight smirk. "This is a Longship, not the little dinghies that you paddle around with to catch fish. The fact that you live off the sea is the reason I'm offering direction and not standing aghast in mute horror, wondering what ramshackle indignities you intend to inflict on such a finely crafted vessel."
Rolf's face turned as red as his hair, and for a moment he looked like he was about to attack Bannon. Tom quickly stepped into the argument putting his hand on their respective shoulders. "Easy! Easy There's no need to get hostile. I'll take any help I can and he can help steer the ship when we head our way North." He turned to Bannon, "It is North of here right?"
"Steer? Any peasant can hold an oar." Bannon replied incredulously, "It would be best if I were to captain her," he raised a finger, "And before either of you get a burr in your nethers, about me, 'usurping command' or any other such nonsense," he finger quoted, "Do we have anyone else with any experience commanding a sea going vessel with a number of crew greater than the fingers on one hand?
He paused for a just a moment. "No? Didn't think so."
"Fine," Tom muttered. As much as he wanted to thump Bannon for that little power grab, the jerk was right. He doubted that any of the locals had experience in larger vessels and his captaining experience was amounted to little more than having watched all the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. "Since we're on the subject I think now's the best time for us to talk logistics. What exactly are we going to go up against?"
Bannon smiled that insufferable know-it-all smile of his and looked at his liege. "This will take some time to outline. I believe it would be best to sit down and discuss it, over some leftovers from that fine smelling feast you enjoyed last night, while I was huddling in the cold mud, chewing on moldy tree bark for sustenance perhaps?"
Tom groaned. "Fine...," he looked at one of the gawking women, "You heard the man."
"And make sure to bring some of that mouth-watering pork I smelled, if there's any left!" Bannon added in.
"Y-yes, m'lord," stammered the girl, a cute, brown haired lass with freckles, who seemed to shrink under Bannon's not entirely innocent gaze.
She retreated as quickly her two legs could carry her, while Bannon kept his eyes glued to her petite bottom the entire time.
"You know," Tom said slowly, his southern drawl coming to the forefront as he spoke, "I just want to warn you that if you touch any of the local girls without their consent, your death will not be pleasant."
"Just looking," Bannon replied, looking back to his lord, now that the maiden was no longer in eyeshot, "Besides. Believe it or not, not all Ironborn share my late cousin's tastes. I prefer my women willing and eager. Sex is so much more enjoyable when you can dedicate your energy into reaching new heights of pleasure, and not have to preoccupy yourself with keeping her underneath you.."
"Wonderful, you restore my faith in humanity, now let's get going," Tom said with a grimace as he led the other two men to a wooden table dragged out into the center of the village.
Once the three of them sat down Tom turned to Bannon, sighed deeply, and said, "Alright, give me the info."
Bannon, raised an eyebrow at the bizarre term but seemed to understand what he meant, after rising to grab a piece of charcoal he sat back down and began to sketch a rough map of the coast. When he finished he started to point out the location, "Alright, if this," he pointed to one part of the map, "Is our location, and this," he pointed to another spot, "Is Rosby, then the waypoint is about here." He jabbed a third spot to the South of the indicated location of Rosby.
He then continued, "It is located on lord Rosby's land but Rosby barely has the strength to hold his own dick as much as drive them off of Ironborn, to say nothing of establishing a presence to keep them from returning. The waypoint is made up of a natural bay where the ships are able to weigh anchor for the night. There is a wooden palisade that has space for 200 but most of the time, that room is being used to hold thralls for shipping back to the islands. Technically there are only about twenty men stationed there, but as there's almost always a longboat in port, so you're probably looking at closer to fifty. I do note though, it varies almost day to day."
Tom smirked, "Slaves huh? Good. Even better for us." Ignoring the look Bannon gave him, he turned to Rolf, "Alright Rolf, how many men can we bring with us?"
Rolf thought for a moment, "I think we could raise about twenty from here and if we're willing we can call help from our neighbors over at the mouth of the river. If we can get help from them we could possibly gather about fifty men all told."
"And how are we for armor and weapons?" Tom then asked, already knowing that even if they could fit fifty men on that ship, they could never equip all of them.
Rolf had a scowl form on his face when he answered that last question, "Not nearly enough, we have enough armor for about fifteen men, and Ironborn weapons for about twenty, then add in what we got now and we got enough for about thirty, the rest'll have to settle for wood axes, clubs, or knives."
Tom grimaced at that, if he had tried this under any other circumstances they'd be likely slaughtered like chickens. But, and Tom grinned at this, they had an ace up the sleeve. "Alright, send a runner to the Blackwater Rush village and tell them what happened here and ask them if they want to help us. If they do then bring them. Once we get the ship fixed then we get as many men on as there are oars plus another ten if we can fit them. The rest of the men are going to help the women and children here relocate to Blackwater Rush, once they get there I want everyone staying behind to start working on a palisade on that hill by the mouth of the river that's jutting into the bay." He pointed towards the South, indicating the largest of the three hills, the one that in another world would have become known as Aegon's hill and would have been the home of the Red Keep.
"Once we got the men here we set sail, we'll come up with a more concrete plan once we get closer." He finished.
"Wonderful," Bannon exclaimed, "And such perfect timing as well."
Looking over his shoulder, Tom saw the same pretty girl he'd tasked with bringing Bannon his meal had arrived, holding a wooden tray laden with food, including some remaining scraps of the Boar they decimated the night before.
Seeing her, and the tray of bounty she carried, Bannons eyes twinkled like little stars. "My dear, you are far too kind to this sailor," he said with far too much cheer and she placed it before him. "So, my dear, what do you call yourself?"
"E-eryn, m'lord...," she stammered looking like a deer in headlights.
"A lovely name for a lovely young woman," He smiled. To the girl it must have seemed dashing, for she blushed. To Tom it just looked smarmy.
With great force of will he resisted the urge to facepalm and mutter 'you've got to be joking' under his breath.
Seemingly emboldened by the girl's reaction, he gently patted the seat beside him. "Come, Eryn, sit and I shall tell you of my travels. Most think we Ironborn leave our islands because they're nothing but drowned rocks. Bah I say. Truth is most Ironborn women are like badgers with breasts... short, stocky, and angry. Would a fair change to have fair company while I eat."
To Tom's consternation, Rolf's face turned as red a stop sign and he looked like he was about to outright attack. "Don't do anything hasty now," he warned.
"Hasty?" Rolf turned on him. "Yesterday this Ironborn attacks my home, and today he works his foul charms upon our womenfolk?"
"If it helps," Tom said weakly, "He was against the attack."
"Then why did he go along with it?" Rolf demanded to know.
"Because if I hadn't I'd have been offered up to the Drowned God," Bannon said with a lazy drawl, raising his voice and turning from Eryn, "One does not deny your lord, and one surely does not deny their captain. I'd have been in the precarious position of doing both at the same time. I thought the attack was foolishness, but dying in protest would have been even more so."
"Fine, but don't expect me to like it," Rolf sneered. "I'm not going to sit back and watch this bastard eat. I'll go help the others find a tree."
"Large and straight, need between 25 and 30ft for the mast," Bannon chimed in with a smile as he shoveled roast pork into his gullet. "You can cut wood shorter but not make it longer after all!"
Rolf turned about, flushing red once more. "I know!"
Not wanting a fight, Tom grabbed onto Rolf's arm. "Okay, forget him for now, lets just go find that tree."