3

280 – Part I

Riding through the north is something I had always pictured as a great adventure. As something grand as one crossed untamed landscape and areas not seen by human eyes in decades, if not centuries. Of course, as with many other things, this turned out to be as far from the truth as one could get. The first day it was still new, the second it started to get old and on the third I was in pain.

My goddamn arse hurt like I had taken a shit on a napalm fueled bonfire. Oh my fuckin god did it hurt. I had never ridden more than a few hours at once, doing so for days on end really put my non-existent constitution to the test. It was found very much wanting. That I could get off the horse as we made camp as the days turned to dusk was nothing less than a miracle. At this time I could care less about everything around us, my sense of adventure having shriveled to nothing. And then – of course – it started to rain, making a painful experience even more miserable.

The worst part wasn't even the pain or the cold and very very wet weather...no, it was taking it all in stride because I was the Lord, so I had to be better, more resistant and just plain badass all around. I am reasonably sure that most of the men merely humoured me and the thin as paper illusion of strength I tried my hardest to project. Some might have been fooled, who knows? Even so it was good practice to look the part of the Lord even if I was just winging it more often than not.

It would take us three weeks to get to Deepwood Motte, where we would join the host assembled by Lord Glover. The Forresters and the other minor houses sworn to the Glovers would also assemble at the wooden fortress. From there we would march for Moat Cailin before making our way into the Riverlands. I really wasn't looking forward to the strenuous and very boring activity of marching, or riding as it was, for weeks and months, only to be interrupted by days of terrifying fighting as we actually found an enemy. Westeros was just so big that I suspected the biggest problem in any war – in this day and age – would be actually finding an enemy one could fight. That everybody wasn't simply bypassing each other, never actually fighting if not by chance, still boggled my mind.

Shrugging I let my mind wander to other topics, the strategy and even most tactics would be decided far above my paygrade. Even with the recent good fortune I had enjoyed, house Ryther was still very much a minor nobility and I did not expect to have any input in the way the war was fought. I would go where I was ordered to and do my very best to keep myself and my men alive wherever this would lead me. As I had known for a while that war was coming, I was a lot better prepared than many of the other nobles were set to be. My men alone would likely raise a few eyebrows, not being levies but professional men at arms clad in high quality armour with well made weapons.

That there were more than a handful of them would also be a surprise – in a good way – but also one that would be questioned. How was I able to raise and outfit so many men with the minor holding I had? Why did not all my men have northern looks? What changed between my fathers and my rule? This being the north I estimated it would not be long before someone walked right up to me and asked. I would have to answer without being dishonest while also marginalizing what I was doing by a fair amount. Coming across as lying would be bad but being bluntly honest might be just as bad or worse. If I survived this clusterfuck of a war, which I dearly wanted to, I would need time to build up and that would be much easier if I could fly beneath the radar as long as possible.

Sighing miserably I crouched a little lower beneath the fallen tree where we had lit a small fire with great pain and a truly inspiring literary of curses while it continued to rain and rain some more. Turning to the left I looked at one of my archers, a thin but strong man named Brynden, as he twirled the long pieces of carved wood I handed to everyone of my men before leaving.

"Not convinced, Brynden?", I asked, half amused, half serious after watching a few minutes. He freezes in mid-motion before putting the shaft away to the other five he carried, a set of six being standard for every man.

"Forgive me, Milord. I cannot see how these sticks will save our arses if we´re caught by cavalry. We will just be ridden over and put to the sword like everyone else."

I nod slowly, glancing around and seeing that we had caught the attention of the men around us. Opening my hand in Brynden's direction he gives me his set of six shafts, each a good meter in length. I deftly added them together with small forged steel adapters I had ordered made, leaving me with a six meter long pole with a speartip at the end that was fasted at the last piece. Lowering the ridiculously long spear I asked a simple question – slowly – as if talking to a particularly dimwitted child.

"How long is a knight's lance?"

Confused looks were thrown back and forth between the men before they shrugged, "No idea, Milord."

"Less than four meters on the average, give or take a little.", I explain before pointing at the long spear, "This one is two meters longer, so you might be able to stick the knight before he runs you through...but that is not the intention of this little trick?"

"It is not?", frowns Brynden in confusion as the other men looked just as confused. I sigh and again slap myself mentally for not starting early enough so that I could have trained with the poles at least a little. Sadly it was not to be and I had been hard pressed finishing them at all. Handing them to each man as we moved out was the best I had been able to do.

"No, it is not.", I snorted and rolled my eyes, "Knights are armoured in full plate more often than not and this little pigsticker might annoy them, it will not stop them. No...we aim for the horses. Have any of you seen a man flying out of the saddle at full gallop?"

The men wince as they picture the situation I described, their expression turning even more green as they added the effect fullplate armour might have on the human body in such a situation.

"The poles are unwieldy as fuck, but if we are caught in a cavalry charge I refuse to just be slaughtered like the next archer unit. The poles will make the knights think twice about engaging us and the horses are also not stupid. Running into a forest of speartips is not something they will like doing. I estimate we have a better than even chance of surviving where others will just be plain fucked."

"Will it work, Milord? I have never heard of such a way of fighting before.", asked another of the men, having lost much of the initial hesitation to approach me after suffering together on the march and seeing me cursing just as colourfully as any of the men present.

"It will", I state with confidence, "if you train to set the poles up as fast as you can...and keep them secret."

"Why would we keep them secret, Milord?", Brynden asks at once, confusion clear on his face.

"Because I invented the poles and they have yet to see battle. Would you adopt something that has not been proven?", I reply easily before finishing with a rhetorical question.

"But they will work?", he asks dubiously, silently asking why by all the gods they had been chosen to test this harebrained scheme.

I twitch before glaring at the archer that obviously had not gotten the memo that I did not like repeating myself, the man shrinking back at my look. Taking a deep breath I force my temper down. "Yes, they will work. I can set them up in five seconds flat, more than fast enough if facing a charge. I tested them thoroughly at home...they will work."

The men returned to their own business after that and I retreated deeper into my cloak, a shaky breath escaping my mouth. Actually, I had not fuckin clue if the poles would work or if we would die like mooks the first time cavalry charged at us. I would very much prefer not finding out at all, if possible. Sadly I also suspected that I would not have so much luck. I very much believed in Murphy´s Law and as such...if it could go wrong, it would. Better be prepared for the moment everything would go south like nobody's business.

For now it was important that the men believed that I or at least my invention might save their lives and that they kept their mouth shut. I might share the idea with other lords at a later point in time, but for that the poles would have to be battle proven. At that point I would actually be seen as brave and honorable as I would have stood up for my "idea" with my own life...and not having used some nobody to prove the concept. Paradox in a way, I mused as I shivered in the rain. I hoped to never have to use the poles but also to actually use them, so that I could further my own standing with the other nobles. Well, one way or the other I would come out on top and hopefully alive, which would have to be enough for me.

Thankfully the weather let up the next day, icy rain turning to warm sunshine as we rode on. Each day my bruised arse suffered a little less even though I had the impression that even my bruises had gotten bruises at some point. Remembering the conversation of the day before, I had the men set up camp a good hour before we would have otherwise, using the time to train setting up the poles in the most effective way possible. The first few days I could do nothing but facepalm at the uncoordinated way the poles were set up, but the men got better each time I screamed "POLES" at them. Three days before we would reach Deepwood Motte I judged them passable and left it be – for now. The men could now click the poles together in less than ten seconds and set up a spearwall at a moment's notice. It would have to do.

The ever sceptical Brynden and another far taller man named Wallace had become my ever-present shadows as the days moved on, both having taken on the duties of sworn swords even though neither man had the title. Nor would they want them, most likely. Sworn swords were a southern custom, which were even more frowned upon after that start of the current war than they had been already.

On the eve of the seventh day we finally reached the warcamp of House Glover in the shadow of Deepwood Motte, hundreds of men coming in sight as we crested a small hill. Looking over the tents I estimate roughly two thousand men to be camped below, roughly 1.500 of which would be Glover men with the rest being Forrester retainers. To the side I spotted another 200 additional men with three more banners of houses Woods, Branch and Bole flying above, the other minor nobles beholden to Lord Glover. Having taken stock, I led my men to the later site, arriving half an hour later.

"Halt, who goes there?", challenged us a men-at-arms in Glover colours as we were about to enter the camp.

"House Ryther heeds the call to arms, good man.", I reply at once before waving my hand behind me, "I bring fifty good archers with me, all mounted."

The grizzled veteran grunts and bows slightly, "Well met, Milord. Lord Glover will be glad to receive you in the castle, your men will be led to a free camping ground and well taken care of."

"We will head up immediately", I agreed easily before turning to the men. "Brynden, Wallace, with me. The rest of you follow the yeoman and make camp! Enjoy a good rest and take care not to be too drunk come morning!"

Laughter ripples through the group as the men grin at each other as I wave them off. Riding through the camp with my guards we receive quite a few curious stares but none yet challenge us before reaching the gates. Here we are quickly vetted again before being admitted into the wooden fortress. Made out of ironwood, the construction is a curious thing. Ridiculously oversized like everything else in Westeros, it would be able to hold up to a thousand men easily in an emergency and any attackers would have a hard time breaching the walls. Looking around I suspected that the Ironborn in the books had only managed it because next to no defenders had been left behind after the banners had been summoned in addition to the attack having been a complete surprise. Otherwise the ironborn would have never managed to storm the castle or set it aflame. The ironwood only burned with the greatest of difficulties and was just about as hard as the name it carried. Still, I would rather trust stone over wood. Stone would not catch fire even with `the greatest of difficulties`. I would always prefer "won't burn" to "will only burn if certain circumstances are met". Of course I would not speak those thoughts out loud, mocking the ancestral home of the host being bad form and all that.

As I mused about the fortress itself, we were led into a great hall, where a few dozen guests had already gathered and animated discussion flew back and forth. My entrance was not noticed at once and I only garnered the hall's attention as I walked up to lord Glover and stopped a few feet short with a small bow.

"House Ryther answers the call to arms, Milord. We bring 50 mounted archers with good equipment and will serve you well."

"Darren!" Lord Galbart Glover laughs, throwing any formality out of the window, and claps me on the back, the power behind the blow nearly folding you in half as I wheeze to regain your breath. "Good to see you, lad! How is the wife treating you? Nasty business with your father at that damn tourney! He was a good man. Liked him." I somehow suspected that Lord Glover could only do `loud` in all of its forms. Resigning myself to a murderous headache, because I very much prefered more even tempered individuals, I took a fortifying breath and entered the area I hated most – politics.

"My wife sends her regards, Milord. Little Ethan is also well, he was born not two month past.", I reply with measured words, informing him that yes – his efforts to forc… help... me had paid off well and that House Ryther would be secure even if I fell in battle. The calculating glint in his eyes showed me that he understood well even as he outwardly continued to present a jovial façade.

"Very good! It always gladdens me to see my people thrive, especially after all the hardship you have been through recently. The ironborn and then your father...you have recovered well I would say."

"Only due to your good counsel and able help, Milord", I answered at once – it never hurts to butter up one's overlords – as my mind wandered back in time. It had been a very eventful year since the previous Lord Ryther had gotten himself killed in quite the ridiculous way. Many a man had died at Harrenhal, but none with comical value coming even close to my father. The resulting fallout had been considerable. Without Glabart Glover I would have had next to no chance of finding a wife of the north, something that my future plans depended greatly on, but would have had to look overseas. Thankfully Lord Glover and I had good relations ever since I sold him one of the captured ironborn ships and it paid for itself in more ways than one.

I can still see the letter he sent me in my mind, as if I held it in my hands.

Lord Ryther,

I regret to hear of your fathers passing. He was an honorable man with a great future that has sadly been cut short. Now it falls on you to further the fortunes of your house, which you have been doing great work at since you have taken over as the acting and now confirmed Lord.

It has come to my ears that you are searching for a bride but that many prospects have chosen to make themselves unavailable because of recent events. I will not mince words at this point. House Ryther has been a loyal vassal of house Glover for centuries and I would loath to see it end with you. As such I have procured a possible match for you, Jasana Snow of the Mountain clans. She might not be trueborn but she is able and of fertile age. Write to her and see if the match has a future.

If this works out I will be happy. If not I nonetheless expect House Ryther to continue past yourself and that you do what has to be done to make it reality.

Galbart Glover

You had known the man to be direct from your dealings regarding the longship but being told more or less bluntly to "make like a bunny until the line is secure" had been a tad much at the time. Even now, having secured the line with my beautiful wife I felt somewhat uncomfortable as I thought back to the situation. Thankfully Jasana turned out to be a delight even though it had been hard for me at the start. Mentally I was easily twice her age and then some even if my body was actually younger than her.

There was also the fact that I had been married and a father in my last life, allowing myself to actually give this new relationship a chance had been very hard…even before the ages of the involved parties had been factored in. Westeros being the shithole it was everybody married (and more often than not died) young and when in Rome...Westeros….still, I felt very much forced in a situation I did not want to be in at that time, not that I had a choice. In the end it had worked out fine and I was actually sad that I would not see my new family for quite some time, something that had very much surprised me the first time I noticed this.

Jasanas thorough examination of me as we first met and her jolly "You'll do." still caused my face to twitch in wry amusement every time I remembered it. Fondly, now that we had gotten to know each other. She was just that sort of person and by god did she have temperament. Some of my men outright cowered the last time I had done something to annoy her and thought hiding on the sparring field might spare me the row. It did not. But I wasn't one to complain, I earned that one after all...not that I thought so at the time. Still, a little spirited...discussion...every now and then spiced up things nicely. Oh yes, nicely indeed….

Lord Glover's booming laugh ripped me out of my thoughts. "So modest!", he quaffs before steering me into the direction of four other men that sat at a small round table a little to the side. Moving there I recognized the tablads of the other houses sworn to house Glover, Forrester, Bole, Branch and Woods even though the later three were seen as clans by most, not as actual houses. Not that the difference mattered here in the north. Each Lord had brought two guards with them, the men having created a small bubble of privacy within the spacious hall and the feast going on.

"Milords", starts Galbart Glover, "allow me to introduce Darren Ryther, Lord Ryther."

"Thorren Forrester", grunts a middle aged man wearing half plate to the right, raising his tankard with a shallow nod, "I heard some interesting things about you, Ryther."

"So have I", agrees a young man, maybe a decade my senior, wearing good quality chainmail over weather beaten leather, "Brynden Bole at your service."

"I've actually heard nothing", another man in his early thirties with a sly smirk and a good bit of humor in his voice, "Rikkard Branch the name". He was wearing studded leather and an arm guard that showed him to prefer the bow to other weapons.

"Walder Woods", states the last man before falling silent again, earning himself an annoyed look from Lord Glover and a few eyerolls from the other men at the table. Lord Woods was the oldest man at the table, grey hair peeking through the leather cap reinforced with steel he had not bothered taking off for the feast.

Glancing back I notice Brynden and Wallace having joined the other guards around our small gathering. Turning back to the men I smile, "Lord Forrester...might I inquire what you have heard exactly? I assure you that I will deny most and likely not be responsible for the rest."

Glover's smile turns into a grin at my side as the Forrester Lord guaffs. "Ha! A Ryther with some actual humor! The long night must have come again!"

My face nearly freezes solid while simultaneously jumping off the rails at his words, but I regain my composure in a flash, hoping that none had caught the small slip in my expression. "It is actually still quite light outside, I assure you.", I replied drily instead, hiding the shiver still slithering down my back at the thought of what was to come in a few decades.

Thorren chuckles and shakes his head, "Ah, well. Who would have thought, still. Your father was quite the...serious...man, so I had expected you to be more of the same. Surprised me, that is all. Now, back to your question. What have I heard? That you drove off a strong `rogue` raiding party of ironborn...ha! No northman believes that fancy tale... Also, that you prefer trading to martial pursuits and yes...let us not forget that you are the Manderly´s long lost love child as your retainers mostly follow the seven, not the old gods."

I nod along the words with a smile, "Strong is as relative as the `rouge` part of the raid, I suppose. Drove them off, yes...but it cost me a lot of good men. I will do better next time the squids visit. I am also very handy with the bow even though I like coin just as much as the next man...so I would deny this `accusation` as initially stated."

"As to the last point", I continue before the men can interrupt me, "Could be true and could be false. I never bothered looking at who worships whom in my lands. As long as they hurt nobody they can worship a giant's left foot for all I care."

"So you would not defend your ancestors' faith against others, if necessary?", Lord Woods jumps into the conversation again with some heat, seeming interested for the first time since you joined the table.

"It depends", I state carefully, mentally mouthing that I had actually never believed in a god of any sort in my old life. In my new one...well, I knew higher beings to be a thing, as was magic. But was knowing actually believing? That would actually be an interesting topic to debate on a philosophically level. But that was a thought for later and not all that appropriate for the current circle of persons in attendance.

Currently is was mostly painfully aware that I had entered dangerous waters without really meaning to, "I will not force others to believe in certain gods as long as none come to harm. If for example the priests of the red god tried to convert my people I would fight them as they advocate human sacrifice...but I would fight the green men as well if they convert by the sword. I believe that gods are a personal choice and that I do not have the right to force others into my faith, just as I would not like being forced into another faith than my own."

I hesitate for a moment before continuing, "Studying history I also find that most of the time wars of the faith are kicked off by those that do not gain spiritually but monetarily from it. In my perspective no crusade is ever only that, so I would more likely than not oppose whoever is behind it anyway, no matter what faith the soldiers or zealots follow."

"We seem to have moved off topic", interjects Lord Bole before the conversation drifts further into the realms of religious matters, Lord Woods already having opened his mouth to argue as a serve frown covers his face.

"Lord Glover, now that we are all here...could you tell us what awaits us next?"

Talbart takes a deep swing of his ale before answering. "Aye, of course. You will already have suspected that we are to move for the Moat...which we will. There we will meet the other banners before moving into the Riverlands with Lord Stark at our head. What happens after...only the gods know."

I lean back in the chair I had claimed at the table. So everything was as I thought it would be. Mentally picturing the map of the north I frown as a sudden thought occurs to me, "Why is it that we add to the muster at the moat? Winterfell will be on our route anyway, why not join Lord Stark directly?"

"Because Lord Stark will already be moving", Lord Glover answers at once, nodding at the logical question. "If he had stayed even a week longer we might have caught him in Winterfell but as it stands he and the men he can raise directly will be long gone by the time we reach the castle."

"Will we remain under your banner or be shuffled around according to specialization?", asks Lord Branch only to earn a shrug from Talbart. "That depends on the situation, I suspect. I will try to keep my banners together but if needs force me to hand you over for important tasks I will do so."

Just as I suspected I mused as I sip my ale, the strong taste sending a pleasant warmth through my body. I had long since made my peace with the fact that I would not be able to influence the war in any way or form beyond staying alive. My part would come in the decades after the war, preparing for the war of the five kings and the walkers after that. My time in power before `Robert's Rebellion` had been far too short to gain enough influence so that I might actually be able to do something. But all things considered I had little intention of changing the course of history anyway...at least not before a certain point. Had I been born ten or twenty years earlier this might have been different, but as it was all I could do was to make the best out of the hand I had been dealt with.

Conversation ebbs after that, the lords scattering through the hall as I continue to nurse my beer in silence. I am shaken out of my thoughts as Lord Bole sits down next to me. "Lord Ryther, a moment of your time if you will."

"Of course, Lord Bole. Feel free.", I answer on autopilot as I turn to face the man fully.

"I will come straight out and ask...how have you managed to raise five times the number of men your father would have appeared with? And been able to afford their equipment? Horse them as well? Your father and myself have been friends for a long time and I would have noticed a sudden glut of resources."

I stare at him for a moment, mulling over the words.

"Friends for a long time?", I deflect a second later while narrowing my eyes, "Why is this the first time I hear of your relationship and why, pray tell, did you not reach out to me after his death if you had been such….good friends?"

I have to admit that I let a little anger enter my words, not knowing the man that suddenly claimed to have known my father well. Integrating themselves with a young and impressionable lord did not sound like something northern lords would do one one could never be too careful...

"An answer for an answer then?", he asks after mulling over your reply for a moment before continuing after your sharp nod.

"Self preservation", he admits before lowering his head in shame, "I also attended Harrenhal and to see him die in such an embarrassing way...it made me retreat from any connection to him so that I would not be coloured by association. The south brings out the worst in us northmen...and I should indeed have reached out to you instead of trying to ignore your existence. For this I apologize."

"You saw my father die?", I ask quietly as I let go of my earlier irritation. I could understand his motives and could not find it within me to judge him badly because of it. His reasons were very much human and as such I would leave it be… if he did not repeat the same mistake at a later point in time.

"Aye...I did.", he sighs, "Bad luck all around. It had rained not an hour prior to the bout and he simply slipped on treacherous ground. That alone could have happened to anyone but to actually die from it... He was a good man and deserved better. I treasure the time I spend with him and will defend him against detractors in the future...to my shame I have to say that I did not do so in the last few months."

"Sometime you will have to share some stories of your time with my father.", I half ask and half state. "You are forgiven for what happened after my father's death. Even the best of us did not quite know how to react to that fiasco...Call me Darren, if you will."

"Brynden", he replies at once and nods with a smile, "Friends should do away with titles, they just slow everything down."

"So they do'', I muse with a small chuckle, "but back to your question. To answer it...luck and trade are my secrets. The ironborn left me with two ships. One I sold and the other I used to trade up and down the coast...this allowed me to make money my father lacked the means to. I also...poached...some sailors of other traders that came by, bolstering my numbers some."

All I stated was actually true. I simply choose not to mention that I actively encouraged immigration into my lands by sea and land whenever I could. Some sailors had taken my colours, sure….but they were but a small part of those that have arrived and chosen to stay over the month. I also failed to mention my extensions to the present harbor and the foreign merchants this had attracted or the hygiene directives I had seen fit to implement. Some of those I might share in the future but for now...I hardly knew the man, supposed family friend or not. Trust would have to be earned.

"I have come with twenty light cavalry.", he mused out loud and glanced at me, "If we would join together we would make excellent scouts."

"I am sure", I reply non-committally as I wave in Lord Glover's direction, "if Lord Glover seems fit for us to act as such. Lords Branch and Woods are also scouting troops, correct?"

"Yes", he grumbles with some annoyance and a lot of hidden frustration, "Branch has a hundred archers to his name while Woods has 80 skirmishers. They are pure foot and will stick to each other like sailors to a whore, as always."

"Ah...", I mumble and glance over my tankard at Lord Bole. He obviously wanted me for an ally on more or less equal footing within the northern host as the other minor vassals had either a strong bond like house Branch and Woods or just plain too big to care like house Forrester. Well...who was I not to reach out my hand in friendship? Helping him out now might pay for itself in the future. There was also safety in numbers and while he did not have many of them, his outriders would be better able to handle close quarter fighting than my archers. And – of course – agreeing would motivate him to keep me alive, always something I could get behind.

"It seems we will be seeing a lot of each other in the near future.", I state and offer my hand, which he takes at once with a grin. "And I will be glad to do so.", he laughs before wandering off whistling happily.

I remain behind, somewhat less happy than the other vassal. A slight… kink… had become obvious in my plan. My troops had been horsed with the intention of them being able to get fast from point A to point B while not being too exhausted to fight at the end of it. That it would actually make my men expert hunters to the last, them also being prime scout troops was actually not something that had entered my mind. I groan out loud as I realize that instead of staying in the back of the army volleying arrows at a melee at a comfortable distance, this was likely to put me far in front of the army and directly in contact with those trying to kill the northern host.

"Well, fuck me sideways with a rusty chainsaw...", I mumble and drown the rest of the tankard in a rush, nearly choking on it as it turned out to be somewhat stronger than I expected. Setting it down I turn to my every present shadows, mustering them from head to toe. "Ever thought about wearing plate?"

Wallace and Brynden blink at each other before turning to me with questioning expressions. "I suddenly find myself in a situation where bodily harm might be visited upon me at distances unhealthy to most archers… How are you two with the sword, truly?"

"Reasonably competent.", states Brynden while Wallace shrugs his massive shoulders, stating. "I prefer a sturdy hammer to bladed weapons."

"Well then", I mutter and raise while waving them to follow. "Seems we will be visiting the local smithy."

Having realized that I was more likely than not going to be ahead of the army most of my time I had to re-evaluate some of the plans I had prepared. Just having archers around would be hazardous to my health, so I armoured my unofficial sworn swords up some. Three days later, two days before we would be setting out for the Moat, I finished kitting them out to my satisfaction.

Wallace, being nearly two meters tall and built like an ox, had been fitted with half plate just like myself and his equipment expanded by a sturdy warhammer and a high shield made of steel reinforced ironwood. Other men would have struggled to lift either but he easily wielded both at the same time.

Brynden on the other hand, being more lithe, had gotten a castle forged longsword and also reinforced ironwood round shield of somewhat lighter make. His half plate also was less thick than the one commissioned for Wallace, allowing him to move far more fluently and faster than my more strength orientated shadow.

I was happy with the way both turned out even though they had delegated their bows to reserve weapons and would from now on stand in as my bodyguards all the time. Both felt very much honored by the gold I spent to equip them and they were always found on the training field whenever not in my presence. Kind words, respect and gifts would always be more effective to further loyalty and motivation than fear, I supposed.

As we moved out a few days later I was little surprised to find my men at the head of the army with lord Bole close by. Normally this position of – dubious – honour would be awarded to lords that the commander of the army liked...but here and now it was just a matter of practicality. The Glover host had next to no mounted troops beyond those I had brought along, so we had been chosen by lacking other options. Not that I would have had the option of refusing either way. There were a few heavily armoured knights in Lord Glover's retinue, but those had no business scouting ahead, not that much scouting would be needed while still being in the north. Still, I agreed with Lord Glover that it was always better to be on the side of caution. One could never know what awaited one on the road.

I simply used the task as exercise for my men, who needed it just as much as myself. I also got to know Lord Bole better as we moved through the wolfswood. Two children were waiting for him to return home, his wife having died together with his third child during a difficult and sadly deadly birth. He considered himself to be still in mourning and had yet to look for another match. His line being secure, Lord Glover had also not chosen to press the issue. Brynden Bole had also turned out to have a sarcastic streak a mile wide, provoking a chuckle out of me more often than not at his comments. I had also taken to calling him "Bryle", a nickname that his younger sister had given him at some point and which had stuck for some reason. It also made it far easier on me to sort out my ally from my sworn sword. The name being as numerous as it was in the north, it made it easier for everybody involved as it cleared up just whom I was speaking to or about.

We had been moving for nearly two weeks before anything interesting happened and that little bit of excitement was over before I could even get close to it. A group of wildlings had crossed the wall and somehow found its way into the wolfswood, straight into the path of the moving army. Bole's men had spotted them and attacked at once, my men giving long range support. Of the thirty strong raiding party only two had survived, both not being long for this world. I had no part in the fighting, being a few miles away at the time of the fight. Only as my men informed me of the skirmish I headed for the battleground, if one could call it that.

Arriving I ride up to the survivors, while trying to ignore the ghastly sights and smells of a fresh battlefield. Two men had been bound to a tree, one having two shattered legs while the other had two arrows stuck in him where I suspected his liver to be. The black blood told me that he would not survive, as wouldn't the other one with medicine being what it was. Of our men none had died and only one of Bryle's men suffered a flesh wound, the attack having been too fast with most wildlings either being shot down or run over by charging horses before they could put up any sort of defence.

Jumping off my horse I move to them with the men taking a respectful step back. Staring at the men for a moment I sigh. "You both know that you will die today, your injuries will not allow anything else. Answer my questions and I will make the end easy upon you. Resist and I will simply leave you bound to these trees as you die slowly and in agony."

The older of the two grunts, face twitching in agony from his shattered legs, as he nods slowly. "Ask.", he spits out bitterly through rotten teeth, "dying fast beats being left to die by you kneelers. Just promise to burn our bodies and those of the clan."

"Why are you south of the wall?", I started at once after glancing at the other man that had chosen to remain silent and agreeing to his demand of a pyre. This was actually something I had also chosen to implement in my own fief as well, knowing what I did about the others and their necromancy. I shuddered at the thought of the vile magic and made a mental note of acquiring myself a magic user as well...might prove useful in the future. Maybe I could get my hands on a greenseer or three? Or get Marwyn away from the citadel? Decisions, decisions... The red sorcerers I would definitively avoid even though resurrection would be a handy ability to have access to. The human sacrifice part of their magic just...did not sit right with me. But having someone at hand that could protect me from being stabbed by my own shadow sounded like a good idea. Sighing I table the thought for later, nothing I could do about it now.

"Thought to steal ourselves some woman and good steel. We would have returned north afterwards, had we not met you.", he grouses through clenched teeth as another wave of agony flashes through his body.

"Why turn south, not north?"

"Only death awaits in the lands of always winter, south is the only real option.", the second man interjects dully, a little blood bubbling out of his mouth.

"How did you cross the wall?"

"Climbed it, how else?", the older one grunts before shrugging, "There haven't been enough crows to stop us for ages."

Closing my eyes I sigh, knowing it to be true. "Are there other raiders on this side of the border that you know of?"

The younger one laughs before spitting out a glob of black blood. "Ten times our number climbed the wall...you will never get all of us."

"I may or I may not", I grumble before asking a last question. "Do you know where they have gone?"

"We parted ways a week past and would only meet up again in five moons time before returning north.", the older one states before going silent.

"Thank you", I state quietly before gesturing to Wallace and Brynden, who had nearly silently moved next to the two prisoners. Two swords are swung and two men die quickly as I watch sadly. "You earned your reward.", I told the corpses before shaking my head with a sigh, "what a waste."

"A waste?", asks Bryle as he walks up to me while the men loot the corpses before throwing them in a big pile to be burned as soon as possible. "I only see raiders getting what they deserve."

"Yes, a waste", I reply with some heat as I wave my hand at the battlefield. "The conflict across the wall is just pointless, costing lives no one can afford to lose for no gain on either side. Trade would be much preferable. By the old gods...everything between Last Hearth and the wall is unsettled. We could come to an agreement with the wildlings that would see the land put to use and the attacks stop. The whole north would be stronger for it!"

"We have fought the wildlings for thousands of years. It has always been this way.", replies my...dare I call him friend? He obviously saw nothing wrong with things as they stood.

"Doesn't make it right.", I countered with a scowl. Bryle kept his silence, quietly disagreeing but unwilling to argue the topic any further. We had grown closer over the days and weeks of shared marching and scouting and by now he had grown to know when discussing a topic would lead to nothing as our opinions just differed too much on some things. Once found we more often than not avoided bringing these topics up again, choosing that agreeing to disagree was the healthy way out in these instances.

"Lord Glover will not like this.", I state instead as the men set fire to the pyre the wildlings had been moved onto, the rising flames crackling ominously in the silence of a forest's peace interrupted, the smell of burned pork causing a grimace to appear on my face. Some things I would never grow accustomed to.

"No, he will not.", he agreed with a sigh, "Gods, I do not either. We have other things to do than to hunt wildlings. There is a war on."

As it turned out we were quite right, Talbart Glover's glower (heh!) was very much impressive as we reported our findings the same evening. Lords Branch and Woods were also present, their expressions being very much thunderous as it was their lands that the wildlings would most likely target first.

"We will need to protect our holdings!", grouses Lord Branch from his place at the back of the tent, a tankard of watered ale in his hand. Woods agrees at once, "Aye. Lord Glover, give us leave to put them to the sword. We will rejoin the army after it has been done."

"No", Talbart declines at once, raising a hand to silence the two lords that instantly open their mouths to argue. "Your troops are foot. You will neither catch them in time, nor will you be able to move after us fast enough to catch up within the next year."

He turns to me and Bryle, both of us having remained close to the entrance after giving our report. "Lords Boyle and Lord Ryther will hunt the wildlings down and rejoin the army as soon as they can. Both are mounted, as are their troops. Their numbers should be sufficient, as should be the mix of light horse and archers. We will make do without mounted scouts until we reach the Moat."

"We will of course serve, Milord", replies Bryle before I have the chance to respond, his voice terse at being relegated to glorified guard duty instead of going to the war with his lord as he had intended. Lords Branch and Woods also looked less than happy but not near as mutinous as they had been a second before. Both knew that Lord Glover had the right of it and could do nothing against his decision without coming across as whining cunts. I actually felt next to no pity for them as I had caught both making less than favourable comments about my father, my house...and myself. I might be forced to fight with them but I had definitely not taken a liking to them, which made Lord Glover's decision all the sweeter.

Inwardly crackling with glee at the opportunity to avoid the meat grinder that was the rebellion for a little longer I give my best effort at looking somewhat offended while still being willing to do as told. "Milord...", I caution, "the wildlings have splintered into ten groups of varying strength if the prisoner is to be believed. Even horsed, we are likely to only catch the last of them as they meet up again in five moons time. This will likely put us behind you by nearly half a year even if everything goes right, which is likely won´t."

"I am aware." Talbart grumbles with a grimace before angrily drowning his tankard of ale, nearly shattering it as he sets it down on the table next to him. "Still, I see no other options. Your men are well suited for the task and the only ones with any chance to catch up after it has been done. Return to Deepwood Motte once your task is done. I will send a raven in five month time, telling you where to head to."

"As you command, Milord.", I state with a small bow, "By your leave I would return to my men and prepare. We are already a week behind the wildlings and should set out at first light."

"Just get it done, Darren….Brynden", he grumbles before waving us off, his focus shifting to the other two lords. "And now to you two...", I hear him start before moving out out hearing range, the tent flapping shut behind us.

I turn to Bryle a moment later, raising my eyebrow at this downcast expression. "Oh, cheer up you pussy.", I tell him drily and start to walk, "I prefer saving northern homes to putting southern ones to the torch any day of the week."

"To be left behind is an insult", he states angrily before stomping off to prepare his own men.

"Gloryhound...", I mumble and shake my head at his back, my voice turning to a whisper as I mouth what had become my unofficial motto. "Glory is for idiots and those in the wrong place at the wrong time."By now I had grown to suspect that common sense had been a invention of the twentith century only to be thown overboard again in the twentyfirst. Well, on my old life it had been. In Westeros the common folk had gotten most of it, leaving only a little for the occasional noble. I sigh, knowing that this made most of my nobles far too easy to manipulate by everybody knowing how to push the right buttons. I prided myself in being practical over being honorbound. Realpolitic is the name of the game as far as I was concerned, to borrow a well known german expression. Looking at his retreating form I cannot help but hope that my friend will come around my way of thinking before it got him killed. I had grown fond of the sarcastic man at some point.

Knowing that Bryle would be ready come dawn despite his grumblings I move to prepare my own men, a wide smile growing on my face as the darkness hides my expression. As I enter my tent hours later I actually allow myself a small laugh as I fist pump in the air to a mental "Fuck Yeah!". Sitting down on the hard ground I opened a small flask of wine I had taken along, having intended to drink it to celebrate...something...at some point. Chugging a mouthful I continue to grin and chuckle near silently.

For once something seems to be going my way, I muse mentally. Hunting down free folk was vastly preferable to marching to war. Going against men and women armed with bronze and stone and no armour to speak off while being well equipped and mounted...well, it was much better and a lot less likely to kill me than to face off against superior numbers with at least equal equipment. That it would also take a few months at least leaving me to hope that I would miss most of the rebellion, if not all of it. Already I was thinking about devising arguments that would allow me to return to Rythstone and take a ship from there after everything was done, hopefully costing more time without it being obvious…In my opinion I was still too young to fight in any war, never mind this one. Sadly Westeros didn´t agree with my tender sensibilities.

Chuckling, I take another mouthful of the dornish red, enjoying the light buzz it gave me with some relish. Ah...the comforts of nobody caring about alcohol consumption. At least this shithole got something right. I slept well that night, the danger of war, battle and bloodshed seeming far away for once.

I really should have known better than to taunt Murphy like that.

As it turned out it took less than two weeks for me to be drenched in blood and guts. The rest of the flask got emptied that day. It has started inconspicuous enough with the leading elements of our group catching up to the first group of wildlings. We had been tracking them for nearly four days after having taken three days to reach the point where the different groups had scattered in more or less every direction. We had also left twenty of my archers behind, to take care of any group that arrived back sooner than anticipated. Fifty men would be more than enough to take care of the wildlings we estimated.

We spotted the first group of wildlings as they were just attacking a hamlet of maybe thirty inhabitants, the smoke above the settlement being a clear indication that the raiders had gotten the rape, pillage and burn confused regarding the order in which things had to be done. Bryle ordered his men to charge at once while I spread mine out along the treeline around the hamlet, taking shots of opportunity whenever they offered themselves. The wildlings were completely caught by surprise and in some cases literally with their pants down. Two dozen raiders were put to the sword with another dozen all but sprinting for the treeline with my men shooting at easy targets… before everything had gone tits up. As it turned out we were not the only group to be attracted by the smoke, not one but two other splinter groups of wildlings appearing out of the woods surrounding us, turning a slaughter into an actual fight.

Cursing I raise my shield, an arrow burrowing itself deeply into the wood as I roar for my men to form up around me. Wallace all but hammered a screeching wildling into the ground to my left while Brynden cut the neck of another that tried to drag him off his horse. My archers found themselves unable to wield their bows, instead falling back to their melee weapons as wildling after wildling came charging out of the woods.

"To the village!", I roar as I split open a crazed looking woman's head with my hastily drawn sword, her spear only just missing my side. She wasn't the first person I killed, but she had been the first where I was close enough to watch the light leaving her eyes. Shaking myself out of it I club another wildling over the head with the edge of my shield, cracking the skull wide open. Freezing now would do me little good and likely kill me, so I simply didn´t and engaged the autopilot as my mind hid in some corner and continued to cry half in terror half in incomprehension at what I was doing.

"To the village!", I repeat shrilly, voice pitched to carry, and dig my heels into my steed's sides. My bodyguards follow as I break out of the woods and charge to the few gathered buildings that had just been cleared of wildlings, the raiders charging after us mindlessly, bloodlust having won over common sense as I had hoped it would. They saw us running….which we really weren't.

"Bryle, your turn!", I roared as I raced between the buildings with my men hard at my heels. Lord Boyle and his remaining men broke out of the shadows of the houses at once, charging at the wildlings that suddenly found themselves caught on open ground and too far away from the trees to seek shelter again. Instead they fought and died to the last as we circled around and took them in the flanks, most being ridden down before we put the rest to the sword.

At this moment the fourth group had shown up, announcing itself with a volley of arrows from the treeline before charging at us with no more self preservation instinct than the last horde had shown. I scream with rage as an arrow shatters off my plate, watching four others bury themselves into Brynden and throwing him clearly off his horse. "Kill them all!", I roar as I feel a red haze descend on my vision,

"Never cut twice!"

"Never cut twice!", my men answered at once, "Kill the fuckers!"

Arrows whiz by as I charge with Lord Boyle and the other riders at my side. The impact of our charge on the disorganized mess of wildling fighters is brutal to say at least. Screams of men and beast alike intermingling as the initial violence of charging horses running over men or into spears turning into a vicious melee. The raiders try their best to draw us off our horses while we hack at everything coming close. In the end they never had a chance but we paid dearly for our initial hubris.

The fighting from start to finish had only taken maybe twenty minutes but I felt more exhausted than at any point in my life that I could remember as the battle came to a close. The last five wildlings had thrown down their weapons and surrendered, two of those having been cut down before Bryle could stop the vengeful men from also gutting the remaining ones as well. I had lost a third of my force with another third suffering from wounds from light to serve. Only ten men including myself had remained without injury. I had also lost Brynden, my sworn sword having not survived the arrows that had hit him unlucky enough to get by his armour. It pained me more than I liked to admit.

Lord Boyle's forces had also taken a beating, only a dozen of his men having survived with most suffering light wounds from the brutal melee. They had been better able to handle the close quarter fighting than my archers but they had also been in the thick of things a lot more. Thankfully we had both armoured and equipped our men well, which allowed us the pyrrhic victory the skirmish turned out to be. We had killed no less than seventy wildlings, losing only a fourth of that number in return. Most commanders in this day and age would have considered the rate of exchange to be acceptable, even great… I did not. I just found it to be a waste of life and manpower that would have come in handy down the line.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts – something which I had been doing more and more lately – I instead turned to Wallace. "Take a few men and take a look around. I do not want to be surprised like that again."

"Aye, Milord", he replies at once, voice strained as he had just lost a friend and many others he had known as well. Turning his horse he grabs four uninjured men and heads out as I turn to the captured wildlings, Bryle already glaring at the two men and one woman.

"Are there any of your group that remain?", I ask them as I rip out an arrow that had buried itself into my shield.

"Why should we answer any of your questions, kneeler?", asks the woman.

I stare back in silence for a moment as I look her over. She was maybe twenty years of age and was wearing the thick furs so common with her people. Thick brown hair fell over half of her somewhat pretty face, half hiding a scar that marked her right check.

"Because it is the only way you may come out of this alive.", I reply calmly, noticing the angry glare Bryle was sending my way from behind the prisoners.

"As if you would let us live.", one of the men grouses, echoing the thought I could see in my friend's face.

"If you didn't think it was a chance, why did you surrender?", I rebuke reasonably and easily catch the glances thrown back and forth between the clansmen. "Information for life is what I offer. You will not be free anytime soon, of course. But you will be alive."

Bryles face goes completely red by the time I finish my offer before stomping away with a growl. I might just have lost an ally there but I would stand by my words despite his obvious disapproval. My word was my bond, as it would be expected of any northern noble. Bryle knew this and walked off before killing the prisoners and making me into a liar. Maybe the relationship could still be salvaged after all...

"We left ten behind with the stolen woman and the other loot.", the second man finally breaks the silence, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Where?", I jumped in at once, waving over one of my men.

"Two miles to the north."

"You", I command the summoned men, "Take the uninjured men and go after Wallace. Tell him what you just witnessed. He will know what to do."

"Yes, Milord" A bow later he was off with five men, galloping after my sworn sword. They would see the hostages freed and might even capture another clansmen or two.

Turning back to the prisoners, now guarded by two of my lightly wounded men I sigh. "Thank you for this information. It will be put to good use." I pause a moment. "You crossed the wall by climbing, intended to raid for women and steel and will gather again four days' ride from here in a little less than five moons time before returning north again. You scattered into ten groups. Am I missing something?"

The clansmen looked at each other in surprise, not having expected me to have any information on them or to have stumbled upon them on anything else but by accident. "Aye", the woman speaks up again, "ten groups it might have been at the start but by now some will have met up again. As you obviously found one of the others to be this informed... there are now less than five still raiding. Likely only two, the Thenns in one and the Cannibals in the other."

"Do you have numbers?"

"A hundred Thenn and half that many of the river cannibals.", she shrugs and I make a mental note that this would put the total number of the slain and still at large wildlings closer to two hundred and fifty and not at three hundred as the last interrogation had revealed.

"Equipment?" I inquire just to be safe.

"Bronze armour and weapons for the Thenn, nothing to speak of but bones for the cannibals.", the younger of the two men kneeling on the ground grouses before looking at the two others. "What? Might just as well be completely honest with the kneelers. There is no use them dragging us along only to be eaten by the river clans before we can break free."

"Breaking free would be ill advised", I state mildly, "the north knows that you are here and even if you should manage to flee you will never reach the wall before being hunted down."

"So you say", the older male prisoner states wearily but sighs in defeat, "still, I for my part will not try to flee. I am too old for this shit and prefer being a prisoner in the south to rotting in a ditch in the north. You should as well, Shale...Brigitte."

The woman, Brigitte, grumbles before nodding sharply. "Aye Thorre, we will do as you say...not that I disagree."

"Good...i taught you better than to look a gifted horse into the mouth.", the man grumbles before falling silent again.

Leaving the three for my men to guard, I move over to Bryle, who was taking stock of the situation.

"Another ten wildlings with hostages two miles to the north.", I start before he can start to curse me, "My men will take care of it."

Brynden Boyle pauses for a moment, opened mouth closing before opening again even with a much less serve tilt to it. "Of the village only fifteen survivors, all women and children. Half the women have been raped before we arrived. The men are dead.", he states with a growl, choosing to ignore the topic of the made prisoners for now. "They will die come winter without their menfolk."

"They are welcome in my lands if they have nowhere else to go.", I state absently, causing him to blink in surprise. "We will have to retreat to the gathering point and gather my other men. We lack the numbers to engage the other wildling groups after this… victory."

"So we do.", he agrees with a grimace, "we can leave the wounded and the prisoners there instead. Most should be healed up before the wildling splinter groups are set to return there."

I nod silently as we continue to watch our men working to clear up the battlefield. Wildling corpses are looted and thrown on the makeshift pyre of one of the burning houses, sparing the men the work of gathering firewood. Our own dead are respectfully placed a little to the side. My men would be burned as well, but with individual pyres, not the mass cremation done to the clansmen. Their equipment would of course be gathered beforehand. Expensive as it was, I had no intention of melting it in a pyre. It would go to the next recruit with hopefully better luck than the current wearer had had.

As it turned out the women had nowhere to go so they would follow us back to the gathering point where they would stay with the prisoners and wounded until our return. The additional twenty women and two wilding prisoners Wallace returned with were simply integrated into the group. It took us nearly a week to get back there even though we had a lot of empty horses to speed up the process. Still, moving with wounded and children did not happen with any form of haste and as we were less than inclined to split the numbers we had...well, we had to make do.

The strained mood between Bryle and myself persisted for nearly a week before we managed to put it behind us, the rescued prisoners that had escaped their fate because the information I bartered for played a great part in the reconciliation. Even so we still disagreed pretty heavily on how to treat wildlings in general and what should be done about them down the line. In the end it turned out to be another topic we just avoided, neither of us willing to risk our budding friendship over the issue.

Arriving at the gathering point, Bryle and I were quick to instruct the men to set up a fortified camp and dig in until our return before we set out again. Brigitte had been `nice` enough to point out which tracks belonged to the cannibal clans which we had decided to pursue first. Come to think of it, she had been almost gleeful at pointing us in their direction. It seems some things and activities were just universally despised. The Thenn posed the greater threat to our numbers and really should have come first from a pure military perspective… but we preferred our fellow northmen to be `just` taken or killed. Being eaten...well...it didn't dare take thinking about.

Catching up to the river clans turned out to be a chore as the tracks had been weeks old by the time we started the chase. Even horsed, it took us nearly three weeks to come close to them, finding no less than three burned hamlets in their wake. We found twenty survivors, mostly children and teenagers that had hidden themselves away at the behest of their parents and had not been found in the carnage. We sent them back to the gathering point, not being able to spare the men or time to escort them there. They would hopefully make it...if not I would feel bad about it but at least they would have had a chance. Remaining behind in their burned out homes would not have afforded them even that.

The river clansmen – as we finally caught up – were camping at the edge of a small lake. Two sentries had been set up and were quick to fall to well targeted arrows before the others could be warned. Having left the horses behind I and my archers slowly sneaked up in the darkness, the wildlings' eyes having long since become blind to the darkness due their fires. We remained unnoticed to the moment my men and myself let loose with our arrows, killing or at least badly wounding half of their number in an eye blink. Panic reigned supreme as we continued to shoot arrows at the clansmen while slowly advancing. Bryle with a dozen riders charging at his side put down the last resistance, the unorganized wildlings having rallied around their leader close to the shore only to be trampled beneath the horses.

No quarter was given, nor asked for.

The aftermath of the battle left a bad taste in my mouth despite having not taken a single casualty. The surprise had been complete and the fight an absolute and brutal slaughter. But the number of bones and half eaten human… parts… we had found – some still baking above cooking fires – caused me to question my plan to bring the free folk south for the first time. Some things just could not be forgiven. At least we managed to rescue forty women and children who had been taken as wives and...cattle. They had been badly traumatized by the experience and yet to speak a word, their eyes gazing emptily ahead. The only reaction we had managed to get out of them was the slightest grunt of satisfaction as the remains of the cannibals were unceremoniously thrown on a pyre.

This time we actually escorted them back ourselves instead of just pointing them in the correct direction. We could afford to waste the time, knowing that any tracks of the Thenn´s would have long since been gone by the time we returned. Five weeks we needed to return to the gathering point only for us to pause as it came into view. A makeshift palisade had been erected in our absence, ramshackle wooden huts being protected in its center. I counted no less than sixty smallfolk being busy within and around as the soldiers we left behind stood watch or returned with hunted wildlife.

I really hadn't intended to found a new village.

Bryle looked equally surprised but also no less pleased. Our men had really outdone themselves it seemed. We were greeted happily and grateful to finally have a somewhat protected place to stay for the night or three. Brynden and I had agreed to allow the men a few days rest before taking up the chase again. The Thenn would be our greatest challenge yet. With no tracks to follow we would have to scout in the rough direction we knew them to have gone and might just as well not find them at all before being forced to return. At that point we would have to wait for them to arrive. We had actually discussed simply waiting for them from the start, forgoing the chase completely… but this might be seen as cowardly by the other lords, which neither of us could afford.

Walking through the small outpost during the evening I am deep in thought as I take in everything around me. I had never intended for the gathering point to actually become a settlement or even a place where people would stay for more time than absolutely necessary. There was also the purely egoistical point that I could use every additional hand in my own lands and I had intended to take them all along before...this...happened. I scowl slightly before emitting a sigh. It irked me something fierce to see an opportunity to be put at risk like this by good intention and hard work. I could not even fault them for it.

Shaking myself I smile at a little girl that chased a tiny… hound… around the settlement, laughing brightly. Ah, the innocence of youth I mused before stopping abruptly, my head turning slowly and almost mechanically in the direction both were still running. My mind short circuited for a moment before restarting, the blue screen fading before my mental eyes as I pale dramatically.

That was very much not a dog.

Hurrying after the players I finally caught up to them at the edges of the palisade, where the girl had cornered the animal and was all but smothering the poor pup.

"Little one", I speak up carefully while taking great care not to make any movements that could be misinterpreted as threatening, "may I ask where you found your...friend?"

"I found Star in the fields up there yesterday. We are best friends!", she smiles brightly at me, the wolf pup licking her hand eagerly behind her back.

"Did Star have any friends with her?", I inquired while my mind moved quickly, preparing to ride out and see the threat put to an end. It would be a little embarrassing rescuing a few dozen smallfolk only for them to get eaten by angry wolves because a girl kidnapped...pup-napped?...one of their pack mates by accident.

"Yes, but they ran away very fast! Only Star stayed and wanted to be cuddled!", the little girl answers and hugs the animal tighter to her chest, the wolf whining piteously. Mustering them from head to toe I came to a decision. "Little one, is one of your parents nearby?"

"No", she answers sadly before kicking the dust at her feet, "the wild one took them. I am staying with one of the soldiers. Uncle Wallace told me that he would take me to a new home and that there would be many children to play with!"

Wallace...you old softie.

"And he is right, of course.", I verify before waving the girl off, "Please stay within the palisade as you play, alright? We have not yet caught every wild one and would not want Star being injured, would we?"

She gasps and shakes her head wildly, "No! Never!"

Shaking my head in amusement I move to find my sworn sword and as it looked, adoptive father to be. He turned out just as surprised as I had been at the species of his adopted daughter's companion. He nonetheless would give it a try and not see them separated… it might yet work out. I remained sceptical, suspecting that the only reason having a direwolf worked out for the Stark's in the show were their inherited abilities as wargs. Humming to myself I make a mental note to keep an eye on the little girl if she actually managed to tame her wolf. But was there even a sure way to identify someone as a warg? Just waiting for them to look through an animal's eyes sounded so...random. My inner scientist all but frothed at the mouth in indignation at the thought. But for now there were other things to do.

Four hours later I and twenty of my hunters had managed to kill two wolves of giant size that turned out to be very much unfriendly as they killed three of my men before finally being put down. I grimaced as I saw their corpses but I had little choice. Allowing a pack of wolves this close to the settlement was just asking for Murphy to fuck me over. Better some blood now than a lot of tears later… In addition to the pair of giant wolves – not even direwolves! – we slew a dozen wolves of the normal variety and size, thankfully without losing any more men. We also found the rest of the wolf litter, three more wolf pups being gathered up by my men to be delivered to Wallace and the little girl. If they could control them it might be a great boon in the future. If not it would not be my arm that got chewed off by the little monsters. I had always been more of a cat person anyway.

For a moment I pause and think about what I had just done. Causally risking the life of others should not be something I should be doing but I had just done exactly that with only the barest hint of remorse. A cold shudder runs down my back and I shiver, silently cursing Westeros and what it was doing to my moral compass. The wine skin I emptied that night alone in my tent felt like I was trying to drown my past self and my conscience with it. It might just have been the truth as well...but at least I could sleep that night without troubles, even though the hangover the next morning was truly monstrous.

We set out four days later, well rested and numbers slightly reinforced as some of the wounded had been healed enough to accompany us again. Fifty strong we were still outnumbered two to one but I hoped that our better equipment and professional training would carry the day. As would the surprise we would hopefully have on our side.

Three weeks later we had little to show for our efforts, not having seen hide or hair of the Thenn's that we had been chasing. The tracks had long since been washed away by the weather and we were more or less searching for a needle in the giant haystack that was the north. We found four burned down settlements but no survivors and the last of the attacks happened at least six weeks in the past, leaving any tracks we might have followed from there next to unusable as well. There might have been survivors for all we knew, but they had long since left their former homes behind.

"Bryle", I start as I ride up to my friend in the middle of the fourth destroyed settlement, "this isn't working."

He scowls but finally nods with a sigh. Our relationship had been strained for a while after I spared the lives of the three wildlings after the initial skirmish but it had recovered. That the information I gained led to the total annihilation of the cannibals had done what the initial rescue of our fellow northman could not. By now I would even say that we were closer than ever before...which was hard not to, truth to be told. After travelling together as long as we had and spilling blood in each other's defence...well, there are a few things that forge a bond faster.

"No, it is not.", he agrees as the scowl reappears, "back to the gathering it is then. It seems we will be the ones setting up the ambush for a change."

I nod silently, no less happy with the thought than he was. The Thenn would have been raiding the north for nearly half a year by the time we finally did battle… which just didn't sit right with me. Half a year of dead northmen, looted and burned settlements...what a fucking waste. No wonder the northernmost lords hated the wildlings with a passion, if raids such as these happened with any sort of regularity. My plans of gathering the free folk to my banner looked harder every time I looked at it. Still, I was not one to give up easily and getting them south was just necessary...i would just have to find a way to do so without kicking off a civil war or getting an assassin or three send after my head. Well, I had always liked a good challenge.

For now I just hoped that the Thenn at least had lost some of their numbers during this time, making it easier for us to put them in the ground. Damn, I was very very frustrated with the situation but couldn't see any other way to go about it. Chasing them further would be futile with the risk that we might actually miss them if they returned sooner than anticipated, growing with every mile we put between ourselves and the gathering point.

Returning to the small outpost that had somehow again grown in our absence with the number of peasants more than tripling. As it turned out a lot more hamlets existed in the wolfswood than I had ever thought with their inhabitants scattering into the forest as they noticed the wildlings approach. Some had not gone back home after they had passed by, instead stumbling over the fortified outpost and choosing to stay. Taking the new development in stride I simply shrugged before offering the newcomers a place in my lands after everything is done with...and going on a recruiting drive. After all, if a sudden source of manpower is thrown in my lap, why shouldn't I use it?

Out of the nearly 200 smallfolk that had accumulated in the outpost, I managed to get 30 able bodied men and youths to take up arms under my banner, refilling and even expanding my ranks with motivated but untrained levies. Ten of them were competent enough with the bow to fill the ranks of my archers, the other twenty would be foot soldiers...peasant militia in all but name. Not having many additional weapons at hand I had my archers give up their poles – not that I had been able to use them in any way till now – to the militia men. Some hammering on the metal connections between the wooden parts gave me some more or less sturdy spears to work with, which I immediately equipped my new men with. Between the armour we looted of the wildlings and their ill gotten gains and the ones left behind by my fallen men we had enough to spread around that everyone was afforded at least a modicum of protection.

My newly recruited men would be the ones staying within the fortification, protecting the smallfolk from any Thenn that managed to make it past the ambush Bryle and I were setting up on the most likely approaches. Or, if the worst happened, they might be enough to deter the Thenn long enough to allow the peasants to flee for Deepwood Motte. Either way Wallace had been volunteered by myself to train them up as much as possible in the time that remained. His adopted daughter – Lyrra – and her wolf pack watched more often than not, the girl having an almost scary ability to keep the quickly growing wolves under her control, which I am honest to admit scared the shit out of me. My suspicion of her having some warging ability or at least a drop of magical ability somewhere in the family tree seemed more plausible by the day.

Two weeks before the five moons that had been given as a deadline for the wildlings to gather again, some of my scouts finally spotted the Thenn approaching. Earlier than expected but late enough that we had managed to prepare everything that we had planned and then some.

Half an hour's ride away from the outpost Bryle and I were waiting, hidden in a cove of trees with our men having gathered behind us. We gaze at the Thenn moving for the gathering point half a mile in front of us, crossing an open plain between the forest we were hiding and one of the many rivers flowing through the north.

"That is a lot of prisoners", I state flatly as my gaze moves over the long column crossing the flatlands.

Bryle just grunts next to me, silently weighting the situation that presented itself to us. The Thenn had obviously been quite successful in their raiding as they herded no less than two hundred smallfolk along, many carrying bundles along. Curios revealed that only a little more than two thirds were made out of women and children, the rest being men and male youths. I had not expected them to be present as they presented a greater danger to the Thenn than the woman would. Still puzzled over the prisoners I continue to gaze at the column and count the Thenn warriors I could see.

"A hundred and twenty warriors", I state before glancing sideways, "Agreed?"

"More", Bryle answers at once, pointing ahead and behind the column, "they won´t be stupid enough to move without scouts, slow as they are because of their prisoners. Twenty more are around, I suspect."

I grunt, "Seems that our prisoners are as bad as accountants as they are as visitors."

Bryle chuckles drily before gripping his long riding spear tighter, "Doesn't matter either way. This ends here."

"Aye, my friend. It does.", I growl through bared teeth, raising my own spear as I glance behind us. Bryle had only ten able bodied riders left after the heavy skirmishing we had been doing, far too few to make an actually useful charge. So I had done something I had dearly wished to avoid...and switched my bow for a long spear with more than half my men doing the same. We had thirty poles that had not been used for the newly equipped militia hammered together to be used as makeshift lances. My men were archers first and foremost but in this fight we would need them as light cavalry. My remaining twenty men would dismount and shoot at targets of opportunity, hopefully taking out any Thenn we missed. We had chosen this makeup of our forces as we would have to move fast if we wanted at least a change of rescuing the prisoners. Just volleying them with arrows would have been safer for us but likely led to a lot more dead peasants as they were used as human shields or cut down by the Thenn out of spite alone. I felt deeply uncomfortable wielding the improvised lance and had long since made the promise to myself that I would train with a lot of different weapons if I survived this shit. Focussing on the bow had earned my a lot of skill with it but not really knowing other weapons had already bit me in the arse a few times...and would do so again if I did not change my ways in a hurry.

"Wait for it!", Bryle hisses to me as the Thenn moved ever closer.

"Waaait", he repeated a few minutes later as the Thenn had closed the distance to a few hundred meters.

Three Thenn suddenly appear from the woods out of the direction of the outpost, screaming something in the old tongue, a almost visible feeling of shock going through the Thenn within the caravan. We had been made it seems.

"Now!" Bryle roars and we ram our heels in our steeds sides at once, breaking out of the woods in a sudden tide of horseflesh and armoured men. Forty steeds could make a fearsome racket it they stormed at you from one moment to the next and the Thenn really did not like being on the receiving end of our charge. The very earth trembled beneath our steeds as we headed straight for the thickest concentration of clan warriors, their discipline – such as it was – sadly not breaking at our sudden appearance. Even as we closed in frighteningly fast they tried to organize themselves to face us, only for shrieks of pain to echo within their ranks as my remaining archers volleyed their arrows above our heads straight into the gathering clansmen.

Any cohesion that might have been present was shattered as two dozen Thenn fell to arrows before we even arrived, their armour more often than not proving insufficient to shield their wearers from the projectiles. Than we smashed into their number like the fist of an angry god. I grunt as my pole shatters the instant I spear the first Thenn straight through the neck, the clicked together wood just coming apart at the seams. At my sides Bryle and our men were likewise wrecking bloody havoc, killing Thenn left and right. I noticed more than half of the poles not having survived the initial impact with only about the same number of them actually having killed their intended target. Hell, the horses had run over and trampled more wildlings than my poles had killed!

Having no time to mourn the death of my invention I drew my blade – still didn't like the thing – and started to hack at every clansmen I could find. Our charge had outright killed half of the clansmen but now it turned into a bloody melee as the prisoners scattered in the direction of the river while the surviving clansmen converged on us, arrows punching down some here and there but most remained untargeted as the were too close to our men to be shot at without risk of friendly fire. Hacking and slashing I continue with a snarl on my lips and fire burning in my muscles.

I was an archer, for fucks sake! I had no business being in a melee!

A bronze axe gets stuck in my shield and I discard it viciously into the face of a clansmen with a curse, the weapon making it unwieldy as hell and more a danger than a boon. A spear shatters on my breast a moment later, the plate denting but holding firm as I literally kick in the wielders face with my armoured boot before my horse tramples the warrior just to be sure. An arrow glances off my helmet a split second later, the impact nearly throwing me off my horse as I taste blood before I regain my bearing and continue hacking into the bronze wielding clansmen.

In the confusion I only notice the arrival of my remaining archers – the men having taken up their swords as the melee grew too compact for them to use their bows anymore – as the press of bodies around me suddenly eases up. The reinforcements finally put an end to the fighting, their charge breaking the fighting spirit of the Thenn. Most are put to the sword with only a dozen throwing down their weapons in time to be taken prisoner instead.

I am left panting as I can only just hold my sword aloft. Looking around I raise it in the air.

"Victory!", I roar, the echoing shouts ecstatic...but also far less numerous than I would have liked.

The only thing worse than a battle won is a battle lost, I mused half a day later as I poke the bandage that covered half my face. The arrow had nearly taken out my eye and instead rammed the pointy sections of my helmet into the left side of my face, ripping the skin something fierce. I would retain a dashing scar, I supposed. Thankfully we had found a lot of alcohol in the ill gotten gains of the clansmen, so I had disinfected my wounds quite thoroughly, hopefully denying any infection the chance to get a hold on me.

Taking stock after the battle had been quite a pain, in more ways than one. Of the clansmen only ten lived to see night fall with another estimated ten – scouts all around – still being missing. By now they were likely halfway to the wall and still running. We had decided to leave them be, being too exhausted to give chase. And it might actually be fortuitous for us if tales of their raiding groups utter annihilation got past the wall. Hopefully it would stop another raid from commencing for a while.

Not that we were in any state to purse even if we had chosen to do so. Of the forty men Bryle and I had charged the Thenn with only ten still lived, all but one being mine. My friends soldiers had been killed nearly to the last in the defence of their lord. I grimace as I glance at the litter carried by four horses, the pale form of Brynden Bole carefully being moved onto it by my men. A spear had punched straight through his kneecap with a clansman's axe taking off the leg as soon as he fell of his horse. I had ordered the stump burned shut and bandaged thoroughly after soaking the bandages in strong alcohol. We had no healers at hand but I hoped this would at least increase his chances of survival...for his days as warrior were over in any case. At least he had not bled to death yet and was still breathing. Grasping at straws I might be but I very much disliked the thought of burrying yet another friend this soon after Brynden had been killed.

The smallfolk being herded along by the Thenn had been more than grateful to be rescued, telling tales of hardship I had been grown accustomed to over the last month. Their settlements had been razed, the woman raped and the men that survived beaten into compliance. The males had been left alive to act as carriers for the loot the Thenn had gathered over the month of their raiding. It had gotten to be so much that they had no longer been able to carry it by themselves.

Even so you estimate that for every prisoner you freed three more northerners had been killed, leaving me to hide a grimace at the sheer death toll reaped by the raiders. Slowly moving back to the outpost with the survivors and those rescued I thoughtfully look at the gathering clouds above the slow moving caravan.

This finished the task Lord Glover had given Bryle and myself. Next I would have to convince...or at least try to do so...the outpost inhabitants to move again and make for Deepwood Motte. After that it would depend on Talbart´s Raven and the current state of affairs. I had been completely out of communication for months. Hell, for all I knew my presence might have butterflied something and the rebellion was already over!

Well,… I could hope, could I not?

The first drop of rain hitting me turned into a steady downpour before I could finish the thought.