"What do you mean she's here?" Ned demanded.
"I don't know for certain, but...it makes sense," Daemon replied. "The one who fought off that deserter with Edric was a brown-haired, grey-eyed peasant boy with surprising skill with a blade who goes by Artos."
"Like Artos Stark, the one who led the North's armies against the army of Raymun Redbeard and slew the man himself," Robb added, looking hopeful. "You think this Artos might be Arya?"
"It would explain 'his' reluctance to meet us," Daemon replied. "It would also explain the letter that Alysane Mormont apparently received. The last I saw Arya, she was rushing through the halls of Winterfell, looking like she was up to something. I didn't think much of it, as she often is, and she claimed that she'd just forgotten something in her chambers, but your solar is in the direction she was rushing away from. Beyond that, let's be honest, this isn't exactly out of character for her."
"I could wring her neck," Ned hissed, furious at his most difficult child. "What was she thinking?!"
"That she wanted to fight alongside us," Robb muttered, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
"Lead me to this Artos," Ned demanded. "I would see 'him' for myself."
"We don't know for sure if the boy is Arya, and if he is, then she's going to know that she's in trouble the second she sees us," Daemon cautioned him. "The last thing we want is for her to do anything else stupid. Let me find this Artos and, if he turns out to be Arya, bring her here. She'll be less likely to bolt from me alone, and I can get Edric to lead me to her. If Artos happens to just be a simple peasant boy, then we have far greater problems here."
"Alright," Ned sighed, looking older than he'd ever seen before. "Just...be quick about it."
"Of course," Daemon nodded before leaving.
"Get me Edric," he commanded the first Unsullied he came across, and the eunuch just nodded and left to find his squire.
"How the fuck did she think this was going to work?" he thought to himself, increasingly convinced that he was right about Artos' identity. "Did she really think Catelyn wouldn't write to her?"
Shaking his head at his favorite cousin's foolishness, Daemon walked through the halls of Last Hearth, trying to clear his head. He didn't want to even let himself consider the possibility that he was wrong. If that was the case, then that threw all of his plans into disarray. He had the wildlings and the Others to deal with and had already come up with ways to handle each, but if the wildlings had his cousin...
"The Northerners will never accept having Wildlings in their lands," he thought to himself. "I could offer to ship them across the Narrow Sea if I had to. They'd probably end up enslaved, but perhaps they could eke out a small territory for themselves in the lands the Dothraki used to prowl."
It wasn't ideal, but it was a possibility he had to consider. Lost in thought and barely paying attention to his surroundings, he almost missed hearing Dacey's frustrated voice.
"No, I haven't told him yet," his lover sighed, and Daemon paused, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"The prince has a right to know, Dacey," Maege muttered. "You've had weeks now to tell him."
"I will, I swear," Dacey grumbled, and Daemon pinched the bridge of his nose.
He didn't have time to deal with whatever that was about and dearly hoped that it wasn't something that would also complicate things for him. Continuing on, he almost smiled when the Unsullied he spoke to before returned with Edric in tow.
"You need me, my prince?" Edric asked.
"I need to see Artos," Daemon replied bluntly.
"I was going to speak to him today…" Edric went to say.
"I need to see him now," Daemon insisted. "It's vitally important."
"Has something happened, my prince?" Edric asked, instantly concerned. "Is this about that deserter from the Night's Watch?"
"Yes and no," Daemon replied. "Do you know where Artos is now?"
"He'd be out with the other conscripts camped outside the castle," Edric replied. "I can look for him."
"Do so, and take a few of the Unsullied with you, but don't tell Artos that I'm seeking him or hint in any way that something's wrong," Daemon commanded. "I'll explain everything once he's standing before me."
"I'll find him," Edric promised, and Daemon watched him go.
He held back for a moment before following his squire, intending to do so from a distance. He really did fear that, if spooked, Arya might run off, given the bad decisions she'd already made in the past weeks, and hoped that having Edric unwittingly lead him to her would help avoid the possibility.
"Gods, I hope this is you," he thought to himself.
"Fucking hells," Arya grunted as she sat down on a stump near her tent.
The cunt she'd killed had managed to get one good hit in, a knee to the gut that had already bruised. It was far from the worst injury she'd ever suffered and was more uncomfortable than anything else, but it was going to make moving around smart for a couple of days. She'd gotten her hands on some dried mutton from the kitchen tent and was downing it with a mug of ale from the barrels given to the army by the Umbers.
Recalling her fight with the man made her think about how it had ended, and she scowled at her own weakness.
"I've seen men die before," she thought to herself in annoyance. "I've watched Father execute criminals more than once when he didn't know I was in eyeshot. Why did doing it myself seem so different?"
"You're not the first boy to empty your belly the first time you killed a man," Edric murmured soothingly.
Despite herself, Arya smiled at the memory. They'd fought together, and she had to admit that the man who attacked them was going to kill her when he intervened and saved her life. Spending as much time with her cousin's squire as she had over the last few weeks had proven that he wasn't quite as annoying as she'd thought. At the very least, he made a good sparring partner.
"Artos?" Edric asked, appearing as though summoned by her thoughts of him.
"Hello, my lord," Arya replied, managing to avoid wincing as she stood up.
"I think after fighting together we did yesterday, you can call me Ned," the blonde smiled warmly, and Arya felt her belly flutter for some reason.
"Must be the knee in the gut," she thought to herself. "If you're sure...Ned."
"Listen, I've just been inside the castle, and Last Hearth is far greater than I would have thought," Edric continued. "If you'd like, I could show you around."
"Why?" Arya asked, tensing as she realized that something was off about the way he was speaking.
"Because I wanted a word," Daemon rumbled, appearing from behind the tent next to hers, and Arya felt her blood freeze in her veins.
"Daemon," she gasped in horror, and Edric, who had looked at her cousin in surprise, whipped back around to her.
"Him, you call your prince," he chided, and Daemon chuckled.
"She can call me what she likes," Daemon drawled. "She's my cousin, after all."
"What?!" Edric exclaimed, looking at Daemon in shock for a moment before turning back to her. His eyes roved over her face as though he was seeing her for the first time, and he let out a sigh of relief, remarking, "Oh, thank the gods...I mean, oh, gods!"
"How?" Arya asked, feeling like she was about to sink into the ground.
"Your choice of name didn't help," Daemon replied, "but the biggest thing is that your mother tried to write to you and learned that you weren't on Bear Island. From there, it wasn't hard to figure out what you had most likely done."
"She did?" Arya asked, paling slightly.
"She thinks you were abducted by Wildlings," Daemon muttered, "as did your father and Robb before I realized that you were likely here. They're all terribly worried."
"Fuck," Arya muttered, looking down as guilt crept in. She really hadn't thought that her mother would check on her so soon.
"They're waiting in the castle," Daemon said. "Come along."
"I have to gather my…" Arya went to argue.
"My Unsullied will gather your things and bring them along after us," Daemon interrupted her. "There's no getting away from this, little wolf."
She hung her head and walked where he pointed, taking one last look at an oddly relieved-looking Edric and bracing herself for what she was sure was going to be a firestorm of anger.
"Your mother is worried sick!" Ned shouted.
"I'm sorry," Arya whispered, hot tears stinging her eyes.
"If you had hidden yourself better in the army, I would have had to assume that the Wildlings had you," Ned continued. "You could have undermined the safety of the entire North."
She clenched her fist so hard that her nails pricked her skin at that.
"What in the world were you thinking?" Ned raged. "Did you really not think that your mother would write to you at all, or did you not care about what learning that you weren't where we sent you would do to her?"
"I wanted to prove you both wrong!" Arya exclaimed, looking up at him with angry, tear-filled eyes. "Mother doesn't think I can or should do anything other than what she likes, and you were never going to go against her in letting me come along. I thought that if I fought in the war and proved that I could hold my own, that might actually change your minds about me. As for her, I figured she'd be so busy writing back and forth with Sansa that it would be at least a moon before she bothered."
"Gods, Arya," Ned sighed, shaking his head. "Your mother doesn't love you any less than she loves your sister."
"No, but Sansa's the perfect lady, and I never will be," Arya muttered, clenching her eyes shut and forcing herself not to cry. "I just wanted to prove that I could actually be something else, that I could fight to defend u,s and of course it didn't work. I'll never be a lady, and I'll never be allowed to be anything else."
"Arya..." Robb sighed.
"You know it's true," Arya grumbled.
"What were you even planning to fight with?" Ned asked, running a hand over his face. "I know Daemon had a sword made for you, but that's not enough."
"I found armor in a dusty chest in the back of the armory," Arya replied, and Ned's eyes widened. "Finding a gambeson that fit me under it was easy enough after that."
"My men brought it," Daemon piped up, gesturing for one of his Unsullied to move a chest closer to them.
Ned's hands shook as he opened it, and before any of them could ask why, he pulled out the helmet and sighed.
"What is it?" Daemon asked.
"This is a suit of armor your mother found in Harrenhal," Ned replied. "After she...when I came across her, you were her sole focus. When I told her that the king had won and was set to seize the capital and the throne, she was relieved that you would be safe and, after making me promise that I'd always look after you, she asked that I take the armor in case a daughter of yours was ever enough like her to want it."
"It belonged to Aunt Lyanna?" Arya asked, curiosity breaking through her self-pity for a moment. "It didn't look anywhere near that old when I found it."
"It never tarnished at all," Ned replied, "never needed cleaning either. I suspect it belonged to that Lothston witch. I can't recall her name."
"Danelle," Daemon said.
"It's always terrified me how much you remind me of your aunt, Arya," Ned admitted. "I loved Lyanna dearly, but she could be stubborn, and she could act without thinking. The wolf's blood was strong in her as it was in your uncle Brandon, and it cost them both as it could have easily cost you. You fought that deserter from the Night's Watch, the one you killed."
"I did," Arya nodded, "and I won. Edric helped, and I owe him for that, but I was the one who fought him one-on-one and I was the one who stabbed him in the throat. I could help the army; I could help you fight the Wildlings. Nymeria's following us at a distance and if you just write to Mother…"
"Arya…" Ned glowered at her.
"I'm already here," Arya argued. "I'll accept any punishment you want to give me when we get back to Winterfell, but I'm here, and it would be a waste of needed men to have me sent back now, not to mention that we have no idea how many more men have deserted from the Night's Watch with the Wildling army barreling down on them. I could be in more danger on the road than in a battle…"
"Enough," Ned hissed. "You don't get to disobey your mother and me completely, terrify her and the rest of us, and expect to be rewarded for it. Now, you make a good point about the potential dangers on the road just now, and so you won't be returning to Winterfell yet, but you will stay here."
"But…" Arya went to argue.
"No buts," Ned glared. "That is my final word."
Arya looked around the room, but neither Robb nor Daemon looked willing to help her at all, and she deflated completely.
"As you will, my lord," she muttered. "Will I be sent to the dungeon?"
"Don't tempt me," Ned muttered. "The Greatjon will have chambers arranged for you."
"I can have a pair of Unsullied watch her door," Daemon offered, still annoyed with her. "It will limit the spread of rumors."
"Rumors will spread regardless, but thank you," Ned sighed. "Now then, I need to write a very important letter and order the local maester to find me their fastest raven."
Arya sat down as he left and glared up at her brother and cousin.
"Don't look at me like that," Robb chided her. "You terrified us, you know. Mum must be pulling her hair out right now."
"I am sorry about that," Arya muttered, looking ashamed again. "I really did think she'd wait longer to write to me. My hope was that we'd already have fought the Wildlings by the time she did, if not already be on our way back. Raymun Redbeard's army was broken in a single battle, and they got as far south as Long Lake."
"She worries about you," Daemon commented, looking down at the suit of armor in her chest. "It's what mothers do, or so I've heard."
Whatever response she was going to have for him died in her throat at that, and she sulked instead. A while later, they were informed that Arya's chambers had been prepared and escorted her to them.
A while later, after he'd seen to the chambers given to him for his short stay at the castle, Daemon invited Dacey over, both wanting to vent to someone he could trust about Arya's actions and try to find out what exactly she should have told him by now.
"The balls on her," Dacey snorted as he finished his tale, earning a glare from him, though it quickly softened.
"No, that's the problem," he quipped, and she shook her head.
"I'm afraid I can't really help you here," Dacey sighed. "Women on the island don't have the luxury of living like Lady Catelyn wants her daughters to. The irony is that if she'd actually gone to Bear Island, she'd have probably quite enjoyed herself for that very reason."
"Trust me, if any of you Mormont girls had a cock, my uncle would already have betrothed her to you," Daemon muttered. "She would like it there. I do feel for her. She feels trapped between a standard she doesn't think she'll ever live up to and a complete lack of other options. I figured I'd wait until she was a little older to point out that not all men will demand that she transform into Sansa, but maybe I should have tried sooner. Gods, I wish she could have come to King's Landing for the wedding. I think meeting the Sand Snakes again would have been good for her."
"Alas, the Wildlings had other plans," Dacey sighed, "not to mention...certain other things. Do you think she'd do well in Dorne?"
"Actually, I…" Daemon trailed off, unsure of whether or not to tell her about Edric's hilarious infatuation with her.
"You can tell me anything, Daemon," Dacey prodded.
"Not a word of this to anyone, understood?" Daemon asked. When she nodded, "My squire's been fond of her since he met her a couple years ago. They were just children then; they're barely more than that now, but he tried to flirt with her after the pair sparred at Winterfell, and she shoved him and took off. He hadn't seen her since and was the one to find her here, though he didn't recognize her."
"Yes, you told me," Dacey nodded.
"Well, let's just say that his attraction to her had only increased over time," Daemon replied with an amused grin.
"Wait, you mean…" Dacey went to ask.
"Should have seen the sheer relief on his face earlier when he realized that she was a girl," Daemon chuckled, and she laughed loudly.
"You mean that poor little bugger's been going around for weeks now, thinking…" Dacey cackled.
"A poor word choice," Daemon laughed, and her own laughter grew louder.
"Gods, I missed how much fun everything is when you're around," Dacey sighed, smiling at him.
Daemon's face fell as he recalled what he'd overheard earlier, and he said, "Dacey, as I was searching for Edric earlier, I happened to pass the chambers you and your mother had been given, and I overheard her talking about how you should tell me something."
Dacey's eyes widened at that, and she paled slightly before sighing and pouring herself another cup of ale.
"I knew I was never going to be your wife," Dacey began. "I'm the heir to one of the poorest regions in Westeros, and you're a Targaryen prince. Unless we found a sapphire mine in some bear cave or I hatched dragons by sitting on eggs, there was no hope of that, and I never even let myself consider it. Certainly not after what happened with my fool cousin and that Hightower cunt."
"Give me a little more credit than that," Daemon drawled, smirking at the image of her sitting her fantastic ass on dragon eggs.
"His grace would never have allowed it," Dacey sighed, "and I accepted that. You're a lot of fun and a fantastic lover, and I was happy to leave it at that. I made sure to drink moon tea regularly too, figuring that birthing a Targaryen bastard would be a bad idea."
Daemon didn't say a word in response to that, but he couldn't keep his eyes from flicking to her tunic-covered belly, wondering what she'd have looked like swollen with child.
"I was very good about keeping that up," Dacey continued, "making sure that nothing ever distracted me enough to skip a dose. Then a bunch of pirate cunts attacked my island, and after we killed them all, we sailed off to strike them."
Daemon's eyes widened and his jaw dropped at her words. "Dacey…"
"Do you remember how we were when we returned from the islands after killing that monster?" Dacey asked, a slight smile forming on her lips. "I swear we rocked that ship more than the sea did. Our celebrations continued like that until we got word that your uncle was on his way to the island and your father was on his way to Winterfell, and I didn't even think about moon tea once in all that time."
"You were...you had…" Daemon stuttered, his mind racing as he realized that she had looked a little softer and thicker in certain places than he recalled.
"Twins," Dacey replied, her eyes growing misty. "Daeron and Daena Mormont. Mother named them Mormont the second they were born. Told anyone who asked that a bear did the deed; a bear with purple eyes, as it turns out."
"You...why didn't you tell me?" Daemon demanded.
"You were wed to Arianne Martell," Dacey sighed. "You were wed to her specifically because of who you are and who your mother was, to reassure her family that you'd never be a threat to your siblings. How was I to know that she'd be okay with you siring an entire army of bastards?"
Daemon looked down at that and closed his eyes.
"Arianne will probably be alright with this," he thought to himself.
No Dornish woman would hold against her husband bastards that he sired before they were wed, and Arianne was unusually accepting even for them, but she'd also once expressed reluctance to let him breed any noblewomen and only relented in the specific cases she did because the children would either be accepted as trueborn princes of the blood or be heirs to a powerless island. Of course, Daeron would also be the heir to a powerless island, so that wouldn't be any different.
"She's not going to be alright with this, is she?" Dacey sighed.
"She probably will be," Daemon assured her. "Daeron and Daena will just be the only children I've ever fathered that she didn't know and approve of. Who do they look more like?"
"Oh, they're Mormonts through and through, and you should see the mane of dark hair Daena already has," Dacey laughed, her eyes lighting as she thought of them. "They both have your eyes, though, and Daeron has your nose. Fuck, it's torture being away from them, but the North needed defending, and I wasn't about to shirk that. I left them with Lyra and Jorelle, though Alysane's with them now too."
"I wish I could have met them sooner," Daemon whispered, and Dacey swallowed thickly.
"Gods, why couldn't you have been some Northern bastard?" she asked, laughing sadly, and he returned the look. "Some pretty boy whose cock I sucked for the fun of it and who grew up into this warrior who then crushed the iron born like ants. No one would have questioned it if I'd taken you as my own then."
"Daemon Snow," Daemon chuckled. "It has an odd ring to it."
"Aye, too grand," Dacey agreed. "You'd have had a more common name like Karl, or Will, or Jon."
"Jon Snow," Daemon murmured, "bastard son of...let's say my uncle Brandon."
"That's a man I could have kept tied to my bed," Dacey sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry for complicating your life, Daemon."
"Don't be sorry," Daemon smiled. "You're a mother. I thought your tits looked bigger."
"Arse," Dacey snorted, slapping his shoulder, and he pulled her into his lap instinctively, though they both froze as they drew close. "We should stop this, shouldn't we?"
"Do you want to?" Daemon asked.
"Fuck, no," Dacey replied.
"Do you need to?" Daemon asked, cupping her cheek.
"I should, and that's quite different," Dacey replied, tracing her fingers over his. Brushing his hair behind his ears, she murmured, "You're a dangerous man, Daemon Targaryen.
She wasn't the only one wishing the other had been a bastard just then. Arianne and she would very likely get along, and if she were just some random Northerner with nothing to inherit and no responsibilities, he'd have probably at least tried to take her with him. As it was, though, their lives were always going to go in different directions, and the connection between them was always fated to be fleeting.
"If Ari approves, I could invite her and the twins to Dorne sometime," he thought to himself. "I would like to meet them, if nothing else."
A knock came to the door then, and Dacey jumped out of his lap as if he was on fire, making him grimace.
"What?" he called out.
"It's me," Asha replied. "Are you busy?"
"No, Asha, come in," Dacey replied before he could, and he looked at her in surprise.
Asha looked surprised as well at her words as she walked inside, and she looked between them, instantly figuring out that something had happened.
"Did you need something?" Daemon asked.
"I was just bored out of my skull," Asha replied. "My men are settled in the camp in among your eunuchs, and Helga joined a few of them to hunt after that giant said we could."
"You didn't want to join them?" Dacey asked.
"Never cared for it," Asha replied. "Fishing I can enjoy because though it's also tedious, you are at least on the water, and I can usually enjoy the salty air. Stalking through a forest, trying to make as little noise as possible in the hopes you can kill some wiry thing before it notices you and bolts, has always made me feel like my skin was going to crawl right off my bones. Are we heading north tomorrow?"
"Aye," Daemon replied. "We're taking a day to resupply and give our scouts time to venture into the Gift and return. As far as we know, the Wildlings haven't attacked Castle Black yet."
The Unsullied that he'd sent to Eastwatch would also likely reach them within the day.
"Well…" Asha trailed off, looking between them before settling on Dacey.
The two of them had done their best to keep clear of the other during their journey, and his pirate lover was clearly wondering if Dacey was leaving or not.
"Have you managed to suck his cock yet?" the taller woman asked.
"What?" Asha asked, taken aback.
"I know you found it intimidating before and not without reason, so I was just wondering if you'd tried it yet," Dacey shrugged, giving Daemon a look when he went to speak.
"It's not intimidating: it's just not something that I do usually at all, and with him being so ridiculously big, I figure I'd be more likely to make myself sick than anything else," Asha replied. "If I'm looking to get fucked, the last thing I want to do is ruin both our moods by vomiting all over him."
"Well, if you want, I could show you how," Dacey offered. "The way he groans when I start really going at it never fails to make me drenched."
"If you think I'm putting myself in a position where you could shove my head down on him…" Asha went to say flatly.
"I wouldn't do that," Dacey scoffed.
"I wouldn't let her," Daemon added.
He looked at Dacey, wondering what exactly was behind this sudden offer. She herself was thinking that, while she did want him as much as ever, and probably always would, having another woman between them just then might be a good thing. Asha, meanwhile, continued to be wary of the other woman, with whom she hadn't shared a single pleasant conversation since they met, but trusted Daemon enough to know that, whatever her reasons for this sudden change in demeanor, he wouldn't let her do anything to her while she was vulnerable.
"I suppose I could try it," she drawled. "The gods know he's fond enough of eating my cunt to warrant that much."
"Aye," Dacey sighed fondly, recalling the countless times she'd felt his skilled tongue gliding through her folds and lapping at her clit. Looking at Daemon, she smirked and said, "Remind us what we're working with."
Daemon grinned at her and stood up before removing his belt. The second it was gone, his breeches fell, allowing his cock to spring into the air, rock hard and throbbing. Dacey descended to her knees before him, and Asha joined her a moment later.
"No matter how many times I take this monstrosity, I don't think I'll ever truly believe that it fits," Asha chuckled, wrapping her hand around the base of his shaft. "Was he this big when you first fucked?"
"When we first fucked? Just about, though he was smaller the first time I saw him," Dacey replied.
"In my defense, I was young," Daemon interjected, making them both laugh.
"You were still bigger than most men grown," Dacey chuckled. "A cute prince with a big cock and more ale in me than I should have had? It's a wonder I didn't fuck you that night."
"I had no complaints," Daemon chuckled. "You were the first person other than me to touch my cock. Your mouth was better than anything I had ever imagined."
"On that topic, the first thing I usually do is…" Dacey trailed off and licked a thin strip up along his shaft, making him shiver.
"I have sucked cock before," Asha clarified. "I just don't do it often, haven't done it in a while, and well…"
She floated her hand along his shaft, and Dacey snorted, understanding what she meant. Crooking her finger, she beckoned the other woman over and started pressing wet kisses along the side of Daemon's shaft. Asha joined in immediately, and Daemon hissed in pleasure, resting his hands on their heads. They teased him slowly, finding it easy enough to work together once they put their minds to it and he delighted in every sweet touch of their lips and teasing flicks of their tongues.
"You're so hard," Asha purred, licking her palm and using her wet hand to stroke him slowly. "I once heard one of your learned men say that men's cocks grew larger because there was more blood pumped into them. I'm surprised your heart can push this much down."
"Have you never rested your head on his chest after he's fucked you?" Dacey asked. "When his blood isn't up, it's slow and feels so strong."
"I don't usually still have my wits by the time this brute is done," Asha replied, and Dacey snorted.
"Now, once I'm ready to stop teasing him and move on, sometimes I'll do this," she continued before swirling her tongue around his sensitive glans, making him groan.
"Fucking hells," Daemon sighed, holding her head almost reverently.
Dacey smirked and wrapped her lips around him, taking the first couple inches of his cock inside her mouth. She bobbed up and down slowly and sensually, not going any further than halfway because she realized that Asha almost certainly wouldn't be able to. The pirate woman in question watched attentively, rubbing her thighs together as she did.
"The top half is actually the most sensitive part," Dacey explained, "so even if you can't swallow the whole thing into your throat, you don't actually need to. Do you want to try?"
"Actually, before we do anything else, I want to watch you two undress," Daemon smirked, standing up and removing his tunic. "Each other, if you're willing."
"If you were anyone else," Asha chuckled, amusement and irritation warring in her tone.
"I'm willing if you are," Dacey said challengingly, enjoying this more than she'd have expected.
"Fine," Asha replied, pulling on the other woman's belt and watching as her breeches fell.
Dacey did the same, and the two of them took turns pulling the other's tunic over their head as Daemon poured himself a cup of wine. The first time they met, Asha had remarked that there were similarities between them and as he watched them undress each other, he had to admit that there were. They were both strong-willed, violent women with dark hair and taut, toned bodies littered with scars from their fights.
"Gods, if I could have the pair of them and Obara together," he thought to himself, feeling his cock throb at the thought.
His tastes in women were varied, and most of his lovers weren't like them, but gods, he enjoyed them. They removed their own boots as they finished and stood before him utterly bare, wearing nothing but nearly identical grins as his lust-darkened eyes raked over them. Asha sank to her knees again and placed her hands on his thighs before giving the head of his cock a wet kiss. She looked genuinely nervous, and he brushed his fingers gently through her dark hair. That only earned him a glare from her and wrapped her hand around his shaft, bringing it to her lips.
"Fuck," Daemon sighed happily as she took a few inches of him inside her warm, wet mouth, stretching her lips a bit to accommodate his immense girth.
The weight of him rested against her tongue as she started slowly moving, having enough experience to manage to keep her teeth away from him as she did. Moving downward a little more, she seemed to get more confident and sped up, only to go too far and gag.
"Take him slowly," Dacey said softly, settling next to her. "I genuinely can't gag, as though I'm actually missing something in my throat, but I know it's possible to train yourself not to."
"That's true," Daemon replied, and Asha let him slip from her lips with an audible pop.
"Suck a lot of cock, have you?" she asked snarkily, though her eyes shone with mischief more than anything else.
"The amount of alcohol it would take to get me to would kill me first," Daemon drawled, making her snort.
She took his cock back into her mouth and started bobbing up and down on his shaft again, getting a better sense for her limit and speeding up a bit once she was more comfortable with the movements.
"Cave in your cheeks a little more," Dacey instructed.
She did so, sucking harder, and Daemon groaned in pleasure. Looking at Dacey, he grinned and said, "Remember when we spoke about what I was born for the other day?"
"Oh, sod off," Dacey laughed. "I've taught each of my sisters how to fight, and once you learn how to teach one thing…"
"I guess it is all swordplay," Daemon quipped, and they both laughed. Asha's laughter reverberated through his shaft, and he groaned, "Fuck, that feels good."
Emboldened by his praise, she pushed a little further again, gagging but trying to ignore it. Her eyes watered, and she pulled back, letting him slip from her lips again.
Stroking him slowly and teasingly, she said, "That wasn't as difficult as I imagined. I can think of places I'd rather you finish than my mouth, though. Seed me, Daemon."
"Seed?" Dacey asked, cocking an eyebrow, and both Asha and he froze.
"I'm wed to a man who can't give me children and need one for the succession of Pyke, among other things," Asha explained, tensing slightly as she saw the other woman's eyes narrow. "It's not like any child he gives me will be a threat to him or his trueborn children. What they inherit won't be coming from him."
"That's...true," Dacey said slowly, and Daemon knew that his family back in Sunspear was the last thing on her mind.
If he put a babe in Asha, he would have fathered the heirs to Bear Island, Pyke, Dorne, and unbeknownst to them, the Seven Kingdoms.
"When I put it like that, I sound worse than Aegon IV," he thought to himself, shaking his head in amusement.
"I suppose motherhood might soften you a little," Dacey said, unsure of what else to say.
"I wouldn't know," Asha shrugged, "and it's not like you would…"
She trailed off as she saw something glint in Dacey's eyes, and when she saw the woman's eyes dart to Daemon for just a second, her jaw dropped.
"Asha…" Daemon went to say, but the pirate just burst out laughing.
"Thank the gods you're not your father's fucking heir," she chuckled to herself.
"I can't argue with you there," Daemon sighed.
"I don't want word of this spreading, Greyjoy," Dacey hissed. Bear Island didn't need the kind of attention that royal bastards could bring them.
"You're secret is something we're about to have in common, Mormont," Asha pointed out. "I should have guessed you'd had a child from how round that gorgeous ass of yours is."
Dacey squawked at that before realizing that the woman had just complimented her.
"That's not all that you have in common," Daemon pointed out. "I've wished since you met that you two might find...some common ground."
"You just want to fuck us together," Dacey snarked.
"I'm willing if you are," Asha offered, and the Bear Islander looked at her in surprise. "I'm here to fight Wildlings and fuck Daemon. I don't need to be at the throat of one of his other bedmates."
Dacey looked at her contemplatively for a moment. In truth, much of her anger at the Ironborn woman had waned once she realized that Asha didn't mean Daemon any harm. She couldn't understand being willing to go to bed with a man who had wrought such devastation on her people, even if they did pick the fight, but after the weeks they'd spent traveling together, she saw no reason to doubt her. Maybe the prince was right about her god having been a malevolent force on her people that he'd removed when he slew the monster that he did, or maybe his cock was actually magical. Either way, Asha and Helga seemed sincere, and, given that they were going to fight alongside each other and had so much in common regarding Daemon, and would likely have more in common before they returned to their respective islands, she figured it was worth at least trying to get along with her.
"Why not?" she asked, smirking when she saw Daemon's face light up. "So how does this work, exactly?"
"You two never shared a woman?" Asha asked.
"No," Daemon replied. "We did plenty but not that."
"I've taken a woman or two to bed before, but no, we never shared one," Dacey replied.
"Well, to start, Daemon can take me on my hands and knees while I bury my face between your thighs," Asha suggested.
She decided that Dacey's initial offer was an attempt to build some kind of pleasant relationship between them and decided to follow suit. Dacey climbed onto the bed and rolled onto her back, shifting upward to give them both room as Asha crawled towards her, shaking her arse invitingly at Daemon, who looked relieved in a way she'd never seen before. She guessed that, given how he lived, having a pair of women he enjoyed fucking not get along was something he was unused to. He joined them quickly and took but a moment to line himself up with Asha's cunt before plunging forward to the hilt.
"Fuck yes!" Asha cried before resting her hands on Dacey's thighs and lowering her face towards her cunt.
"Ahh," the Bear Islander gasped as she gave her slick folds a long, slow lick from her hole to her clit. "Maybe we actually will find common ground, as Daemon put it."
"The prince asked me to have a word with her," Edric lied smoothly, knowing that neither Blue Worm nor Red Rat would question him after all this time.
Indeed, the eunuchs just nodded and let him open the door to Arya's chambers, which he did just enough to hear her as he knocked softly.
"Bugger off," Arya muttered, and, figuring she'd have reacted more forcefully if she was undressed, he slipped inside. She was lying in her bed, glaring at the ceiling, and as her angry eyes turned to him, they narrowed further, and she asked, "What do you want?"
"I wanted to apologize," Edric replied.
"Why?" Arya snorted. "You clearly didn't know who I was. You looked as shocked by that as I was to see Daemon."
"I should have," Edric chuckled, staring at her face and wondering how he ever failed to realize that she was a girl. "At the very least, I should have known that you weren't some peasant. You always called me my lord, not milord."
"Fuck!" Arya exclaimed, slapping her forehead as she realized he was right, and Edric laughed. "If you're just here to make fun of me, I'm calling the guards."
"I have no intention of making fun of you," Edric said softly. "Truth be told, I think you're incredible."
"Huh?" Arya asked, sitting up and looking at him warily.
"You were so adamant about joining the fight to defend your home that you cut off all your hair, grabbed what armor you could, and snuck along with the army, making it all the way to Last Hearth before getting caught," Edric continued. "That's seriously impressive."
"My family disagrees," Arya spat. "No matter how hard I train and no matter what I do, I'll never be allowed to fight because I just don't have a cock."
"I'm surrounded all the time by warriors who prove that you don't need a cock to fight," Edric murmured, "something that you proved last night too, by the way."
"That prick would have killed me if not for you," Arya admitted, too busy feeling sorry for herself to let her pride get in the way of doing so.
"He was twice your size, and you drew first blood even though we were caught completely off guard," Edric argued. "No one is invincible, and even my uncle could be beaten every time he fights. You didn't run or hide or do anything other than fight with all you had and in the end, you won and he died. That's all that matters."
"Except it doesn't," Arya muttered. "I'm going to be locked away in some tower the moment I get back to Winterfell and then wed off to some fat, smelly lord who will expect me to wear dresses, be ladylike, and pop out children for him until I bleed out in bed like my aunt did. Why are you always so nice to me, anyway?"
"Like I said, I think you're incredible," Edric replied, peering into her eyes, which widened slightly as he stepped a little closer. "You're fierce, driven, wild, and beautiful."
"I'm not beautiful," Arya scoffed, scowling at how her face heated up at his words. "Sansa's beautiful. The perfect lady."
"Your sister is beautiful, but that doesn't mean that you aren't," Edric argued, and she looked up at him in shock, realizing that he might actually be sincere. "Personally, I prefer you."
"No one prefers me," Arya said flatly.
"Well, I do," Edric replied stubbornly, and Arya felt her heart race in her chest as she stared up into his stupidly pretty eyes.
"What are you saying?" she demanded.
"I would like to write to you when all this is done," Edric replied. "I'd like to get to know you better, if you'd like, anyway."
"I'm going to be locked away in a tower, remember?" Arya asked, wondering why her heart was being so loud.
"I can ask your father if that's something you'd like," Edric prodded.
"I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world," Arya replied, a slight smile gracing her lips for the first time that day, and Edric beamed at her.
"Lovely," he replied. "Uh, there is one other thing. When my uncle Arthur earned Dawn, to hear my father tell it, my aunt Ashara was still quite young and was envious of the attention, praise, and shiny gift he got. My grandfather spoiled her as a girl and, wanting to cheer her up, had this made."
He reached into the sack at his hip and pulled out a small silver pin in the shape of Dawn. He'd carried it with him for so long that he'd forgotten until he went through his things upon reaching White Harbor.
"Is that Dawn?" she asked, and he nodded.
"When she died, my aunt Allyria didn't care for it, having far more feminine tastes, and she eventually gave it to me," Edric replied. "I figure it would suit you better than some girlish bauble."
"You'd give it to me?" Arya asked, her eyebrows racing towards her hairline. "Why?"
"You killed your first man yesterday, and that's something to be commemorated," Edric replied.
"Did Daemon gift you something after your first kill?" Arya asked, and Edric froze. "What was it?"
"You killed your first man today, so you might as well have your first woman too," Daemon said.
"A new sword," Edric lied, well aware that he shouldn't tell her that his first, second, and third women had been his reward. "It's where I got the idea."
"Hmm, well, thank you," Arya replied, taking the pin from him.
She attached it to her tunic and quickly decided that she quite liked how it looked on her.
"By the way, the prince said that your wolf, Nymeria, was following us," Edric commented. "Can you see through her eyes?"
"How do you...Daemon, right?" Arya sighed, shaking her head. "Yes, I can, and I'd prefer you keep that to yourself. Why?"
"I was just thinking that, if Lord Eddard has you kept here while we go off to fight the Wildlings, and you're not able to fight with us as you are…" Edric trailed off and Arya's eyes widened as she realized what he was getting at. "There might still be a way for you to contribute."
"I think I'd quite like writing to you," Arya whispered, and Edric smiled widely.
Few people whose lives had gone awry could truly pinpoint the moment where everything went wrong for them, but Lomas Estermont was a man who could. When Robert Baratheon rebelled against the mad king, it was the only option he truly had. Not only had Prince Rhaegar run off with and apparently abducted his betrothed, Lyanna Stark, but the decrepit cunt who sat on that throne of swords had demanded his head for his trouble. Following their suzerain lord into the war was the sworn duty of House Estermont and so they had.
And they'd lost.
Rhaegar, perhaps realizing that his decision to run off with his cousin's betrothed had caused untold bloodshed, had been relatively magnanimous in victory, but no one ever lost a war and failed to pay the price. For House Estermont, the price had been Lomas himself, second son of Lord Luthor Estermont, who still lived, the last Lomas had heard. He'd been forced to take the black and had accepted his punishment begrudgingly, realizing that he had no good alternative. He'd joined the Night's Watch during Trystane Qorgyle's time as Lord Commander and quickly rose through the ranks. When his successor, Jeor Mormont, died, he was elected to take his place at quite possibly the worst possible moment.
"Where's the fucking army?" Jarman Buckwell hissed as they watched Wildlings pour in through the broken gate.
"Either waylaid or just not coming," Lomas thought to himself.
The last letter he'd gotten had been from Prince Daemon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, and he'd tried not to let that fact influence him at all, though as he stood now in what was surely to be his final battle, he wondered if perhaps he should have.
"I'm not the only rebel here," he grumbled mentally. "Could he really be shortsighted enough to let the Wildlings kill us out of spite?"
He had followed the one directive the prince had given him in his letter promising that reinforcements were on the way and ordered the men manning the scorpions to focus on the giants as they approached, something he probably would have done anyway. Mance Rayder was once a man of the watch and likely thought that he knew them well, but Lomas had had a passion for siege equipment in his youth and, having a few engineers in his company, had ordered the construction of numerous additional scorpions to be fitted to the Wall, hoping to surprise the traitorous cunt. It had worked, and they cut down scores of giants before they reached the wall, but it wasn't enough; the watch itself just wasn't enough.
Having been a military order for eight thousand years, even if they were a shadow of what they'd once been, the men of the Watch trained often, had some discipline, and generally liked to think that each of them was worth at least a dozen Wildlings. Sadly for them, Rayder had brought far more than a dozen of his savages for each of them.
"They're coming," Bowen Marsh assured them. "Lord Eddard is an honorable man. He would not abandon us."
"He's not in charge, though, is he?" Samwell Tarly asked. "It's Prince Daemon Targaryen leading the armies coming here."
"Yes, that's right," Ronald Connington grumbled, angry as he always was when he thought of the Targaryens.
Ronald had been the Lord of Griffin's Roost for a short moon during the rebellion. After the mad king stripped his cousin Jon of his titles for his failure in the Battle of the Bells, Ronald had ascended in his place and, more loyal to his lord than the crown, as his cousin had been, he joined the rebels' side. He'd actually fought in the Battle of the Trident and saw Arthur Dayne cut Robert Baratheon down. Any chance there had been that Rhaegar might show him mercy was undone by the wrath of his cousin, who had all but demanded that he be sent to the Wall for his treason.
"The prince isn't going to let his uncle get killed, is he?" Eddison Tollent asked.
"Benjen's gone, though," Grenn pointed out.
"He doesn't know that, though, does he?" Edd asked. "You didn't tell him Benjen had disappeared, did you, Commander?"
"No, I didn't," Lomas replied.
He had told Lord Stark, who had surely informed his nephew, but the men didn't need to know that. Better that they fight thinking that reinforcements were coming and they just had to survive long enough. He'd been watching the Wildlings enter the entire time they had their hushed conversation and decided that now was as good a time as any.
"Now!" he shouted, and the trap was sprung.
From all around the courtyard of Castle Black, his men sallied forth with him leading the charge. They were doomed, that he knew, but if he was going to die, he was going to die with his blade in hand, taking as many cunts with him as he could, and he demanded no less from any of the others. Drawing Longclaw, the blade that Jeor Mormont had said could go to whoever replaced him, he charged forward, opening the belly of the first Wildling he came across.
"Kill the crows!" a particularly loud wildling cried, and pandemonium ensued.
They were fucked; there was no getting around that, but they did have one slim hope. If the Wildlings respected anything, it was strength. They would not follow a coward, and Lomas dearly hoped that Rayder was leading his forces from the front. It was why he'd opted to let them stream in through the tunnel after they broke through the gate rather than trying to keep them funneled. That might have negated the advantage that their numbers gave them for a time, but it wouldn't last, and it wouldn't be enough. Their one hope was that they could kill this King-Beyond-The-Wall and that doing so would scatter the cunts as Raymun Redbeard's death had the better part of a century earlier.
Ducking under the swing of a crude but large axe, Lomas brought Longclaw up and sliced the wielder's arms clean off. His agonized screams would have echoed through the courtyard normally but were drowned out completely by the sounds of chaos all around them. Denys Mallister took half of the man's head off with a swing of his blade, and Lomas stepped around him, barely managing to parry the swing of a bronze blade that nearly cut the old commander of the Shadow Tower down. He hit the wildling wielding the blade in the head with his shield and thrust through his chest, killing him instantly. As he and Denys fought back-to-back, holding off anyone who tried to come too close, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a creature so large that even in the black of night, it could not be missed.
"Loose!" he shouted, sidestepping an awkward slash from an axewielding man before slicing his throat open with a quick riposte.
Most of the scorpions he'd had built and installed were positioned to fire down from the Wall, but some of them he'd had built inside Castle Black itself. Rayder had sent what Lomas dearly hoped was his remaining giants in to overwhelm them early, and he swore he'd see them cut down before he drew his last breath. Javelins the size of spears were launched with awe-inspiring force at the giants, who, unarmored and not having expected to find more of them on the other side of the Wall, were unable to do anything other than take the brunt of them. These were the weapons that had slain a juvenile dragon during the Dance, which, through luck the likes of which Lomas had never known, had taken down the mighty Meraxes during the Conquest, and they were more than enough to fell giants.
"Kill the men up there!" a booming voice bellowed, and, parrying the blade of another wildling in time for Denys to take his head off, Lomas saw, illuminated by the braziers around the courtyard, the man he was looking for.
"Traitor!" Denys roared, able to recognize his old subordinate even with the raven-winged bronze helmet he was wearing.
"We take him together, Mallister," Lomas warned the older man. "This is our only hope."
All around them the sound of fighting and men dying filled the air. Lomas tried to keep his eyes on his target even as he engaged a cut down another Wildling, but he couldn't avoid noticing Samwell get crushed by the club of what appeared to be the last giant standing in their midst.
"That was inevitable," he sighed mentally as another Wildling drew close and tried to run him through with an over-telegraphed thrust.
Lomas sidestepped the blow with ease, letting his overzealous foe draw dangerously close before driving his mailed fist into his throat. He felt bones break under the blow, and the fair-haired man fell to his knees, clutching his throat and trying in vain to breathe. He didn't even bother finishing him off, marching closer to Rayder, who was accompanied by the largest non-giant he'd seen yet.
The deserter wasn't a tall man by any stretch of the imagination, though what he lacked in height he made up for in the broadness of his chest and the physical strength of his form. His middling height only served to make the other man look even taller, and as Lomas drew close enough to get a better look at him, he realized from the bronze scale mail he was wearing that he had to be a Thenn. His helmet had been knocked off, and his bald head reflected the fires of the nearest brazier.
"There's still time to surrender, Lord Commander," Mance offered as he spotted him. "You need not all die."
"No, we just need to kill you," Denys growled. "You're what holds this feckless menagerie together."
Rayder chuckled at that and replied, saying, "My death would mean little in the end. Just because you refuse to see what we're facing beyond the Wall doesn't mean that they can't. My people win here, or we die. You still have another option."
Screams echoed down from the positions of the scorpions, and Lomas swore in his mind as he realized that there was at least one giant left alive. A ways to his right, he saw Donal Noye leap away from the heavy downward swing of the giant's club before bringing his hammer down on it. The wooden weapon shattered under the blacksmith's heavy blow, and he tossed his hammer aside, drawing his sword and charging at the giant, trying to slip between its legs.
"No, we don't," Lomas replied as he saw the giant grab and lift Donal up.
"Then that's that," Rayder sighed. "Styr?"
The large man next to him simply nodded and pointed his weirwood spear at them, the ornate bronze blade of which already dripped blood on the frozen ground below. He charged at Lomas as Denys engaged Rayder, and the Stormlander was forced on the defensive from the start. This Styr was a large man to begin with, with long arms corded heavily with muscle, and if they both wielded swords, he'd have had an advantage from the start with his greater reach. With the spear he wielded instead, that advantage was amplified, and Lomas knew that he was going to have to close the distance if he wanted to survive this fight at all.
He heard Donal scream in pain as he was crushed by his mighty foe and feared for a moment that he would soon have the giant to contend with as well, but to both his astonishment and that of Styr, the one-armed smith, using the last of his strength, thrust his blade clean into the giant's throat. They fell together in a heap, and Lomas took advantage of Styr's shock to move closer, slashing across his chest. The large man jumped back, evading most of the blow, but Longclaw sliced a groove in his bronze armor, making him snarl in rage.
"All this over a cloak?!" Denys raged, raining a flurry of blows from his sword down on Rayder, who parried them all. "What are you, a woman?"
"It was never just the cloak, Mallister," Rayder spat as he circled his foe, feinting towards his head and then slashing low, trying to slice through the joint in his greaves. "The gods will that men be free. Both your gods and mine would not abhor slavery as they do otherwise."
"Only the dead are free," Denys scoffed, parrying Rayder's blade and riposting towards the traitor's chest.
Lomas could tell that his numbers were dwindling as the battle raged all around him but he put that out of his mind. Styr proved himself to be a more capable opponent than most, quick on his feet and deadly accurate with his spear. What the Stormlander couldn't dodge, he parried, desperately looking for an opening he could make use of. The Thenns were the most annoying of the Wildlings, being the best equipped and the most disciplined in battle.
Lomas had cut through at least a dozen wildlings during the battle so far, taking advantage of how poor their armor was and how prone they were to attacking wildly, but those weren't advantages that he had just then. The Thenn's spear dented his shield, the blow reverberating through his arm, and he gritted his teeth at it, stepping backward. His foe pressed his attack, trying to drive him back, as Lomas had hoped he would, and he stepped aside, letting him draw close and driving his blade upward towards the man's head.
Styr noticed just in time, and his blade missed him by inches as he dodged aside. He responded by kicking the Stormlander in the chest, and Lomas toppled back with a grunt as the wind was knocked from him. The Thenn pressed his attack, driving his spear downward, and Lomas barely managed to roll out of the way, feeling as the bronze blade slashed across his backplate, slicing a groove in the metal.
Rising to his knees, time seemed to slow for a moment as he saw the spear racing towards him again. Unable to parry it in time, he dove aside and brought his blade up wildly. The spear passed just by him, and Longclaw struck true, slicing through the shaft just below the blade. Unwilling to give his foe even a moment to right himself, Lomas pulled back and drove the blade forward, piercing his armor and running him through the chest. Exhilaration filled him at having bested so great a foe, only for it to leave him at once as he turned and saw Mance Rayder stab Denys through the throat.
"No!" he roared, rage filling him as he saw his last remaining mentor among the Night's Watch crumple to the ground, dead.
His anger fueled him as he rose to his feet and barreled towards the so-called king, who positioned himself to meet him. Feinting towards his legs, Lomas extended just enough to force the man to parry low so he could drive his shield right into his head. His helmet took the brunt of the blow, but it dazed him nonetheless, and he staggered back, giving the Lord Commander the opening he needed. He pressed forward, his blade a whirlwind of fury as he tried to end this once and for all.
He would die here, this he knew, but just as his house had done in joining Robert Baratheon in his rebellion, he would do his duty here. If he could just strike down Rayder, he knew that the Wildlings would descend into infighting, regardless of the man's words. They were more animals than men at the end of the day, and without their leader, they would turn on each other, and whenever Daemon Targaryen and his host arrived, they would find a disorganized host which they would tear apart. Lomas Estermont would die here, likely betrayed by the crown, yet he would be avenged by them regardless if he could just end this one life.
Rayder stepped backward, on the defensive, and slowed down as he went. He parried Lomas' blows as well as he could, but the shield bash had dazed him, and he was tiring rapidly. Trying to force the Stormlander back, he redirected his downward slash away and tried to drive his shoulder into him, but Lomas saw it coming and managed to knock him away, grinning as he saw him fall onto his back. Raising his blade, time seemed to slow again as he prepared the killing blow, peace finding him as he realized that he was about to accomplish the one realistic goal he'd set for himself in this entire nightmarish episode.
Pain, lancing and piercing pain hit his back and chest, and he was, for a moment, more confused by it than anything. A shaky breath escaped him, and when he tried to take another, agony coursed through his chest, and he stumbled backward. An arrow had pierced his back, he realized a moment later, striking the very spot in his armor that Styr had weakened. As his arms weakened, his blade lowered to his side, and as fatal determination filled him, he reared back, trying to thrust down into Rayder's fallen form when another arrow struck true, driving him to his knees. He gurgled for breath, and a wet cough filled the inside of his helmet with blood as he leaned on Longclaw for support.
All around him, men clad in black were dying, their corpses littering the courtyard where they'd made their last stand. There were plenty of dead Wildlings too, and Lomas didn't see any giants or mammoths as his vision started to darken. He saw Mance stand up and lamented his failure. His vision faded further and he heard what he swore was an eagle warbling nearby somehow guiltily just as a final blow struck him in the back of the head, making everything go black.
Looking through Brynden's eyes, Daemon watched the final fall of the Night's Watch and shook his head. He knew that he'd made the right call, for reaching the Wall in time would have required them to force march the entire way and would have left them so exhausted by the time they reached Castle Black that, though they'd have likely still won, they'd have lost countless men in the process. Having the Night's Watch pull back would have also come with its own downsides, as it would have denied them the opportunity to bleed their enemy as well as they had using the defenses of the Wall.
"They swore to give their lives in defense of the realm, and they did," he thought to himself as he looked around.
The stalwart final stand of the ancient order had put a significant dent in the Wildling's forces, especially their giants. From what he could see, there wasn't a single living one that wasn't badly wounded, and with their remaining mammoths stuck on the other side of the wall, that greatly limited what Rayder could throw against them.
"This will come down to infantry battles," he thought to himself, pleased by the thought, if not what it cost to ensure that.
Even outnumbered, he would take his Unsullied over the Wildlings in that contest any day, and they would have thousands of Northmen with them as well. Looking down at the grim scene one last time, he flew up into the highest tower and settled in, well aware that he'd be spending much of the night surveying them while lying comfortably sandwiched between Dacey and Asha back in Last Hearth.