Chapter Thirty Eight

Tenth day, Tenth Moon, 250 AC

I kicked the ground, angrily, before I plopped down.

I watched the soldiers start to set up camp, but I made no move to help.

Fuck them. If they're forcing me to come, they can damn well do everything themselves.

Oh, sorry. Not forcing, of course, it's just that Lord Glover is sure that Lord Stark would want to talk to me personally. Can't take a letter or a message, no sir.

A nearby soldier asked for my help in setting up a tent, and I moved to help him before I realized I had. I paused for a moment, then went to help him and let out a sigh.

It wasn't the soldiers' fault. They were doing their jobs and were not trying to be malicious. It wasn't right for me to take my anger out on them.

When the villagers, Koryn and I arrived at Deepwood Motte, we quickly explained why we had men in chains with us. Master Glover came down to talk to us and got the story from each of us. We asked him if he could arrange the transportation to the Wall or Lord Stark for us so that we could go back to our village and start recovering.

Master Glover agreed to let two of us go back, while he thought the rest should continue to Winterfell to report in person. Master Glover's soldiers would accompany us, so we would not have to take care of the prisoners, but that was a small consolation.

Koryn, Vestrit and I continued to follow the soldiers to Winterfell, so far, without significant issue. On our way to Deepwood, there was one minor incident. Apparently, one of the prisoners got a bit mouthy to Vestrit, and another of the villagers accidentally let loose an arrow and shot the prisoner in the arm. I wasn't there, but I can only imagine that Vestrit instigated it. Vestrit had yet to come to terms with what happened, and it was eating away at him. The other villager seemed remorseful that he accidentally shot his bow, but he didn't lay any blame at Vestrit's feet. I was careful to keep Vestrit away from the prisoners, or at least not left alone with them, but it was a difficult task since we were all on the road together.

The two men we were able to send back promised to deliver messages from Koryn and me, and we promised to see if we could get help from Lord Stark to rebuild. Koryn suggested that Lord Stark may be amenable to giving us some gold to purchase supplies and some goods like he did to get the bridge rebuilt. I was less optimistic – I thought it more likely that Lord Stark appoints more supervision in the area and a more onerous burden for the people living in the area as well. Likely a Masterly house to watch over the general area, as the Glovers do for the Wolfwood.

I was undecided on how to best proceed. How could the village and the surrounding area be made safe? Fortifying the village would be extremely costly, and if we fortified it, we would have to train or hire men to stand guard. If we do that, our food production would need to increase further. And if there were two Ironborn boats next time? Three? At which point are we protected?

Perhaps we could get the villagers to practice with archery or spears, but if they are taken by surprise, what good would that do?

And that does little to address the outlying farms. Building a wall around my house would do little, especially against determined attackers. Even grouping all the farmers' homes into a new fortified, mini-village, it would run into the same problems as fortifying Redbridge would.

While nowhere near the same scale, it seemed like the Ironborn problem was similar to the Saxons raiding England in the early medieval age. Though, they sounded much more similar before the arrival of Aegon.

I paused in helping the tent set up for a moment, causing the soldier to look at me in curiosity. I waved him off and went back to work.

That was interesting. It was like a medieval England equivalent. Was this one of those science fiction movies, where someone is sent to an alternate dimension? Where the Saxon equivalents did not take over, but were driven off?

Did I remember my history correctly? The British were also called Anglo-Saxons, were they not? Because the Angles and the Saxons won? And the later Vikings were driven off?

I racked my brain trying to think of other clues to this alternate dimension theory. Dragons were a definite no. But what could have been the old Valyrian Empire? Rome, perhaps? Valyrians did have pasta and slaves – like the Romans. But Valyrians weren't known for their armies, but for their dragons. They could have been like Romans, but the introduction of dragons changed their focus?

Without any damn libraries, trying to figure this out might be impossible. Maybe Winterfell has some good storytellers?

There was a lot that seemed similar on the surface, but I lacked information. The Dornish seemed Spanish, but I was pretty sure that they fled from the Valyrians – whereas the Spanish were a product of the Romans? Or was that just the land and the Spanish peoples were from elsewhere?

Oh well. The alternate dimension theory was the closest thing I had to a somewhat educated guess, which was pretty sad, now that I thought about it since I had been here for forty years. I wasn't sure how knowing that would help me any, but it would be nice to figure out what happened to me, and why. I didn't want to go back to Earth and abandon my family, but being able to go back and acquire some luxuries?

That's the stuff my dreams are made of.

I was starting to feel my age as well, though recent events probably made me feel worse than I should have.

After the camp had set up, and dinner started, I stared into the fire, wondering what Winterfell would bring me.