18 Chapter 18: The Mountains of The Vale

The people of Ironoaks who were simply minding their businesses were distracted by a rapidly approaching convoy. But all fears and worry vanished once they saw their banners.

The Grey Direwolf.

If there is one thing the people knew of the North aside from being the Lands of Always Winter, it would the name Stark and the reputation that precedes it.

Leading the convoy is Rickard Stark who was turning heads and receiving short bows from every person he passed on by. He has the countenance of a High Lord. His firm presence easily overshadowing any one around him. He has the air of a man whose words you would surely want to hear. And people are drawn to it, as despite his rugged exterior and furred clothes. His charisma drew their eyes and their voices were silenced not hoping to draw his attention aside from their small welcome.

Arriving at Ironoaks, he was greeted by Anya Waynwood who offered him guest rights and was then led to the castle.

"I thank you for your welcome my lady." said Rickard with such gentleness that continued to surprise the Lady of Ironoaks.

"Please Lord Stark, it is my honor to host you unto my home." she said softly

"A thanks never the less. Specially during such trying times."

"Yes, yes it is. But you need not fear Lord Stark. After all he is as well as he could be from what I hear."

"More than that my lady. I have read nothing but praise from Ser Arthas as the boy continued his squiring duties. That and it is a known fact that he is too honest to even bother lying about the appalling actions of Highlords and Heirs. It goes to show how far your son have gotten as he is only his squire." said Rickard but the hint of jest in his voice was a welcome one to Anya which slightly puts her at ease.

"Aye Lord Stark. Even my knights seemed to envy his growth. Still as a mother, I would have preferred it be somewhere a bit more... controlled."

"There is nothing controllable in war my lady. Let us simply be glad that by the time he returns, he will have the necessary tools that will help him prevail against dire times and more."

"Aye my lord ...you are right."

Arriving at the door to Arthas' room, they were let in by Sif herself. "I thank you for coming my Lord and Lady."

"Rise my dear. I have come for something that Arthas himself have promised. I simply came to ensure that this trade was worth it."

"I assure you both that it is." She then led them to a blanket draped over what is obviously a contraption. "As thanks for a warm welcome and reception of us Lady Waynwood, you shall have this" she said as she gestured to the contraption. "-under oath that only two copies of it will ever be made."

"Yes, yes, I have already agreed to this Lady Sif."

Sif then turned to Rickard. "And yours as thanks for housing those of the mountains under your banner and protection." Sif said as she handed a bundle of scrolls to the Old Wolf.

Rickard was baffled but simply reading the first few words already made him frown. 'Farming Techniques' and 'Farming Tools and how to use them' it said. "My dear, I highly doubt a knight would know more than the very farmers -who have lived entire generations and have passed on their practices to their sons- how to tend to their fields."

Rickard said with doubt pouring through every word. Mocking even, making Sif smiled coldly at Rickard which seems to only make the Old wolf frown even harder.

"I heard every Stark knows how the very bread on their tables came upon it." stated Sif.

"Aye my lady, as all Stark should. As all Northmen should."

"Then reading it all will tell you how much of a treasure those truly are." Rickard raised a brow at the mocking retort of the young Lady. It was bold...too bold. And it made him really curious. But before he could read more of the bundle of scrolls in his hand, his attention was dragged to the contraption that was unveiled underneath the blanket.

Rickard was sure it was a spinning wheel, only...bigger, wider and far more elaborate. The only reason he identified such was due to the wool and cotton wrapped around certain poles in the contraption.

"He called it 'The Spinning Jenny'. I cared not explain how so because he ended up on a tirade of mumbles once more. But if there is one thing I caught from him. Is this was said to have been a revolutionary invention. Let me show you."

Not long after, Rickard and Anya were stunned as Sif worked the machine. Their minds going over all the intricacies of it's creation but it's sole purpose was simply too hard to ignore. Outpacing the work of eight people and matched by one. And from the looks of it, it was done with ease too. The very effects it could have on their economy is staggering, frighteningly so. But the benefits easily drowned it all down.

Anya shakily asked. "C-Could we negotiate the construction of such a device to uhmm...well more?"

"I wish to know too." said Rickard with awe in his voice while grazing his hand at the machine.

"I will send a letter at once and inform you of his reply." Sif also added. "You need not worry about this invention getting out to other houses. The craftsmen built one part or three parts each. And he made sure that every piece has no correlation to one another. He personally put this together himself, away from prying eyes. So in the end, only both of your houses has knowledge of it's existence."

The two were still inspecting the machine with great effort, making sure to obtain as much detail as possible. Still Sif could tell they were paying attention specially with the firm gleam in their eyes.

The knew it was a race. People will wonder how their houses could produce fabrics with great speed and even if they manage to hide the secret of the machine for as long as they could. It would only be a matter of time before the citadel comes up with something. Something to lessen the gap. But before that could happen. That doesn't mean their Houses couldn't greatly benefit from it.

The device after all has a great advantage. Leave them all in the dust before the others could even get to the starting line.

Moments after Rickard could be seen holding the scrolls in his hands with great care, far from the dismissive hold he once had upon them. The same bundle that Anya couldn't help but sneak peeks at.

"Lady Sif, please inform Ser Arthas. House Stark would be delighted for such a wonderful gifts. And most definitely look forward for his safe return."

"As does house Waynwood my dear." added Anya.

"I shall pen it myself my Lord and Lady."

'pen?' Rickard thought. But decided to set it aside.

"This one will be in House Waynwood's care from here on in. The design for it will be personally delivered by me later in your privacy if you would." said Sif. Making Anya nod in acceptance.

"And yours my Lord is in a box still at my room, if you would accompany me." Sif said as she offered her arm. Which Rickard gently took.

Separating from Anya, they soon found themselves in the privacy of her room. Away from prying eyes, Sif asked.

"Lord Stark, Arthas has been greatly worried due to the lack of response from Lady Lyanna over the past moons. He had not pursued the subject due to the fact that people could still confirm that she is safe and sound in the Eyrie but I was hoping to receive some clarifications from you."

" *sigh*... sit down my lady. This may take a while." with that Rickard explained exactly what it is that happened during their stay at the Vale. Intercepting and burning letters for Lyanna was one thing, but preventing letters from reaching Arthas was another.

This things all together simply made too much of a mess for what was supposed to be a visit for establishing alliances in between Houses.

" *sigh*... I understand my lord."

"My lady, I do not mean to be rude to ask this of your Lord. But I believe it best that the letters cease for now. There is much to discuss and Robert is not making it easy for any of us."

"For how long my lord?"

"Six moons will do. It should be more than enough time for both me and Jon Arryn to come to an agreement regarding this vaunted alliance of his."

"That long my Lord?" Sif asked with concern.

"Fret not my lady, I have no desire to even entertain the idea of reigniting the union between Robert and Lyanna. This is merely for reputations sake. It hasn't been that long since the tourney, and yet many things have happened. But that is for us, the common folk would not be thinking that. And Lyanna being together with Arthas after only such a short amount of time could harm her name. I wish to spare her that."

'... criticism would still be coming down on her... Choosing a Knight over a Lord, of a great house at that. Best to spare her from as much pain as possible...' thought Rickard.

"I see, we also heard she had been improving well. Making quite a reputation for herself last I checked." said Sif.

"Hahaha! Aye, that is indeed the case. She is making men furrow their brows in confusion and sneer in derision and mock every time she trains." Rickard then smiled wider as he said. "And then shut them all up everytime she would put the Knights of the Eyrie on their asses."

"Any other troubles she finds herself to?"

"None Lady Sif. She is my daughter. Only fools may try."

Sif sighed in relief. "That is understandable. Thank you Lord Stark for your time." Sif said as she laid before him a box and a sword.

The silver crossguard with diamond shaped holes at each end, black leather grip and a white bone hilt with a snarling wolf motif. Unsheathing the blade from the black scabbard, Rickard saw an intricate wavy pattern on the blade that simply added to it's beauty. It was a beautiful Longsword and Rickard was all smiles as he gave it a few swing.

"It is finely made as it is beautiful my lady."

"My Lord would be pleased hearing your praise Lord Stark." said Sif with satisfaction in her voice.

~~~ Break ~~~

Morton could feel his muscle strain after every swing of his sword. His body burning and his eyes began to get blurry as more smoke filtered through the burning house he was in, trapped in a battle against a Mountain man whom he knew would cut him down if he turned and ran.

'steady yourself...and focus.' the soothing voice of his mentor seeped into his mind.

Following his mentor's teaching, he centered himself as best as he could. The fire had now risen to the walls and would soon reach the ceiling. He has to get through his opponent and then out lest he burn, burried within the slowly collapsing house or both.

The savage then swung his weapon down at him prompting Morton to dodge and weaved as he lacked the strength to guard against such heavy blows and he doubts he is skilled enough to successfully parry any of them.

As Morton dodged the wild swings of the deformed blade the Mountain man was wielding, he soon saw the man made one swing too heavy which he capitalized on and struck right at the man's neck. The savage raised his other arm in alarm and was able to painfully defend against Morton's sword that burried deep into his arm but Morton let go of the sword and slid behind the man, striking him from behind with his spare dagger. The blade found it's purchase at the savage's skull, killing him where he stood.

The man fell on his knees with a thud and his head bowed as his blood spilled to the ground. Morton pulled out his sword and then rushed back outside.

Stepping out, he was greeted by a macabre sight. The moonlight shining down on the burning village and there he saw several bodies strewn about on the ground, most of them coming from the Mountain Tribesmen. And not far from him are the Knights that had come for blood.

Each one of them were fighting with vigor and some even with outright hatred or anger. Killing the Mountain Tribesmen with little to no remorse in their eyes. It was a brutal image. Too brutal infact which was further emphasized once he saw what drive the men into a feral state.

A little girl, dead, tied to a pole. The blood between her legs were too much of an indication of what had befallen the poor girl that he threw up where he stood.

His attention was drawn as a Knight from Runestone kill another Mountain Woman by way of beheading. Morton could see the anguish in his eyes. As a tear streaked down his cheek. The two made eye contact and Morton saw sadness and a hint of pity within them. Only to be burned away by his reignited hatred.

The rushing knight made Morton return to reality and decided to rejoin the fray. He took a deep breath and steady his resolved.

'Let rage fuel you, but never let it control you.'

He swiped his father's longsword with a cloth, wiping off as much blood as he could and then rushed to nearest battle he could find.

Time moved unhindered and too quick for Morton's liking. And soon he stood amongs the men who were cheering as they watched his Teacher dance across the battlefield killing three of the ten men surrounding him with such ease. All three, dead, in a span of three seconds. And finally finished the battle in less than ten seconds more.

Morton felt his shoulders fall as his arms shook with fatigue. And yet the rush of victory flowed through his veins giving him enough strength to raise his cheer with the others. Right alongside the Knights of The Vale.

~~~ Break ~~~

Morton watched as men of all ages bowed in respect or outright slithered away from his teacher's ever growing presence as they inspected the men. And Morton understood why.

His incredible skill both inspired the men and frightened his dissenters.

Morton gazed upon those with looks of fear or hostility and committed every face and name into memory.

It has been Six moons since their first victory against the Mountain Tribesmen. And so far, they had destroyed ten camps, wiped out four tribes and integrated two unto the North.

Though there were those who wanted blood and demanded that they spare no one, that all ended when Ser Uther himself smashed the skull of one of the Redfort Knights for insubordination.

No one wanted to challenge the man and the very squires that surrounds the very person that leads them. They are after all, their key to success.

It took some time before the three contingent of Knights merged into one. But the driving force for the union was not what he had expected. Morton had thought it was only a matter of time before they all decided to fight together as they all had the same goal in the end. But he was wrong, so very wrong. They wanted glory and the other houses does not wanted to left behind by Ironoaks.

But reality is rarely kind.

What drove the unity of the Knights, turned out to be embarrassment or worst...shame.

Gawain and his expertise with a sword as long as he is tall was a sight to see. No savage could stand against him as he cleaves through them in a strike or two. His movements were like a hurricane, sharp in each transition allowing him to chain attacks despite the clear weight of his greatsword.

Percival was a more akin to an arrow. Piercing through his enemies with his spear utilizing his great speed as if he was launched from a bow. His movements were swift but firm allowing him to pierce through wooden shields and still strike the killing blow.

And then there is the two that stood out the most.

Mordred and her Longsword, fighting side by side with Bedivere with her two blades. Not only were the two of them in processions of great beauty that would have been desired by many men. Their very contrasting expression as they fight was not one that they could ignore.

Mordred fought with a manic grin that leaked her feral nature. And it showed in her opponents as they all had lost at least a limb before dying. None were given a swift death before her frightening and equally beautiful smile.

Bedivere though is a silver haired beauty. Many even thought her a Targaryen bastard if not for her eyes. Her face is stoic, unchanging and unmoved by anything she sees. She kills her enemies quick, sparing them as little pain as possible.

The two side by side was was too beautiful. But at the same time no one was brave enough to try their hands at them. That's just how unapproachable the two were in their eyes.

And then there is Tristan, who shoots his bow with a bored out of his mind expression on his face. An expression that has rubbed some of them the wrong way already. The least popular of them all despite his incredible accuracy.

And finally there is the powerhouse that is Arthas Menethil. Young, very young and had even been mistaken for a girl due to his androgynous beauty. So it was only natural that many voiced their doubts and concerns regarding his leadership.

But was stomped down by Ser Uther. As the veteran showed his experience and knowledge on leading men into battle.

This factors allowed the much smaller forces of House Waynwood to win victory after victory against the Mountain Clansmen. But the same cannot be said of the others, as the tribesmen capitalized on their strength that the other forces could not deal with, Guerrilla Tactics.

After suffering major losses and little to nothing to show for it. The knights chose to place themselves under Arthas' leadership making him the commander of their small army.

And as good as that is to hear, Morton and the others knew it wasn't so simple. This means that if they failed and lose, all of the weight and blame would also fall unto his shoulders. And these knights will get away free of any black mark upon their names.

This was why despite their united front, a clear divide has already been established. One between the Knights of Ironoaks who owe too much of the young Knight and the Knights of Redfort/Runestone.

And they all knew this divide, as Arthas left most of the command and delegating duties to his men and those of Ironoaks. Making the others amounted to something simple as additional swords.

"Morton...Morton!" Hearing his name snapped his attention forward.

"Yes ma'am!" *bonk!* getting bonked in the head Morton by Gawain. He rubbed his head as the others laughed slightly around him. It was the one thing that had to be beaten into him making him blush slightly.

'they have never told anyone about it...I'm just grateful for that.'

" *sigh* Look kid, I need you to organize the equipment's of the Knights from other houses once more. Repairs only! Anything too damaged, coordinate with those in supplies and have their equipments replaced. Can you still handle it." said Arthas.

"Aye Ser, I can." Morton nodded. He understood after all why he is appointed said duty. As the men would be more willing to cooperate to an Heir than a mere Knight.

Morton couldn't help but remember his father telling him how he was appointed in the supplies section. Far away from the battle.

It wasn't uncommon for Highborns to be in the safest and most guarded part of the army, away from the main conflict. But when this was pointed out, it tasted too sour for Morton's liking.

Reaping glory while doing nothing. That was what it meant to be highborns in war. Stories told of who led whom. Not the gruesome clash at the front lines. The pike men that had to take the blunt of the charging horses. And certainly not the ugly struggle in the dirt were men could barely differentiate friend from foe.

Just the man who led them to victory. Most likely atop his horse charging to battle and then leaving and waiting for another shot at glory.

Luckily for Morton, Arthas was not having any of that.

'You want glory right? Good! Now come, let's earn you that Glory!' his mentor said as he was marched to the front of their small forces and led the charge against the savages along side his mentor.

Morton would never say it, but he didn't roar forward. No...he screamed. Wondering what in the Seven hels was he doing there in the first place.

Thinking about it now, he could only smile as he shook his head due to his own childish stupidity.

His thoughts were cut short as a man came rushing towards them.

"My lord! A problem my lord!"

"What happened this time?" asked an exasperated Arthas.

"..m-my lord... The uhmm supplies we-were b-burned..."

"And the people I had appointed for it's safe keeping?"

"T-They uhhm. T-They joined the battle my lord..."

Morton gulped down his throat at seeing his teacher's eyes glow. And just like everyone else, he took a step back not wanting to get caught at the coming storm.

"Bring them to me." Cold and beyond question. That was what they all felt, almaking the poor knight bob his head as if it's about to fall off.