CHAPTER 227

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CHAPTER 227

295 AC

POV THIRD PERSON

The grand hall of House Borrell and a notorious den of smugglers, Sisterton, stood in solemn silence. Its banners, once symbols of House Borrell's power and influence over the city's criminal underbelly, now hung heavy with the weight of resignation. The male members of the noble house, who had once reveled in their dominion over the city's underworld, now faced an inescapable fate decreed by the Druid.

Regent Lord Borrell, a man whose features bore the marks of countless years spent in the smuggling goods, stepped forward. His voice, tinged with bitterness and sorrow, echoed through the hall like a requiem for a once-mighty house. "We have no choice, my sons. The Druid's word is final. We shall take the black and begin our new lives on the Wall or risk suffering the same fate that befell the Stormcliffs."

His sons, their shoulders slumped and their pride quelled by the weight of their situation, nodded in reluctant agreement. Together, they would abandon their roles as lords of the Sisterton and join the ranks of the Night's Watch, leaving behind their lives of nobility and their criminal enterprises to their sisters.

…

Meanwhile, in the great hall of House Sunderland, once the Warden of the Three Sisters, a similar scene played out. All the remaining male members of the noble house gathered, their expressions heavy with solemnity and their spirits burdened by the impending doom at the Wall.

Regent Lord Sunderland, a stern figure imbued with a deep sense of duty, addressed his kin. "We, too, must heed the Druid's decree. The fate of my brother remains unknown." With a heavy heart, he continued, "It is the only path that remains open to us. We shall take the black, and we will find solace in the knowledge that our houses will endure through our female members."

The sons of House Sunderland, their eyes filled with resignation, nodded in understanding. They recognized that fate had finally caught up with them, that the consequences of their greedy actions were coming to fruition.

With the Druid's decree, the fate of the male members of House Borrell and House Sunderland was irrevocably sealed. Their lives as lords and nobles were now relics of the past, replaced by the solemn duty of the Night's Watch. Their hearts were heavy with loss, surrendering to the Druid's will.

Aermir's plan had a broader design. One of his minor aims was to bolster the ranks of the Wall, not only with noble scions but also with almost half of the living men of the Three Sisters' army. This audacious move would see the Sistermen gradually replaced by able-bodied Northern men, much as the Andals had assimilated the First Men in ages past. 

Aermir smiled when he saw the report that he had condemned 2 thousand smallfolk, knights, and nobles to the watch. He wanted to see the face of the Joer Mormont. Of course, he knew a few hundred of them were going to desert, but it would even make it worse for them and their families.

While the Sistermen had proven themselves less than formidable in battle, Aermir believed they would still be of greater worth than the few hundred cutthroats and thieves who currently populated the Wall's ranks. As the Druid planned for the impending battle against the Night King, the crucial element of his strategy remained unfinished. If he could not achieve his goal before the Night King's assault, Aermir knew he would have no choice but to pull back those who would only hinder the defense of the Wall.

...

Ned Stark sat in his chambers, his brow furrowed with concern. He had been reading the messages from the Northern Lords stationed along the border of The Bite, and the news was troubling. Reports had confirmed that the Vale was gathering its forces on the coastlines, a clear response to the recent events in the Three Sisters. As the Warden of the North, it was his duty to address the situation, but the complexities of this matter weighed heavily on his mind.

What troubled him most was the fact that many of the Northern Lords who held favorable relations with Aermir and the Druid had already gathered their forces and set out towards the coastlines, prepared to stand by the Druid's side if he called for them. Their loyalty to Druid was rising, and Stark knew he could not easily sway them. The loyalty that Aermir had garnered as the Druid was a testament to his power and leadership, and it posed a significant challenge for Ned as the Warden of the North.

Ned was acutely aware that he couldn't dissuade Aermir when he was out for blood, and he couldn't expect a peaceful resolution. It was clear that the Druid had grander plans in motion, and if Ned acted aggressively, it could escalate the situation into an all-out war with the Vale. He knew that the wisest course of action was to reach out to Jon, then open lines of communication between them, and find a way to avoid further bloodshed.

With these thoughts in mind, Ned Stark made his decision. He would not lead a massive army to confront Aermir or the Vale. Instead, he would approach this matter with a smaller, more diplomatic contingent. A force of 500 men would accompany him, deliberately kept at a lower number to signify that he was not coming to engage in battle but to initiate dialogue.

As he made preparations for his journey, Ned was well aware that his task was challenging. He was the Warden of the North, responsible for preserving peace and stability in the region. His ability to navigate this delicate situation, prevent a full-scale war, and find common ground with Aermir and the Vale was now paramount.

...

Aermir and his war council convened around a large table, their eyes fixed on the maps of Littlesister. Jory Flint, always eager for action, spoke up, "My lord, why do we tarry here? Should we not conquer Littlesister as well?"

Aermir lifted his gaze from the maps, contemplating the situation. "We cannot charge recklessly as we did before," he began. "Littlesister has reinforcements from the Vale. We are no longer facing mere levies and pirates; the Knights of the Vale have joined the fray. I estimate they have around 5,000 men, and when you factor in the reserves and levies of Littlesister, their numbers could swell to 8,000 or even 9,000."

Eddard Snow voiced his surprise, "My lord, when did they find the time to muster such a force and bring them here?"

Aermir offered a knowing smile as he explained, "I anticipated their arrival as we set out for our invasion of Sweetsister. I expected Jon Arryn to mobilize the Vale Knights the moment he caught wind of our forces sailing. You see, Jon Arryn might present himself as an honorable and peaceful man, but in his position as a regional Warden, his ancestors were kings, and you don't retain such power solely through peace. It takes cunning and strength. He only seeks peace when there's nothing for him to lose."

Taking a sip of his wine, Aermir continued, "As we were embarking on our campaign, I dispatched one of my familiars to Eyrie. The challenge is that it's quite distant and outside of my immediate range, preventing me from receiving real-time information. However, by establishing a chain of connections, I can access the information with a delay of a few days. This is why I hastened our assault on Sweetsister; I knew they were on their way."

Eddard inquired, his confusion apparent, "My lord, if you were aware of their approach, why did you not use your killer whales to sink their ships en route?"

Aermir's sly smile hinted at the complexity of his strategic thinking. "Because I do not want Jon Arryn to lose just a few islands and 5,000 soldiers," he explained. "If my plans come to fruition, House Arryn will lose all of Vale in the next 5 to 10 years, and the First Men will be able to assimilate the Andals, much as they did to us in the past. I do not wish for this war to conclude prematurely. If I had sunk his ships, he would have accepted his losses and refrained from sending further reinforcements."

Eddard's face lit up as realization struck him. "Because he doesn't know the existence of the orcas. Now he believes he stands a chance," he exclaimed. "If we bide our time, he will send more troops to consolidate his power and attempt to retake the islands."

The hour had grown late, and the discussions on various agendas had progressed at a sluggish pace. The weariness was evident on the faces of Aermir's council as the day's deliberations showed no signs of reaching a conclusion. Aermir, observing the tired expressions of his advisors, knew that it was time to adjourn for the day.

With a solemn expression, he addressed his council, his voice calm and measured. "It is clear that the day has taken its toll on all of us," he began. "Our discussions are far from finished, but we must acknowledge the limitations of our fatigue. To reach sound decisions, I need all of your minds as sharp as a Valyrian knife. Therefore, I propose that we adjourn for the night and reconvene on the morrow."

With those words, the council members dispersed, making their way to their respective chambers to find much-needed rest. Aermir knew that a fresh start on the morrow would be essential for making decisions that would shape the future of his lands.