Chapter 22: Home and Honor

Uther stood face to face with someone he had only grown to hear about during his time at his homeland.

Robert Baratheon. The whoremonger drunkard of Storm's End. Even in his youth, his prowess for combat had always been outshone by his whoring habits and reputation in drinking. Now face to face with the man, he could only do his best to keep a neutral face.

"Did you not hear me old man! I said I was ordered to lead every single knight of the Vale and end this farce once and for all!" bellowed Robert.

"And as I have told you before Lord Baratheon. You may but most will not join you. We are neither your Knight's nor the Vale's but most importantly is the fact that we currently have too many rescuees and injured among us. It is imperative that they be bought down from the mountains."

With gritted teeth he decided to simply let it slide. "If that is the case then leave the Mountain but I want half your forces. I have a job to do here."

Uther bowed and walked away with the feeling of anger boiling beneath his skin. And for the sake of his Lord and themselves he had decided to leave, not wanting to be within sight of the Stag any longer.

"You look like a stormlander." said Robert making Uther pause as he looked back. "You have the build for it too."

"Aye my lord. I am." Uther answered.

Robert smiled then and said. "Good! I could use someone clearly as skilled as you in my ranks."

"No offense my lord but I do not take orders from you." Uther responded.

With wide eyed surprise turning into a scowl Robert said. "You are a Knight of the Stormlands! You do! answer to me!"

"That would have been true if I were a Knight of the Stormlands in which case is I am not. I was knighted at Ironoaks, Lord Baratheon. My allegiance does not belong to you."

"Fine! OUT WITH YOU THEN!"

Uther walked briskly to the hut and stepped in. He removed his cloak and then wrapped it around Arthas'. "The Storm Lord is here. Hide him and keep him afar from them." he whispered. He then turned to Tristan. "Prepare the men, we march home." to which Tristan nodded and left.

He then looked to Mordred and Bedivere. "Keep your hoods up, and your chest plates cloaked." Receiving another nod, Uther then moved outside to make room for Arthas amongs the carts.

Less than an hour later and with a bit of effort. They had managed to smuggle Arthas into one of the carts surrounded by the wounded men, out of sight and out of mind.

Within the safety of their groups and away from the Stormlord's eyes. They marched downward, refusing to hand over any supply while hiding the loot at the same time. Except for a few Knights of Runestone and Ironoaks that stayed behind, with each one receiving additional arms for spares.

And even though the Stormlord showed suspicion, he didn't act upon it as no one dared try to gain his attention. Aside from Mordred who glares at the Baratheon's back from time to time, which led to being bonked in the head by Percival whenever she did so.

They traveled through the day and was about to rest for the night, when a boy came running towards Uther.

"My lord! He is awake my lord! His awake!"

His words caused those around him to scramble to their feet and promptly rushed out.

Arriving beside Arthas who's hand is gently held by Mordred, Uther spoke. "My Lord ...rest for now. We will soon have you home."

With Mordred's assistance, Arthas weakly turned to Uther and asked. "U-Uther... my men..." despite the weakness in his voice there was grief in it that was felt by all who heard. Even more so to the rescuees.

He paused for a moment but answered still, as softly as he could. "12 survived my lord. I'm sorry."

All who watched felt their heartbreak as his eyes hollowed for a moment. Seemingly losing the strength that once filled it. With a tear streaking down his face, Arthas said. "...I want all of them home Uther. I marked their graves, I want them all home..."

Uther understood and nodded as he answered. "As my Lord Commands. Now please, rest."

With his message delivered, Arthas succumb to his slumber.

Uther sighed knowing that he had to do it. They had been forced to leave behind the battle, and since they won't be participating on the final battle or the conclusion of it all. It also means that these men would most likely lose out on the glory they had earned. The very least they could do now, was bring them home so that they may be burried with honors, close to their families and their homes.

It was time consuming and difficult, as no one can last long enough to drive a cart full of decaying bodies. But surprisingly they were making great progress. Despite the stench, everyone seemed to endure the situation. Out of respect, grief or guilt, Uther could not tell but in all honesty he is simply greatful for their patience.

Their march was peaceful as they rested at night, ate and drink with no worry of supplies going out. Their sleeps were peaceful, with a few beast adding to the meat and nothing else thanks to the guards.

There was only one thing that truly kept him at night. Arthas had yet to wake up since. It was worrying and since he had yet to wake up, they had to crush and boil the food into a soup before slowly pouring it down his throat. It was the only way they could feed him after all.

One moon, that was all it took to get down from the mountains, go around other settlements and go straight for Ironoaks. Everyone was helping as none wanted their overdue stay to last any longer than it already has.

After an ardous journey, they laid their eyes upon their destination. Ironoaks is finally close enough for them to see.

As soon as they arrived they walked in with little to no fanfare. They marched with the exception of the fallen that they chose to leave a short distance away. Though not ideal is still a preferred choice rather than allowing the growing stench to reach the people's noses.

In contrast to their somber mood however, were the mood of the people in Ironoaks. They were greeted by a small but warm welcome. A warm welcome that dwindled down as soon as they saw what little remained of the survivors. It wasn't long until there was a collective cry in the masses at not seeing their loved ones amongs them. This was the final nail in the coffin that led to the grave atmosphere that engulfed Ironoaks and it's people.

A night that grew darker as Arthas himself was carried by Uther to the castle. Their brave Champion looked barely alive. A testament to the hardship and trials they had gone through.

Their arrival back home, signalled the end of the conflict with the Tribesmen of the Mountains of The Vale. And despite their achievements, felt nothing more than defeat.

~~~ Break ~~~

Morton stood at the balcony of his room, overlooking the town that sprawled just outside of their castle walls.

He stood there with tears in his eyes as he looked down and listened. The cries of those left behind, echoing through the silence of the night. His heart clenched at the overwhelming anguish that flooded his ears. And it ached even more as he was made to realize that there is little he could do for them.

His face then hardened and his fist clenched tight as he remembered what had just transpired.

He had personally ordered that the bodies of the fallen be cleaned and so they were all bought into castle to be treated by the Maester. He did the best he could do but in the end it was decided to give them a proper burial that very same day.

The families grieved for the fallen and raged against the Lords of the Lands for allowing it. It was an image he knew too well, remembering how his father was glared upon by his own people. It was a misplaced hatred. One he cannot deny as he himself had felt the same way towards others after all.

But he cannot apologize because to do so would be to deny the men their honor, to deny their duty and their sacrifice. So just like his father, he endured.

The only difference now, was that he planned to give the families with proper compensation for their sacrifice aside from what was already promised to them. He knew their anger will fade away, like it always does once the truth of their duty settles into their hearts and minds. But he hopes to ease their worries at the very least, so he decided to give more than what was expected of him.

"You are to be Lord aren't you? As painful as it is to accept, more will always be expected of you... believe me. I am still learning. And the hard way too."

These were the words of his teacher and he hopes to abide by it.

Now he only hopes his letter was able to succeed where he failed.

"You should not have done that my son." said his mother as she stood by him.

"I did what I believed what was right mother. Not even you could convince me that I was wrong in this."

"No you aren't, but there is a time and place for everything. And you stirring up the nest during these times isn't right."

"What would you have had me do? Be silent?"

"Be patient. We are living in troubled times. And you need all the allies you could get. Sending such strongly worded letter to Lord Arryn does not paint you in good light."

"I know mother... why do you think I asked for the maester to write the names of the Knights of Runestone and Redfort into the parchment as well."

Anya was surprised at his words and then smiled softly at the news.

"I see, well done my son." she said with both relief and pride, one her son clearly felt as he smiled back at her. He then stepped in to his mother's embrace hoping to simply stay there.

Anya was surprised at how fast his son had grown. She had initially been fearful for him after he told her of his letter to House Arryn, basically reminding him whos houses were the ones who had fought and died for the glory his foster son is about to harvest.

She knew then that it was not going to end well. The Baratheon Lord's ire towards Arthas Menethil was not a secret. As the man had always been vocal about it, even more so when he drowned himself deeper unto his cups.

It was obvious why Jon Arryn sent the Baratheon Lord himself. It was simply to appease the Stormlord and as much trust as the falcon has on the Whoremonger of Storm's End, she knew that was only going to happen if he is allowed to tarnish Arthas' reputation. With how petty he was, she knew this to be a forgone conclusion.

What the High Lord of The Vale failed to consider though is the Knight's growing notoriety. Horton Redfort and Yohn Royce had expressed their desire to meet the young Knight. And based on her conversation with the Lord Redfort, she knew that the Lord wishes nothing but to express both gratitude and extend a hand of friendship with the young man. If this was how House Redfort was reacting, she can only imagine how a boisterous and proud warrior like Yohn Royce would react to a man that had more than proven his mettle and is sung in nothing but praises by his men.

And then there is her, her house is growing in wealth with the use of the very devise he had designed for her as a 'gift'. Not mention the lives he had saved within her domain. Related she may be to House Arryn, she would not be able to ignore the voices of the people and she just knew they would rally to his side if it ever come down to it.

And that was just The Vale. That is still ignoring his too close of a tie with House Stark.

She sighed in her son's embrace. She truly hopes her letter reaches Jon Arryn first. It would not do well for them to be divided now after all.

"Mother." Morton said.

"Yes son?"

"Thank you, for everything."

Anya was stunned and then asked with worry. "Where is this coming from Morton?"

He smiled sadly and said. "Just me. I went through a lot in those mountains. Seen more than any man should. It may not have been some great or grand war but... it felt enough for me. Enough to make me realize a lot of things.... one of which is how I had taken your love for me for granted. I am sorry for that, but most of all... Thank You."

Anya held her tears as she held his cheek, finally seeing for the first time how much her son has truly grown. It was something she never thought would happen anytime soon. But seeing how far apart who he is to who he once was is truly elating. Not knowing how to react to her son's growth she simply embraced him instead. Relishing in her son's return.

All across Ironoaks, the men who had fought for nearly a year far from home were all sitting comfortably in the embrace of everyone they had fought for, the loved ones they had thought to never see again. Both relief and heart ache warred within them all as they all listened to the cries of those who had gone to the Light of the Seven.

~~~ Break ~~~

A top one of the finest suites of the castle laid Arthas. His frail form is surrounded by his own, friends and family all together.

On his left laid Sif holding his head against her breast while combing her hands across his newly cleaned hair. Cersei embraced him from the right and Mordred has her head laid atop his abdomen, both of whom continued to play with his fingers.

And while the four laid atop the bed with their newly cleaned beloved, the other squires and Uther were spread around the room. Each one as tired as the other to the point that they had all fallen asleep and despite wearing far more comfortable clothes, they still held their weapons at hand.

Sif could only sigh sadly as she gazed down at her Lord's gaunt face. So weak, so frail, so... vulnerable. It was a haunting sight for her. She after all had only seen his undaunting figure, even in the face of Great Houses and adversities. She had grown so used to his near Godlike prowess that the very image she sees now, nearly shattered that purview. A reminder that he is still human.

It was at that moment that she had decided to take an initiative. One that would help him in the future and to keep him safe most of all.

'It would be a grueling endeavor but it would all be worth it. Don't worry my little Lord. Rest and know that you are safe and sound.'

~~~ Break ~~~

Up the Mountains of The Vale. Robert had just led his men of three thousand strong to a successful victory against a whole slew of Tribesmen. He had given chase to them but over time, they had failed to catch them in the woods.

Despite the underwhelming victory he had decided to have the men celebrate. After all many were disappointed to have nothing. No spoils, not even women as all of them savages either killed those of the Vale or those who died fighting against his men.

The latter though was negligible as they were too ugly to begin with.

And so while him and his men toasted and feasted with merry, in the shadows of the woods loomed their enemies. Watching them, observing them.

And what they saw made them smile.

Bjòrn son of Beòrn snuck behind one of the Knights who had come too close to relieve himself. Clenching his hand against the Knight's mouth and a blade to the throat ended slowly spilled his life. Slowly he dragged the body to the cover of the night all the while keeping an eye to the celebration in front of him.

With each step he felt warm, with each step he felt excitement, with each shadow that passed he felt relief and joy and finally hidden a fair distance once more, a smile graced his features. His jaw nearly aching as his smile reached from ear to ear. And then he felt it... a pleasant flow that tickled his spine. He knew than that against these men... they could win.

He then looked to his left, the visage of his tribesmen not far away from him and whispered.

"...inform the tribe, we hunt, we thin them out, and we feast..."

The Burned Men have been starving, and they just gave them all the meat they could ask for.

~~~ Break ~~~

Jon Arryn laid down the scroll he was reading as he leaned back then sunk further into his chair.

He sat in his solar with the temperament that had accompanied him for quite a long while now. Weariness.

He is feeling tired with all that is happening around him. There was supposed to be only one agenda for him to be overlooking over. He was supposed to try and reestablish the union between his foster son Robert and the daughter of House Stark, Lyanna.

But that endeavor had proven pointless now. No matter in which Jon tried to approach the situation there is always one issue that pops up, causing untold problems down the line. And that was Robert himself.

After the fiasco with the Stark girl's letter, the complete rejection that the Baratheon Lord was subjected to afterwards caused him to throw a tantrum and act like a petty child.

'Infact it would have been better had he acted like a child.' Jon Arryn thought.

Jon grimace remembering how he arrived to visit the Stark girl himself at one time only to hear the laughter and squeels from Robert's room. Turning to the door of his destination he stood horrified seeing Lyanna Stark glaring coldly at the door right next to hers.

Robert had acted with such impudence that he had decided to bed whores right next to Lyanna Stark's room.

And it was all down hill from there.

The alternative was to create a formal alliance with House Stark at the off chance that the betrothal be completely discarded. But of course he himself is not sure it would be wise for the Vale.

The Stark Lord is fully aware of all the happenings of the castle and his family most of all. The gossips alone would be a scandal that would ruin his House's image. And house Stark knows it all.

'...who in their right mind would go into a negotiation with nothing to offer after all ...' Jon thought.

He can't negotiate, if he did, it would be more of House Stark demanding and House Arryn acquiescing. No that was unacceptable. The only good thing about House Stark's presence as of the moment is the fact that the Lord still seems to truly want the alliance.

'But not without it's benefits of course.' Jon thought. And he is right, it was only natural that the wolf want his benefits from the deal...mainly, House benefits.

All of this together should have been the only thing he should be addressing above all else. But it seems the Gods have a grudge against him.

What he relieved to be but a few skirmishes of Houses Redfort, Royce and Ironoaks had turned out to be a full blown war within the mountains itself.

For some reason, these three houses had succeeded where generations of Valemen had failed. The extermination of the Tribesmen.

Spearheaded by none other than Arthas Menethil himself. His accomplishments had now spread throughout the Vale. But it wasn't just him, The Knights of Ironoaks, Redfort and Runestone were also receiving their fair share of acknowledgements.

This though good for the people of the Vale is bad for it's political landscape. This intense windfall and complete and seemingly endless flow of success has bought the Three Houses above the rest.

And that is not to mention the ever growing name of the young foreigner. The Champion of The Vale. An insane title, but almost every commonfolk was whispering it. And worst is the fact that none of the Three Houses denied it, further solidified the claim.

He had thought to try and curb the situation to his favor. And so he gathered the Knights of The Vale. For what he declared, as one final push against the Mountain Savages.

But now, he could only regrets that decision. In front of him sat the latest report of the last outrider from the Mountains of the Moon.

Robert has seemingly lost a quarter of his forces overnight. And they don't know how.

"It's happening again, the night of the hunt."

The red night that engulfed the mountains, where Knights are prey and men are beast.