Ch-18: The Midnight Ambush

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"Aye, the idea is truly not bad even if it is coming from Alliser's mouth. I will write to him. I don't think he will let such an opportunity pass. Copper is never important, but it is always in short supply when you need it." Controlling his emotions, Jeor Mormont replied and went to collect ink and paper to reply to his son.

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With a hundred loyal warriors donned in armour and wielding sturdy steel swords and shields, Jorah embarked on his journey to Winterfell. There were three other boats carrying the gifts needed to honour their Lord and create a basis for the land exchange.

Yes, this meeting is not only to show their loyalty but also to facilitate the matter of Stoney Shores. So far, in the last three years, Bear Island has already occupied most of the land on stone shores and with the increase in population, more and more farmers and fishermen have been sent there.

However, the war is over and to make sure that this matter is legal, they need Lord Stark's permission and orders. The boat ride to Deepwood Motte was short; from there, the team galloped to their destination atop a hundred horses and carriages.

After a long journey, they decided to make camp in Wolfswood. The soldiers kindled numerous bonfires as the night grew darker, casting flickering light into the surrounding darkness.

In his tent, Jorah addressed Elros, the new commander of the small army. "Elros, did you sense it?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord," Elros replied. "The forest has fallen eerily silent around us."

"And?" Jorah inquired with curiosity.

"We should assume we are surrounded, my lord. It could be wildlings or bandits, perhaps both," Elros suggested.

"It cannot be wildlings. They wouldn't dare to attack at night with their feeble weapons and limited numbers. Bandits, too, are unlikely due to their inferior numbers," Jorah deduced.

"Then, my lord?" Elros pressed for an answer.

Jorah looked at Elros and spoke thoughtfully. "The army of northern lords returned a few months ago. But many northern lords lie forever buried in the south. What do you think became of their soldiers? And what about those who refuse to return to a life of serfdom and farming?"

Elros pondered for a moment, stunned by his own realization. "My lord, do you mean these are rebels?"

"More than a hundred men, confident enough to confront us and patient enough to wait for so long. They must possess sufficient training and experience. There is no other explanation.

These rebels have been lurking here for months, and we stumbled upon them. It is simply unfortunate luck," Jorah explained, taking a sip of his ale. He then signalled to Elros, who instantly understood it as a call to arms.

Elros Cave, a man of twenty years with a short beard and black hair, was not particularly tall compared to others. However, his robust arms and legs commanded a powerful presence on the battlefield.

He had displayed great talent with a sword, had an impressive record in command, and carried a recommendation from the master-of-arms, Stephon. Yet, he had never led a true battle. All his abilities existed only on paper; he still needed to prove his mettle.

"I entrust the upcoming battle to you. How you deal with these rebels is your choice. I shall only emerge once the battle is over," Jorah announced.

"I am grateful for your trust, my lord," Elros responded with excitement. He left the tent, brimming with anticipation, to lay down the trap. Meanwhile, Jorah could only unsheathe his sword and polish it, murmuring to himself, "I hope these men will put up a good fight. At least... a few of them shall meet their end."

Jorah murmured and kept polishing his sword but his heart was a little turbulent. Losing men, that too, well-trained soldiers is always a pain but there is no battle without bloodshed.

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In the depths of Wolfswood, a little distance away from Jorah's camp, over a hundred impoverished soldiers hid among the snow and beneath the cover of trees. They moved cautiously, speaking in hushed tones as they made their way towards the camp. These rebels were led by a middle-aged man named Simon the Beast.

Simon Porter had once been the squire and cupbearer of Lord Willam Dustin. At times, he even commanded their small army. He had ridden alongside Lord Dustin and his men during their rebellion against their liege, Ned Stark. Simon fought bravely, claiming the lives of many foes and narrowly escaping death himself.

However, while he survived the war, his lord perished. Returning to Barrowton would mean facing charges of dereliction of duty, failing to protect his lord, and worse, fleeing from the battle. The punishment for such crimes was beheading.

Simon cherished his life and chose to fight his own war. This rebellion was his last resort. But when an unknown lord intruded upon his territory, he had no choice but to gather his men and take a gamble. He had to fight, hoping to survive or become a homeless bandit.

Today, after hours of waiting, he gave the signal at the hour of the wolf.

"Turrrr….."

"Turrrr…."

Strange whistling sounds like mimicking a bird suddenly went off outside the camp and they fell on the silent tents where the unknown Lord's soldiers should be sleeping.

"Swish!"

"Swish!"

"Swish!"

Strange whistling sounds mimicking birds suddenly filled the air, and arrows rained upon the camp where the soldiers of the unknown lord should have been sleeping peacefully.

Rebels armed with swords and axes charged towards their prey, their wolf-like howls and wild cries filling the forest. However, their assault was met with the roar of bears.

"Ou!"

"Ou!"

"Ou!"

A hundred voices simultaneously echoed with unwavering passion, causing the rebels to halt their reckless charge. They stood dumbfounded as soldiers adorned in armour emerged from their tents.

"They were prepared and lying in wait for us! It's a trap!" realization struck most of the rebels before they witnessed the soldiers swiftly taking their positions and descending upon them like ravenous predators.

The soldiers fought in small groups, with each member guarding their comrades' backs, exhibiting a fearless onslaught. Most of these soldiers could face four or five men alone and still fight effortlessly.

Simon watched helplessly as his men were mercilessly slaughtered. As he shouted and urged his comrades forward, fear weakened their legs. The rebels in the front fell without much effort, and only then did the rest attempt to fight back.

"Kill them!" Simon bellowed, but this proved to be a fatal mistake. An arrow suddenly pierced through the air, finding its mark in Simon's throat.

Simon couldn't believe he had been struck until he fell to the ground and touched his bleeding neck, realizing the extent of his foolishness. "It was all in vain," were his final thoughts before he closed his eyes forever. With Simon's death, the rebels lost their backbone and began to flee.

"After them!" Elros exclaimed with excitement, but his enthusiasm was met with Jorah's resounding order. "Halt! Clear the battlefield and secure the camp!"

Jorah swiftly put an end to the recklessness before it spiralled out of control. Chasing an enemy who fled for their lives in the dark forest at the darkest hour was nothing more than offering their heads as a gift.

Thus far, the soldiers had performed flawlessly, and Elros had proven his worth. However, his eagerness for victory and his lack of battlefield experience were evident. Thankfully, the old gods showed favour, none of their own had perished thus far.

The rebels fled, saving their lives but losing their inaugural battle and the spirit of rebellion that bound them together. Many would blend in with other serfs, becoming new villagers in different territories.

Yet, Jorah had no concerns about their fate. He ordered his men to prepare for departure the following day, and their horses galloped towards Winterfell. Unbeknownst to him, a small group of rebels would later join a caravan travelling from White Harbor.

This extensive caravan carried a wealth of precious items and employed numerous labourers, presenting a tempting opportunity for the rebels. They only desired to steal a few valuables before making their escape.

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