Prince Vorian and the Arrows

Prince Vorian is now remembered as a holy man, who now spends eternity in the shadow of the seven, or so the Septons tell me. Forever singing the praises of the One Above, for all eternity. Cadwyn tells me it would be an ecstatic existence but I think it would be very dull. The Northmen reckon their dead are returned to the earth and go to the quiet isle, the land beyond death, where enemies in life become drinking partners and shield brothers in death. It's there they spend their days fighting and their nights feasting.

I dare not say to the Septons that this seems like a much better way to spend the afterlife than singing the praises of deities for all time. I once asked a Septon if there were any women in the Seven Heavens. "Of course there are my Lord, many of the most holiest in the eyes of the Seven were women." He replied with a smile as I was finally asking about faith. "I mean women we can hump Septon." He did not answer, just said he would pray for me. Perhaps he did.

I do not know how holy Prince Vorian was, he was a fool however, I knew that much. He had given the Northmen refuge before Duskendale, as well as coin, horses and steel weaponry. All on the two promises that they would leave Dorne come the moons turn and that they wouldn't harm a single Sept. They kept those promises but now, two years later and much stronger the North has returned. Prince Vorian had decided to fight them, he had seen what had become of the Westerlands, the Riverlands and the Stormlands and must have knows his own kingdom would suffer the same fate and so he called his banners, and marched to battle.

First he faced us at the sea then getting news that Elric had made it through the Princes Pass he turned his force around and marched to meet him. Beorn them took our fleet up the Brimstone river until the channel was so narrow our oars could not be used, then men towed the boats, wading through waist deep water until we could go no farther. It was there we left the ships under guard and followed rocky paths through the hot, dry land until at king last we came to higher ground.

No one knew where we were exactly only that if we kept marching north we had to reach the Princes Pass where Vorian marched to confront Elric. Beorn meant to cut that road, trapping him between our forces and Elrics army. Which is exactly what happened. Elric fought him, shield wall against shield wall and we knew none of it until the first Dornish deserters streamed south only to find another shield wall waiting for them. They scattered rather than fight us.

We advanced and from the few prisoners we learned Prince Vorian was too late to trap Elric in the Princes Pass, where victory would have been easy and instead they faced outside the valley at a hilltop where Elric beat him, but suffered losses as the Sword in the Morning took control of the battle nearly breaking Elric's lines. That news was confirmed the next day when the first rider fr Elric's forces reached us. Prince Vorian fled, Dorne was a vast land and he could have found refuge in countless fortresses or he may have fled to the Reach.

Instead he placed his faith in the Seven and hid in a Sept north of Kingsgrave protected by a single round tower known as the Tower of Joy. The Sept wasn't on most maps and was in the red mountains so Vorian might have thought no one would ever find him or that the Seven would shroud the Sept in a perpetual fog in which the pagans would get lost. The fog never came, we did. Beorn Break-Bone, Harrion Half-Giant and Elric Umber, the theee brothers took half their army to Kingsgrave, named after the fallen King of the Reach who attempted to invade centuries ago. The other half of the army set out pacifying Dorne.

That meant reaving, burning and killing until the smallfolk submitted. So it was that Dorne fell as easily as the Westerlands the only major consequence apart from the losses at the beach and in the Pass was that there had been unrest in the Riverlands. Rumours spoke of some kind of revolt, Northmen killed. Elric wanted that dealt with quickly. But Beorn would not dare leave Dorne so quickly after taking it and so made a proposal to Vorian. He would remain Prince as Lambert remained King of the Rock.

The meeting was held in the Sept at the Tower of Joy, which was a surprisingly large hall with timber walls and wooden rafters. On the walls there were leather panels with tales painted in them. One had cold beings made of ice, that caught Elric's attention. "The Others." He said shuddering. "Who?" I asked, I knew some of it but not nearly as much as I'd like. "They bring the end, The Long Night. The Last Hero defeated them then had his first son, Brandon the Builder. But they will come again and engulf the world in ice." He shivered again and touched his Weirwood amulet.

Another depicted the landing if the Rhoynar led by Nymeria but Elric cared little for that one. The third and final one however did catch his attention, it was situated behind the bronze busts of the Seven and depicted a man, tied to a stake being shot with flaming arrows. Almost half a dozen flaming arrows had punctured his white flesh but he still had a holy look about him and a secret smile as though despite the arrows and the fire he was quite enjoying himself.

"Who is that?" Elric wanted to know. "Septon Alec." Vorian was seated in front of the alter and it was his interpreter that provided the answer. Elric, staring at the painting, wanted to know the whole story. Vorian told the story of how Septon Alec went to Volantis and tried to convert the people form the religion of R'hllor to the faith of the Seven and how the Red Priests called for Septon to be shot full of flaming arrows. "Yet he lived, he lived because the Seven Above protected him and may they be praised for that mercy." Vorian said eagerly.

"He lived?" Elric said suspiciously. "So the Red Priests had him clubbed to death with flaming mauls." The translated said finishing the tale. "So he didn't live?" Elric asked confused. "He lives forever in the Seven heavens." Vorian said and Beorn interrupted, wanting the concept of the Heavens explained to him and Vorian went on counting their wonders. However Break-Bone spat in disgust when he realised the Heavens were just the Quite Isle without any of the fun "And you southerners want to go to these heavens?" Beorn asked in disbelief. "Of course." Vorian said and Beorn scoffed at that.

The three brothers were attended too by as many warriors that could fit into the hall while Vorian had his sword sword who was without his weapons and a Septon and all listened as Beorn proposed the settlement. Prince Vorian could live and rule Dorne but the chief fortresses must be garrisoned by Northmen and land must be given to them. Prince Vorian would also be expected to supply the army with horses, food, coin and steel. Further his army would match under Northern orders. Vorian was young and had yet to sire a son but his chief supporters would give up sons as hostages.

"And if I say no?" Vorian asked, Elric was amused by that. "We take the land anyway." He said with a laugh. Prince Vorian consulted with his Septon and with his Sworn Sword. Vorian was a tall man, and thin. He had short balck hair and a cropped black beard and he had the olive skin of the Dornish. He looked aged by stress but he was only twenty years old yet he looked twice that. His father was a mighty man who fought bravely in Essos, Vorian in comparison was weak and foolish.

"What of the Septs?" Vorian finally asked. "What of it?" Harrion Umber asked. "Your men have burned Septs, killed Septons and Septas, stolen the tribute to the Seven and desecrated holy ground." The Prince was angry now, one of his hands was clenched on the arm of his chair that was set before the alter and his other hand was a fist that beat in time with his accusation. "Your Gods cannot take care of themselves?" Harrion asked in mocking.

"Our Gods are mighty! The creators of the world yet they also allow evil to exist to test is." Vorian said and the interpreter relayed it to the Northmen. "Perhaps you failed the test then?" I enquired when I should have kept quiet and I may have been punished if Harrion Half-Giant did not find it amusing and burst out booming laughter. "Our Gods brought you! Heathens form the North!" He thundered.

"You can keep your Septs!" Elric said carelessly but it was not enough so Vorian stood to give his next words more force. "I will rule here and I will suffer your presence if I must and I will give you all you demand but only if all your men submit to the Seven who are One. You must be blessed in the Seven Oils and remade in the Light of the Seven." He insisted but the brothers stared blankly as they did not know anything about southern practices after a moment of silence Beorn looked to me for clarification.

"You have to stand in a barrel of water, then they pour more water over you, then they anoint you with oils." I said remembering what Cadwyn had done to me when I was renamed Durran in Light if the Seven. "They want to wash me?" Beorn asked in disbelief and I shrugged. "That's what they do Lord." I said. "You will enter the Light of the Seven." Vorian insisted then shot me an irritated look. "We can do it in the river, barrels aren't necessary." He insisted but I doubt it was the barrels that had Beorn confused.

I explained that to the brothers and they laughed. Elric thought about it, standing in a river was to so troublesome, especially if they could hurry back to the Riverlands to deal with the uprising there. "And I can go on worshiping the Old Gods once you've washed me?" Elric asked. "Of course not! There is only the Seven and you must serve him!" Vorian snapped.

"But we are winning?" Harrion explained slowly as if talking to a child. "Which means our countless Gods of the Forrest are beating your Seven." Beorn added with a snarl. "Your Gods are false! Turds shat form the Seven hells to bring evil while the Seven are all powerful, all knowing, all merciful!" Vorian ranted at them as if that would do anything because they were right, they were winning. "Show me." Beorn whispered menacingly, that brought silence to the hall.

Prince Vorian, his Septon and his Sworn Sword stared at him in confusion. "Prove it!" Beorn bellowed and the Northmen murmured their support of the idea. Prince Vorian blinked at him, clearly at a loss for inspiration until he pointed to the leather panel depicting Septon Alec. "The Seven Above protected Septon Alec from the arrows of the heathens in Volantis. That is proof enough." Vorian said but the brothers looked unimpressed. "But he still died?" Harrion said scoffing.

"Only because that was the will of the Seven." Elric thought about that. "So would your Gods protect you from my arrows?" He asked. "If that is the will of the Seven then yes." Vorian said heatedly. "Let's try it then, we will shoot you with arrows and if you survive we will all be washed." Elric said with a fake smile. Prince Vorian stared at the Northman, wondering if he was serious then looked nervous when Elric called to me, calling me Harle's boy and offered me his bow.

Vorian opened his mouth the. Closed it when he found he had nothing to say. His Septon leaned in and whispered to him, I do not know what he said but what ever it was Vorian did not seem entirely convinced but it didn't matter as the three brothers wanted to attempt it now and it was no longer up to Vorian to accept or deny. Men pushed the Septon aside and Vorian's Sworn Sword had to be restrained while I took the bow that was offered to me. I do not know why Elric had wanted me to do it but he had and who was I to refuse.

So I took the bow. The Northmen were grinning and I was enjoying myself. I think I rather hoped to see a miracle, not because I believed but just because I want ed to see one. Cadwyn often spoke of the miracles of the Seven but I had never seen one but now I might see the glory of the Seven. Sarella just wanted to see the king dead. "Are you ready?" Harrion asked the Prince who looked to his Septon and I wondered if the was about to suggest he should take his place in the test of the Sevens strength then he looked back at Harrion.

"I will accept your proposal." He replied nervously. "That we fill you with arrows?" Elric asked. "That I remain Prince of Dorne." Vorian clarified. "But you want it wash us?" Harrion asked. "We can dispense with that." Vorian pleaded. "No! You claim your Gods are all powerful, that they are the only Gods. I want proof." Beorn demanded and if he had a clearer head he would have accepted Vorian's offer but he had been angered by the Prince's comments about the Gods.

"And if he survives we will all be washed. Agreed?" Harrion asked the question to the Northmen who all cheered. "Not me! I'll not be washed." Rollen disputed. "We will all be washed." Elric snarled and I realised he was interested in the outcome of the test, more interested than he was in making a quick and easy peace with Vorian. All men need the comfort of a God and Elric was trying to discover if he had been worshiping at the wrong shrine all these years.

"Are you wearing armour?" Harrion asked. "No." Vorian said shaking in fear. "Best make sure. Strip him!" Beorn ordered and the Prince was stripped stark naked, Sarella found that hilarious. "He's puny." He laughed. Vorian, now being laughed at by the Northmen, knelt and began to pray. I took my stance a dozen paces from the kneeling Prince and lit my arrow. "We are going to find out if these Southern Gods are as powerful and our own." Elric said, quieting us.

My arrow hit, the Prince screamed. My next arrow hit. Blood splattered the alter. My third arrow hit and he fell down. My forth arrow hit and he began to flop like a salmon out of water. My fifth arrow hit and his misery ended. He was bloody then as he lay twitching. His olive skin bloody and his body stuck with flaming arrows. He was dead, his Gods had failed him miserably.

Of course that story is not told today, instead children learn how brave Prince Vorian stood up to the Northern Heathens, demanded they convert to the Light of the Seven and was murdered for it. They teach that he is a martyr who rest for eternity in the Seven Heavens singing the praises of the Seven. In truth he was a fool who talked himself into martyrdom. The Septon and his Sword Sword shouted so Beorn orders them killed too then he decreed that Magnar Tallhart, one of the lords, would rule in Dorne while Harrion would raid the country to quell resistance.

Lord Tallhart and Harrion Half-Giant were given a third of the army to keep Dorne in line while the rest of us would go to quell the resistance in the Riverlands. So that was Dorne gone, with the Vale not caring for what goes on beyond its mountain borders that left only one Kingdom remaining, the Reach. We returned to the Riverlands, half rowing and half sailing up the gentle coast, into the Blackwater Bay and to Duskendale.

An entire fleet skimmed the Blackwater Bay, beast prowed ships filled with cheering men that showed we returned victoriously. Beorn had returned ti Duskendale expecting trouble so the ships all displayed their painted shields. But whatever trouble happens in the Riverlands it did not effect the city itself. King Emmon Frey, who ruled at the pleasure of the North sulkily denied there had been any uprising at all.

"There is always banditry, perhaps you heard rumours of such." King Emmon said loftily. "Or perhaps you are deaf." Elric snarled and he had right to be suspicious because as news of the armies return spread a message came from Lord Brynden Mooton of Maidenpool. The seat of House Mooton was Maidenpool and it was a great fortress on a high crag almost entirely surrounded by the base of the Trident. Lord Mooton had never drawn steel against the Northmen.

When my father marched to war with Lord Boros Tully and King Rodrick Teague, Lord Mooton said he was ill and there was sickness in his land but now he sent a message that a band of Northmen had been slaughtered at a Sept near Maidenpool. I went to that Sept as Beorn tasked Harle and his men to find out what had caused the uprising. It seemed that a band of twelve, masterless Northmen had came to the Sept and demanded to see its treasury. But the Septons said they were penniless and so they fought back with help of men from Maidenpool they outnumbered the Northmen and killed them.

Encouraged by this victory the Septon rallied some common folk and marched up to a Northern settlement were only those too sick or too old to march with the army remained. There they raped and killed a score of women and children proclaiming it was a holy war. Lord Mooton, fearing he would be blamed for the uprising, sent his own men to quell the rebel army and had captured many of them. All this we learned from Brynden Mooton's messenger.

"Nests of vipers!" Harle had snarled when hearing about the slaughter form the mouth of  one of the survivors. I'd never seen him so angry, even when confronting Lothor for taking his daughter. We dug up the buried Northmen, all were naked and bloodstained. They had been tortured. We found a Septon and made him tell us the head Septs in the Riverlands. Harle sent word to Elric in Duskendale that the Septas at Stokeworth should be dispersed before they incite cor violence and any found to have joined the revolt should be killed.

Then Harle went to the Sept on Crackclaw point, where the violence first started. He put the Sept to the torch, killed anyone inside and took their treasures for they did indeed have silver. I remember we discovered book upon book of writing. Hundreds of pages and I hadn't a clue what they said, and now I never will for it was all burned. Then we went west to the large Sept there at the Blackwater Rush, we did the same there. Then we went south to the Sept outside Heyford Castle, at the Sept there were dozens of Septas and Silent Sisters who incited violence against the Northmen. They met us, cursed us, and died.

I never told Gwayne that I was part of the harrowing of the Riverlands. It's a tale still told to warm away from trusting the Northmen. Just like how I never told his wife I was part of raiding her childhood home, the Deep Den. I remember one sermon when a Septon told about the Septas at Heyford Castle and it took my every willpower not to interrupt and tell the Septon that it had not happened they way he said. The Septon said the North promised no Septon or Septa would ever be hurt in the Riverlands. That was not true. And he claimed there was no cause for the massacres. That was equally false. Then the Septon told a tale that the Septa's had prayed and the Seven placed a barrier that the Northmen could not cross.

None of that happened. We arrived. They screamed. The pretty ones were raped. Then they died. However not all died, two were pretty enough to be taken with Harle's men and one of them later went on to father a famous Northern warlord. Still Septons were never great men for the truth. We never did kill everybody, as Rollen drove into my head, you always leave one person to tell the tale so that news of the horror was spread.

Once the Sept was burned we went to Maidenpool, where Harle thanked Lord Brynden Mooton though Lord Mooton was clearly shocked by the vengeance wrought by the Northmen. "Not every Sept and Septon took part in the slaughter." He pointed out disapprovingly. "They are all evil." Harle insisted. "The Septs are places of prayer and contemplation." Brynden Mooton said, disagreeing.

"What use are prayer and contemplation? Does prayer grow grain? Does contemplation build houses?" Lord Mooton has no answer to those questions, nor did the Septon of Maidenpool, not even when Brynden handed over his prisoners who were put to death in several imaginative ways. Harle had become convinced the Septs were a place of evil were men and women were invited to attack the Northmen and he saw no point in letting such places exist.

The most famous Sept was on the island of Tarth. It was the place that had been sacked by the Northmen two generations before by Rollen Mormont. The tale is that them first raid that Rollen led was followed by whirlwinds and dragons in the sky, i however say no such wonders. I was exited though, we were nearing Storms End and I wondered if my uncle, the false Lord Uthor would dare come you to defend the Sept on Tarth as the Septons there had always looked to my family to protect them since the Tarth family had become too weak to offer protection against raiders.

We skirted Storms End, occasionally catching glimpses of the fortresses high stone walls from the tree line. I stared at it, dreaming we came to the flat beach were a track ran to the Island of Tarth when the tide was out but the tide was in and we were forced to wait. We could see Septons watching us from across the waves. "The rest of the bastards will be burying their silver." Harle said scornfully.

"If there's any silver left." I pointed out, Tarth and the Sept never fully recovered from the raid by Rollen. "There's always silver left." Harle said grimly. "Last time I was here I loaded my ship with gold Durran, pure gold." Rollen said and stared off with his blind eyes as if imagining it. "Was it a big chest?" Sarella asked. She sat behind me on my horse, she was serving as Rollen's eyes. She went everywhere with us, spoke good Old Tongue and was regarded as bringing good luck by the men who adored her.

"As big as you." He said. "Not so much gold then." Sarella said sadly looking down at her own small frame but u grabbed her hand and squeezed it affectionately. The sea eventually relented as the bickering waves slunk back down the long sands. We rode down the shallow path and the Septons who were watching ran. Small flickers of smoke showed were farmsteads marked the land and I had no doubt that those farmers were burying what little belonging that had.

"Will any of these Septons know you?" Harle asked me. "Probably." I said. "Does that bother you." It did but I told him it did not. I touched the Weirwood amulet around my neck and somewhere in my mind there was a re teal of worry that the gods, the seven that is, we're watching me and I had to remind myself of Vorian's death and that the Seven had no power even if they did exist.

The Sept lay on a hilltop from which I could see Storms End on its cliff face. The Septons lived in a clatter of small timber buildings and they were surrounding a small stone Sept. The Septon, came to meet us, carrying a large wooden pole topped with the Seven sided star. He spoke the Old Tongue which was most unusual. "You are most welcome here and you should know I have one of your countrymen in my sick chamber." He said, greeting us enthusiastically with a lisp.

"What is that to me?" Harle asked him. "It is a sign of our peaceful intentions Lord." He said, he was an elderly man, with grey hair and missing most of his teeth. "We are a humble Sept, we heal the sick and we praise the Seven." He looked along the line of Northmen, grim, helmeted men who had their shields hanging by their left knees. The sky was low that day, heavy and sullen and a small rain was darkening the grass. To Septons came from the Sept carrying a box that they placed in front of the Elderly Septon named Benfred.

"That is all the treasure we have and you are welcome to it." Septon Benfred said with a lisp. Harle jerked his head at me and i dismounted, walked to the box, flung its lid open and found it half filled with silver pennies. Most of them were chipped and all were full as they were of bad quality. I shrugged at Harle as if to say it was poor reward. "You are Durran Durrandon."Benfred said. "So?" I snarled at him. "I heard you were dead lord, praise the Seven you are not." He said making the sign of the Seven.

"You heard I was dead?" I asked. "Yes, that a Northman killed you." We had been talking in Common Tongue and Harle wanted to know what had been said so I translated. "Was his name Qarl?" Harle asked him. "He is, yes."Benfred replied, surprised. "Is not was?" I noted with a snarl. "Yes, he is the man in my sickroom recovering form his wounds." Benfred said looking at me as though he could not believe I was alive. "His wounds?" Harle question.

"He was attacked by a man from the Castle, from Storms End." Harle wanted to know the whole story so Benfred told us. It seemed Qarl made his way back to Storms End where he claimed to have killed me and upon spouting the lie he was payed his silver coins and was escorted from the castle by a dozen men, among which was Donal the blacksmith who would tell me tails of the Old Gods and the Shadow Wraiths from Asshai by the Shadow. Donal, a man who cared for me more than my father I thought, attacked Qarl driving an axe into his shoulder before the other men dragged him away. Qarl was brought here while Donal, if he still lived, was back in Storms End.

If Septon Benfred had thought Qarl was his safeguard, he had miscalculated. "You gave Qarl shelter even though you thought he had killed Durran?" He demanded with a scowl. "This is a house of healing, a Sept of the Seven. We give any man shelter." Benfred explained. "Even murderers?" Harle asked and he reached around his head and untied his long red hair. "Tell me Septon, how many of your kind went east to murder Northmen?" Harle asked with a growl.

Benfred hesitated which was answer enough and even before Harle could draw Longclaw I had my own sword out and pointing at the Septon. "Some did Lord. I could not stop them." I snarled at that. "You could not stop them." Harle said shaking his head so his wet unbound hair fell around his face. "You lead here? So you could have stopped them." Harle was looking angry now most likely thinking about the bodies we had discovered at Crackclaw Point.

"Kill them." He told him men and i plunged my short sword into his throat without a thought but I took no more part in that killing. I stood on the shore and listened to the swords doing their work and I watched Storms End, the tall drum towe, the high walls and the white waves crashing against the cliffs.  Sarella came and she stood beside me. "Is that your home?" She asked me. "Aye." I said simply. "He called you lord?" She asked. "I am a lord." I told her and she leaned against me and held my hand. "Do you think the Southern Gods are watching us?" She asked.

"No." I said with confidence I did not truly have and I wondered how she k ew I was thinking about that very question. "They never were our gods. We worshiped the Old Gods of the Forrest before the Andals came but now the Northmen have come to lead us back to our true gods." She said heatedly and I chuckled. "Did Rollen tell you that?" I asked her with a smile. "Aye, some." She said. We heard a noise and turned to find Harle dragging Qarl from the Sept.

The man was plainly dying for he was shivering and his wound stank. His reward for killing me had been a heavy bag of good silver coins that weighed as much as a newborn babe. We found that beneath his bed and it was divided amongst our men. Qarl himself lay bloodied in the grass looking between Harle and me. "You want to kill him?" Harle asked me. "Yes." I said but I did not truly mean it, looking at him, he was pathetic and I didn't care for vengeance against a worm, but no other response was expected so I said I did.

Then I remembered, back to when I was still Ormund Durrandon. The day Harle came and threw my older brothers head before the gates of Storms End. "I want to cut off his head." I snarled. Qarl tried to speak but could only manage a gutters moan. Harle offered Longclaw to me, it's Valyrian steel edge forever sharp. Qarl looked at me, his teeth chittering. I disliked him from the first, hated him once I found out what my uncle sent him to do. Now looking at the pathetic man I found myself not caring. Yet despite not caring I found myself nervous of killing him.

I have learned later in life that it is one thing to kill in battle, to send a brave soul to his afterlife with honour, but quite another to take the life of a helpless man, he must have sensed my hesitation for he made a pitiful plea for his life. "I will serve you lord." He managed to squeak out. "Make the bastard suffer." Harle snarled. I do not thing he suffered much for the Valyrian blade cut right through skin and bone and his puny life was ended in a single stroke.

Then I asked more favours if Harle, knowing he would give me them. I took the poorest coins form the chest and went to the largest building near the Sept. They Septons here would write the word of the Seven and paint masterful illustrations on the pages with fanciful colours and in the years as Osmund, Cadwyn would take me here. I wanted those colours now.

I took a white linen that was used to cover the sacred oils and brought it back to the building with the colours. I doused the white linen in the yellow dye then after it dried I drew the crowned stag if House Durrandon. Sarella helped me, and she was much better at making pictures than I was and by the end of it she was bossing me around and telling me not to get in her way. We finished and tied the banner to the handle of Septon Benfred's seven pointed star.

Harle was tearing through the Septs collection of sacred books, tearing of the jewel in rusted metal plates that decorates the front covers. Once he had all the plates and I had made the banner, we burned all the timber buildings. The rain stopped as we left, we crossed the shallow path and down the causeway until we reached the place where the roads crossed the sands at Storms End. We stopped there and i untied my hair so it hung loose. I gave Sarella the banner, she would ride Rollen's horse while the old man would wait with his son then with a borrowed sword at my side, I rode home.

Sarella came with me as standard barer as the two of us cantered along the track. I could see men in the walls and up on the low gate, watching. I curved the horse as I came up on the gate, now I could see my uncle. He was there, Uthor the Treacherous, he was gazing at me, blue eyed, dark haired, thin face. He stared at me from the low gate and I stared back so he would know who I was. I threw Qarls severed head on the ground where my brothers head had once been thrown and I followed it with the poorly cut silver coins. The price for my death, the price for his.

There were bowmen on the gate but none drew, they just watched. I gave my uncle a death stare that would chill a wolf, spat at him, then trotted away. He knew I was alive now, knew I was his enemy, and knew I would kill him like a dog if ever I had the chance. "Durran." Sarella cried in alarm and I turned to see one warrior had jumped from the wall, had fallen heavily, but had gotten to his feet and began running by to us.

He was a large man, big bearded and wild haired. I thought I would not be able to beat such a man in a fight but then the bowmen on the walls loosed their arrows and speckled the ground around the man, who I now recognised as Donal, the smith. "Lord Durran." Donal called out and I turned my horse and used it to shield him from the arrows but one came close. Thinking back to that day I believe those bowmen were deliberately missing. "You live lord." He shouted, beaming up at me. "Aye Donal, I do." I smiled down, now that we were out of arrow shot.

"Then I come with you." He insisted. "But your wife, your son." I said. "Dead lord, a sickness for my wife and the tide for my son." He said sadly but it did not quell the happiness in his eyes for seeing me. "I'm sorry." An arrow hit the ground but it was yards away. "The Gods give and the Gods take away." He said and spotted the Weirwood amulet around my neck and because he was a organ he smiled and I had my first follower. Donal the Smith.

"He's a gloomy man, your uncle." Donal said as we journeyed North. "Miserable as shit he is, even his new son don't cheer him up." So he has a son. "Uthor the younger he's called, happy and healthy lad. Betha is sick though, she won't last long." He smiled at me. "Your looking well Lord, you must be thirteen now?" He asked. "Fourteen." I corrected. "A man then, that your woman?" He asked nodding to Sarella. "My friend." I said smiling at the way she blushed. "No meat on her bones, better a friend I say."

Donal was a big man, with his hands, arms and face scarred from countless small burns at the forge. He walked beside my horse, the pace apparently effortless despite his age. "Tell me about these Northmen." He said casting a dubious look at the men we were closing in on. "They're lead by Lord Mormont, Harle the Fearless. He's the man that killed my brother, he's a good man." That shocked Donal. "He's the man that killed your brother?" He asked soeechless. "Destiny is all." I said repeating the phrase he had said to me all those years ago, and it may be true but more importantly it meant I didn't have to give a more in depth answer.

"You like him?" Donal asked me. "He's like a father to me, more than my real father was." I told him. "You'll like him." I insisted though he seemed less convinced. "These Northmen might worship the right Gods but I'd still like to see them gone." He said. "Why?" I asked and he seemed shocked. "Because it's not their land. I want to be able to walk without being afraid a Northern raider will demand i empty my pockets or else he'll gut me." I could understand that.

"If a Northman kills a Stormlander, what's to be done, there no Lord to see, no justice to seek." That was true enough. "Your uncle doesn't protest the Northerners, but Maester Cadwyn did. Do you remember him?" And so I told him how I met him last year, with Gwayne Gardener of Highgarden. "Your uncle was furious when he ran off, said he deserved to be killed." No doubt it was because Cadwyn had taken the parchments that proved me to be the rightful Lord and him the usurper.

"He wanted me killed too, and I never thanked you for attacking Qarl." I said and he laughed. "Your uncle was going to give me to the Northmen for that, only no Northmen cared he was attacked and so nothing was done." He said. "Your with the Northmen now, and you'd have to get used to it." Donal thought about that. "Why not go to the Reach?" He asked. "Because the Reachmen want to turn me into a Septon, and I want to be a warrior." I said defiantly.

"Then go to the Westerlands." Donal suggested. "That's ruled by the North." I pointed out but he shook his head. "Your uncle lives there, your mothers brother." He was astonished I did not know my own family. "Who?" I demanded. "Some lord, Lefford? No, Westerling? Aye that's it Lord Westerling, if he still lives." He said. But why go to Lord Westerling when I had Harle, Lord Westerling was family of course but I'd never met him and I doubted he even remembered my existence. I had no desire to find him, and even less desire to learn my spellings in the Reach and so I would stay with Harle and I told Donal as much.

"He's teaching me to fight." I told him and he grudgingly nodded. "Learn from the best eh, that how you become a good smith, learn from the best." Donal was a good smith and despite all he said he did come to like Harle for Harle was generous and he appreciated good workmanship. A smithy was added into our homestead by the Gods eye and Harle spent good coin buying the hammers, anvil, files and tongs he would need, then ore was purchased from Duskendale and our valley echoed with the sound of iron on iron.

Even on the coldest days the smithy ran hot and men gathered there to tell stories or exchange riddles. Donal was a great man for riddles and I would translate for him as he would baffle Harle's Northmen. I preferred the complicated ones. One riddle went 'the more you take the more you leave behind.' I could not guess that one, nor could any of the Northmen and Donal refused to give me the answer even when I begged him so it was only when I told the riddle to Sarella that I learned the solution. "Footsteps." She said instantly, she was right of course.

Soon enough the forge needed to be bigger and for the rest of those summer months Donal fashioned steel for swords, spears, axes and spades. I asked him once if he minded working for the Northmen, he just shrugged. "I worked for them in Storms End, your uncle licks their boots." He spat. "But there's no Northern garrison in Storms End?" I said confused. "True but they visits and your uncle welcomes them with gifts of iron and steel."

He stopped suddenly as we were interrupted by a shout if what I thought was pure rage, I ran from the smith to find Harle staring at a a group of people lead by a mounted warrior. And what a warrior he was. He had a black ring mail coat, a fine helmet that hung from his saddle, a green shield painted with a black bear claw, a bastard sword on his back and his arms thick with rings.

He was a young man with long red hair, a thick red beard and three long slash marks across his face yet despite them he did not look ugly or deformed but like a savage warrior.. He roared back at Harle like a bear and Harle ran at him and I half thought the man would draw his sword and kick at his horse, instead he dismounted and ran at Harle and when they met they embraced and thumped each others back and Harle when he turned towards us had a smile that would have lit the darkest crypt in the Seven hells. "My son! My son has returned." He shouted up to me, happier than I'd ever seen him.

It was Hullen 'Bear Claw' Mormont, come from the basilisk isles with a ships crew, and though he did not know who I was he embraced me for no other reason that his father looked at me fondly. He lifted his sister off the ground and whirled her around, he thumped Jory, kissed his mother cheek, scattered gifts of silver chain links and petted the hounds. He was a whirlwind of energy. A feast was ordered and that night he gave us the news saying how he now commanded his own ship, that he had come for a few months only and that Elric wanted him back in the Basilisk Isles come winter spring.

He was so alike his father and I liked him immediately, the house was always happy when Hullen was there. Some of his men lodged with us and before the fist snows of winter they chopped down trees and made a new hall. "You were lucky." He told me, we were thatching the roof. "Lucky?" I asked. "That my father didn't kill you at Duskendale." I laughed at that because he was right. "Aye, it's true." I said. "But my father always was a good judge of men." He said passing me a water skin filled with ale.

He perched on the roof and gazed off into the forrest around us and out towards the Gods Eye lake. "He likes it here." He said. "It's a good place. What about the Bailisk isles?" I asked handing the water skin back. "Bogs and rocks Durran, there are basilisks, wyverns and the natives are viscous. But they fight well and there's gold there, the more we fight the more gold we take." I watched the ale drop down his red beard as he drained it. "I like the Isles well enough, but I won't stay there, I'll come back here, take land in the Reach, raise a family and get fat." He said smiling.

"Why don't you come back now?" I asked. "Because Elric wants me there and he's a good lord to serve." I don't know if I would like to serve him, the grim faced Umber. "He frightens me." I admitted. "A lord should be frightening." He said. "Your fathers not." I told him but he laughed. "To you maybe, but what about to the men he kills? Would you want to face Lord Harle the Fearless in a shield wall?" He said and I understood then. "No, I would not." I admitted. "So he is frightening." He said grinning.

We finished thatching the roof and then I had to go up into the woods because Donal had an insatiable hunger for charcoal which is the only substance that burns hot enough to melt iron. Sarella and I were his best workers so we spent plenty of time amongst the trees, the charcoal piles would need constant attention and because they would burn for days Sarella me I would often spend entire nights by the fires.

We would burn alder when we had it for that was what Donal preferred, the key was to char the outside of the alder logs but not let it burst in flames. It was tedious work and Donal's appetite for charcoal seemed endless, so spend all night in the shadowy woods beside the warm burner was to live like a shadow wraith of Asshai. And beside, I was with Sarella and we had become more than friends.

She had lost her first baby up by the burners, she did not even know she was pregnant but one night she was assailed with cramps and spear like pains and I wanted to go fetch Alys Mormont but Sarella would not let me. I was terrified. I had fought it battles by then and I would go on to fight wars later in life but there was nothing to terrifying than hearing her pains in that dark wood. Come suns first light she had given birth so a lifeless baby boy. I buried it there. With tears in my eyes.

I carried her back to the homestead where Alys cared for her, she must have suspected what had happened to Sarella for she was sharp with me for a few days and told Harle it was time she was married. She was nearly if she being fifteen and there were a dozen young Northern warriors in the village by the Gods Eye who were looking for a wife but Harle declared Sarella brought us battle luck and said she would ride with us when we attacked the Reach.

"When will that be?" Alys asked. "Next year, the year after that at the latest." He told her. "Then what?" She asked. "Then the Southern Kingdoms are no more." The Reach would fall and all would answer to the King in the North, to Brandon Stark. We celebrated the mid-winter feast and Hullen Bear-Claw won every competition. He hurled rocks farther than anyone, wrestled men to the ground and even drank his father into insensibility, then followed a nearly seven month winter, snow filled days and long nights.

Then came spring and Hullen had to leave and we had a melancholy feast in the eve of his leaving. The next morning he led his men form the hall, going down the track in a grey drizzle. Harle watched his son march down the valley and when he turned to the hall he had tears in his eyes. "He's a good man my son, he makes me proud." Harle said to me. "I liked him." I said and  it was the truth, I did like him and many years later when I met him again I still liked him.

There was an empty feeling after Hullen had left but I remember that spring fondly as it was in those months Donal first made me a sword. "I hope it's better than my last one." I said thinking back to the blade. "Your last one?" Donal asked confused. "The one i had when we went to Duskendale." I explained. "That thing? It wasn't mine, I told him it was shite, only fit for killing ducks not Northmen." He said spitting on the ground. "What happened to it?" He asked. "It bent." I told him remembering Harle laughing at the feeble weapon. "Soft iron boy, soft iron." I said shaking his head.

There were two types of iron he told me, soft iron and hard iron. Hard iron made the best cutting edge but it was brittle and a sword made of such iron would snap at the first brutal clash. A sword made of soft iron would bend as my shirt sword had. "What we do is use both." And I watched as he made seven iron rods, three were of hard iron, the other four were soft iron and those he twisted until each had been turned into a spiral.

"Why do you do that?" I asked him. "You'll see." He said mysteriously. Donal began by hammer one hard rod flat so it looked like a very thin and feeble sword. Then he placed the twisted rods either side then welded the two remaining hard rods over them so they became the swords edges. It looked grotesque then, a bundle of rods but then the real work began, the work of hearing and hammering, metal glowing red, steel twisting under the hammer weight, sparks flying and the hiss of hot steel plunged into water.

It took days yet as the hammering and heating and cooling went on I witnessed how the four steel rods, that had now been melded together, now formed beautiful patterns. Repetitive curling patterns that made flat smoky curls in the blade. At times you could not see the patterns but at dusk when, they shone with beauty. They looked like the twisting storm clouds that would rise above Storms End to show us the God if the Storm was furious. That reminded me of my House words. Ours is the Fury. Fury, I named it. And it was mine.

Harle gave Donal one of his golden arm rings and Donal melted it down, setting it and cooling it in the pattern that would be used as my cross guard. It was formed into golden stag antlers, the centre engraved like the head of a stag and the pommel being a simple piece of gold. I carved the handle myself from a piece of ash wood. She was heavy, Fury, but I was a Durrandon, we were strong men but still I was young and so I had to use two hands to swing it with any effect but I would grow into her. Once I did she would water the fields with blood.

I showed it to Harle as soon as it was in my hands. it tapered to much at the point but it meant it was well balanced and there was less weight there. Harle liked the extra weight as it allowed him to shred shields more easily but I preferred Fury's agility that had been given to her by Donal's skill. That skill meant that she never Brant, nor cracked. Never. For I still have her. The ash handles have been replaced, the edges nicked by enemy blades and shes slimmer now because I've sharpened her so much but she is still beautiful.

Often I'll take her out at dusk and watch the light catch on the patterns, the grey stormy swirls and twists appearing in the blade like magic and I think of that spring by the Gods Eye and I think if Sarella staring at her reflection in the newly made blade. But there was magic in that blade, the magic of a forge and of steel. When we did the sacrifice of the pit slaughter and killed a man, a horse, a bull, a ram and a boar I asked Harle to use Fury on the doomed man so that the Gods would know she existed and to watch for I would use her to send them many souls.

I think the Old Gods did see her, because I have killed more men than I can ever remember.