AUTHOR'S NOTE: Splitting the chapter into pre-battle and battle ones, due to length (and a need to rewrite the battle). Apologies for the delay, writer's block has been immense.
The leadership council met less than an hour after news of the 'kneeler' force; the chiefs of the Laughing Tree, the chieftain of the unicorn riders, Michael's own section and Michael himself. Tagging along were Rowan, Val and Jon, though they were technically not part of it, and the old chief of the Kingsblood camp called Rikka, because she could bring more warriors into the equation.
O'Neill and Zheng had been forced to use in the crawler to gather up the others, as Ygritte had taken a party out to hunt (with some success), and the unicorn riders had moved their mounts to graze on the wild grasses of the plain to the east. Michael had spent the intervening time speaking in detail with the young warg Iola, the one that had spotted the enemy through the eyes of her white gyrfalcon. She had provided all the details.
Now the others awaited his word on what was coming, standing outside the inn where Michael himself had judged the best possibility for a defence could be made. It was damn good ground for that, in fact, which was probably why 'The Last Inn' was built there in the first place.
He began to explain, and hoped to get some answers from those present with more knowledge of the local lords.
"Seven hundred. They'll be here by mid-afternoon tomorrow. They're marching under a banner of yellow with green thistles on it."
"House Norrey," Jon Stark blurted out. Everyone turned their heads towards the young man. He looked thoroughly embarrassed he had said it.
Michael wasn't sure if his reaction to his own words was because he had given intelligence away, or if it was because he had spoken up like a schoolkid answering a teacher's question. Maybe he's taught things like lords' houses in such a way.
"House Norrey?"
"One of the mountain clans of the Starklands," Val answered before Stark could refuse, pointing towards the mountains to the southwest, "See those two peaks closest to us? They live in a valley that begins there, between the two of them. They prefer stave weapons and slings, but they have good armour like most kneelers. Better than the Crows."
Knowing exactly how Val had that information, Michael frowned for a moment, considering whether or not to ask her if that snippet should have been told to him before they left. Raiders must regularly make it this far south.
"I pray to the gods they're not akin to our mountain clans," Chief Rikka mumbled through her worn teeth, "Last thing we need is cannibals."
I hope they are alike, Michael thought to himself, Your mountain clans aren't equipped to fight anyone. "The warg reported poleaxes and slings," he confirmed to Val, "So that checks out. Sergeant, what is our current strength?"
"Four hundred and twenty six," O'Neill replied, "Three hundred Laughing Tree exactly, a hundred and twenty two unicorn riders, and us four. None sick or wounded, unless you count a sore arse."
"I don't," Michael replied flatly.
"We've about a hundred me…boys and spearwives," Rikka added.
Rescued yourself there, Michael thought, You almost admitted some of the boys are old enough to be men.
A rumble of disapproval sounded from beside the old woman. The man who made it was chief of the unicorn riders, Marcach. He was not a tall man, but he was built 'like a brick shithouse' in the words of the Sergeant.
Thick arms for carrying a long bargepole lance, and thick legs for clutching to the looped saddles his people used to ride unicorns, both bulged through the skins and furs wrapped around him. Like most of his people, his hair and beard were cut short, in defiance of the usual Free Folk style. Unicorns liked to chomp and pull on hair, that was how they got the attention of their fellow unicorns.
"Outnumbered," Marcach said, "I usually do not fight when outnumbered."
"Sometimes we don't have a choice," Michael said in return.
The chief shrugged his large shoulders. "True, but sometimes it's wiser to move away or hide. Do these kneelers have horses?"
"A number for scouts. Not sure how early they'll arrive, midday maybe. Far fewer than we have, though I don't think we should risk ours in a fight. We need to get to Winterfell and I don't want to leave anyone behind because the horses got shot full of arrows."
Ryk and Ygritte both agreed with nods.
"Do these 'Norreys' have the same armour as Crows?" Marcach asked, "My tribe hasn't raided south of the Wall."
"Because you're craven," sniffed Rikka, "Your kind did not join Sylas or the true King Beyond the Wall, Redbeard."
"How can a man climb the Wall with an unicorn?" Marcach growled back, "We had no care for the southlands. And still wouldn't, if dead men and their masters weren't coming to kill us."
"Shut up," O'Neill commanded, "The pair of you."
The chiefs complied, albeit without grace.
"Iola saw some sort of armour," Michael said, answering Marcach's question, "Thick coats with studs on them."
"Coat of plates!" Sayer declared, like it was his turn to answer the teacher.
Michael blinked. "Coat of plates?"
Sayer nodded. "Yeah, metal plates bolted inside a tough cloth or leather, that's what the studs are."
"How do you know that?" O'Neill asked.
"Video games."
Michael and O'Neill exchanged looks, but took his word for it.
"Full of useful information, aren't you?" the Sergeant muttered.
Sayer smiled and shrugged. "Wasn't useful before now."
Marcach crossed his arms. "So we're going to fight a warband with more warriors and better armour than what we have. Are we all drunk?"
Michael didn't like that attitude, but kept polite. "Like I said, we need to get to Winterfell, or we'll have far more than seven hundred soldiers to deal with. So we need to run, wait in the forest for the enemy to pass, or fight. Running means delay. Hiding means Mance will need to fight a battle with his own host, which might provoke a larger conflict. Fighting now prevents both of those things, but it'll probably cost us."
"We need to fight," Ygritte insisted.
"Aye," Rikka agreed.
Michael felt his brow raise. "Why's that?"
"This is Free Folk land now," Ygritte said.
"And I can't just move our camp," Rikka agreed, "Our herds are away grazing up in the hills. I've no way to know where the shepherds have taken them. They could come down any day and the kneelers would be waiting for them."
"And if you stay, the kneelers will fight you even if you don't want to," Michael said, completing the thought. Though that gives me an advantage.
"You can send someone to wait for the herders," Jon Stark objected, "Warn them off. Fighting my father's bannermen when you want to speak peace shall not endear you to my brother."
"We've no choice, Crow. The herders can't leave the sheep…" Rikka began.
"We'll plan to fight," Michael interrupted, "Then I'll decide what we're doing, based on whether or not I think it has deterrence value." So do what the Sergeant ordered and shut up was a thought he left unsaid.
Jon Stark looked sour at Michael's decision, which got his own back up.
"I'd prefer not to leave these people to the tender mercies of your father's men, Mister Stark," Michael stated with absolute certainty, "Because that would destroy the peace just as quickly. We're in the Gift, not the North. If those 'bannermen' cross the border, they're the ones invading."
"My brother will not see it that way."
"That is my problem," Val said, "Not yours." She gestured to Michael. "I would hear your plan."
Perceptive one, Michael thought, You know what I intended in bringing you here.
"Jon, if you wouldn't mind leaving," he said, "I have something for you, but it means you can't know what our intentions are. Sorry."
The teenager slunk off towards his horse in something of a huff, as if Michael had just insulted his honour somehow. Which was probably the case, Michael knew, but all would be explained later and that would probably help. At least his wolf is following him. Ghost padded away, tail bouncing happily.
When he was sure Stark couldn't hear, Michael continued.
"You'll carry out a classic L-shaped ambush," he declared, "With a twist."
"Ell?" asked Ryk.
"Ah, sorry," Michael smiled, "L is one of our letters. I'll show you. Here's where we'll fight."
He took hold of a stick he had brought for the purpose of drawing, and with it quickly sketched out the ground, explaining as he went.
"The north-south Kingsroad, the hill where the inn sits, and the forest on the adjoining foothills, sloping upwards east to west starting at the road. This circle on the inn's hill represents the inn's palisade, and the Xs are where each of the Free Folk camps sit, one near the inn is the Kingsblood one, one way further north in the trees is ours."
Lastly, he drew an L shape across the road, then across the inn and finally downwards, parallel to the road in the high ground among the trees.
"That's the L. You'll set up like this," Michael explained, "One part to stop the Norrey force advancing, another to attack from the side before they can form a proper line. We'll dig defences and make obstacles in the forest so they can't just charge. Since they don't have radios, all this should force the commanders of each section to do whatever they think is best for themselves. They won't be able to coordinate, especially if you shoot anyone with a horn or drum you can see."
"What if they run away south?" Ygritte asked, gesturing with her finger.
"Then you've won," Michael replied, "They're on foot, their wagons won't be able to keep up, and even a unicorn is faster than a man."
"Especially if he's wearing that much metal armour in his jacket," Zheng added, with a glance at Sayer.
Michael nodded. "Ryk, you'll lead the pikes and crossbows. Hide the pike troops behind the inn's palisade until the command to begin, and then block the road here. Crossbows can go on either side of the pikes and then switch to shields and axes when the enemy gets too close."
Ryk gave a casual salute in response, which Michael took as agreement.
"Ygritte, you'll take the real archers with shields and short spears to the middle part here, from north to south. When they've marched almost the full length of the road below you, that's more or less when you'll spring the trap. Fill the kneelers full of arrows as best you can. Kill their own archers and slingers first."
"Giving me the hard part?" Ygritte grinned as she gave a thumbs up, delighted at her role in the scenario. Michael blew an amused breath out, stifling the full laugh. Innuendo aside, her section of the battle line was the most vulnerable, sitting at the place he himself would choose to counterattack. She clearly knew that as well.
"I guess I am," he answered, "But that's why we'll dig some holes and pile up some dirt; to make it safer for your archers and harder for the Norreys to climb up and stomp you."
Michael looked to Rikka next.
"Your warband will be at the top of the L, here. Your job is to stop the enemy rolling the flank in that direction and distract the rear of the column. You should have an easier time of it, our warg saw that it was where the pack animals and supply carts are. And the soldiers guarding them seem younger."
Chief Rikka's eyes gleamed as soon as the words 'pack animals' and 'supply carts' were mentioned. She has loot on her mind, Michael saw, Or maybe just food. Is food counted as loot?
"And us?" Marcach asked, "Where do my riders go?"
"I'll explain that when we get to what happens as soon as the signal is given," Michael replied, "First, I'd like to…"
"What does Jon Stark do?" Val asked, interrupting, "What do I do?"
Interesting, she asked about Stark first. "Exactly what I was about to explain," Michael answered, "Stark is going to ride south today, with a wight. Alongside the Norreys, there's a brother of the Night's Watch. He must have been dispatched by Ser Alliser to fetch reinforcements as soon as possible. Which means other reinforcements could be coming by other ways."
"You're just letting the Crow go?" Marcach asked, "Won't he refuse to come back? Join these Norreys against us?"
Michael shook his head. The kid's character didn't suggest someone who'd break his word, and he seemed genuinely afraid of the Others. "Only place he'd go in that case would be Winterfell. We'd catch up with him, and he likely won't tell his brother anything Mormont hasn't already sent by now."
Val's lip curled. "If a Crow rides with the Norreys, then another rides with the Wulls of the coast also. They will bring warriors to the Shadow Tower. We must warn Dalla."
Dalla? Michael asked himself, Why Dalla and not Mance? Sisterly concern?
"We'll send a rider back north at dawn tomorrow," he agreed, "Jon must go today though, we need him to reach the Norreys and his Crow brother before they reach the Gift, and tomorrow may be too late. With luck, he can convince them of the threat beyond the Wall, and the need for peace. If he fails, we can consider fighting."
There were no objections to that.
"Where will you be?" Rikka asked, gesturing with an antler at the map in the dirt.
Michael pointed a way off the east, at the edge of another forest area. Nowhere near the road or where the fight would be. "Over there."
Rikka's face gathered in confusion, exposing every wrinkle. She looked off into the distance in the direction indicated, telling she at least knew how to read a map. "How do you mean to fight from there?" she asked, "Your weapons can strike from that far?"
"They can, but I don't mean to fight at all," Michael said, "Canada is not at war with the Starks. The Laughing Tree tribe will be considered Free Folk, it can fight. But we can't."
"This again…" Ygritte groaned.
"Are you craven too?" Rikka hissed, "You would have us fight your battle?"
"You're the one camped beside the border," Zheng replied with a shrug, "It's more your battle than ours. We can wait until the Norreys or whatever pass by, or just drive around them. You're the ones who have to fight or run."
Rikka gave her the evil eye in true Satanic witch fashion, to which Zheng simply stared back. The Chief lost the contest and quickly, realising the Corporal was right, as far as Michael could tell. Either that or Zheng's stare was too alien for the old woman to stand.
"We can help in other ways," he insisted, trying to smooth things over, "But if Jon Stark or any of the Norreys go to Winterfell, we need to be able to claim we didn't kill a single one of his father's bannermen and be believed. As far as he's concerned, we're giving you advice at best, not commanding you, understand?"
"How will you help?" Ygritte asked flatly.
"For one, you'll keep your radios," Michael said, "You'll all be able to work together. I have some other ideas too, but that's just for you and Ryk."
Ygritte put her gloved hands on her hips, regarding him with doubt, but said nothing more, accepting his words for now.
Rowan cleared her throat pointedly, twirling a hand in Michael's direction. "If you're not commanding this battle," she said, "Then who is? Or who will Jon Stark think is commanding it?"
Michael smirked. "Val."
Rowan cackled. "Now there's an idea! And he'll believe that? Isn't he a little kneeler, thinking women can't fight or think?"
"We'll make it convincing," Michael said, looking to Val herself, "You and your escort are all archers, right?"
"Yes," Val answered, "Some of the best."
Ygritte snorted. "Aye, so says the soft Snows End girl. Tomorrow you'll go arrow for arrow with me, and we'll see who's best."
Val shot a doubtful look like an arrow back at the spearwife.
"We'll put you on the corner of the L by the inn," Michael said, "It's on a hill, so you can see everything. We'll give you a radio too, so you can actually do the job, though I advise you to follow my ideas." I almost said orders.
"That position is where the slope of the hill is steepest too," O'Neill added, "As soon as Ryk gets moving, you should also be able to shoot over the pikemen into the units coming to engage them. If you're careful."
A small smile shot across Val's face. "This is beginning to sound like a good plan. The Starks won't treat with an untested girl. They may treat with someone who has defeated their bannermen. The Mormonts have such chieftains."
"I hadn't thought of that," Michael lied, "Unfortunate for us that I'm not able to do the same." Unfortunate that the press back home would hang me for attacking first, and more so that bullets don't grow on trees.
"Why don't we use the inn, sir?" O'Neill asked, "It's a fine defensive position."
Let's not open that can of worms. "If we fight, the Norreys need to be defeated in detail," Michael answered, "So they don't just leave us here and march north to rape and kill their way through other camps. And even if they don't, we don't have time for a siege."
The Sergeant scowled. "Harder for this lot to do that than us just shooting the clansmen ourselves, sir," he noted in English.
"Yeah."
The Kingsblood chief cleared her throat, resulting in follow-up coughs that had Marcach moving away from her. "If the Norreys are coming, I want the flogging down now," Rikka complained, "Justice for that boy can't wait. Mayhaps we lose the fight and those that hanged him escape what the gods proclaim is just."
Michael was struck dumb for a moment. Talk about twisted priorities. "This area is about to be teeming with kneelers," he said, "And you want to flog one just before they arrive?"
O'Neill weighed in too. "Have you considered what else will happen if we lose? When the hundreds of armed warriors hear what you did?"
"You said it was the another path to us taking our own justice and killing them all," the woman replied, "You said we would have a flogging at least, for what they did to our boy's body!"
Enough of this. Michael shook his head. "I agreed to it before because I thought I had no choice. Circumstances have changed."
"How so?" came a question, accompanied by narrowed eyes, "It doesn't take a day to flog a man."
"Because now I possess something you need."
"What's that?"
"The only force capable of defending you against the kneelers."
Chief Rikka's eyes bulged. "You wouldn't…"
"I absolutely would," Michael stated, "If you do not drop this arrogant demand for vengeance at once, we will withdraw and leave you to the mercy of these Norreys. I am not Free Folk, Madame Kingsblood. And those allied with me know better than to side with you in this."
Rikka looked to Ygritte. "Is that so?"
Ygritte crossed her arms. "Aye."
"And you agree with this shite?"
Ygritte quickly glanced at Michael. Cmon girl, you want to be my wifey, don't you? Her expression softened momentarily, before she answered the chief. "No, I don't agree with him. But this man and his clan broke the Wall and took Castle Black. We'd be fools to favour you over him."
"Nothing stopping you from getting justice later," Ryk added, "Mance is journeying through the Gift, settling the clans. He will no doubt visit here soon. Ask him for your justice, and stand with us against the kneelers now. The inn's men haven't been pardoned."
Chief Rikka snorted, and smiled revealing worn but still-white teeth, the antler pieces hanging from her furs clacking as she laughed quietly. It was a fake laugh, Michael could see. "I see I've no choice."
"You don't," Michael confirmed, "But if you go along with it, your clan might be able to say it was a part of the first Free Folk host to defeat the kneelers. I understand that might bring you some honour."
Rikka snorted again, a picture of derision. "Honour enough. But I won't forget this. The Kingsblood does not forget."
Not getting the message. Michael straightened himself up to his full height, and turned his body fully towards her, visibly taking his rifle into his hands. The eyes of every chief present widened.
"Don't threaten me, Rikka. The last people who did were the Crows. Me and mine took that as a declaration of war, and stacked a hundred and more of their corpses high inside their own castle. You stand here today, alive and not a slave to the White Walkers, because of that. I'm offering you the loot of the enemy wagons too, food to feed your clan."
He released his weapon from his grip again, letting it hang.
"Don't threaten us. Don't forget to whom you owe the lives."
The chief said nothing, her fists clenched. But she couldn't meet Michael's eyes any longer. Good, be ashamed.
Seeing the others watching the display, he felt a little ashamed himself that he had to resort to such a direct method of coercion. Better than watching a flogging though.
"Now," Michael said, relaxing his tone a little, "Let's talk through the ambush, step by step. You have a battle to win."
Sunset in the Gift was loud.
Bird calls, groans from nearby elk or moose, the howling of wolves in the distance… Michael had never heard a forest so alive, and wondered how many of the creatures making their sounds had been north of the Wall before. Before he had left Castle Black, Eastwatch had reported another herd of deer swimming the short sea gap, plunging from cliffs to do so.
Only an hour earlier and the scene would have been very different.
The Laughing Tree and the Kingsblood had both been hard at work digging and then camouflaging fortifications in the forest above the road. They had no tools but wooden ones, and the cold, dried mud wasn't easy to move. But they had got it done, a series of raised trenches and layers of stakes set along the middle of the wooded slope, all at optimal range for bows and disguised with dirt and relocated bushes.
The animals had stayed away during that process.
Now the Free Folk were safely back in their tents, sleeping and readying themselves for another long day when the sun rose again. Meanwhile, only Canadians stalked the forest, finishing up checks to the camouflage. By the time that was complete, Michael and O'Neill found themselves at the very edge of the Gift, beside the final two standing stones announcing where Night's Watch land begun and Umber land ended.
Michael stood at the very edge of where the Starks' ruled and looked south. "Do you think it'll be enough, Sergeant?" he asked.
"If it isn't, the Free Folk didn't deserve to win anyway, sir," O'Neill replied, "It would be easier if we helped them, all the same. With bullets, not helpful pointers."
"Impossible," Michael said with a shake of the head, "It's not our fight. Neither the lords in Winterfell or the politicians and journalists back home would see it as anything less than aggression."
O'Neill frowned. "Even if we're defending refugees?" he asked, "Because that's what those women and young lads are, sir."
"Don't worry, we won't stand by," Michael replied, "We'll unleash hell if it looks like a loss. The Norreys are screwed either way. But I prefer that no one else know that. The second we shoot one of Stark's men is the second we lose credibility as mediators here."
O'Neill grunted an incomprehensible curse. "You talked with Mormont and Jon Stark a bit about their attitudes, I see."
Michael nodded. "It's one thing to try and take a squad of Night's Watch prisoner in lands they don't own, or fight the Crows after they've declared war on us. It's another to kill a nobleman's vassals in open battle, without a declaration of war, in lands they most definitely consider their own. Big rocks saying otherwise be damned."
A derisive smile erupted on O'Neill's face. "Noble pride. They're nothing more than gangsters, sir."
"Mormont says the Starks are more than that," Michael said, "But they still have to play by gangster rules if we kill their people. So we'll leave that to Ryk, Ygritte and Marcach."
"Mormont says a lot of shit, sir. He gave us the barest information he thought he could get away with."
"True, but he's honest enough about the Starks. I think."
A crackle came over the comms, followed by the Corporal's voice. "We've finished covering up those last stakes. Orders, sir?"
Michael considered it for a moment. "Return to the OP. We'll walk back and do one last inspection." O'Neill groaned at that, muttering about his knees.
"Copy. You have Ygritte and Ryk coming up the road behind you as ordered, sir."
Michael and O'Neill both turned to see the pair, half-stumbling up the road. The two chiefs had both been digging and cutting as hard as anyone else that day, and it showed.
"Do you think this is a good idea?" Michael asked O'Neill.
"Yes," the Sergeant said, "No threat to our position, keeps them safer."
"Good."
Ryk gave a weak wave as he approached, while Ygritte concentrated on staying on her feet, until both stopped and gave tired salutes. Michael glanced at O'Neill, finding him disapproving of the slovenly display, and then returned the salute.
"What in the gods' arses made you bring us out here?" Ygritte asked.
"Sergeant."
O'Neill sighed and unholstered his pistol in a smooth motion. Michael took his own out too, though he didn't need to yet.
Ryk flinched, taking a step back, causing Ygritte to laugh. "They're not going to kill us," she chuckled mockingly, "Jumpy before the big fight, Longspear?"
"What are they doing then?" Ryk asked.
Ygritte's laughing stopped with a sigh. Because it's a good question.
"Watch," Michael said, before turning to O'Neill, "Sergeant, teach them the operation of the Browning Hi-Power pistol." Ye Old Second World War vintage.
The Sergeant frowned but complied. He waved the two Free Folk over and began explaining how to use the weapons safely. Startled but fascinated, Ygritte and Ryk listened as if nothing else in the world mattered.
Michael did not, trusting the Sergeant to do the job, and spent the time looked south again as it got darker, the western sky slipping into a bloody red-orange colour. Beautiful, he thought, But maybe too much of an omen.
There was clicking, as the two Free Folk demonstrated what they had been taught to by O'Neill, thankfully without bullets. "Don't forget," the Sergeant said at last, "Or it's your funeral."
The little training session over, Michael returned his attention to them, in time to see O'Neill hand his weapon and its holster to Ryk. The Free Folk warrior admired it for a moment, before stowing it in the holster and beginning to wrap it around his leg in the same way the Sergeant wore it.
Michael walked over to Ygritte, and offered his own pistol to her, along with a single loaded magazine. Her hand snapped out eagerly, fingers wrapping around the grip, but paused. She looked up at him for a few seconds, before taking the weapon and holster as Ryk had. She loaded the weapon but did not cock it to fire, before putting it away.
What was that about? Michael thought. "These aren't gifts. We'll want them back when this battle is over. And you're not getting any more shots than you already have."
"We'll turn the wrath of the gods on the kneelers all the same," Ryk smirked, patting the weapon holster with his palm.
The Sergeant loomed over the guy. "That's not why we've given these to you," O'Neill growled, "You're not to shoot the Norreys with them unless everything else is lost, you hear me?"
Ygritte grimaced with bemusement, like the Sergeant had said something incredibly stupid. "Then what are they for?"
"Authority," Michael replied, "Just as the lords of Westeros wear swords, officers and war leaders on our world wear these weapons. We would give Marcach one too, but we only have two and he was a chief already before we arrived. You weren't. The Laughing Tree is a new tribe, it doesn't have the same roots and loyalties as the others. The Kingsbloods might decide we're not friends the second the battle is over too."
The two Free Folk glanced at each other. They heard the implication, but didn't like it.
"Speak plain," Ryk interrupted, "Who do you mean for us to kill with these?"
"Whoever defies you in a way that threatens you," O'Neill said, "The Kingsbloods would be my bet. They're not happy about the flogging thing."
Ryk's eyes ballooned. "Shoot our own?! While the kneelers are near?"
Michael held up his hands. "Easy, I'm not saying you do it at a whim. In fact, we don't do that sort of thing ourselves back home… but we're not back home."
O'Neill nodded in agreement. "All it takes is one man or woman to lose their cool, start shouting about how you're all doomed or attack you guys to escape, and send everyone else running. At that point, you'll be mincemeat."
"You need the ability to … focus minds," Michael stated, "Every soldier of the Laughing Tree knows these weapons we're giving you. I'm confident the mere sight of you armed with them will make them obey and hold the line."
"Our warriors held before," Ygritte said, "Against wights. Against White Walkers and Crows."
"The wights are stupid, they just run at you wildly," O'Neill responded, his tone indicating he did not like the memory associated with his words, "Living opponents are smarter and more dangerous in a fight, man for man. The White Walkers didn't want to do their own killing, so your soldiers haven't really faced them. As for the Crows, you haven't fought them in a pitched battle. At Castle Black, they didn't have their weapons or armour, and got surrounded. This next fight will be more difficult for you."
"But if you succeed, you and the Laughing Tree will fear no one," Michael added, "The first time you go into battle as one unit, one warband, is always the hardest. It gets easier after that."
"We've all been in a fight before," Ygritte sniffed.
"Not like this," Michael stated, "It isn't every man out for his own glory, or survival against creatures that burst into flame if fire so much as brushes them. You'll see more blood and guts tomorrow than you've seen in your entire life. More than when we took Castle Black. So will the soldiers you command."
Ygritte breathed out hard. "And they'll fear the same thing happening to them," she agreed, glancing to Ryk, "More like when Mance took on the Thenns."
"Aye, that was bloody."
The spearwife crossed her arms. "We understand, Michael Duquesne. We accept your weapons and how to use 'em. Can we go get some sleep now? I feel like I've been carrying around a giant on my back all day."
Michael smiled widely. "Sure, just be careful not to get those stolen, eh?" He gestured at the pistols.
Ryk snorted. "The entire camp is already asleep, I'd bet. We'll be the ones doing stealings if anyone is."
With that, the pair departed, chattering about what they could steal. Exasperated by the conversation, Michael nonetheless ignored it and waited until they were out of earshot to speak. "Do you think the grenades would've helped?" he asked.
O'Neill shook his head. "They'd be just as likely to kill their own with explosives," he answered, "And it would be bad for you."
"What?"
"If that girl dies tomorrow from some 'kneeler' arrow, you'll blame the enemy. If she came back with her arm and half her face blown off from a grenade, you'd blame yourself. Same if it happened to Ryk or some other person, I guess. But especially her."
Michael wanted to rebuke O'Neill for that. It wasn't about his personal feelings about Ygritte. Fragmentation grenades would put down the mountain clansmen of the Starks easily, and it would be easy to say that the Free Folk had stolen them, so no direct blame could be attributed to any Canadian. In theory.
Unfortunately, the Sergeant was dead right about the scenario. Too right to dispute it. The Free Folk would have to do their killing the old fashioned way.