Chapter 25
It was early in the morning when Robb was roused from pleasant dreams to find his blankets had been removed. His new wife was naked and kneeling over his legs, her head bobbing up and down on his already hardened length. It was one of the best feelings Robb knew, to be woken by a warm mouth around his manhood.
“Our new wife seems eager to fulfil her duties.” Rhaenys giggled beside him on the bed, also naked, her heavily pregnant belly having swollen large. His first wife was sitting up against the headboard, surrounded by pillows and pleasuring herself as she watched Myranda work his cock.
“If i’m woken up like this every day this marriage will surely be a delight.” Robb laughed along with Rhaenys. Myranda withdrew from his cock, but still kept a hand wrapped around the base, licking her lips as she looked up to them.
“You’ve been his wife for near a year.” She smirked. “And have been fucking him for years beforehand. I’ve only been his wife for a night. I have lots to catch up on.”
“Then by all means.” Rhaenys lazily played with one of her hardened nipples. “I’m very much enjoying the show.”
“I believe our husband has been prepared long enough.” Myranda rubbed his cock a few times, making Robb groan in pleasure. “The time has come for the main event.”
It was then Myranda Royce rose from her knees to stand on the bed. Her feet stood on either side of Robb’s hips, his eyes drinking her in. And there was certainly a lot of her to drink. Though she was a short woman, Myranda was very fleshy and one of the most buxom women Robb had ever seen. She had a small mouth, large expressive brown eyes and curly brown hair falling to her mid-back. Her cheeks were full and rosy and her porcelain skin was flawless. The Gods had seemed fit to not only give the woman an enormous bust, but also wide hips too and a soft stomach.
“I see our wife is not the only one enjoying the view.” Myranda smirked as she cocked her hip to the side confidently. In a way, reminding Robb of Ygritte.
“How could I not? When there’s so much to enjoy.” Robb ran his hands up her calves, then suddenly gripped the inside of her knees and pulled them forward. Myranda lost her balance and sat heavily down on Robb’s hips. Thankfully she had a supreme amount of cushioning to soften her landing.
Both women were giggling quickly at Myranda’s fall. “Naughty boy.” She playfully slapped his chest. “Someone’s eager for it.”
“I’m not the only one.” He reached a hand out and ran his fingers along her lower lips. They came away wet from her clear arousal. Robb put his soaked fingers in her mouth and she sucked on her own pleasure greedily.
“Hmmm, I taste good.” Myranda moaned as she licked Robb’s fingers clean.
“I agree.” Rhaenys added. Robb had lost count of the number of climaxes Rhaenys had torn from Myranda the night before, with her mouth on her cunt.
Myranda had taken Robb’s cock in hand, pumping him leisurely a few times before rising slightly, angling the tip to her cunt then sinking down the entire length of his throbbing cock. Her cunt was tight and wet around him, squeezing and massaging his cock. Robb must have taken her a dozen times the night before, yet every time it still felt like the first.
“Goddddsss!” Myranda moaned, her eyes closing, her head tilting back, pushing out her enormous breasts into Robb’s face. He licked and sucked and bit Myranda’s large nipples as she slowly rocked on his length. “Whatever I did to make the Gods think I deserved a husband like you, i’m glad it happened.” Myranda laughed breathlessly when she came back to herself.
Robb’s hands found their way to Myranda’s ample hips, taking a firm grip. “You aren’t the only lucky one here.”
“Well you’re certainly better than my first husband.” Myranda laughed. She had told the both of them of her first marriage the night before at the wedding feast.
“Yes.” Rhaenys seemed almost concerned. “It must have been truly dreadful to have him dying while…” She made an indicative motion with her hand.
“While fucking me?” Myranda finished for her. “Well it was disconcerting certainly. Not to mention discourteous. He didn’t even have the common decency to plant a child in me. He left me a woman flowered, wedded, bedded and widowed all before I was twenty. Thankfully…” She placed her small hands on Robb’s chest as she began to rock up and down slowly on his cock. “Our dear husband survived our wedding night and filled me like a wineskin.”
“Several times over I would say.” Robb laughed, using hips to guide her up and down. On their wedding night, Myranda had been one of the most energetic lovers Robb and Rhaenys had ever had. Their new wife seemed to have stamina for days and an appetite to match. “Though being fucked to death by you is certainly one of the best ways to go I can think of.”
Myranda and Rhaenys both laughed at that. “Oh yes.” She replied. “Martyn died with his head buried in my tits, a smile on his face and very empty balls.”
“A better way to die than most men his age could have expected.” Rhaenys chuckled.
“That’s what I said!” Myranda exclaimed, still riding Robb’s cock. “But his humourless brother couldn’t see the funny side of it.”
“Some men are too sour for their own good.” Rhaenys scoffed.
“I’m anything but sour.” Robb leaded forward reached around and clapped a hand heavily down on Myranda’s fleshy behind, making it wobble pleasantly as she squealed in delight.
Their fucking was becoming more heated then. Raw and untamed. The entire point of their marriage was for Robb to impregnate Myranda with a son that would eventually rule the Vale. It was their duty to make one as soon as possible. And Robb was nothing if not dutiful. The loud slapping of Myranda’s round, ample behind smacking against Robb’s hips was rebounding off the stone walls of their room. The fleshy parts of Myranda’s pale body bounced delightfully under Robb’s gaze.
With one hand still on her hips, making sure she kept rhythm with his thrusts, his other went to her breasts. With his mouth on one nipple and his hand on the other, Robb mauled his new wife’s bosom like a ravenous beast. Myranda’s cries of pleasure and quivering cunt only showed Robb she wanted more. So he made sure to give it to her.
Wet sounds and soft moans also came from Robb’s left, where Rhaenys was furiously working her cunt as she watched them. Every now and then she would reach her fingers out and let Robb taste her pleasure on them. It was the nectar of the gods. Robb longed for the time when he would be able to take the both of them together, yet Rhaenys was so far along now that lovemaking had become a bit too taxing for her.
“Fuck me Robb!” Myranda cried. “Fuck your whore wife!”
Robb grunted and dug his fingers into her hip so hard he thought there might be bruises on them when they were done. All they knew was pleasure, her cunt around him and him spearing deep inside her.
“So deep!” Myranda near sobbed, her arms cradling Robb’s head, her enormous breasts slapping him in the face repeatedly as she slammed herself down on his throbbing shaft. Their breath mingled together as they both panted from the effort and the heat of their fucking.
Even though they had only been lovers for a night, Robb could point out the telltale signs of Myranda’s pleasure coming to an explosive crescendo. It was a gift the Starks had that proved accurate yet again. Within a dozen thrusts, Myranda Royce, now Stark came to one of the most explosive climaxes of her life. Her pleasure sprayed Robb’s lower body in a great tidal wave from her cunt.
“It’s like a fucking fountain!” Rhaenys half laughed as she brought herself to her own end. Robb could only agree.
Their new wife was certainly a squirter. And a loud one at that.
When Myranda’s quivering climax came to an end, she was still panting as she rested her head against Robb’s. “Gods, you’re so much better than any other lover i’ve had.” She sighed happily. “They always finished so fast...”
“With a body like yours, I can’t blame them.” Robb laughed and smacked Myranda’s arse again. She could only breathlessly smile and kissed his lips tenderly.
“I believe our dear husband still has yet to find his own end.” They heard Rhaenys say beside them.
“Well we can’t have tha-ah!” Whatever Myranda was about to say was interrupted by Robb, who flipped her onto her hands and knees and pushed her face into Rhaenys’ cunt. On instinct, she began to lap away at her wife’s slick folds.
“I’ve never eaten a cunt before.” She said between licks. “But I think I’m developing a taste for it now.”
“I can hardly blame you.” Robb smacked her impossibly round arse again. It was sticking up and out into the cool air, just begging to be used. Robb admired his new wife’s curvy posterior again, only from a different angle. Myranda’s arse-cheeks were just as, if not more, enormous than her chest. The woman brought a whole new level to meaning of “Voluptuous” that Robb wasn’t even aware existed. With one hand on her hip and the other holding his cock, still slick with her juices, Robb rubbed his cock-head against Myranda’s cunt and arsehole, probing both entrances.
“I-I’ve never had someone take me there before…” She turned back to him uncharacteristically shyly.
“Gods, you’ve had no women and no men have taken your arse?” Rhaenys was half moaning, her hands in Myranda’s hair. “It seems we’ve brought a prude into our bed.”
“That’s not true!” Myranda declared proudly. “Mya’s called me the lustiest wench in the Vale many times!”
“You’re not in the Vale any more, my dear.” Robb growled as he sheathed the whole length of his cock into her cunt.
Myranda’s scream of pleasure was muffled by Rhaenys’ thighs. But he wouldn’t have been surprised if they heard it all over the army camp. Robb drew out a few inches, then slammed home again. Then again. Then again. In moments he was hammering away at Myranda’s cunt like a runaway stallion. Waves of her ample flesh rippled on the impact of Robb’s hips. Her body was so soft and malleable to the touch, Robb knew she would be one of his favourite lovers, probably Jon’s too.
“If you think things are hard now, just wait until Jon and I are fucking you together.” Robb voiced his thoughts as he smacked Myranda’s arse a few times, turning the pale flesh red.
“W-whaaatt?” She moaned wantonly, panting into Rhaenys’ thigh, her hair plastered to her sweaty face and back.
“Ohh yes.” Rhaenys sang, cradling Myranda’s head in her hands. “Robb and Jon do everything together. Including their wives.”
The thought certainly seemed to arouse the Valeish lady as she climaxed again, right then and there. Her thighs were quivering as she bathed Robb’s cock in her warm essence again.
That was how they stayed for the better part of an hour. Robb ploughed Myranda like an angry farmer as she licked Rhaenys to completion. After a while, Robb’s thrusting became more than Myranda could handle and she lost all coherence. She could only moan and squeal as she clung to Rhaenys’ thighs like her life depended on it.
Eventually the feeling of Myranda’s fluttering and quivering cunt enveloping his cock became too much to bear. With one last hard thrust, he went deeper into Myranda than ever before and filled her womb with his seed.
When Robb was done, he collapsed back onto the bed alongside a very naked and very sated Rhaenys and Myranda. Eventually they were roused by shouting and an Ice Guard bursting through the door to their chambers.
“What is the meaning of this!?” Robb thundered, unhappy that his morning rest was interrupted.
“Pardon, yer Grace.” The Ice Guard bowed slightly. “But one of the bastards has made off with the Kingslayer.”
Fuck.
—————————
Ned
“Please explain to me,” Ned’s voice was ice cold. “How one man manages to abscond with our most valuable prisoner and fly off into the night with the second largest dragon we have. I am confused…” His last words were sharper than an Uru razor.
Captain Wuldric Brandywell stood before Ned in his solar, the Ice Guard that had been responsible for the cells in Riverrun. The Brandywells were a small but proud masterly house that had come North with the Manderlys all those years ago. They were known to be as stout and loyal as their liege’s, though not as crafty. Ned found himself regretting that fact at this moment. It was still early morning, the rising sun’s orange light streamed through the windows of the solar, illuminating the stalwart Ice Guard in it’s glow.
“I don’t know, your grace.” The man’s back was straight as an arrow and his face was stone, but Ned could see the shame in his eyes.
“That’s not good enough!” Harper thundered, he was standing to Ned’s left leaning against his desk.
“I know, sir.” Wuldric raised his chin. “There’s no excuse for this lapse, I take full responsibility.”
Ned ground his teeth together and grunted. Wuldric couldn’t possibly have been guarding every cell at all times. The failure was that of the men under his command, yet he would not say their names and took the blame all on himself. It was the kind of act Ned admired.
“Tell us what happened again, leave no detail out.” Ned sighed.
“As you wish, your grace.” Wuldric responded. “It happened during the hour of the Owl, a fair number in the castle were still celebrating the wedding.”
Drinking and making merry like it was their last night alive, Ned thought ruefully.
“We know Cleaton Snow went to the lower dungeons first, to release Lannister knights that were less guarded and would help him in his treachery. We don’t know how he subdued the guards, but from their wounds, I can’t see how they would be killed while awake.” The bodies of the Winter Wolves who had been on duty were found in the cells they were guarding, their throats slit, stripped on all arms and armour.
“Do we know which knights Cleaton freed?” Harper asked.
“A Sarsfield, two Crakehalls, a Brax, a Lorch and a Serret. The Serret and the Lorch were the bodies found outside the Kingslayer’s cell.” Wuldric answered. “They weren’t counted among the more valuable hostages and we have a great many of them so they had fewer guards and shared a cell.”
Suffering from success, Ned nearly laughed. They had taken so many hostages that they couldn’t guard them all. “And with his new friends, Cleaton broke Jaime Lannister from his cell?” Ned surmised.
“Yes.” Wuldric answered, shortly. “I had assigned some of the Kingslayer’s guards to helping our allies from the Vale get settled.”
“You reassigned his guards?” Harper’s voice was low and angry.
“I thought two Ice Guard would be enough to guard one cell in the middle of a castle surrounded by our army. Nevertheless, it was a mistake. A fatal one. One that rests entirely on my shoulders.” Wuldric clenched his jaw.
“Aye, and you’ll be the one to write the letters to their families-”
“That’s enough Harper.” Ned cut him off. He scratched his fingers through his beard in contemplation. Of course the Gods slap us down when things begin to go well.
“Once they had the Kingslayer, we assume that was when they went to the northern wall climbed down the rope we found.”
“The rope that was by the two dead Tully guards.” Harper cut in.
“Yes.” Wuldric responded. “From the small bank beyond the castle walls, they must have swum across the river to where the dragons have been resting.”
“And from there it was all too simple for Cleaton to mount his dragon and fly away…” Ned seethed for moment then slammed his fist onto the desk, breaking it instantly. Wooden shards and splinters erupted from the table before it crumpled, spilling the stacks of papers and goblets that were placed on it to the floor.
“Ye Gods!” Harper exclaimed as he stumbled to find balance. He had been leaning on the table.
Ned knew not to make decisions in anger. “Go.” He ordered Wuldric. “I will decide what to do with you later.” The Ice Guard bowed stiffly then left the room, only to be replaced by Arthur.
“It seems Cleaton used Sweetsleep to subdue the guards.” He stated. “He likely came down offering drinks in celebration of the wedding.”
“How did he get it?” Ned asked.
“The Maester gave it to him.” Arthur laughed bitterly. “He told the man he was having trouble sleeping so he asked for a vial, which he then must have poured into the wine.”
“Ah fuck me…” Harper swore as he went for a pitcher of water and took a swig. “This shouldn’t have happened. We’ve been sitting still too long, we got too comfortable.”
“At least no others escaped.” Arthur said. Ned hummed in agreement. Their captured Lannister dragonrider and Lord Tywin’s brother Tygett were still in their cells. Ned imagined Cleaton and his friends felt them too guarded to risk breaking them out alongside the Kingslayer.
“We cannot trust the others.” Harper stated plainly. “Barring yer daughter of course.” He nodded to Ned.
“I agree.” Arthur added. “Arra’s loyalty may be steadfast but I can’t guarantee the others are as loyal.”
“If they meant to betray us, do you not think they would already have done so with Cleaton?” Ned asked. He remembered Cleaton had a sister who rode a dragon, but she had not gone with him. Would a man like that abandon his sister? Mayhaps, but that didn’t prove her innocence by any means.
“Perhaps, but I feel it’s better to err on the side of caution.”
“You may be right.” Ned sighed. “See to it Harper and be sure to let them know this is only a precaution. I don’t want to make enemies where none yet exist. They will be allowed to leave their chambers in the future.” Harper nodded then left the solar.
“We cannot allow more of our dragons to slip into Lannister hands.” Arthur said.
Ned knew his meaning.
As the main desk in the solar had been reduced to kindling, Ned made do with one of the smaller side-tables. He penned a letter to Luwin, instructing him to triple the guard on the dragons and not to let any others attempt to claim one. It was perhaps a little too late, but it could not be helped.
“So what shall we do now?”
Ned thought for a moment. “Harper was right. We have sat still for too long. And I have a plan to fix that.”
—————————
Jon
“She’s not made a peep since the Kingslayer’s escape.” Sygran Cassel, of one of the many Cassel family offshoots, told Jon as he began unlocking the heavy iron bolts of the cell door.
Jon only hummed in response.
The Ice Guard Captain and a company of men had been assigned to Dāezara‘s cell to keep her secure after Cleaton Snow had made off with their most valuable hostage. Jon felt a pang of guilt for having suggested the use of Stark bastards in the first place. History had shown how well that went for Rhaenyra with the Targaryen Dragonseeds, Jon had just chosen to ignore the lesson.
He just knew Sabrina would have been bashing him over the head with a book for his stupidity if she wasn’t back in Winterfell. A big, heavy book too. Maybe that biography of perhaps the most monotonously boring Stark to ever live. The one she enjoyed punishing her unruly students with.
The deep clunk of the last iron bolts being unlocked drew Jon from his thoughts. Sygran heaved the cell door open, Jon rested his hand on Passion’s silver dragon-egg pommel and strode inside the cell. It was much the same as it had been the last time Jon was there. And the time before that.
The room was still dimly lit from the small barred window on the opposite wall and Dāezara still sat slumped over in the shade, her face hidden by her hair. Jon took a few steps into the light, then crouched down so he was at her eye-level, a few feet from her position against the wall.
“The guards say you haven’t had any food or drink since the escape.” His eyes fell to the untouched bowl of bread and cheese beside the full skin of water. They had also said she had been screaming and banging on the door when they went to check on her after they found the Kingslayer’s cell empty.
First she’d raged, then she’d wept, then she’d done nothing at all. In order to get out, Cleaton his accomplices and the Kingslayer would have had to walk past her cell door. They certainly would have heard her.
“You should at least drink.” Jon urged her. There was a long pause then Dāezara raised her head a little.
“They left me…” She croaked out, her voice was hoarse with pain and grief. “They left me…” Jon pitied the woman, she had no one in the whole world who would help her. Jon was always glad to have such an extensive and close family, in that moment he was doubly so. There seemed to be no end to the extended family who would raise hell for Jon if he needed them to. But Dāezara had no one.
“…I’m sorry.” Was all he managed to say.
“No you aren’t!” She spat, slowly rising to her feet, Jon did the same. “You wanted them to leave me here. You hate them and certainly you don’t care for me.”
“It seems to be the Lannisters don’t care much for you either.”
Dāezara screamed, swore and kicked an empty shit bucket into the wall in anger. It bounced off the wall with some force before it clattered around loudly and came to a stop. The silver haired woman was pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, her shoulders tense. She looked on the verge of tears.
“All my life i’ve served them.” She chocked out. “All my life and they… Like it meant nothing. Like my life means nothing.” The tears were falling freely down her face now.
“I am sorry for the way Tywin Lannister treated you.” Jon said as he inched closer. “You don’t mean nothing Dāezara.” She flinched at her name, her bloodshot eyes locked with Jon’s.
“You’re the first person who’s ever called me by my name.” She sniffed.
“It’s a good name. Probably better than any name i’d have picked for myself.” Jon forced a small laugh out.
“Why do you keep visiting me? You know everything I know. If you wanted to have me, you could have had your guards hold me down long ago. Why do you care?”
“I would never force myself on you.” Jon said, reflexively. She only scoffed in response.
On occasion Jon had asked himself why he cared for one Lannister prisoner. It was true she was a beautiful woman, even after a month in a cell, but Jon had no shortage of beautiful women. It was also true that turning a dragonrider to their cause would be great victory. But she would be one rider of many and on the smallest dragon. There was another reason. A deeper one. “I don’t know if they taught you of the Gods at all.” He began.
“I don’t care for the Gods.” Dāezara said spitefully. “Not one of them answered my prayers in all my life. And I tried every one of them.”
“In the North, we hold to the Old Gods.” Jon continued. “They teach us that a person cannot own another person, that one’s life is their own. But that isn’t really true. My life has never been my own. Nor you, yours.”
“The poor prince living in his big castle.” She snarked, Jon had to admit she had a point. Compared to most he lived a life of luxury. There were things he took for granted that others wouldn’t dare dream of having. But long ago, Jon remembered a reading from a great thinker they had been taught about by their tutors. Man will always be drawn to want what he does not have.
“Of course our situations are very different.” Jon qualified. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t empathise with wanting to be free.”
For as long as Jon could remember, he’d been the younger twin. Robb would inherit Ice and Winterfell and Jon would serve him as Grand Marshall of the North. Jon loved his brother and would do anything for him, but he would be lying if he said he never dreamed of their positions being reversed. Then he wouldn’t have to be the dutiful younger brother.
Jon’s entire life had been set out for him the day he was born, was it truly the worst thing to wonder what would happen if…?
If…
If.
A small but powerful word. Upon which the world could shift. Jon’s life was set, it was not his own. Dāezara’s life had been set out for her since lord Tywin took her. Granted in a much more brutal way, but they had both had choice be made for them. Jon would do what he could to help Dāezara get the freedom that she ached to have. The kind of freedom a part of him desired too. Perhaps that part of him might be satisfied to see that kind of freedom for another.
Before Jon knew what was happening, she rushed him and wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her face in his shoulder.
Jon tentatively returned her hug, feeling her tears soaking into his doublet. It crossed Jon’s mind that this was probably the first hug she’d ever had. After a few moments she pulled away from him, wiping her nose with her hand, her eyes red and cheeks puffy.
She walked past him and Jon could have sworn she whispered “thank you.” As she went. He turned and saw her picking up the water skin and taking small sips.
Little was said after that. Jon could tell she wanted time, he probably needed the same. He left her cell soon after, passing Ghost who’d been sitting outside the door.
“Jon!” He heard his great uncle calling after him as he walked from the cells. He stopped and turned, waiting for the old Witcher to catch up. Old… Jon almost laughed to himself.
After Beric’s injuries at the battle of Oxcross, the Amazons had offered to heal and rejuvenate him with their magic waters. The results had been surprising, to say the least. The Bloodwolf was over a century old, yet as Jon saw him stride forth, he wouldn’t have said Beric was older than forty. Maybe even thirty-five.
Gone were the grey hairs and wrinkles that showed his age and wisdom. Now his hair was as dark as Jon’s, it hung loose and not very long. Where once Beric had a thick beard, now his angular jaw was clean shaved. Jon and all his siblings had agreed their great uncle now held a remarkable resemblance to Uncle Benjen. Though Jon supposed that was hardly so remarkable as he had been the brother of Uncle Benjen’s grandfather.
Even Roach, his wolf seemed more youthful than before, if missing an eye.
“Checking up on our prisoner, were you?” Beric had a sly grin.
“She wasn’t best pleased to have been left behind.” Jon admitted.
“Neither is Tygett, it seems.” Lord Tywin’s brother had also been left in the cells as the Kingslayer made his escape. Beric had gone to see that Lannister Witcher almost as often as Jon had gone to Dāezara.
“I guess the Lannisters aren’t as close as we Starks are.” Jon chuckled as they approached the steps out of Riverrun’s dungeons. “I am surprised to see Tetra has let you out of her rooms long enough to check on the prisoners.”
Almost the moment after Beric had been rejuvenated, Tetra had dragged him and Samara off to a bedroom and slammed the door. None of the three had been seen for the three days after. But they had been heard. Much to everyone’s annoyance.
“It seems my newfound stamina is too much for them.” Beric barked out a laugh. “I’ve a little time to leave our bedchambers while they recover. I swear i’ve not felt this alive in decades.”
“Perhaps I should try some of that Amazon water too.” Jon quipped. “Ygritte, Val and Myrcella would certainly appreciate it.” They both laughed together.
“About your wives,” Beric started. “They must be ready to burst soon with how big they’re getting.” It was true, they were certainly nearing the birthing time. And they weren’t the only ones. Rhaenys and his mothers were near too.
“There’ll certainly be many new Starks running around soon.” Jon said. It was a strange feeling to know he would soon be a father. He had talked with his own father about it. It was some comfort to know he was not alone in his feelings.
“Who knows, there might even be more Starks to come.”
“How do you mean?”
“Tetra thinks the Amazon water might reverse Witcher infertility.” Beric explained. “That’s why she was so quick to drag me away. She wanted to run… tests…” Both men chuckled again. “I imagine Yen might enjoy having younger siblings.”
“I don’t know if I am ready to be a father.” Jon admitted.
Beric put a hand on his shoulder and gave a warm smile. “No one ever is. I can’t say everything will be perfect, because that would be a lie. But I can say that when you hold your baby in your arms, nothing else in the world will matter… Then the little arseholes will have the audacity to grow up and cause all kinds of headaches for you.” He joked.
“Then here’s to a new generation of Stark hellions.” Jon toasted, though neither had anything to drink.
“To repay us for all the sleepless nights we gave our parents.” Beric added.
The pair just crossed over the top of the stairs when one of Riverrun’s stewards came upon them. “The King in the North has called a council.” He declared. “All lords great and small, Rangers, Knights and Officers are commanded to attend.”
Beric cracked a small smile. “Let’s see what bold new strategy your father has cooked up for us.”
—————————
Ned
Riverrun’s great hall was filled to bursting. The lords of the North, Riverlands and the Vale had come to hear Ned’s plans, not to mention the Amazons too. Near a dozen more long benches had needed to be brought into the hall to accommodate the numerous guests, and there were still many who had to stand.
Ned sat in the hall’s high seat, with Ice resting on an arm and Fang sitting beside him. His wives also had thrones of their own, each of them littered with cushions to help alleviate their discomfort due to their heavily pregnant states. It was just after noon and the lords were grumbling with discontent. They all knew of the Kingslayer’s escape along with Cleaton Snow’s defection to Tywin Lannister.
“Forgive me, your grace!” Called lord Bracken. “But how is it that someone can abscond with our most valuable prisoner and one of our most valuable dragons!” More than a hundred voices made their agreement with lord Bracken known.
Ned raised his hand and silence fell on the hall. “It was a colossal failure and no mistake.” He admitted. “And the matter has been dealt with.”
“Who was the watchman who let them pass?!” A nameless voice called out from the group of lords.
“Where were the Kingslayer’s guards?” Cried another.
“They should swing!” Came another shout, men started stamping their feet in agreement.
Ned would not tell them no matter how much thy shouted and raged. It was an Ice Guard who failed in his duty, one of his men. Ned would not let one of his men be lynched by a mob.
“Quiet!” Harper shouted, standing a few feet in front of Ned, at the bottom of the steps that led up to his seat. Eventually the lords headed the Chosen Man.
“I have dealt with the matter personally.” Ned stated. “I bear the responsibility for this mess anyhow.”
“That’s not true!” Greatjon bellowed. “The fault lies on every one of us, we failed you!”
The loyalty of his longtime friend warmed Ned’s heart. “You are too kind.” Ned smiled down at him. “But mistaken. The fault is mine because I have allowed us to get complacent. We have stayed here too long. We’ve become comfortable. But now there are far too many of us in one place, just look at this hall.” That was met by a rumble of low chuckles. “We need to be on the move again, if we don’t surely more mistakes will follow.”
“So we are to go on the march?” Asked Lord Horton Redfort, the stout man leaning on a table next to Bronze Yohn as he could not find a seat.
Ned rose from his seat. “Indeed we are.”
He then indicated to Triss who was standing in the gallery to cast her illusion. In moments a large map of Westeros shimmered into existence above the seat Ned had just vacated. The map was ten feet wide and seven feet tall, focusing mainly on the Riverlands, the Westerlands and the Vale.
“I trust you can all see clearly.” Ned said as he formed a long rod out of ice to help him indicate where he was pointing. The hall was filled with the sound of grumbling and the legs of wooden benches scraping along the floor as people shifted to get a better view.
“We are here.” Ned indicated to Riverrun on the map. “With the recent arrival of our friends from the Vale…” Men banged their fists on the table and cheered their comrades. “Our forces here have swelled to near sixty thousand.”
“We should take the fight to Lord Tywin and crush him!” Shouted a young and over eager knight from the back of the hall.
“Alas, that might not be an easy task.” Ned continued, moving the rod until it indicated to Harrenhal. “Lord Tywin has fortified Harrenhal with just under forty thousand men, and the Gods only know how many dragons.” A low murmur went through the hall. “Our spies also tell us that Lord Tywin is hiring mercenary companies over from Essos to fight under his banner as well.” Ned moved the ice rod to point at Tarbeck Hall. “Here is where my sons left their ten thousand Northerners under the command of Maege Mormont and Galbart Glover.” Then he indicated along the Green Fork. “And here are the forty thousand Northern troops that are guarding the Kingsroad north to Moat Cailin.”
“All together that’s over a hundred thousand men.” Bronze Yohn called out, lifting his mug of ale happily.
“Indeed, the combined might of three kingdoms is a force to be reckoned with.” Ned agreed. “Here is my plan: The Lannisters have set the Riverlands afire, it’s time to dedicate resources to putting them out.” The riverlords certainly seemed to like that idea. “There will be ten parties made up of men from each of our kingdoms.” Ned explained. “They will go in all directions with the aim of scouring the Lannister marauding parties from the land. If they are successful, they will also starve the Lannister army of food as their supply lines from the West have been cut.”
“How many men will these parties take?” Ser Rupert Mooton, Lord William’s heir, raised his hand. Ned knew Maidenpool had been attacked by Lannister raiding parties more than once, he likely wanted revenge.
“Each party will be around a thousand mounted men, they will need to be fast but also have enough of men to not be an easy target.” Ned explained. “As to who will lead these groups - which I know you are wondering - not all of them have leaders yet. Ser Arthur Dayne will lead one of course.” That got a resounding approval from the lords. All knew of Arthur’s quality and of his experience dealing with the King’s wood brotherhood. “Marshal Jan Zizka of the Winter Wolves will also lead another group.” Ned added. “Those of you who remember him from Robert’s Rebellion will also recall that he has extensive experience fighting behind enemy lines with a small force.” Zizka was one of the best strategists the Winter Wolves had and the man was still a demon of a fighter, even if he had lost an eye.
“I shall lead one.” Ser Robar Royce stood from his bench, the young knight clearly liked the idea of playing hero to the bereaved smallfolk.
“Me too.” An Amazon general raised her fist.
“As will I.” Ser Rupert added.
Ned raised a hand to try and stop other eager volunteers from turning this into a contest of valour. “This can all be decided later. I would have thought, you’d be interested in what the other fifty thousand warriors we have camped outside Riverrun would be doing.” That got everyone to settle down and listen intently. “My brother Benjen will fly with his sons, along with a good number of the Vale’s griffin riders to our second force along the Greenfork.” Ned indicated a path along the map. “Then he will lead them south and advance slowly onto Tywin Lannister’s position at Harrenhal. My sons will also lead thirty thousand men south from here to Acorn Hall, then east to Harrenhal.”
“Aye, it’s a good plan.” Lord Rarker said, even though he wasn’t shouting, his voice still boomed to the very rafters of the hall. “Come at that old cunt on two fronts.”
“What of the other twenty thousand?” Roose Bolton’s voice was as soft as Lord Rarker’s was boisterous, yet the hall was just as quiet when he talked. “And the ten thousand already in the Westerlands?”
Ned smiled and pointed at the map again with the ice rod. “Like I said, Tywin Lannister is hiring mercenaries. I think it’s a fair idea to take his gold away.”
—————————
The great army surrounding Riverrun had split off the following day. Untold thousands of men set off in all directions. Ned had led the bulk of the army into the west, to link up with Galbart Glover and Maege Mormont. Fearing Riverrun might be attacked after the armies left, Ned had ordered Lyanna, Lara, Sansa, Alysanne and Arra to guard the castle. Five dragons would be enough to deter any attacker. He hoped.
The plan was set, all knew their tasks. The rest of his family would scour the Riverlands of Lannisters while Ned took the jewel of the west: Lannisport and then Casterly Rock. The march west was relatively quick and unhindered. The outriders had a skirmish here and there, but it was apparent there was no true Lannister force defending the Westerlands, at least not outside of Lannisport.
When Ned’s forces found Mormont and Glover, they confirmed Ned’s suspicions. Their raiding had forced what Lannister men remained to coalesce at the Rock and Lannisport, where the Lannisters had been too well defended for them to attack. With Ned’s reinforcements things changed.
All together, Ned lead a force of around thirty thousand marching down the River road to their target. By the turn of the moon, his army had arrived outside the large curtain walls of Lannisport. Not long after that, Ned had sent a messenger with the promise of parley beyond the city walls.
Ned sat mounted on Fang as he waited for the master of the city to arrive at the meeting place. It was, or at least it used to be, a farmhouse. Now though, Ned looked over it’s burned and shattered remains. There was no doubt in Ned’s mind that it was destroyed to prevent his army from using it as cover if they were to storm the city. There were dozens of other huts, farmhouses, mills and the like in similar states that littered the landscape beyond the city walls.
Ned found himself wondering what the people who lived there thought of Lannister men coming to burn their homes down. He hoped at least they got some form of compensation. But it was unlikely. Such things were cruel and unjust, but that was the way of war. He would be forced to do the same if an army came to attack the Winter City, though he would make sure to pay the people back for the property he had destroyed.
A light rain had begun to fall when the Lannister riders got to the burned mill, a golden lion on a red field fluttering in the wind over head. A man in full plate, a lion and anchor emblazoned on his surcoat and no helmet rode at the head of the group. Ned guessed he was the leader when he told his men to wait at a safe distance, as Ned had already done with the Chosen Men, and continued at a canter towards him. The man rode a massive black warhorse, but it was still dwarfed by Fang. It snorted nervously as the man kept his reigns in a tight grip.
“I am Ser Owyn Lannister,” he introduced himself loudly and clearly. “of the Lannisport Lannisters. Master of the city.” By Ned’s reckoning, the man was closer to fifty than forty. He was balding with a blonde beard that was going grey.
“And I am Eddard Stark.” Ned answered. “King of the North, Riverlands and Vale.”
Ser Owyn’s jaw tensed. “I had not heard the Vale had joined your cause.”
“Our kingdoms were joined against one tyrant, why not another?”
Ser Owyn grunted then paused a few moments. “My oldest son rode with Ser Jaime against Riverrun. His name is Arlan.” His question went unsaid.
Is my son still alive?
It was a question no parent should ever have to ask, Ned wanted to be able to bring good news. He quickly ran through the list of hostages his sons had taken from the Kingslayer’s army. Many Lannisters had been taken prisoner, he did remember an Arlan being among them.
“I do recall the name.” Ned stated. “He is among the hostages being kept in Riverrun.” Though Ser Owyn did his best to mask his relief, Ned could see it in his eyes. “I think you know why I have come here with my army.” Ned cut right to it. “I mean to take this city. You can either fight or you can surrender.”
Think of your city and surrender,Ned prayed.
He well remembered King’s Landing and the pain Tywin Lannister had wrought there. Ned knew in his heart of hearts, even the most well trained of armies would run amok in Lannisport if they had to take the city by force. It was another unfortunate fact of war: It was always the innocents who suffered most.
“I am afraid not, your grace.” Ser Owyn responded. “My lord has ordered me to hold this city against any attackers and under no conditions am I to surrender.”
Ned could tell the man didn’t like what he was saying. “I have seen what happens when men run rampant through a city after taking it-”
“So have I.” Ser Owyn interrupted him. “I rode with Lord Tywin when he took King’s Landing. It was not a pretty sight...”
“That does not need to be the fate of Lannisport.” Ned said. Ser Owyn sighed as he looked at the Northern army in the distance, making camp a few hundred yards away. Snowsong stood at the head of the army, her eyes fixed on Ned’s position.
“We’ve met once before you know?” Ser Owyn said. “Well, met is an exaggeration. I was one of Lord Tywin’s knights standing behind him when you, Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn went to meet him after the sack.” Ned remembered it well, though he could not place Ser Owyn there. “You were furious with my lord, and for good reason i’d say. I could see your dragon aways from us and I thought to myself ‘Thank the Gods we never had to face that thing on the field…’”
“You still don’t have to.”
“My oldest son might have ridden with Ser Jaime, but my next two boys squire for Lord Tywin.” Ser Owyn said and Ned knew all talk of surrender was useless. “I have been charged with holding this city against all threats.” He said. “And that is what I mean to do.”
“It is a hopeless fight, Ser.” Ned told him.
The Lannister gave a bitter laugh. “Maybe not as hopeless as you think, we have a dozen dragons ready to defend us.”
Ned gave him a look. Ser Owyn’s face was stern, but his hands shook and beads of sweat dripped down his temple. The man was lying. From the information Jon had gathered from their captured dragon rider, Ned would have been surprised if Tywin Lannister had many more dragons at all. Even if any were still left in the Westerlands, the chances were they would be kept to defend Casterly Rock.
“Then all I can say is good luck to you, Ser.” Ned said, pitying the man and his plight.
“And to you.” Ser Owyn replied, before turning his mount and cantering back towards his men. Ned did the same.
The army camp was still in the process of being erected when he returned, though they’d made sure to place the palisades first in position first in the unlikely event that the Lannisters sally forth from the city or the Rock. The men were busy putting up tents and sharpening great wooden stakes as Ned rode through them.
Eventually he found his way to the large grey tent at the centre of the burgeoning camp, where the high lords and other commanders were waiting for his return. Ned dismounted Fang and entered with the Chosen Men behind him. The tent was rather crowded, all the men and women were standing around a great wooden table covered in maps of the Westerlands. They looked up when Ned entered.
“I take it the city won’t be taken without a fight?” Lord Bolton said, his pale eyes watching Ned.
“So it would seem.” Ned grunted, walking to his large chair and sitting down, Ice resting on the table. “The master of the city is a hard man and his younger sons ride with Tywin Lannister’s personal entourage so…”
“So either he fights to the bitter end or his sons suffer the consequences.” Tetra finished for him.
“Quite.”
“So are we to siege or storm?” Beric asked, it still surprised Ned how he looked more like his brother than a great uncle now.
“The ships from Rydertown should arrive in two days.” Ned had sent a letter to Mance, telling him of his plans and his need for ships if he were to take Lannisport. A fleet lead by Captain Jaymes Flint would attack the harbour and prevent resupply of the city from the sea. “Given that we are to take the Rock after Lannisport, I say we storm the city.” Ned said grimly.
“A siege would allow time for the Lannisters to counter attack.” Sylvie agreed. She then pulled a large map of Lannisport from beneath the pile on the table and splayed it out. “My wargs say each of the city wall’s twenty drum towers have artillery of some kind mounted on them.” She took a quill and began to mark the towers. “On the eastern gatehouse they have two luminarks. All the rest are ballista and catapults mounted on gimbals.”
“A strafing run on the walls with Snowsong would deal with them quickly enough.” Glabard Glover suggested.
“I do not wish to use my dragon if I can avoid it.” Ned told him. “For one thing, I want the city to still be standing when we take it and for another, if they do have dragons I want Snowsong free and able to deal with them.”
“And you are sure they have none?” Asked Bronze Yohn.
“Yes.” Ned answered. “Tywin could only have so many dragons.”
“And our scouts have seen no sign of any.” Sylvie added.
“So if we aren’t using dragons then we should have the giants hurl their stones and loose their arrows at the artillery.” Donmar Dhalark suggested. “We have a hundred of them, that should be enough to smash their artillery to smithereens.”
“Unless they’re protected by magic.” Yennefer interjected.
“Then i’m sure the greatest mages in Westeros would make use of their talents destroy those protections for us.” Lord Dhalark responded.
“We have ladders aplenty and will have finished both the siege towers on the morrow.” Dorrk said, sitting on a higher chair so he could see the maps on the table. Though the dwarves that were marching in Ned’s army were soldiers, they were all extremely gifted craftsmen. They fashioned wood, stone and metal faster than any man could hope to. There were no trees within two miles of Lannisport so they had started building their siege weapons a week ago. “We’ve also finished the great armoured ram.” That got a good reaction from the lords present.
“As a master builder, where would you say is the weakest point of the city walls?” Ned asked Dorrk. The dwarf looked over the maps for a second, stroking his beard.
“There are two gatehouses to the city, to the east on the River road and to the south the Sea road. Both of them are formidable. I hate to say it, but my westermen kin do good work.” All knew there was no love lost between the Dwarves of the North and the Dwarves of the Westerlands. The fact that Dorrk was willing to complement them said much for their quality. “Here.” Dorrk pointed to the left of the eastern gatehouse. “The greatest gap between the towers is here and the land is relatively even. This is the best place to attack. If we are to storm the city that is.”
“We are.” Ned said. “Everyone should prepare, we shall attack the city after the Ryder ships arrive.”
—————————
After a restless night Ned woke to a cold grey morning, with mist coming in from the Sunset sea. The grass of the fields outside the city were moist with dew. It was a grim morning in truth and Ned knew it would only get grimmer.
Not many hours after the sun rose, he received the news that all of their siege engines had been completed and their magical protections were being applied. It was then he gave the order for the army to ready themselves.
Ned took care as he donned his armour, a full plate set of black Uru, lined with glowing blue runes and a Wolf’s head helm. Deciding that his Uru arm needed no such protection, Ned decided to forgo the armour for it. The look was passing strange when he saw himself in his tent mirror as servants but his armour on for him. His whole body was encased in metal but for one naked arm. Ned decided to dispel the arm’s illusion so his men didn’t think he’d gone mad. The illusory flesh on his metal arm shimmered away before Ned’s very eyes, leaving only the cold hard Uru.
When Ned left his tent, Ice and Foesmasher on his belt, Fang was waiting for him, just as armoured as Ned was. Ned mounted up and urged his wolf towards the middle of his army lines where the other lords awaited him.
The men were arrayed in columns, each with long heavy ladders resting in the grass beside them. Giants were standing with great wooden walls made from tree logs. They would shield the men from the hail of arrows that would rain on them from the city walls.
Beyond them, standing tall in front of the army were three immense structures. Two wheeled siege towers stood fifty feet tall and fifteen feet across. They were made from felled trees, given iron plating and covered in rawhides. Each tower had two Giants inside to push them along the ground. They would be shielded by the tower’s thick walls and would be able to push the towers much quicker than men could.
The third structure was a great covered battering ram. Three trees had been felled, stripped and lashed together to form a ram that needed the strength of four Giants together to be moved. An angled roof that stood on four posts had been made for the great ram to hang from and to protect the Giants from attacks from above.
All three of the siege engines had been given some form of magical wards by the mages in Ned’s army to give some more durability. They made from an intimidating sight. Ned could only imagine what those on the city walls were feeling knowing they had to defend against them.
The men were mostly quiet as they were forming up the battle lines. Some were praying, others were getting a few practice swings in, archers were warming up their bow strings. There was a tension in the air.
“The city will be a bitch to take.” Harper said next to him. Ned could hardly disagree with him.
Sylvie rode up to the group of lords. “Our wargs have seen the Ryder fleet. They’ve passed by Feastfires. They’ll be attacking Lannisport in an hour.”
Ned sent off a silent prayer to the Old Gods.
“To the task then.”
The warhorns began to blare. Dozens, then hundreds filling the air. The sound shook Ned in his bones. It was so loud, he thought the sound might cause Casterly Rock to crumble and fall into the sea. Then the pipes began to play and Ned’s army advanced.
First came a volley of arrows taller than Ned shot from Giant’s bows. Then came the larger, heavier boulders that other Giants had thrown. All found their targets on the walls of Lannisport, smashing most of the balistas and catapults to kindling before they even got a shot off.
A great beam of golden light spewed forth from the only remaining Luminark on the walls, catching one of the siege towers on the side as it was slowly rolled forwards. Beric’s in the other one, Ned had to remind himself. The old Witcher had wanted to be first on the walls at Lannisport.
Given it’s magical protection, the tower was only knocked to the side a bit. The great wooden tower’s gargantuan weight and the Giants holding it down stopped the whole thing from tipping over thankfully. The protection was strong, but it wouldn’t last forever and the tower still had two hundred yards to cross.
“I told them to take out those fucking Luminarks first.” Ned said, then turned to a mounted messenger who was riding with the lords. “Tell the Giants the Luminarks are the main threat, the other artillery can come later.”
The messenger nodded then sped off on his horse.
The columns of the vanguard were still slowly marching forward in front of Ned as he waited in reserve with the lords and the rest of the army. Arrows and stones hurled from catapults behind the city walls pelted the great wooden barriers that Giants used to protect the large groups of men. Every now and then, a stone or an arrow would sail over the shield and catch a few men. Ned could only watch sternly as the few wounded and dying were hurried back to the main force.
Many more will be bloodied before the day is out.
Before long all of the Lannister artillery on the city walls had been destroyed, to the raucous cheers of his men. The last Luminark was destroyed half way through charging up another shot, causing a large explosion of golden energies that fried all the Lannister soldiers in a twenty foot radius.
The covered ram and the siege towers were at the head of the charge and they were the first to make contact with the city walls. The Giants on the ram began to swing it into the city’s main gates, the sound was so loud Ned thought they might be able to hear it back in Riverrun. The city defenders dropped stones and poured hot oil onto the ram to drive them away. However the cover of the ram was thick and all their attacks were mostly muted.
The siege towers, being much larger and heavier came next, making contact with the walls and dropping their ramps as men poured out onto the raparts. In the distance, on the great blue sea beyond Lannisport, Ned spied the Northern ships sailing into position in the harbour, beginning to launch stones from their catapults.
“The battle’s going well so far.” Galbart Glover said next to Ned, sitting atop his horse.
“Let’s hope it stays that way.” Ned replied.
The columns of men carrying siege ladders finally reached the walls and began to climb them. Those that didn’t use the ladders funnelled into the siege towers, trying to find the fastest way to get into the fight.
The sounds of clashing metal and splintering wood drifted from the city. Men dying and baying for blood, homes being destroyed by artillery and the people screaming as they ran for cover. All of it being drowned out by the repeated hammering of the ram on the main gate.
Very few men were losing arrows down on Ned’s army now, so he lead the advance at a leisurely pace towards the main gate as the Giants hammered at it with their massive ram. The golden inlay on the wooden doors shone with magical energy on every hit. Eventually the wards would fail and after that, the door then they’d finally be in the city.
“Captain Flint must have sunk more than a dozen Lannister ships by now.” Sylvie nodded in the direction of the harbour.
“I almost feel sorry for that Lannister in charge.” Harper said. “He never really stood a chance.”
“We should reinforce the left siege tower.” Lord Dhalark offered. “They seem to be pressed on their flank.”
Ned cast his eye to the city walls and saw lord Donmar was correct. “Take as many as you think you need and reinforce them then.” He gave his permission. The Dhalark lord thanked him then sped away, calling for his men to follow him.
The sound of splintering wood split the air, Ned turned and saw the gate had begun to split apart under the force of the ram’s blows. He lead his reserves closer to the main gate, readying them for the inevitable charge into the city. After three more blows from the ram, the gate was held up by little more than bent metal hinges and hope.
The ram was hauled away and Ned sent three heavily armoured Giants with great axes and scythes to force the gate open and be the first to charge in. Ned lowered the visor of his helmet, drew Ice and raised it high, signalling to those behind him they would charge soon. Ned heard thousands of weapons being raised behind him. With one last great heave, the Giants pushed the gate so hard it fell off what remained of it’s hinges, clattering to the ground, splintering what remained of the wood.
First the Giants yelled and charged, then Ned did, then the army behind him. The Lannister men had formed a rough semicircle on the other side of the gate. In an effort to attack any who breach the gate on all sides.
Alas it wasn’t so effective against rampaging Giants.
They charged headlong into the enemy spears, turning soldiers into bloody smears and bent metal as they went. Ned was quickly after them, riding Fang into the fray. A blue layer of ice covered his sword as he swung it down on the Lannister defenders, hewing them into pieces with every swing. Ned did not slow down once he was among his enemy, he lead the charge on deeper into the city.
“We make for the harbour!” He roared as Fang trampled some Golden legionnaire.
Lannisport was certainly a well-made city. Ned would have been enjoying the scenery if he hadn’t been in the heat of battle. The streets he raced down were wide and paved neatly, with tiled roofed houses lining them.
Eventually Ned came across a haphazardly made barricade with a few score defenders. He threw Foesmasher into the barricade and the hammer lived up to it’s name. It smashed a hole right through the barricade, turning a good few of it’s defenders into red mist in the process.
Ned rode through the hole ready to attack but was tackled from his mount by a creature he assumed was a man at first. It had jumped off the remains of the barricade to catch him. The ground hit him hard and he rolled with his attacker, eventually ripping the thing’s head off with his metal hand.
Ned quickly rose to his feet and realised something. Multiple somethings in fact. He was surrounded by a few score of things that looked almost like beastmen. And apart from Fang, who was growling and edging closer to Ned after he’d realised Ned had fallen off, he was completely alone. Ned silently cursed the speed of a direwolf as he held Ice and Foesmasher in his hands.
They all looked at him with dark beady little eyes. One roared, Ned thought it sounded like an angry seal, then charged at him. These creatures were big, most of them clearing seven feet tall. They were also broad as bull trolls and bulging with muscle, something Ned could plainly see as they appeared to wear very little armour.
The first attacker swung at Ned with a jagged sword of black iron. Ned blocked it with Ice, shattering the blade, then bashed the creatures head in with his hammer. Then the next came. And the next. The fight became a blur to Ned. He and Fang were beset on all sides, a seemingly endless tide of these savage attackers came for them. Ned hacked and slashed and bashed through them, their blows ringing off his armour.
He learned a lot about the creatures, whatever they were. Firstly they were incredibly strong and secondly they seemed to be able to endure any pain. This was made apparent when Ned stabbed one in the gut and it only reacted by roaring and punching Ned in the helmet.
He couldn’t tell how many he and Fang carved through. Fifty? A hundred? It made no difference. The wolf inside him was woken and he was drunk on bloodlust and his first real battle since King’s Landing.
Ice and Foesmasher were vibrating in his hands as he used both weapons together. That had been how the hammer had been designed. The two weapons were symbiotic. When used together they would enhance each other’s abilities. Both weapons were covered in ice and lightning coiled around them as their runes glowed brightly. Every slash with Ice caused a shockwave that would leave deep gouges in the paved street and carve through stone walls and houses thirty feet away.
When their numbers seemed to be waning, one tried to shoot him full of arrows. Ned caught the first one in his fist and deflected the other two with ice before beheading the archer with Ice.
The ground was soaked in their black, oily blood when Sylvie happened upon him. “We were fucking wondering where you’d run off to.” She admonished him. “You know none of us can keep up with Fang don’t you?”
“I thought you all were behind me.” Ned said tiredly, looking over the remains of his attackers, trying to figure out what they were. Now he wasn’t being attacked, Ned could take their features in properly. Their skin was a reddish black. Their facial features were exaggerated with mouths full of large crooked fangs and they had pointed ears almost like a Child of the Forest.
“They were all over the city.” Sylvie said disdainfully, poking the corpse Ned was looking at with her sword. “They’re some kind of… Uruk.”
Abomination, Ned knew the meaning of the word in the Old Tongue. “Where did these creatures come from?” He asked.
Sylvie looked uneasy. “I have a sneaking suspicion I know who made them, but I will need to check.”
“How goes the battle?” Ned asked, changing the subject to something more important.
“The fighting was hard, especially with the Uruks.” Sylvie answered. “But we’ve taken the harbour, the walls and most of the city baring a few fortified pockets here and there. The soldiers are running rampant.” She said, sadly. “They’re taking most of what they can from the richer parts of the city, I imagine they’ll be looting their way through here before the day is done. Beric is rounding up the stragglers. Only the city’s fortress remains. It’s barely more than a tower and walled courtyard. Seems Ser Owyn Lannister is holed up there with maybe a couple hundred men left.”
Ned nodded grimly. Remembering Ser Owyn’s words to him. The man would die before he surrendered. “I think it’s time we rejoined the lords then.”
They found the lords quickly, gathered in the main square. Harper nearly punched Ned for putting himself in harms way by leaving them in the dust. “One of these days i’ll have to put a collar around your neck and hold you with a chain.” The Chosen Man fumed at him.
Ned found himself thinking of a certain role-play Mellario had introduced to him years ago in Winterfell, but he pushed thoughts of his lover down.
“Your Grace, the city is yours.” Lord Bolton declared and the other lords cheered.
“Not quite yet…” Ned killed the mood. “The city keep still holds out.”
“That holdfast’ll be taken within the hour-” Greatjon laughed.
“A message!” Someone called out, riding towards them at breakneck speed before he brought his horse to a skidding halt. “At the camp we received word of a dragon attack.”
Cries of “Where?!” and “When!?” and “Who!?” met the messenger.
“They say it was Snowfall!” The messenger shouted.
Fuck.