Chapter 83: Act 2: Chapter 27

Tenth day, Sixth Moon, 256 AC (+38 days)

My men and I waited atop the hill overlooking the ocean below us amongst the ruins of the old castle at Stonefisk while we watched over the ships coming in over the horizon. Donovar was with me, as well as Arthur, Ryden, and some of their older male cousins to help inflate our number and project our strength.

And project we did. We all sat atop horses, well armored and with high-quality weapons. We were not resplendent like the knights from the stories, but we had a fierceness about us. We all wore a red gambeson as our first layer of protection, from both war and weather alike. In the future, I planned to let the men be able to pick the color of the gambeson based on their home village, in other words, Stonefisk would be a grey of some sort or blue for the ocean, but red suited Redbridge just fine. In addition, a brigandine - a leather chest armor that was lined with steel plates - offered more protection from oncoming blows, and the faulds helped to cover the thighs of a mounted man. The leather was brown and contrasted nicely with the steel rivets and red gambeson. There was also a small coat of arms painted on each man's chest showing either my sigil or Donovar's, depending on the man. I could not yet afford a brigandine for every man, but the leaders of each squad had one, and I was slowly equipping the rest.

Few of us wore them right now, but our distinctive green helmets helped to set us apart from others and unify us as a force. The helmet itself was an interesting piece of equipment. It looked somewhat similar to the traditional Northern halfhelm, but the back was slightly elongated, and it had cheek flaps that could be opened and closed as needed. It gave much better visibility to my men than a greathelm would, while still offering more protection than a halfhelm.

Our gloves were leather, but of good quality and waterproofed with mink oil. Protection for our lower legs was still a work-in-progress, but the greaves we had did their job. The shields were not in the Northern style of a kite shield as it proved too cumbersome for long distance travel and did not fit with the purpose of the Rangers. Instead, we wore round wooden shields – reminiscent of a Viking shield – usually made of either fir or poplar, painted with my sigil. Each man also wore a brown cowboy hat and a dark green cloak.

Each man carried a sword, spear, and a shortbow, in addition to any other personal weapons they chose to carry. The sword was made in the style of a cavalry sword, so it had a slight curve to it along with a basic basket to protect the users' hands. Each man, in the theme of self-sufficiency, also carried supplies for themselves, both tools and food, wrapped in their bedrolls and other bags that hung off the back of the horse. Eventually, I planned to have every Ranger have two horses to help carry their supplies and allow them to cover more distance.

It was an impressive sight.

One of the younger men put his hand on the shaft of his tomahawk to calm his nerves, but otherwise, our group remained calm as we watched the ships roll in.

"Remember lads," I said, addressing the entire group. "Calm and steady. We don't want to provoke any fights, but we aren't going to roll over for the bastards."

There was a round of laughter to ease the tension, and before it could resettle, I pushed my horse forward and led our group down the hill. By the time we reached the docks, the Ironborn were nearing it themselves.

The Lady Alice was already docked and towered over the smaller fishing boats that also occupied the harbor. It was the first time that the ship had come to its home waters, though it had yet to visit Redbridge, and it was a sight to behold. The rigging looked very complex, and after being given a tour, I could say that the interior was even bigger than it looked. Over the winter it had plied the Essosi trade routes and pulled quite the profit. It was here now to help transport goods to and from Redbridge and Stonefisk once the trading was completed with the Ironborn.

I dismounted my horse as the lead Ironborn ship, emblazoned with a large Greyjoy kraken on its sail, came into the dock. A few men jumped out of the ship onto the dock and began to tie the boat off while the men still onboard put away their oars.

A tall man, dressed in fine - if salt-stained - armor stepped out of the ship, accompanied by two other men – one was a short man with an eyepatch and the other a skeletal man of middling height.

I stepped forward and said, "Lord Greyjoy."

He looked over me and my men casually before replying, "Master Ragnar."

Over the course of my time in Westeros, I had seen many different people. Some pleasant, some not; Some happy, some angry. Lord Umber was a man who projected strength through each of his actions and after seeing him wrestle, I could say that he translated that strength into violence easily and skillfully. Quellon Greyjoy was different.

He was violence.

The way he took stock of his surroundings, the way he walked, his positioning in relation to his men, his armor, the way he stood – ready to fight for his place at a moment's notice. When the Ironborn had raided Redbridge, they had clearly been violent - to claim otherwise would be folly.

But, where those men had violence in their hearts, Quellon was the human embodiment. His grin was sharp, and eyes cutting and cunning. This was a dangerous man.

"Do you have the steel and iron ingots?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

Quellon smirked. "No bread and salt?"

I could hear one of my men shift nervously, but I kept my eyes on Quellon. "Would you abide by that?"

His mouth pinched together. "Of course, Greenlander."

I gestured to one of the villagers to bring the tray I had prepared over and handed it to Quellon and his two followers. After they had eaten, Quellon said, "Aye, I have the ingots. Do you have the food and other goods?"

"Aye. I'll have my men bring the food out while yours unloads the ships."

Quellon gestured to one of his men who returned to the ship and started shouting out orders. I did the same to the villagers who began to bring out the food.

"Come," I said, "Let us have a drink and a chat while we wait."

Quellon looked bemused and gestured for me to go first. I led him and his man to the inn and got the innkeeper to bring us each a shot of vodka and a cup of brandy.

He eyed the drink curiously but followed suit when I raised the vodka. "To a good future," I said, tossing back the drink.

He copied me but to my disappointment didn't cough or otherwise react to the strong drink. "Interesting," he said.

"It's called vodka, but my people have taken to calling it Northern Water."

He twirled his empty cup in his hand and said, "And you sell this?"

I nodded. "I have a few barrels with me to sell if you are interested."

"And the other drink?" he asked, pointing to the other cup.

"Ah, this is a special one called brandy. Go on, have a taste."

He raised the cup and took a sniff of it before taking a big sip. He smacked his lips in appreciation. "Not bad. This for sale too?"

I shook my head. "Unfortunately, not. We've sold out already, but if you continue to trade with us, we should have more ready. Especially if you bring wine."

"Wine?"

I shrugged. "It's hard for us to get around here, as it's not grown locally."

"And that's what this drink made of?"

I chuckled. "No - that's a secret."

He smiled dangerously and leaned forward. "Surely, if we are to trade, there must be trust between us."

"Surely, you see that you must extend the olive branch first?"

"I am here, am I not?"

"You are," I conceded. "But trust must be built up. It is true though that I have not heard tale of any raids this summer in my lands."

He nodded, accepting the compliment. "True, I have ensured my people's cooperation."

"And does that apply to all lands in the North?"

"Do you pretend to speak for the North?"

"No, but the rest of the North waits to see what happens between us. If this is a success, but your people simply turn to the rest of the North, the Lords will reject this."

He chuckled. "And? Will they strip you of your title if this fails?"

"No, but the patience of the North is running out. Can you not control your people and stop them from attacking their countrymen?"

He let out a full-bellied laugh. "Countrymen? What are Greenlanders to us?" He stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. "And control? I am Lord Greyjoy. I amthe Iron Islands in the flesh."

"What then of your letter to Lord Stark? You disavowed any who might raid as out of control renegades. Was that a lie?"

The unnamed companion of Quellon put his hand on his axe hilt as he scowled furiously. "Watch your mouth, Greenlander."

Donovar responded for me and said, "Quiet; you haven't had the courtesy of introducing yourself first. Your passion has no place here."

"It was not a lie," said Quellon, taking back control of the conversation. "Some men flee and go beyond my control. I am not bothered if a few men flee the Iron Islands, and what they do afterward is not my concern. It is not my fault if the North cannot even protect their own."

"Still, I trust that such men will not be a problem any longer? For the entire North?" I asked, carefully, so that he did not take offense.

"That depends on the amount of food we bring back with us."

"I have arranged enough to fill your ships, plus additional items, like the vodka, that you may wish to buy."

Quellon nodded. "And in the future?"

"The future is wide open. We can continue to trade iron and steel for food, or we can open up other trades as well. You can purchase ships full of some of our goods, like soap or vodka, and then resell it down in the Westerlands or the Reach. There lies good coin for you and your people."

"Food is what my people desire – at least at the beginning of summer."

"Then food we can trade."

Quellon grinned. "I will let my people know that they can visit freely to trade."

I shook my head. "Not yet. We must work on our trust still. In one year, we can meet again to trade here."

He banged his fists on the table. "One year?! That is completely insufficient!"

"My people need time to replenish their stocks in order to sell again."

"Once a year, with these few ships will hardly make a dent in the needs of my people."

"Food is hard to come by and takes long to grow."

"Five times the number of ships next year, and we will talk about even more next year."

"Twice the number, and in six moons you can have the same number as today come to trade for non-food goods."

"Ridiculous. That is too little."

"The non-food goods will allow you coin, which you can spend on food in places like the Reach."

"Coin we have. And the Reach denies us most of our needs."

"That sounds like a problem of your own making."

He narrowed his eyes. "It can be your problem just as easy."

I gestured for him to calm down. "Easy now. It won't be quick, but once they see the success here, they will reconsider. What we do here can be a signal to the rest of Westeros."

He leaned back in his chair, his mood flipping to contemplative. "Perhaps, but that does not address the fact that we have coin and wealth aplenty. Food is what we want more of."

"But is it you and the Lords that have coin, or is it your smallfolk too?"

"What's your point?"

"Well, it's not your Lords 'going rogue' now is it? It's the poorer bastards – the desperate. Let some of them make this trade and gain some gold out of it."

He stroked his beard in thought. "Perhaps, but again – our ability to trade coin for food is limited."

"It sounds like you need someone to flip for you."

"Flip?"

"Err, help you out. Change sides. There is no formal ban, correct?" He nodded, so I continued. "Well, you need someone to sell you food and buy food from others to supply you. That sounds like a lot of coin to be made for whoever does that for you."

Quellon chuckled. "That may be true, but it could be no minor Lordling."

"I had intended to talk with the Lord of Seaguard. Perhaps together-"

"We have no need of your help!" interrupted Quellon's companion.

Quellon shot him a glare and said, "My friend is not wrong. We have always paid the iron price ourselves. We shall pay the gold price ourselves just the same."

"Fair enough."

"Three times the ships next year, with another fleet – the same size as today – in six moons for non-food stuffs," said Quellon, returning to negotiating.

I reached out my hand and said, "Agreed." We clasped arms, and I poured us each another shot. "To good trades," I said.

"To the gold price," he replied.