Hardhome

The sound of the blasted horn that Ornald had come to hate was interupting the merry and song in the Great Hall that Ornald presided over in Ragnar's absence. There had been a joyful mood in the Great Hall as one the men kept the children entertained by retelling the sagas of those who came before. He currently told a specific saga. One of the saga's their Magnar had told them. It was of a king from his home, The Tale of the Warrior-King Beowulf. A favorite of the children. That was until a damnable horn blast that echoed with chimes ran through Hardhome.

'I Curse the day Ragnar gave that bloody horn to the Watchmen' Ornald felt that a normal longhorn would have served the same purpose as the one used by the guardsmen, but Ragnar felt his Golden Longhorn would be more fitting.

'The sound it makes can't be simply replicated by another' Ornald thought to himself. Confusion would not be present with the longhorn, but Ornald was unsure if it was worth the fucking noise it made.

"If nothing else Ornald, that horn will make any man that tries to storm the gate deeply regret it" his Magnar had shared those words with Ornald when he had brought up the disruptive nature of the horn. Ornald did not know how this could be accomplished but he knew better than to doubt Ragnar by this point. There were many times when he could not understand the mind of his leader, but he has long since learned that he could not understand it. Ragnar was not from this world and could not be held to its thinking.

All at Hardhome knew by now that while their Magnar was northern of body and spirit, he was summoned here by the gods as their champion and was not raised amongst them as men. And it showed itself in the opinion of Ornald. Their Magnar saw only the good in people and often overlooked or even accepted the bad when Ornald himself could see no benefit to it. Their Magnar would say 'We are their leaders Ornald. When we needlessly give into hate and anger, we poison them. We weaken them. There is a place and time when our grievances will be answered. When hate and anger shall strengthen us, till that day look past it. Look past it and forget it. Forget it, until the day comes when the gods themselves remind you with an opportunity Ornald.'

"More guests, it seems Ragnar was right" Ornald mussed aloud. The Hall was still busy it seemed, and the interruption was only brief. It was not long before there was cheer in the Hall once more. The people of Hardhome had gotten used to the horn and no longer feared when it was blown. They no longer feared what it meant. They probably expected more clansmen in Ornald's opinion.

'Not without reason' he thought to himself. The Hall had never had so many souls within it before. More even than the night of feast when Ragnar announced his plans to sail. Hardhome had grown in his absence. Soon all the homes within the city would be claimed and more would need to be built to accommodate the new villagers. Already all the houses from the dock to the Great Hall were claimed. Hardhome felt alive.

'Another thing Ragnar was right about' Hardhome had gotten several thousand more citizens while their Magnar was on voyage. They streamed through the gates of Hardhome by the thousands every week. It seemed all the holdouts from the Haunted Forest were seeking refuge at Hardhome. Summer would soon end, and they feared the news from the Antler. 'It seemed things have gotten even worse in our absence'

News from the Antler tribes was quite dire. The Bloodhair clan, led by Torvik the Tall seem to have emerged as the undisputed winners from the skirmishes that plagued the Antler River in the last few years. The same skirmishes and raids that Ornald had feared and led his people from. While he did not know Torvik himself, Ornald knew his father, Torvald. And if Torvik was anything like the mad warlord that Ornald remembered, then Ragnar would have to take the Antler's himself if he wanted its people as part of his kingdom. No son of Torvald would be able to live in peace within the walls of Hardhome. This much Ornald knew. Torvald was a man that reveled in his cruelty and would not accept anything less in his son.

Ornald soon found himself adrift in his thoughts. Thinking of time passed and his life before Hardhome. But before he could get lost a commotion pulled him back to his current reality. Everyone in the Hall made way as the Head of the Watchmen walked toward the elevated platform on which Ornald sat and ruled from. She was followed by two other watchmen at her back and the true source of commotion followed.

"I expected you with our guests Grinvild, so why are there three crows stood in the Hall of Hardhome?" Ornald asked the Head of the Watchmen. Ornald had known her of course, since she had been a member of Ornald's original tribe. He knew the shieldmaiden was capable and loyal moreso after Ragnar personally trained her, yet answers would be needed to calm the people in the Great Hall. There was no love felt for the crows North of the Wall. Many in this very Hall have lost kin to crows and their ranging's. Indeed, Ornald could see quite a few people pulling their weapons in the face of the crows. It amused him most to see that even a child brandishing a dagger. The boy had to be no older than nine name days.

"They are our guests Ornald, they have partaken in guest rite at the gate and requested Hardhome's hospitality. Ragnar's orders are clear." Grinvild replied to Ornald in a cold tone. Ornald had already assumed this, but he wanted Grinvild to confirm it as well as announce to everyone in the Great Hall that they were protected by guest rite. And it worked as everyone reluctantly put away their weapons. No one wanted to defile guest rite, especially not in Hardhome where everyone felt the Old Ones presence. They felt it in the air, the trees and even the earth. They knew they would be judged.

Besides more than fear of the Gods everyone in the Hall feared Grinvild. There was a reason Ragnar made her head of his Watchmen. She was Ragnar's creature through and through. Ornald had already known her to be a fearless shieldmaiden but after the Blessings granted by Hardhome and Ragnar's training, she was in a league of her own when it came to combat. Her soft pretty face deceived the hardened and cruel warrior Ornald knew. She has been said to be the most beautiful woman in Hardhome with her midnight black hair tied behind her back and her sea green eyes that men seemed to kill themselves over, yet she remained without a man. This alone should be a testiment to her strength. It spoke of a certain truth. That truth being the only fools brave/stupid enough to try and steal her have long since died. Not a good death in Ornald's opinion. To see the last thing be your lifeblood run through the earth as the gods call you. And knowing you died because you thought with your cock.

'Idiots' Ornald thought.

There once was a time when Ornald would not have feared the sword arm of Grinvild on the battlefield, that time has long since passed. He had seen firsthand the carnage she could have wrought upon her enemies with the blade gifted to her by Ragnar. One to be wielded only by her, the Head of the Watchmen. The only one of its kind to be given by Ragnar. The Rivers of Blood blade. Ornald had thought the name to be a jape at first, till he saw that the wounds made by the red blade did not heal. Without the Blessing at the training yard or Ragnar intervention, one would bleed out long before help would arrive. Sometimes it felt like the blade was alive to Ornald, hungering for slaughter. It was a nasty blade that Ornald himself would never have dared put in the hands of another. Another way Ragnar differed from Ornald.

"And what is the name of our guests as well as their purpose" Ornald asked Grinvild while he took the time to inspect the men before him. There were three and covered in the black cloaks of their order. The tallest one seemed to be fairhaired with a beard that would make many men jealous. But he also seemed to be injured. He held his left side as he seemed to slowly bleed out. That would not be a quick death Ornald knew. Gut wounds rarely were. Next to him were shorter men, both darkhaired cleanly shaved and healthy.

The tall one answered my question instead of Grinvild.

"My name is Alon Cerwyn and these are men serving under me. Their names are Rud and Tanner." The man now known to Ornald as Alon answered him as he pointed to his respective men.

"And your purpose crow?" Ornald asked looking the man in his eye as he sat on his great chair.

"We have come here for no other purpose than warmth and aid Magnar. We have no food and I do not believe I will make it to Eastwatch with these wounds" Alon replied back.

"No, I do not believe you would Alon Cerwyn. How did you come across such wounds? What brought you to Storrold's Point? Your kind usually range through the forest, Do they not?" Ornald said as he looked to Alon's side once more as he asked the questions he seeked.

"We ran afoul of the Bloodhair clan Magnar. We were sent to investigate the reason so many raids have been attempted in the last few moons. Especialy since you lot have be quiet the last few years. We ran into the reason while investigating Magnar Ornald. His name is Torvik Torvaldson. I came here for aid and refuge. We had nothing else to lose but our lives" The man named Alon Cerwyn replied honestly to Ornald.

"I am not Magnar of Hardhome Alon. Had I been you and your men would have been refused at the gates. My Magnar is more patient and understanding of a ruler than I am. Or so I've been told" Ornald says as he looks the crows over.

"But Ragnar is Magnar, and he has declared all who take guest rite shall be welcomed." But he did not say how long. "Grinvild take the crows to the training yard, if the gods accepted their guest rite, then the tall one's wounds will heal. Should they heal, the crows are welcome within the walls for two days of rest. After that they shall be given enough food for the journey back to the wall. Do you accept these conditions? Do you accept the laws of Hardhome whilst within its walls crow?" The last part Ornald directed to Alon.

"I do acknowledge and accept these conditions. Should your people heal me we will return to Eastwatch within two days after I'm healed" 'Or I'm dead' Alon knew his wounds were grave and did not think they could heal him but hopefully they would remain to their word and let Rud and Tanner go after his death.

"Agreed" Said Ornald "Take him to the training yard and prepare an unclaimed house for them. Do not let them wander alone within Hardhome and make sure they respect the laws" Ornald ordered Grinvild.

"It will be as you say Ornald" Grinvild replies to Ornald wearing a pretty smile that Ornald found disturbing. As beautiful as that smile was, Ornald knew that was the very smile that was likely the last thing many men saw before they met their gods.

"I do not expect you long within these walls, crows" With these words the men were escorted out of the Hall by Grinvild and her Watchmen. Ornald meanwhile pondered once again on his Magnars words.

"There is a place and time when our grievances will be answered"

Ornald may just start to believe Ragnars horseshit. For Ornald was seeing a chance to avenge himself and his clan against their exile from the Antler River.

"Forget it, until the day comes when the gods themselves remind you with an opportunity"