18

288 AC – Part II

I had never thought that actually spilling less blood during a battle would be a bad thing but here I was with more prisoners in my hands than I could safely handle in any way or form. At least not without reducing the numbers some. Interrogating some of the reavers also led to a new problem as the men had been told by their captains that if they were captured they had to plead to the Black, all of them.

It does not take long to verify my suspicion that the Ironborn intended to win even if they lost by taking over the Wall and falling into the northern backs at the soonest opportunity after being rearmed at the Watch's cost. Had I blindly sent my captives north this would have a good chance of success as two in three black brothers would have been ironborn at that point. If the ironborn had not been hated far and wide in the North than this would have done it at last. Endangering the ancient brotherhood of the Night's Watch and all the realms of men they protected was just not done. The order had stayed neutral in all wars since the time of heroes, to try subverting that put the reavers instantly on the first place of any northern houses shitlist.

Having discovered this made my decision regarding the prisoners even harder but in the end I found a way, even though those few modern sensibilities that had survived till now died with it. I told the Ironborn that I would give them four offers, which no more than four hundred of them may take with the fastest taking the available places. Those that did not decide on any of the options or turned out to be too slow would face the sword at the end of the week.

My first offer was to have them swear not to take up arms again against the north after losing their right thumb, after which they would be released to the Islands at the soonest opportunity. Roughly a hundred reavers took the offer after the day I gave them to decide. I had them taken to a separate camp and returned with a big plate full of severed thumbs the next day. Of those reavers all but one survived the amputation, my medical people having gotten pretty good by now.

My second offer, presented next to the plate of thumbs, was the same as before only that I now required a hand instead of a thumb if the reavers wanted their freedom back. A little over two hundred jumped at the opportunity after a day, the few amongst them knowing their numbers seeing the writing on the wall and telling their compatriots how the numbers added up now that 1200 places over three options remained for 1,400 ironborn. Already a lot of them would be facing the block but even so there continued to be a lot of men who either waited for an opportunity to choose the Black or for something better than a missing limb to come along. Three in four reavers survived the procedure.

My third offer was presented again a day later, this time from next to a high pile of two hundred cut off and already blackening hands. It made for a gruesome sight and I did not blame them that I got the full number for my next offer. There were actually some deaths as prisoners fought over the available places. Twenty years they would serve in my mines or quarries, doing the most dangerous tasks. Those of them that survived would be let go after this time. I had yet to offer the Black and ignored those calling out for it, which made the rest panic some and take the offer in a hurry.

The next day I am again standing before the remainder of the reavers, all eight hundred of them.

"Three times I offered you a way out, even after you burned and pillaged my lands.", my voice echoed over the silent place they had been gathered at, surrounded by an equal number of mine and allied warriors in addition to a few hundred archers in a second line. In a third line there stood another thousand northmen, the soldiers I would ferry having arrived the day before. There would be no breaking out of this circle if I did not allow it.

"Three times you have stood before me, taken my offer and spat on it, either hoping for a better choice or being too proud to consider anything but the block.", I continue as my gaze moves over the assembled prisoners, who by now were week from hunger as I had yet to feed them more than scraps.

"Now hear the fourth choice, knowing that no more than one in two of you may take it."

I pause for a moment as a collective shiver goes through the prisoners, the men glancing at each other warily at my words. "The Night's Watch is a noble institution, one I now know your captains told you to subvert. This cannot be allowed but I am honor bound to offer you the choice, so I will do so. But only for enough of you that you do not have the numbers to become a danger for those you will be sworn to serve!"

Dismay appears on many faces as they start to regret listening to their commanders to the end, which lead them to a position that may be far less advantageous than they anticipated. A low murmur starts up amongst the reavers as it became brutally obvious to them that most of them would not be leaving their prison alive.

"You have one hour to decide who of you takes the Black and who faces the block. Any escape attempt will be put down at once, so do not even try. Those willing to take the Black move to the right of the field beyond the small ditch, the rest to the left."

As expected there were a lot more reavers wanting to take the Black than there were places for them. It started as one ironborn was jostled out of the group that proclaimed to want the Black the loudest. He screamed in desperate rage, grabbed a loose stone and cracked the skull of the reaver that had jostled him aside.

The action kicks off a battle royal on a level of brutality I had yet to experience in Westeros as the reavers murdered each other to keep or attain one of the spots for the Watch. The men had no weapons, so it was often that they beat each other to death with their bare hands or lose stones if they didn't try to strangle themselves in an orgy of violence. Some tried to chance the ring of warriors that I had surrounded them with, my skilled archers putting an end to them before a single sword felt the oily touch of ironborn blood. The rest of us watched in stoic silence as the reavers tore each other apart, painting the field red.

Of course there were some that did not participate, choosing the block from the start. Maybe a hundred men had settled down on the left, watching the ongoing battle with pained resignation. I could respect those men, stubborn and unbroken to the end. It pained me greatly to go about things as I had been but I saw little choice about it. If I offered mercy in the future, even at the price of a thumb, I expected it to be taken at once after word of the current display spread.

In the end it didn't take the full hour for the slaughter to come to an end, leaving the 'winners' often heavily wounded to my right, while a little more than a hundred others remained to my left. The middle of the field was absolutely covered in bodies, some still moving slowly. Stepping forward again I ignore the sound of pained moans and the occasional loud gurgle or death rattle, my hard voice echoing over the silent crowd again.

"You that chose the Black will do so willingly and without subterfuge. Forget what your lords told you about taking over the Watch. Forget any aspirations of ever moving south again. Serve the Watch. To do so at the best of your ability. And any time you find yourself thinking about abandoning your post or acting against the Watch's interests, remember this day. Remember your choice and what many of you did to your kin, when there was no real need for it. Remember this field."

Stepping back I leave it at that and turn around but not before nodding at Wallace, my sworn shield moving forwards with my men. Those in the middle were quickly put out of their misery while the groups of new watch recruits and those facing the block were led in different directions. Of those heading for the Watch eight in ten made it, the others succumbing to their injuries over the next few days.

The next day finds me standing next to the weirwood in my castle, holding an executors ax. 'He who passes judgment swings the sword' had been a northern maxime for a long time and I would not be the one to break with it. More so as my noble guests were watching, joined by Mors Umber and Theo Wull who had come with the northern host heading for my harbor. The noble ironborn I had managed to capture were in attendance as well, bound and gagged as they watched the proceedings with a glare. They would be ransomed at some point. I could always use the money and did not need to make more enemies than necessary. It was unfair indeed that nobles got this offer while the smallfolk died for the overlords aspirations but that was the way of things in Westeros. Changing this was not something I would attempt just yet.

A man was brought before me and forced to his knees, a sturdy wooden block in front of him.

"Any last words?", I stoically ask only for him to spit at my feet and place his neck on the block without my men having to force him.

"Brave", I acknowledge with a nod and swing the ax. I had considered using my rune axe for the task but in the end it had become the executioner one as the blade of mine had just not been wide enough to ensure ´proper´ beheadings. The sharpened blade cuts through skin, tissue and bone, looping off the head and burying itself deep into the wood beneath. The head rolls a little as the main body falls to the side, both watering the weirwoods many roots that covered the surface in scattered intervals all around the block. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as a soft wind blows through the glade, red leaves rustling as if shivering in pleasure. Glancing around I see nobody but myself and Theo Wull glancing at the face carved in the tree, the wooden expression remaining unmoved as it continued to weep sap.

"Next", I sigh and my men bring me the next prisoner.

"Any last words?", I intone.

One hundred and twenty one times I swing the ax, liters upon liters of blood being spilled on the roots of my weirwood under the watchful eyes of my audience. Some men go silently to their end, others screaming or weeping. In the end they all die, their heads heading up and down the coast where they would be placed upon wooden stakes as a warning for all those willing to attack the north. The attending nobles looked at me with more respect after the display, even if all of them had some connection with me before the execution.

Word of how I handled the prisoners quickly spread and I faced a lot of approval from my smallfolk and the camped soldiers of other lords. Theoretically each and every prisoner could have escaped the block if the offered alternatives had been taken to the last open place. By declining to choose the relatively minor injury of losing a thumb or a hand they had often enough doomed themselves. The moniker ´Blackhand´ some people had stuck me with years past was also used much more often now as my speech next to a pile of severed and darkening hands got more infamous by the day.

A few days later a raven from the Moat arrived, bearing Lord Stark's seal. He congratulates me on beating off the ironborn and securing the western coast for the moment. While he headed for Seaguard by land I was to man my ships with 1,500 men and make for Lonely Night, taking the island from House Farwynd and sinking or capturing any ironborn ships I found. After securing the barren rock some Ironborn called home I would go on to Blacktyde, repeating the process. Any ship that I did not need for this would go on to Seaguard, waiting to transport the allied forces across the ocean or give battle to the Ironfleet, whatever happened first.

I suspected that ferrying all the seven kingdoms soldiers across would only happen once the fleet had been dealt with but I had been surprised in the past, so who knew? The biggest part of the Ironfleet, commanded by Euron Greyjoy, had last been spotted during the sacking of Lannisport. Where they had gone no one had yet been able to determine. Most suspected south, though. The north had little attractive targets and those that there were should not need the attention of the Ironfleet to be taken out – or so they had thought.

Announcing the commands of Lord Stark the evening after the letter's arrival, I get a satisfied reaction from all lords, the men chomping at the bit to take the fight to the Ironborn. They all had suffered at the reavers' activities at some point in the past either directly or by the suffering visited upon their smallfolk. I would be taking twenty longships and my two galleys to attack Lonely Light, stuffing the ships to the gills with men. Supplies I would take along only in moderate amounts, building upon the fact that I would be able to plunder any castle stores in my way. I did not have the necessary food stores any longer to support an army on the move anyway after some of my granaries burned down during the Reavers' attack. There was also the sad fact that I would inevitably be taking losses, which would make any supplies I took along last longer than it might first appear.

If worst came to worst, I could always return north to get more food as the distance wasn't that great in the first place. The rest of the fleet would stay in Rytherport until most of my tradeships arrived from Snowfort after which they would sail for Seaguard in one big group, the warships hopefully being enough to protect the much more vulnerable tradeships. Only four longships and two cogs would stay behind to patrol the western waters and keep my northern venture supplied. I was betting on the fact that the ironborn would be too busy defending their own holdings to trouble the North overly much. Hopefully other sellsails and troublemakers would also either stay away entirely due the number of warships sailing the Sunset Sea or target richer pickings down south.

While my people prepared the departure, which would take a few days, I retreated into my family's rooms, a shuddering breath escaping me after closing the doors. I took great care to appear strong outside my private bubble but in truth I was only barely holding it together. Killing in battle was bad enough, but I was getting used to the reality of my new life and had quickly grown desensitized to it, but those executions… Beheading bound men kneeling at your feet was something else entirely and I had not a moment of truly restful sleep since. A shudder wracks my body as I recall the smell and the sound of steel moving through soft and hard parts of a body. Swallowing bile I take a few deep breaths, calming myself to the best of my ability. I suspected that I had lost some weight in the days since and appeared tired and drawn despite my efforts to hide how the act I had been forced to see through was affecting me.

At least I now truly understood why the North practiced the 'jury AND executor' thing. If the sentenced people one found guilty were not guilty enough to subject yourself to the aftermath then maybe they would not be deserving of such a fate in the first place. Slowly getting my shaking under control I take another deep breath before moving to another room, where Alysanne sat with a book, reading aloud for the benefits of our sons sitting at her feet. I smile at the scene and the small bump I spot in the soft cloth covering her form. A sudden sadness hits me almost out of nowhere, causing my soft smile to turn pained, as I realize that I would in all likelihood miss the birth of this one as well. Father of the year. That was me.

My wife notices my presence and looks up, a questioning look on her face. I wave her to continue silently and stay at my half hidden position in the door, watching the scene for a while longer as I soak up the peaceful feeling. Twenty minutes later the story comes to an end, me having vacated my place a few minutes earlier as I withdrew into our bedroom. Alysanne joins me shortly after, hugging me from behind as she crawls under the covers. In a way the ironborn attack had finally broken the last reservations between us, forcing us and me especially to open up in ways that could only be shared with the person closest to you. She reflected this right back at me and before I knew it the spark of affection I held for her turned into something more.

That I could allow myself to be weak in private more than anything else helped me to appear strong in public and I could not be more grateful for it. Fully acknowledging this fact as thin but strong arms surround me I finally find the rest I had been seeking for days, violent dreams full of blood, guts and falling heads not troubling me for the first time in days. Instead I find myself standing on a wide field of corn with a great weirwood sitting at the edge just at the limit of my sight.

Not having any other direction I moved for the tree, strangely knowing from the start that I was dreaming. Closing on to the weirwood I notice that the corn surrounding me darkens as the temperature drops. Halfway there snow begins to fall and by the time I am almost there I have to fight through a snowstorm, that somehow does not manage to make me lose my target despite visibility being down to almost nothing. Finally stepping under the branches of the tree I leave the storm behind, the Weirwood itself standing in the completely silent eye of the natural disaster. My eyes find the carved face in the tree's bark only a moment before a loud 'caw caw caw' causes me to look upwards, where I spot dozens of ravens gazing at me from the canopy.

"What the hell?", I mutter a moment later, dream fading to the waking world as I sit up in my bed, wide awake at once. Glancing around I see it still night but I started the day anyway, knowing that I would find no more sleep after having a dream that might or might not have been natural. "If that is you, Bloodraven… be less fucking cryptic.", I whisper under my breath and dress up as quietly as I can, thankfully managing not to wake my wife in the process. Deciding not to pay the dream overly much mind for now I instead retreated to my solar and got to work after lightening a few candles. There was always a lot to do and getting an early start would maybe spare me some work at a later point or allow an earlier end to the day's activities. I snort, shaking my head. Yeah, who was I kidding? Starting earlier would only lead me to being more tired at the end of the day as I stopped roughly at the time I would have anyway.

Three more days of preparation and we are ready to set out. The noble commanders are mostly present on the two galleys with the Mormonts and Galbart Glover choosing to sail about their own longships. I had completely forgotten that I had sold Lord Glover, one of my first captured longships but I was hardly going to complain about having another ship along to ease the load on the others. This left me with Tytos Blackwood and Mors Umber for Companions, while chief Wull and Lord Forrester boarded the second galley.

The sea is thankfully calm and I do not suffer too bad from the usual sea sickness as we approach Lonely Light, the island appearing on the horizon after roughly a week we had made good use of a favorable wind, the steady stream driving us south quickly. With the island half a dozen sails also appeared, Hoster quickly setting our ships to intercept. The wait while the two fleets closed in turned out to be near physically painful for me as I watched something inevitable happening at a snail's pace. It felt like ripping off a band aid in slow motion, making the whole thing needlessly agonizing for everyone involved.

The battle with the small fleet of house Farwynd, for the banner clearly identified them as such, starts with my galleys releasing their ballista bolts from a range no archers manning the ironborn ships could hope to counter. One of the bolts misses entirely but the second one all but shatters the mast of its target. It is a one in a million shot, the steel tipped projectile hitting the main mast just over the deck with enough force to nearly shear it off. A sudden gust of wind at just the worst moment breaks it completely, the thick wooden beam breaking like a matchstick and leaving the ship dead in the water before the battle even really began.

My galleys were at the front of the battle line and the first to come into range of the longships and their archers. Arrows were shot at us but mostly uselessly hit the high side bulwarks or the shields covering our heads. The counterfire, amongst them my own arrows, were far more devastating. The height advantage of a galley vs a longship allowed us to shoot straight down instead of having to loop the projectiles in an arc, making targeting easier by far. One longship suddenly veered off course and directly into the path of my flagship, some arrows having hit the helmsman and captain. The remaining ironborn seemed reluctant to make for the ruder, cowering in the relative safety of their shields as they were.

The moment of indecision cost them as the spike at the head of the galley hits them straight in the flank, carving deeply into the relatively thin wood. I feel a shudder going through the vessel under my feet as the kinetic energy is dissolved through the whole of it while the stern raises itself a little. The larger ship shoves itself first into and then a little onto the poor longship, mass alone deciding the contest that really wasn't one. The ship of house Farwynd breaks right through the middle to the panicked screams of its crew, stern and aft of the ship appearing for a moment to my sides with some men desperately clinging to the wood before crashing down again and quickly sinking. Most of the reavers go down with it, having worn more armor than strictly useful for swimming. Here and there I could spot movement among the wreckage, leaving me to believe that at least some had chosen less protection to favor buoyancy.

I had only two galleys and both of them had been on the waves for quite a while but the passage of the warships still absolutely mauled the small fleet of longships and the crews arrayed against them. Of the six ships that had attacked us only three made it to my own longships, quickly surrendering after putting up some token resistance. Turning to Hoster, who had earned a bloody wound on his shoulder by an errant arrow, I nod. "Well done."

The commander of my fleet only grunts. "Any competent captain would have at least tried to avoid the galleys, attacking us in the rear. This was too easy."

"I take easy and stupid enemies over competent and sneaky ones any day, captain.", I state dryly and turn back to the aftermath of the battle, blending out Tytos chuckling in amusement next to me.

Of the six longships that attacked I captured five, four in reasonable condition while the last one had an obviously broken mast. Two hundred prisoners were given the choice of losing the thumb on their dominant hand or the block, the Black only being granted to those few that asked for it on their own motivation. Less than ten took that option. The prisoners would be staying on the coast where I had made landfall until I left again after which they would be released. In the end most chose to lose a thumb, only fifteen men too proud for their own good going to their deaths head held high.

Landing the men took time, but we were not bothered by the local noble house or any spoiling attack, leaving me to believe that we had found the island with most of their defenders away on board of the ironfleet. Not one to look a gifted horse in the mouth, I pushed for a quick move and the other lords easily agreed, leaving us to continue the next day in the direction of the Farwynd castle, leaving only two hundred men behind to guard the ships.

On the way there we encountered a complication I had not thought about but should really have foreseen, had I bothered to think things through. Saltwives, thralls and their children by the dozen approached our men and asked to be freed and sent to the mainland. Not even halfway to the castle we had acquired again our number of camp followers hoping for a better future on the mainland. We were forced to split our forces, three hundred of my own under the command of Wallace moving for the local harbor while the remaining thousand continued on to the castle. I had ordered my sworn sword to seize any ships found, hopefully bringing enough space to my side that I would be able to transport the sudden influx of refugees that we had acquired by being in the area alone.

Putting the situation out of my mind as we come into sight of the Farwynd seat after half a day of hard marching, I take stock of the situation. The castle ahead of us is placed on the very point of a finger-like cliff, making an assault only feasible from one side. High but weather beaten walls closed up to a middle sized gatehouse, the gate being visible within being made out of thick timbers reinforced with iron plates.

"How many men do you see?", Mors Umber asks from next to me and I frown, straining my eyes to get a better look.

"Not even a dozen. Boys and Greybeards all.", laughs Tytos Blackwood before I finish my own examination, coming to the same conclusion I arrived at myself. "The sea attack was their last ditch effort. Only the dregs are left."

"So it seems", I mutter as I watch the gates opening and a single rider in plate mail appearing through the gatehouse before moving in our direction and halting halfway, a spear with the white flag of parléy held tightly in his hand. Whoever was in command over there was obviously a realist, knowing that even with their strong defenses they could not hope to hold our numbers off for long.

After a quick discussion I stay with the main army as Lords Umber and Glover – the men present being mostly theirs – ride to speak with the man. Waiting yet again for something to happen I find it strangely disappointing as they return with the negotiated surrender of house Farwynd.

"We will be getting their full treasury, some 600 dragons, and half their supplies in addition to any ship we already have captured or will be able to get our hands on. We will also be able to take any thralls or saltwives wishing to leave with us. In exchange Lady Barbara Farwynd and her two sons – boys still, really – swear to stay neutral henceforth. Her husband and most of her men are not part of this agreement as they sailed with the Ironfleet and will be unable to even hear of the agreement before it is too late.", states Lord Glover with a satisfied smile, which is quickly mirrored by the others.

"I will be taking two of the longships, whatever vessels my men caught in the local harbor and just what supplies I need to keep the men fed. Split the dragons without me.", I state at once also smiling, staking my claim to part of the bounty while leaving enough for everything else to be happy.

"Give me the other longships and house Mormont will be happy.", jumps in Jeor, getting agreeable nods all around as there were still every last dragon and most of the supplies on the table. This is quickly split equally between the four remaining lords, leaving most of them with more money than they had available most of the time.

A day later I learned that I had captured a third longship – beached to clear the bottom of seashells – and three small cogs as my men took the harbor with no losses.

Now just everything else in this war would have to go my way as well and I would be deliriously happy.

I winced the moment the thought flashed through my mind, knowing that taunting Murphy never was a good idea.

OOC: Far shorter than usual but RL is picking up again and I chose to favor regular if shorter updates over longer and less regular ones. I will (try) to simply throw whatever I have at the end of the week in your direction