There hung over Willowbrook a specter of death, the eve of a massacre from which the town would never recover, the houses and the quarries and the people soon to be swallowed by the dirt and forgotten by time.
The gates of the palisade now laid broken from their hinges, the once serene streets and walls were now littered with more bodies than he ever seen, and already they were swarming with flies and carrion. Among them were the corpses of countless militia men Jon had spent months training, men he had not been here to lead nor protect…
For every militia man however, there laid the corpses of two or three clansmen at their feet, and he felt a sense of pride swell in his chest for them. Farm boys they may have been, their hearts no doubt filled with dread at the sight of the clansmen, pillagers who were all but demons in their eyes, but still they stood with steel in their spines to protect the weak.Your sacrifice will not be in vain, this I swear.
The streets deeper into the town now laid almost completely abandoned by their inhabitants, overrun by odd bands of clansmen who roamed them in search of loot and kindling. The militia had bought enough time for the townsfolk to retreat behind the walls of Lady Eleanor's manor, and the clansmen seemed unable to penetrate it's barred and barricaded doors and windows, at least not before riders from the Gates arrived, so instead they were stacking wood along its walls.
He left Zephyr soaring through the skies and raised his head from his hands, a familiar despair overwhelmed his heart, the same he had felt when he clashed with Corbray, though he would not let it stop him.Neverwould it stop him again.
He kicked his horse into a gallop, behind him thundered the men at arms atop the horses taken from the armored clansmen. Soon they would come upon one of many fields surrounding the town where a small band of clansmen were running down a few townsfolk and surviving militiamen from the town.
The clansman at their rear turned just in time to see Jon's sword slicing his skull into two. Afterwards he leapt from the back of Grey, the clansman ahead raised his shield in time, but the speed of the warhorse combined with the strength Jon's arm was too much for the board, and his sword shot forward in an unstoppable lunge that split his shield in twain before finding purchase in his jaw.
The townsmen once fleeing turned to assist him, some militiamen still carried their spears, the rest wrestled them to the ground with their bare hands, and soon the mounted men at arms descended on the band with a hatred they had never known before today. Limbs and blood would fly and decorate the field, though in this case, all of it belonged to the clansmen.
"Ser! Oh, thank goodness you're here." One of the militiamen said, near collapsing to the ground from exhaustion and relief. "The clansmen ser, they came and we fought, but there were so many and…"
"I know, I know." Jon said, cutting the man off. "We've come to liberate the town."
"Just you? Is the blackfish not behind you?" One of the townsmen asked, he looked dirty, they all did, covered in sweat and dirt with naught but gloom on their faces.
"He is many hours away, there will be no Willowbrook standing by the time knights from the Gates arrive." Jon said, his expression serious and his tone, deathly. "There is only us."
"But there are so many of them!" the militamen said. "And their Chieftan, that man, thatmonster, he—"
"Piss on him and piss on his men, we've the Warrior's own seed on our side." One of the man at arms said, nodding his head towards Jon. "Put any number of clansman in his path and he will tear them to shreds."
"He wields a greataxe of Valyrian steel!" the militiaman exclaimed, and Jon furrowed his brows at the declaration. "He was beyond human with it in hand, we held for a long time ser, reinforcing chokeholds that the clansmen bled dozens against without an inch of ground to show for it. But then he would appear with axe in hand and force open every bottleneck by his lonesome."
"Are you sure it was Valyrian steel?" Jon asked.
"It had ripples upon it flat side." The man said. "It tore men in half and not a scratch or dink adorned it, no matter how many blades it clashed against."
He had grown up around Valyrian steel, even been wounded by it before no less, and he knew the man's description to be true, but how had a clansman gotten his hands on it? How did any of the clansman have armor and weapons of steel to begin with?
Brynden was right, there's something rotten on the horizon.
But that was neither here nor now.
"Thank you for the warning." Jon said, nodding to the man. "But my course of action remains the same, I do not care if every clansman in my path is wearing plate and wielding Blackfyre, I will stop the townspeople from being scorched."
"Scorched? What are you talking about?" one of the townsmen asked.
"The clansmen intend to burn down Lady Eleanor's manor with every man, woman and child inside it." Jon said. "A Castamere with fire rather than rains, a Harrenhal with Lady Eleanor, her children and the townsfolk as its victims, the fires from that pyre will then spread to swallow the rest of the town."
"But— but— they cannot." The man said, he lowered himself trembling then slammed palms into his forehead with great force, before screaming out in anguish.
"So many of clansmen yet survive, too many for us to stop…" another townsman said, turning his eyes downward.
"Seventy remain." Jon said, nodding. "Far more than us of course, but they do not expect us, and though they may wield Valyrian steel, they still have the discipline of animals; they are spread out through the town, ripe for the killing. There is no honor in ambushes and skullduggery of course, but it is how I intend to fight them."
No honor in war, only victory.The blackfish's words echoed in his mind, he wondered if the man would do any different were he in Jon's shoes.I doubt it.
"How do you know this?" The militia man asked, turning to him with a confused expression. "How many clansmen remain, how they are spread, what they intend to do?"
"You're too smart to spend the rest of your life here." Jon said honestly, mustering his first soft smile. "The gods guide my path, that is all I will say, now, you can follow me, or you can let your families burn."
They did not choose cowardice.
A few of the militia men still had their spears, while the townsmen, strangers to combat, took axes from the bodies of the fallen clansmen and so their band grew then from seven men to fifteen. Jon led them away westward, where earlier he saw some mountain men burning the fields that surrounded Willowbrook.
"Abandon your horses here." He ordered, the mounts would be too unmaneuverable in the narrow alleys of the town and their hooves far too loud against the cobblestone, the longer the clansmen were unaware of their existence, the better.
They then crouched in the tall wheat to hide themselves, then traveled in a long column up and over the hill. The scent of burning was in the air, and the heat of the fires tickled their faces and hands, so too would black soot and ash fly into their eyes and noses as they drew nearer.
But they kept low and quiet and snuck ever closer to the clansmen, some ten in number, in their hands they carried torches and axes and went about burning the fields with an indifferent demeanor. Save their leader, a tall red-haired man with burn scars upon his left arm, he cackled with the glee of the mad king had when he burned Jon's grandfather.
From behind the fires, Jon and his men would burst out like vengeful wraiths, spears pierced hearts and blades sliced apart limbs and guts before they knew what was happening. A few reacted in time, parrying away their strikes, but they did not last much longer than that, not with Jon in their midst, a steel gale reaping havoc among them.
Their leader lasted the longest, he tried to engage Jon in single combat, but he was swiftly overwhelmed and pinned down. His throat was cut open, but the man kept the same mad grin the whole time, dying with a smile on his lips.
"A burned man?" One of his men at arms asked.
"What?" Jon asked.
"The Burned Men, they are a mountain clan, they burn themselves when they reach adulthood, the more grievous the wound, the more esteemed the man." The man at arms explained, pointing to the burned arm of their now dead leader. "But… the men we attacked earlier were, they were Stone Crows, you can tell from their shields, why would they be working together?"
An alliance of clansmen, as the blackfish said.
"They all bleed the same regardless." Jon said, shutting down all discussion.
Soon Willowbrook itself would come into view, and so too would the tattered gates, the smoke plums reaching the now red sky of the evening and the sea of corpse inside it, to say nothing of the scent so many bodies blew into the wind.
The men looked horrified by the sight, but Jon had seen it once before. He took the opportunity to bury his head and eyes in his hands and scout with Zephyr.
The clansman in the square were preparing to burn down the manor, but not yet, most were still spread among the town looting, before from men from the Gates arrived and they made their escape.
There will be no escape.
"Follow me." Jon ordered, and the men tore their eyes from the sorrowful sight and locked steps with him. He did not lead them to the gates of the town, much as he wished to charge the town square and liberate it with fire and fury, he had not five hundred riders at his command, and so he needed to be methodical.
Rather, they headed towards the quarries on the outskirts of the town, they were wide, flat beds of stone where quarrymen would carve away rock for construction. He had seen a large group of clansmen traveling among the quarries, men who would be sure to attack them from behind were they not dealt with now.
The clansmen were going from quarry to quarry, collapsing piles of stone, destroying stairs, buildings and tools as they did.
Why?He wondered. The clansmen were no strangers to wanton destruction as they looted and pillaged, but why go so far out of their way to sabotage quarries and burn the fields when there was no material gain for them?Thirty men sent to my mines, ten burning the fields, twenty sabotaging the quarries, such effort scorching the earth when they could simply loot Willowbrook proper and be done with it.
But he turned his attention from speculating on their plans and focused instead on planning their deaths.
The stone beds were wide and flat, unlike the fields, Jon and his men had nothing to mask their approach, but the quarries also only had one entrance and exit. So instead, Jon arranged his men in a spear wall at the mouth of the quarry. It was the same formation he had spent months drilling into the militiamen, the same one that allowed them to slay as many clansmen as they had.
Then with bow unsheathed he and the sharpshooting man at arms rained arrows upon them, and though he was not as much of a bowman as he was a swordsman, many arrows still found their marks. The band charged them but left many a body behind them as they did.
This band of clansmen were led by a shirtless man of great musculature who wielder two maces, the sight of it would have been comical to Jon, were the circumstance less grievous. He tried to shoot the man before he reached the line, but his men covered him with their shields, sometimes at the cost of their own limbs being littered with arrows.
The reached their spear wall unmolested, then battered aside spears and soon even ribcages, had Jon not interfered in time to force him back.
Jon lunged his greatsword forward, but to his bewilderment, the man fearlessly raised his foot and stepped on the flat side of the blade, nullifying the strike completely.
I have never seen anyone do that.Jon thought.Though Iimagine a shirtless madman does not make this far in life without learning a few tricks.
The man, as strong as an animal and twice as wild, roared and smashed his maces together, and though Jon managed to pull back his head in time, the maces collided inches from his nose with an ear rupturing crash. Were his head between them, he doubted any part of his skull would have remained intact.
He pushed aside the man's foot, took a step forward and swung his sword upwards, a clansman next to the mace wielder tried to take advantage and struck Jon's abdomen with his axe, but his plate saved him once more. The black color of the steel soon turning bright red as he was covered by the mace wielder's guts and the blood of the man who struck him.
With the shirtless maniac put down, the rest of the clansman did not stand much of a chance, and Jon and his men slaughtered them all.
"Are you alright, Snow!?" One of the men at arms asked while Jon winced and ran a hand over the now dented steel where he was stuck. The pain of it was greater than anything he had felt since Lady Forlorn pierced him, and he could only imagine the deep purple of the bruise it would leave.
"Tis only cosmetic." Jon said, turning to look over the rest of his men. The clansmen had charged a spearwall and he had swiftly dealt with the mace wielder, but still three of the townsmen with them now laid dead on the ground, while others stood next to them in grief.
Too much death.He thought, it was too much death for the day, too much death for a lifetime in fact. But there was still yet more of it before the day ended, and far, far more of it before he breathed his last.
'It is for death and slaughter.'His father's words echoed in his mind, it was the life he chose, the life everyone was forced to lead, even in the Councilor's era of peace skirmishes and raids like this must have taken place, and during wars… he could only imagine it.
'If it means protecting everyone, then I accept.'He remembered his own words in response to his father, and though he did not know then what he knew now, his answer did not change, and though one day his sword would grow too heavy to lift and he would drown in so much blood that he could not breath, today was not that day.
"Give me a moment." He said, then sat down on a nearby rock and covered his eyes, no doubt his men had grown suspicious of the gesture, but they had no way of knowing what he was actually doing.
At first, he thought the path towards the town square clear, with only stragglers and bands of two or three on their way, but when his hawk flew low, he heard terrible screaming from one of the houses and saw many a clansman gathered at its doors.
One more stop remains.He thought, then stood and gathered the men to follow him as they finally headed for the town.
Soon they would cross the shattered gates to stand amidst the sea of bodies in earnest, and what a terrible sight it was, and what en even more terrible smell it produced, there was nary a man there who did not squint their faces or cover their noses as they crossed.
All of those lives reduced to rotting flesh. What tragedy.
He shook his head and trudged through the corpses with the men at arms behind him towards the once vibrant alleys which laid quiet, and he led them towards the house where he heard screaming.
They drew nearer to it, their boots now caked in the dried blood and shit and flesh of the dead, and still they heard mad, painful howling from the house. He saw an open window along one of its walls and a smaller shack besides it.
"You three and I will climb into the windows and strike them from inside." Jon ordered, "The rest of you, rush the men at the doors and slay them, as well any who would flee."
With the orders given, they split up, Jon leading the men towards the smaller shack and helping hoist them onto its thatch roof, while trusting the others to do the bloody work assigned to them.
Once atop the roof, Jon was the first to climb inside the room, he heard his men behind him, but in the end, he would not need them, for when he laid eyes on the inside, there was no force that could spare the clansmen from his wroth.
For there on the ground laid Ser Gilbert, his left arm a bloodied mess, behind him were the disfigured and dismembered corpses of Ser Tristan and Ser Stewart, as well a dozen militiamen who were bound and staring on horror. The clansmen sat surrounding the knight merrily laughing with bloodies knives, axes and hammers.
He rushed the first before he could turn and with a thundering strike, he carved him in two from his shoulder to his naval, the next tried to raise his axe, but not before his head flew from his shoulder. The last two had time to gather their weapons, but they would be of no use, for they died all the same.
"Gilbert," Jon said, kneeling next to the man, his arm was a disgusting sight, but Jon did not turn away, he had become all too familiar with disgusting sights today. "Are you alright?"
"Snow?" the man said, almost in disbelief, before laughing like a mad man. "Tristan was sure you'd come."
However familiar with disgusting sights he had become, he could still only bear looking at the corpses of Tristan and Stewart for a second.
"He was so sure, so hopeful that they started with him, the things they did, the things I saw, I…"
"Save your strength." Jon said, he closed his eyes and already Grey was galloping towards them, soon every captured militiaman would be liberated, and their force would double in number, while the clansman at the house would be slaughtered animals, a far faster and more merciful fate than any of them deserved.
I am not like them.He thought.I take no pleasure in pain and death, and that is why I fight them.
"You mean to challenge their Chieftan? With this sorry lot?" Gilbert asked, his arm around Jon's shoulder as he led him down the stairs. "You cannot, that man, no, even you cannot match him."
"Let me worry about that." Jon said, waving over a man to help him lift the armored knight onto the horse's back. "The path towards the Gates should be clear, ride away and worry not about us."
"No." Gilbert said, shaking his head, his voice the strongest he'd heard it, today or ever. "A cripple I may be, but I am no craven, I will march with you into death."
He bent down to pick up a sword from one of the dead clansmen, and though Jon considered ordering him away regardless, he would never deny someone their chance to fight, and they needed every sword they could get regardless.
"Then may you be carnage incarnate." Jon said, turning his head towards the square. "One more fight men, spare them no mercy."
The hurrahs and cheers of their lot was all the fire his heart needed he needed.
