I do not own nor claim to own any of GRRMs works, nor am I profiting off this story
Sorry for the late update, family camping had 0 wifi. Hope you enjoy!
"He's late." Jagare was waiting outside the gates of Lannisport, watching his men form up in marching order. He had ordered them into three rows, one hundred ranks deep, making sure that they could turn either side quickly if they were ambushed. The minimal training they had received so far gave him confidence that they would be able to align themselves into ranks if needed, but with their bloodthirsty looks and excitement at the idea of plunder, he imagined a swarm would work just as well. He had discussed with Aeron and Cragg the best way to motivate them into the fight and they had concluded that promises of plunder, the chance to get paid and the prospect of killing some Reachmen should convince them. It did, and so the next morning after they had all recovered from the night before, three hundred Ironborn warriors were armed and armoured for battle. Aeron had promised him that Ironborn could not be tactically arranged, but Jagare thought differently. What the Ironborn lacked were good commanders who knew the terrain of the land. Cragg and Lemnos had struck up a good friendship in the past moons, and he gave the two of them the task of organising the lot of them into squads, and it had worked. He stood in front of all of them, flanked by Tommo, Brik, Merri, Xavi, and Angie. Aeron, Lemnos and Cragg all had command of one hundred men and so there they stood, waiting for Tybolt.
"He does take his bloody time doesn't he," remarked Tommo, who was perched on a rock and sharpening his blade. "I think that we should be waiting in a tavern, that way if one of us was late, the other could drink some ale while they waited. Much more refreshing than baking in the southern sun." Jagare stood still and straight, fitted armour with his long axe and shield slung over his back; on his belt, he carried a throwing axe and a dagger.
"Just because Lord Tybolt is slightly more accommodating and humbler than other Westeros nobility, he is still a lord, and we will treat him as such. Which means keeping your mouth shut." He threw a look at Tommo who shrugged.
"I say it how it is, then I rely on you and Lyanna to get me out of the shit." Jagare furrowed his eyebrows.
"What did you do before you found us exactly?" Tommo looked up as if in deep thought.
"I think I just used my family name. And when that didn't work, I ran." He grinned. "Good times." Jagare shot a glare at him, and he waved him off. "Much better now, of course, just get to fight less." Jagare looked towards the eastern horizon again and spoke dryly.
"Well, you'll get plenty of fight today my friend, fear not" he glanced back at the Ironborn. Tommo stopped sharpening his sword and looked up.
"Speaking of fighting, where is Lyanna? Didn't think she'd want to miss this." Jagare felt a pang of worry in his stomach as he thought of her.
"She…didn't feel up to it." She didn't tell him what she and Alyeth discussed the night before, but it had completely changed her mood. She was quiet and withdrawn and when he told her about the deal, he had made with Tybolt, she simply shrugged and told him that did not want to fight. He then realised that Tommo had been the one guarding her. "You tell me, what were they talking about in there?" Tommo shook his head slowly.
"I don't know, they made me wait outside. Something about the future, destiny...Lyanna was insistent that she could do something herself. When she came out, she was clutching a see through flask with some purple liquid inside, some sort of concoction I guessed." Jagare looked around raising an eyebrow.
"Purple liquid?"
"Yeah, probably some witch's potion I don't know. But Lyanna's smart, she won't let herself get tricked and swindled. She definitely isn't stupid enough to drink a potion from a random witch." But Jagare wasn't sure about that. Lyanna could be idealistic at times, and didn't quite seem to understand that everything came with a price.
"Maybe…but I still-" He was interrupted by the sound of warhorns filling the air. A rumbling sounded from the direction of Casterly Rock. "Here we go." Riders came cantering from the gates, flying banners of Lefford and Lannister. There were around thirty mounted horses and fifty men-at-arms, marching along in perfect order. Lord Tybolt rode up to them on a sleek-looking courser with chainmail draped over its body.
"Captain Snow" he nodded at Jagare and then looked at Tommo expectantly. Tommo being Tommo, he swept into a low bow and spoke in a resplendent voice.
"Tommo Locke, my good lord. I am honoured to make your acquaintance." Tybolt grunted and trotted forward.
"Kill me some Reachmen, and it will be I who is honoured." He looked over the warriors, who were looking distrustfully at the men gathered before them. Jagare thought it was best to get moving.
"Well, my lord. Do we know where they are camped?" Tybolt nodded.
"I used huntsmen from Lannisport as scouts, they know this area well and used paths unseen to the naked eye." He pointed east towards the hills. "The Reachmen are camped out a few hours east as the crow flies, if we march now, we should meet them by a little before sunset."
"The ideal time to attack" murmured Jagare. "They will be blinded." Tybolt nodded and then turned his horse.
"I'll stick to my side of the bargain Snow. Keep up." He rode off towards the head of his column. Most of the mounted riders flanked the small force they marched, with the remainder scouting ahead. In the ship's stables, they had found six horses, the finest of which Jagare had taken for himself. She was a coal-black charger, all the way from Volantis. Most likely the dead queen had picked her up from there on a visit. He had named her Salty, and she rode well along the wide gravel road. They marched in silence as the hot sun was cooled by a breeze from the North, but still he was sweating heavily in his armour. As they rode, he thought about the Ironborn he left behind to defend the ship, and how long it would be until Terran came seeking revenge. There was something about the manic wildness in Terran's eyes that scared Jagare, even now, leagues away. Terran was what Northerners on the coast told horror stories about, the Ironborn that worshipped sea gods, burnt villages during the night and would kill them in their sleep.
They marched over windswept plains and hills, yellow roads, and blooming fields. They also passed next to a large, canopied wood, a private hunting ground for the Lannisters. The Ironborn sang as they marched, bawdy songs of wenches and raiding. Jagare was glad they had stripped themselves of sigils. If the Westermen found out they were fighting alongside Ironborn, they might have another battle to fight. He thought of Lyanna with her strange purple potion and the girl sat below decks with a story that she would not share. He thought a lot in fact, but there was a lot to think about. Soon Tybolt interrupted his thoughts with a question.
"Where do you plan to go, after you leave Lannisport," he asked. Jagare looked at him cautiously and answered.
"Oldtown first, I'm sure you could have guessed that from my question. After that, round the coast of Dorne and towards the Stormlands." He shrugged. "Then we'll move up towards White Harbour." Tybolt was silent for a few moments before speaking again.
"You have history, Jagare Snow. Dark history." Jagare glanced at the Westerlord furtively.
"It's a common merchants path-"
"You're no common merchant though. You have demons chasing you." Jagare ground his teeth, but he did not feel fear. Not now, surrounded by his men.
"You speak as if you know." Tybolt turned his head forward, eyes fixed on the horizon.
"I've heard tales from the North. Of a bastard fleeing south from Winterfell with a highborn girl. I had the court of Casterly Rock update me on them last night." Jagare stilled, becoming acutely aware of how far his hand was from his axe.
"Tales spread fast and get distorted."
"I heard other tales last night as well" he spoke a bit louder. "Joyful tales for us. The end of the Ironborn war and the near collapse of the Greyjoy throne after the death of their queen. No Harlaws in sight. A power vacuum, and no one strong enough to grasp it. And within the midst, a northern captain with rumours surrounding him like sellswords swarm a lord." Jagare knew there was no point denying it now, Tybolt was far too smart.
"Demons was an apt way of putting it" he grunted.
"Jon Stark all but rules the North now, his father has lost all power. But as strong as he may be in the North, he's weak in terms of Westerosi power. The moment he marched south your friends in the North would fortify Moat Cailin and declare a war on the tyranny of his rule. And they'd win." Jagare smirked at that one. His father would be sitting in Winterfell by the end of the moon if Jon Stark marched south, and while he was weak in the North, he couldn't expand his rule.
"There is a Harlaw left" he murmured. Tybolt raised an eyebrow, and Jagare pointed to the head of the column. "The last male of the line in fact." They both looked at Aeron, who was talking quietly with Angie and Tommo. There was silence for a few moments.
"I've heard Terran Greyjoy has abandoned the crown. He wanted to go after his sisters murderer, but the lords respected the queen, not him. Respect only took them so far, and the war was as good as over. They wanted peace, to build up their ships and towns again. Grow there families. He was seen as little more than a warmonger, and so he took whatever ships were loyal to him and fled. Now every island has a king, and they will do not more than raid small villages for a generation."
"Unless…" Jagare asked, knowing what was to come.
"He's valuable. He could unite the Isles, and if he is loyal to you then that would be a power beyond what a bastard from the North could ever hope for." Jagare felt a twinge of annoyance but let him carry on. "Hells you could even ask for Pyke if you wanted, but you could stop the raids to come before they happen, and convince him to make peace with the mainland." Jagare sighed and shook his head.
"Not yet, we have a long way to go before that." Tybolt eyed him carefully.
"You've caused a lot of trouble to simply disappear from the battlefield. Both in the North and the Isles. I pray you do not do the same in every realm you visit." Jagare wanted to smile, but suppressed it.
"Terran's coming after me then?"
"Yes. He wants his ship, and he wants vengeance for his sister." Tybolt's face was hard as stone. "I cannot stop him when he sails past, his ships are too quick and our fighters too few. I will have to let him pass through to the Reach."
"I understand."
"There is also the matter of your…warriors." Jagare glared at him forcefully.
"You want me to turn around?" Tybolt sighed and shook his head.
"No, your secret is safe. Just tell them to keep quiet about it…seven hells, four hundred Ironborn running around Lannisport and not looting at all. How did you do it?" Jagare shrugged.
"I gave them all they wanted; vengeance, gold, and adventure."
"What I would give for it. A Lord's life is not one of freedom Jagare, it's boring, and everything you do has rules." Jagare had to smirk at that one.
"You know, my lord...I'm sure there's a spare cabin on board-" Tybolt cut him off with a laugh and a shake of the head.
"Gods if I could...maybe if my line was secure, and my heir was ready. But I still have work to do here."
"Well, if you ever change your mind, I'll keep a place for you." Tybolt grinned at him, and for the first time Jagare didn't see a Lord of the Westerlands, but a man ten years younger, eyes shimmering with adventure. Not soon after, they were halted by a rider coming round the bend. There was an arrow sticking out of his chest and when he reached them, he fell smoothly from his horse.
"By the seven…" muttered Tybolt and he dismounted. He inspected the man for a few seconds before standing up. "Dead. They'll know he was a scout." He looked up at pointed in the distance. A thin layer of dust, shimmered above the track and a slight thundering could be heard. "They won't be far behind, but they don't know our numbers." Jagare bought his horse closer, scanning the terrain. They were in a plain with rockey hills on one side and a wood on the other. His mind was whirring.
"I'll keep two hundred of my men here and form a shield wall, with extended flanks on either side. The other hundred I'll send to the hills for reserve, they can take them in the rear." Tybolt nodded with a grunt.
"I'll leave you my infantrymen, put them in the centre of the wall, they'll hold. I'll take my cavalry and hide in the woods, don't engage your reserves until the first charge. If we time it right you can rout them when their confused." Jagare nodded, pleased that a plan had been made so fast.
"Ready to go are we." Tommo asked as he rode up beside him.
"Yes" replied Jagare, hastily drawing his axe from over his back while relaying the plan to Tommo. "Tell Aeron, Lemnos and Cragg the plan and re-organize the forces." Tommo nodded and rode back. They moved into position, Lemnos leading one hundred of the men into the hills to hide behind the rockey outcrops. The Lannister men-at-arms formed the centre of their shield wall, and Jagare was happy for it. They were heavily armoured, with large kit shields and long pikes. Of course Tommo still had to take the piss.
"Time to show you Andal's how the first men fight" Tommo japed. Jagare rolled his eyes and motioned for Tommo to follow him behind the Lefford force. They took a position just behind the centre rank and waited. Due to the height his horse gave them, he could see into the distance well. Soon enough, Jagare heard the thundering of hoof beats load in his ears, and he readied himself for the charge. Over the crest came the first few horses, and then the rest spreading out behind something was wrong. These horses weren't quick steeds, but large, sleek beasts, with iron and mail, draped over their heads and flanks. Jagare's eyes widened as he saw the sun glinting off the riders, reflecting into their own troops eyes as fully armoured knights with war lances and swords charged towards them. This was no scouting party. It was a powerful raiding force of fully armoured heavy Reach cavalry! He turned to Tommo whose face had just gone white.
"HE TOLD ME THEY WERE FUCKING SCOUTS!" he yelled pulling his shield onto his left arm. Tommo was silent, too shocked to speak. They both looked over to the woods, where a slight red could be seen between the thick trunks. "You fucker" growled Jagare, jamming his helm on his head and readying himself for the approach. The twat had been wrong about the numbers as well; fifty knights were actually around eighty. And Jagare was supposed to be the bastard.
"We should leave now, they fucking lied to us!" Tommo shouted to him, his face gleaming with anger.
"NO!" responded Jagare forcefully. "If we leave now, they'll run us down. We end it here." He dropped his voice. "And if needed we finish them all off." Tommo nodded at him and drew his sword.
"Let's kill some people" he muttered. The Reach knights crashed into the shield wall, and it groaned. The Lannister centre held well, but the Ironborn were restless and wanted to fight. Those who sprung forward were cut down quickly, but some got a good strike on the horses weak spots, bringing down the riders. Any that went down were sprung upon quickly by the men. Jagare felt useless stuck behind the men, but he saw Tybolt's riders finally emerge from the trees. They were less armorued, and outnumbered, but they had the surprise. On cue, Jagare signaled to the lone man on the hilltop, who soon vanished and was joined by one hundred more men swarming towards the battle. For a moment Jagare could see it all, laid out before him like it had been drawn on parchment. The shield wall was being pushed back, but the Lannister cavalry slammed into the horses, sending many riders to the floor, or in some cases just decapitating them. Just when the charge had ended, Lemnos swarmed their rear, forcing the Reachmen to turn and engage them. But they were stunned, and forgot the shield wall behind them.
"CHARGEEE!" With yells to scare demons back to their hell, the central Ironborn force surged forward. The Reachmen didn't turn and time, and many a knight was pulled from their horse and stabbed to death before the men even knew what was happening. Lannister men dismounted to fight on foot, but the battle was steadily showing in their favour. He wanted a piece before that though. Salty leapt over dead knights and horses, to join the fray. At the first Reachman, he used the momentum from the charge to swing his axe straight through the knight's neck. His aim was true, and the blade sliced through skin muscle and bone like butter. With warrior instincts, he felt a blade coming from his left and bought his shield up to block it. It was a greatsword, and the shock went up to his arm, numbing all feeling. Turning his horse, the next swing he blocked early, using his axe to push the blade downwards towards the ground. Jagare then slammed the shield into the knight's helm, stunning him for just enough time to bring his axe to the knight's arm. The weight cut through the flesh and bone, and he screamed. He fell from the horse and one of the Ironborn swooped down to cut his throat. He nodded at Jagare before joining the fray again. Suddenly, Salty bucked beneath him and sidled to the right, just as a blade came swinging where his neck was. He was so stunned at the horse's reactions that he didn't even notice the second swing, his shield coming up instinctively to block it. Before he could raise his axe, however, a shaft sprung from the man's joint and he fell with a grunt. He turned to see Aeron knocking another arrow and turning with a whoop.
"YOU OWE ME FOR THAT ONE CAPTAIN!" Jagare grinned, then felt a tingle down his spine.
"YOU!" came a voice. He turned and saw a knight facing him, pointing a war lance at his chest. The sun shone behind him, turning his armour dark and foreboding. His tabard bore a golden tree on a silver field. House Rowan of the Northern Marches. "FACE MY LANCE SER. I SHALL FIGHT YOU WITH HONOUR." Jagare turned his horse and faced the knight. Without breaking eye contact, he spat at the ground and raised his axe.
"I AM NO SER, BUT COME AND GET ME YOU SOUTHERN CUNT, LET US SEE HOW YOUR FALSE GODS SERVE YOU!" Jagare would not usually insult someone as such with no provocation, but he needed the knight angry. With a roar, the knight spurred his horse and cantered towards Jagare. He knew that he couldn't beat the Rowan knight in a charge. A war lance was eight feet long of strong ash wood, tipped with a heavy iron spike. It would skewer him or his horse before he reached the knight. He had mere seconds before the charge reached him and so with a heavy heart, he made up his mind. Taking his axe in his left hand, he pulled his knife from his sheath. Taking quick aim, he let it fly. It hit the armoured horse in the leg and with a blood-curdling scream, it fell, taking the heavily armoured knight with it. Jagare cantered forward and just as the knight rose to his knees. With a large swing, he buried his axe in the knight's chest plate. The force did not break the metal, but it dented, and he saw the widespread fear in the knight's eyes as he fell.
"Dishonourable…" he mumbled, collapsing on the ground, but Jagare did not care. Honour was not for battle. The Rowan knight must have been leading them because as soon as he fell the Reachmen scattered. The remaining Westerland knights pursued them while Ironborn archers peppered them with arrows. Jagare sent Tommo to ensure none escaped and then dismounted his horse. He handed the reins to Merri who was standing nearby and walked towards the fallen knight. Approaching the stirring figure, Jagare removed his helm and saw his axe had struck the man's right shoulder. Not fatal. He ended the horse's misery with a mental note to strip it of the armour, as it was still strong if a little dulled by the dirt. He used his knife to cut the straps of the man's helm and ripped it off to see a red-faced dark-haired head. His eyes were watering, and he was breathing heavily. The armour was plain for reach standards, yet still woven beautifully with patterns and ridges. It had been irreparably dented by Jagare, however, and would have to be cut off the knight.
"Ser Rowan," he asked. "Ser Rowan can you hear me." He grabbed the man's head and forced his eyes towards his. "Answer me." He received a slight nod and a cough.
"Kill me now…don't let me be subject to the cruel lion's torture." Jagare stilled for a moment.
"The cruel lion? You mean the Lannister king." The knight nodded.
"He will flay me alive for information I do not have…put me out of my misery now. Better to die with honour." Jagare looked up at an approaching horse, Tybolt astride.
"Well," he spoke calmly. "You might just get your wish. Now play along." As Tybolt approached, a grin appeared on his face.
"Well done, Jagare. The king will be very pleased with this one, could very well win us the war. I'll see you very well rewarded, a keep and-" Jagare bought the blade up to the knight's throat and Tybolt froze.
"Fuck that. Don't want a keep, don't need a keep. I'll stick to my original offer, except now its doubled for having shitty fucking scouts!" He panted heavily, sweat pouring down his head. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he was furious with the Westerlord. "Something tells me he will be very valuable alive. SO I suggest you tell me right now why I shouldn't give this man his wish and let him depart this cursed earth." Tybolt's face fell, but he held up his hands and looked down.
"I apologise. It was my fault, but you must understand this man is far more valuable than any reward. Besides, if I had known I couldn't have told you anyway, you would never have come."
"Aye, why the fuck would I offer for my infantrymen to be slaughtered by cavalry." He bought the blade harder to the knight's neck. "No good reason has been given so far."
"Wait!" Tybolt exclaimed. "Look, we beat them. Your men fought bravely, and very few died. And you bought down their leader." He pointed at the man in Jagare's grip. "That is Martial Rowan, the second son of the Lord of Goldengrove. But he is the favourite, his elder brother is a weakling and will be forced to take the black or a maesters vows soon enough. He is the heir to the third most powerful Gardener bannermen, and the current Lord Rowan is very well liked by the Reachlords. Not only has he got potential information for us he is a valuable hostage."
"I have no information apart from my mission objective, to raid the Westerlands and disrupt the raising of levies" the knight spat. Jagare pulled his knife away and sheathed it.
"Well, there we have it then." He pulled the knight to his feet and patted him on the back, making him wince. "As my reward for being lied to, I shall be taking this hostage, as my prisoner as well as the doubled payment." Tybolt looked at him hard, his frown growing.
"That man is imperative for the war to end Jagare. You will be killing hundreds."
"Not my problem, should of thought of that before lying to me." Tybolt's face morphed into a scowl.
"You forget your place, Snow. You speak to a lord of the Westerlands as a mere sea captain-"
"You are surrounded by my men" Jagare shot back quickly.
"You dare…" he and Tybolt glared at each other and Jagare realised the gravity of what he had just said. But he couldn't show weakness now. It was just them, the rest of their men rounding up the prisoners. "You would threaten me in my own lands…" whispered Tybolt, his eyes narrowed and burning. "For your deeds to my realm I will forget that you ever spoke those words, but threaten me again and you will feel the wrath of the Westerlands." Jagare nodded slowly, as his beating heart started to slow. It was true that he did have a numbers advantage, but the Lefford force would take down many of his men and if he returned to Lannisport without a single Westerlander, he would never reach the ship.
"You may take the knight" muttered Tybolt. "For I believe that he knows nothing, and I wish for no man to be subjected to unnecessary torture. Do with him what you will I care not. When we return to Lannisport I will see you rewarded for your work here today." Then he was gone with a swish of the cloak, and Jagare was left with the Reach knight.
"You are a lucky bastard" Rowan grunted, with a coughed laugh. "Not many speak to a Lord like that and leave with their tongue." Jagare shrugged and laid the knight back to the ground.
"Sometimes powerful men need to be reminded that they are still human and not gods, I just happen to be in a position to give that reminder." He started to undo the clasps of the armour and the knight groaned in agony. "You will return with me to my ship, I have healers aboard that can treat this."
"A ship?" he asked, his voice becoming slurred and hazy.
"Aye, a ship. A large comfortable one I assure you. Our next port stop is Oldtown, there I am sure Lord Hightower will pay a price for your safe return." Martial laughed.
"Only so he can hang it over my lord father's head…who are you though? Not a lord certainly, yet you command a small army at best. You are not a merchant for they do not fight and yet have a ship. You are not a sellsword, yet you have sold your sword." Jagare chuckled and wrenched the breastplate away from the man's chest. He could see the blood leaking from the wound, but it had missed all vital organs.
"I am something of all of those my friend, but you may call me Jagare Snow." The man coughed, his eyes slowly closing.
"A bastard…beaten by a bastard. What would my father say…" His voice trailed off and his eyes closed, his breathing becoming shallow and regular. Jagare sat next to the passed-out knight for a minute or so before figures started to appear out of the hazy dust. Tommo was first, followed by Aeron both grinning broadly and laughing together. Then came his guard, with Cragg leading the way. Apart from various cuts and bruises, none of them seemed to be injured. Except for…
"Captain!" boomed Aeron, his face glistening with sweat, smile shining like the sun and his eyes- no, eye! Shimmering with excitement as it always did.
"Fucking hell" Jagare sprung to his feet and looked at Aerons face. While his right eye was still the sea green it always had been, his left eye was a bloody mess. Black, red clots had already formed, and a deep scar stretched down his cheek. "What the fuck happened to you!?" Aeron waved his hand away and started looking through his long black sea coat.
"Oh, I'm fine, really. Your concern is touching though." He grinned as he withdrew a line of black cloth and tied it around his head. "I'll get a better one back in the city." Jagare still had his eyes glued to the wound on Aeron's face, not quite believing it. The man had lost an eye and seemed unbothered with it. Aeron glanced back at him and rolled his eyes. "Oh, get over it, no true Ironborn has all of his body parts, it's tradition! You're not a real Ironborn until you've lost something." He laughed loudly and then looked down at the floor. "And who's this pile of flowery shit." Jagare glanced at the unconscious knight on the floor.
"A hostage. We should get a good ransom price for him in Oldtown."
"What do you think Jagare" spoke Tommo who spread his arms at him grinning. "Like the new look?" Jagare chuckled as he took in Tommo's appearance. He had obviously been first to loot the corpses and was sporting a brand-new breastplate secured over his leathers. He had replaced his furs with two castle-forged steel pauldrons and wore a well-made open-faced helm, inlaid with silver and gold. He had acquired a new set of steel knee pads and had an oak-handled rondel dagger at his side. "Pretty nice don't you think, and not a single coin spent. And look what I pulled off one of the knights who were foolish enough to approach me on foot." From his belt, he drew a wicked sharp longsword. It was dark steel, with a strong hilt and leather-covered handle. "Just got to find a leather-worker to make me a sheath and I'll look like a true southern pansy!"
"You start worshipping the seven, I feed you to the sharks" Aeron chuckled. Tommo grinned and flipped the blade in his hand.
"Some fucker tore through my shield though; I'll need a new one of them."
"And I'm sure Tybolt will supply" Jagare grunted as he remounted his horse, having just draped the horse armour of Ser Rowan's over its head. He felt the weight of battle settling on his bones and muscles. "Get the knight on a stretcher and have some of our strongest carry him. Let's get back to the city and claim our reward then get the fuck out of here."
"Couldn't have put it better myself." On the march back, spirits were high. According to Aeron, they had lost little more than twenty men, as by the time they had engaged the knights the majority of them had been dismounted. Most of the remaining Ironborn sported an assortment of better armour and weapons than they had arrived with. Clubs, daggers, and rusting metal were swapped for maces, axes, spears, and swords; with chainmail adorning the lucky ones. Overall, it had been a large success. His force was better equipped, and a sizeable reward would be paid to them for their troubles. For the first time his force had been bloodied, and they had survived. He had discussed briefly with the rest of them if Tybolt would try and exact revenge, but surprisingly, the most vocal that he wouldn't was Lemnos. He believed that the man had honour and justice of a northerner, but Jagare was still wary. He had made a grave error by threatening the Westerlord, and it wouldn't take much to bar the gates on them and set the ship alight at berth. By the time they returned to Lannisport, the sun was low over the city. To his relief he found the gates open and the soldiers welcoming. The men immediately dispersed around the city; money pouches full once more. Tommo and Aeron followed them, promising Jagare that they would be back on the ship by dawn. He dismissed his guard, giving them leave to wander the city, leaving only Jagare and Lemnos back on the ship.
"You do not feel like celebrating my friend?" asked Jagare as they lead the rest of the horses back to the ship. The Rowan knight had been carried below to one of the guest chambers, still passed out from his injuries. Although Jagare had an Ironborn healer bandage him up, he needed Wendell to take a real look at him.
"I am too old to be celebrating like I once did" grumbled Lemnos. "And besides, as much as Lord Tybolt seems a good man, I do not trust this city, or its people. And you lack protection with the rest gone." Jagare raised an eyebrow.
"I am capable of protecting myself you know." Lemnos laughed.
"Aye, but not when ten men come onto the deck at once and cut you into bloody pieces." He beat a fist to his chest in mock pride. "That's what I am here for. I once fought twenty men at once, all dead, and all I got with this." He pointed to a long scar that stretched down his left cheek. "That was ten years ago, cut my cheek straight open. So I ripped his jaw open with my bare hands!" Jagare chuckled along with him and nodded.
"Yes, and I am glad to have you, my friend. That and to intimidate merchants."
"HA! I am good at my jobs I think." They reached the ship at the end of the harbour and started to lead the horses back onto the deck. As they did so, however, one of the horses was startled by a nearby seagull and reared its legs. Jagare ducked out of the way but when he came back up to calm it, he saw a mess of blonde hair appear from behind the horse, and a hand stroking its flank. She spoke in a strange, roughish tongue, quietly to the horse's ear; and it settled.
"Faythe…" the girl's head turned, and her blue eyes widened in shock.
"J-Jagare, I mean captain…I was just- I-I saw the horse rear and…I'm sorry if I…" Jagare held his hands up and chuckled slightly.
"You don't have to apologise to me, you calmed it well." He looked at the horse who seemed almost in a trance as Lemnos lead her into a stable. "What language was that, I thought I recognised it." Faythe was quiet for a moment, before brushing a strand of her hair and speaking.
"It was Galeric, a subset of the old tongue I think." She shrugged. "I just remember my mother speaking it to the horses when I was younger." Jagare nodded.
"Well, it was very impressive. I'm surprised to see you up on deck though?" Faythe looked sheepish for a moment before sitting down on one of the stairs and looking towards the sunset.
"It's quiet without anyone on the ship, no…Ironborn running around." Her face looked scared and nervous, and she buried it in her hands. It was hard, seeing this traumatised and scared girl and then forcing her to live on a ship with the type of men that had once imprisoned her. But what else could he do, if he left her in a city…well he knew what would happen then. He was about to respond to her before a set of footsteps appeared behind him.
"Jagare! Oh, good your back, I was worried for a while but then I saw you all through the far eye." Wendel had come down the stairs and was grinning at him widely. "How did the battle go? Did we lose many men? Have we got the reward yet?" Jagare held up his hands to tell him to stop talking for a moment. He then noticed that Faythe had disappeared from next to him extremely quickly. "Oh, also. Why is there a groaning knight in my cabin?" Wendel asked expectantly.
"That is your new patient" Jagare responded, slapping him on the back. "Come on, I know you have some healing training and I think you should take this one." Wendel looked nervous as he took the legs down from the horse.
"What, me? I mean…I haven't done that much healing Jagare, only through books."
"Oh, it's not so different" grunted Jagare as they reached the door to Wendel's cabin. "Just make sure he is alive by the time we reach Oldtown." Lemnos snorted with laughter from behind them. "What?"
"Reach, Oldtown." Jagare groaned as Wendel laughed.
"Hilarious, now come on. I want to see Lyanna." Wendel's face shifted slightly at her name. "What? Is something wrong with her?" He shook his head as they walked.
"No, she's all right. Just…well she hasn't left her cabin all day. And she's been talking to that woman, the one with the long black hair." Alyeth. What the fuck did she want with Lyanna? He left the Reach knight with Wendel and then headed towards his own. He felt his pace pick up and when he reached the door, he stopped for a moment to listen. Small, muttered talk was coming from within, but he couldn't make it out. He tried to open the door, but it was locked.
"Who is it?" came Lyanna's voice. It sounded hoarse and quiet, and Jagare felt his panic rise slightly.
"Lya, It's me. Are you okay, is everything all right?" There was silence for a moment until the door opened. Lyanna launched herself into his arms and hugged him tightly. He was taken aback for a moment before graciously pulling her even closer. She pressed her head into his chest, and he let his hand cup the back of her head, stroking her hair.
"Thank god for your back safe" her muffled voice spoke quietly. "I was worrying…" Jagare chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"You needn't have worried about me…though I am surprised you didn't come yourself. I missed having you watching my back out there." Before she could speak another voice came from behind her.
"She couldn't have gone. Too much was at stake." He glanced past her head and his expression curled into a snarl. She stood in the corner, in robes of black trimmed with purple. Potions and vials adorned her body, and her face was calm and strong, unlike the uncertainty of the day before.
"What the fuck are you doing here witch" he growled at her, releasing Lyanna, and moving closer. Alyeth stood her ground however and did not move.
"Lyanna…if you could let Jagare and I have some time alone." Alyeth's face was a stone mask, her eyes piercing and cold. He felt himself take a step back without even realising, but Lyanna nodded and stroked Jagare's arm.
"I know you don't trust her but…listen to what she has to say." He felt the heat in his chest subside at her words, but as soon as she left, he turned back to the sorceress, who was staring at him strangely.
"Listen. I don't know what you want with us, but if you hurt her-"
"Hurt her? You foolish man I'm helping her. She and you." Her face brightened slightly, and she looked more human again. "I understand that you have no reason to trust me, but actions speak louder than words. Look here." She walked over to a chest that sat in the middle of the room, one that he hadn't noticed before. "I had this bought to the ship for Lyanna, she is going to need it." She motioned for him to open it, and so he did. Inside was a set of leather and chain armour, along with armoured boots, a knife, two quivers of arrows and a new bow. All for Lyanna…
"Why?" he asked as he closed the chest, folding his arms. "Why help us…it is of no benefit to you." She smiled sadly.
"No, it doesn't. But I made mistakes that I have to rectify. Mine…and others." Jagare was about to open his mouth to ask what they were, but she seemed to have predicted this spoke again. "I am part of a collection of priests, warriors and sorcerers that follow a dying religion of gods." Jagare stepped back.
"That sounds like a cult." She sighed and rolled her eyes as if she had heard it before.
"You wouldn't understand even if I explained. But I am telling the truth." She stepped forwards and clasped Jagare's hands tightly, her purples eyes bearing into his. He felt a wave of uncertainty and tried to pull away, but her grip was iron tight. "You have a destiny Jagare. It is clouded from me I admit, but it is a great one I assure you." Her face burst into a smile and she let go of his hands. "And you need Lyanna, and you both need…well, she needs to be protected. So that you can be protected!" She laughed maniacally and Jagare started to feel even more uncomfortable.
"What are you talking about, why does she need to be protected?" Alyeth shook her head.
"That is for her to tell you. As for now, I cannot help you anymore; but you must visit Pentos, on the far side of the Narrow Sea."
"Pentos?" he asked confused. Pentos was one of the nine Free Cities in Essos, some of the most powerful city-states on this side of the Bone Mountains.
"Yes! You must go there and meet my friends. Look for Rhys of the Hades Tears, he will help you as I cannot." Before Jagare could ask any more pointless, unanswered questions her face melted into calm once more. "I must leave now. And you must too after he comes to see you depart. So that the storm blown does not catch up with you." That one Jagare did understand.
"Terran…he's close then." Alyeth nodded.
"He moves fast, but not as fast as you. After you leave, he will be slowed, and you will have time. But never enough. One day he will catch up with you Jagare. And on that day, you must be ready. You must embrace your destiny and the help that comes with it. Terran has harnessed a power we did not think was possible anymore, and you will need support to defeat him." And then she swept her robes behind her and opened the door. "Good luck Jagare. I truly wish the best for both of you. We may meet again one day, but I think it will be in very different circumstances."
And just like that, she was gone. Jagare sat down on the bed for a few minutes, slowly stripping off his armour and letting it fall to the floor. He winced as he stretched out his shoulders. The battle always left aching scars in its wake. A few moments later Lyanna opened the door and came and sat next to him. He wrapped his arm around her, and she leaned into his chest. It was peaceful. He was content
"She said you needed protecting" he eventually asked. "Why? And what from?" She shook her head slightly and sighed.
"I don't know what from, I think she just meant generally. She said you had a destiny and that if I died..."
"I would hunt your killer to the ends of the earth" Jagare snarled into the distance, as if challenging anyone in the world who would even think to try.
"Exactly. You would go mad, become vengeful...but there is another reason as well…" she lay her hand over her belly and Jagare felt his throat constrict, and his chest burn. "Jagare, I am with child."
And everything changes...
Battle scenes can be very tricky to write, so for any history buffs who spot a score of mistakes, please don't blame me I'm working with the little skill and knowledge I have.
Feel free to comment!