章 258: 11
283 AC
Winter still held my hands in an – admittedly light – iron grip some month later and I was still waiting for that other shoe to drop. Everything had been going smoothly and it had been driving me up the wall like you wouldn't believe. Jasana had always been great at drawing me out of my funk if I got into this state before. Sadly she could not do so any longer, which still sent pangs of pain through my soul whenever I thought about it, almost a year after her passing.
My lands were developing well, the silver mine turning out to be as great a boon as I had thought, my wealth finally growing again after running almost empty not that long ago. It was still expanding even though I had many old and new projects to throw money at, which I did enthusiastically but not frivolously. If I didn't honor the copper and what it could do I wasn't worth the gold or so I said to myself.
While things were trucking along contentedly I could see dark clouds on the horizon. Immigration had not slowed down during winter. To the contrary it had even picked up as northern and southern smallfolk alike streamed into my lands in search of a better future. Already my main settlement had broken past twenty thousand souls, forcing me to found new villages far and wide despite the icy surroundings coming with winter. Thankfully I had a more space than I knew what to do with after the lands owned by my house had increased greatly due Lord Starks generosity. Luthor had been tasked with designing an easily expanded sewer system, something which he grumbled greatly about but still did at the best of his ability. I didn't like the guy but he was competent enough, which would have to do for now.
Designing and implementing the system would take years, so I was keeping my largest settlement from growing even larger by settling the arriving people all over my land. While creating a logistical nightmare regarding food and other supplies it would also – hopefully – discourage the diseases common if too many people lived too close together without sanitary infrastructure. I really did not want a pandemic of some sort to murder the smallfolk I had so painstakingly attracted.
The influx of peasants of course meant that someone else was losing them. While the southerners did not seem to mind, some like the Mallisters even outright sending me their surplus people, the northern ones grumbled even if they did not take any action… that I knew of. Lord Stark's public acclamation and the slight fame that had come with it had boosted my reputation somewhat but even my gained honors did not change facts and fact was – smallfolk were migrating and weakening the lords they were hailing from while strengthening myself. Of course this would not go over well, I had known this for months. Nothing had come of it yet but I just knew that this state of things could not persist. Something would happen at some point and I had no idea which direction the blow would come from, making me even more paranoid.
The days I was feeling especially paranoid, I was more grateful for my children than ever, their carefree attitude relaxing me considerably whenever I spent time with the little ones. They had no care for the world and its problems, my own thoughts looking less dire to me after less than five minutes in their presence. Children truly were a gift, more so as another loved one had been involved in the little miracles. While my late wife might not have been there to draw me out of my mood, the children did a good substitute job.
In addition on most days I was just too busy to fall into any mental pitfalls, despite everything actually going well. The problems I was currently facing mostly were what I would have called 'luxury problems' in my old life. I struggled expanding the guard fast enough to keep public peace, my forces standing now at roughly 500 men not counting the archery reserves and fleet, of which nearly a third was still in training. I struggled to build housing for all the new arrivals, my craftsmen running hot from all the work and money I was throwing at them. As far as I knew they had taken on apprentices by the bucket load to manage the work I tasked them with, spreading knowledge and money far and wide. I was struggling to feed everyone, ships full of food arriving every week while newly bought fishing boats left the harbor by the dozen each day to do their part in feeding the populace. I was struggling to expand my fortifications fast enough for the settlement not to grow over the walls and right out of the walls.
You see where this is going? I had made my own problems and everything was fine. So fine in fact that I was running the risk of falling victim to my own success. Or as I had failed to succeed before, now it could turn on me and I may yet succeed my way to failure. In my darker moments I even had the thought that angry lords might be forcing their smallfolk in my direction as well, hoping for my fief to implode by numbers alone as everything simply flew apart. It would not be a bad tactic as well I admitted mentally even as I fought tooth and nail to stay on top of the raging boar my expansion had become. I managed for now but it was a hard battle with no clear winner in sight.
Despite my days being more stuffed than myself at a curry eating contest I also kept up with my correspondence, knowing that coming across as ignoring other lords would just not do. I was in regular communication with friendly houses about different matters, keeping the line open and staying fresh in their memory, so to speak. With the houses Manderly and Mallister I mostly communicated about matters regarding the sea and fleet, greatly expanding my knowledge and keeping us on amicable terms. Lord Glover also kept in contact but there was no specific topic to our letters, same as with House Forrester or houses Branch and Woods. Bryle and I on the other hand had continued our friendship through the written word and I would actually be visiting him shortly, the man having finally decided to marry Brigitte despite her hailing from north of the wall. I could already hear the screaming as some lords frothed at the mouth at the news, not that I cared overly much. The man was my friend and that was that.
Another man I was regularly exchanging letters with was Lord Jegrod Ironsmith, the rune enthusiast and I sharing an area of interest. I had even taken to learning the language of the first men from Shale 'on the run' whenever I could, helping me to understand some of Jegrod's comments a little better. The man had a great wealth of knowledge regarding runes and completely believed in them and the effects they were said to have had in the ancient past. I was of course curious and knowing what I did felt it was at least possible that specific runes had magical effects at some point, the decrease of magic all over the world likely snuffing out what might have been. But magic never left and would come back eventually, so knowledge would not hurt and more likely than not actually be a great boon in time. Maybe. Time would tell.
For now I only knew and recognized a few runes and could interpret maybe half a percent of what was inscribed out there.. but I was determined to learn. At some point it would come in handy, I was sure of it. Until then I would keep up the correspondence and learn while keeping in contact with a noble I actually greatly liked. Sadly there weren't many of them, most of the ones I had met had either been neutral to me or with underlying tones of hostility. I would have to be careful in the coming years and look at securing my position to the best of my ability.
Which – of course – also meant that I would need a wife far sooner than I felt comfortable with. The mourning period for Jasana had all but run its course and I desperately needed more allies as I continued to expand at a pace that beggared belief. Sadly I would still be a shaky prospect for most even if one did not consider the fact that any children that came of it would only stand to inherit after three living and healthy sons. Before the Stark ultimatum I likely would have gone – after some years – for the daughter of a rich trader or something like that… if I didn't find my love again at a place and time I did not expect. One never knew. Sadly that avenue was closed to me now and I would have to adapt yet again.
A minor noble would do but those in the north I knew of did not have daughters in the age range I was looking for, leaving me with baseborn woman some of the lords had sired over the years. I knew that houses Warrik and Whitehill had baseborn daughters of the appropriate age. Sadly Warrik would be too weak to be of any use to me and Whitehill could also not be considered as they had an often violent conflict with the Forresters, which I really did not want to anger, them being my neighbors and all that. Going to the clans also felt wrong after Jasana – as if I was replacing my wife with a sister or something. I shuddered. No, just no. This left me in quite a clinch as I had no really good options that I could see. Thankfully Lord Eddard had stipulated my wife to be to be born of the north, allowing me to decline the offer Lord Walder Frey had sent to me with 'great reluctance'. I had some time yet to look but I already suspected that I would have to turn to Lord Stark in the end to intervene on my behalf. I sigh as I return to my paperwork, again time would tell.
A few months later winter was still going strong as the first reports of ironborn ships being sighted but leaving once spotted reached my desk. Taken together with small areas of chopped down trees that got found more often every week by my patrols I had little trouble putting together the pieces. Balon was building up his fleet and had turned to stealing the wood he did not have on his barren islands. Sipping a tea I had imported from Dorne I shake my head in dismay. The ironborn rebellion was still on track it seemed, not that I had expected anything different. Interestingly to me mostly was that the reavers did not offer battle once, always retreating once spotted and also always escaping. My sailors simply did not have the ability or experience – yet – to catch the pirates on open waters.
Considering I had only so many ships at hand I could do little to stop the illegal harvesting of northern timber but I could hinder the efforts to the best of my ability. I also – of course – informed Lord Stark of what was happening and my suspicion that the ironborn were building up their fleet. I also informed Lord Mallister of my deductions, hopefully giving Seaguard an advanced warning of what was to come. Considering that they had suffered a reaver attack not that long ago I suspected them to fortify the fuck out of their city, hopefully making the inevitable attack more costly to the ironborn by an order of magnitude. The grateful letters I received from my southern allies – for they were little else at this point - pointed to just that, hopefully causing any attacking reavers to run head first into a meat grinder.
A few more weeks with no success in actually catching any ironborn but with steadily rising amounts of missing timber I grew suspicious that something else was afoot. Was there a reason the ironborn were evading my men beyond the simple difference in skill? By statistics alone my ships should have come across a logging in progress by now but they had not. Mulling over the question for a moment I turned to test the theory of having a spy somewhere by giving the captains and the leaders of my landbound patrols sealed letters as they left next, to be opened one week after departing. Sealed letters, such an interesting concept. The letters I had handed to the men in person, cutting out any middleman and the risk of information getting 'lost' it entailed. I had commanded every one of the captains – either land or sea – to double back for half a week after a week of patrolling before returning to their earlier route, hopefully offsetting their schedule enough that anyone working with knowledge of it would stand a good chance of getting caught in the act, so to speak.
Two month later my fleet had grown by six longships yet again.
Yes, that happened.
I could not have fathomed just how successful my change in schedules and routes would turn out to be but every last one of my patrols had stumbled over ironborn. Having grown confident and complacent after a year of getting away with it they had been caught – in some cases literally – with their pants down. The resulting skirmishes had been short but bloody and I had lost nearly eighty men over six battles with the ironborn losing three times that number before surrendering, leaving me with yet another hundred of them that would have to be escorted to the wall. Some more had chosen the sword instead but I cared little for that, having reached the conclusion that only a dead reaver – not an undead one mind you – was a good reaver by now. I still mentally pause every time I have to make the distinction between dead and really dead. What a strange world I lived in.
Already I was recruiting again to offset my losses, which turned out to be a little harder each time. While a lot of men would gladly take the coin, my forces had gained the reputation of not being healthy to be in with all the losses I had taken over the years, so those only looking for an easy meal ticket started to stay away. At least I was still getting those with some sense of adventure, which I actually could use somewhat better even though they tended to grumble at the more boring parts of the job. Taking into account that the reavers would continue to be a problem for a while those parts were far in the minority, though.
If the current trend continued I also suspected that most of the Watch would be made of ironborn by the time the Long Night started and there would be far more black brothers than there had been in canon. Hell, I alone had been sending more men to them till this point than the Watch in its entirety had numbered in the books. Well, not really… but you get the picture. I only hoped that the Nights Watch could absorb all the men I was sending them without getting taken over from the inside or imploding in some other manner. After informing lords Stark and Glover of my recent success I had turned to another equally important task – rat hunting.
In the end finding the spy turned out to be easy as one simply had to find the trail of communications involved. Considering that only a few people had access to the patrol schedules and even less to the ones of every patrol at once there were very few suspects indeed. Taking together with the fact that the leakage of information had only started recently, making new arrivals more suspect than old citizens, I soon found myself standing before the door of my new maester with half a dozen guards.
I had ordered the man to be watched after my deductions and Wyndal had come through beautifully, handing me a letter to house Kenning a week after the investigation started. It seems the new maester had smuggled a few ravens to my keep in his luggage, banking on the fact that a bird more or less would not be picked out among the feathered menaces in my ravenry and that he would have full control of messages – as was custom.
K,
Routes and times have changed. Six caught. Do not send more. Not my fault – wasn't informed. Agreement continues.
F.
One of my better archers had shot down the raven as it was seen heading for the sea instead of landwards, where all my contacts were located. The letter on its own would be considered shaky evidence at best but knowing the context it was damning. More so as I had compared the letter to other works of maester Fossoway, having found the writing to be identical. It seems I had been very right not to take the man into my council.
Barging into the room I find the man half asleep looking out of his window, a thick blanket around his shoulders. The man had never adapted to the cooler climate of the north, much to my quiet amusement. He blinks and takes in the situation in a split second as my men move to grab him. The moment he spots the letter in my fist and my thunderous expression he knew the jig was up, triggering the ages old and very much primal reflex of fight or flight. Considering that he was outnumbered nearly ten to one and had no weapon at hand he chose flight and made for the window, obviously forgetting for the moment that we were easily twenty meters above ground, which made his flight – for a moment – very literal a second later as he lost his grip on the slippery edge and my men proved to be too slow to catch him.
Staring at the empty window the screaming men had disappeared through, the echoing "thump!" of something hitting the stones below sounding in my ears, I sigh and start to massage my head. Great, just… great.
"Wyndal", I turn to the side, "search the room and see if anything of note can be found. Take the body to the firepits outside the walls and have him burned. We will send his ashes to the citadel by ship with a letter stating that the man slipped and fell to his death as he lost his grip as he underestimated the slippery effects of winter. Also – tactfully – request that the next maester, if one is send at all, should be familiar with the north and its dangers to avoid a… repeat performance."
Looking at the other men present I repeat, "Am I understood? He was careless and slipped, no more – no less. Accidents happen."
The soldiers nod and I leave the room with a glower, the best source of information regarding the spying having just slipped my fingers. Hopefully the search of the room would yield some results, the interrogation of the ironborn already had not. There had been no nobles under the reavers captured and the men had hailed from all over the isles, making me unable to point fingers at a certain house or at Balon directly. It seemed to me that the Lord Reaper of Pyke was at least somewhat competent in this, even if his whole plan, if it stayed as it had been, was insane and doomed to fail from the start.
Nothing came of the search but the discovery of some pretty hefty poisons that the maester had kept in a hidden compartment, leaving me to wonder if I had dodged another bullet there. Three more ravens were also found that could not be assigned to specific houses, leaving me with more potential receivers of information I had not wanted to spread. Sadly I was stumped as to how I would be able to find out the recipients of the birds without showing that I was on to the whole plot.
"How about sending wrong information and seeing who shows up?", Wyndal finally proposes as I had posed the question to him and Harren, who were making up my current council.
I muse on the words for a few moments before a grin spreads across my face. "We have to be quick. The ravens will have to go out today before news of the death spreads and other – slower – means of communication see the plot fail."
"Aye, my Lord.", he agrees at once, "What shall be the content?"
"It will have to be something believable but also tempting enough to act on… with a clear window of opportunity as well.", I think aloud and grab a piece of paper, scribbling something onto it.
"How about this?"
Both mean lean over the paper, slow nods following after reading the message.
C,
Wildlings spotted. Forces drawn north – full muster, town and mine lightly defended for up to three month.
F.
"We will of course have to smear the first letter as we do not know who the ravens will fly to.", Harren interjects and I nod at once. "Yes, the message having gotten wet at some point should be believable enough. Wyndal, can you falsify Fossoways' writing enough to be believable?"
"I can try", the man in question grunts after eyeing the message that kicked off the whole mess. "Even if it is not believed we have lost nothing."
"True enough", I agree and stand up. "Well then, let's set a trap."
And set a trap we did, the ravens flying not an hour later. Of the three birds one flew south, one east and the other one south west. The last one I suspected to be targeted at some ironborn house but the others? No idea.
Wyndal had really come into his own now that the ´true´ maester had gone the way of the dodo, taking over more and more tasks together with his assistants. I relied heavily on him as as well as Harren, both men having risen to the challenge magnificently. I would have find something nice to do for both, I muse. Now that I thought about it their ascension in importance and into my council had already been a reward in itself as both men had married during the last year.
While Harren had been married once already, his wife had died during because of a fever, leaving him to take care of their daughter on his own. The girl was grown by now with a family on her own and he had resigned himself to remain alone but with my fortunes his rose as well and he suddenly became an eligible – if somewhat old – bachelor again. Already the merchant daughter he had married was expecting her first and his second child, making the man almost deliriously happy.
Wyndal on the other hand had been caught by one of the clansmen woman that had migrated to my lands, the woman pursing him relentlessly until he carved in any married. In my humble opinion he had not ever been happier with his lot in life and most specifically his status as `non master`, allowing him to have a family of his own. Just as like Harrens wife his would be gifting him a child within month if everything did go smoothly, which I actually had prayed for at the local weirwood. After having first hand experience regarding the dangers woman faced in the birthing bed I thought that every little bit of help, normal or supernatural, would be a good thing to have.
Both men and their families had quarters within the castle and would likely stay there for as long as it remained feasible, not wishing to be far from their posts at any time. Their rooms were spacious enough for a family and some more children before either would consider moving to Rytherport, more so with the renovation of my castle being in full swing. Another year or two would see my ancestral seat back to full splendour, making it near empty again despite the massive growth in inhabitants it had been experiencing over the last few years. Westerosi castles, even the small ones like mine, were just ridiculously oversized compared to the ones I had visited during my last life.
Another man that would likely rise into my council in the near future would be Hoster Rivers, the sailor having done great work with my fleet as well as earned the respect of sailors and shipborn warriors alike. Considering that my fleet would be growing substantial in the years to come I would have to admit a representative of all matters fleet into my inner circle sooner rather than later and he was the prime candidate. With the way I had set up his family in Rytherport I also felt reasonably sure of his loyalties despite him not having been in my service all that long if compared to the other members of my council.
My fleet left a few days later in its entirety to the north to a nearby bay that was half hidden from the sea, where it would lay in wait. The sailors would post spotters on a nearby mountain from which smoke signals sent up by Rytherport would be able to be spotted. If any reavers decided to attack Rytherport they would be taken in the back by my whole naval might, hopefully squishing them between the ships and my landbound defenders. This would of course leave the coast undefended for however long I intended to keep up the trap but that was a risk I was willing to take.
I also expanded my guard yet again, another hundred men at arms and archers joining the training fields and scraping the barrel regarding manpower I could recruit at my current population level without starting to impact other areas negatively. Taken together with my archery reserves that had been created almost by accident through the yearly tournaments I felt reasonably sure that I would be able to fend off whatever attack would come from the released ravens.
The tournament had ended in a draw of the all female and the riverlander team, the teams and their fans nearly coming to blows over it. In the end I officiated another round between the two teams with the target moving away a further ten meters, a range none of them had practiced at and in consequence struggled with somewhat. In the end the Riverlanders made it, the required strength to lob the arrow even further slanting the competition in their favor, not that the other team would ever admit it. I on the other hand did acknowledge that the way I had gone about deciding the final winner of the tournament had not been ideal and was already thinking of ways to do it differently the next time around. Maybe moving targets at far shorter distances or shooting up- or downwards? I shelved the matter for another day as it wasn't urgent and my people had more than enough to do anyway to practise overly much as the preparations of the trap I set reached a fever pitch.
A few hundred of my workers had been sent to the mine, quickly fortifying it with a sturdy palisade and doing the same to the nearby village. A fourth of my men would be stationed here with another fourth manning Rytherstone and the rest staying in Rytherport. Wallace would command the mine, Harren the town and I the castle while Walder Rivers would see to my fleet. Wallace staying by the silver also had the added benefit of Lyrra being there as well, her wolves making for some terrifying – in more ways than one – scouting that my own people could not replicate on their best days.
Six weeks later the shit hit the literal fan, said implement thankfully having blades of steel as the fecal matter had been expected – even a little anticipated.
Lyrra's wolves were the first to glean a view of the trouble that was approaching, nearly a hundred and fifty men with ramshackle weapons and armor moving for the mine with a purpose. My scouts quickly confirmed their numbers and equipment, the men leaving without getting spotted by sheer ability and knowing the area like the back of their hand. The attackers to be looked like bandits but their numbers alone put that into question, as did the clear direction and missing infighting my scouts reported.
Bandits usually numbered a few dozen at most with a strong leader figure at their head to keep everyone in line, usually by violence. Brigands by their very nature abhorred any sort of order and anarchy would inventively crop up at some point. That the raiders had gathered together in many times the 'usual' number could have two reasons. Either it was one – ridiculously successful – band with an equally competent and/or violent leader or the group was a gathering of different groups pointed in the same direction. I put my money on the second explanation.
They attacked the same night despite the obvious fortifications the mine could boast while completely ignoring the village, which would be the far easier target for rape and plunder. This alone would have rung warning bells in my mind, had I not expected something similar. But I had expected it and the attack and I was prepared. They were not. Even less than they should have actually as the brigands completely neglected scouting and instead went right after the target I had baited them with like a shark for a bloody steak, which was exactly what I wanted them to. Obviously the competent leader that my first guess at explaining their numbers had come up with was very much not present, nearly any other approach potentially being more logical and less… suicidal.
The battle started with the first 'bandits' disappearing into hidden pitfalls full of sharpened spikes my men had dug all around the mine, their cries of surprise turning into ones of agony or cutting off abruptly, freezing the attackers in their place. The surroundings of the mine and the village had been turned into a literal nightmare of traps, set to maul anyone stupid enough to set a foot off the beaten path. The trapping had actually turned into a competition between my people and because of it I had a little 'Saw moment' as I was told about some of the insidious things they had come up with one upping each other. My people knew to stay on the road while heading for the mine or the village because of the lethal risk of taking another route, the attackers did not and paid dearly for their lack of scouting. During the night they also could not easily spot the signs of the traps making them a brutal and often fatal surprise.
That the mine was far better defended than they thought and that the forces protecting the village soon appeared at their back's ended the battle before it could really get off the ground. The attackers were caught in the middle of what would be a minefield in modern times and unable to move quickly without risking tripping lethally over or into something. At the same time they could neither advance nor retreat while simultaneously being volleyed by dozens of arrows from all sides.
They surrender within five minutes of the first scream, earning me another win without losses. Again I had set an ambush, but who cared that some might see it as honourless – it worked after all. Also I could not afford to waste manpower in honorable battles, if being sneaky about it earned me the same rewards but cheaper by far. Or as it turned out in this case, no cost at all but work and materials. The attackers lost half their number in the chaotic mess their attack had turned into, the survivors telling the same tale I had already heard from the ones that attacked me on the road. A man with forgettable features had approached them and offered coin up front for attacking a defenseless mine, a good deal all around. At least they thought so until the butchery started.
The brigands had been drawn from all over the west, five small and middling groups having been gathered and sent to attack the mine over the course of four week. Whoever had it out for me really put in some effort even though the invested money wouldn't cause even a minor noble to blink. For them this again would have been of little risk and cost with a potentially great reward as long as no one managed to track down the person or persons behind the plan. As I had little to go on but a single intermediary, I did not have enough information to track. I remained right up shits creek in this matter and would likely stay there for some time.
Oh, I was sure that at some point a mistake would be made that allowed me to trail back traces and add one and one together, hopefully reaching two and not seventeen. Sadly this time was not now and my hidden attacker had proved to be remarkably competent, leaving me to muse that my enemy was either very intelligent, very experienced or both. I really hated that my enemies turned out not only to be not stupid but downright competent. Stupid enemies were so much more enjoyable.
I gained another fifty recruits for the wall that day, the others rather taking a quick beheading to freezing their balls off at the wall. Lords Stark and Glover were horrified at the attack and the obvious intent behind them but could do little more than take the prisoners off my hands and hint that taking a wife before the three year limit – like yesterday – might make the problem vanish or at least migrate it to a more reasonable level. I burned those letters in the nearest fire, not feeling ready for marriage by far.
While the trap worked beautifully on land it sadly failed completely on the sea. No ships appeared on the horizon to attack my settlement, the juicy target that I made it out to be going ignored. After waiting for three month and a week for somebody to show up I had to admit to myself that nothing would come of it. I had no idea why the trap had failed and likely would never know. Maybe the letter did not arrive at all, the forgery was discovered or the ships I already captured got noticed by the right… wrong people. Who knew?
That nothing came of the trap was frustrating enough without discovering some days later that I had lost half a forest over the month my ships had waited in ambushing position. Whoever was on the other side commanding the ironborn had obviously used the time well, hundreds of tons of timber having vanished in the meantime. My shipwrights estimated that the stolen wood would at least be enough for two dozen ships, more than making up for the tonnage I had captured over the year. This put a great damper on my mood but I just told myself that I had not thought that my efforts would be enough to keep the reavers from building their fleet at all. No, I knew that I was fighting a delaying action at best but I would make it count.
My ships returned to their patrols as did my cavalry as something like normalcy again returned to my lands after the recent excitement. The citadel had also written and told me that a new maester would be sent as one fitting my requirements became available. The snotty tone the letter had been written in caused me to read 'you didn't grovel enough for the death of our brother so nobody will come' between the lines. I could care less, trusting Wyndal more than I would any maester that might or might not be arriving within my lifetime. I had sent a polite thank you back worded in a way that implied just that without outright stating it. The order had no influence in my lands and hell would freeze over before I offered them something as an apology to grace me with another person that might turn out to be a spy...again.
Shelving the topic of maesters for another time I instead said goodbye to my children and headed out with a strong escort of two dozen riders to attend Brandon Bole's wedding, taking Brigitte's family with me. The trip took me a week of riding through the thankfully light snowfall and it went past without incident, which actually surprised me somewhat. Arriving at his main settlement we are treated to the sight of a village boasting roughly 500 inhabitants bustling with activity as a wide stone tower surrounded by a high palisade and a wide moat thrown above it. Within the palisade half a dozen buildings had found a home, the tower obviously being the Bryle's home as well as the last means of defense, should the small holdfast be attacked.
Riding through the village we are given a wide berth and a lot of bows, which continues as we arrive at the gates to the holdfast.
"Well meet, good man!", I called out to the guard looking down on us from his position above the gate, "Tell your lord that Lord Ryther is here for his wedding!"
"Open the gate!", the man called out at once upon hearing my words and recognizing the heraldry worn by me and mine, the thick wooden construction opening before us a moment later. Riding into the courtyard we are greeted by far fewer people than I would have thought present for a wedding. Neither Branch nor Woods' men could be found anywhere. Looking around I actually saw no other nobles in attendance at all, causing me to frown slightly.
"Darren!", the happy voice of my friend rips me out of my thoughts, his figure appearing in the doorway to the tower leaning heavily on an ironwood staff. I could also spot a peg leg or something like it having replaced his missing leg even though it obviously did not allow him his old mobility back.
"Bryle!", I laugh and jump off my horse before embracing the other man at the doors to his home. "It is good to see you, my friend. You look well."
He chuckles and stomps his prosthetic onto the cobblestones. "As well as I can be at least. Thank you for coming."
"I couldn't do anything else.", I smiled before glancing around, "...will the wedding be a small affair?"
Brandon grimaces slightly before turning around and waving for me to follow. "Ah, that… yes, it will be. Come, we have much to talk about. Your men will be taken care of."
We quickly found ourselves in his solar, the room far smaller and a lot more cozy than my own. He emits a sigh of relief as he sits down in his seat, half-heartedly glaring at me as he notices my concerned expression. "Don't look at me like that, Darren. I may be a cripple but I am alive, which is more than a lot of others can boast."
"True enough.", I agree and wipe the look off my face as best as I can manage, my mind instead turning to other things that had been occupying it since my arrival. "I take it the other lords disapproved of your choice of wife?"
He chuckles before a dark look flashes across his face. "Aye, that they did. A lot of invitations have been ignored outright and all others declined to attend because of… reasons. Most of which are as transparent as it could be without outright spitting in my face. I fear your reputation might actually take a hit because you are present for the wedding."
"Short sighted fools", I mutter and sigh. "I will survive, I am sure. Who would I be if I was influenced by such petty reasons and not attend a friend's wedding because of it."
"Part of the majority", he replies drily but I can see the relief in his eyes even though he desperately tries to hide it. It seemed to me that he had half expected me to turn around and head home after learning of the situation surrounding his upcoming nuptials.
"How is Brigitte taking it?", I ask and sip from a glass of wine he had handed me out a cabinet standing close enough to his desk that he did not have to rise to reach it.
Brandon just shrugs and smiles wryly. "She couldn't care less. You brought her family along, which means more to her than any insults or indirect slights the northern nobles might throw her way. We would not be able to delay anymore anyway."
"You wouldn't….", I repeat to myself before a smile appears, "Brandon, you dog! Congratulations!"
My friend laughs with not a little pride in his voice. "Thank you, my friend. Not showing yet but she will before long, better to have everything nice and legal before than."
"I'd say...", I mutter before glancing outside the window to the empty courtyard again, "I would have thought that at least your neighbours would have nonetheless sent someone despite their...concerns."
"They declined, at least… and without implying insults at that.", Bryle replies with a shrug, sipping his own wine. "… which is more than can be said for a lot of other houses. While house Bole is not powerful I will nonetheless not forget this slight and at some point in the future I am sure that opportunities to get even will present itself."
"Ah, well...their loss.", I state before smirking, "I brought along a few kegs of my Glóg. It seems we will have to partake in this rare beverage all by our lonesome."
Bryle blinks and laughs, accepting the change of topics with good grace. "Aye, they will be greatly pained hearing that, I am sure. The drink has gained quite a bit of fame since the harvest festival and is said to be just as expensive as it is hard to come by."
"Both true", I smirk with satisfaction, the mental clinking of coins echoing through my mind. "Everything else is going well?"
"Mostly", he answers waving at a small pile of paper on his desk, "I have rebuilt most of my forces and no one is starving. I had some banditry problems some month ago but they seem to have vanished without a trace."
"Well, about that...", I state wryly and tell him about what I had been up to over the year, his eyes nearly bugging out at some points of the story.
"It seems I will have to wall my village as well.", he mutters as he shakes his head. "We are not that close to the sea that ironborn are a real risk, but they have been known to raid inland before, not to speak of those others attacking you. You stand by me and I will by you, likely earning me some attention as well in the years to come."
"Possibly", I admit and sigh. "I have made a target of myself by success alone. All that is associated with me will be noticed as well I suspect….and thank you."
"You are welcome, my friend.", he smiles. We speak for half an hour more before moving to the main hall, where Brigitte can be seen speaking animatedly to her father, who looked like he had just been hit over the head with a fish. I chuckled, suspecting that he had just learned that the next generation was well on its way to make him a grandfather for the first time.
"Brigitte", I greeted her with a smile, "you are looking...radiant."
"I'd better", she replies with a smile, "there has to be something to make up for all the throwing up I have been doing."
"The reward is well worth it.", I chuckle and think back to my own children and the joy they had brought in my life even without their late mother. "Children are a gift and you will be enjoying every moment of it, I am sure."
Thorre snorts, having regained some of his composure. "Your children are not yet grown. Trust me, there will be moments where the only thing you want to do is wring their scrawny little necks."
The woman glowers at her father and I just continue to chuckle and shake my head before playfully turning to Bryle again. "You're sure about this?"
He smiles softly at his wife to be, "Aye, never been more sure of anything."
Brigitte smiles back just as tenderly and I leave them be, instead moving to a place at the table that had been set aside for me as I was feeling ravenous suddenly. Halfway through the meal the others join and a lively discussion regarding the tribes north of the wall ensures. I find it interesting to note that the Thenn were by far the biggest and also the most organized tribe to be found in the 'true' north, the geothermal activity in their home valley being the single most important reason for it. Where the other tribes were mostly forced by necessity alone to be nomadic at least in some form, the Thenn could actually do agriculture and sustain a larger population without risk of starving.
Because of this the other tribes often described them as cannibalistic out of sheer spite, well knowing that the Thenn would be the least likely to resort to eating human flesh as they had the best chances of sustaining themselves another way. The ice river clans were really the only ones to partake human flesh with any sort of regularity, the area they lived in not offering much beyond what they could hunt to feed themselves. It seems I had actually picked the fraction of the free folk most likely to be a good trading partner as I let the Thenns go some months back. If they made it home anyway, which was far from sure. On the other hand I had heard nothing of a larger group of Thenn being captured or put to the sword, so I felt reasonably confident that they had made it.
The talk ebbs and flows, soon turning to lighter topics before petering out as everyone retires to their rooms after a long day. We spent another three days in Bryles small keep before finding ourselves in front of the local weirwood. Brandon is dressed in his armor and a wide cloak, his staff always present at his side. Brigitte moves to his side wearing light leather armor instead of the traditional dress, the woman having outright refused to be seen as one of those 'southron weaklings', which did not make her any friends among the local women. Not that she cared all that much, hell bent on meeting her future husband on her terms. Despite any resistance she of course won in the end, being a lot more stubborn than any that might have stood in her way.
The ceremony is short and to the point, the feast afterwards long and raucous. Beer, wine and of course the Glóg I brought along flowed in liberal amounts and I truly let loose for the first time in years. I narrowly avoided being jumped by a pretty maid that had a passing resemblance to Jasana while all but drunk out of my mind and took that as reason to leave the feast for my room, two of my men helping me along as I had a lot of trouble walking in a straight or even greatly curved line. Bryle and his wife had disappeared hours ago, skipping the traditional bedding and straight moving for their matrimonial quarters.
The next morning was brutal, the hangover making me wince every time even the slightest noise assaulted my ears like a staring airplane. Light reflecting off surfaces caused me more pain than any battle I had fought in and each time I smelled food I turned green enough to be mistaken for a tree in full bloom. As I had done many times before I again swore off alcohol and anything resembling it before returning to my room to suffer in blessed silence. It took me the whole day to come back to myself and only after another night's sleep I felt remotely human again. In other words, by northern standards the feast had been a great success indeed.
Another three days later I am on my way back home, carrying a lot less baggage than we had been on the way to the Boyle stronghold. Next to the kegs of alcohol that had remained with my friend I had also gifted him one of my dragonglass daggers and a small strongbox of silver, both which he accepted gratefully. While he did not pay great attention to the legends behind the dagger he nonetheless felt honored at receiving a weapon with a lot of history. The silver would help him a lot more, potentially being the start of his own rise as he invested it again in some way. Like so often time would tell and even if he only stored it away for darker days I would not begrudge it as it was after all a gift.
Arriving home I find some news but little of it bad. My patrols had yet to encounter ironborn, brigands or other dangers after the last skirmish at my silver mine. It seemed my enemies at land and sea had withdrawn for now or reorientated their efforts to easier targets. I did not really care for the reason, taking the break as I could. There would be worse news before long, I was sure.
Ravens had also arrived, announcing the birth of Sansa Stark and Jeoffrey Baratheon. Seemed I had actually managed to miss the news of a royal wedding, how interesting. I just shrug at the missed information, as big as it might be, with medival news being what it was. Maybe the raven had been lost during transit or there had not been any in the first place with every merchant arriving thinking the wedding to be old news already and not mentioning it. Word of mouth worked in strange ways sometimes. I really hoped that Jamie had not been anywhere near the queen as the boy had been conceived, the political situation being unstable enough as it was even without taking any potential incest into account. More and more I could see the different blocks forming, splitting Westeros in two or three parts. To the north we had the north – no pun intended – joined by the Riverlands and the Vale by bonds of family and marriage. In the middle the Crownlands administered directly by the King, the Westerlands and the Stormlands controlled everything and could count on the support of the northern kingdoms as long as the bonds of friendship and fatherly affection between Eddard Stark, Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn held true. In the south the mighty Reach and Dorne made their nest, joined by the Targaryens of Dragonstone and their direct Vassals around the volcanic island.
Another interesting titbit of information had been the new home of Ashara Dayne and little Jon Sunstark, both finally having appeared again after all but vanishing from the public eye for some months. It seems the new seat of the newly founded house would be the settlement of Queenscrown in the new gift, their taxes going to the Night's Watch instead of the crown but otherwise they would administer the land as any other noble would. Mulling about it I found it to be a sound decision on Lord Stark's part, the fief being the northernmost he could give and as such as far away as possible from the Iron Throne while still being on this side of the wall. Revitalizing the settlement would also help the north as a whole and the Nights Watch in particular. The relocation of both Ashara and Jon to the "ass end of nowhere" had also likely the added benefit of appeasing Catelyn Stark and curtailing any attempts on the line of succession at the same time, Queenscrown being an important but also likely very slowly growing holding due its location in the extreme north.
Looking at the map I suppress a chuckle as I note that Last Hearth wasn't actually any longer the last hearth before the wall if one only counted noble dwellings. My grin turns even wider as I picture anyone trying to force the current Umber lord to change the name because it was actually plain wrong and not 'just' miss leading. Whoever had the balls to do so would earn my respect. Posthumously most likely, together with a Darwin award.
From the iron island there was no news even though my patrols continued to play cat and mouse with their longships, managing little more than driving them off before any more forests could go missing. Sadly I had not managed to repeat my earlier success or captured any more ships that I could add to my fleet. It seemed I would have to make do with what I had at hand, at least as long as my shipyard was yet not ready to build me ships on my own. Of course this would come in time as well.
As the year came to a close I prepared myself for another year of winter, the citadel not having sent word that the current one would come to a close anytime soon. Thanks to Jasanas efforts before her demise we continued to enjoy full or at least not close to empty larders, so I wasn't overly worried. Despite me having been part of Westeros for some years now I still could not quite accustom myself to this world's strange seasons. Winter and summer lasting for years just wasn't compatible with my brain for some reason, not that the weather cared about my feelings.
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