And here's chapter 13, sorry for the delay.
Hope you enjoy the read.

Eastern Road, The Vale, Westeros

"Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red. Who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead." Njorn sang along with several other of the Nords in the turma as they rode down the thin gravel road that lead from the Bloody Gate to the edge of the mountains. "And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade. As he told of bold battles and gold he had made." It was early morning, the group of thirty or so men having broken camp only an hour ago as the sun crept over the treetops.

"You Nords love to sing, don't you?" Tyrion asked Idolaf as the two rode near the front of the small column, with Bronn just behind them riding on one of the spare horses the turma used as a pack animal.

Idolaf shrugged. "We Nords have a tradition as warrior poets, as my brother is always fond of saying."

"But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red. When he met the shield-maiden Matilda, who said; "Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead. Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!"" The men behind them continued, Njorn leading the song with a louder voice than the others.

Tyrion smirked slightly. "Wouldn't exactly call that a poem."

"You know they should quieten down. Hill Tribes all over these woods." Bronn called forwards to the two.

"Let them have their fun, Bronn. If we're going to be attacked it might as well be with a song in their hearts." Tyrion spoke with a raised voice to be heard over the singing.

"And so then came clashing and slashing of steel. As the brave lass Matilda charged in, full of zeal."

Bronn looked over his shoulder at the armoured cavalry behind him before looking forward again. "Half the bloody Vale'll hear that lot."

"And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more. When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!" The song finished and a few of them laughed before one of them started a rendition of The Drunken Bosmer which most of the others quickly joined in.

"Remember we've already driven off one Hill Tribe, Bronn." Idolaf called back to the sellsword. Bronn didn't look convinced but didn't reply again.

Tyrion chuckled. "You know Decanus, I have to wonder why you championed for me. I don't recall offering you gold and you haven't asked for anything. So what was it?"

Idolaf looked down at the dwarf riding beside him. "Call it old Nord honour." He shrugged slightly and looked ahead again. "Though I get the feeling the sellsword would've championed you if I hadn't."

"Yes, I was expecting Bronn to champion for me, knows how to get his gold that one."

"You know I'm right here." Bronn called forward.

"I know, and I know how good you are so I'll be keeping you around sellsword!" Tyrion yelled back with a grin.

Bronn rolled his eyes and began digging through one of the bags on his horse for a moment before pulling out a red apple and begging to chomp down on it.

Idolaf chuckled and looked at Tyrion again. "So where are we headed once we reach the Riverlands again?"

"Knowing my father he'll have raised his banners the second he heard of my capture." Tyrion answered, clearly not knowing for certain. "He'll either be laying siege to Riverrun after passing through the Golden Tooth or he's further west near Harrenhall to cut off any support from the banners of house Whent."

"I really need to get a map of this place at some point." Idolaf chuckled. "All the names going over my head."

Tyrion snorted slightly. "I'll make sure to get you one. And don't worry, I know many of the roads of Westeros, there were many maps in Casterly Rock."

Idolaf nodded and the group rode on with the others behind them singing away. After maybe a mile of riding the trees thickened and every so often they would see figures in the bracken. The singing had by that time stopped and most were on alert but on they rode.

"Told you they'd hear us." Bronn muttered.

...

It was nearing dark and the turma was still in the forest that lined the valleys of this side of the mountains that formed the boundary of the Vale. As the shadows grew longer they saw more and more of the figures, in larger groups and many of them closer than they had been before. It was clear they were being followed, and followed by a large group of men at that.

Eventually they came across a chopped down tree of the road, the trunk showing signs of being recently cut with axes. Knowing instantly that it was an attempt at a trap Idolaf drew his spatha. "Arms!"

No sooner had he given the word then they found themselves already surrounded. Out of the tree line men armed with all sorts of weapons, from axes to scythes and armoured in nought but furs and rags.

"Close up!" Njorn shouted and the Imperials and Nords directed their horses into a closer formation, Tyrion and Bronn joining them.

As they were surrounded by what looked to be more than a hundred Hill Tribesmen one of them walked ahead of the others. He was large and wore what looked to be a helm with two goats horns coming out of the cheek guards. "When you all meet your gods. Tell them Shagga, son of Dolf, of the Stonecrows, sent you."

"It's you who'll meet your gods!" Njorn spat back, gripping his axe and looked to be about to charge before Idolaf stopped him with a raised hand.

Shagga seemed to smirk, finding the threats amusing. "I'll enjoy cutting off your manhood and feeding it to the goats."

"There's no need for that, friend." Tyrion spoke up from his horse, drawing the gaze of Shagga. "I am Tyrion, son of Tywin, of Clan Lannister and there's no need for bloodshed."

"And how would you like to die, Tyrion, son of Tywin?"

Tyrion swallowed for a moment. "In bed, at the age of eighty, with a belly full of wine and a girl's mouth around my cock."

Shagga gave a low chuckle and glanced at a few of the others around him who shared his amusement. "Take the half man, he can dance for the children. Kill the other ones, I like the big ones armour." He gestured at Njorn.

Idolaf and the rest of the legionaries prepared to charge with their horses, they would probably be able to break out through sheer bulk of arms but Tyrion stopped them with frantic gestures for them to stop. "No, no!" The tribesmen also stopped advancing for a moment, with Shagga looking at the dwarf again. "My house is rich and powerful, if you see us through these mountains my father will shower you with gold."

"We have no use for a half man's promises."

"Half man maybe, but those weapons of yours look like they've seen better days." Tyrion pressed. "They the best you could steal? Lannister smiths shit better steel."

Shagga snorted. "You think you can win us over with your trinkets when we've thirty men's worth of good steel right here?" He gestured to the legionaries with his axe.

Tyrion glanced at Idolaf for a moment before pulling a ring off his finger and tossing it over to Shagga, who caught it. "That trinket, is worth more than everything your tribe has ever looted." The tribesman looked at the ring for a moment before sliding it onto one of his fingers, seeming to like it. "But if you help us, Shagga, son of Dolf, I will not give you trinkets. I will give you this." The dwarf gestured widely around him.

"What is this?" The tribesman asked, looking a bit confused.

"The Vale of Arryn." Tyrion replied, with a slight grin on his face. "The Lords of the Vale have always spat upon the Hill Tribes. The Lords of the Vale want me dead." As he was speaking Shagga slowly understood what he was meaning. "I believe it's time for new Lords of the Vale."

...

"Can't believe that worked." Njorn muttered as he walked alongside Idolaf, the turma having being forced to walk instead of ride as their new 'allies' lacked horses. They were both still leading their horses but Shagga had made it clear that riding horses would result in a swift lack of manhood. Their meeting at the ambush had occurred a couple of hours ago and now all light from the sun had gone and the twin moons were overhead, providing scant light in the thick woodland they were still passing through. As a result most were carrying torches to light their way.

"Well it did. And now we have an escort." Idolaf replied, looking warily at the mob of tribesmen surrounding them. Shagga was at the front of the band with Tyrion, apparently taking them on a different, easier route. "And they seem a better lot than the Forsworn."

Njorn sighed for a moment before giving a quick snort. "Aye, they seem better than those bastards. Though less well armed."

"Well these men at least have some actual weapons, not teeth stuck in sticks." Idolaf objected to his friend and comrade.

"Teeth in sticks they may be but they still got through you." The older Nord nudged Idolaf.

Idolaf sighed. "Never going to let me forget that are you?"

"I'm sure it'll of slipped my mind by the time we reach Sovngarde." Njorn chuckled.

Idolaf rolled his eyes and looked ahead as they walked along the narrow mountain path Shagga was leading them up. After maybe another hour, it was hard to tell with the sun down, the woodland around them began to thin and it became clear they were heading up one of the mountains that made up the natural boundary of the Vale of Arryn. Soon other lights became visible amongst the crags, fires. "Looks like we have more company."

Njorn and Idolaf glanced at the fires as they got closer, both of them able to make out the outlines of what were probably other tribesmen. "Aye, think it's a trap?"

"Doubt it." Idolaf still rested his hand on the hilt of his spatha though, just in case.

As they passed the fires it became clear these were tribesmen from a different clan, for they lacked the goat horn helm and most looked to be armed with a form of primitive spear rather than the stolen farm tools. It wasn't long before Shagga stopped at a plateau on the mountain side, where several different bands of tribesmen were gathered, all slightly different to the others around them.

"Idolaf, Bronn. Over here!" Tyrion called out from the head of the new arrivals.

Handing Njorn his horse's reigns Idolaf walked over along with Bronn, who had been further back in the column. "Aye, Tyrion?"

Tyrion nodded to the two for a moment. "When Shagga kindly offered to see us through the mountains he sent word to the other local tribes." He gestured to the other bands of men who Shagga was now going through, finding their leaders probably. "They're here to decide what to do with us."

"And that means?" Bronn asked, crossing his arms.

"It means they're going to decide if they want to cut off our manhood's and feed them to the goats or if they want to accept a Lannisters promise."

Idolaf glanced over at Shagga, who was now embracing one of the other clan leaders, a rather large one at that. "So this is a council of theirs?"

Tyrion nodded. "According to Shagga it's a custom of theirs, they call it a 'thing'."

Bronn loked back down at the dwarf "A what?"

"A 'thing'." Tyrion replied with a shrug. "Either way there's not much we can do." Idolaf and Bronn nodded slightly, he was right. "And I thought the leader of the legionaries with us would want to be part of the negotiations, should they swing my way." He nodded slightly to Idolaf.

"And me?" Bronn asked.

"I wanted a second person who could kill well enough by my side, should it go badly for us, which I very much hope is not the case."

"Ah." Was Bronn's only reply as he understood.

On the centre of the plateau the several groups of tribesmen stood in a semi circle, the light from their torches causes the shadows to flicker around the stone underfoot. At first Shagga addressed the gathered clansman in his own tongue, a rough language. He made wide gestures, probably to signify the Vale that surrounded them.

When he finished the other clan leaders shouted back in their language, a few sounded approving and some didn't seem convinced. One of them, a middle aged man of average build wearing ill-fitting padded armour, probably stolen. He approached Shagga, calling out. "Sygerrik!" Those gathered around muttered to each other, seemingly waiting to see what Shagga would do.

"Any idea what they're sayin'?" Bronn glanced down at Tyrion.

"I have no idea." He replied simply.

As the other chieftain spoke towards Shagga, the larger clansman slowly walked towards him and without saying a word grabbed his shoulder and head butted him, causing the other man to back away grabbing his temple, muttering what were clearly curses. Shagga then walked towards him again and punched him in the side of the head before kicking him over, kicking the man again until he finally went quiet.

After the short and rather brutal beating those gathered seemed to ignore the fallen tribal chief and instead went back to back and forth debate between the other chiefs and leaders. This carried on for a fair while before they all seemed to have reached an agreement and some lower tribesmen had come forward and dragged the unconscious downed chief away.

Shagga, along with a few other of the tribal chiefs and leaders made their way other to Tyrion. "Tyrion, son of Tywin." He began. "We will take you through the passes in return for Mountain and Vale." A few of the others nodded, there were four of them, a woman, a very large man, larger than Shagga, and two other chiefs of relatively normal build.

"My thanks, Shagga son of Dolf." Tyrion bowed his head slightly. "And who are your comrades?"

"Timett, son of Timett." He gestured to the larger one. "Chella, daughter of Cheyt." The woman. "Ulf, son of Ulmar. And Gunthor, son of Gyr." The four other chieftains nodded slightly when they were introduced but beyond that didn't speak or move, just looked between the dwarf, sellsword and Nord.

So it seems they weren't going to be butchered in the arse end of nowhere for their armour after all, Idolaf thought and was very much relieved by that. Waiting until Shagga, Chella, Timett, Ulf and Gunthor left to likely make sure their tribes weren't killing each other and were ready for the long journey to the other side of the mountains that didn't involve well paved roads, Idolaf left Tyrion and Bronn to inform his men that they were okay to set up camp for the night and that they would be making for the Riverlands the next day.

Mountains of the Moon, The Vale, Westeros

Dawn had broken an hour or so ago, sunlight having bathed the mountain sides as the gateway to Aetherius rose over the horizon. Everyone had risen early and blood money had been sorted for the by now dead chieftain, having succumbed to his wounds from Shagga's beating the previous night. With a little distrust the legionaries now walked side by side with around three thousand tribesmen from several clans along the thin mountain roads.

The turma was able to keep a hold of their horses, the rough Colovian breed soldiering on through the craggy pathways whilst carrying their supplies and spare arms. A couple of times the legionaries had to make sure some of the hill tribesmen weren't getting too close lest they try taking from the people they were supposed to be leading and trusting to grant them a kingdom of their own.

Tyrion was, as like when Shagga was leading them to the other tribes, at the front of the now lengthy column, with the tribal leaders. Shagga seemed to be counted as the overall leader of the clansmen, seemingly owed to his strength at arms and show of dominance at the Thing. Idolaf didn't much care for who was the tribesmen's leader; he didn't trust them much either way. They were too like the forsworn for his liking, sharing a similar history and a similar lifestyle, raiders and pillagers.

As of now they were busy climbing the first of the so called 'Mountains of the Moon' owing to their easterly position that saw both of the moons set past them as well as the sun. He knew they were in for a long journey, crossing mountains was never easy, even in a summer like this. It would probably take several days, probably more so given the large number of those travelling, numbers always slowed people down.

Kvatch, Cyrodil, Tamriel

Midday, always peak time at the main gates of Kvatch, capital of Cyroldil after the destruction of the Imperial City. Not a boring post Aurelian thought, but not the most prestigious. "Hold." He held up his hand as a rider approached the gates, clearly not a local from the clothes he wore, probably from Skyrim or High Rock.

The rider pulled his horse to a stop. Both were sweating and had clearly been on a long journey. "I bring a message from the Blue Palace, for Duke Justinianus."

"Show your royal seal." Aurelian ordered, he knew better than to trust a Nord by his word alone.

"Here." The messenger held out the seal of Solitude, black wolf on a white background surrounded by blood red, so similar to Kvatch's own seal.

Checking the seal a last time Aurelian waved the man through. "Safe travels Nord." He nodded to the man as he quickly rode past.

…

"What's this about?" Justinanus, Duke of Kvatch and Lord of Colovia, regent of Cyrodil asked as he walked into the war room.

"Word from the Blue Palace." Flavian, general of the Kvatch militia and one of the many Colovian heroes of the Second Great War answered, holding out the scroll a messenger had brought him.

Taking it Justinianus began to read. "By the order of her eminence, the Empress Elisif of Tamriel invites you and General Flavian to Solitude for a council of war. Bring as many men as can be spared from the Valenwood frontier. The Imperial court expects you in no less than two months. Signed Falk Firebeard, steward of the Empire of Tamriel." He looked up from the scroll. "How many men can be spared?"

"One of the Imperial Legions can be spared from the front, Aldmeri raids have lessened since the rebels started aiding us in putting them down." Flavian replied with a nod. "And we can make preparations for the Kvatch, Skingrad and Anvil militias to mobilise."

Justinianus nodded slightly before beginning to pace, the scroll screwed up in his hand. "Withdraw one of the Legions and don't mobilise the militias, instead recruit those who volunteer, we can't afford to leave ourselves too open to the damn Elves."

"I'll send word to the legate." Flavius gave a nod and turned to leave but stopped partway. "You think we're marching to war again?"

"The Empress would not summon us and any spare men if we weren't." The Duke answered before sitting down in his chair overlooking the table carved into a map of Tamriel. "Colovia will rise again, it seems."

Eadric Haraldsson - Hircine
Skjor - Hircine
Mystery person - Try guessing
Delvin Mallory - Nocturnal

And that's unlucky chapter 13 done. Yes I know we're still not in Kingslanding yet, having real trouble doing that and I'm seriously considering having it just happen off screen. Think that one's up to what you guys think.
Again thanks for reading and feel free to leave a review, things are heating up on Nirn.
Also a slight update thingy. After this I'm going to spend a bit of time sorting out the dates so that this takes place over a longer period than just a couple of months.