Capítulo 264: 17
288 AC – Part I
It was a race, I mused as I thundered over the bad road in the direction of my lands with lords Glover, Blackwood, Forrester and Mormont at my side, our men hard at our heels. Could Balon do enough damage to make his position too costly to assault or would he be beaten back quick enough for counter attacking actually becoming a possibility? He had cast the first stone, giving him a headstart but he had also made several mistakes, at least I thought so. He thought the continent weak and struggling against itself, ripe for the picking. Looking at a dying enemy he just might have handed the means to save itself instead of letting it hang.
I could not fathom how he read the political situation, but giving the other kingdoms a common enemy to rally behind in a time where waiting likely would have done all the work for him… I just could not understand it. Even worse, he assumed that they would not be alone, all enemies of the Seven 'of course' joining their fight against the others. In an ironic way this reaction of unification they banked on was just what they estimated the remaining kingdoms would not do, causing me to doubt the sanity of the reavers leading class even more.
How did I know this? A messenger from the Ironbron arrived the same evening – only minutes after, really – the declaration of war had been announced, striding into the hall with a confidence that had nearly seen him murdered on the spot by nortmen up in their blood. Riding had become an automatic motion by now, my mind casting itself back half a week into the chaos of the great hall of Winterfell.
"Lord Stark, I bring greetings from House Greyjoy!", the man had announced upon entering the quiet hall, another explosion of noise answering his voice and nearly bowling him over from sheer volume. I had remained quiet, mustering the man and the confidence he projected.
"Silence!", roars Lord Stark and glares at the man. "The north respects that messengers are not to be harmed but you will find Winterfell to be much less hospitable than you would have before the attack upon the seven kingdoms."
The man is nonplussed, bowing slightly. "I graciously accept your hospitality, Lord Stark. But may I ask why you think we attacked the seven kingdoms? Have any northern men or women been harmed? Have any followers of the old gods felt the touch of our steel or paid the iron price?"
Turning to the greater hall he opens his arms wide, shouting. "They have not! Only the Seven and their weak followers have felt our sword! Justice finally done!"
He continues quieter but still easily heard in the now silent hall, voice intense. "King Balon has spared the North and sent his fleet to fight for both of our kingdoms against a tide of heathens seeking to bring us low, burn our holy sites and subjugate us to their way of thinking. No, he proclaimed! Enough is enough! A kingdom forced together by dragon fire he would shatter again before he saw this happen!"
Having rotated completely around himself he again faced forwards to the high table. "King Balon asks you, King of Winter, to join him in fighting off the faith of the seven gods and to become what you are meant to be. Sovereign again, casting off shackles that have held you low since the conquest! What do you say, Sire?"
Silence greets his impassioned speech as Eddard Stark stares at him darkly, expression unreadable. Glancing around I see some northern nobles looking tempted and I cannot fault them even though I knew agreeing to this proposal would be a fool's errand. The North had suffered much due the south's intrigues and historically only ever lost – even if not directly – in the wars fought past Moat Cailin. Taken together with the recent immigration crisis and the stories of abuse the refugees had carried along by the thousands I could understand that actually fighting against the perceived injustice would look if not good than at least not too bad to some.
"The Ironborn have raided the northern coast for centuries", Lord Stark finally speaks, voice even and completely calm. While it is true that I have yet to receive a raven speaking of an attack in the current struggle I nonetheless can prove your words to be less than honest."
He holds up a hand to stop the messenger from speaking and turns to me. "Lord Ryther, where are most of the ships in your fleet coming from?"
"Captured from Ironborn raiding our shores, my lord.", I reply at once, surprised at being put on the spot but easily rolling with it.
Eddard Stark nods as if hearing new information. "There you see. How is that staying your sword from the North?"
The messenger replies at once, if with less confidence than before, obviously recognizing that he had a less receptive audience than he had been promised. "Old history, my lord. Recently have you not been enjoying peaceful trade upon the western water? Not once have your fleet suffered an attack, have they not? Lord Ryther, speak I true?"
I scowl, not liking to be used by the ironborn side as well. Nonetheless I stay truthful. "There have been no attacks in recent years if you do not count the theft of timber."
The man completely ignores the second part of my answer, instead jumping onto the first one. "Right there you have it! The Iron Fleet has been policing the Sunset Sea, keeping slavers away and pirates at bay. We have paid in blood for your safety and asked nothing for it, more than making up for any past transgressions."
I could hardly believe the gall of the man, twisting facts and adding some nebulous protective actions that could never be verified to prove his point. To outright state that the Ironborn of all people were acting as a shield against slavers and pirates...That took balls. Not that I would help him with this audience.
"No.", Lord Stark simply states.
The Ironborn blinks in surprise. "No?"
"No.", repeats the lord paramount of the North and leans forward in his seat. "No to Balon's request and everything you have said. You are speaking half truths at best and would the North fight a war on land while you scurry back to your islands after reaving at your hearts content. No. I will not shatter a kingdom at a fools request, for that is what your lord turned out to be."
The man's expression turns sour at the clear reaction. "Are you sure this will be your answer? King Balon will not offer his hand in friendship twice after seeing it slapped away in ignorance."
"You will be escorted to the coast at a place of your choosing, unharmed. Begone.", the Stark replies, ignoring the question completely and waving to his guards instead.
"Rue this day!", the Ironborn shouts as he is escorted out of the hall. "Rue the day where your kingdom was lost! Soon the heathens will burn down your weirwoods and you on their pyres! Rue th…"
The doors slamming shut finally cut off the screamed words and mutterings sprang up instantly, the different lords talking to each other in low voices. Eddard Stark takes control of the room again, stopping his dark glare at the closed doors to speak up again, silencing the hall.
"Prepare for war, my lords. Secure the coasts and gather what man you can without impacting your defenses or the harvest. The Ironborn will not find the North defenseless. We are going to war."
"To war!", the assembly shouts and swords are drawn and raised. "For the North!"
Ducking below a branch growing over the road brings me back to the present even though my mind still is mired halfway in the past. The harvest festival had never materialized after the ironborn kicked the continent in the balls. I had been quietly handed my lands and set off at once, only taking the time to say goodbye to a teary Nathan – who would be far safer in Winterfell than the rest of my family in Rytherstone – and sent a raven home before departing.
I had instructed my fleet to set out at once while scattering small groups of men all along the coast to act as scouts. Each group had a single messenger pigeon with them, another of my many projects that had remained unlamented until now as success only recently appeared. One of Wyndals apprentices, a riverlander youth with some falconing experience, had finally managed to train the birds to return to their main roost in Rytherstone, which allowed me some distance communication beyond the usual ravens. Far cheaper as well. A tiny bronze ring around one of their claws indentified the birds as mine and any one arrival over the next weeks would indicate ironborn approaching for it was the only case in which they birds were to be released, not written missive or other message being required.
My trade ships would be laden with supplies and sent to Snowfort, hopefully beyond the reach of reavers. They would be summoned again once I needed transport capacity for an invasion of the Iron islands but right now they were little more than sitting ducks. I had not build up my trade fleet only for it to be sunk or captured by reavers because I was too proud to take them out of a fight they had never been intended for in the first place. My warships on the other hand would retreat to Bear Island, leaving only my fishing boats behind.
The reason for this was twofold. For one, I did not have enough ships to contest the waters against the Iron Fleet, so I wasn't going to try at this point in time. The reavers likely would mount some sort of attack upon Blackport, which was the most enticing target on the western coast of the north and I would not risk my fleet being caught in port. They had to in a way as they would need to answer the 'insult' of the rejected alliance in some way if they wanted to save face. While they might go for Flint's Finger or Barrowtown I estimated my harbor city to be the most likely target, more so as I had my own grievances with the reavers in the past, which some of them might seek vengeance for.
So I prepared for a siege with the fishing boats acting as early warning by means of the pigeons they carried along. If detected soon enough I intended for my fleet to return in time to fall into the back of any invasion force and to crush them against the coast. I banked on the ironborn ignoring the tiny target of a four person fishing boat with the much juicier target of Blackport right along the corner, hopefully keeping them from getting killed or enslaved by the reavers. In the end it also came down to cold numbers. I could afford to lose a fishing boat or five far more than I could risk sending my longships as scouts and them being destroyed one by one. I had to make the numbers I had available count.
The second reason was that I was the Sealord of the North and would need to be seen protecting at least something, if I didn't want to make the title a total joke. Not having enough of a navy to actually fight a straight battle was embarrassing enough. Just turtling up just wouldn't do, sadly. So I chose to protect a known 'weak' spot that likely would attract some splinter group of reavers but not enough of them to outnumber my fleet, hopefully giving me another success and maybe even a few more ships. This would also have the added benefit of screening Snowfort from Ironborn raiders that might want to pillage what more and more turned out to be a golden goose. We would see how that worked out in time.
The Ironborn messenger would likely have reached the coast by now and reporting back soon after, leaving me little time to rejoin my troops before the shit hit the fan. I was reasonably sure that he would have a raven at hand to inform his overlords of Lord Stark rejecting the offer of an alliance, which likely would lead to a quick reaction and attacks of some sort. While Balon was not known for good decisions in the books I nonetheless felt it prudent to assume that they would have some response prepared for the case that their proposal fell through, as it had.
Much could happen in the time it would take me to return home with my forces and those of my allies. Despite the distance to the Iron Islands they were close enough to arrive before me if, and only if, they had prepared something in advance. Having alerted Rytherstone I did not feel too worried, knowing that I had enough forces at hand to fend off most attacks. More so as I suspected that most of the Iron Fleet would be stuck in the south for some weeks yet, confidence bloated by their earlier successes. Hopefully this would lead to some bad decisions, just as it had in the old timeline.
My noble companions would be coming with me to Rytherport in anticipation of a coming attack, ravens to their holdings having summoned some of the standing troops to head for the road and join us as soon as we reached their location. As speed was of essence only those able and fitted to ride would accompany us east in the first wave while the remaining troops of the lords riding alongside me would build up local defenses. While the Ironborn were not well known for it they had reaved deeply inland in the past and likely would do so again, causing enough concern that even the areas further from the coast would be on high alert for some time to come. On a positive note I expected the bandits still roaming the north to have a very bad time in the weeks ahead, a lot of armed and angry men moving through nearly every area and making their lives difficult.
By the time we neared Rytherstone our group had swollen by nearly three hundred men, joining us piecemeal and bringing up our total to five hundred light cavalry. House Glover had summoned two hundred riders, joining the fifty each House Blackwood and Forrester had supplied. Smoke in the distance bade us to hurry and we did, the source of the black smoke coming into sight as we crested a small hill looking down upon my holdings. Stopping with nearly our complete force still out of sight I take a deep breath, a pang of pain echoing within my chest that was soon replaced by barely controlled rage. The ironborn had prepared it seemed, which I disliked literally on sight.
My harbor was on fire.
Thirty longships were either squeezed into the harbor or beached close to it with ten more burning merrily in the surrounding waters in addition to what seemed to me was half of my fleet of fishing boats. Replacing those would be a pain I note absently as I take the situation in. A big group of ironborn was assaulting the outer ring of Blackports palisade, fire already licking at parts of the fortification as my people fought to keep the reavers from coming over the wall. A quick headcount led me to an estimated number of 2.000 Ironborn seeking to pillage, rape and burn their way through my holdings. Something which I did not felt like leaving without an answer.
As the Reavers had yet to break into the town proper and seemed to ignore my well fortified and freshly repaired castle completely I had options. The smoke of the fires – my poor infrastructure! - would hopefully obscure our presence long enough to really dish out the pain, I muse and turn to the other lords looking at the situation in complementary silence.
"I intend to charge into their flank, relieving the defenders", I state and get their attention at once. "If the warning got out soon enough, my fleet will arrive in a few hours, hopefully catching any ships that escape. Are you with me?"
I had intentionally worded my sentence in a way that stated that we would win in any case and that I did not even think losing was a realistic prospect. Of course I was far less sure of this outcome than I tried to project and spotting a glance thrown at me from Jorah Mormont I was fooling exactly no one. Still they nodded nearly as one.
"Aye, we are with you. This is your land so you have command… where do you need us?", the oldest member of our party grunted before donning a barbute style helmet that had been fastened to his saddle until now.
"One big group.", I state and point slightly to the side where the smoke was blowing and bathing the landscape in soft grays while blurring everything within. "We will charge through the smoke. This will be a pain for us as well but hopefully obscure us long enough to surprise the Ironborn. A hundred of my men will make straight for the boats and capture all they can. We will need those ships in the month to come. Lord Blackwood, would you do the honors of leading them."
"Have the men soak some rags and put them over their mouth and face", Tytos Blackwood suggests after agreeing to the command, gaze far away. "This will keep a lot of the smoke's ill effects from them and keep the coughing at bay for a time at least."
"Good idea. Make it so. We move as soon as everybody is prepared."
Waiting tensely for everyone to prepare themselves I keep my eye on the situation below and grimace as I see the fighting moving from beneath wall to the top of the wall as my defenders start to lose control of the fortification close to the outer gate. Already some opportunistic reavers had thrown some torches on the houses within the palisade, fires starting to spread. I really would have to push my efforts to wall the town with something less flammable. Even with my timely arrival I would have my work cut out for me repairing the damage, but homes could be replaced a lot easier than people. The townspeople would have been evacuated past the inner palisade by now, hopefully at least saving them even if half of my town burned to the ground. The wide roads I had ordered implemented would hopefully contain the fires to smaller areas and keep the whole city from going up in flame and misery.
"We are ready", stated Lord Mormont a few minutes later and I nod, silently guiding my horse to the right and staying behind the rise of the hill as we made our way around the besieged city, staying out of sight as we were able. Ten minutes later we enter the fog of war – smoke of burned buildings and fortifications that reeks of grilled pork – and turn in the direction of the town again. It takes a further five minutes to put everyone in a semblance of order in the gloom, my throat already itching despite the wet rag in front of my mouth and nose, before I drive my horse forward. Five hundred riders begin to move slowly, taking up more speed with each second.
I can see nearly nothing and only my knowledge of the land allows me to keep roughly in line with the attacking ironborn or at least where I estimate them to be, the cavalry taking their clues from me or better said the next rider they were able to spot. Two minutes we move through the white grey that coats our forms into an ashen dust before we break out of the itching cloud not a hundred meters from the ironborn attackers at a very fast canter as an outright gallop would have been suicide under the circumstances. To them it must have seemed like an army of ghosts had decided to assault their back, horses and men alike covered in ash and sot, appearing out of the smoke like a homicidal mirage.
Their surprise is absolute but short lived as we smash into the unordered mob of reavers like the fist of an angry god, the weight of our horses crushing many an ironborn under hooves than we could ever hope to kill by ax and sword. That does not mean that we did not try our very best to kill as many reavers as we could before our momentum was spent. This is actually made a lot easier by the coincidence of us hitting the ironborn archers first, the long range fighters having been placed at the rear of the battle which had suddenly turned into a frontline as well, much to their dismay. The next minute turns into pure murder as the reeling ironborn pay their ironprice in a way they had surely not intended, hundreds being killed before they could even think of responding somewhat coherently.
My ax is slick with blood as I cleave through yet another helmet of reinforced leather, my shield catching a spear thrust at the same moment. Moving my shield violently to the side I rip the weapon out of the reaver's hand and add him to my kill counter a split second later. The charge had allowed me to stab deeply into the horde, my horse having a higher kill count than I did by the force of momentum alone. I had counted three reavers disappearing under its hooves in the initial seconds of the impact, the shuddering feeling of my steed stepping into something soft that suddenly gave away being repeated more times than I really wished to notice. Not that I had been idle but for the first time I really witnessed why cavalry was considered the king of battle in medieval times, at least before longbows came along. All around me my men and my allies are reaping lives by the bushel, the ironborn fighting desperately once their initial surprise had passed but they were caught in a bad position.
In the time we had needed to get into position the first palisade had fallen and the outer gate breached, leaving the ironborn to stream into my town braying for blood. This left only two thirds of the reavers outside of the wall and the remaining within my town and unable to easily help their companions, separated through a mostly burning palisade as they were. I suspected that the ironborn already within the city had taken to looting at once and yet to even notice that something was amiss outside the walls.
The reavers were taking horrendous casualties but continued to fight with the frantic power of desperate men. Mine and my allies' cavalry was between them and an easy retreat to their ships, which I hoped my men had at least taken some of, leaving them to either fight or throw down their weapons. Withdrawing slightly from the thickest melee with the help of lord Glover and some of his heavier armored riders I drew my weirwood bow and searched the reavers for someone in command. In my experience the common rank and file would be far easier to convince to surrender if their lords had bought the farm. The thick smoke still blowing into my face makes my self given task a pain and it is lord Forrester who finally spots a man in Goodbrother livery, a black warhorn on a red background, shouting commands from a position on a not yet burning part of the palisade.
My arm draws the bowstring to its full extension as my stinging eyes focus completely on my target, everything else fading in the background for a moment. The noise of battle disappears, as does the horrendous smell of the dead and dying, only my bow and I remaining in my mind. I release the arrow, already knowing that I would hit the moment the projectile is sent on its way. Releasing a breath I had not known I was holding I follow the speeding arrow and close my eyes in satisfaction as the steel covered tip enters the man's left eye a split second later. The ironborn leader is thrown backwards off the palisade as his head whips back violently, disappearing from sight at once.
I had often read novels in the past where the enemy leader was challenged to a duel and slain in personal combat but I still much preferred shooting my enemies from beyond their range if I could help it. Already I was drawn into melee fighting much more than I really felt comfortable with, being an accomplished archer before I was a close range fighter. In the end I would stay realistic and do my best to try killing a threat before it could come close enough to try doing the same to me. Not very heroic, sure. Not that I cared overly much, I would take living to risking my life more than absolutely needed any day of the week. Heroing was for fools and those doing the right thing in a position they should never have been in the first place.
A ripple goes through the reavers as they see their leader fall and it only takes the sight of Shale marching from the castle with three hundred men in good order to break their final resistance. Whoever had taken command after the armored lord had fallen had quickly noticed that his position had grown from bad to untenable at once. The inner palisade had yet to be assaulted, leaving an unknown number of fighters in his back while he and his men were caught within a burning city while being unable to reach their ships without breaking through mounted troops and the reinforcements just about to arrive.
Many reavers were already throwing down their weapons and surrendering before the command came to do so, the men seeing the writing on the wall. Later I would learn that a drowned priest had tried to keep the men fighting despite the odds, only stopping as a suddenly not so friendly spear had 'accidentally' been run through his neck. Even so the slight delay in surrendering had increased the butcher's bill even more than it would have been anyway.
The next morning found me sitting tiredly in my great hall together with the other lords, Wyndal standing in front of us with his ever present book as he presented the cold numbers as we listened in silence. The Glógg in our hands was the only thing really keeping us warm despite the success in the earlier battle. We had won a victory against superior forces but there had also been a lot of death on our side as well.
"The ironborn brought 2.500 warriors and forty longships to assault Blackport. The iron fleet was not present.", starts Wyndal after consulting his book one last time. "Of those roughly a thousand men have been slain or wounded badly enough that I do not expect them to survive or take up a sword again in their life, mostly in the initial clash outside of Blackports outer palisade. Cavalry makes for a fearsome weapon. The rest remains disarmed and under guard for now to be judged at your leisure. Among them three nobles. While Lord Casper Goodbrother has been slain in the fighting, his son Gorold is among the prisoners. As are Hark and Halon Sparr. The ships we captured all belonged to those two houses."
Taking a deep breath he continues. "Ten longships have been destroyed by concentrated archery and ballista attacks before they could make it to shore, leading to the towers holding both to be put to the torch first in the following assault. Of the thirty surviving ships the cavalry managed to capture fifteen. Of the remaining ones five were burned by their guards and the remaining ten escaped to the sea. Of those again five our fleet managed to capture after being summoned from Bear Island, leaving the last five still at large and likely halfway to the Iron Islands by now."
The man's neutral façade cracks a little as he turns his attention to our losses but composes himself well enough. "House Ryther lost six ballista crews and the warmachines themselves in addition to sixty archers that had been manning the towers in addition to them. Twenty cavalry and another three hundred men at arms, archers and smallfolk volunteers have been lost directly or indirectly during the assault on Blackport. Smallfolk casualties beyond the volunteers have been negligible as they retreated into the inner palisade as soon as the attack started."
Consulting his book for a moment he continues. "An attack upon house Mormont by six longships has been fought off by the fleet, sinking four and capturing two of them. House Ryther lost two longships in the exchange as well and killed the commander, one Lord Rossnan Weaver, during the ship to ship fighting. To my knowledge this leaves the Weaver´s reduced to a single daughter. A hundred prisoners were taken and given to House Mormont for judgment. No ironborn other than them set foot on Bear island."
"And the infrastructure?", I ask as the Mormont lords at my side smile viciously at the report, their bloody history with the ironborn reflecting itself on their faces. I already know the answer but needed to have all my facts correct and stated openly. Noble witnesses that I was doing my part never hurt, after all. Wyndals grimace really does nothing for my already sour mood.
"Bad, my lord. The towers protecting the harbor are a total loss, as is the shipyard and much of the buildings geared to supporting our fishing fleet, which has also taken a heavy hit. The warehouses have not been destroyed, likely because the reavers wanted to loot them later, leaving them the only thing still in good repair on the docks. The outer palisade and some three dozen houses are heavily damaged or outright destroyed by the battle and the ensuing fire. Thankfully the quick end to the fighting allowed the smallfolk sheltering behind the inner palisade to add their efforts to dousing the flames. We could save much but not all. The worst loss are two half filled granaries just behind the palisade. We might be tightening our belts in the coming weeks until replacement grain can be procured."
"Good luck with that", grouses Lord Forrester from two seats over, sipping his Glógg absently. "With the waters contested and the whole continent at war I do not see much grain arriving anytime soon."
"I agree", mutters Lord Glover. "You are better served repairing or outright rebuilding your fishing fleet."
I sigh and nod my head. "I am of the same mind as well. See it done, Wyndal. The shipbuilders seem to have survived even if their yard did not. See what they can do with what they have at hand. Any news of the larger world?"
"Yes, my Lord.", replies the half-maester and adds a small note to his book before continuing. "The Ironborn have sacked Lannisport after drawing most of the fleet north with a small attack on the Banefort. Gerion Lannister commanded the fleet but could not catch the reavers. By now we know that half of the iron fleet laid in wait, waiting for the Lannister fleet to leave. Afterwards they attacked during the night, burning the few ships remaining and sacking the city for the two hours that Casterly Rock needed to respond in force. The city lies in ruins, burned, looted and with many a smallfolk dragged off to thralldom. House Lannister is wounded but far from beaten and still has most of its ships intact. As far as we know roughly thirty galleys fly the Lannister lion in addition to whatever merchantmen they can press into service as additional troop transports. House Crakehall and other Westerland Lords will soon add their naval strength as well."
"Seaguard?", I ask after making a mental note that the added 'allied' fleets on the western shore now numbered at least sixty warships if the recently captured longships were counted as well. The news of the Lannister fleet being still in play actually made me feel a lot better about the current situation despite my book grown – and quite irrational, really – dislike for the lions.
"House Mallister could beat off the attack thanks to your early warning and their resulting preparations, my lord.", Wyndal reports with some satisfaction. "While their fleet was completely destroyed yet again they destroyed or captured twenty ships of the iron fleet in return after raising a chain trapping them in their harbor. The fighting is said to have been heavy with large losses on both sides but it was a Mallister win in the end. A Greyjoy was in command but managed to escape with his fleet."
He pauses for a moment, glancing at Lord Blackwood before continuing. "The Faith Militant got its hand on some of the prisoners before Lord Mallisters men could get to them, burning them at the stake for heresy."
A low muttering of anger and disgust echoes through the hall at the word and I close my eyes, pained by the very thought. Wallace, my ever present shadow, shifts slightly in the shadows behind my seat, obviously just as uncomfortable as myself. Damn these fanatics! Wasn't the ironborn rebellion bad enough on its own? Opening my eyes again I refocus on Wyndal, who was patiently waiting to continue his report.
"Lord Mallister had them hanged at once and has been fighting low level unrest since then as he is forced to protect his prisoners, making him deeply unpopular with his own people. The Mallister fleet stands at five captured ships of the iron fleet."
Consulting his notes again his expression turns even more sour. "An 'army' of pilgrims seems also to be forming around Fairmarket, already reaching out to all Riverland lords along the coast to ship them to the iron islands to 'cleanse them from heathen taint'. The Faith Militant is part of this as well – spearheading it, really – and remarkably organized if my sources are to be believed. Already the fanatics and their ilk number four thousand at the very least. They are led by a so-called High Sparrow, whoever he might be. He is rumored to be the head of a council of seven, each representing one of their gods."
My mind instantly flashes back to the spy in my ranks that had tried to get me killed or at least helped with information, a drawn bird being the plotters sign. Could it be? Or was I overthinking this three ways to sunday?
"House Tully has summoned its banners as well and will supply five thousand men at arms in addition to the Faith Militant, which the Blackfish can do little about without the Riverlands descending into civil war. Well, more of a civil war. House Frey will supply fivehundred of those troops, making them the biggest contributor after the Paramounts themselves."
"The Reach? Dorne? The Vale? The Dragons?", Lord Glover asks after letting the information sink in for a moment.
"Dorne has yet to move, ignoring all messages sent by raven.", Wydal continues, eliciting a disgusted snort from Lord Glover. I did not feel very charitable as well but also had expected nothing less.
"The Vale answers the call to war and will move roughly five thousand men through the Riverlands to reinforce Seaguard after joining the Tully host at Riverrun and await transportation to the Iron Islands in any counter attack that becomes possible in the days to come. They have no fleet to speak of and will supply ground forces only."
"At least something", Glabart grumbles. "Still neck deep in clansmen, I take it?"
"Aye, my lord. Much of the Vale is still struggling against their own mountain people, binding most of their available strength to their home."
"The others?", I probe, not wanting to get too much off topic at this time.
"The Redwine fleet remains around Oldtown, waiting for… something. The Tyrells are supplying five thousand men as are the Florents and their allied houses. Seems like the internal disputes have yet to be solved if I interpret the signs correctly. King Robert has been in contact with them all according to my sources but I do not know what they are talking about. They will want to extract some sort of price for their participation, I suspect."
"Damn Reachers...", mutters Tytos grouchily and viciously rips a piece of the bread sitting in front of him, munching on it so violently that I feared his teeth would shatter any second now.
Wyndal continues, undaunted. "The Targaryens have sent thirty galleys to journey around the continent and join the fighting at the king's behest. Ahead of them by a few days are another eighty ships of the royal fleet, commanded by Stannis Baratheon."
I blink in surprise. "Are those numbers confirmed? The Dragons are sending ships to help? At Robert's command? Didn't they have a Greyjoy fostering at Dragonstone?"
My incredulous expression is mirrored amongst the other nobles but my man only nods, shrugging. "I cannot explain it my lords but this is what my sources report. The reasons behind the actions I cannot see either."
I hum in thought, leaning back in my chair. There was something in all this information I was obviously missing but I could not put a finger on it, hard as I tried. The Targaryens actually turning up for the fight they might have started or at least encouraged in the first place was something I had very much not expected. Waiting for some battle to suddenly attack the other kingdoms, maybe? Shrugging, I table the problem for later, not being able to affect it anyway.
"King Robert himself?", I ask instead, focussing on the topic at hand.
"Moving down the Goldroad in the direction of Lannisport, a good five thousand men, a mix of crownland and stormland troops, with him. At least an equal number of Lannisters will be waiting for his arrival."
"This leaves only our own response", Galbart remarks and I nod along with the other lords. As we had been immediately threatened by the ironborn uprising we had left Winterfell at once, not waiting for Eddard Stark's more precise planning beyond summoning some of the banners.
"The North will be supplying five thousand men as well in addition to the fleet fielded by House Ryther.", Wyndal starts with a small smile thrown in my direction, which I acknowledge with a small nod.
"A thousand of those are on the way here, the rest are currently moving down the kingsroad in the direction of Seaguard. Our recent… acquisition… of additional longships had not been anticipated, so we currently have a lot more space than warriors to fill it with."
"We will be heading to Seaguard first anyway, I suspect.", I rumble absently. "Has the letter been sent to the Moat?"
"Yes, my lord.", replies the man at once. "As soon as Lord Stark arrives there he will be informed of our recent battle and gains."
"Good. The twenty additional ships will go a long way to securing the north and transport of troops to the island as soon as the iron fleet is dealt with. Until his reply arrives please focus on repairing the damage, the towers and palisade most of all."
"Aye, my lord.", he nods and makes yet another note in his book. Looking up again he snaps it shut.
"The last question I need to pose is how we will deal with the prisoners."
"Kill them all, noble and smallfolk alike.", replied Lord Blackwood instantly and without remorse, causing me to wince at my fellow lord's brutal approach.
"There are too many of them to send them to the Wall.", adds Jeor Mormont with a scowl, not outright dismissing Tytos approach but also not supporting it. "If you send them north they will need to be guarded by hundreds of guards, otherwise they will just overwhelm their captors on the first night. The Watch would face the same fate, their numbers not being high enough to integrate – or control – these many arrivals at once. More so as half of their current number is made out of ironborn anyway."
"It is not like they would all choose the Black", interjects Galbart Glover thoughtfully. "I suspect that no more than half their number would be willing to freeze off their balls at the Wall for the rest of their lives."
"Two in three", I correct absently as I mull over the problem, throwing out my own estimation. "Which would mean nearly a thousand prisoners moving north at once, which are too many by far."
"You will need to make an example if you do not want to be attacked again", urges Tytos me on and I see Jeor Mormont nodding along. I focus on the Lord of Bear Island.
"Your prisoners have been sentenced to death, have they not?"
"Aye", replies the man without thinking about it for a second. "Dacy will have seen it done herself. There is too much bad blood between us for anything else to happen. Some always plead for the Black themselves and we allow it as custom demands but we never offer it from the beginning."
"You could always leave them for Lord Stark to deal with or send them to the mines for twenty years or so. The work there will kill enough of them to be a good lesson for the rest.", proposes Lord Forrester, adding yet another option to the pot.
"Too much like slavery for my taste", mutters Tytos Blackwood, throwing his own opinion in yet again. "Better to just end them. Much easier as well. If you want to use them you will also have to feed them. More than a thousand additional mouths is nothing to sneeze at."
"Oh, I know.", I mutter, thinking back on all the refugees I had taken in over the years. "I know better than most, believe me."
"Outright killing them might be ill advised", Galbart Glover makes himself heard again. "If you become known to be merciless, the next enemy fighting you will do so to the last as surrendering will no longer be a feasible option."
Tytos and the two Mormonts shake their heads at his words while Lord Forrester nods along, adding his two cents as well. "A hard but fair response seems to be what is needed but the decision is up to you, Darren."
The other lords gaze at me quietly after these words, awaiting my decision. My lands had been attacked and I would have be the one to decide the prisoners' fate. Thoughts whirling I sip my drink, buying some precious seconds as I weigh the pros and cons of every option presented to me.
Estado de energía semanal
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