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The Memoir of an American in Westeros
Cpt. Steven Rogers
Entry One
Date: 298 After Landing, Spring
My dearest Peggy,
I doubt that this will ever be seen by you, or anyone else, but after what I have seen and experienced these last few weeks I feel compelled to lay down my thoughts.
Before I continue, I should make it clear that I am well and unharmed. And to the best of my knowledge, I am of sound mind. Though I sometimes question that.
I remember the last words I spoke to you, aboard that HYDRA plane. How I would take you dancing, and have the band play something slow for us. I never had learned to dance, and I’d hate to have stepped on your toes but, to hold you close, it would have been worth the embarrassment. Guess I waited too long to ask you. I expected to die in that moment, and watched as the ice and ocean rapidly rose to greet me.
When I finally awoke, untold time had passed. I opened my eyes and cast them upon a noon Sun, its warmth welcome and needed. When I attempted to move, I found most of my body encased in a layer of ice, in some places more than an inch thick. Once free, I realized I had no idea where I was but it was a land of ice and snow. It was so very cold, and I truly believe that if it hadn’t been for what the good Dr. Erskine had done to me I would never have survived the impact or the weather.
I built a fire from what dry wood I could find, and continued thawing myself out and drying the suit. Even now I have to laugh about it, but I felt a little silly sitting next to a fire in the middle of nowhere wearing red, white and blue. But it was warm. I do wonder what had become of the shield, which had previously saved my life as well as many others, but it wasn’t with me. Maybe it washed ashore somewhere else, and if so I hope whomever finds it makes good use of it, but more likely it vanished inside the plane.
Of the plane there was no sign. No wreckage could be seen, not even a stray bolt. I didn’t think much of it at the time, after all, I may have floated for days before washing shore, but as the weeks went on I started to form a theory of why that was.
Anyway, the next day I started to make my way South, following the coast as I did. It was a long walk, and I had to stop every few days to hunt for food. The war had thought me how to survive in the wild, and I used what I learned. At first I stuck to fishing, the waters were thick with them in some places, but as I traveled the ice turned to snow and with it came forests for me find bigger game in. I made a few rabbit traps in the beginning, but eventually fashioned a spear and found some deer. I also noticed the wolves that had found my scent, but as long as I left some food behind for them they seemed to give me a wide berth.
I admit, I first thought I might have been in Canada, but when my eyes first laid upon a towering wall of ice, I reevaluated that line of thought. From the ground it seemed as tall as any building in New York, and under the sun it wept rivers upon the ground where it would gather and refreeze at night. I looked west, further inland, and it stretched on for as far as I could see. I honestly didn’t know what to do when I saw it, but when I saw men (finally, other people!) walking atop it I decided to seek their aid in finding a way home to you.
Unfortunately, my appearance seemed to agitated them. When I emerged from the cover of the forest and into the open, for there was at least a football fields length of clear space between the two, a horn blew from behind the massive wall. And as I grew closer, I was greeted by the men atop the wall firing an arrow into my path. I stood there, where the arrow landed, and waited. I must have waited for several hours, because the sun was started to set when a gate in the wall opened and a dozen men in black cloaks marched out to meet me.
I had heard of historical reenactments, but had never seen one before. I assumed that was what they were but between the massive ice wall and their strange language, I decided that this was not one of them. They came to me appearing ready to fight, but with their weapons still holstered. I had only seen swords and bows in museums and movies like “Robin Hood” up to this point, and I must confess they appear much more deadly when the men carrying them look like they have used them.
Unable to understand them, or they me, we stood there for maybe an hour uselessly speaking words the other couldn’t understand. Sometimes one of them would point at me, call me something that starts with an “Y” sound, and then the others would argue about it. I guess they were trying to decide who I was or where I was from, but over time their argument turned to where I WASN’T from. And they all seemed to agree that I wasn’t from the lands on this side of their wall.
I spent the next week with these men in their castle. They were weary of me at first, but in time they warmed up to me. In exchange for the food and shelter I helped out around the place, cleaning floors or carrying heavy items around, all while keeping my ears open and trying to learn the language. Whatever was in the super-soldier serum made my brain stronger as well as my body, but it still took a few days to pick up the basics. The rest of the week to reach a point where they could understand me.
Once I was able I learned that I was in a place called Eastwatch, one of a series of castles that stretch across the 300 miles of ice they call “The Wall.” I was in a region they simply called, “The North,” that was part of the continent of Westeros. I didn’t believe any of it at first but after speaking with their maester, a kind of scholar or doctor, I saw the evidence drawn on maps and written across hundreds of books. It was all too much to be just a show, a fake, and so I was forced to accept that I am a long, long way from my home.
Entry Two
Date: 298 After Landing, Spring
Peggy,
I have been learning much during my time here at Eastwatch, especially about where and when I am.
I have spent some time aiding the fishing boats who sail into the Bay of Seals, and it was there that I happened upon the strange sight of my shield floating atop a piece of ice. The crew thought I was mad when I leapt into the freezing waters, but upon seeing the shield they grew quiet. They had never heard of anything called “Vibranium,” and many of them assumed it to be a material they call “Valyrian steel” which is supposed to be a magical alloy no one can remember how to make. They had known of Valyarian swords and daggers but never a shield, especially one so brilliantly displaying the colors of my Nation. I assumed that based on the apparent value of it there would be some fighting over the shield, but between the star on it and my chest, they all agreed it was mine.
At least they did during the day. That night someone attempted to steal the shield from me in my sleep, and regretted it shortly after.
It was after that incident that the Commander of Eastwatch, a man will small eyes and a pox-scarred face by the name of Cotter Pyke, told me how the Watch was crewed almost exclusively by criminals. Maybe a total thousand people between three castles, intended to defend a border 300 miles long against an enemy whose number was unknown. The idea seemed impossible. They used to have thousands more people, manning no few than a dozen castles, but it seems victory has defeated them. With no constant and serious threat, their numbers have dwindled.
The strange thing is, from what I have learned about the rest of this world, the “Nights Watch” is the closest to a democracy as exists here. Leaders are voted upon, unanimously, and tasked with leading them until their “watch has ended.” Elsewhere in the world it seems everyone is governed by a Lord or King. Westeros alone has many Lords, who rule to varying degrees of strength, who then answer to their King. Across the sea it is much of the same, just more of it as each city is basically its own kingdom.
I have spent the last few days trying to decide where I should go, and what I should when I get there, but it seems my options are limited. I could stay here with the Watch, I know they would welcome me and my strength, but they have a single task and are bound by oaths that prevent them from exceeding it. The cities across the sea sound interesting, but they are far and I have no coin to book passage. And with little but ice and snow to the north, my single direction of travel seems to be south. But where? What will I do when I get there?
I have often asked myself what you would do, or even what Bucky would say, but I find there are less answers and more questions with that line of thinking. I miss you both.
My decision may have been made for me in any event. Pyke sent a message to their Lord Commander, and since he was coming this way anyway one of his Rangers was tasked to investigate me. I should point out that by their standards I’m a giant of a man, with few reaching more than six feet in height (though I have heard rumors of a man nearing eight). But this Ranger, Benjen, was able to look me eye to eye. We talked for a time, told him what I knew of how I came to be here, but I think he took it to be a strange dream rather than the truth. In the end he felt confident I wasn’t a “wildling” and said I was free to go, and when I asked him for his thoughts on where I should go he recommended coming with him to a place called Winterfell.
With no other prospects I followed Benjen back to Castle Black, and from there south to the regional capital of Winterfell. As we traveled I learned Benjen’s brother was the Lord and leader of the region, and that made me more than a little curious about why he was living and working in the company of criminals but I kept the thought to myself. I would like to say before I forget that the Lord Commander of the Watch, Jeor Mormont, reminded me more than a little of Colonel Phillips. They both have the air of authority that comes from being “one of the men,” and they both hide their smiles behind faces of stone.
Mormont asked me to stay with the Watch once more before I left, and for a moment I considered it. I could see how badly they needed someone with my…abilities. I had been practicing with the sword in my free time at Eastwatch, and found that the art came naturally to me. I could lead men, maybe one day even be the next Lord Commander, but my need to see more of the world pushed me on. I needed to know more about this world I was in, more about what I could do to help it.
After all, there are always bullies that need to be stood up to.
Entry Three
Date: 298 After Landing, Spring
Dearest Peggy,
I must admit when I first laid eyes upon the Capital of the North, the Great Castle of Winterfell, I was awestruck. It is larger, more vast, than any of the castles I saw in Europe. A massive castle itself spans several acres, with two enormous walls and a village located just outside it called the “Winter Town.” It was built around a small wooden area with a single large weirwood at its center, under which lays a natural hot springs whose water is piped through the walls to heat the various rooms and keep the complex comfortable in the face of harsh winter weather. There are dozens of courtyards and small open spaces for weapon training and various other duties.
And I just realized I am starting to sound like a debriefing report. Old habits I guess. As soon as I saw it I started to pick apart possible weaknesses and locate ways to sneak in, of which there are many that I could exploit with access to modern technology. Sadly, blasting caps and mortar fire is not modern here. Gunpowder isn’t even known of, and the closest thing to it I can find of in the books would be something called “wildfire,” but it is more like an oil from all accounts. Something that sticks to things and burns.
Benjen, a few others and myself arrived at Winterfell at a strange time. Robert Baratheon, the King of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, was visiting. Benjen explained that Eddard Stark, the “Lord of Winterfell,” and the King were old friends. They had apparently been the driving force of a military campaign/rebellion against the Kingdom’s previous ruler, and in their victory Robert took the throne. I think the facts say more about the nature of both men then they would expect, or altogether like, but I will keep my thoughts about that to myself for now.
With the King there, the whole Castle was wrapped up in the festivities. No less than five times did my red, white and blue uniform get me into trouble as one person of importance or another would ask if I was a jester of some kind. I would normally politely explain that I am actually a soldier, and then say I was from very far away as trying to explain the truth would be more trouble than it was worth, and that would be the end of it. But just after introducing me to Lord Eddard and King Robert, a blond boy approached us and started trying to make a scene. He kept trying to make me sing or dance for him, saying “you are dressed like entertainment, so entertain me!”
I admit, I wanted to slap that boy. But with me being a guest, and not know who the child belonged to, I just switched to speaking English and started to recite a new old mission reports until he grew annoyed and stomped away. It wasn’t until later I learned that he was the Kings son. My restraint in dealing with the boy seemed to impress the King, but not nearly as much as my ability to drink him under the table.
The next morning I awoke just before the roosters, changed into some spare clothing provided to me while my uniform was washed, and ran a few laps around Winterfell. It surprised the guards on the wall to see me run past them a half dozen times, or maybe it was the fact they saw someone running who wasn’t being chased. After I was done some of them took me aside and asked why I ran, but mostly they wanted to know HOW I could run after matching the King drink for drink. That the most powerful man in this nation is a well-known drunk is more than a little worrying.
Later that day, once more of the castle had recovered from the previous night, I was invited to join the Hunting Party with Lord Eddard and King Robert. While I am not adverse to hunting I don’t really enjoy it as a sport, but turning down a King’s request would be in bad manners. When we returned…well, let’s just say I regretted my choice. Bran, Lord Starks second son, fell while climbing. If I had been here, I might have been able to catch him or do any number of other things to help, but instead that boy may never walk again. And in this world, that is almost as close to a death sentence as you can ask for. You can’t farm, can’t fight, can’t fend for yourself. If he had been almost anyone else’s child, he would have been killed.
I think that is what bothers me the most since I arrived here. The low cost of human life aside, it is the trivial way people are treated that seems to bother me more. While Lord Stark and his family seem to actually care for the people under their watch, which I approve, the King and his extended family seem to have zero regard for the well-being of others. In fact, some of them seem to delight in it. I understand that this isn’t the United States, that I’m the outsider here who shouldn’t get involved, but I can’t help but feel I should do something with the gift Dr. Erskine gave me.
Ha. Even with such thoughts bothering me, I find small moments of hope for the future. As I write this, Arya Stark is in the courtyard training with a small shield that looks much like my own. There is even a small star etched roughly in the surface. She keeps trying to toss it like I do, the way I could always make it go where I want it to go or do what I want it to do. That the shield isn’t shaped right for it, and too heavy for it, hasn’t deterred her any. Her father asked if I would be interested in teaching her swordplay, and I agreed that I would do so for a time. I’ve only been doing it for a few weeks, but my skill is already considered expert so I guess teaching will be fun until I figure out what I want to do. And besides, the job pays.
She and about a half dozen others had watched me spar with “the Hound” in the training yard, and since then there has been a noticeable increase in respect towards me. I was told he never spars with anyone, and was surprised when he asked. My surprise was doubled when I realized the King’s son, Joffery, was standing there with a smile while his bodyguard tried to swing his monster of a sword at me. It only took a few second to realize that the Hound was trying to kill me, and I found myself using the shield for its original purpose more than usual. That man is strong. Even so, I managed to walk away without a scratch. Clegane, the Hound, on the other hand left with a broken nose. Oddly, he had a small smile on his face when we separated. I think we was happy to find someone who could best him. The only person who didn’t smile was Joffery, who again stomped away in frustration.
Well, in a few days it looks like I will be packing up and heading south with the King and their company. His original purpose for coming here was to ask for Lord Stark to take over as “Hand of the King,” which is something like being Vice-President. Well, Eddard agreed and a large chunk of his family is going with him. Including the Arya whom I’m supposed to continue training.
I look forward to seeing the Capital of this Nation.
Entry Four
Date: 298 After Landing, Spring
Peggy,
The trip to the Capital has been, interesting.
I enjoyed my time at Winterfell. Though raised in the land of the free, I can see the appeal of a single benevolent Lord or King watching over their people like a father watching over children. Lord Stark is a firm leader, but he truly cares for those who he is sworn to protect. I saw him no less than three times stop to help one of the “common folk” with a chore or listen to their words of concern. He loves his people, and they him. That same care and reverence seemed to apply to his children as well, who I had the opportunity to spend much time with. Before Bran fell from the tower and into a coma I spent time with him and his “direwolf,” (a wolf that grows to be several times larger than the wolves you or I have seen) and he seemed to be a good kid who looked up to his brothers Robb and Jon.
I had little opportunity to speak with Robb, but from the short time we spoke you could sense an air of authority that may actually be deserved. He is much like his father, even if he looks more like his mother, who seems to care about the people. At the same time he is still a boy, and you can see his inner need to fight and seek adventure. Ha, I guess he and I have that much in common. I’m only a few years old than him, and I couldn’t wait to join the war effort. His half-brother, Jon Snow, didn’t hold the same sir of power but he did show himself to be more mature. He left Winterfell the same day we did, and while I did encourage him to stay home and build a life for himself before joining the Night’s Watch, he had long ago made up him mind.
An interesting event happened a few days after setting out, where we stopped for a day of rest outside an inn near a river called the “Trident”. Arya, Lord Stark’s youngest daughter whom he pays me to train, and I were exercising (Peggy, you should see how determined she is) and she was doing her best to match me push-up for push-up. She didn’t know I was taking it easy on her, but the large smile on her face told me how much fun she was having. We were just finishing up when her sister, Sansa, and Prince Joffrey showed up and starting trying to make fun of her for wanting to do “manly things.” When I pointed out that Westeros has an established history warrior women, the boy grew angry. And when I noticed the smell coming from the wineskin at his side, and I asked why he was drinking, he grew irate and drew his sword on me.
I put Arya behind me and used my shield to deflect the boys aimless strikes, while Sansa seemed more interested in yelling “stop.” I couldn’t tell who she was directing the order towards, but I had no intension of lowering my shield while he carried a sword. When his swings came slower, and he grew visibly tired, the Prince finally lowered his blade and told me, “I’ll take care of you.” This didn’t sound very encouraging.
Joffrey hasn’t out of sight for more than five minutes before his guards, and the Hound, came to escort me before the King and Queen. It didn’t surprise me that he went and ordered me taken, but what did surprise me is that he lied about what happened. He claimed I struck him, and that he drew his sword to defend Sansa. For her part, Lord Stark’s eldest daughter did nothing but make things worse by saying she didn’t remember. Arya was brought before them all a few minutes later, and she backed me up with the truth, but it was all one person’s words against another. That I am an outsider, not of this realm (or time), only made things harder for me. But the timely arrival of Lord Stark with a new witness, a red-haired boy called Mycah, who had been watching everything from afar saw everything righted. Joffrey was humiliated before everyone there when Robert slapped him for making false accusations. It seemed as if his wife, Cersi, wanted to say something to Robert but instead she fixed me with a look that made me want to shiver. I’m fairly sure that I made a few enemies today, just for telling the truth.
It does highlight a growing concern for me. Since I’ve arrived, I have met a Lord Commander, a Lord, and a King. All of which, if they had been inclined, could have had me killed for no reason. While a benevolent King is good for the realm, a corrupt or maleficent one isn’t. That was why when my forefathers sought freedom from England, they established a nation ruled by law. Not ruled by man. Sadly, I don’t think anyone here would be able to fight for such a thing, even if they badly wished for it. One man in a suit of armor is like a tank to these people, able to tear through the unarmored and unarmed with ease.
Later that night Robert and Eddard took me aside and asked if I had told the truth, and then their faces fell as I swore it. They knew all along I had been truthful, but didn’t want to believe it. Robert, possibly drunk at the time, spoke quite freely about how disappointed in Joffrey he was. How the Prince had been nothing but trouble for years, but protected by the Queen so he could not show him the error of his ways. Lord Stark looked sad to say it, but he brought up the possibility of ending Sansa’s pending marriage to the Prince. Robert seemed to think of it for a time, but eventually he said the marriage must continue. Something about binding the two houses.
The next morning, news of Mycah’s death spread through the camp. No one knew who killed him, but the obvious suspect was Joffrey. It made the rest of the trip very, somber.
I could smell King’s Landing, the Capital, long before I could see it. The air grew tinted with the smell of sweat, piss and feces. As you get closer, you don’t breath it so much as swim through it. But I will admit that as I drew closer it was an impressive sight. The city itself is surrounded by a wall with 7 gates, and within it holds more than a half million people inside. But what I first noticed was the poor and unlucky who had built a shanty-settlement on the outside of the walls.
Maybe I will find some way to aid them as I learn more of this place.
Entry Five
Date: 298 After Landing, Summer
My dearest Peggy,
I’ve only been in King’s Landing for a few weeks, and things have been interesting.
When we arrived Lord Stark was hurried off to meet the Small Council, from what I gather it is a kind of a proto-parliament who run the nations day-to-day affairs and offer guidance to the King on larger maters, while the rest of us were shown to our rooms. Eddard, as the Hand, has a large apartment near the top of a tower dedicated to the position, while the King lives inside the main castle. Before he left Eddard gave orders for Arya to not go exploring, but when I asked about her training he agreed we could find an open space to practice while the rest of the household settled in.
A few floors under the Hand’s solar is a wide open space, I presume for the purpose of entertaining or hosting small gatherings, but by the looks of it had gone unused for some time. The only decortations were those craved into the wood and stone, of dragons and fire and conquest. It was all very beautiful. With a large windowless opening facing the nearby sea, it was a cool space that Arya and I agreed would be perfect for training. Even Nymeria, her wolf, agrees with the space. But as we finished our exercises (she really is becoming quite strong for her size) and moved into swordplay, I realized what I was teaching her wasn’t correct for someone of her size. Her brother Jon had given her a sword, and she has only showed it to me, but it is a very thin blade that wouldn’t be useful in the kind of fighting I’m teaching. She needs a different style, and frankly I could use more practice with a real swordsman.
When I brought this up to Lord Stark later that evening, he agreed. We then decided that I would still be in charge of Arya’s physical training and conditioning, but my primary job is to be bodyguard to the Stark Children. Something about the days meeting with the Council had obviously worried him. Jory Cassel was still in charge of the household guards, but I was in charge of the girls protection. A few days later, I overheard the Hand speaking to Arya about how dangerous the city is, how there are enemies everywhere, and that wolf survive by sticking together. A few days later we met Syrio Forel, the former First Sword of Braavos (a city across the sea), and that he is Arya’s “dancing master.” Apparently a form of sword fighting. His personality reminds me a bit of Corporal “Dum Dum” Dugan, real cocky and sure of himself. I liked him immediately. During the day I watched the girls, studied Forel’s water-based sword fighting, and at night I practiced what I learned.
Over the next few weeks I saw less and less of Lord Stark. His attention was focused on the upcoming Tournament King Robert had ordered, and managing the city as more people flooded in and crime started to rise. Even some of his household guard had to be diverted to police duty. I see the good that such a show will do, I remember reading in school about how the Roman’s kept their peoples mind of their woes with bread and circuses, but I wonder who really benefits. It didn’t take much looking to learn that most of the inns and…entertainment establishments are owned by Lord Baelish.
One afternoon, much to my surprise, the Lord Hand asked me to accompany him and his company of guardsmen through the streets of King’s Landing. I was glad to get out of the castle for a time, but felt it odd that he would ask. I had almost come to the conclusion that he had forgotten about me, having seen so little of him since our arrival. The streets were crowded, so much so that they couldn’t part even for the Hand of the King. We eventually stopped at the top of the Street of Steel, so named because of the large number of armorers. I noticed a few people watching us more intently than the rest of the people, but none made a move against us. Stark spoke with an armorer and his apprentice for a time, and then he called me inside.
To my surprise, Stark explains that he would like for me to enter the upcoming tournament. He explained it as, “If they are going to call it the Tourney of the Hand, then the Hand should be represented.” In order to blend in I had taken to wearing traditional clothing and armor, my brightly colored uniform was a little less than inconspicuous. But I do carry my shield everywhere, and after just one glance at it the armorer and his apprentice started exclaiming all the options they could come up with. Before they could run out of breath, I found a nearby sheet of paper and ink and started to sketch up my own thoughts. When I was done, they smiled wide and said they were up to the challenge.
On the way back to the castle, Eddard took me aside and apologized for springing his request on me and how he would have liked to have asked me about it earlier. He explained how the previous Hand had died suddenly, and he was trying to figure out why. I didn’t like the surprise, but if I’m honest I’m used to being used for the purposes of others. And if this helps solve a mystery, so much the better. Sadly, that meant I had only a week to learn to joust and shoot a bow.
Learning to ride a horse, while not in the Army manual, was simple enough. I did as much on the trip from Castle Black to Winterfell. Learning to hold a lance at the same time, much more difficult. Archery on the other hand came naturally, and by the end of the third day I was considered an expert archer capable of hitting what I wanted to from up to a hundred pace while standing or from horseback. I didn’t have high hopes for the joust, but I figured I should be able to make Lord Stark proud with a strong showing in Archery and the Melee.
The day of the Tourney was more than a little eventful, and I suppose for the first time since I arrived in these lands I felt like I was having fun. Even Arya showed up for the event, after hearing I would be in it. It was nice to see the two girls getting along for a change. The Tournament is a three-day affair, but most of the action takes place on the third day. Each event is spaced so that one man shouldn’t be able to enter all three events, and the officials were more than a little surprised to see me do as much (or maybe they were taken aback by my brightly painted red, white and blue armor). I had to rush to finish my first round of the joust before I reached the melee, but I succeeded in defeating Ser Hugh of the Vale. While the rest of the riders took their turns, I ran over to the melee, which was just what it sounds like. Forty competitors in a large ring, and they have to make their opponents yield or flee the arena. Within half an hour I had cleared the arena of everyone but myself and Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword.
Something gave Thoros strength beyond his own, but eventually I was able to best him using only the skill and technique I learned from watching Forel. None of the super-soldier serum enhanced strength.
And just in time as it was my turn to joust once more. I barely managed to tip Renly Baratheon’s (the King’s youngest brother) lance away, knocking him off the horse and earning a second victory (as well as laugh from the King). Eventually I reached the semi-finals, together with Loras Tyrell, Gregor Clegane and Sandor Clegane. Loras managed to squeak out a victory against the Hound, advancing him to the finals, but that left me to face Gregor. The man they call “The Mountain.” At nearly 7’ tall, and more than 400lbs, he has to be the largest man I have ever seen.
He also doesn’t like losing.
When I unhorsed him, Gregor didn’t take it well. He immediately called for his sword (a very large one that anyone else would have had to use both hands to wield) and charged me. I was lucky my shield was designed to absorb impacts. His rage and strength were great, almost as superhuman as my own, but for all his power he lacks my speed. If didn’t take long for him to tire, and as he did I deftly avoided his slower, ragged blows. A few minutes later he dropped to one knee, out of breath, and a single blow to his head with my shield knocked him unconscious.
The arena was full of silence for a long time, not believing what I had just accomplished. Then all at once a thunderous cheer erupted from all in attendance. The King seemed to be cheering more loudly than the rest, his roar of laugher rising above the rest. Clegane’s brother, Sandor, smirked once. I got a nod of respect from Lord Stark and a few others. And Arya smiled wider than I had ever seen. I wish you had been there, Peggy. I felt like a hero again.
It wasn’t until later that I learned what the Mountain had done to the wife of the former Prince Rhaegar, and the children, and I wished I had done much worse. I felt like that skinny little boy from Brooklyn all over again. Later that evening, I was approached by Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Barristan Selmy who offered to make me a Knight. I had heard the same from several others who witnessed my triumphs of the day, and told them all no. But when approached by the a Knight with honor to match Lord Stark, I needed to think about it. I will go and speak with the Hand, see what he thinks I should do.
Oh, by the way, I only got second place in Archery.
Entry Six
Date: 298 After Landing, Summer
Peggy,
Well, the days following the Tournament have been, eventful. I turned down the offer of Knighthood, mostly on moral grounds. Someone shouldn’t be rewarded for being fast or strong, but for being known for protecting those who can’t protect themselves.
I swear I only took my eyes off of Arya for a minute before she vanished. She could teach spys a lesson in vanishing. Syrio had her chasing the stray cats that walk amongst the castle, part of her training which is intended to make her reflexes faster as well as teach her patience. She has managed to capture every cat in the castle except for this one. She turned a corner, and she and the cat were gone. Even I couldn’t find where she had gone. When she was finally found she looked more like one of the homeless outside the castle, and oddly it suited her. She got a stern talking to from her father, and I got shamed for not being able to keep up with her. Then Lord Stark smiled and commented that not even the Gods could catch her if she tried hard enough.
As I walked Arya back to her room, she asked me questions about her father’s guards and if they could protect him. I answered as best I could, but was taken aback by her request, “Make sure no one kills my father. You defeated the Mountain, the Hound, and all the others, so I know you can protect my father.” I honestly didn’t know what to say to that, but finally I told her that Lord Stark loves his children so much that he would rather I protect them. This didn’t set her at ease, and she said little more the rest of the day.
The very next day, and shortly after his return from a Council meeting, I noticed that Lord Stark no longer wore his badge of office. Rumors soon started to run of Eddard searching for a ship to take him and the girls back to Winterfell and leaving the city behind. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have waited so long.
The next day Lord Stark asked for me to accompany him and a group of his men. He seemed more on edge than usual, and made sure I wore my armor. To my surprise we arrived at a…place of entertainment. Lord Stark and a few others went inside while I elected to remain behind. Again I noticed the eyes that always watched, and felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Eddard had only been inside for five minutes when the sky opened up and rain started running down my armor. Another minute later the whole group exited, with Mr. Baelish among them.
We were only half-way back to the castle when 40 Lannister guardsmen suddenly surrounded us. Among them was Jaime Lannister, brother to the Queen and member of the Kingsguard, who was obviously upset. Apparently he was upset about Lady Catelyn, Lord Starks wife, who had taken Jaime’s little brother. Some kind of arrest? There were but 5 of us to their 40, but it seemed the guards were hesitant to draw their swords against us. Jaime did not share that reservation, and drew his blade as Littlefinger ran for help from the City Watch.
Seeing us outnumbered, Eddard reminded Jaime that if anything should happen to him that his wife would kill Tyrion, the brother. Jaime hesitated for moment, but only long enough to tell his guards to kill us all, but leave the former Hand unharmed. I honestly don’t like killing. I see the act of taking someone’s life as something you only do if it is absolutely necessary. Sadly for them, the guards left me little choice. Heward and Wyl were seconds from being cut down when I sent my shield through their attackers necks, and before the rest of the guards could advance five steps I had disabled three more of them.
My speed and decisiveness had brought the confrontation to a very sudden halt. I called out Ser Jaime, calling him a coward, and a bully, and offered he fight me in Lord Starks place. In his arrogance, the Kingsguard smiled and took me up on the offer. The young Knight moved faster than I had expected, and was undoubtedly skilled. I doubt Syrio or anyone else would be able to stand against him in open combat. But it was over before it began, and as soon as Ser Jaime’s blade bounced off my shield, I brought my sword up and cut off his sword-hand at the wrist. He hadn’t even realized it was gone until he brought the stump down and found his hand missing. He dropped to his knees, staring in disbelief at the missing limb.
When the other guards threw down their weapons I ordered Starks men to not kill them, but to take them all prisoner. I then knelt beside the fallen knight and started applying a field dressing. As I did this, I recited back to him the words of a knight I had learned while visiting the Sept; “You were charged to be Brave. But you were also charged to be Just. To Defend the young and Innocent. To Protect. I ask you, how is trying to kill these men fulfilling your vows?” His silence was all the answer I needed.
Once the City Watch arrived, I couldn’t help but notice Baelish’s surprise at what had transpired. Or his amusement. In any event, rather than head to the docks and leave the city, Lord Stark was adamant he return to the castle and speak with the King. Honestly, I would rather leave the city. Besides, I’m sure the Queen will not be pleased to see her brother maimed.
Entry Seven
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
Peg,
It has been the better part of a year since I last saw your face. God, has it been 8 months already?
I had hoped to write sooner, but things are moving fast and I had little time to write. So much has happened that I can scarcely decide where to start, but I will endeavor to explain.
After the melee in the streets, Jaime Lannister and his men were arrested and carried off to the dungeons while Lord Stark went to meet with the King. I was asked to go and stand guard over his children until his return. Sadly, he never did. I only learned of this a few days later, but apparently Robert died while Lord Stark was in route. Evidence was found in Eddards quarters, giving the impression that the former Hand had his best friend poisoned and killed. Cersei had Lord Stark arrested and thrown into the dungeons, while also releasing her Brother and guards as acting Regent.
I refused to believe it, and so set out to do what I thought was right. While Stark’s men were being killed (not even attempting to arrest them and make them stand trial), I did what I was asked to do and protected the children. Syrio, who was teaching Arya at the time, was ambushed by Lannister men as well Ser Trant of the Kingsguard. I arrived just before Syrio could be overwhelmed, saving him and dispatching his attackers. I then guided them to Sansa, who to my surprise was being watched over by the Hound. While I had no doubt about being able to handle him, I really didn’t want to and asked him to step aside. He took one long look at me, then back at Sansa, and told her, “Remember to sing,” before walking away.
I tried to save others, but most had been cut down before I had known what was going on. By the end of the day it was just Syrio, Arya, Sansa and myself. Plus the two direwolves. But I was determined to make sure the children didn’t grow up without a father. Once I was sure the girls would be safe for a few hours, I slipped away under the cover of darkness and infiltrated the Red Keep. It took me a half hour to reach the “Traitor’s Walk,” a squat half-round tower near the back of the Castle, and another half-hour to slip inside without being noticed. The dungeons below the tower are rumored to have 4 floors. I searched the upper floor, normally reserved for common criminals, and then the second floor which is where you would normally find highborn captives. But I found Lord Stark on the third, where there are small cells and the only light comes from torches. He was surprised to see me there, and at first he refused to leave his cell out of misplaced honor or fear for his children, but I eventually convinced him that his family was safe and he would be of more use to them back home in Winterfell.
Although regretful, I had to knock out a dozen guards on the way back to the surface. While I could move quietly and quickly, Stark could not. After another two hours I had him reunited with his children at a farm outside the city. There, around a small table, as the Warden of the North, Lord Stark named me a Lord of the North and offered me a place in his lands. Considering the situation, I found myself unable to refuse him. Syrio was offered a chance to leave and go his own way with no hurt feelings, but instead he found the whole situation to be humorous and wanted to stay.
We spent a few hours trying to decide what to do now. It was fairly obvious I could easily have infiltrated the castle, but what would I do there? Robert’s wife and son were in charge now, and ravens would have spread word to the whole realm of Eddard’s supposed crimes. As horrible as the situation was, I wouldn’t kill a woman who was simply doing what anyone else would in her situation and going after the man who killed her husband. Just because she was wrong about who committed the crime, that didn’t mean she needed to die.
So, the only real option was for Eddard to return to Winterfell and claim his innocence. We surmised that guards would be sent out to find us as soon as they realized Stark was gone, so we needed to make speed as quickly as possible. With my winnings from the Tournament, we bought some horses from the farmer and traveled off-road to the town of Duskendale. From there we booked passage to the North. We arrived in White Harbor, run by House Manderly who were kind enough to give us a few days of rest in their castle before we hit the road once more. It took a little over two weeks, but eventually we arrived in Winterfell. Sadly it was only too late that we realized Ice, the Stark family sword, was left behind in the Red Keep.
When we arrived all of us, Stark most of all, was surprised to find nearly all of his bannermen had been called up and gathered at the North’s capital. After the introductions and greetings were shared, Syrio, myself and Stark family sat down to discuss what was going on. It wasn’t surprising to find that Cersei had spread word of the crimes, but what was were the additional crimes she had tacked on as she told the world that Eddard and the children was still in her custody. Catelyn Stark, wife to Eddard and mother to the children, was overjoyed to find everyone safe and back home. She explained what had set everything in motion, with her arrest of Tyrion Lannister for attempted murder of her son, Bran, and how he was found innocent with a trial by combat at her sister’s home and allowed to go free. I admit that I can’t see the little man doing what she said, but I kept that to myself.
In response to that arrest, Lannister men had begun tearing though the Riverlands, a region allied to the Starks. After meeting him, I can’t say I was surprised to find the Mountain was leading the charge by razing (and raping) his way across the countryside. Meanwhile the rest of the Realm has erupted in fire as Roberts brother, Renley Baratheon, has raised an army in the Stormlands and formed an alliance with the Reach, then declared himself King of the Seven Kingdoms with a massive army at his back.
Meanwhile there is word of fleets gathering around the Iron Islands as well as Dragonstone, but no one knows why.
With the Lannisters causing trouble in the Riverlands, enough to make the Tulleys who run it to seek help, Stark honor forces Eddard to answer the call. Everyone is afraid to say what it really happening, but it is clear that a rebellion has begun.
As unhappy as people were under the mad king, everything has been worse under the “fat king.” Robert may have been a great warrior, but he made a terrible King. And Eddard has started to realize that. He may be loath to admit it, but the North needs to separate itself from the rest of the realm and stand on its own feet. Neither the North nor the rest of the Realm has a need for one another, and has only been united under the threat of Dragons. With no such threat remaining, I can already see the fractured lines and old rivalry’s returning. The people of Westeros need something to fight FOR, not against. Something that can unite people of different faiths, cultures and regions. Sadly, I don’t see anything like that here in the North, nor in the Capital. From everything I read, the only thing that brings these people together is fear. What they need, is freedom.
In any case, Eddard said he wanted two things of me. First, mostly because of all the time we spent together on the way back to Winterfell, I am one of his advisors. He wants me to help come up with ways to govern the nations. Basically the medieval version of Secretary of War. Second, he wants me to lead an army south to fight the Lannisters. Reluctantly, I agreed. The lies the Queen spread claimed I was in collusion with Eddard to take the crown, so I won’t be welcomed anywhere outside Northern territory and leaving me little choice but to fight.
As I write this I have to say I feel equally silly and proud. I’m at the front of a warhost, 3000 men strong, wearing a suit of armor enameled in Red, White and Blue. A Standard is held by a bearer beside me, a White Star on a Blue circle atop a field of Red. I am Steven of House Rogers, my words are “Duty, Honor, Liberty.”
Written by DC79
ARYA
They had barely taken two steps into Winterfell when her father and..."Lord" Rogers (gods, it would take her some time to get used to thinking of him as such) had been ushered into the Great Hall, and she hadn't seen them since. She knew something important was about to happen; as they had approached Winterfell they could see a vast stretch of lights to the east, in Winter Town, and she knew soon enough that the Lords of the North had amassed a great host.
The Giant of Umber, the Bear of Mormont, the Flayed Man of Bolton, the Merman of Manderley- all were represented. It was an unprecedented gathering- but Arya thought that the way she had slipped away from the pre-occupied household staff and any others who might shoo her off to bed was almost as unprecedented.
Then she remembered- such a task often fell to Septa Mordane. Her heart sank as she was reminded of this. Syrio had been shown to his temporary quarters, so now, here she sat in Bran's room with Sansa, the three Stark children watching their newly reunited direwolves play "bitey face" as Rickon liked to call it. The three children had so much to say, but didn't know how to say it at the moment, so they had fallen into a contented silence: Bran had finally fallen asleep, and Sansa was nodding off as well, leaving Arya to ponder the hero who made their reunion possible.
Arya had stirred a bit when she finally heard voices coming from the Great Hall- the gathering of Lords was finally over. For Bran's sake, she didn't open the window, instead going to her own room, Nymeria padding behind her the whole way. She opened the window, and several voices managed to carry all this way. Of course, one of them was the Greatjon Umber- she caught a few words, and it seemed he wanted to test the newest Northern Lord's strength for himself, and she supposed Steve was open to that, as a circle of the Lords gathered around them, her teacher standing perfectly still at the behemoth of a man slowly advanced towards him- the Greatjon said something that was obviously a joke, for the crowd laughed, while Steve remained silent. And then he threw himself at Steve.
Steve Rogers was a mystery only as much as he was content to peel back the layers one at a time. She finally got him to share details of battles he had fought. A man who believed in him had used all of his knowledge to make him strong "but like a maester, not a mage." There was no magic to it, and the man had died afterwards, taking his secret with him. Her father deserved this "seer-um" as much as Steve did- she had thought him invincible when she was younger, as all children imagined their fathers. But for now, there was only one like him, and the gods were kind enough to send him to House Stark.
He could scarcely pick up a weapon before, he said, and he regarded his abilities as a gift that indebted him to the greater good. Like a knight from the tales...
He wasn't strong before... knowing that slowly made several little things clear. He quickly grew to have his share of admirers in Winterfell before the journey south- a few of the ladies in waiting, and Jeyne Poole (Sansa thinking him rather old, but conceding that he was still somewhat handsome) among them. She had even heard that Princess Myrcella had two opportunities to speak with him during the journey to King's Landing but could scarcely do so without giggling and blushing in a most undignified way.
Bet the Queen hated that- Arya thought. Of course, the woman hated anyone without the name "Lannister,"- that much was clear. It made Arya feel better about the tact and good graces she had compared to the Queen if the woman was so bad at hiding her contempt for the world at large- how she had managed to have three kids by the Fat King, she could scarcely imagine. But the way Steve became a little uncomfortable at the batting eyelashes made it clear he wasn't used to this- and when she asked for stories of his home, she had asked for stories of battles he had fought. He had politely declined; at first, he shared stories he had read; of the giant Paul of House Bunyan and his great blue auroch Babe. He told her of Lord Edmund Dantes and his quest for revenge. Finally, after asking for a scary story, he told her of the Immortal Lord Dracula, who fed on the blood of the innocent and the small band of heroes dedicated to stopping him. It took much pleading and assurances that she wouldn't have nightmares; she had enjoyed the story, but it was only after much nagging that he finally started telling her about his own battles. He spoke often of how he was nothing without his men, his "Howling Commandos," and how the "Red Skull" was as terrifying an enemy as one could imagine. When pressed for details, he told her of the Red Skull's monstrous appearance- even better, with a quill and parchment he produced a drawing of his greatest foe. The "vampire" of his story hadn't effected her, but knowing the demon in the picture had once lived truly did frighten her, and she finally had a nightmare where a black shape of a man topped with a demonic fire-red, fleshless skull was standing over her bed. She managed not to cry out before awakening.
But he emphasized that the Red Skull had destroyed himself at the end. Every victory he spoke of, he gave credit to his allies and the rare mistakes of his enemies. But coming from the man who felled the Mountain That Rides with a single blow, one knew that this was an incomparable humility.
When she said this, he gave her a piece of advice from one of his own kings, and added "Humility aside, it always helps if your enemies underestimate you. That's one thing you have over me now. And we're going to keep at that."
Of course, when you lived in the same castle as Theon Greyjoy, anyone would look humble by comparison.
He did his part for the family, as well; he wrote to Lady Catelyn often assuring her that her daughters and husband were kept safe. He had even corresponded with Bran, trying to cheer him by telling him stories of his home.
He had even spoken for a moment about something he had said to Maester Luwin in a letter about the seven "wanderers" in the sky and what made them different than the rest of the stars and how it had excited him to further study. His final odd venture was the suggestion adding more hops to a batch of ale to the castle's brewers- it created something called an "India Pale Ale" when added during the brewing process. The first batch had been well received by King Robert- but then again, it got you drunk, so of course it was. He later explained to her that it was simply something else to pass the time- which he had a lot of, because he only needed 4-5 hours of sleep a night.
And as much as he tried to play the peacekeeper between the two sisters, he had made things worse for a time- Arya had insisted that if Sansa loved those stories of knights and chivalry Old Nan had , then she need look no further than Steve as the embodiment of those stories. Prince Joffrey suffered by comparison to even the piggish Ser Blount, but compared to Steve he seemed a mockery of a boy; cruel, petty, both arrogant and ignorant. She said these things, baffled that her sister would find this foreigner strange but moon over Joffrey. It had been at a mid day meal and this had quickly escalated to a shouting match before Septa Mordane sent Arya out. She had finally told Steve this in frustration that evening when they were done with practice, angered that Sansa couldn't see Joffrey for what he truly was.
"I guess you should ask yourself if you're really trying to tell her what she needs to hear or if you simply want to disappoint her," he had finally said.
"Put it another way- what if Joffrey finally did something so horrible that she ran to her father crying," he'd asked, sitting down next to her. "Would you laugh, say I told you so, or would you put all those feelings aside and be there for her like a sister should?"
Arya had sat there silently. Sansa was truly her mother's daughter, and even if there had been no love in her heart for her sister, she owed her mother that much to be kind to her.
"All kids have dreams that they grow out of. That's part of being a kid. Just let Sansa have her dream. Her family will be there for her when she grows out of it, however that'll happen."
"And you? You'll be there too, right?"
"Of course I will," he replied with that smile that was warm while belying the power of its wielder. She was silent again for a moment.
"Do you think all of this-" she gestured around the training area "-is just a stupid dream?
"I wouldn't be here if I did."
"You're lucky, "she groused. "You don't have any titles, you don't have to get married- how would you feel if you had to marry some giggling, proper lady- she'd probably think you strange just for training me."
"As long as that's what she wants to be and isn't what the world forces her to be, I think I could manage if it came to that."
"I want to throw up every time Mother talks about marriage- why couldn't I be a little older, and I could marry you?"
There was no lovesick sigh as she said this; on the contrary it was spoken so casually that it startled Steve. It wasn't the idle speak of a childhood crush- there was none, for it was Arya stating the accepted fact of her inevitable arranged marriage and saying that she would be miserable and she saw only one man in the Seven Kingdoms as being kind enough to make that inevitability bearable.
"I don't want to marry you," she added, stammering in her embarrassment for what she had accidentally implied. "But I haven't heard of any man who would let me be what I wanted to be. He'd probably be mad that he didn't get Sansa." At this last, Steve was quiet for a moment.
"I read that the Prince of Dorne has a few sons close to your age," he said at last. "Walder Frey in the Riverlands has to have at least one kid worth your time."
"I read that the whole lot of the Freys are a mess of no-chinned, big bellied, cross-eyed sneaks," Arya replied, and Steve couldn't help but guffaw at that. "And I bet Dorne hates the North almost as much as they hate the Lannisters."
"Well, if you're so determined to find a place for yourself doing manly things, I say you leave them no choice- show them that lacing you into a frilly dress is such a huge waste of what you have to offer that even an idiot could see it."
And he stood up at that, and had assumed another defensive stance, his practice sword outstretched. He smiled expectantly at her.
She had been ready to call it a day before; now she found she had an unexpected second wind as she went at him again, and the loud snaps of their wooden swords resumed.
And so the Greatjon was hurled to the ground like a rag doll. There was applause. And judging from the few words she caught, the Greatjon didn't seem angry- something about "a new strategy." He came at Steve low, trying to pull a leg out from under him.; in turn, he leaped over the Greatjon's brawny arm and locked his right leg around the back of the Greatjon's left, pulling it as he gave the man a shove. Again, the Lord of the Last Hearth tumbled. That familiar, booming laugh followed again quickly as he pulled himself to his feet, and slapped Steve on the back such that any other man would have been knocked over;
"You help us win this war and you can have your pick of any of my daughters!" he proclaimed. "Imagine a grandchild of mine that could break me in twain before they grow their first hairs!"
The assembled crowd laughed, and she could tell Steve was somewhat embarrassed by the suggestion the way he scratched his head at this.
"I always thought it was the way of most powerful men to brag and boast,"Sansa said. Arya nearly jumped, as she realized Sansa had entered behind her, watching the events below.
"Father doesn't," Arya insisted.
"Father isn't most men," Sansa insisted in turn, as if Arya had said the sun and the moon had switched places in the sky.
"I know Father never would have hurt the king," Sansa finally said. "If the Queen is saying it, Joffrey is saying it as well."
"The way he said he fought off the man who threw around the Greatjon and toppled the Mountain?" Arya replied. But these words held none of the derision they would have months before.
And Sansa's face burned, a ruddy pink framed by auburn tresses. "Yes. Like that." She finally replied.
Arya had barely noticed Lady in the room, but in the awkward pause that followed, the smallest of her pack loped forward and gave's Arya's hand a lick. Nymeria, in turn, placed a paw on Sansa's leg.
"Bran's awake," Sansa finally said. "The ruckus woke him up- it's best we return to our rooms for the night."
"I'm not leaving him just yet. Those big chairs are comfortable compared to what we had to settle for on the trip back."
Sansa nodded, and they returned to Bran's room. He asked them what had happened below, and he laughed when they told him. They spoke of how they would all be glad when the host departed, even though they dreaded what it meant, and that Father and Robb would be going with them.
Bran finally mentioned what he had overheard two of Lord Karstark's sons said about him, that he would be better off dead than a cripple.
"Steve would have introduced their faces to their arses if he'd been there," Arya growled- but the treachery and cruelty they'd dealt with made this seem like pettiness beneath their notice.
"But they'd still think it," Bran said. "What good would that do then?"
"It would do me some good," Arya grumbled.
"If a man says awful things, it reflects badly on only them," Sansa finally chimed in.
The silence was uncomfortable, until Bran finally asked them if it was true he had beaten the Mountain that Rides in the Tourney. They said he did, and that it seemed if he had wanted to, he could have killed Ser Gregor with little cause for complaint.
"I knew he was strong, but I didn't know he was that strong," Bran finally said.
"He told me something one of his kings said- that you should 'speak softly and carry a big stick.' He lives by that," Arya explained.
"That sounds like a Lord of the North if I ever heard one," Sansa smiled.
"That same king- he had a nephew who's his king now," Arya added. "The new king's a cripple, but he was a great king. He almost had the war won when Steve was taken from his home."
Bran stirred at this. "Really?" he asked.
"Yes, and he even hosted a King and Queen from an old House and served them peasant's food," Arya added.
"Do you think he'll have time for one of the stories of his homeland before he leaves?" Bran asked. "He wrote down a story that Old Nan read to me about a mouse and a lion- I rather liked it."
"Oh, he's told me several," Arya said, leaning forward. "Would you like to hear one?" Bran nodded eagerly.
"Once there was a noble Lord, who lived alone in a forgotten castle," Arya intoned ominously. "But when a banker came to help him buy new lands, he learned that there was something terrifying about Lord Dracula..."
Entry Eight
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
Peg,
No matter what I do, I will always be a soldier. It is what I am. What I was made for. I will always be at odds against someone, something, for one reason of another. I just wished it didn’t cost so much.
I’m not talking about the financial cost, but the cost of one’s soul. Seeing things, knowing you caused them, it has an impact. When I was fighting HYDRA I did a lot of things I didn’t like, I killed enemy soldiers, blackmailed for intelligence, blew up factories, but all of it was for the greater good. It was either blow up one factory or kill a squad of soldiers to save millions of innocent people, or I didn’t and those men and woman died. But here, it is so different. It doesn’t matter if you are in favor of Lord Tywin or Lord Stark, the innocent farmer or small merchant just trying get by are caught in the middle.
I’ve been leading this army for a few months now. I’ve lost about two hundred men in that time, twenty of which I had to put down to make an example to the others. Before we set off from the North and crossed into the Riverlands, I purchased all the supplies we would need and organized a logistical train to keep us fed. Five pounds of food for every man, 20 for every horse, and had hoped that would set every man at ease. Even assigned a hundred men to manage it. Instead, as soon as we entered the Riverlands and came across a farm the men immediately set upon it and started to take whatever they could carry. I had to beat them over the heads with curses, and sometimes my fists, to make them understand that pillaging allied territory was a bad idea. By the time I was finished with the thieves, and could stop yelling, I heard the cries from the farm house. Later that evening I had to hang a dozen men for what they had done to the farmer’s wife and daughters.
I still have some men with sticky fingers, but only one of them has dared to wander of and start raping since my little demonstration. He was dealt with more harshly than I would have liked, but it was necessary to get the point across to everyone else.
I send regular reports back to Winterfell and Lord Stark, via Raven, and he has been awestruck by our accomplishments as well as the advice I’ve been sending back. Setting up supply lines isn’t unheard of in Westeros, but mostly considered to be impractical when you are trying to keep an army of 40,000 fed. I’ve explained how to set up supply routes, how to secure them, and how to keep them moving as you advance further and further away from your sources of strength. All of the looting and pillaging the locals normally do to gather food is time consuming, and not always successful. But the soldiers do have to be paid, so I agreed to a compromise. There was no looting in the Riverlands, but once we crossed into the Westerlands the men were allowed to loot whatever they carry. I made it clear that raping would still be punished. Besides, as much as I disliked the idea, sex was what the camp followers were for.
For the first few weeks, whenever we settled down to camp for the night I would put the men though a series of exercises to see who was the best of the best. I needed to know what these men were capable of. A large number of the troops are from House Glover, but there is a rough mix of various other houses here as well. But to ensure there is no struggle for power, I am the only “Lord,” so they follow my orders well. I knew there were only a few hundred decent archers in the mix, so I started teaching massed archery tactics. An auxilliry corp of crossbowmen, another hundred men, was formed as well. The rest of the army was skeptical until they saw both groups put out 15,000 arrows in less than five minutes, and imagined an enemy force being stuck under that hail. Massed archery only seems to be used here in siege warfare by the defenders. It’s interesting trying to teach these men that you can use defense as an offense. I also introduced simple things to keep illness down, such as latrines and washing hands. I have ideas for improving so many things, but I think they will have to wait until after the war is over and I can run my own hold.
By the time we reached Seagard, I knew who was the best swordsman, best archer, fastest runner and strongest men in my army. I also knew who were more clever than the rabble who were only interested in loot. I used this information to form a small group for special missions. I call them “Commandos,” but they don’t know what the word means. When I explained to them that it meant “they were the best men for the most difficult battles,” they seemed to light up at that. I got to use them soon enough.
The first major enemy force we encountered in the Riverlands was also the largest, and in the worst place. The Capital of Riverrun. Lord Tywin had sent Addam Marbrand to capture the massive fortification, and had succeeded in not just taking the castle but Edmure Tully, Lady Starks brother, as well. Marbrands force of 15,000 was strong and placed to defend the site. Our forces were camped just to the North, barely outside the notice of enemies scouts, but were outnumbered 5 to 1. Siege was out of the question. I needed another plan.
After waiting until nightfall the Commandos and I snuck into the castle, meaning I scaled the walls and then threw down a rope. Once inside it became a matter of finding all of the high-ranking officers of the Lannister host and taking them prisoner. Not an easy task, but with everyone being unaware of our arrival it was easier than it would have been. Marbrand was eventually found taunting Edmure, and after a very brief sword fight he surrendered. His household guards weren’t so lucky. The other minor Lords were soon found and taken, with the exception of Lord Andros who was executed by one of the Commandos for being caught in the act of raping a member of the castle staff. Took an arrow right though the throat. When the sun rose, we used the captured Lords as bargaining chips and forced the enemy host to surrender. I even guaranteed that no harm would come to those who threw down their weapons. With the exception of a few of Andros’s men, they all agreed. An hour later our forces arrived and started stripping the enemy of armor and weapons. Not a single drop of Northern blood was spilled.
I’m about to start righting my report to Lord Stark, who will most likely want to let Lord Tywin know via Raven what has happened and offer him an end to the war. But from what I know the man would rather watch his own lands burn before admitting defeat.
Before I forget, and interesting thing occurred today. Some of the Lannister men are believers in the Faith of the Seven, a religion in the South, and took to calling me the Warrior Made Flesh.. Something about the star on my chest…but last I checked my star had five points, not seven.
Entry Nine
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
Peggy,
A few days ago I had a little girl, Della, couldn’t be more than 7, run up and give me a crown made from some of the wildflowers that grow along the banks of the Red Fork river. If you took Arya and gave her blond hair, she could have been this girls twin. For the first time in weeks, I had a smile cross my face. We stopped near her small village for the night, just me and a few hundred men I had taken with us for a series of raids I was planning for enemy territory. I left the rest of our forces behind at Riverrun to guard the Keep and its prisoners until a relief force can arrive (Lord Stark assured me that 5,000 men under the command of Lord Umber, would arrive within a fortnight, while 20,000 men under his command would be setting out from the twins to hunt down Lord Tywins army in the southern Riverlands).
The Village was very quaint, so small if didn’t even have a name, as was mostly a meeting place for a few local farmers to gather and trade amongst themselves. But I could see its potential. If it wasn’t so close to the Westerlands, and had a charismatic leader to organize everyone, it could one day grow into a valuable hub of trade. Maybe wealthy enough to get a castle, build a standing army of guards to protect it. After a few years of fighting in Germany, this idyllic community felt like heaven.
Apparently word of our actions spread faster than our forces, but all these people cared about was that I didn’t allow pillaging or looting. Normally these people would seek shelter, gather everything they could carry and hole up somewhere to protect their lives and families from soldiers. In appreciation for not ransacking them, they threw on a small celebration. Wine was shared, bread and meat was eaten, and stories were told. The Commandos and I even used some of our battlefield skills to perform tricks (such as having an arrow ricochet off my shield to hit an apple hanging from a tree). It was a wonderful time and a nice break for our men from the constant marching.
It was after I got a few of the elders drunk that I realized that the war, Lords, Kings…none of it mattered to these people. War was the providence of men with power, while those at the lower levels of society only cared about surviving. I…I hadn’t considered that before. It seems like so long ago, but when I left America to fight in the war everyone was doing their part. Everyone, from the wealthiest businessman down to the poorest on the street knew the war needed to be fought, and did what they could. There is no since of identity here. Even people who live in a separate village but under the same Lord consider each other to be foreigners. There is no sense of Nationalism, no belief or ideology that links the people to the nation. Nothing that makes them care. People identify with families, friends, but not with their leaders.
I wanted to tell them they were wrong, that it matters that they stand with their nation, but I couldn’t. I respect the Starks, respect their honor, but I have no allegiance to the North beyond that friendship I have with House Stark. You can’t have nationalism without patriotism, but you can’t have that without having an attachment to your fellow countrymen. This reliance on Feudalism has its benefits, but also causes so many other problems that it really isn’t worth it. When I get back to Winterfell I will talk to Stark about it, and maybe we can come up with a solution.
The following morning I woke everyone at the normal time, but there were a few more groans about headaches this time. I had them all do the normal camp chores, then exercise as I had gotten them into the habit of doing, before we packed up and rolled out of the village. Before we left, I quietly paid the farmers for their hospitality, and promised to keep them out of the war by ending it as soon as possible.
We were only a few hours into our march towards the Golden Tooth when our rear scouts brought me word of the village we just visited. It was under attack by bandits. I sent the rest of the column ahead, put one of the Commandos in charge of the men while the rest of them went with me to save the farmers.
The smell of smoke was my first impression as I ran ahead of the Commandos. The next was the stink of copper and iron, of shit and blood. Of death. I heard the screams before I even cleared the woods. Wails of men cut short with steel. Cries of women that continued on for far too long.
…I…I lost myself. I always thought it was an expression, but I actually could feel my blood boiling in anger. We were just here. These people should have been safe. The war was far from here.
As I exited the woods the first thing I saw was the bodies. Men missing limbs, heads cut clear in half, bodies torn like some giant took an arm in each hand and pulled…and then I saw the women. Wives, sisters, daughters, almost all of them naked and covered in blood. But what brought me to a halt, stopped me in my tracks, was seeing Della’s small body lying in the dirt. Her dress torn from her, and left to soak in the blood seeping down her legs. Her neck so gruesomely wrenched that her chin touched her spine. Part of me was glad she was dead, no longer able to suffer what she had seen and felt.
The rest of me was lost in a rage so blinding, I don’t even remember what happened next. Next thing I knew, I had marched back into the woods towards a nearby stream, stripped off my armor and sat in the cold water. My fists were red, and someone’s blood ran all the way to my elbow. I saw more of it on my shield and armor. It wasn’t until the Commandos found me that I learned what had happened. Learned how I had beaten the Mountain, Gregor Clegane, to death with my hands.
Even they, my men and nearest friends, were afraid to come near me after what they had saw me do. But they all agreed it needed to be done. A few of them had even thrown up after seeing the carnage that man had caused, or perhaps from seeing what I did.
Peggy….Sharon….I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same after this.
Entry Ten
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
Sharon,
Things have gotten more interesting the last few weeks.
Lord Stark has taken the advice I, and his advisors, have given him and moved to declare the North independent from the rest of the realm. What was once a war simply to stay alive, has become a movement to end the constant conflicts the North has been dragged into over the years because of things that have happened in the South. Personally, I pushed him towards this course of action because of two things. It sets a clear goal for our military forces, and it will eventually provide me with the opportunity to influence the governance of the new Kingdom. I have no doubt that Eddard, and later his son Rob, will be wonderful and benevolent Kings, but what about those that come after? Hopefully I can get some traction on things and help build a nation that will be worth fighting for. There is a matter of its climate, and lack of people, but I will work on that.
In fact, one bit of good news is that shortly after the Declaration was sent out, Lord Hoster Tully declared the Riverlands as formally aligned with the North’s goal. Eddard Stark is now King in the North and Trident. I’m happy for him, but I’m more concerned about the people who live in the not-easily-defended Riverlands and how the other powers have responded to this.
Some would it call this an act of God, due to the timing, but I think of it as just coincidence. A bright red comet currently lights the sky, easily seen during the day and the night. I suspect it’s this worlds version of Halley’s Comet, and it’s a truly beautiful sight, but to me that is all it is. Nature at work. Although a few of the more superstitious men under my command have called the comet “Red Sword” because of its shape and color, others call it the “Red Messenger” as it is supposed to herald blood and fire, or herald a new age. Frankly, there is already so much of both that I don’t see how a comet can bring more. Then there are those who call it “Rogers Star” or “Star of the Mountainslayer” since during the day the sky resembles my armor (red comet, blue sky, white clouds).
If shooting stars really do grant wishes, I would ask this one to have people stop calling me “Mountainslayer.” I didn’t ask for the name, and I don’t want it. Its constant reminder of the one time I lost control, of my mind and body, and not something I wish to repeat.
The war in the Riverlands is going well from all reports. Robbs forces managed to rout Lord Twins just outside High Heart. Apparently they made good time to Harrenhal, crossed at the Twins and took the Kingsroad south as far as needed, and House Whent allowed them use of the castle to stage their campaign. Tywin wasn’t captured, he escaped with about half of his forces, but a large number of his forces were captured or killed. Robbs troops, plus those stationed at Riverrun, are in pursuit. Either they will capture him, or they will force him all the way back to the Golden Tooth...and me. The Commandos and I performed another night-time raid on this castle and captured all of the Lords and Officers during the middle of dinner. There was only a token force of 3,000 soldiers stationed here, almost all of them were raw recruits who were pulled off of farms and had weapons shoved in their hands, and they surrendered as soon as they realized we wouldn’t kill them.
I can’t say I approved of the looting, and 300 men can make a large mess very quickly, but it seemed to make everyone a little happier. I know that they hated passing all of those villages and towns and not being allowed to loot them, but they followed orders. So I kept my promise. Everything in this castle was theirs, except for any gold coin as that would be sent straight back to Winterfell. And my lessons about how to treat people seem to be sinking in as I didn’t even have to remind anyone not to run off with the first woman they saw.
Elsewhere, things are getting more serious. Renly Baratheon and his combined Stormlands/Reach army is moving North towards King’s Landing, and apparently Stannis and Renly have made some kind of pact, producing an army well over 100,000 strong on land in addition to a large naval force. Stannis is apparently spreading word that King Joffery is in fact the offspring of Cersei and Jaime Lannister’s incest, along with the other children, and as such are not heir to the crown. As the older brother, Stannis is rightfully King of the remaining 6 Kingdoms. The price of this alliance seems to be that Stannis shall be King, Renly will be Hand, and regardless of any children Stannis may have Renly shall be named the heir. Word from Lord Stark was that be believed the allegations, and that in hindsight they match his own feelings.
I don’t know what this means for our cause. The Lannisters are being ripped apart by the Starks, and King’s Landing will soon be under siege. But what happens after? The Riverlands are basically secured now, though with few natural boarders it will be a pain to secure. I might have some ideas for that, but I will need to discuss them with Lords Stark and Tully.
There have been some rumors that a mercenary company called the Brave Companions, or Bloody Mummers depending on who you ask, who were working for the Lannisters has stopped their razing or the Riverlands and went into hiding. Some even say they are trying to switch sides. And they aren’t the only ones. Several other smaller Merc Companies that Tywin Lannister employed have already started seeking work from the Stormlands or Reach to kill the men they once defended. In my own time we would have had such groups labeled as criminals and hung for the things they did to civilians, but here they are paid to keep up the work. If I come across any, the only payment they will find is in the form of a blade in the neck.
Further west, there is word of warships gathering under a Kraken’s banner, but no word on where the Lord of the Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy, is thinking of sending them. There is no love between Greyjoy and the other nations, so its anyone’s guess. I would much rather finish this fight in the Westerlands and return to my home in the North, but Duty and Honor force me to fight should it be needed.
I’m going to leave the majority of my forces here and leave for Sarsfield in the morning with some of the Commandos. I’ll make their Lord a pleasant offer, letting them know that if they surrender we won’t ransack their lands. Once we control those lands, combined with the Golden Tooth, we will be able to command the majority of the Westerlands. No one will be able to get in or out without us knowing.
The Lannisters started this conflict, but I’m going to finish it.
Between Entry Ten and Eleven
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
Tywin Lannister scowled slightly as he looked out from a window in the Tower of the Hand and down upon the bridge that ran out and connected the Red Keep to the rest of King’s Landing. The piles of supplies, large stacks of both food and weapons, were being crawled over by an ant-like army of Lannister men and the spaces between them were thick with siege materials; logs, brush, boulders, and the several stacks of clay pots guarded closely by pryomancers and Goldcloaks as they were carefully maneuvered into the castle courtyard to later be disseminated among catapults. The sea water was foaming high under the ant’s feet, with spray launching high enough to strike their faces. The roaring power of the ocean making the shouts and yells of men seem like the buzzing of distant insect.
One of the few practical things the citizens of the city were doing was moving carts and other would-be obstacles off the main roads in and around the Kingdom’s capital. Otherwise the number and nature of their assorted idiocies had astonished even a former and current Hand of the King who’d given up everything for a family who hated him and a nation who feared him; they’d disregarded how much in the way of useful metals for arms, armor and barricades those carts had in them, as well as the cargoes inside.
But not the food, he thought. Even those whom the Gods punish with half a brain aren’t that stupid.
King Joffery, his grandson, stepped next to him and peered down at the city and then smugly up at him, “Why are you watching these simpletons? You are supposed to be helping save this city.”
Tywin didn’t move to look at the impudent child’s face, instead merely replying, “I’m thinking, Your Grace. Trying to figure out a way for you to keep your throne while also saving the city.”
“Who cares about the city? I’m their King and they should be doing everything they can to protect me,” he replied, looking as if he’d like to stamp his foot by was only a little too well-mannered. Too well trained.
And who will be left to protect you if you don’t protect them, he thought, beneath his chuckle.
He remembered the look in the eyes King Aerys, the Mad King, would get when panicked or scared. The cold fear painted across his face like an artist had spent a lifetime perfecting it, and he could see the same look on his grandson now. Perhaps it was his imagination, but perhaps it wasn’t. Only the Gods knew.
Tyrion, his youngest son and great disappointment, sitting at the great oak table occupying the room with a letter between his small, thick hands, spoke up, “While you may not care about their lives, I guarantee they care about their own just a little bit more than yours. And Father and I are doing everything we can to keep you safe.”
The Dwarf tosses the scroll he was reading on the table and continued, “Our forces have stalled Renly’s south of Bitterbridge by knocking down bridges and setting fire to various forests, but that will only buy us a few more days at most. Renly will have to go miles out of his way to cross the Mander river closer to Tumbleton, but he is still heading this way. And from all the reports, Stannis and his fleet are prepared to launch at any time. He could be here in two days, and we would only know he is attacking us once he sails into the Blackwater.
“Let him come!” Joffery declared, turning on his uncle and raising a fist in mock victory. “Our fleets will smash him against the rocks and see him drowned!”
“Our fleets will set sail for Essos and never look back.” Tywin declared, his eyes still firmly locked on the activities below. “As anyone who is outnumber a hundred to one would do in their right mind.”
The Hand of the King finally turned away from the window and shot his grandson a cold look, “Renly can be dissuaded, but this is Stannis Baratheon. The man will fight to the end and then some.”
“Our attempts to dissuade Renly aside,” Tyrion began, “We haven’t been able to get anyone close to him.”
“I have a few things in motion that may help us with the Renly problem.” Tywin declared, while moving to sit down at the table, “I will give you all the details later.”
Cersi, his daughter and Queen Regent, sat at her father’s right hand with a glass of wine in right hand. She took a sip and asked, “And what if we would like to know the details now?”
He shot her a look that he knew would get his point across; don’t say another word, and then looked down at the papers in front of him. I’ll deal with my foolish child’s drinking problem later, he thought.
The Hand said, “The Baratheons aren’t the problem. The problem is the North’s crusade that is going devastatingly well.”
Tyrion, for all his many faults did have a keen mind and he knew exactly what his father was speaking of. “The latest from home is that Ser Rogers has captured Sarsfield, which opens the Westerland to attack in nearly every direction and form. All with, if it’s to be believed, a few thousand men. Meanwhile, Robb Stark and his growing army have pushed the last of our armies from the Riverlands. We’ve been knocked on our ass, separated from our strength, and left to wonder what can we do next.”
Joffery exclaimed, “What are you talking about? The Capital is here, and its safe.”
With a scholarly voice that surprised even him, his son explained, “We may be safe here, but the crown is bankrupt. It can’t pay for its armies, so your family has been. But if the gold from Lannisport and Casterly Rock stops coming, which it soon will, you may as well surrender to Stannis now.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot, Dwarf!”
Tywin announced, “He’s right. Without gold, our men won’t fight. Rogers is more intelligent than your average man. He doesn’t plunder the lands or burn farms and fields, he even treats the captured like they were his own men, with no torture or threat of death. He tells them openly, that they will be released when the war is over. And he means it. Without a threat to their life or wealth, the only way to motivate an army is with greed. And all Rogers has to do is block the Gold Road to end that.”
“Or capture Casterly Rock. And with his impressive record, I actually think he could do it.” Tyrion cool added.
“Impossible. Castlery Rock has never fallen.” Cersei argued, her face slightly flushed from the wine.
“There is a first time for everything. Golden Tooth and Sarsfield had never fallen before either, but he did it with just a few hundred men.” Tywin retorted.
Travel and trade and reviled a bit of what happened at Riverrun and the other castles, painting a picture of madness that could only be true. He also strongly suspected that the North was slipping bits of information out on purpose to distract everyone. A very recent rumor had been the death of the Mountain, beaten to death with bare hands by Rogers. Lies wasn’t the sort of thing Tywin expected out of the North, but he had to admit the story was interesting. It also made sending men into the Riverlands harder as they grew to fear the rumors were true.
“I had the opportunity to talk with Rogers when Robert took us to Winterfell.” Tyrion started. Tywin could see the look of disgust mixed with anger cross his inebriated daughters face. “Rogers isn’t from the North originally, but he does have the Stark compulsion for honestly and honor. He won’t stop until the war is over. And if we wait much longer, he will drag us all down.”
Joffery asked, “Why don’t we just kill him? Send out word that whoever brings me Rogers head on his shield will receive a lordship and fifty thousand gold dragons.”
Tywin answered, “I already have. No one can get close to him. Those who do, don’t live. His own reputation as the Warrior-made-flesh seems to scare away most.”
“He isn’t the Warrior come, he is just a man. I asked him once about the star and he said it held a special meaning in his homeland.” Tyrion absently replied.
Cersei spoke up, “And I’m sure he just loved having you follow him around asking questions.”
Tyrion smirked as his sister, “I’m sure I learned more about this man during the hour we spoke than you did about Robert in your entire marriage.”
Before his children could start an argument, Tywin declared, “Enough! Bicker on your own time!”
Once everyone was quiet he continued, “I think we should give the North what they want. Let them win.” Everyone looked at him as if they had just turned the corner and found the Great Septon raping a horse in the middle of a busy street. “We sue for peace, let the Northerners have the freedom they want, and focus our energy on the Baratheons. Then once the threat is over we deal with the North very simply. As the Starks are fond of saying, Winter is coming. Let’s see how much they enjoy their freedom when they need food from the South and we refuse to sell it to them.”
There was a rap at the door, and a Kings Guard entered to apologize for the intrusion. Behind him came a boy, no more than six or seven, struggling to drag a box bigger than he with a letter atop it. The boy kneeled to Joffery, and with head bowed he said, “I was asked to deliver this by a man near the docks.”
After dismissing the boy everyone gathered around the box and waited for the Guard to pry it open. It was at least eight feet long, half that wide and tall, and opened quickly as a knife pried the nails from wood. Joffery and Cersei took a step back as they saw the contents, Tyrion leaned closer, and Tywin just stood their quietly fuming. Inside was a suit of armor, larger than any man could wear, with cleaned white bones laying inside them. A yellow cloak was folded atop the warriors chest, with three black dogs emblazoned on it.
But what was most worrying was the state the armor was in. Tywin has seen plenty of battlefield wounds, but he had never seen armor so thick so badly damaged. It looked like it had been beaten with a Warhammer, over and over again, but the impacts took the distinct form of a fist. After studying the sight for a moment he opened the letter and read it to himself, before handing the paper to his son.
After a long moment, Tyrion quietly asked, “Why do you think they kept the helmet and skull? Trophy?”
Tywin sighed, “A warning.”
Entry Eleven
Date: 298 After Landing, Winter
Victory. At least for a time.
A few days ago Joffery Baratheon, King of Westeros, officially declared the North a free and independent Kingdom and recognized Eddard Stark as King in the North. The Riverlands, as allies of the North, are also henceforth freed from any obligations to the crown they may have so long as they are aligned with the North. He also cleared King Starks name, claiming him to be innocent of the crime of Regicide.
The announcement came just a few days after King Stark and Lord Tywin spoke via raven, laying down some terms and conditions for peace. A large reason for the talks were the Commandos and I, who had cleared a path of destruction all the way to Casterly Rock and Lannisport. Rather than attempt to capture the Rock, I collapsed the gold mines that is sat atop of, and then set fire to the castle. At the same time, my forces assaulted Lannisport and set fire to the docks…which inadvertently set fire to the rest of the city. Even from the Rock I could see the thick clouds of black smoke reaching for the sky like a million fingers reaching for help.
I wish it hadn’t come to that.
Aside from my assault on Tywins home, the forces of Renly and Stannis are marching on Kingslanding and reports of Balon Greyjoy probeing Lannister waters have reached me. To have any hope of saving his family and their crown, Tywin needed some breathing room. As part of the treaty, the Westerlands lose the caste and lands associated with the Golden Tooth, which helps secure the Riverlands western border and frees up the forces protecting Pinkmaiden and Acorn Hall to move south towards the Stony Sept and secure the south. As part of the trade, the Gold Road that links Kings Landing with the Westerlands (and passes through both the Riverlands and the Reach) and all the lands to the south of it were lost. In addition, the custom of taking hostages has continued as King Stark demanded Prince Tommen be sent North for “protection.”
During all of this, the Vale has been mysteriously quiet. I know that Lady…Queen Catelyn’s sister rules over the mountainous region as regent since her son is still too young, and many Vale-men have joined the Stark or Tulley armies, but that is it. No ravens fly between the North and the Vale, which makes me wonder if there are family problems.
But I suppose those are just that, family problems. My part in the war is over, and I’m left wondering what to do now. I could travel, and get into a fight everywhere I go that isn’t the North. I suppose setting sail for the lands across the Narrow Sea is a possibility, but there isn’t anything for me there. King Stark...I still think of Howard every time I say that name even though they have nothing in common…is offering me lands to pick from, but which should be mine?
Golden Tooth – I captured it, but my men also pillaged it. Not sure the people will be accepting of a leader who played an active hand in stealing their livelihoods.
Moat Cailin – While in disrepair, the castle sits on a strategic bottleneck. Even a token force of defenders here can protect the entire North from invasion. The swamp lands around it however will not support many people until I build a canal or dam.
Karhold – The far east of the North, with lots of resources, but I would have to marry Alys Karstark. Knowing that the girl is only 15, makes the choice less difficult.
Harrenhal – The largest castle in Westeros, and also a place where few people seem to go since War of Conquest. The Lady of Harrenhal, Shella Whent, is said to be using only little of its space, so I could even share the lands with her.
Sea Dragon Point – Defenseless, but also ripe with vast natural resources. The community is mostly fisherman, and should welcome someone who isn’t afraid of hard work. The only problem I really forsee it the Iron Islands and their fleet. I have a theory that the reason the western coast of the North is so poor is because there is no one to trade with. It takes less time to move your goods overland to a dock on the east coast. Also, I wouldn’t be stepping on anyone’s toes.
With the war winding down, I know my presence will only continue to annoy those who were born into the lands and titles. Someone who comes from a land unheard of, with my abilities, rising so quickly in favor with their King, is going to anger a lot of people.
I was just looking at a detailed map of the river lands, and a name jumped out at me. Cape of Eagles. Providence perhaps? It is under the protection of House Mallister and nearby Seagard, but from what I can tell the area is actually left to its own devices. Forced to fend for themselves against a Viking-like menace nearby. Maybe I can help them.
Entry Twelve
Date: 298 After Landing, Winter
Peg,
It’s funny. Before I arrived here, before I was given the Super-soldier serum, before I the war in Europe began all I wanted to do was help others. Looking back, I see how hopeless I once was. How could I help others when I couldn’t even help myself? Now I have this gift, I’m in a land where the people fight with swords and sings songs of the “Mountainbreaker” or the “Warrior-made-flesh”, and instead of sitting back and trying to find a small corner of the world to settle down and relax in all I can do is continue helping others. I continue to fight for those who can’t defend themselves…
I guess I will always be fighting.
Well, it’s been a few weeks since my last journal update, so I guess I should catch you up.
It’s going to be easy to maintain peace with the Lannisters. At least for the foreseeable future. Tywin and his army reached Kings Landing just before the combined Baratheon/Tyrell alliance arrived and began their assault on the Capital. From the reports I’ve read the conflict turned into a large mess after something called “wildfire,” a volatile liquid that can burn for a long time on any surface, was launched from catapults towards Stannis Baratheon’s fleet as well as Renly’s ground forces. From all accounts Renly was killed by one of the wildfire explosions, and Stannis was forced to salvage what remained of his fleet. But it wasn’t a total loss as nearly a quarter of Tywins men were killed when some of the wildfire pots broke and caused a massive fire in the city. Maybe a fifth of the city’s population is either dead or homeless. As it is, the assault has settled into a long siege.
I tried to advise King Stark to offer an olive branch to King Stannis, offering him assistance in exchange for accepting the North as a free and independent realm, but Stannis only replied that we were trying to rip the Kingdom in half and that after he dealt with the Lannisters he would turn his attention to the North. I don’t like threats, but apparently neither does King Stark. After we got that threat we spent days discussing ways to fend off an attack from the South, and eventually decided we needed to permanently man Moat Cailin. A garrison of just fifty archers would be enough to hold off thousands and buy time for nearby reinforcements to arrive. Especially as we establish a series of signal towers. But we still need to secure the Riverlands and keep any such attack from getting so far. I have some ideas, but it will take some time to set in place. Luckily the siege in Kings Landing will buy us plenty of time, but as the Starks are fond of saying, “Winter is Coming.”
So, in order to help secure the Riverlands I have been working closely with the builders here in Riverrun to design and build a medieval version of the PT-boat. 130 feet long, 20 feet wide, and drafts only 8 ft, it can carry 43 men, including the rowers, up and down the Redfork and Blackwater rivers, as well as the God’s Eye river. I had to prove to the shipbuilders that a boat covered in steel could float if it was designed properly, mostly through trial and error since I’m not a shipbuilder, but once the first one was in the water they believed me. Had to drag what I could remember of buoyancy and displacement from High School from the back of my mind, but it was there. Think I may have caused a few of the shipwrights to have a panic attack, but they grasped the idea with two hands and refuse to let go. Anyway, the boat is like a sea-based version of a tank, with a layer of steel protecting the archers on the inside while they load and fire upon enemy forces.
My PT-boats also carry a modified version of the crossbow that launches heavy darts up to a mile away. Using modern mechanical advantage I was able to improve the design so it only takes a minute to load and arm the weapon. I had it placed at the front of the boat like it was a 20mm gun, attached a swivel and steel guards to protect the shooter. I’m calling them “ballista” for lack of a better name.
Speaking of crossbows, I worked with an armory in Riverrun to make a more efficient crossbow, with push-lever and ratchet drawing mechanisms to speed load time and draw strength, but after thinking about it I decided to only make enough for me and the Commandos. As much as I would love to arm every man in the North and Riverlands with such a weapon, I’m afraid of it falling in the hands of the enemy. When I finally get a chance to settle down, I’ll make sure to make passing out these weapons to the people a priority.
Anyway, we are going to build fifty of these PT boats and set them to patrol the Riverlands waterways. They will make excellent area-denial weapons, and force any would-be invaders to swing north. That leaves only two ways to assault the interior of the Riverlands, and both of them require assaulting a castle. From the west, Golden Tooth. From the East, Harrenhal. With Golden Tooth soon to be fully garrisoned, that just leaves the monster of Harrenhal…which is a problem. The castle far, far too big to garrison effectively, and too expensive to maintain. But I do have an idea.
The God’s Eye, a massive lake the castle sits next to, has an island in the center called the “Isle of Faces.” I’ve been told that the weirwoods at its center can’t be touched, or the immediate ring of trees around them, but there should still be enough wood on the island as well as nearby to build a suitable military fort here. It could be used to supply ammunition to the fleet of PT boats, as well as Harrenhal. We could then attach several ballista to each of the castles massive towers, as well as along the edge of the walls. With this, Harrenhal doesn’t need a massive garrison, just a few hundred to man the ballista and keep the gates closed.
But all of this requires a standing army. Even if only a few thousand in total, we are talking about a standing, well-trained, professional military force. I can train these men, but rather than drawing from the existing system of Knights and Infantry I would prefer to take common men between the ages of 16 and 20, so I don’t have to overwrite what they already learned. 3 Gold Dragons a year should be enough pay, but that leaves us with the question of how to pay them.
One option would be Lord Wyman of House Manderly whom controls White Harbor, the North’s only true city and major port. He has offered to build new mints to produce coinage for the new Kingdom of the North. I think this will work long-term, but we need this army now. I will have to talk to King Stark about this more, but in the meantime we need to start raising a force. The first ten PT’s will be ready for use in a few months, so that is how long I have to turn them into soldiers.
What do you think Peg? Good ideas?
Entry Thirteen
Date: 298 After Landing, Winter
Dearest Peggy,
And now I am a warrior, noble and inventor. Behold the miracle of concrete.
On the way to Harrenhal, near High Heart, there is this area full of limestone. I mean, long sheets of the stuff. There are a few farms nearby that use a little of it for building stuff, but otherwise it is untouched. And this got me to thinking about concrete. One of the problems I’m running into is the manpower needed to haul stone from place to place just to rebuild Moat Cailin or some other fort. But concrete, mostly powder that can be hauled where needed and formed into stone, that could solve a lot of issues. So we stopped there for a few days, I ground some limestone down into a fine powder, mixed it with crush rock and then added water. Of course it didn’t work, but after a few more attempts I figured out what was missing. I wrote down instructions to search for certain rocks I’m going to need, as well as sources of volcanic ash, and had a raven sent out. I’m also going to need to build a kiln to turn the lime into burnt lime. Hopefully, we can get find a place where all of these things are close to one another and a quarry can be constructed. In the long run, it will allow us to build much more quickly.
Also, it has come to my attention that I have been using the wrong name. I am supposed to call him King Eddard, not King Stark. But why? I addressed him at Lord Stark before, so why not King Stark now?
Anyway, with permission from Lady Shella Whent, my Commandos and I have taken control of Harrenhal and begun upgrading the structure as well as building a small harbor on Isle of Faces. At the same time, I got permission to raise a volunteer army for my PT fleet. But King Eddard and Lord Tully argued that some noble-born officers need to lead each vessel, which I don’t agree with. We eventually compromised, and agreed to a quarter of the boats having a noble-blood officer. I don’t like it, but as commander of this force I will determine who is raised to what post. Hopefully they can accept having a low-born giving them orders, and if not they can leave.
We have three of the ballistas atop the first tower, “Tower of Dread.” One of my Commandos, Watt, a hell of an archer out of Barrowton with an amazing eye, has the task of setting the sights for each of them. He put a five pound dart though a pig near the tree-line a mile away from the castle, which was very impressive. The dart destroyed much of the animal, but he ate what was left.
One surprise I have enjoyed was the large bathhouse. It’s a low-ceiling room filled with several massive stone tubs, each large enough to hold six or seven men comfortably. I expected the water to be cold, but was delighted to find it warm, apparently fed by a hot spring. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed a good bath until then, having been running from one fight to the next for months, so I didn’t hesitate to make use of them that night. I need to remember to produce soap at some point.
Lady Whent has been most hospitable with us. She was barely using a tenth of the castle, and so was fine with us sharing the place with her. I think he was just glad to see it full of people for a change. While her and most of the staff has been shuffled off to the Kingspyre Tower, there is a bit of an overlap with some rooms. The bathhouse is one, but another would be the kitchens, which are large as Winterfells Hall. Her cooks and ours work side by side, so I offered to share our food-stuffs with Lady Whent which she happily agreed to.
I feel rather sorry for the Lady, being barely more than thirty and already widowed with no heirs. And with the reputation of this castle, there isn’t exactly a line of suitors to save her.
Well, Watt is wanting to test the range of the ballista from the tower top so I should go and help set things up. Until next time…
Entry Fourteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Spring
Peg, sometimes I really hate being right.
First, the good news. The training over the winter went well. I put about 4500 men though what would have been boot camp where I went through, and except for a few would-be nobles who thought they didn’t have to listen to a “foreign dog” everything was fine. Those few who couldn’t cut it were sent home, and a raven was sent to their homes explaining how their sons (true born or bastard) were too weak. I imagine they will have some interesting talks about that.
Ramsey Snow, Lord Bolton’s bastard and only living son, took to everything better than all the other noble-born children, and actually seemed to be enjoying the torturous drills I put everyone though. Something about him seems…wrong, but he has certainly earned one his rank. I guess I should also mention that I have enacted a modified version of the armies ranking system. For now, Captain is the highest rank, and Snow has worked his way up to Second Lt and command of one of the archery boats.
Speaking of the boats, we – mostly the Tulleys – have started calling them Trouts after their House Sigil. I still call them PB’s (Patrol Boats), but unofficial names are fine.
I think the reason training has gone so well is because of my Commandos. They already knew the training, the schedule, because they had gone though it once before. So I was able to delegate some of the work to them and focus on improving defenses around Harrenhal as well as building up the river fleet. As well as a few other things.
Prince Robb visited here for a few days a little over a week ago, and he and I talked. It was actually enjoyable, and his Direwolf “Grey Wind” is a beautiful animal. For someone so young, he has a good grasp on leadership and seems open to ideas. Mentally flexible. We spoke of Nationality, and how it relates to the people. There is already a form of Nationality in the North, a sense of Us vs Them along ethnic lines. While one group, say a mountain clan, may think of themselves as one autonomous group, they still recognize that they are from and of the North. The language, culture, religion and customs of the North unite those people, but a dynastic hegemony that draws its power to rule from the top down only serves to divide the people they rule. Such disunity ultimately makes the nation or state weaker. A sense of nation self-determination is wonderful, but needs to be the will of the people more than the will of the one. I had similar talks with King Eddard in Winterfell, and I drew the parallels about what he and Robert Baratheon did to those of the Founding Fathers of my America. Only instead of taking the opportunity to build a better government, they simply traded one weak King for another.
Maybe it’s was because they didn’t have several centuries of great thinkers to draw inspiration from. But that is an odd development in itself. As far as I can tell Westeros (maybe the whole world) has had several thousand years of the same technological and social stagnation. Where is the innovation? Where are the ancient scholars that modern great thinkers can draw inspiration from? Where is their Roman Republic? Their John Locke? I laid out the ideas of “Life, Liberty, and Property” to Robb who actually seemed to grasp the idea. And at my suggestion, I helped the Starks and Tulleys form a combined national banner or flag for all Houses to fly. A Dark Grey Direwolf on a field of snow-grey with red and blue strips, a combination of Stark and Tully colors. Each House can fly their own sigil, but this one must fly highest.
Hopefully, by the time I leave this world I will have helped build a government that protects its citizens instead of a bunch of Houses that get rich off the sweat of the poor.
I may, especially after what happened a few days ago, find myself living at Harrenhal for a long time.
The bad news is that King’s Landing has fallen to King Stannis Baratheon. From the reports we are getting, Tywin Lannister is either dead or a captive. As is his daughter and Queen, Cersei. What I know for sure is that Jaime and Tyrion Lannister both made it out of the city, but Joffery and Tommen Baratheon – or Lannister if you believe the incest rumors – were both killed. Oddly enough there is no word on Myrcella, but I heard whispers of her being sent off somewhere by ship some time ago.
So it looks like the Westerlands have been dealt with, they will be rebuilding for years, and now the North will have another war to face. We already received “orders” from Stannis to bring “Lord Eddard Stark” to King’s Landing so he can swear fealty. He even agreed to let Eddard keep his rank and titles as he was rebelling against an false King. But now the “One True King” wants what he thinks is his. Stark has already spoken with the other rulers of the north, and they all seem adamant about keeping what is theirs. “It was the dragons we knelt to, and the dragons are dead.” I’m thinking of sending some pictures to each of the Lords of the North and Riverlands, the “Join, or Die” image from my homelands own war for independence seems appropriate.
Funny, I was just asked a few hours ago why I wear red, white and blue. I explained that they were the colors of my homeland, where I was born and what I fought for, and then noticed how the Kingdom of the North flag shares those colors as well. I wonder if I planned that, or it was a happy accident?
Anyway, the first ten PB’s have been constructed, their weapons loaded, and their crews trained. The base we are building at Isle of Faces is nearly complete (the weirwoods is a little unnerving) but the harbor of Harrenhal is ready. I am putting Ramsey Snow in charge of the eastern river fleet, and Benfrey Frey in command of the southern river fleet. I am also constructing a series of manned signal stations along the river, should only take another week to finish them since we started two weeks ago. All of my men know how to use the signal codes by blinking light of a small mirror, and in the case there isn’t time to send a message a fire can be lit on top that will be the “oh crap, come quick” signal flare. When the fighting starts, my men will be ready.
One more thing, we have a new guest here who arrived with Prince Robb but stayed behind when he left. Dacey Mormont. She is an odd woman, but that isn’t a bad thing…
Anyway, until next time. Steve.
Entry Fifteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Spring
Well that certainly didn’t take long.
First, the good news is that the fleet of PB’s and signal towers worked like a charm. Less than a week after Stannis sent out the ultimatum for fealty a force of 7,000 under the command of Lord Footly of Tumbleton tried to cross the God’s Eye river. They tried three times to force a crossing, but each time the constant assault of archers caused the enemy force to turn back. Signal towers sent word back up the river, and additional boats converged on the enemy to deny them access.
Unable to force a crossing, as planned they had little choice but to attempt taking Harrenhal.
Footly wasn’t as foolish as I would have hoped however. Instead, he took his army and camped just to the northeast and sent heralds to the castle to negotiate our surrender. About half of our forces had been either deployed to the PB’s or to Riverrun to collect the next group of boats. Leaving a little over 2,000 defenders. Unfortunately, after a few hours of me saying, “No, I will not yield,” Lord Footly decided to attack. He had apparently spent the time building siege catapults, which he aimed at the main gates. The walls are thick, so this made a lot of sense. He could fire on the massive walls for a year and not get anywhere, but the door is a different matter. Our own weapons took out their catapults, even set them on fire, but not before the doors had been broken.
Once the doors were down Footly sent the bulk of his men running in into our courtyard, while a smaller reserve force headed around the castle to attack the harbor behind. Once inside the gates Footly led the charge, but he wasn’t counting on the discipline of my people. Arrows rained down with enfilading fire on either side of the gate like a relentless, deadly hail storm. While my infantry used what I could remember of Roman military tactics and used oversized shields to build a living wall for the attackers to break themselves on. Meanwhile a squad led by Dacey Mormont and Watt headed off the reserve force.
I expected the fighting in our courtyard to come to a full stop when I calmly threw my shield at Footly and hit him in the arm and leg, disarming him and causing him to drop to the ground. But instead his men ignored his cries and continued to throw themselves at the unyielding wall. Maybe it was because we did little to fight back? They didn’t see us pushing them back, didn’t see the endless arrows punching through leather and mail at point-blank, didn’t see the ballista ripping through them ten at a time. They only saw their friends and allies running forward and followed them in. It was senseless.
More than half their number were dead before they realized there was no point in continuing, and by then it was too late as Dacey and Watt had made quick work of the reserve force and came back around to the main gate. Their way out was gone, they were falling by the dozens each second, and I offered them a chance to surrender. They quickly accepted. Of the 7,000 that marched on us, we took 3,192 alive. Our losses were limited to a half dozen, one of which was friendly fire. I had to remind people to carry the injured enemy forces back to the medical stations rather than just kill them, and once they understood I wasn’t outright killing them the enemy stopped fighting back. Good thing I had been stockpiling medical supplies. Reminds me I need to set up a still and make rubbing alcohol. The closest we might come could be moonshine, but it would still be better than boiled wine.
After consulting with King Eddard, he agreed to my idea how to handle so many prisoners. First Lord Footly would be taken as a hostage and treated well, as he may be useful later. Highborns and knights would be given the offer of execution or be sent to the Wall, they could use the extra couple hundred men. All other prisoners would be relocated to the North as Prisoners of War, settled on a plot of land and given tools needed to work for their food. The idea is to boost the North’s numbers, as well as show Stannis that we are both more honorable and civilized then he and his Kingdom. Our prisoners will not be tortured, and after the war is over they may be returned if they so wish.
Anyway, the attack proved the effectiveness of my PBs and the army I raised, so King Eddard is giving me full authority over the Armies of the North and a yearly budget to train more soldiers and build better weapons. Frankly, I think if I just doubled the size of this army we won’t have to worry about anything from the South. A paid, volunteer army is a new idea here, but the benefits have already proven to be worth it.
Now, if only the Vale and Lady Lysa would make their allegiance clear. While not part of the North, they aren’t part of the South either.
Entry Sixteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Summer
Funny how quickly the tides turn. One minute I’m worry about how I’m going to double the size of my army, train it, and have it ready for battle in the span of few months, and the next I’m standing in my solar reading a letter that may change everything.
Just a few days after turning Lord Footly and the other captives of the Battle of Harrenhal over to King Eddards men for transport North, a raven arrived from my men at the Golden Tooth. Turns out Tyrion and Jaime Lannister managed to find a way back to Casterly Rock. I guess when you have a family known for its wealth, it isn’t difficult to find allies to sneak you across enemy lands unseen. But what I read next surprised me more.
Balon Greyjoy launched a seaborn invasion of the Westerands. His ships have been seen assaulting the settlements of Banefort, The Crag and Faircastle. From what I can gather the occasionally pillaging from the Iron Islands is usually expected, though hasn’t happened for many decades, but this time they seem to be taking the lands rather than retreating back out to sea. A few days later I learned why. Greyjoy has named himself “King Balon,” and declared his own independence from the Kingdom. He also has nearly a thousand ships to back up his claim.
Now, here is where things have gotten interesting. King Eddard has received two separate ravens, one from Tyrion Lannister, and the other from King Stannis, both seeking aid in their own way. Tyrion has promised that in exchange for aiding the Westerlands, the Lannisters would not only be in debt to the North, but would also join the Kingdom of the North if we so wished. I admit, the idea is appealing since it would vastly increase the North’s gold supply and manpower. At the same time, King Stannis has offered to “forgive the North’s treason” and “make peace” with us if we stayed out of the conflict altogether. Apparently Stannis wants Balon to lay waste to the Westerlands before he has his own fleet swing around the continent and put down Balon. I rather doubt that the peace he offers would be permanent, more of a respite, but it is one the North needs as well. People in the eastern Riverlands need to rebuild their lands, and some of the changes I have been pushing would work best in a time of peace.
Then again, some of the news coming out of King’s Landing makes me wonder if peace will ever be possible. Stannis’s Red Woman, a Priestess of R’hllor, has apparently moved into the Great Sept of Baelor and turned it into a Temple to the Lord of Light. Word has been spreading that she is forcing conversions on the people of the city, and burning those who refuse. The High Septon of the Faith of the Seven is said to have been the first to be burned alive, on a pyre made of religious relics. Luckily, with the North’s King and Queen being of two separate faiths, separation of church and state is already in place here. But I can’t help but fear what will happen when the Red Priests moves this way.
One bit of good news, the Nights Watch seemed happy to work with King Eddard. Before Jeor Mormont and a few hundred men went North on a ranging mission, he agreed to host our captives. In exchange for playing caretaker to these men, the captives will be made to work alongside the men of the Night’s Watch. They wouldn’t be allowed to hold a weapon, except when there is an emergency, but they can cut wood, cook, aid in construction and work in other non-combat roles. Those who don’t work, don’t eat. There would be some encouragement to join the Watch as well, but no coercion. He also agreed to let us place the low-born prisoners, forced into combat by their Lords, on the Gift, and in exchange any excess food they grow will be given to the Watch. Northmen would patrol these fields. The final condition was that, as always, the Watch would not take part in the wars of men. “We defend the Wall. Not Kings.”
One final item the Watch agreed on, at my insistence, was that “Wildling” families would be allowed to cross South. It made no sense to me that someone would be denied safety based on where they were born. They could either be settled in the New Gift, or at Sea Dragon Point. They would have to agree to living under the rule of King Eddard and the Stark family, and follow the laws, but otherwise they would be safe. This should cut down on pointless conflicts and death. “Shield that guards the realms of men.” To me it sounds like the Watch should be saving lives, not ending them.
The last of the Patrol Boats was launched today. PB-50, or Trout-50 if you are from Riverrun. It was a proud day for me, and to celebrate us securing the Riverlands waterways I paid for a feast and a day of rest for our soldiers. I took the opportunity to introduce baseball, and surprisingly it caught on with a few people. It was good to see a lot of smiling faces, and for at least a single day since I felt happy.
Next time I see Arya, I’m going to show her how to throw a fastball.
Entry Seventeen
Date: 299 After Landing, Summer
Winter is coming.
Despite the North being a separate Kingdom, I learned that King Eddard had received a white raven from the maesters at the Citadel in Oldtown. Signifying the end of the Long Summer and beginning of the Long Winter. Reportedly the entirety of the North has been thrown into a frenzy as, among the first to be impacted by the news, they are storing as much grain and salting as much meat as possible. The Riverlands will feel the changing season next, but they still have time to gather one last harvest before the snows get here.
It makes me wonder about this world. How does anyone survive in a ten-year winter? How did people survive the Long Night, a winter that the books say lasted an entire generation? And if we are at the end of a nine year summer, what is happening in the southern hemisphere who have suffered a nine year winter? Maybe there are no people in the unexplored regions of the planet, or maybe even no land? I know that grain can be stored for up to three years where I came from…is wheat hardier here? Surviving a year-long winter seems doable to me, but after that the question of meat and vitamins starts to make me worry.
How do plants and animals even survive? Are all of them capable of hibernation, shutting everything down and living on tiny drips of stored energy for years at a time? Maybe the Long Winters are the reason why this world seems relatively stagnant in development. Maybe after so many winters there is an extra-long winter that wipes everything out and resets the clock of civilization? Maybe the only thing that keeps humanity alive is the fact that Winter and its snows don’t really reach further south than King’s Landing.
It would be nice to have a globe.
I also wish I had had more time to develop Harrenhal before this happened. I had planned to send for glass makers and have the large greenhouses that once filled the courtyards here rebuilt, but instead we will have to settle for having all of the food stored underground. The good news is that Lady Shella had been diligent over the years about collecting a portion of her peoples harvests. Should be enough grain and meat to feed 700,000 people* (roughly how many people are on her lands) for 3 years sitting here. The bad news is that my standing army will need to eat as well, and the south isn’t willing to sell grain or meat to their enemy. Maybe I can have Lord Manderly ship some in from Essos. In the meantime, I have put a ban on fishing in God’s Eye lake. Hopefully this will inflate the number of fish available and serve as a last resort during the winter.
Anyway, I have a feeling that the changing of the season has influenced King Eddards decision to take Stannis up on his offer of peace. I think he didn’t have the heart to fight the bother of his best friend. We both know it is temporary, and we will likely see war resume within the next year. Should Stannis attempt to invade the North during winter I fully expect to see a repeat of Germany’s attempt at invading Russia. And even if he does somehow manage to get past Harrenhal and Riverrun, Moat Cailin has seen 6 months of constant repair work and is now fully manned. No force can get past the neck without first taking it. I just hope it lives up to its reputation. Better, I hope we never have to find out.
But I won’t be here to see it. I strongly disagreed with King Eddards orders, and wrote him to tell him as much. After some back and forth, he agreed to let me and a few of the Commandos head to the Westerlands and aid Tyrion Lannister. I explained how this distrust of the Lannisters has to come to an end before both sides tear each other apart. “Lions and Wolves only feed on one another when they are desperate. Normally they eat Stags.”
So, right now the horses are being watered and supplies organized. It is 720 miles from here to Casterly Rock as the raven flies, so it will take a few weeks for us to get there by horse. Technically I am being sent as an “advisor,” but in reality I will be doing more of the same work from last year. Slipping behind enemy lines, disrupting supplies, capturing enemy forces before they know whats happening. But I will also have the added complication of liberating people the Ironborn captured.
Well, I guess I should be going. I am taking Dacey with me, who has really picked up on the nuances of command. She also seems to like my stories of my homeland. She calls it “Ah-mur-eye-ka,” English is difficult when you have never heard it before, and likes the war stories best. Even so, she seems to truly understand the concept of Liberty and Rule of Law. But she can’t imagine the concept of democracy. I fear few here could. Watt will be in charge of Harrenhal until I return.
One last thing to take care of before we set off. Apparently Second Lt. Ramsey Snow has been abusing his authority. I don’t know the specifics, but will be filled in shortly.
Until next time.
Entry Eighteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Summer
It wasn’t long after we set off from Harrenhal that I realized I couldn’t arrive in the Westerlands dressed in, what I affectionately call, Medieval America armor. To hold the peace with Stannis, they can’t know that the North’s “Mountainbreaker” is taking down Ironborn. So we stopped at Riverrun to have something made. I should be able to pick it up tomorrow, it is mostly traditional gear any skilled swordsman would wear, but I am also having a special case made to put over my shield and make it look traditional for this place. Since shields carry sigils of their owners house, I have picked a red and white eagle on a blue field. People know me for my star, not eagles.
Edmure Tully was glad to see me, but I couldn’t have picked a worst time to arrive. Lord Hoster Tully, his father, had passed just a few days before and the entire castle was in mourning. His passing wasn’t unexpected, he had been growing weaker for a long time, but it was obviously a major loss for Edmure. In addition, he will now feel the pressure to marry and doesn’t seem to be looking forward to the prospect. Can’t really blame him.
To honor the memory of Hoster, Edmure invited many of the Kingdom’s Lords to the funeral next week. I would like to stay and see King Eddard, should he come, but I’m needed elsewhere. Oddly, I do feel rather sad about missing the funeral. I met with Hoster after I liberated the castle from the Lannisters last year, and for an old man he was very active. And intelligent. We spoke for several days, where I entertained him with stories of growing up in Brooklyn, and he shared stories of his children with me. It was like I really had a father, even if only for a short time.
Since I got here, I think it was experiences like that one which pushed me into the Stark’s camp. Eddard was fatherly and took an interest in who I was, not what I could do for him. Robert liked me, but only because I could outdrink and outfight him. The Lannisters and everyone else only took an interest after I won the Tourney. Who I was, where I came from, didn’t matter to anyone except the Starks. Before I come to this land there was only one other person who actually looked out for me…
I miss Bucky.
Anyway, I should get some sleep and get ready to head out in the morning.
Entry Nineteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Summer
I noticed an interesting difference between the sword-and-armor era of my world and this one the other day. Baths.
Bathrooms, so common in my worlds classical times, largely disappeared in Medieval Europe. For a time, to be clean was to be considered ungodly. But here, everyone baths. The King, the Maester, the Blacksmith or farmer, all of them actually do go to efforts to keep dirt off themselves.
I suppose the only reason I noticed that was because we were attacked by bandits as we approached the Golden Tooth. One of the downsides of the western half of Riverrun being spared the normal pillaging’s from both friend and foe was that the have-nots in the East moved this way to steal and plunder what they could. Anyway the bandits, only a dozen of them, saw our small group and assumed we would be an easy target. I could actually smell them before they ran out from the trees. Their faces covered in dirt and clothes reeking of feces, their eyes wide in mad laughter, handing shaking even as they swung dirks and fired arrows. I felt nothing but pity for them.
But here, a man in a suit of armor is a tank and we quickly dispatched our would be attackers before reaching the Golden Tooth for a day or two of rest before making the last leg of our journey.
It was interesting to be back in the castle. Surreal even. Last time I was sneaking around it as a conquer, but this time I was an honored quest able to freely explore the complex without looking for enemies, or be distracted by my soldiers looting enemy goods. Some of those same men were still here as part of the western garrison, and I shared kind words and funny stories with them. The Golden Tooth still didn’t have an assigned Lord, most of the former household having chosen to take the black or swear fealty to King Eddard rather than be sent to the Lannisters, but the castellan is nominally in charge and seems like a good man.
Word from the west is that the Ironborn have now launched an invasion of Kayce and Feastfires, but they are facing stiff resistance from the local levies. They had time to raise banners and build defenses, so taking the castles (or even sieging them) is out of the question. But they can still plunder homes and businesses with little resistance. And I’ve heard about their practice of taking “saltwives,” which only makes me want to end the fighting sooner.
Raping and reaving…is that what I look forward to the rest of my life? Putting out one fire and then running off to put out the next? That is no way to live.
Entry Twenty
Date: 299 After Landing, Autumn
Ah, Lannisport. Been almost a year since I was last here, and it has definitely seen better days.
The parts of the town that my men and I set fire to during the war had been cleaned and cleared, and already had new homes and businesses setting back up, but the damage at the docks and along the coast was more recent. Ironborn had been raiding along the coast, and what they couldn’t take they set to flame. The fleet managed to drive them off, but by the time the fires were put out a tenth of the city was gone. We had arrived just a few days later.
Tyrion Lannister was, to say the least, ecstatic to see me. Especially in gear more commonly seen on a sell-sword. Both Lannisters wished I could have brought more than a half-dozen Commandos, but they understood that Stannis couldn’t know we were aiding them. I learned from Tyrion that during the time it took for us to travel he had been sending ravens back and forth with King Stannis who agreed to end his hostilities with the Westerlands, but only if the Lannisters forgave the crowns debts to them and turned Jaime Lannister over to the crown for judgment. As much as it would ruin the Lannister wealth, Tyrion was willing to forgive the debt, but much less willing to turn his brother over to a man who will burn him alive.
Jaime, surprisingly, seems very different from the man I knew in King’s Landing. This man is much more laid back, humbled perhaps, and eager to help. I expected him to resent me, but instead the first thing he did when he saw me was to throw an arm around my shoulder and hug. I’m sure the look of surprise on my face is what caused Dacey to laugh, followed quickly by everyone else in the room. “The Mountainbreaker, made to yield with a hug!”
It was later in private that Tyrion told me what happened to Jaime after Eddard and I fled the city. His sister (it turns out the rumors of incest were true) turned her back on Jaime, seeing him as a useless cripple. She turned her attention to others shortly after, drinking heavily and sleeping with all of the knights of the King’s Guard except him. Tywin stripped Jaime of his King’s Guard status, and then tried to ship him back home to run Casterly Rock and even set up a few potential marriage matches, but Jaime refused. Instead he attempted to end his life, seeing his current existence as nothing but suffering. Luckily, Tyrion, having spent his life as a “cripple” in the eyes of the world, found Jaime before it was too late and took him under his wing. Turning his point of view around and helping him find meaning. Before the Baratheons arrived, Tyrion and Jaime both had left the capital and headed towards home so they could start over far from the cruel eye of their father.
Jaime is Lord of Castlery Rock, but as he puts it, “Tyrion is my good hand,” who manages their lands. Jaime smiled when he explained, “Running a city, a country, I’m not good at. But telling our commanders where to attack an enemy, that I’m good at.”
Between Jaime’s practical experience as a warrior and Tyrion’s mind for tactics, they managed to keep the Ironborn from expanding beyond their initial gains. But with Stannis demanding Jaime’s head, that wouldn’t work for much longer.
I need to speak with King Eddard, but I think we can help them out by harboring Jaime in the North. I know that Eddard doesn’t care for the Lannisters, and doesn’t think highly of the “Kingslayer,” but after hearing about why he did what he did…well I can sympathize. A soldier obeys orders, but if he knows his orders are wrong he should be applauded for standing up against evil. If you know you can save a half million people, don’t you have the responsibility to do so?
Anyway the Commandos and I soon got to work and Faircastle, the Ironborns newest acquisition, was the first target. When they first took the island, resistance had been light, in part because a contingent of five hundred crossbowmen had been recalled to the mainland to hold back the Ironborn who were making their way down the coast from the Crag. Six days later, the Ironborn galleys hit the islands beaches outside Faircastle and advanced on the stronghold with considerable pillaging along the way.
The size of the enemy force on the island was well known, with a raven being loosed that tallied the armies size between ten and fifteen thousand. A considerable force, but that also meant it was the bulk of the Greyjoy’s forces. Maybe four to six thousand each were left to hold already captured settlements, while this force would be the spearhead that eventually struck Lannisport. Unfortunately, having just fought two wars, Lannister forces were minimal and could barely reach ten thousand men. Of those, only around 5,000 men were available for an assault. We couldn’t wait to let Greyjoy come to us, we needed to hit him. But we also needed to be smart about it, and it had to look like The Warrior wasn’t helping anyone.
A week later my Commandos and I set sail with a little over 5,000 soldiers, and landed at the southernmost tip of Faircastle. The soldiers we brought with us weren’t a very mixed group. 1,500 Crossbowmen, 500 Longbowmen, and 3,000 infanty. Mostly they were the men Tyrion and Jaime could spare from more important theaters. Like everywhere else I have seen battle in this world, so much attention is placed on the Knights and cavalry that most military leaders don’t see the advantages of archers and footmen.
The island itself isn’t all that interesting, a few small hamlets separated by small rivers and vast farmland. There is a forest that makes up the bulk of the island which is hunted so often that many of the larger animals have vanished, leaving hare as the largest game animal. Maybe after the wars are over I can tell Tyrion about how to reintroduce wildlife. The hamlets are very small, only a few dozen buildings, and many of the Ironborn had already pillaged the sites until there was nothing left. The first hamlet we came across was deserted, fire having cleaned away what had taken centuries to build, with bodies left on the ground to be picked apart by whatever happened along. But the second hamlet, that was more interesting.
After capturing the hamlet the Ironborn looted and moved on, but left a few thousand here to watch the coast. Even from a half-mile away I could hear the screams as men took “saltwives.” I was determined to break the Ironborn before, but now I needed to. From behind a small nearby hill I organized my forces into three lines, with my infantry in the center and projectiles to the sides. As the sun set across the waters, I led the infantry out into the open and called on the Ironborn.
One interesting thing about the Ironborn, they don’t favor arrows. I prefer the sword, and the axe, something you might use while on the deck of a ship. Sure, a few will know how to handle a bow, but it isn’t something that is encouraged by their nobility. So when the Ironborn saw me and my infantry, and that they outnumbered us, they formed up into a loose line and made a slow walk out of the hamlet and towards me.
I honestly don’t know if I can take on a few thousand men armed with swords, but I’m glad I didn’t have to find out. Once the Ironborn was cleared of the hamlet and the civilians inside, my Commandos gave the order for my still hidden archers to unleash an arrow storm. I had never actually seen a storm of arrows before, but it was everything the ancient books made it out to be. Thousands of tiny spears, the last vestige of sunlight blinking off the metal heads, firing over my head thick enough to block my view of the sky…it was both beautiful and terrifying.
The arrows ripped apart the Ironborn, causing casualties and a forming a vital distraction. Unable to respond in kind, the Ironborn took shelter where they could; under shields, planks of wood, even the bodies of their fellow men. By the time they reached me their lines had been gutted, and a vicious free-for-all then ensued. The ferocity of the Westerland men, born of a desire for vengeance, ripped the Islanders apart. In some cases, literally.
Out of an enemy force of 3,000, we only took fifty prisoners. On the flip side, we lost only a dozen. A combination of tactics, timing and surprise gave us an easy victory. Too bad storming the castle won’t be so easy.
So that is how things stand at the moment. The hamlet has been liberated, though its population is a fraction of what it once was. Even so, the people are thankful and are helping us resupply. Dacey wanted to cut the privates off each Ironborn and send them to whomever controlled Faircastle, and I almost let her, but eventually I argued it down to cutting off the left ear before we buried the dead at sea. Islanders preferred to have their bodies given back to the sea, and I see no harm in allowing it.
Until next time.
She rubbed the fingers of her right hand on the firm ashwood of the spear as she rode, absently tracing the smooth interwoven patterns nature paced inside. It was a pleasant distraction on a bright cool day after a night of war and burial. Not that fighting was all bad; there were the great battles, the planning and outthinking your enemy, the satisfaction of knowing that you were saving lives.
“War has its uses, but it would be better without all of the killing.”
Dacey Mormont looked over her shoulder at the hamlet for a moment as it faded in her wake, and then turned back with a slight shudder. It was good to get out of there. The wailing of women, the tears of old men, there was only so many horror stories you could listen to. No matter how hardened your heart is.
Her mare kept to its same walk-trot-canter cycle as the rest of the group, a scouting party Rogers had organized to screen the Lannister army, moved away from the beaches and towards the thin forest interior. The feel of the beasts great muscles between her thighs were like coils of living steel, longing to burst forth and run. There were no horses on Bear Island, but she had learned to ride during the long journey from the North. She rather liked the beasts.
They’d needed less than an hour to clear the open country and reach the forests to the southeast, only the occasional vine and creeper-grown mound showing where a burnt-out farmhouse had once stood. It was so very different from her family’s island, covered in old gnarled oaks, tall pines, flowering thorn-bushes, moss-covered grey stones. But here the so-called forest was mostly a thin spattering of thorntrees, which grow spines and have short, hard braches, with thick bushes and ferns filling in the rest of the empty space.
She noticed something odd of the corner of her eye, a small movement in the thickets that shouldn’t be. A moment leter a streak of white blurred out of it.
“A rabbit breaking cover as we pass? And not paying any attention to us? Rabbits on this island are not very wary, but they are not that brave. It was running from something. Or somebody.”
Nobody honest should be here; too close to the hamlet before the ravagers Islanders arrived, too isolated now. Her eyes probed the land and she emptied her mind and the patterns show themselves.
To her east was weeds and grass that rose stirrup high or better, a newer growth rank tall through last year’s dead brown stalks. Leaves and clusters of yellow flowers dotted the ground. Late bloomers pushed past their forlorn in crimson and blue; darting swarms of insects hovered around the blossoms. Patches of brilliantly green reeds waved amid the buzz of gnats.
An abandoned cart sat near a tree, a mound of berry vines growing along the curve of the wheels and the shape of the bed. Patches of wood left along the top showed the touch of man. Small fringes of saplings, young trees as tall as her own six feet or higher, spread their thin green branches out like an open hand. The leaves fluttered like the banners of a conquering army, with black and silver blooms in the shade beneath.
More small animals ran across their path. Birds speed overhead; she spied dark-faced tyrants and white-bridled finchs flying in swooping curves, and all of them moving north-to-south.
She made a sharp clicking sound with her tounge. Nearby, Steven Rogers turned in the saddle. His dark brows went up as her hand moved, pointing at the animals and the way they came. Then the eyes narrowed, brilliantly blue shooting out like a beam of light breaking a forest canopy.
“Can you hear anything strange that way?” Dacey mouthed, knowing he could read her lips. “North?”
Rogers square-jawed head turned, shoulder-length yellow-blond hair brushing his back. After a moment he slowly nodded. He mouthed back to her, “A dozen men, maybe more. Shadowing us.” He smiled at her and added, “Good job.”
Their two horses reined aside, both were smart and could tell something was a little unusual. Their nostrils flared and ears swiveling in the search for danger. Dacey kept her eyes busy, while Rogers closed his and took off the helmet to rest on his saddlebow, frowning in concentration.
Even with apprehension growing like a weed in her chest, she smiled a little. Rogers was special to her, a sworn sword and friend, and had been since they met when Prince Robb came south to Harrenhal late last year. She was five years his junior, but in many ways she seemed older than he. And after a few months she was included in the Steve’s Commandos, whom even the North and Riverlands concede are best warriors in Westeros. Plus he was just fun, interesting, to be around.
But there was no denying that he was a man out of touch with the world. “Self-dramatizing” was the way her mother had put it.
An example would be his armor. It was good black leather; cuirass, shoulder armor pauldrons with neck guard, gauntlets on each arm, pants, belt and boots. It was all high quality and purchased in Riverrun, just like her own, with steel protection hidden under the animal skin. But unlike the red tunic we and the other Commandos wore with ours, his was white-trimmed blue with a golden eagle, its wings outstretched, clutching arrows in one talon and olive branches in the other.
“Not to mention the helmet.”
Unlike everyone else’s simple bowl-shaped with nose-guard leather helmet, Steve’s was long and covered the entire head with slits for the eyes and mouth, a long curved projection protected the neck and cheeks, and looked a lot like the drawings she had seen of Old Valyrian (Corinthian) armor. The same eagle on his tunic was carved into the helmet, and when asked he said it was the bird of his people. A guardian animal.
It was all very impressive, even more so than the thick blue armor he left at Harrenhal, but it was also a little unsettling. The Old Gods often enjoyed to take the form of a beast from the forest, and like the Direwolf they were not to be invoked lightly. They had an affinity to show up in the Aspect you called upon.
After a moment Rogers looked up at her and quietly said, “Ten and eight. Mostly in light armor. I can hear the jingling of mail on a few. I think they were with the group we smashed last night, sent to Faircastle to let them know what happened. So why are they still here?”
“It only takes one man to deliver a message.” Dacey thought aloud. “Perhaps the rest turned back, and after seeing what happened they wanted to get a little revenge.”
“No,” Steve said, his eyes casually scanning beyond the trees. “They sound better trained than that. They aren’t in a hurry to engage us.”
The rest of the Commandos had moved on another few hundred yards, and had stopped look back at them. She expected many of them to be smiling, maybe at the sight of seeing two whom spend so much time together spending a little more, but if they had been their smiles died as Rogers held up a hand and waved them back.
“Should we head back to the Hamlet?” Dacey said thoughtfully, “Grab a few dozen men and hunt them down?”
Her commander shook his head, “No. We can handle them.” Then he suddenly smiled, “I think I will go see who’s trying to hunt us.”
Steve reached for the sword in its saddle-sheath, and Dacey smiled again. The blade was a gift from King Eddard, as long and as sharp as his Valyrian steel greatsword but made from traditional steel, given to him after they were returned to Winterfell. It is incredibly heavy; impossible for a normal warrior to wield, but he holds it like it was made from feathers. The steel was cold blue, the hilt tinged with gold, with an eagle head pommel. She only spared a glance at his shield, his real shield, hidden inside a false one and strapped to his back.
Before he could lift his blade he stopped, became perfectly still, and after a moment said, “They aren’t after us. They are after them.”
The She-Bear turned her head, following her Commanders eyes, and spotted people darting though the woods. They were running, stumbling, and looking over their shoulders. Six adults women, three children over the backs. They were staggering with fatigue, sweat funneling down the sand and filth on their faces in spite of the cool day, their chests heaving. The children cried, but their mouths were clamped tight in fear. They and the adults were ragged, bleeding scratches from the thickets adding to the other much larger and older gashes.
Her eyes met Steven’s.
“Well, this is why the Commandos make an oath.” She said, thinking back to the day she bent her knee and said the words of loyalty. To the day she decided she wanted this man.
Steven half-grinned, half-laughed, “Yes ‘Protect the helpless’ seems to apply.”
His eyes went wide, “Okay, I can hear the Islanders moving on them. These people must have fled from as far away as Faircastle.”
She nodded, flicked her mount into motion, galloping with her head bent low over the beasts neck.
The refugees looked up; maybe they heard the sound of the hooves. They cried out in helpless despair and stopped in their tracks as she rode towards them. The other Commandos fell in with her, Steve on her right and the others behind with arrows drawn.
Rather than calling out to them, reassuring the women and children, she and the other riders sped past them. Trying to talk to them would be useless, they’d been beaten into mindlessness by fear and exhaustion. It would take hours to get anything coherent. She fought down a surge of anger; one of the children was the same age as her youngest sister, and they were being hunted.
As they crested the hill, bringing the Islanders into view, Dacey snarled and threw her spear…
Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, started at the great map that showed his domains across the known world. His eyes fixed on his stubbornly independent neighbor to the North, and his teeth ground as the jaws locked together in frustration.
Winds racing out of the Blackwater Bay howled amongst the towers like a great beast, and drove rain though open windows to splatter audibly against stained-glass windows as well as those hidden by tapestries shimmering with gold and silver thread. The map covered one wall of the Great Hall in the Red Keep, built in time of Aegon the Conqueror with a splendor of gray-veined white marble columns with brass inlay.
Then he turned on his heel and walked, almost stomped, to the larger of two thrones sitting atop its raised iron dais with high and narrow steps; his left foot automatically kicking the scabbard of his longsword out of the way as he sat atop a chair as cold as people believed him to be. The chair was massive, constructed by Aegon Targaryen from the swords surrendered by his enemies. Thousands of them cast monsterous spikes and jagged edges of twisted metal. It is an uncomfortable chair, perfect for an uncomfortable man. The second, much smaller throne was his addition, forged from volcanic rock on Dragonstone and inlaid with gold and silver by the best artisans in King’s Landing.
The day’s gray light was fading into blackness under clouded skies, but the Hall was brilliantly lit by hundreds of oil lanterns and candles, the blazers built around each column, and by several huge chandeliers handing thirty feet above their heads. Their wax-and-lavender scents filled the chamber, hanging over the metal polish and cloth and the sweat of fear from the crowd of well-dress clerics, advisors and officials in attendance. Except for the ocaasional creak of shoe-leather, ripple of lavishly decorated tapestries, or the crackling of wood burning, it was silent. The shifting glitter of flame cast the throne made it seem as if it was afire.
Goldcloaks stood like statues about the walls, their mail and plate armor gleaming like treasure, while warriors of the recently expanded Queen’s Guard formed a living wall between the Throne and everyone else; their red and gold mail hauberks burning like fire and the heads of their seven-foot spears gleaming; their massive kite-shaped shields were flat matt black, bearing the same sigil of a black stag dancing in a flaming heart that stood on the great banner hanging from the ceiling to the landing behind him.
After a moment the Red Woman seated in the other throne reached out and gently touched his arm. Stannis nodded and said, “You may rise, Lord Footly.”
The knights before Stannis’s throne stepped aside in perfect unison as the man and his wife approached, swinging like a door. When they stopped, they-and their weapons-were within a few feet of the man. The Queen’s Guard, in reality servants of the Red Woman and R’hllor, remained still like iron sculptures with living, starving eyes.
Lord Armen Footly was a big man, an inch or two over Stannis’s six-two, and similarly broad-shouldered, though unlike his King he’d added the beginnings of a paunch, despite being a little younger than his overlords mid-forties. His domain of Tumbleton was traditionally no more important that a sand dune, but with the succession of the North and Riverlands it placed those lands along the border with a potential enemy. Stannis had to fight to remember that. Armen had promptly obeyed the summons to court, though some would have thought about hiding in their castles, but that was for the desperate. The way his wife’s eyes occasionally darted to the Red Woman, Melisandre, was probably some political appraisal or search for help. The women had recently become friends, as the whole family forsaked the Faith of Seven in favor of the Lord of Light. Clearly she didn’t find the stone-like calm on Melisandre’s expression to be very comforting.
How close the guards stood within arm’s reach wasn’t very reassuring either. Nor was it meant to be.
“I sent you and twelve thousand men to capture Harrenhal. A castle defended by two thousand farmers. Would you care to explain how you could fail me?” Stannis snarled at the kneeling man.
“Your Grace, I had pleaded an audience to explain a few weeks ago-“
“If you had tried to explain what had happened then, I would have had you given to The Fires. I’m not a forgiving man by nature. My Red Lady tells me it’s my greatest fault.”
A ripple of muffled chuckles ran though the court, except for a few of Red Priests, and Stannis spared a glance towards Melisandre and grinned inwardly behind an impassive mask. He knew it was an open secret in King’s Landing that She was his mistress. Some even went so far as to claim she was the true Queen, as his wife kept herself locked away in the Keep’s “Queen’s Ballroom” with its beaten silver mirrors that makes the fires of R’hllor she and her closest devotees worship at seem brighter. In truth, the Red Woman was his closest companion-maybe even friend-and at the insistence of his wife he had begun sleeping with her. Even now, he could see her belly bulging beneath full breasts and imagined his promised son growing inside her.
“Your Grace,” Footly plowed on, fretting as he slogged over a speech obviously memorized in advance and probably written by his spouse. “I believed Harrenhal would fall quickly, and after our scouts confirmed the fortification was lightly garrisoned by peasants I pushed the attack, thinking that our more heavily armed and numerous force would be more than sufficient. I even lead from the front, and my son led a second force around the rear to hit their dock. He was killed in battle even as I and the others rushed though the castle gates and into a mercilous storm of arrows that none have seen or experienced before. It wasn’t until we were already falling that the castles commander, Steven Rogers, entered the fray. I personally saw the man, no, the monster throw his shield through three men before it returned to his hand and continue to fight off a dozen others with blinding speed. I admit error, and I beg your mercy for it, but I claim innocence of any malice or disloyalty. I would never have assaulted Harrenhal as I did if I hadn’t thought it the safest course of action.”
Melisandre spoke, her sonorous voice echoing off the Halls high walls, “But it wasn’t safe, Lord Footly, as sieging the castle would have been. A military commander is supposed to be smart, not charge in headfirst like a common bandit and hope for the best.”
Silence fell, and Armen opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it.
That was smart, Stannis thought.
The whole past summer had been a series of disasters following his victory at King’s Landing. The Lannister brothers escape, the failure of Footly attempt to capture Harrenhal, the bankruptcy of the realm, the North and its Riverlands leaving the Kingdom to form their own, the Ironborn trying to do the same thing. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Islanders were doing the very thing he had been planning to do to the Lannisters he would have considered this whole thing a waste of time. As it was, with news of Winter coming many of the Lords just wanted to return home and manage their own lands and keep discontent to a minimum. He could wait and deal with the North, and Rogers, when the snows melt.
When he spoke next it was to everyone, “I never asked for this crown. As Robert’s heir the throne is mine. That is the law. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I wear the crown I have a duty to protect this Kingdom. If I must sacrifice one to the flames to save millions more from the dark, I must.” He glanced at Footly, watched as his held his breath in waiting for the sentence. “I will pardon Armen Footly for his failure. You are forgiven.”
But not forgotten. He quietly thought.
Stannis noted how Armen’s wife sought Melisandre’s again, and how her face relaxed ever so slightly at his Lady’s smile and nod. Armen is a good man with a blade, but it is easy to see who’s got the brains in that House. But fail me again and you are going to spend your final minutes aflame.
But he knew the threat didn’t need to be said aloud, his stony face was more than enough. Footly and his family bowed and backed six paces away from the Throne, joining a crowd that no longer avoided them like plague victims anymore. With an effort of will Stannis thrust his gnawing fury aside; he couldn’t afford distractions. Instead he made a gesture, and his stewards announced it was time for dinner and that any other matters could be discussed tomorrow.
“I suppose we should go eat.” He said, Melisandre’s fingers came down to rest on his arm, and he nodded as they rose and headed out of the Hall.
Entry Twenty-One
Date: 299 After Landing, Winter
Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way
Who vows to fight like a man for what’s right, night and day?
Who will campaign door-to-door for America?
Carry the flag shore to shore for America?
From Hoboken to Spokane,
The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!
We can’t ignore there’s a threat and a war we must win!
Who’ll hang a noose on the goose-stepping goons from Berlin?
Who will indeed lead the call for America?
Who’ll rise or fall give his all for America?
Who’s here to prove that we can?
The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!
Nearly three years…THREE YEARS…and after all that time that crazy song bounces back into my head like it never left. I started humming it to myself while our army was marching on Faircastle, and a few of my Commandos overheard it. After an nearly an hour of them prodding they got me to sing the words that went with it. I know music in Westeros is more…archaic when compared to where I came from, but from their reaction you would guess they never heard any music before. Suddenly they wanted to know everything about it, where it was written, what it was written for…
It was a little embarrassing. Admitting that the tune was written about me, and for the purpose of getting the people of my land to get behind a just war, was difficult. But the idea didn’t seem to surprise them all that much. They are used to songs of heroes, and music being used as propaganda isn’t a new concept. The Lannister’s and their “Rains of Castamere” is an excellent example.
After that the flood gates kind of opened and they convinced me to sing more songs from my land. The styles was just so different, they had no idea what to expect. I tried to remember some of the stuff coming out when I flew that HYDRA plane into the ocean…ended up singing “Don’t Fence Me In, That Old Black Magic, Jingle Jangle Jingle,” and eventually “God Bless America.”
They all loved the various songs, the different styles, but I really wish I hadn’t sung that last one. I hadn’t really thought about how long it had been since I was home…but I guess Westeros is my home now. Still, I suspect the longing will never go away.
Dacey said I should change a few words around and use the “Star-Spangled Man” as a marching hymn. Not a bad idea.
Anyway, after retaking most of Fair Isle back from the Ironborn, liberating several more hamlets and farms from their endless pillaging, our army made for Faircastle. The Islanders attempted to block us several times by setting up defensive positions, mostly make-shift moats with log palisades, but we mostly avoided these hastily erected and undermanned forts and marched straight for the castle. We had captured or killed several thousand defenders by this point, but with at least 10,000 defenders the prospect of sieging Faircastle was not inviting. And with winter approaching, the cold, wet, weather made for less than ideal combat conditions.
We set up camp just outside long bow range of the castle, and I spent the next day studying it. The day after, I sent an envoy to deliver my demand for surrender to whomever was in command. When the young man returned unharmed I learned two things; the commander was intelligent and at least partly civil, and that the commander was Asha Greyjoy -daughter of Balon Greyjoy, the so-called “King of the Iron Islands” and sister to King Eddards ward, Theon. This made things, more delicate. I soon gave orders that, should we capture her, Asha was not to be harmed.
In truth, this was enlightening for me. Except for Dacey and her family, I hadn’t seen an example of women in power outside of King’s Landing. I suppose women in battle isn’t unheard of, just not very common in the here and now. I read, in the books of my homeland as well as those in Westeros, of women warriors but in the current age the sight is rare. I suppose some regions are just more aware that steel in a woman’s hand can kill you just as easily as steel in a man’s.
We spent the next few days camped outside the castle constructing siege weapons. Catapults mostly. Thanks to the nearby mountains there was plenty of rocks for ammo. But even as the weapons were built, I hoped they wouldn’t be needed. Thinking ahead, Faircastle would be a perfect staging area for an invasion of the other lost Westerlands as well as an invasion of the Iron Islands. I had watched several Ironborn vessels supplying the castle with food, so it was safe to assume that the castle’s supply of sheep and stored goods was already starting to run out. I also noticed that no one was leaving the castle, or joining it, so Greyjoy believed her victory to be assured.
I considered just sneaking into the castle as I had with others, but that would make it clear who I was. If I look different, I must act different. I took a few dozen men, a mixed force, and led them up a nearby mountain that held a decent view of the castle as well the dock the Ironborn were using for resupply. It took an additional 2 days to haul lumber and set up a catapult, but on the third day we were able to “sort-of” fire upon the Islander ships as they attempted to resupply the castle. We sunk several ships, and on the fourth day they stopped arriving.
In retrospect, I should have just did my usual infiltration and be done with it. But I suppose hindsight isn’t one of my gifts.
On the 7th day of the siege, Asha’s men captured the catapult I had placed in the mountains and turned it on our encampment. We lost a few dozen men and had many more injured by the bombardment, which only stopped after I made a mad dash up the mountainside and took care of the Islanders who had cut down my defenders mercilessly. But in the chaos, half of the Islanders garrison left the castle and made a mad dash on our forces. Our flank, composed of mostly crossbowmen quickly retreated at the advance. Islanders then sent reinforcements in and the flank crumbled completely. By the time I got down from the mountain, Dacey had tried to recover the situation by unleashing the limited cavalry to break the offensive on our flank, leading them herself.
It was the right decision, the Islanders had no cavalry of their own and we caused significant casualties on enemy. But many of the sparse horsemen still fell to the significant Islander presence…Dacey was unhorsed and took a bad wound to her left leg…
The Islanders, seeing their surprise attack failing, tried to retreat. In response I took a mixed force of five hundred and cut them off, wedging myself between their slaughter and safety. Caught between my shield and sword, the Islanders who yet lived started to throw down their weapons. We lost a thousand men all told, but we managed to kill or capture 4,500 Ironborn.
With the majority of the Islander army destroyed, Asha Greyjoy had little choice but to give up the castle and the Island. The next evening, my scouts in the mountains saw a dozen galleys arrive from the nearby Crag and ferry the Islanders away from Fair Isle. No doubt they are planning to redouble their efforts in the other captured territories. The next day our forces marched into Faircastle, defended only by the sick or the injured. The citizens looked tired, malnourished, and beaten, but also happy to see their liberators putting shackles on the Islanders who were quickly ferried off to the dungeons.
Asha wasn’t an idiot though. When I took a survey of the castle, I found stored grain and salted beef either missing or destroyed and the docks busted. The Island’s survival during the coming Winter would be in question unless additional foodstuffs could be shipped over. Otherwise, the Island will have to be abandoned until after the coming Long Winter.
Faircastle’s maester still lived, and I had him tend to the wounded (both friend and foe equally) while I sent ravens to Tyrion and Eddard to let them know what happened. While technically a victory, this felt more like a defeat. Still, with a little hard work the docks can be repaired and the ships from Lannisport can be moved here to put pressure on Greyjoy.
Dacey…for now I have her resting in the former Lord’s chambers. No sign of the members of House Farman, but I suspect they were smuggled away with Asha to use as random or hostage. I’m tending to Lady Mormont’s wound, but it is deep. Without the medicine from my lands, I don’t know if I can save her.
…I must save her.
The Memoir of an American in Westeros
Cpt. Steven Rogers
Entry One
Date: 298 After Landing, Spring
My dearest Peggy,
I doubt that this will ever be seen by you, or anyone else, but after what I have seen and experienced these last few weeks I feel compelled to lay down my thoughts.
Before I continue, I should make it clear that I am well and unharmed. And to the best of my knowledge, I am of sound mind. Though I sometimes question that.
I remember the last words I spoke to you, aboard that HYDRA plane. How I would take you dancing, and have the band play something slow for us. I never had learned to dance, and I’d hate to have stepped on your toes but, to hold you close, it would have been worth the embarrassment. Guess I waited too long to ask you. I expected to die in that moment, and watched as the ice and ocean rapidly rose to greet me.
When I finally awoke, untold time had passed. I opened my eyes and cast them upon a noon Sun, its warmth welcome and needed. When I attempted to move, I found most of my body encased in a layer of ice, in some places more than an inch thick. Once free, I realized I had no idea where I was but it was a land of ice and snow. It was so very cold, and I truly believe that if it hadn’t been for what the good Dr. Erskine had done to me I would never have survived the impact or the weather.
I built a fire from what dry wood I could find, and continued thawing myself out and drying the suit. Even now I have to laugh about it, but I felt a little silly sitting next to a fire in the middle of nowhere wearing red, white and blue. But it was warm. I do wonder what had become of the shield, which had previously saved my life as well as many others, but it wasn’t with me. Maybe it washed ashore somewhere else, and if so I hope whomever finds it makes good use of it, but more likely it vanished inside the plane.
Of the plane there was no sign. No wreckage could be seen, not even a stray bolt. I didn’t think much of it at the time, after all, I may have floated for days before washing shore, but as the weeks went on I started to form a theory of why that was.
Anyway, the next day I started to make my way South, following the coast as I did. It was a long walk, and I had to stop every few days to hunt for food. The war had thought me how to survive in the wild, and I used what I learned. At first I stuck to fishing, the waters were thick with them in some places, but as I traveled the ice turned to snow and with it came forests for me find bigger game in. I made a few rabbit traps in the beginning, but eventually fashioned a spear and found some deer. I also noticed the wolves that had found my scent, but as long as I left some food behind for them they seemed to give me a wide berth.
I admit, I first thought I might have been in Canada, but when my eyes first laid upon a towering wall of ice, I reevaluated that line of thought. From the ground it seemed as tall as any building in New York, and under the sun it wept rivers upon the ground where it would gather and refreeze at night. I looked west, further inland, and it stretched on for as far as I could see. I honestly didn’t know what to do when I saw it, but when I saw men (finally, other people!) walking atop it I decided to seek their aid in finding a way home to you.
Unfortunately, my appearance seemed to agitated them. When I emerged from the cover of the forest and into the open, for there was at least a football fields length of clear space between the two, a horn blew from behind the massive wall. And as I grew closer, I was greeted by the men atop the wall firing an arrow into my path. I stood there, where the arrow landed, and waited. I must have waited for several hours, because the sun was started to set when a gate in the wall opened and a dozen men in black cloaks marched out to meet me.
I had heard of historical reenactments, but had never seen one before. I assumed that was what they were but between the massive ice wall and their strange language, I decided that this was not one of them. They came to me appearing ready to fight, but with their weapons still holstered. I had only seen swords and bows in museums and movies like “Robin Hood” up to this point, and I must confess they appear much more deadly when the men carrying them look like they have used them.
Unable to understand them, or they me, we stood there for maybe an hour uselessly speaking words the other couldn’t understand. Sometimes one of them would point at me, call me something that starts with an “Y” sound, and then the others would argue about it. I guess they were trying to decide who I was or where I was from, but over time their argument turned to where I WASN’T from. And they all seemed to agree that I wasn’t from the lands on this side of their wall.
I spent the next week with these men in their castle. They were weary of me at first, but in time they warmed up to me. In exchange for the food and shelter I helped out around the place, cleaning floors or carrying heavy items around, all while keeping my ears open and trying to learn the language. Whatever was in the super-soldier serum made my brain stronger as well as my body, but it still took a few days to pick up the basics. The rest of the week to reach a point where they could understand me.
Once I was able I learned that I was in a place called Eastwatch, one of a series of castles that stretch across the 300 miles of ice they call “The Wall.” I was in a region they simply called, “The North,” that was part of the continent of Westeros. I didn’t believe any of it at first but after speaking with their maester, a kind of scholar or doctor, I saw the evidence drawn on maps and written across hundreds of books. It was all too much to be just a show, a fake, and so I was forced to accept that I am a long, long way from my home.
Entry Two
Date: 298 After Landing, Spring
Peggy,
I have been learning much during my time here at Eastwatch, especially about where and when I am.
I have spent some time aiding the fishing boats who sail into the Bay of Seals, and it was there that I happened upon the strange sight of my shield floating atop a piece of ice. The crew thought I was mad when I leapt into the freezing waters, but upon seeing the shield they grew quiet. They had never heard of anything called “Vibranium,” and many of them assumed it to be a material they call “Valyrian steel” which is supposed to be a magical alloy no one can remember how to make. They had known of Valyarian swords and daggers but never a shield, especially one so brilliantly displaying the colors of my Nation. I assumed that based on the apparent value of it there would be some fighting over the shield, but between the star on it and my chest, they all agreed it was mine.
At least they did during the day. That night someone attempted to steal the shield from me in my sleep, and regretted it shortly after.
It was after that incident that the Commander of Eastwatch, a man will small eyes and a pox-scarred face by the name of Cotter Pyke, told me how the Watch was crewed almost exclusively by criminals. Maybe a total thousand people between three castles, intended to defend a border 300 miles long against an enemy whose number was unknown. The idea seemed impossible. They used to have thousands more people, manning no few than a dozen castles, but it seems victory has defeated them. With no constant and serious threat, their numbers have dwindled.
The strange thing is, from what I have learned about the rest of this world, the “Nights Watch” is the closest to a democracy as exists here. Leaders are voted upon, unanimously, and tasked with leading them until their “watch has ended.” Elsewhere in the world it seems everyone is governed by a Lord or King. Westeros alone has many Lords, who rule to varying degrees of strength, who then answer to their King. Across the sea it is much of the same, just more of it as each city is basically its own kingdom.
I have spent the last few days trying to decide where I should go, and what I should when I get there, but it seems my options are limited. I could stay here with the Watch, I know they would welcome me and my strength, but they have a single task and are bound by oaths that prevent them from exceeding it. The cities across the sea sound interesting, but they are far and I have no coin to book passage. And with little but ice and snow to the north, my single direction of travel seems to be south. But where? What will I do when I get there?
I have often asked myself what you would do, or even what Bucky would say, but I find there are less answers and more questions with that line of thinking. I miss you both.
My decision may have been made for me in any event. Pyke sent a message to their Lord Commander, and since he was coming this way anyway one of his Rangers was tasked to investigate me. I should point out that by their standards I’m a giant of a man, with few reaching more than six feet in height (though I have heard rumors of a man nearing eight). But this Ranger, Benjen, was able to look me eye to eye. We talked for a time, told him what I knew of how I came to be here, but I think he took it to be a strange dream rather than the truth. In the end he felt confident I wasn’t a “wildling” and said I was free to go, and when I asked him for his thoughts on where I should go he recommended coming with him to a place called Winterfell.
With no other prospects I followed Benjen back to Castle Black, and from there south to the regional capital of Winterfell. As we traveled I learned Benjen’s brother was the Lord and leader of the region, and that made me more than a little curious about why he was living and working in the company of criminals but I kept the thought to myself. I would like to say before I forget that the Lord Commander of the Watch, Jeor Mormont, reminded me more than a little of Colonel Phillips. They both have the air of authority that comes from being “one of the men,” and they both hide their smiles behind faces of stone.
Mormont asked me to stay with the Watch once more before I left, and for a moment I considered it. I could see how badly they needed someone with my…abilities. I had been practicing with the sword in my free time at Eastwatch, and found that the art came naturally to me. I could lead men, maybe one day even be the next Lord Commander, but my need to see more of the world pushed me on. I needed to know more about this world I was in, more about what I could do to help it.
After all, there are always bullies that need to be stood up to.
Entry Three
Date: 298 After Landing, Spring
Dearest Peggy,
I must admit when I first laid eyes upon the Capital of the North, the Great Castle of Winterfell, I was awestruck. It is larger, more vast, than any of the castles I saw in Europe. A massive castle itself spans several acres, with two enormous walls and a village located just outside it called the “Winter Town.” It was built around a small wooden area with a single large weirwood at its center, under which lays a natural hot springs whose water is piped through the walls to heat the various rooms and keep the complex comfortable in the face of harsh winter weather. There are dozens of courtyards and small open spaces for weapon training and various other duties.
And I just realized I am starting to sound like a debriefing report. Old habits I guess. As soon as I saw it I started to pick apart possible weaknesses and locate ways to sneak in, of which there are many that I could exploit with access to modern technology. Sadly, blasting caps and mortar fire is not modern here. Gunpowder isn’t even known of, and the closest thing to it I can find of in the books would be something called “wildfire,” but it is more like an oil from all accounts. Something that sticks to things and burns.
Benjen, a few others and myself arrived at Winterfell at a strange time. Robert Baratheon, the King of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, was visiting. Benjen explained that Eddard Stark, the “Lord of Winterfell,” and the King were old friends. They had apparently been the driving force of a military campaign/rebellion against the Kingdom’s previous ruler, and in their victory Robert took the throne. I think the facts say more about the nature of both men then they would expect, or altogether like, but I will keep my thoughts about that to myself for now.
With the King there, the whole Castle was wrapped up in the festivities. No less than five times did my red, white and blue uniform get me into trouble as one person of importance or another would ask if I was a jester of some kind. I would normally politely explain that I am actually a soldier, and then say I was from very far away as trying to explain the truth would be more trouble than it was worth, and that would be the end of it. But just after introducing me to Lord Eddard and King Robert, a blond boy approached us and started trying to make a scene. He kept trying to make me sing or dance for him, saying “you are dressed like entertainment, so entertain me!”
I admit, I wanted to slap that boy. But with me being a guest, and not know who the child belonged to, I just switched to speaking English and started to recite a new old mission reports until he grew annoyed and stomped away. It wasn’t until later I learned that he was the Kings son. My restraint in dealing with the boy seemed to impress the King, but not nearly as much as my ability to drink him under the table.
The next morning I awoke just before the roosters, changed into some spare clothing provided to me while my uniform was washed, and ran a few laps around Winterfell. It surprised the guards on the wall to see me run past them a half dozen times, or maybe it was the fact they saw someone running who wasn’t being chased. After I was done some of them took me aside and asked why I ran, but mostly they wanted to know HOW I could run after matching the King drink for drink. That the most powerful man in this nation is a well-known drunk is more than a little worrying.
Later that day, once more of the castle had recovered from the previous night, I was invited to join the Hunting Party with Lord Eddard and King Robert. While I am not adverse to hunting I don’t really enjoy it as a sport, but turning down a King’s request would be in bad manners. When we returned…well, let’s just say I regretted my choice. Bran, Lord Starks second son, fell while climbing. If I had been here, I might have been able to catch him or do any number of other things to help, but instead that boy may never walk again. And in this world, that is almost as close to a death sentence as you can ask for. You can’t farm, can’t fight, can’t fend for yourself. If he had been almost anyone else’s child, he would have been killed.
I think that is what bothers me the most since I arrived here. The low cost of human life aside, it is the trivial way people are treated that seems to bother me more. While Lord Stark and his family seem to actually care for the people under their watch, which I approve, the King and his extended family seem to have zero regard for the well-being of others. In fact, some of them seem to delight in it. I understand that this isn’t the United States, that I’m the outsider here who shouldn’t get involved, but I can’t help but feel I should do something with the gift Dr. Erskine gave me.
Ha. Even with such thoughts bothering me, I find small moments of hope for the future. As I write this, Arya Stark is in the courtyard training with a small shield that looks much like my own. There is even a small star etched roughly in the surface. She keeps trying to toss it like I do, the way I could always make it go where I want it to go or do what I want it to do. That the shield isn’t shaped right for it, and too heavy for it, hasn’t deterred her any. Her father asked if I would be interested in teaching her swordplay, and I agreed that I would do so for a time. I’ve only been doing it for a few weeks, but my skill is already considered expert so I guess teaching will be fun until I figure out what I want to do. And besides, the job pays.
She and about a half dozen others had watched me spar with “the Hound” in the training yard, and since then there has been a noticeable increase in respect towards me. I was told he never spars with anyone, and was surprised when he asked. My surprise was doubled when I realized the King’s son, Joffery, was standing there with a smile while his bodyguard tried to swing his monster of a sword at me. It only took a few second to realize that the Hound was trying to kill me, and I found myself using the shield for its original purpose more than usual. That man is strong. Even so, I managed to walk away without a scratch. Clegane, the Hound, on the other hand left with a broken nose. Oddly, he had a small smile on his face when we separated. I think we was happy to find someone who could best him. The only person who didn’t smile was Joffery, who again stomped away in frustration.
Well, in a few days it looks like I will be packing up and heading south with the King and their company. His original purpose for coming here was to ask for Lord Stark to take over as “Hand of the King,” which is something like being Vice-President. Well, Eddard agreed and a large chunk of his family is going with him. Including the Arya whom I’m supposed to continue training.
I look forward to seeing the Capital of this Nation.
Entry Four
Date: 298 After Landing, Spring
Peggy,
The trip to the Capital has been, interesting.
I enjoyed my time at Winterfell. Though raised in the land of the free, I can see the appeal of a single benevolent Lord or King watching over their people like a father watching over children. Lord Stark is a firm leader, but he truly cares for those who he is sworn to protect. I saw him no less than three times stop to help one of the “common folk” with a chore or listen to their words of concern. He loves his people, and they him. That same care and reverence seemed to apply to his children as well, who I had the opportunity to spend much time with. Before Bran fell from the tower and into a coma I spent time with him and his “direwolf,” (a wolf that grows to be several times larger than the wolves you or I have seen) and he seemed to be a good kid who looked up to his brothers Robb and Jon.
I had little opportunity to speak with Robb, but from the short time we spoke you could sense an air of authority that may actually be deserved. He is much like his father, even if he looks more like his mother, who seems to care about the people. At the same time he is still a boy, and you can see his inner need to fight and seek adventure. Ha, I guess he and I have that much in common. I’m only a few years old than him, and I couldn’t wait to join the war effort. His half-brother, Jon Snow, didn’t hold the same sir of power but he did show himself to be more mature. He left Winterfell the same day we did, and while I did encourage him to stay home and build a life for himself before joining the Night’s Watch, he had long ago made up him mind.
An interesting event happened a few days after setting out, where we stopped for a day of rest outside an inn near a river called the “Trident”. Arya, Lord Stark’s youngest daughter whom he pays me to train, and I were exercising (Peggy, you should see how determined she is) and she was doing her best to match me push-up for push-up. She didn’t know I was taking it easy on her, but the large smile on her face told me how much fun she was having. We were just finishing up when her sister, Sansa, and Prince Joffrey showed up and starting trying to make fun of her for wanting to do “manly things.” When I pointed out that Westeros has an established history warrior women, the boy grew angry. And when I noticed the smell coming from the wineskin at his side, and I asked why he was drinking, he grew irate and drew his sword on me.
I put Arya behind me and used my shield to deflect the boys aimless strikes, while Sansa seemed more interested in yelling “stop.” I couldn’t tell who she was directing the order towards, but I had no intension of lowering my shield while he carried a sword. When his swings came slower, and he grew visibly tired, the Prince finally lowered his blade and told me, “I’ll take care of you.” This didn’t sound very encouraging.
Joffrey hasn’t out of sight for more than five minutes before his guards, and the Hound, came to escort me before the King and Queen. It didn’t surprise me that he went and ordered me taken, but what did surprise me is that he lied about what happened. He claimed I struck him, and that he drew his sword to defend Sansa. For her part, Lord Stark’s eldest daughter did nothing but make things worse by saying she didn’t remember. Arya was brought before them all a few minutes later, and she backed me up with the truth, but it was all one person’s words against another. That I am an outsider, not of this realm (or time), only made things harder for me. But the timely arrival of Lord Stark with a new witness, a red-haired boy called Mycah, who had been watching everything from afar saw everything righted. Joffrey was humiliated before everyone there when Robert slapped him for making false accusations. It seemed as if his wife, Cersi, wanted to say something to Robert but instead she fixed me with a look that made me want to shiver. I’m fairly sure that I made a few enemies today, just for telling the truth.
It does highlight a growing concern for me. Since I’ve arrived, I have met a Lord Commander, a Lord, and a King. All of which, if they had been inclined, could have had me killed for no reason. While a benevolent King is good for the realm, a corrupt or maleficent one isn’t. That was why when my forefathers sought freedom from England, they established a nation ruled by law. Not ruled by man. Sadly, I don’t think anyone here would be able to fight for such a thing, even if they badly wished for it. One man in a suit of armor is like a tank to these people, able to tear through the unarmored and unarmed with ease.
Later that night Robert and Eddard took me aside and asked if I had told the truth, and then their faces fell as I swore it. They knew all along I had been truthful, but didn’t want to believe it. Robert, possibly drunk at the time, spoke quite freely about how disappointed in Joffrey he was. How the Prince had been nothing but trouble for years, but protected by the Queen so he could not show him the error of his ways. Lord Stark looked sad to say it, but he brought up the possibility of ending Sansa’s pending marriage to the Prince. Robert seemed to think of it for a time, but eventually he said the marriage must continue. Something about binding the two houses.
The next morning, news of Mycah’s death spread through the camp. No one knew who killed him, but the obvious suspect was Joffrey. It made the rest of the trip very, somber.
I could smell King’s Landing, the Capital, long before I could see it. The air grew tinted with the smell of sweat, piss and feces. As you get closer, you don’t breath it so much as swim through it. But I will admit that as I drew closer it was an impressive sight. The city itself is surrounded by a wall with 7 gates, and within it holds more than a half million people inside. But what I first noticed was the poor and unlucky who had built a shanty-settlement on the outside of the walls.
Maybe I will find some way to aid them as I learn more of this place.
Entry Five
Date: 298 After Landing, Summer
My dearest Peggy,
I’ve only been in King’s Landing for a few weeks, and things have been interesting.
When we arrived Lord Stark was hurried off to meet the Small Council, from what I gather it is a kind of a proto-parliament who run the nations day-to-day affairs and offer guidance to the King on larger maters, while the rest of us were shown to our rooms. Eddard, as the Hand, has a large apartment near the top of a tower dedicated to the position, while the King lives inside the main castle. Before he left Eddard gave orders for Arya to not go exploring, but when I asked about her training he agreed we could find an open space to practice while the rest of the household settled in.
A few floors under the Hand’s solar is a wide open space, I presume for the purpose of entertaining or hosting small gatherings, but by the looks of it had gone unused for some time. The only decortations were those craved into the wood and stone, of dragons and fire and conquest. It was all very beautiful. With a large windowless opening facing the nearby sea, it was a cool space that Arya and I agreed would be perfect for training. Even Nymeria, her wolf, agrees with the space. But as we finished our exercises (she really is becoming quite strong for her size) and moved into swordplay, I realized what I was teaching her wasn’t correct for someone of her size. Her brother Jon had given her a sword, and she has only showed it to me, but it is a very thin blade that wouldn’t be useful in the kind of fighting I’m teaching. She needs a different style, and frankly I could use more practice with a real swordsman.
When I brought this up to Lord Stark later that evening, he agreed. We then decided that I would still be in charge of Arya’s physical training and conditioning, but my primary job is to be bodyguard to the Stark Children. Something about the days meeting with the Council had obviously worried him. Jory Cassel was still in charge of the household guards, but I was in charge of the girls protection. A few days later, I overheard the Hand speaking to Arya about how dangerous the city is, how there are enemies everywhere, and that wolf survive by sticking together. A few days later we met Syrio Forel, the former First Sword of Braavos (a city across the sea), and that he is Arya’s “dancing master.” Apparently a form of sword fighting. His personality reminds me a bit of Corporal “Dum Dum” Dugan, real cocky and sure of himself. I liked him immediately. During the day I watched the girls, studied Forel’s water-based sword fighting, and at night I practiced what I learned.
Over the next few weeks I saw less and less of Lord Stark. His attention was focused on the upcoming Tournament King Robert had ordered, and managing the city as more people flooded in and crime started to rise. Even some of his household guard had to be diverted to police duty. I see the good that such a show will do, I remember reading in school about how the Roman’s kept their peoples mind of their woes with bread and circuses, but I wonder who really benefits. It didn’t take much looking to learn that most of the inns and…entertainment establishments are owned by Lord Baelish.
One afternoon, much to my surprise, the Lord Hand asked me to accompany him and his company of guardsmen through the streets of King’s Landing. I was glad to get out of the castle for a time, but felt it odd that he would ask. I had almost come to the conclusion that he had forgotten about me, having seen so little of him since our arrival. The streets were crowded, so much so that they couldn’t part even for the Hand of the King. We eventually stopped at the top of the Street of Steel, so named because of the large number of armorers. I noticed a few people watching us more intently than the rest of the people, but none made a move against us. Stark spoke with an armorer and his apprentice for a time, and then he called me inside.
To my surprise, Stark explains that he would like for me to enter the upcoming tournament. He explained it as, “If they are going to call it the Tourney of the Hand, then the Hand should be represented.” In order to blend in I had taken to wearing traditional clothing and armor, my brightly colored uniform was a little less than inconspicuous. But I do carry my shield everywhere, and after just one glance at it the armorer and his apprentice started exclaiming all the options they could come up with. Before they could run out of breath, I found a nearby sheet of paper and ink and started to sketch up my own thoughts. When I was done, they smiled wide and said they were up to the challenge.
On the way back to the castle, Eddard took me aside and apologized for springing his request on me and how he would have liked to have asked me about it earlier. He explained how the previous Hand had died suddenly, and he was trying to figure out why. I didn’t like the surprise, but if I’m honest I’m used to being used for the purposes of others. And if this helps solve a mystery, so much the better. Sadly, that meant I had only a week to learn to joust and shoot a bow.
Learning to ride a horse, while not in the Army manual, was simple enough. I did as much on the trip from Castle Black to Winterfell. Learning to hold a lance at the same time, much more difficult. Archery on the other hand came naturally, and by the end of the third day I was considered an expert archer capable of hitting what I wanted to from up to a hundred pace while standing or from horseback. I didn’t have high hopes for the joust, but I figured I should be able to make Lord Stark proud with a strong showing in Archery and the Melee.
The day of the Tourney was more than a little eventful, and I suppose for the first time since I arrived in these lands I felt like I was having fun. Even Arya showed up for the event, after hearing I would be in it. It was nice to see the two girls getting along for a change. The Tournament is a three-day affair, but most of the action takes place on the third day. Each event is spaced so that one man shouldn’t be able to enter all three events, and the officials were more than a little surprised to see me do as much (or maybe they were taken aback by my brightly painted red, white and blue armor). I had to rush to finish my first round of the joust before I reached the melee, but I succeeded in defeating Ser Hugh of the Vale. While the rest of the riders took their turns, I ran over to the melee, which was just what it sounds like. Forty competitors in a large ring, and they have to make their opponents yield or flee the arena. Within half an hour I had cleared the arena of everyone but myself and Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword.
Something gave Thoros strength beyond his own, but eventually I was able to best him using only the skill and technique I learned from watching Forel. None of the super-soldier serum enhanced strength.
And just in time as it was my turn to joust once more. I barely managed to tip Renly Baratheon’s (the King’s youngest brother) lance away, knocking him off the horse and earning a second victory (as well as laugh from the King). Eventually I reached the semi-finals, together with Loras Tyrell, Gregor Clegane and Sandor Clegane. Loras managed to squeak out a victory against the Hound, advancing him to the finals, but that left me to face Gregor. The man they call “The Mountain.” At nearly 7’ tall, and more than 400lbs, he has to be the largest man I have ever seen.
He also doesn’t like losing.
When I unhorsed him, Gregor didn’t take it well. He immediately called for his sword (a very large one that anyone else would have had to use both hands to wield) and charged me. I was lucky my shield was designed to absorb impacts. His rage and strength were great, almost as superhuman as my own, but for all his power he lacks my speed. If didn’t take long for him to tire, and as he did I deftly avoided his slower, ragged blows. A few minutes later he dropped to one knee, out of breath, and a single blow to his head with my shield knocked him unconscious.
The arena was full of silence for a long time, not believing what I had just accomplished. Then all at once a thunderous cheer erupted from all in attendance. The King seemed to be cheering more loudly than the rest, his roar of laugher rising above the rest. Clegane’s brother, Sandor, smirked once. I got a nod of respect from Lord Stark and a few others. And Arya smiled wider than I had ever seen. I wish you had been there, Peggy. I felt like a hero again.
It wasn’t until later that I learned what the Mountain had done to the wife of the former Prince Rhaegar, and the children, and I wished I had done much worse. I felt like that skinny little boy from Brooklyn all over again. Later that evening, I was approached by Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Barristan Selmy who offered to make me a Knight. I had heard the same from several others who witnessed my triumphs of the day, and told them all no. But when approached by the a Knight with honor to match Lord Stark, I needed to think about it. I will go and speak with the Hand, see what he thinks I should do.
Oh, by the way, I only got second place in Archery.
Entry Six
Date: 298 After Landing, Summer
Peggy,
Well, the days following the Tournament have been, eventful. I turned down the offer of Knighthood, mostly on moral grounds. Someone shouldn’t be rewarded for being fast or strong, but for being known for protecting those who can’t protect themselves.
I swear I only took my eyes off of Arya for a minute before she vanished. She could teach spys a lesson in vanishing. Syrio had her chasing the stray cats that walk amongst the castle, part of her training which is intended to make her reflexes faster as well as teach her patience. She has managed to capture every cat in the castle except for this one. She turned a corner, and she and the cat were gone. Even I couldn’t find where she had gone. When she was finally found she looked more like one of the homeless outside the castle, and oddly it suited her. She got a stern talking to from her father, and I got shamed for not being able to keep up with her. Then Lord Stark smiled and commented that not even the Gods could catch her if she tried hard enough.
As I walked Arya back to her room, she asked me questions about her father’s guards and if they could protect him. I answered as best I could, but was taken aback by her request, “Make sure no one kills my father. You defeated the Mountain, the Hound, and all the others, so I know you can protect my father.” I honestly didn’t know what to say to that, but finally I told her that Lord Stark loves his children so much that he would rather I protect them. This didn’t set her at ease, and she said little more the rest of the day.
The very next day, and shortly after his return from a Council meeting, I noticed that Lord Stark no longer wore his badge of office. Rumors soon started to run of Eddard searching for a ship to take him and the girls back to Winterfell and leaving the city behind. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have waited so long.
The next day Lord Stark asked for me to accompany him and a group of his men. He seemed more on edge than usual, and made sure I wore my armor. To my surprise we arrived at a…place of entertainment. Lord Stark and a few others went inside while I elected to remain behind. Again I noticed the eyes that always watched, and felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Eddard had only been inside for five minutes when the sky opened up and rain started running down my armor. Another minute later the whole group exited, with Mr. Baelish among them.
We were only half-way back to the castle when 40 Lannister guardsmen suddenly surrounded us. Among them was Jaime Lannister, brother to the Queen and member of the Kingsguard, who was obviously upset. Apparently he was upset about Lady Catelyn, Lord Starks wife, who had taken Jaime’s little brother. Some kind of arrest? There were but 5 of us to their 40, but it seemed the guards were hesitant to draw their swords against us. Jaime did not share that reservation, and drew his blade as Littlefinger ran for help from the City Watch.
Seeing us outnumbered, Eddard reminded Jaime that if anything should happen to him that his wife would kill Tyrion, the brother. Jaime hesitated for moment, but only long enough to tell his guards to kill us all, but leave the former Hand unharmed. I honestly don’t like killing. I see the act of taking someone’s life as something you only do if it is absolutely necessary. Sadly for them, the guards left me little choice. Heward and Wyl were seconds from being cut down when I sent my shield through their attackers necks, and before the rest of the guards could advance five steps I had disabled three more of them.
My speed and decisiveness had brought the confrontation to a very sudden halt. I called out Ser Jaime, calling him a coward, and a bully, and offered he fight me in Lord Starks place. In his arrogance, the Kingsguard smiled and took me up on the offer. The young Knight moved faster than I had expected, and was undoubtedly skilled. I doubt Syrio or anyone else would be able to stand against him in open combat. But it was over before it began, and as soon as Ser Jaime’s blade bounced off my shield, I brought my sword up and cut off his sword-hand at the wrist. He hadn’t even realized it was gone until he brought the stump down and found his hand missing. He dropped to his knees, staring in disbelief at the missing limb.
When the other guards threw down their weapons I ordered Starks men to not kill them, but to take them all prisoner. I then knelt beside the fallen knight and started applying a field dressing. As I did this, I recited back to him the words of a knight I had learned while visiting the Sept; “You were charged to be Brave. But you were also charged to be Just. To Defend the young and Innocent. To Protect. I ask you, how is trying to kill these men fulfilling your vows?” His silence was all the answer I needed.
Once the City Watch arrived, I couldn’t help but notice Baelish’s surprise at what had transpired. Or his amusement. In any event, rather than head to the docks and leave the city, Lord Stark was adamant he return to the castle and speak with the King. Honestly, I would rather leave the city. Besides, I’m sure the Queen will not be pleased to see her brother maimed.
Entry Seven
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
Peg,
It has been the better part of a year since I last saw your face. God, has it been 8 months already?
I had hoped to write sooner, but things are moving fast and I had little time to write. So much has happened that I can scarcely decide where to start, but I will endeavor to explain.
After the melee in the streets, Jaime Lannister and his men were arrested and carried off to the dungeons while Lord Stark went to meet with the King. I was asked to go and stand guard over his children until his return. Sadly, he never did. I only learned of this a few days later, but apparently Robert died while Lord Stark was in route. Evidence was found in Eddards quarters, giving the impression that the former Hand had his best friend poisoned and killed. Cersei had Lord Stark arrested and thrown into the dungeons, while also releasing her Brother and guards as acting Regent.
I refused to believe it, and so set out to do what I thought was right. While Stark’s men were being killed (not even attempting to arrest them and make them stand trial), I did what I was asked to do and protected the children. Syrio, who was teaching Arya at the time, was ambushed by Lannister men as well Ser Trant of the Kingsguard. I arrived just before Syrio could be overwhelmed, saving him and dispatching his attackers. I then guided them to Sansa, who to my surprise was being watched over by the Hound. While I had no doubt about being able to handle him, I really didn’t want to and asked him to step aside. He took one long look at me, then back at Sansa, and told her, “Remember to sing,” before walking away.
I tried to save others, but most had been cut down before I had known what was going on. By the end of the day it was just Syrio, Arya, Sansa and myself. Plus the two direwolves. But I was determined to make sure the children didn’t grow up without a father. Once I was sure the girls would be safe for a few hours, I slipped away under the cover of darkness and infiltrated the Red Keep. It took me a half hour to reach the “Traitor’s Walk,” a squat half-round tower near the back of the Castle, and another half-hour to slip inside without being noticed. The dungeons below the tower are rumored to have 4 floors. I searched the upper floor, normally reserved for common criminals, and then the second floor which is where you would normally find highborn captives. But I found Lord Stark on the third, where there are small cells and the only light comes from torches. He was surprised to see me there, and at first he refused to leave his cell out of misplaced honor or fear for his children, but I eventually convinced him that his family was safe and he would be of more use to them back home in Winterfell.
Although regretful, I had to knock out a dozen guards on the way back to the surface. While I could move quietly and quickly, Stark could not. After another two hours I had him reunited with his children at a farm outside the city. There, around a small table, as the Warden of the North, Lord Stark named me a Lord of the North and offered me a place in his lands. Considering the situation, I found myself unable to refuse him. Syrio was offered a chance to leave and go his own way with no hurt feelings, but instead he found the whole situation to be humorous and wanted to stay.
We spent a few hours trying to decide what to do now. It was fairly obvious I could easily have infiltrated the castle, but what would I do there? Robert’s wife and son were in charge now, and ravens would have spread word to the whole realm of Eddard’s supposed crimes. As horrible as the situation was, I wouldn’t kill a woman who was simply doing what anyone else would in her situation and going after the man who killed her husband. Just because she was wrong about who committed the crime, that didn’t mean she needed to die.
So, the only real option was for Eddard to return to Winterfell and claim his innocence. We surmised that guards would be sent out to find us as soon as they realized Stark was gone, so we needed to make speed as quickly as possible. With my winnings from the Tournament, we bought some horses from the farmer and traveled off-road to the town of Duskendale. From there we booked passage to the North. We arrived in White Harbor, run by House Manderly who were kind enough to give us a few days of rest in their castle before we hit the road once more. It took a little over two weeks, but eventually we arrived in Winterfell. Sadly it was only too late that we realized Ice, the Stark family sword, was left behind in the Red Keep.
When we arrived all of us, Stark most of all, was surprised to find nearly all of his bannermen had been called up and gathered at the North’s capital. After the introductions and greetings were shared, Syrio, myself and Stark family sat down to discuss what was going on. It wasn’t surprising to find that Cersei had spread word of the crimes, but what was were the additional crimes she had tacked on as she told the world that Eddard and the children was still in her custody. Catelyn Stark, wife to Eddard and mother to the children, was overjoyed to find everyone safe and back home. She explained what had set everything in motion, with her arrest of Tyrion Lannister for attempted murder of her son, Bran, and how he was found innocent with a trial by combat at her sister’s home and allowed to go free. I admit that I can’t see the little man doing what she said, but I kept that to myself.
In response to that arrest, Lannister men had begun tearing though the Riverlands, a region allied to the Starks. After meeting him, I can’t say I was surprised to find the Mountain was leading the charge by razing (and raping) his way across the countryside. Meanwhile the rest of the Realm has erupted in fire as Roberts brother, Renley Baratheon, has raised an army in the Stormlands and formed an alliance with the Reach, then declared himself King of the Seven Kingdoms with a massive army at his back.
Meanwhile there is word of fleets gathering around the Iron Islands as well as Dragonstone, but no one knows why.
With the Lannisters causing trouble in the Riverlands, enough to make the Tulleys who run it to seek help, Stark honor forces Eddard to answer the call. Everyone is afraid to say what it really happening, but it is clear that a rebellion has begun.
As unhappy as people were under the mad king, everything has been worse under the “fat king.” Robert may have been a great warrior, but he made a terrible King. And Eddard has started to realize that. He may be loath to admit it, but the North needs to separate itself from the rest of the realm and stand on its own feet. Neither the North nor the rest of the Realm has a need for one another, and has only been united under the threat of Dragons. With no such threat remaining, I can already see the fractured lines and old rivalry’s returning. The people of Westeros need something to fight FOR, not against. Something that can unite people of different faiths, cultures and regions. Sadly, I don’t see anything like that here in the North, nor in the Capital. From everything I read, the only thing that brings these people together is fear. What they need, is freedom.
In any case, Eddard said he wanted two things of me. First, mostly because of all the time we spent together on the way back to Winterfell, I am one of his advisors. He wants me to help come up with ways to govern the nations. Basically the medieval version of Secretary of War. Second, he wants me to lead an army south to fight the Lannisters. Reluctantly, I agreed. The lies the Queen spread claimed I was in collusion with Eddard to take the crown, so I won’t be welcomed anywhere outside Northern territory and leaving me little choice but to fight.
As I write this I have to say I feel equally silly and proud. I’m at the front of a warhost, 3000 men strong, wearing a suit of armor enameled in Red, White and Blue. A Standard is held by a bearer beside me, a White Star on a Blue circle atop a field of Red. I am Steven of House Rogers, my words are “Duty, Honor, Liberty.”
Written by DC79
ARYA
They had barely taken two steps into Winterfell when her father and..."Lord" Rogers (gods, it would take her some time to get used to thinking of him as such) had been ushered into the Great Hall, and she hadn't seen them since. She knew something important was about to happen; as they had approached Winterfell they could see a vast stretch of lights to the east, in Winter Town, and she knew soon enough that the Lords of the North had amassed a great host.
The Giant of Umber, the Bear of Mormont, the Flayed Man of Bolton, the Merman of Manderley- all were represented. It was an unprecedented gathering- but Arya thought that the way she had slipped away from the pre-occupied household staff and any others who might shoo her off to bed was almost as unprecedented.
Then she remembered- such a task often fell to Septa Mordane. Her heart sank as she was reminded of this. Syrio had been shown to his temporary quarters, so now, here she sat in Bran's room with Sansa, the three Stark children watching their newly reunited direwolves play "bitey face" as Rickon liked to call it. The three children had so much to say, but didn't know how to say it at the moment, so they had fallen into a contented silence: Bran had finally fallen asleep, and Sansa was nodding off as well, leaving Arya to ponder the hero who made their reunion possible.
Arya had stirred a bit when she finally heard voices coming from the Great Hall- the gathering of Lords was finally over. For Bran's sake, she didn't open the window, instead going to her own room, Nymeria padding behind her the whole way. She opened the window, and several voices managed to carry all this way. Of course, one of them was the Greatjon Umber- she caught a few words, and it seemed he wanted to test the newest Northern Lord's strength for himself, and she supposed Steve was open to that, as a circle of the Lords gathered around them, her teacher standing perfectly still at the behemoth of a man slowly advanced towards him- the Greatjon said something that was obviously a joke, for the crowd laughed, while Steve remained silent. And then he threw himself at Steve.
Steve Rogers was a mystery only as much as he was content to peel back the layers one at a time. She finally got him to share details of battles he had fought. A man who believed in him had used all of his knowledge to make him strong "but like a maester, not a mage." There was no magic to it, and the man had died afterwards, taking his secret with him. Her father deserved this "seer-um" as much as Steve did- she had thought him invincible when she was younger, as all children imagined their fathers. But for now, there was only one like him, and the gods were kind enough to send him to House Stark.
He could scarcely pick up a weapon before, he said, and he regarded his abilities as a gift that indebted him to the greater good. Like a knight from the tales...
He wasn't strong before... knowing that slowly made several little things clear. He quickly grew to have his share of admirers in Winterfell before the journey south- a few of the ladies in waiting, and Jeyne Poole (Sansa thinking him rather old, but conceding that he was still somewhat handsome) among them. She had even heard that Princess Myrcella had two opportunities to speak with him during the journey to King's Landing but could scarcely do so without giggling and blushing in a most undignified way.
Bet the Queen hated that- Arya thought. Of course, the woman hated anyone without the name "Lannister,"- that much was clear. It made Arya feel better about the tact and good graces she had compared to the Queen if the woman was so bad at hiding her contempt for the world at large- how she had managed to have three kids by the Fat King, she could scarcely imagine. But the way Steve became a little uncomfortable at the batting eyelashes made it clear he wasn't used to this- and when she asked for stories of his home, she had asked for stories of battles he had fought. He had politely declined; at first, he shared stories he had read; of the giant Paul of House Bunyan and his great blue auroch Babe. He told her of Lord Edmund Dantes and his quest for revenge. Finally, after asking for a scary story, he told her of the Immortal Lord Dracula, who fed on the blood of the innocent and the small band of heroes dedicated to stopping him. It took much pleading and assurances that she wouldn't have nightmares; she had enjoyed the story, but it was only after much nagging that he finally started telling her about his own battles. He spoke often of how he was nothing without his men, his "Howling Commandos," and how the "Red Skull" was as terrifying an enemy as one could imagine. When pressed for details, he told her of the Red Skull's monstrous appearance- even better, with a quill and parchment he produced a drawing of his greatest foe. The "vampire" of his story hadn't effected her, but knowing the demon in the picture had once lived truly did frighten her, and she finally had a nightmare where a black shape of a man topped with a demonic fire-red, fleshless skull was standing over her bed. She managed not to cry out before awakening.
But he emphasized that the Red Skull had destroyed himself at the end. Every victory he spoke of, he gave credit to his allies and the rare mistakes of his enemies. But coming from the man who felled the Mountain That Rides with a single blow, one knew that this was an incomparable humility.
When she said this, he gave her a piece of advice from one of his own kings, and added "Humility aside, it always helps if your enemies underestimate you. That's one thing you have over me now. And we're going to keep at that."
Of course, when you lived in the same castle as Theon Greyjoy, anyone would look humble by comparison.
He did his part for the family, as well; he wrote to Lady Catelyn often assuring her that her daughters and husband were kept safe. He had even corresponded with Bran, trying to cheer him by telling him stories of his home.
He had even spoken for a moment about something he had said to Maester Luwin in a letter about the seven "wanderers" in the sky and what made them different than the rest of the stars and how it had excited him to further study. His final odd venture was the suggestion adding more hops to a batch of ale to the castle's brewers- it created something called an "India Pale Ale" when added during the brewing process. The first batch had been well received by King Robert- but then again, it got you drunk, so of course it was. He later explained to her that it was simply something else to pass the time- which he had a lot of, because he only needed 4-5 hours of sleep a night.
And as much as he tried to play the peacekeeper between the two sisters, he had made things worse for a time- Arya had insisted that if Sansa loved those stories of knights and chivalry Old Nan had , then she need look no further than Steve as the embodiment of those stories. Prince Joffrey suffered by comparison to even the piggish Ser Blount, but compared to Steve he seemed a mockery of a boy; cruel, petty, both arrogant and ignorant. She said these things, baffled that her sister would find this foreigner strange but moon over Joffrey. It had been at a mid day meal and this had quickly escalated to a shouting match before Septa Mordane sent Arya out. She had finally told Steve this in frustration that evening when they were done with practice, angered that Sansa couldn't see Joffrey for what he truly was.
"I guess you should ask yourself if you're really trying to tell her what she needs to hear or if you simply want to disappoint her," he had finally said.
"Put it another way- what if Joffrey finally did something so horrible that she ran to her father crying," he'd asked, sitting down next to her. "Would you laugh, say I told you so, or would you put all those feelings aside and be there for her like a sister should?"
Arya had sat there silently. Sansa was truly her mother's daughter, and even if there had been no love in her heart for her sister, she owed her mother that much to be kind to her.
"All kids have dreams that they grow out of. That's part of being a kid. Just let Sansa have her dream. Her family will be there for her when she grows out of it, however that'll happen."
"And you? You'll be there too, right?"
"Of course I will," he replied with that smile that was warm while belying the power of its wielder. She was silent again for a moment.
"Do you think all of this-" she gestured around the training area "-is just a stupid dream?
"I wouldn't be here if I did."
"You're lucky, "she groused. "You don't have any titles, you don't have to get married- how would you feel if you had to marry some giggling, proper lady- she'd probably think you strange just for training me."
"As long as that's what she wants to be and isn't what the world forces her to be, I think I could manage if it came to that."
"I want to throw up every time Mother talks about marriage- why couldn't I be a little older, and I could marry you?"
There was no lovesick sigh as she said this; on the contrary it was spoken so casually that it startled Steve. It wasn't the idle speak of a childhood crush- there was none, for it was Arya stating the accepted fact of her inevitable arranged marriage and saying that she would be miserable and she saw only one man in the Seven Kingdoms as being kind enough to make that inevitability bearable.
"I don't want to marry you," she added, stammering in her embarrassment for what she had accidentally implied. "But I haven't heard of any man who would let me be what I wanted to be. He'd probably be mad that he didn't get Sansa." At this last, Steve was quiet for a moment.
"I read that the Prince of Dorne has a few sons close to your age," he said at last. "Walder Frey in the Riverlands has to have at least one kid worth your time."
"I read that the whole lot of the Freys are a mess of no-chinned, big bellied, cross-eyed sneaks," Arya replied, and Steve couldn't help but guffaw at that. "And I bet Dorne hates the North almost as much as they hate the Lannisters."
"Well, if you're so determined to find a place for yourself doing manly things, I say you leave them no choice- show them that lacing you into a frilly dress is such a huge waste of what you have to offer that even an idiot could see it."
And he stood up at that, and had assumed another defensive stance, his practice sword outstretched. He smiled expectantly at her.
She had been ready to call it a day before; now she found she had an unexpected second wind as she went at him again, and the loud snaps of their wooden swords resumed.
And so the Greatjon was hurled to the ground like a rag doll. There was applause. And judging from the few words she caught, the Greatjon didn't seem angry- something about "a new strategy." He came at Steve low, trying to pull a leg out from under him.; in turn, he leaped over the Greatjon's brawny arm and locked his right leg around the back of the Greatjon's left, pulling it as he gave the man a shove. Again, the Lord of the Last Hearth tumbled. That familiar, booming laugh followed again quickly as he pulled himself to his feet, and slapped Steve on the back such that any other man would have been knocked over;
"You help us win this war and you can have your pick of any of my daughters!" he proclaimed. "Imagine a grandchild of mine that could break me in twain before they grow their first hairs!"
The assembled crowd laughed, and she could tell Steve was somewhat embarrassed by the suggestion the way he scratched his head at this.
"I always thought it was the way of most powerful men to brag and boast,"Sansa said. Arya nearly jumped, as she realized Sansa had entered behind her, watching the events below.
"Father doesn't," Arya insisted.
"Father isn't most men," Sansa insisted in turn, as if Arya had said the sun and the moon had switched places in the sky.
"I know Father never would have hurt the king," Sansa finally said. "If the Queen is saying it, Joffrey is saying it as well."
"The way he said he fought off the man who threw around the Greatjon and toppled the Mountain?" Arya replied. But these words held none of the derision they would have months before.
And Sansa's face burned, a ruddy pink framed by auburn tresses. "Yes. Like that." She finally replied.
Arya had barely noticed Lady in the room, but in the awkward pause that followed, the smallest of her pack loped forward and gave's Arya's hand a lick. Nymeria, in turn, placed a paw on Sansa's leg.
"Bran's awake," Sansa finally said. "The ruckus woke him up- it's best we return to our rooms for the night."
"I'm not leaving him just yet. Those big chairs are comfortable compared to what we had to settle for on the trip back."
Sansa nodded, and they returned to Bran's room. He asked them what had happened below, and he laughed when they told him. They spoke of how they would all be glad when the host departed, even though they dreaded what it meant, and that Father and Robb would be going with them.
Bran finally mentioned what he had overheard two of Lord Karstark's sons said about him, that he would be better off dead than a cripple.
"Steve would have introduced their faces to their arses if he'd been there," Arya growled- but the treachery and cruelty they'd dealt with made this seem like pettiness beneath their notice.
"But they'd still think it," Bran said. "What good would that do then?"
"It would do me some good," Arya grumbled.
"If a man says awful things, it reflects badly on only them," Sansa finally chimed in.
The silence was uncomfortable, until Bran finally asked them if it was true he had beaten the Mountain that Rides in the Tourney. They said he did, and that it seemed if he had wanted to, he could have killed Ser Gregor with little cause for complaint.
"I knew he was strong, but I didn't know he was that strong," Bran finally said.
"He told me something one of his kings said- that you should 'speak softly and carry a big stick.' He lives by that," Arya explained.
"That sounds like a Lord of the North if I ever heard one," Sansa smiled.
"That same king- he had a nephew who's his king now," Arya added. "The new king's a cripple, but he was a great king. He almost had the war won when Steve was taken from his home."
Bran stirred at this. "Really?" he asked.
"Yes, and he even hosted a King and Queen from an old House and served them peasant's food," Arya added.
"Do you think he'll have time for one of the stories of his homeland before he leaves?" Bran asked. "He wrote down a story that Old Nan read to me about a mouse and a lion- I rather liked it."
"Oh, he's told me several," Arya said, leaning forward. "Would you like to hear one?" Bran nodded eagerly.
"Once there was a noble Lord, who lived alone in a forgotten castle," Arya intoned ominously. "But when a banker came to help him buy new lands, he learned that there was something terrifying about Lord Dracula..."
Entry Eight
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
Peg,
No matter what I do, I will always be a soldier. It is what I am. What I was made for. I will always be at odds against someone, something, for one reason of another. I just wished it didn’t cost so much.
I’m not talking about the financial cost, but the cost of one’s soul. Seeing things, knowing you caused them, it has an impact. When I was fighting HYDRA I did a lot of things I didn’t like, I killed enemy soldiers, blackmailed for intelligence, blew up factories, but all of it was for the greater good. It was either blow up one factory or kill a squad of soldiers to save millions of innocent people, or I didn’t and those men and woman died. But here, it is so different. It doesn’t matter if you are in favor of Lord Tywin or Lord Stark, the innocent farmer or small merchant just trying get by are caught in the middle.
I’ve been leading this army for a few months now. I’ve lost about two hundred men in that time, twenty of which I had to put down to make an example to the others. Before we set off from the North and crossed into the Riverlands, I purchased all the supplies we would need and organized a logistical train to keep us fed. Five pounds of food for every man, 20 for every horse, and had hoped that would set every man at ease. Even assigned a hundred men to manage it. Instead, as soon as we entered the Riverlands and came across a farm the men immediately set upon it and started to take whatever they could carry. I had to beat them over the heads with curses, and sometimes my fists, to make them understand that pillaging allied territory was a bad idea. By the time I was finished with the thieves, and could stop yelling, I heard the cries from the farm house. Later that evening I had to hang a dozen men for what they had done to the farmer’s wife and daughters.
I still have some men with sticky fingers, but only one of them has dared to wander of and start raping since my little demonstration. He was dealt with more harshly than I would have liked, but it was necessary to get the point across to everyone else.
I send regular reports back to Winterfell and Lord Stark, via Raven, and he has been awestruck by our accomplishments as well as the advice I’ve been sending back. Setting up supply lines isn’t unheard of in Westeros, but mostly considered to be impractical when you are trying to keep an army of 40,000 fed. I’ve explained how to set up supply routes, how to secure them, and how to keep them moving as you advance further and further away from your sources of strength. All of the looting and pillaging the locals normally do to gather food is time consuming, and not always successful. But the soldiers do have to be paid, so I agreed to a compromise. There was no looting in the Riverlands, but once we crossed into the Westerlands the men were allowed to loot whatever they carry. I made it clear that raping would still be punished. Besides, as much as I disliked the idea, sex was what the camp followers were for.
For the first few weeks, whenever we settled down to camp for the night I would put the men though a series of exercises to see who was the best of the best. I needed to know what these men were capable of. A large number of the troops are from House Glover, but there is a rough mix of various other houses here as well. But to ensure there is no struggle for power, I am the only “Lord,” so they follow my orders well. I knew there were only a few hundred decent archers in the mix, so I started teaching massed archery tactics. An auxilliry corp of crossbowmen, another hundred men, was formed as well. The rest of the army was skeptical until they saw both groups put out 15,000 arrows in less than five minutes, and imagined an enemy force being stuck under that hail. Massed archery only seems to be used here in siege warfare by the defenders. It’s interesting trying to teach these men that you can use defense as an offense. I also introduced simple things to keep illness down, such as latrines and washing hands. I have ideas for improving so many things, but I think they will have to wait until after the war is over and I can run my own hold.
By the time we reached Seagard, I knew who was the best swordsman, best archer, fastest runner and strongest men in my army. I also knew who were more clever than the rabble who were only interested in loot. I used this information to form a small group for special missions. I call them “Commandos,” but they don’t know what the word means. When I explained to them that it meant “they were the best men for the most difficult battles,” they seemed to light up at that. I got to use them soon enough.
The first major enemy force we encountered in the Riverlands was also the largest, and in the worst place. The Capital of Riverrun. Lord Tywin had sent Addam Marbrand to capture the massive fortification, and had succeeded in not just taking the castle but Edmure Tully, Lady Starks brother, as well. Marbrands force of 15,000 was strong and placed to defend the site. Our forces were camped just to the North, barely outside the notice of enemies scouts, but were outnumbered 5 to 1. Siege was out of the question. I needed another plan.
After waiting until nightfall the Commandos and I snuck into the castle, meaning I scaled the walls and then threw down a rope. Once inside it became a matter of finding all of the high-ranking officers of the Lannister host and taking them prisoner. Not an easy task, but with everyone being unaware of our arrival it was easier than it would have been. Marbrand was eventually found taunting Edmure, and after a very brief sword fight he surrendered. His household guards weren’t so lucky. The other minor Lords were soon found and taken, with the exception of Lord Andros who was executed by one of the Commandos for being caught in the act of raping a member of the castle staff. Took an arrow right though the throat. When the sun rose, we used the captured Lords as bargaining chips and forced the enemy host to surrender. I even guaranteed that no harm would come to those who threw down their weapons. With the exception of a few of Andros’s men, they all agreed. An hour later our forces arrived and started stripping the enemy of armor and weapons. Not a single drop of Northern blood was spilled.
I’m about to start righting my report to Lord Stark, who will most likely want to let Lord Tywin know via Raven what has happened and offer him an end to the war. But from what I know the man would rather watch his own lands burn before admitting defeat.
Before I forget, and interesting thing occurred today. Some of the Lannister men are believers in the Faith of the Seven, a religion in the South, and took to calling me the Warrior Made Flesh.. Something about the star on my chest…but last I checked my star had five points, not seven.
Entry Nine
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
Peggy,
A few days ago I had a little girl, Della, couldn’t be more than 7, run up and give me a crown made from some of the wildflowers that grow along the banks of the Red Fork river. If you took Arya and gave her blond hair, she could have been this girls twin. For the first time in weeks, I had a smile cross my face. We stopped near her small village for the night, just me and a few hundred men I had taken with us for a series of raids I was planning for enemy territory. I left the rest of our forces behind at Riverrun to guard the Keep and its prisoners until a relief force can arrive (Lord Stark assured me that 5,000 men under the command of Lord Umber, would arrive within a fortnight, while 20,000 men under his command would be setting out from the twins to hunt down Lord Tywins army in the southern Riverlands).
The Village was very quaint, so small if didn’t even have a name, as was mostly a meeting place for a few local farmers to gather and trade amongst themselves. But I could see its potential. If it wasn’t so close to the Westerlands, and had a charismatic leader to organize everyone, it could one day grow into a valuable hub of trade. Maybe wealthy enough to get a castle, build a standing army of guards to protect it. After a few years of fighting in Germany, this idyllic community felt like heaven.
Apparently word of our actions spread faster than our forces, but all these people cared about was that I didn’t allow pillaging or looting. Normally these people would seek shelter, gather everything they could carry and hole up somewhere to protect their lives and families from soldiers. In appreciation for not ransacking them, they threw on a small celebration. Wine was shared, bread and meat was eaten, and stories were told. The Commandos and I even used some of our battlefield skills to perform tricks (such as having an arrow ricochet off my shield to hit an apple hanging from a tree). It was a wonderful time and a nice break for our men from the constant marching.
It was after I got a few of the elders drunk that I realized that the war, Lords, Kings…none of it mattered to these people. War was the providence of men with power, while those at the lower levels of society only cared about surviving. I…I hadn’t considered that before. It seems like so long ago, but when I left America to fight in the war everyone was doing their part. Everyone, from the wealthiest businessman down to the poorest on the street knew the war needed to be fought, and did what they could. There is no since of identity here. Even people who live in a separate village but under the same Lord consider each other to be foreigners. There is no sense of Nationalism, no belief or ideology that links the people to the nation. Nothing that makes them care. People identify with families, friends, but not with their leaders.
I wanted to tell them they were wrong, that it matters that they stand with their nation, but I couldn’t. I respect the Starks, respect their honor, but I have no allegiance to the North beyond that friendship I have with House Stark. You can’t have nationalism without patriotism, but you can’t have that without having an attachment to your fellow countrymen. This reliance on Feudalism has its benefits, but also causes so many other problems that it really isn’t worth it. When I get back to Winterfell I will talk to Stark about it, and maybe we can come up with a solution.
The following morning I woke everyone at the normal time, but there were a few more groans about headaches this time. I had them all do the normal camp chores, then exercise as I had gotten them into the habit of doing, before we packed up and rolled out of the village. Before we left, I quietly paid the farmers for their hospitality, and promised to keep them out of the war by ending it as soon as possible.
We were only a few hours into our march towards the Golden Tooth when our rear scouts brought me word of the village we just visited. It was under attack by bandits. I sent the rest of the column ahead, put one of the Commandos in charge of the men while the rest of them went with me to save the farmers.
The smell of smoke was my first impression as I ran ahead of the Commandos. The next was the stink of copper and iron, of shit and blood. Of death. I heard the screams before I even cleared the woods. Wails of men cut short with steel. Cries of women that continued on for far too long.
…I…I lost myself. I always thought it was an expression, but I actually could feel my blood boiling in anger. We were just here. These people should have been safe. The war was far from here.
As I exited the woods the first thing I saw was the bodies. Men missing limbs, heads cut clear in half, bodies torn like some giant took an arm in each hand and pulled…and then I saw the women. Wives, sisters, daughters, almost all of them naked and covered in blood. But what brought me to a halt, stopped me in my tracks, was seeing Della’s small body lying in the dirt. Her dress torn from her, and left to soak in the blood seeping down her legs. Her neck so gruesomely wrenched that her chin touched her spine. Part of me was glad she was dead, no longer able to suffer what she had seen and felt.
The rest of me was lost in a rage so blinding, I don’t even remember what happened next. Next thing I knew, I had marched back into the woods towards a nearby stream, stripped off my armor and sat in the cold water. My fists were red, and someone’s blood ran all the way to my elbow. I saw more of it on my shield and armor. It wasn’t until the Commandos found me that I learned what had happened. Learned how I had beaten the Mountain, Gregor Clegane, to death with my hands.
Even they, my men and nearest friends, were afraid to come near me after what they had saw me do. But they all agreed it needed to be done. A few of them had even thrown up after seeing the carnage that man had caused, or perhaps from seeing what I did.
Peggy….Sharon….I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same after this.
Entry Ten
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
Sharon,
Things have gotten more interesting the last few weeks.
Lord Stark has taken the advice I, and his advisors, have given him and moved to declare the North independent from the rest of the realm. What was once a war simply to stay alive, has become a movement to end the constant conflicts the North has been dragged into over the years because of things that have happened in the South. Personally, I pushed him towards this course of action because of two things. It sets a clear goal for our military forces, and it will eventually provide me with the opportunity to influence the governance of the new Kingdom. I have no doubt that Eddard, and later his son Rob, will be wonderful and benevolent Kings, but what about those that come after? Hopefully I can get some traction on things and help build a nation that will be worth fighting for. There is a matter of its climate, and lack of people, but I will work on that.
In fact, one bit of good news is that shortly after the Declaration was sent out, Lord Hoster Tully declared the Riverlands as formally aligned with the North’s goal. Eddard Stark is now King in the North and Trident. I’m happy for him, but I’m more concerned about the people who live in the not-easily-defended Riverlands and how the other powers have responded to this.
Some would it call this an act of God, due to the timing, but I think of it as just coincidence. A bright red comet currently lights the sky, easily seen during the day and the night. I suspect it’s this worlds version of Halley’s Comet, and it’s a truly beautiful sight, but to me that is all it is. Nature at work. Although a few of the more superstitious men under my command have called the comet “Red Sword” because of its shape and color, others call it the “Red Messenger” as it is supposed to herald blood and fire, or herald a new age. Frankly, there is already so much of both that I don’t see how a comet can bring more. Then there are those who call it “Rogers Star” or “Star of the Mountainslayer” since during the day the sky resembles my armor (red comet, blue sky, white clouds).
If shooting stars really do grant wishes, I would ask this one to have people stop calling me “Mountainslayer.” I didn’t ask for the name, and I don’t want it. Its constant reminder of the one time I lost control, of my mind and body, and not something I wish to repeat.
The war in the Riverlands is going well from all reports. Robbs forces managed to rout Lord Twins just outside High Heart. Apparently they made good time to Harrenhal, crossed at the Twins and took the Kingsroad south as far as needed, and House Whent allowed them use of the castle to stage their campaign. Tywin wasn’t captured, he escaped with about half of his forces, but a large number of his forces were captured or killed. Robbs troops, plus those stationed at Riverrun, are in pursuit. Either they will capture him, or they will force him all the way back to the Golden Tooth...and me. The Commandos and I performed another night-time raid on this castle and captured all of the Lords and Officers during the middle of dinner. There was only a token force of 3,000 soldiers stationed here, almost all of them were raw recruits who were pulled off of farms and had weapons shoved in their hands, and they surrendered as soon as they realized we wouldn’t kill them.
I can’t say I approved of the looting, and 300 men can make a large mess very quickly, but it seemed to make everyone a little happier. I know that they hated passing all of those villages and towns and not being allowed to loot them, but they followed orders. So I kept my promise. Everything in this castle was theirs, except for any gold coin as that would be sent straight back to Winterfell. And my lessons about how to treat people seem to be sinking in as I didn’t even have to remind anyone not to run off with the first woman they saw.
Elsewhere, things are getting more serious. Renly Baratheon and his combined Stormlands/Reach army is moving North towards King’s Landing, and apparently Stannis and Renly have made some kind of pact, producing an army well over 100,000 strong on land in addition to a large naval force. Stannis is apparently spreading word that King Joffery is in fact the offspring of Cersei and Jaime Lannister’s incest, along with the other children, and as such are not heir to the crown. As the older brother, Stannis is rightfully King of the remaining 6 Kingdoms. The price of this alliance seems to be that Stannis shall be King, Renly will be Hand, and regardless of any children Stannis may have Renly shall be named the heir. Word from Lord Stark was that be believed the allegations, and that in hindsight they match his own feelings.
I don’t know what this means for our cause. The Lannisters are being ripped apart by the Starks, and King’s Landing will soon be under siege. But what happens after? The Riverlands are basically secured now, though with few natural boarders it will be a pain to secure. I might have some ideas for that, but I will need to discuss them with Lords Stark and Tully.
There have been some rumors that a mercenary company called the Brave Companions, or Bloody Mummers depending on who you ask, who were working for the Lannisters has stopped their razing or the Riverlands and went into hiding. Some even say they are trying to switch sides. And they aren’t the only ones. Several other smaller Merc Companies that Tywin Lannister employed have already started seeking work from the Stormlands or Reach to kill the men they once defended. In my own time we would have had such groups labeled as criminals and hung for the things they did to civilians, but here they are paid to keep up the work. If I come across any, the only payment they will find is in the form of a blade in the neck.
Further west, there is word of warships gathering under a Kraken’s banner, but no word on where the Lord of the Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy, is thinking of sending them. There is no love between Greyjoy and the other nations, so its anyone’s guess. I would much rather finish this fight in the Westerlands and return to my home in the North, but Duty and Honor force me to fight should it be needed.
I’m going to leave the majority of my forces here and leave for Sarsfield in the morning with some of the Commandos. I’ll make their Lord a pleasant offer, letting them know that if they surrender we won’t ransack their lands. Once we control those lands, combined with the Golden Tooth, we will be able to command the majority of the Westerlands. No one will be able to get in or out without us knowing.
The Lannisters started this conflict, but I’m going to finish it.
Between Entry Ten and Eleven
Date: 298 After Landing, Autumn
TYWIN
Tywin Lannister scowled slightly as he looked out from a window in the Tower of the Hand and down upon the bridge that ran out and connected the Red Keep to the rest of King’s Landing. The piles of supplies, large stacks of both food and weapons, were being crawled over by an ant-like army of Lannister men and the spaces between them were thick with siege materials; logs, brush, boulders, and the several stacks of clay pots guarded closely by pryomancers and Goldcloaks as they were carefully maneuvered into the castle courtyard to later be disseminated among catapults. The sea water was foaming high under the ant’s feet, with spray launching high enough to strike their faces. The roaring power of the ocean making the shouts and yells of men seem like the buzzing of distant insect.
One of the few practical things the citizens of the city were doing was moving carts and other would-be obstacles off the main roads in and around the Kingdom’s capital. Otherwise the number and nature of their assorted idiocies had astonished even a former and current Hand of the King who’d given up everything for a family who hated him and a nation who feared him; they’d disregarded how much in the way of useful metals for arms, armor and barricades those carts had in them, as well as the cargoes inside.
But not the food, he thought. Even those whom the Gods punish with half a brain aren’t that stupid.
King Joffery, his grandson, stepped next to him and peered down at the city and then smugly up at him, “Why are you watching these simpletons? You are supposed to be helping save this city.”
Tywin didn’t move to look at the impudent child’s face, instead merely replying, “I’m thinking, Your Grace. Trying to figure out a way for you to keep your throne while also saving the city.”
“Who cares about the city? I’m their King and they should be doing everything they can to protect me,” he replied, looking as if he’d like to stamp his foot by was only a little too well-mannered. Too well trained.
And who will be left to protect you if you don’t protect them, he thought, beneath his chuckle.
He remembered the look in the eyes King Aerys, the Mad King, would get when panicked or scared. The cold fear painted across his face like an artist had spent a lifetime perfecting it, and he could see the same look on his grandson now. Perhaps it was his imagination, but perhaps it wasn’t. Only the Gods knew.
Tyrion, his youngest son and great disappointment, sitting at the great oak table occupying the room with a letter between his small, thick hands, spoke up, “While you may not care about their lives, I guarantee they care about their own just a little bit more than yours. And Father and I are doing everything we can to keep you safe.”
The Dwarf tosses the scroll he was reading on the table and continued, “Our forces have stalled Renly’s south of Bitterbridge by knocking down bridges and setting fire to various forests, but that will only buy us a few more days at most. Renly will have to go miles out of his way to cross the Mander river closer to Tumbleton, but he is still heading this way. And from all the reports, Stannis and his fleet are prepared to launch at any time. He could be here in two days, and we would only know he is attacking us once he sails into the Blackwater.
“Let him come!” Joffery declared, turning on his uncle and raising a fist in mock victory. “Our fleets will smash him against the rocks and see him drowned!”
“Our fleets will set sail for Essos and never look back.” Tywin declared, his eyes still firmly locked on the activities below. “As anyone who is outnumber a hundred to one would do in their right mind.”
The Hand of the King finally turned away from the window and shot his grandson a cold look, “Renly can be dissuaded, but this is Stannis Baratheon. The man will fight to the end and then some.”
“Our attempts to dissuade Renly aside,” Tyrion began, “We haven’t been able to get anyone close to him.”
“I have a few things in motion that may help us with the Renly problem.” Tywin declared, while moving to sit down at the table, “I will give you all the details later.”
Cersi, his daughter and Queen Regent, sat at her father’s right hand with a glass of wine in right hand. She took a sip and asked, “And what if we would like to know the details now?”
He shot her a look that he knew would get his point across; don’t say another word, and then looked down at the papers in front of him. I’ll deal with my foolish child’s drinking problem later, he thought.
The Hand said, “The Baratheons aren’t the problem. The problem is the North’s crusade that is going devastatingly well.”
Tyrion, for all his many faults did have a keen mind and he knew exactly what his father was speaking of. “The latest from home is that Ser Rogers has captured Sarsfield, which opens the Westerland to attack in nearly every direction and form. All with, if it’s to be believed, a few thousand men. Meanwhile, Robb Stark and his growing army have pushed the last of our armies from the Riverlands. We’ve been knocked on our ass, separated from our strength, and left to wonder what can we do next.”
Joffery exclaimed, “What are you talking about? The Capital is here, and its safe.”
With a scholarly voice that surprised even him, his son explained, “We may be safe here, but the crown is bankrupt. It can’t pay for its armies, so your family has been. But if the gold from Lannisport and Casterly Rock stops coming, which it soon will, you may as well surrender to Stannis now.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot, Dwarf!”
Tywin announced, “He’s right. Without gold, our men won’t fight. Rogers is more intelligent than your average man. He doesn’t plunder the lands or burn farms and fields, he even treats the captured like they were his own men, with no torture or threat of death. He tells them openly, that they will be released when the war is over. And he means it. Without a threat to their life or wealth, the only way to motivate an army is with greed. And all Rogers has to do is block the Gold Road to end that.”
“Or capture Casterly Rock. And with his impressive record, I actually think he could do it.” Tyrion cool added.
“Impossible. Castlery Rock has never fallen.” Cersei argued, her face slightly flushed from the wine.
“There is a first time for everything. Golden Tooth and Sarsfield had never fallen before either, but he did it with just a few hundred men.” Tywin retorted.
Travel and trade and reviled a bit of what happened at Riverrun and the other castles, painting a picture of madness that could only be true. He also strongly suspected that the North was slipping bits of information out on purpose to distract everyone. A very recent rumor had been the death of the Mountain, beaten to death with bare hands by Rogers. Lies wasn’t the sort of thing Tywin expected out of the North, but he had to admit the story was interesting. It also made sending men into the Riverlands harder as they grew to fear the rumors were true.
“I had the opportunity to talk with Rogers when Robert took us to Winterfell.” Tyrion started. Tywin could see the look of disgust mixed with anger cross his inebriated daughters face. “Rogers isn’t from the North originally, but he does have the Stark compulsion for honestly and honor. He won’t stop until the war is over. And if we wait much longer, he will drag us all down.”
Joffery asked, “Why don’t we just kill him? Send out word that whoever brings me Rogers head on his shield will receive a lordship and fifty thousand gold dragons.”
Tywin answered, “I already have. No one can get close to him. Those who do, don’t live. His own reputation as the Warrior-made-flesh seems to scare away most.”
“He isn’t the Warrior come, he is just a man. I asked him once about the star and he said it held a special meaning in his homeland.” Tyrion absently replied.
Cersei spoke up, “And I’m sure he just loved having you follow him around asking questions.”
Tyrion smirked as his sister, “I’m sure I learned more about this man during the hour we spoke than you did about Robert in your entire marriage.”
Before his children could start an argument, Tywin declared, “Enough! Bicker on your own time!”
Once everyone was quiet he continued, “I think we should give the North what they want. Let them win.” Everyone looked at him as if they had just turned the corner and found the Great Septon raping a horse in the middle of a busy street. “We sue for peace, let the Northerners have the freedom they want, and focus our energy on the Baratheons. Then once the threat is over we deal with the North very simply. As the Starks are fond of saying, Winter is coming. Let’s see how much they enjoy their freedom when they need food from the South and we refuse to sell it to them.”
There was a rap at the door, and a Kings Guard entered to apologize for the intrusion. Behind him came a boy, no more than six or seven, struggling to drag a box bigger than he with a letter atop it. The boy kneeled to Joffery, and with head bowed he said, “I was asked to deliver this by a man near the docks.”
After dismissing the boy everyone gathered around the box and waited for the Guard to pry it open. It was at least eight feet long, half that wide and tall, and opened quickly as a knife pried the nails from wood. Joffery and Cersei took a step back as they saw the contents, Tyrion leaned closer, and Tywin just stood their quietly fuming. Inside was a suit of armor, larger than any man could wear, with cleaned white bones laying inside them. A yellow cloak was folded atop the warriors chest, with three black dogs emblazoned on it.
But what was most worrying was the state the armor was in. Tywin has seen plenty of battlefield wounds, but he had never seen armor so thick so badly damaged. It looked like it had been beaten with a Warhammer, over and over again, but the impacts took the distinct form of a fist. After studying the sight for a moment he opened the letter and read it to himself, before handing the paper to his son.
After a long moment, Tyrion quietly asked, “Why do you think they kept the helmet and skull? Trophy?”
Tywin sighed, “A warning.”
Entry Eleven
Date: 298 After Landing, Winter
Victory. At least for a time.
A few days ago Joffery Baratheon, King of Westeros, officially declared the North a free and independent Kingdom and recognized Eddard Stark as King in the North. The Riverlands, as allies of the North, are also henceforth freed from any obligations to the crown they may have so long as they are aligned with the North. He also cleared King Starks name, claiming him to be innocent of the crime of Regicide.
The announcement came just a few days after King Stark and Lord Tywin spoke via raven, laying down some terms and conditions for peace. A large reason for the talks were the Commandos and I, who had cleared a path of destruction all the way to Casterly Rock and Lannisport. Rather than attempt to capture the Rock, I collapsed the gold mines that is sat atop of, and then set fire to the castle. At the same time, my forces assaulted Lannisport and set fire to the docks…which inadvertently set fire to the rest of the city. Even from the Rock I could see the thick clouds of black smoke reaching for the sky like a million fingers reaching for help.
I wish it hadn’t come to that.
Aside from my assault on Tywins home, the forces of Renly and Stannis are marching on Kingslanding and reports of Balon Greyjoy probeing Lannister waters have reached me. To have any hope of saving his family and their crown, Tywin needed some breathing room. As part of the treaty, the Westerlands lose the caste and lands associated with the Golden Tooth, which helps secure the Riverlands western border and frees up the forces protecting Pinkmaiden and Acorn Hall to move south towards the Stony Sept and secure the south. As part of the trade, the Gold Road that links Kings Landing with the Westerlands (and passes through both the Riverlands and the Reach) and all the lands to the south of it were lost. In addition, the custom of taking hostages has continued as King Stark demanded Prince Tommen be sent North for “protection.”
During all of this, the Vale has been mysteriously quiet. I know that Lady…Queen Catelyn’s sister rules over the mountainous region as regent since her son is still too young, and many Vale-men have joined the Stark or Tulley armies, but that is it. No ravens fly between the North and the Vale, which makes me wonder if there are family problems.
But I suppose those are just that, family problems. My part in the war is over, and I’m left wondering what to do now. I could travel, and get into a fight everywhere I go that isn’t the North. I suppose setting sail for the lands across the Narrow Sea is a possibility, but there isn’t anything for me there. King Stark...I still think of Howard every time I say that name even though they have nothing in common…is offering me lands to pick from, but which should be mine?
Golden Tooth – I captured it, but my men also pillaged it. Not sure the people will be accepting of a leader who played an active hand in stealing their livelihoods.
Moat Cailin – While in disrepair, the castle sits on a strategic bottleneck. Even a token force of defenders here can protect the entire North from invasion. The swamp lands around it however will not support many people until I build a canal or dam.
Karhold – The far east of the North, with lots of resources, but I would have to marry Alys Karstark. Knowing that the girl is only 15, makes the choice less difficult.
Harrenhal – The largest castle in Westeros, and also a place where few people seem to go since War of Conquest. The Lady of Harrenhal, Shella Whent, is said to be using only little of its space, so I could even share the lands with her.
Sea Dragon Point – Defenseless, but also ripe with vast natural resources. The community is mostly fisherman, and should welcome someone who isn’t afraid of hard work. The only problem I really forsee it the Iron Islands and their fleet. I have a theory that the reason the western coast of the North is so poor is because there is no one to trade with. It takes less time to move your goods overland to a dock on the east coast. Also, I wouldn’t be stepping on anyone’s toes.
With the war winding down, I know my presence will only continue to annoy those who were born into the lands and titles. Someone who comes from a land unheard of, with my abilities, rising so quickly in favor with their King, is going to anger a lot of people.
I was just looking at a detailed map of the river lands, and a name jumped out at me. Cape of Eagles. Providence perhaps? It is under the protection of House Mallister and nearby Seagard, but from what I can tell the area is actually left to its own devices. Forced to fend for themselves against a Viking-like menace nearby. Maybe I can help them.
Entry Twelve
Date: 298 After Landing, Winter
Peg,
It’s funny. Before I arrived here, before I was given the Super-soldier serum, before I the war in Europe began all I wanted to do was help others. Looking back, I see how hopeless I once was. How could I help others when I couldn’t even help myself? Now I have this gift, I’m in a land where the people fight with swords and sings songs of the “Mountainbreaker” or the “Warrior-made-flesh”, and instead of sitting back and trying to find a small corner of the world to settle down and relax in all I can do is continue helping others. I continue to fight for those who can’t defend themselves…
I guess I will always be fighting.
Well, it’s been a few weeks since my last journal update, so I guess I should catch you up.
It’s going to be easy to maintain peace with the Lannisters. At least for the foreseeable future. Tywin and his army reached Kings Landing just before the combined Baratheon/Tyrell alliance arrived and began their assault on the Capital. From the reports I’ve read the conflict turned into a large mess after something called “wildfire,” a volatile liquid that can burn for a long time on any surface, was launched from catapults towards Stannis Baratheon’s fleet as well as Renly’s ground forces. From all accounts Renly was killed by one of the wildfire explosions, and Stannis was forced to salvage what remained of his fleet. But it wasn’t a total loss as nearly a quarter of Tywins men were killed when some of the wildfire pots broke and caused a massive fire in the city. Maybe a fifth of the city’s population is either dead or homeless. As it is, the assault has settled into a long siege.
I tried to advise King Stark to offer an olive branch to King Stannis, offering him assistance in exchange for accepting the North as a free and independent realm, but Stannis only replied that we were trying to rip the Kingdom in half and that after he dealt with the Lannisters he would turn his attention to the North. I don’t like threats, but apparently neither does King Stark. After we got that threat we spent days discussing ways to fend off an attack from the South, and eventually decided we needed to permanently man Moat Cailin. A garrison of just fifty archers would be enough to hold off thousands and buy time for nearby reinforcements to arrive. Especially as we establish a series of signal towers. But we still need to secure the Riverlands and keep any such attack from getting so far. I have some ideas, but it will take some time to set in place. Luckily the siege in Kings Landing will buy us plenty of time, but as the Starks are fond of saying, “Winter is Coming.”
So, in order to help secure the Riverlands I have been working closely with the builders here in Riverrun to design and build a medieval version of the PT-boat. 130 feet long, 20 feet wide, and drafts only 8 ft, it can carry 43 men, including the rowers, up and down the Redfork and Blackwater rivers, as well as the God’s Eye river. I had to prove to the shipbuilders that a boat covered in steel could float if it was designed properly, mostly through trial and error since I’m not a shipbuilder, but once the first one was in the water they believed me. Had to drag what I could remember of buoyancy and displacement from High School from the back of my mind, but it was there. Think I may have caused a few of the shipwrights to have a panic attack, but they grasped the idea with two hands and refuse to let go. Anyway, the boat is like a sea-based version of a tank, with a layer of steel protecting the archers on the inside while they load and fire upon enemy forces.
My PT-boats also carry a modified version of the crossbow that launches heavy darts up to a mile away. Using modern mechanical advantage I was able to improve the design so it only takes a minute to load and arm the weapon. I had it placed at the front of the boat like it was a 20mm gun, attached a swivel and steel guards to protect the shooter. I’m calling them “ballista” for lack of a better name.
Speaking of crossbows, I worked with an armory in Riverrun to make a more efficient crossbow, with push-lever and ratchet drawing mechanisms to speed load time and draw strength, but after thinking about it I decided to only make enough for me and the Commandos. As much as I would love to arm every man in the North and Riverlands with such a weapon, I’m afraid of it falling in the hands of the enemy. When I finally get a chance to settle down, I’ll make sure to make passing out these weapons to the people a priority.
Anyway, we are going to build fifty of these PT boats and set them to patrol the Riverlands waterways. They will make excellent area-denial weapons, and force any would-be invaders to swing north. That leaves only two ways to assault the interior of the Riverlands, and both of them require assaulting a castle. From the west, Golden Tooth. From the East, Harrenhal. With Golden Tooth soon to be fully garrisoned, that just leaves the monster of Harrenhal…which is a problem. The castle far, far too big to garrison effectively, and too expensive to maintain. But I do have an idea.
The God’s Eye, a massive lake the castle sits next to, has an island in the center called the “Isle of Faces.” I’ve been told that the weirwoods at its center can’t be touched, or the immediate ring of trees around them, but there should still be enough wood on the island as well as nearby to build a suitable military fort here. It could be used to supply ammunition to the fleet of PT boats, as well as Harrenhal. We could then attach several ballista to each of the castles massive towers, as well as along the edge of the walls. With this, Harrenhal doesn’t need a massive garrison, just a few hundred to man the ballista and keep the gates closed.
But all of this requires a standing army. Even if only a few thousand in total, we are talking about a standing, well-trained, professional military force. I can train these men, but rather than drawing from the existing system of Knights and Infantry I would prefer to take common men between the ages of 16 and 20, so I don’t have to overwrite what they already learned. 3 Gold Dragons a year should be enough pay, but that leaves us with the question of how to pay them.
One option would be Lord Wyman of House Manderly whom controls White Harbor, the North’s only true city and major port. He has offered to build new mints to produce coinage for the new Kingdom of the North. I think this will work long-term, but we need this army now. I will have to talk to King Stark about this more, but in the meantime we need to start raising a force. The first ten PT’s will be ready for use in a few months, so that is how long I have to turn them into soldiers.
What do you think Peg? Good ideas?
Entry Thirteen
Date: 298 After Landing, Winter
Dearest Peggy,
And now I am a warrior, noble and inventor. Behold the miracle of concrete.
On the way to Harrenhal, near High Heart, there is this area full of limestone. I mean, long sheets of the stuff. There are a few farms nearby that use a little of it for building stuff, but otherwise it is untouched. And this got me to thinking about concrete. One of the problems I’m running into is the manpower needed to haul stone from place to place just to rebuild Moat Cailin or some other fort. But concrete, mostly powder that can be hauled where needed and formed into stone, that could solve a lot of issues. So we stopped there for a few days, I ground some limestone down into a fine powder, mixed it with crush rock and then added water. Of course it didn’t work, but after a few more attempts I figured out what was missing. I wrote down instructions to search for certain rocks I’m going to need, as well as sources of volcanic ash, and had a raven sent out. I’m also going to need to build a kiln to turn the lime into burnt lime. Hopefully, we can get find a place where all of these things are close to one another and a quarry can be constructed. In the long run, it will allow us to build much more quickly.
Also, it has come to my attention that I have been using the wrong name. I am supposed to call him King Eddard, not King Stark. But why? I addressed him at Lord Stark before, so why not King Stark now?
Anyway, with permission from Lady Shella Whent, my Commandos and I have taken control of Harrenhal and begun upgrading the structure as well as building a small harbor on Isle of Faces. At the same time, I got permission to raise a volunteer army for my PT fleet. But King Eddard and Lord Tully argued that some noble-born officers need to lead each vessel, which I don’t agree with. We eventually compromised, and agreed to a quarter of the boats having a noble-blood officer. I don’t like it, but as commander of this force I will determine who is raised to what post. Hopefully they can accept having a low-born giving them orders, and if not they can leave.
We have three of the ballistas atop the first tower, “Tower of Dread.” One of my Commandos, Watt, a hell of an archer out of Barrowton with an amazing eye, has the task of setting the sights for each of them. He put a five pound dart though a pig near the tree-line a mile away from the castle, which was very impressive. The dart destroyed much of the animal, but he ate what was left.
One surprise I have enjoyed was the large bathhouse. It’s a low-ceiling room filled with several massive stone tubs, each large enough to hold six or seven men comfortably. I expected the water to be cold, but was delighted to find it warm, apparently fed by a hot spring. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed a good bath until then, having been running from one fight to the next for months, so I didn’t hesitate to make use of them that night. I need to remember to produce soap at some point.
Lady Whent has been most hospitable with us. She was barely using a tenth of the castle, and so was fine with us sharing the place with her. I think he was just glad to see it full of people for a change. While her and most of the staff has been shuffled off to the Kingspyre Tower, there is a bit of an overlap with some rooms. The bathhouse is one, but another would be the kitchens, which are large as Winterfells Hall. Her cooks and ours work side by side, so I offered to share our food-stuffs with Lady Whent which she happily agreed to.
I feel rather sorry for the Lady, being barely more than thirty and already widowed with no heirs. And with the reputation of this castle, there isn’t exactly a line of suitors to save her.
Well, Watt is wanting to test the range of the ballista from the tower top so I should go and help set things up. Until next time…
Entry Fourteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Spring
Peg, sometimes I really hate being right.
First, the good news. The training over the winter went well. I put about 4500 men though what would have been boot camp where I went through, and except for a few would-be nobles who thought they didn’t have to listen to a “foreign dog” everything was fine. Those few who couldn’t cut it were sent home, and a raven was sent to their homes explaining how their sons (true born or bastard) were too weak. I imagine they will have some interesting talks about that.
Ramsey Snow, Lord Bolton’s bastard and only living son, took to everything better than all the other noble-born children, and actually seemed to be enjoying the torturous drills I put everyone though. Something about him seems…wrong, but he has certainly earned one his rank. I guess I should also mention that I have enacted a modified version of the armies ranking system. For now, Captain is the highest rank, and Snow has worked his way up to Second Lt and command of one of the archery boats.
Speaking of the boats, we – mostly the Tulleys – have started calling them Trouts after their House Sigil. I still call them PB’s (Patrol Boats), but unofficial names are fine.
I think the reason training has gone so well is because of my Commandos. They already knew the training, the schedule, because they had gone though it once before. So I was able to delegate some of the work to them and focus on improving defenses around Harrenhal as well as building up the river fleet. As well as a few other things.
Prince Robb visited here for a few days a little over a week ago, and he and I talked. It was actually enjoyable, and his Direwolf “Grey Wind” is a beautiful animal. For someone so young, he has a good grasp on leadership and seems open to ideas. Mentally flexible. We spoke of Nationality, and how it relates to the people. There is already a form of Nationality in the North, a sense of Us vs Them along ethnic lines. While one group, say a mountain clan, may think of themselves as one autonomous group, they still recognize that they are from and of the North. The language, culture, religion and customs of the North unite those people, but a dynastic hegemony that draws its power to rule from the top down only serves to divide the people they rule. Such disunity ultimately makes the nation or state weaker. A sense of nation self-determination is wonderful, but needs to be the will of the people more than the will of the one. I had similar talks with King Eddard in Winterfell, and I drew the parallels about what he and Robert Baratheon did to those of the Founding Fathers of my America. Only instead of taking the opportunity to build a better government, they simply traded one weak King for another.
Maybe it’s was because they didn’t have several centuries of great thinkers to draw inspiration from. But that is an odd development in itself. As far as I can tell Westeros (maybe the whole world) has had several thousand years of the same technological and social stagnation. Where is the innovation? Where are the ancient scholars that modern great thinkers can draw inspiration from? Where is their Roman Republic? Their John Locke? I laid out the ideas of “Life, Liberty, and Property” to Robb who actually seemed to grasp the idea. And at my suggestion, I helped the Starks and Tulleys form a combined national banner or flag for all Houses to fly. A Dark Grey Direwolf on a field of snow-grey with red and blue strips, a combination of Stark and Tully colors. Each House can fly their own sigil, but this one must fly highest.
Hopefully, by the time I leave this world I will have helped build a government that protects its citizens instead of a bunch of Houses that get rich off the sweat of the poor.
I may, especially after what happened a few days ago, find myself living at Harrenhal for a long time.
The bad news is that King’s Landing has fallen to King Stannis Baratheon. From the reports we are getting, Tywin Lannister is either dead or a captive. As is his daughter and Queen, Cersei. What I know for sure is that Jaime and Tyrion Lannister both made it out of the city, but Joffery and Tommen Baratheon – or Lannister if you believe the incest rumors – were both killed. Oddly enough there is no word on Myrcella, but I heard whispers of her being sent off somewhere by ship some time ago.
So it looks like the Westerlands have been dealt with, they will be rebuilding for years, and now the North will have another war to face. We already received “orders” from Stannis to bring “Lord Eddard Stark” to King’s Landing so he can swear fealty. He even agreed to let Eddard keep his rank and titles as he was rebelling against an false King. But now the “One True King” wants what he thinks is his. Stark has already spoken with the other rulers of the north, and they all seem adamant about keeping what is theirs. “It was the dragons we knelt to, and the dragons are dead.” I’m thinking of sending some pictures to each of the Lords of the North and Riverlands, the “Join, or Die” image from my homelands own war for independence seems appropriate.
Funny, I was just asked a few hours ago why I wear red, white and blue. I explained that they were the colors of my homeland, where I was born and what I fought for, and then noticed how the Kingdom of the North flag shares those colors as well. I wonder if I planned that, or it was a happy accident?
Anyway, the first ten PB’s have been constructed, their weapons loaded, and their crews trained. The base we are building at Isle of Faces is nearly complete (the weirwoods is a little unnerving) but the harbor of Harrenhal is ready. I am putting Ramsey Snow in charge of the eastern river fleet, and Benfrey Frey in command of the southern river fleet. I am also constructing a series of manned signal stations along the river, should only take another week to finish them since we started two weeks ago. All of my men know how to use the signal codes by blinking light of a small mirror, and in the case there isn’t time to send a message a fire can be lit on top that will be the “oh crap, come quick” signal flare. When the fighting starts, my men will be ready.
One more thing, we have a new guest here who arrived with Prince Robb but stayed behind when he left. Dacey Mormont. She is an odd woman, but that isn’t a bad thing…
Anyway, until next time. Steve.
Entry Fifteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Spring
Well that certainly didn’t take long.
First, the good news is that the fleet of PB’s and signal towers worked like a charm. Less than a week after Stannis sent out the ultimatum for fealty a force of 7,000 under the command of Lord Footly of Tumbleton tried to cross the God’s Eye river. They tried three times to force a crossing, but each time the constant assault of archers caused the enemy force to turn back. Signal towers sent word back up the river, and additional boats converged on the enemy to deny them access.
Unable to force a crossing, as planned they had little choice but to attempt taking Harrenhal.
Footly wasn’t as foolish as I would have hoped however. Instead, he took his army and camped just to the northeast and sent heralds to the castle to negotiate our surrender. About half of our forces had been either deployed to the PB’s or to Riverrun to collect the next group of boats. Leaving a little over 2,000 defenders. Unfortunately, after a few hours of me saying, “No, I will not yield,” Lord Footly decided to attack. He had apparently spent the time building siege catapults, which he aimed at the main gates. The walls are thick, so this made a lot of sense. He could fire on the massive walls for a year and not get anywhere, but the door is a different matter. Our own weapons took out their catapults, even set them on fire, but not before the doors had been broken.
Once the doors were down Footly sent the bulk of his men running in into our courtyard, while a smaller reserve force headed around the castle to attack the harbor behind. Once inside the gates Footly led the charge, but he wasn’t counting on the discipline of my people. Arrows rained down with enfilading fire on either side of the gate like a relentless, deadly hail storm. While my infantry used what I could remember of Roman military tactics and used oversized shields to build a living wall for the attackers to break themselves on. Meanwhile a squad led by Dacey Mormont and Watt headed off the reserve force.
I expected the fighting in our courtyard to come to a full stop when I calmly threw my shield at Footly and hit him in the arm and leg, disarming him and causing him to drop to the ground. But instead his men ignored his cries and continued to throw themselves at the unyielding wall. Maybe it was because we did little to fight back? They didn’t see us pushing them back, didn’t see the endless arrows punching through leather and mail at point-blank, didn’t see the ballista ripping through them ten at a time. They only saw their friends and allies running forward and followed them in. It was senseless.
More than half their number were dead before they realized there was no point in continuing, and by then it was too late as Dacey and Watt had made quick work of the reserve force and came back around to the main gate. Their way out was gone, they were falling by the dozens each second, and I offered them a chance to surrender. They quickly accepted. Of the 7,000 that marched on us, we took 3,192 alive. Our losses were limited to a half dozen, one of which was friendly fire. I had to remind people to carry the injured enemy forces back to the medical stations rather than just kill them, and once they understood I wasn’t outright killing them the enemy stopped fighting back. Good thing I had been stockpiling medical supplies. Reminds me I need to set up a still and make rubbing alcohol. The closest we might come could be moonshine, but it would still be better than boiled wine.
After consulting with King Eddard, he agreed to my idea how to handle so many prisoners. First Lord Footly would be taken as a hostage and treated well, as he may be useful later. Highborns and knights would be given the offer of execution or be sent to the Wall, they could use the extra couple hundred men. All other prisoners would be relocated to the North as Prisoners of War, settled on a plot of land and given tools needed to work for their food. The idea is to boost the North’s numbers, as well as show Stannis that we are both more honorable and civilized then he and his Kingdom. Our prisoners will not be tortured, and after the war is over they may be returned if they so wish.
Anyway, the attack proved the effectiveness of my PBs and the army I raised, so King Eddard is giving me full authority over the Armies of the North and a yearly budget to train more soldiers and build better weapons. Frankly, I think if I just doubled the size of this army we won’t have to worry about anything from the South. A paid, volunteer army is a new idea here, but the benefits have already proven to be worth it.
Now, if only the Vale and Lady Lysa would make their allegiance clear. While not part of the North, they aren’t part of the South either.
Entry Sixteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Summer
Funny how quickly the tides turn. One minute I’m worry about how I’m going to double the size of my army, train it, and have it ready for battle in the span of few months, and the next I’m standing in my solar reading a letter that may change everything.
Just a few days after turning Lord Footly and the other captives of the Battle of Harrenhal over to King Eddards men for transport North, a raven arrived from my men at the Golden Tooth. Turns out Tyrion and Jaime Lannister managed to find a way back to Casterly Rock. I guess when you have a family known for its wealth, it isn’t difficult to find allies to sneak you across enemy lands unseen. But what I read next surprised me more.
Balon Greyjoy launched a seaborn invasion of the Westerands. His ships have been seen assaulting the settlements of Banefort, The Crag and Faircastle. From what I can gather the occasionally pillaging from the Iron Islands is usually expected, though hasn’t happened for many decades, but this time they seem to be taking the lands rather than retreating back out to sea. A few days later I learned why. Greyjoy has named himself “King Balon,” and declared his own independence from the Kingdom. He also has nearly a thousand ships to back up his claim.
Now, here is where things have gotten interesting. King Eddard has received two separate ravens, one from Tyrion Lannister, and the other from King Stannis, both seeking aid in their own way. Tyrion has promised that in exchange for aiding the Westerlands, the Lannisters would not only be in debt to the North, but would also join the Kingdom of the North if we so wished. I admit, the idea is appealing since it would vastly increase the North’s gold supply and manpower. At the same time, King Stannis has offered to “forgive the North’s treason” and “make peace” with us if we stayed out of the conflict altogether. Apparently Stannis wants Balon to lay waste to the Westerlands before he has his own fleet swing around the continent and put down Balon. I rather doubt that the peace he offers would be permanent, more of a respite, but it is one the North needs as well. People in the eastern Riverlands need to rebuild their lands, and some of the changes I have been pushing would work best in a time of peace.
Then again, some of the news coming out of King’s Landing makes me wonder if peace will ever be possible. Stannis’s Red Woman, a Priestess of R’hllor, has apparently moved into the Great Sept of Baelor and turned it into a Temple to the Lord of Light. Word has been spreading that she is forcing conversions on the people of the city, and burning those who refuse. The High Septon of the Faith of the Seven is said to have been the first to be burned alive, on a pyre made of religious relics. Luckily, with the North’s King and Queen being of two separate faiths, separation of church and state is already in place here. But I can’t help but fear what will happen when the Red Priests moves this way.
One bit of good news, the Nights Watch seemed happy to work with King Eddard. Before Jeor Mormont and a few hundred men went North on a ranging mission, he agreed to host our captives. In exchange for playing caretaker to these men, the captives will be made to work alongside the men of the Night’s Watch. They wouldn’t be allowed to hold a weapon, except when there is an emergency, but they can cut wood, cook, aid in construction and work in other non-combat roles. Those who don’t work, don’t eat. There would be some encouragement to join the Watch as well, but no coercion. He also agreed to let us place the low-born prisoners, forced into combat by their Lords, on the Gift, and in exchange any excess food they grow will be given to the Watch. Northmen would patrol these fields. The final condition was that, as always, the Watch would not take part in the wars of men. “We defend the Wall. Not Kings.”
One final item the Watch agreed on, at my insistence, was that “Wildling” families would be allowed to cross South. It made no sense to me that someone would be denied safety based on where they were born. They could either be settled in the New Gift, or at Sea Dragon Point. They would have to agree to living under the rule of King Eddard and the Stark family, and follow the laws, but otherwise they would be safe. This should cut down on pointless conflicts and death. “Shield that guards the realms of men.” To me it sounds like the Watch should be saving lives, not ending them.
The last of the Patrol Boats was launched today. PB-50, or Trout-50 if you are from Riverrun. It was a proud day for me, and to celebrate us securing the Riverlands waterways I paid for a feast and a day of rest for our soldiers. I took the opportunity to introduce baseball, and surprisingly it caught on with a few people. It was good to see a lot of smiling faces, and for at least a single day since I felt happy.
Next time I see Arya, I’m going to show her how to throw a fastball.
Entry Seventeen
Date: 299 After Landing, Summer
Winter is coming.
Despite the North being a separate Kingdom, I learned that King Eddard had received a white raven from the maesters at the Citadel in Oldtown. Signifying the end of the Long Summer and beginning of the Long Winter. Reportedly the entirety of the North has been thrown into a frenzy as, among the first to be impacted by the news, they are storing as much grain and salting as much meat as possible. The Riverlands will feel the changing season next, but they still have time to gather one last harvest before the snows get here.
It makes me wonder about this world. How does anyone survive in a ten-year winter? How did people survive the Long Night, a winter that the books say lasted an entire generation? And if we are at the end of a nine year summer, what is happening in the southern hemisphere who have suffered a nine year winter? Maybe there are no people in the unexplored regions of the planet, or maybe even no land? I know that grain can be stored for up to three years where I came from…is wheat hardier here? Surviving a year-long winter seems doable to me, but after that the question of meat and vitamins starts to make me worry.
How do plants and animals even survive? Are all of them capable of hibernation, shutting everything down and living on tiny drips of stored energy for years at a time? Maybe the Long Winters are the reason why this world seems relatively stagnant in development. Maybe after so many winters there is an extra-long winter that wipes everything out and resets the clock of civilization? Maybe the only thing that keeps humanity alive is the fact that Winter and its snows don’t really reach further south than King’s Landing.
It would be nice to have a globe.
I also wish I had had more time to develop Harrenhal before this happened. I had planned to send for glass makers and have the large greenhouses that once filled the courtyards here rebuilt, but instead we will have to settle for having all of the food stored underground. The good news is that Lady Shella had been diligent over the years about collecting a portion of her peoples harvests. Should be enough grain and meat to feed 700,000 people* (roughly how many people are on her lands) for 3 years sitting here. The bad news is that my standing army will need to eat as well, and the south isn’t willing to sell grain or meat to their enemy. Maybe I can have Lord Manderly ship some in from Essos. In the meantime, I have put a ban on fishing in God’s Eye lake. Hopefully this will inflate the number of fish available and serve as a last resort during the winter.
Anyway, I have a feeling that the changing of the season has influenced King Eddards decision to take Stannis up on his offer of peace. I think he didn’t have the heart to fight the bother of his best friend. We both know it is temporary, and we will likely see war resume within the next year. Should Stannis attempt to invade the North during winter I fully expect to see a repeat of Germany’s attempt at invading Russia. And even if he does somehow manage to get past Harrenhal and Riverrun, Moat Cailin has seen 6 months of constant repair work and is now fully manned. No force can get past the neck without first taking it. I just hope it lives up to its reputation. Better, I hope we never have to find out.
But I won’t be here to see it. I strongly disagreed with King Eddards orders, and wrote him to tell him as much. After some back and forth, he agreed to let me and a few of the Commandos head to the Westerlands and aid Tyrion Lannister. I explained how this distrust of the Lannisters has to come to an end before both sides tear each other apart. “Lions and Wolves only feed on one another when they are desperate. Normally they eat Stags.”
So, right now the horses are being watered and supplies organized. It is 720 miles from here to Casterly Rock as the raven flies, so it will take a few weeks for us to get there by horse. Technically I am being sent as an “advisor,” but in reality I will be doing more of the same work from last year. Slipping behind enemy lines, disrupting supplies, capturing enemy forces before they know whats happening. But I will also have the added complication of liberating people the Ironborn captured.
Well, I guess I should be going. I am taking Dacey with me, who has really picked up on the nuances of command. She also seems to like my stories of my homeland. She calls it “Ah-mur-eye-ka,” English is difficult when you have never heard it before, and likes the war stories best. Even so, she seems to truly understand the concept of Liberty and Rule of Law. But she can’t imagine the concept of democracy. I fear few here could. Watt will be in charge of Harrenhal until I return.
One last thing to take care of before we set off. Apparently Second Lt. Ramsey Snow has been abusing his authority. I don’t know the specifics, but will be filled in shortly.
Until next time.
Entry Eighteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Summer
It wasn’t long after we set off from Harrenhal that I realized I couldn’t arrive in the Westerlands dressed in, what I affectionately call, Medieval America armor. To hold the peace with Stannis, they can’t know that the North’s “Mountainbreaker” is taking down Ironborn. So we stopped at Riverrun to have something made. I should be able to pick it up tomorrow, it is mostly traditional gear any skilled swordsman would wear, but I am also having a special case made to put over my shield and make it look traditional for this place. Since shields carry sigils of their owners house, I have picked a red and white eagle on a blue field. People know me for my star, not eagles.
Edmure Tully was glad to see me, but I couldn’t have picked a worst time to arrive. Lord Hoster Tully, his father, had passed just a few days before and the entire castle was in mourning. His passing wasn’t unexpected, he had been growing weaker for a long time, but it was obviously a major loss for Edmure. In addition, he will now feel the pressure to marry and doesn’t seem to be looking forward to the prospect. Can’t really blame him.
To honor the memory of Hoster, Edmure invited many of the Kingdom’s Lords to the funeral next week. I would like to stay and see King Eddard, should he come, but I’m needed elsewhere. Oddly, I do feel rather sad about missing the funeral. I met with Hoster after I liberated the castle from the Lannisters last year, and for an old man he was very active. And intelligent. We spoke for several days, where I entertained him with stories of growing up in Brooklyn, and he shared stories of his children with me. It was like I really had a father, even if only for a short time.
Since I got here, I think it was experiences like that one which pushed me into the Stark’s camp. Eddard was fatherly and took an interest in who I was, not what I could do for him. Robert liked me, but only because I could outdrink and outfight him. The Lannisters and everyone else only took an interest after I won the Tourney. Who I was, where I came from, didn’t matter to anyone except the Starks. Before I come to this land there was only one other person who actually looked out for me…
I miss Bucky.
Anyway, I should get some sleep and get ready to head out in the morning.
Entry Nineteen
Date: 299 After Landing, Summer
I noticed an interesting difference between the sword-and-armor era of my world and this one the other day. Baths.
Bathrooms, so common in my worlds classical times, largely disappeared in Medieval Europe. For a time, to be clean was to be considered ungodly. But here, everyone baths. The King, the Maester, the Blacksmith or farmer, all of them actually do go to efforts to keep dirt off themselves.
I suppose the only reason I noticed that was because we were attacked by bandits as we approached the Golden Tooth. One of the downsides of the western half of Riverrun being spared the normal pillaging’s from both friend and foe was that the have-nots in the East moved this way to steal and plunder what they could. Anyway the bandits, only a dozen of them, saw our small group and assumed we would be an easy target. I could actually smell them before they ran out from the trees. Their faces covered in dirt and clothes reeking of feces, their eyes wide in mad laughter, handing shaking even as they swung dirks and fired arrows. I felt nothing but pity for them.
But here, a man in a suit of armor is a tank and we quickly dispatched our would be attackers before reaching the Golden Tooth for a day or two of rest before making the last leg of our journey.
It was interesting to be back in the castle. Surreal even. Last time I was sneaking around it as a conquer, but this time I was an honored quest able to freely explore the complex without looking for enemies, or be distracted by my soldiers looting enemy goods. Some of those same men were still here as part of the western garrison, and I shared kind words and funny stories with them. The Golden Tooth still didn’t have an assigned Lord, most of the former household having chosen to take the black or swear fealty to King Eddard rather than be sent to the Lannisters, but the castellan is nominally in charge and seems like a good man.
Word from the west is that the Ironborn have now launched an invasion of Kayce and Feastfires, but they are facing stiff resistance from the local levies. They had time to raise banners and build defenses, so taking the castles (or even sieging them) is out of the question. But they can still plunder homes and businesses with little resistance. And I’ve heard about their practice of taking “saltwives,” which only makes me want to end the fighting sooner.
Raping and reaving…is that what I look forward to the rest of my life? Putting out one fire and then running off to put out the next? That is no way to live.
Entry Twenty
Date: 299 After Landing, Autumn
Ah, Lannisport. Been almost a year since I was last here, and it has definitely seen better days.
The parts of the town that my men and I set fire to during the war had been cleaned and cleared, and already had new homes and businesses setting back up, but the damage at the docks and along the coast was more recent. Ironborn had been raiding along the coast, and what they couldn’t take they set to flame. The fleet managed to drive them off, but by the time the fires were put out a tenth of the city was gone. We had arrived just a few days later.
Tyrion Lannister was, to say the least, ecstatic to see me. Especially in gear more commonly seen on a sell-sword. Both Lannisters wished I could have brought more than a half-dozen Commandos, but they understood that Stannis couldn’t know we were aiding them. I learned from Tyrion that during the time it took for us to travel he had been sending ravens back and forth with King Stannis who agreed to end his hostilities with the Westerlands, but only if the Lannisters forgave the crowns debts to them and turned Jaime Lannister over to the crown for judgment. As much as it would ruin the Lannister wealth, Tyrion was willing to forgive the debt, but much less willing to turn his brother over to a man who will burn him alive.
Jaime, surprisingly, seems very different from the man I knew in King’s Landing. This man is much more laid back, humbled perhaps, and eager to help. I expected him to resent me, but instead the first thing he did when he saw me was to throw an arm around my shoulder and hug. I’m sure the look of surprise on my face is what caused Dacey to laugh, followed quickly by everyone else in the room. “The Mountainbreaker, made to yield with a hug!”
It was later in private that Tyrion told me what happened to Jaime after Eddard and I fled the city. His sister (it turns out the rumors of incest were true) turned her back on Jaime, seeing him as a useless cripple. She turned her attention to others shortly after, drinking heavily and sleeping with all of the knights of the King’s Guard except him. Tywin stripped Jaime of his King’s Guard status, and then tried to ship him back home to run Casterly Rock and even set up a few potential marriage matches, but Jaime refused. Instead he attempted to end his life, seeing his current existence as nothing but suffering. Luckily, Tyrion, having spent his life as a “cripple” in the eyes of the world, found Jaime before it was too late and took him under his wing. Turning his point of view around and helping him find meaning. Before the Baratheons arrived, Tyrion and Jaime both had left the capital and headed towards home so they could start over far from the cruel eye of their father.
Jaime is Lord of Castlery Rock, but as he puts it, “Tyrion is my good hand,” who manages their lands. Jaime smiled when he explained, “Running a city, a country, I’m not good at. But telling our commanders where to attack an enemy, that I’m good at.”
Between Jaime’s practical experience as a warrior and Tyrion’s mind for tactics, they managed to keep the Ironborn from expanding beyond their initial gains. But with Stannis demanding Jaime’s head, that wouldn’t work for much longer.
I need to speak with King Eddard, but I think we can help them out by harboring Jaime in the North. I know that Eddard doesn’t care for the Lannisters, and doesn’t think highly of the “Kingslayer,” but after hearing about why he did what he did…well I can sympathize. A soldier obeys orders, but if he knows his orders are wrong he should be applauded for standing up against evil. If you know you can save a half million people, don’t you have the responsibility to do so?
Anyway the Commandos and I soon got to work and Faircastle, the Ironborns newest acquisition, was the first target. When they first took the island, resistance had been light, in part because a contingent of five hundred crossbowmen had been recalled to the mainland to hold back the Ironborn who were making their way down the coast from the Crag. Six days later, the Ironborn galleys hit the islands beaches outside Faircastle and advanced on the stronghold with considerable pillaging along the way.
The size of the enemy force on the island was well known, with a raven being loosed that tallied the armies size between ten and fifteen thousand. A considerable force, but that also meant it was the bulk of the Greyjoy’s forces. Maybe four to six thousand each were left to hold already captured settlements, while this force would be the spearhead that eventually struck Lannisport. Unfortunately, having just fought two wars, Lannister forces were minimal and could barely reach ten thousand men. Of those, only around 5,000 men were available for an assault. We couldn’t wait to let Greyjoy come to us, we needed to hit him. But we also needed to be smart about it, and it had to look like The Warrior wasn’t helping anyone.
A week later my Commandos and I set sail with a little over 5,000 soldiers, and landed at the southernmost tip of Faircastle. The soldiers we brought with us weren’t a very mixed group. 1,500 Crossbowmen, 500 Longbowmen, and 3,000 infanty. Mostly they were the men Tyrion and Jaime could spare from more important theaters. Like everywhere else I have seen battle in this world, so much attention is placed on the Knights and cavalry that most military leaders don’t see the advantages of archers and footmen.
The island itself isn’t all that interesting, a few small hamlets separated by small rivers and vast farmland. There is a forest that makes up the bulk of the island which is hunted so often that many of the larger animals have vanished, leaving hare as the largest game animal. Maybe after the wars are over I can tell Tyrion about how to reintroduce wildlife. The hamlets are very small, only a few dozen buildings, and many of the Ironborn had already pillaged the sites until there was nothing left. The first hamlet we came across was deserted, fire having cleaned away what had taken centuries to build, with bodies left on the ground to be picked apart by whatever happened along. But the second hamlet, that was more interesting.
After capturing the hamlet the Ironborn looted and moved on, but left a few thousand here to watch the coast. Even from a half-mile away I could hear the screams as men took “saltwives.” I was determined to break the Ironborn before, but now I needed to. From behind a small nearby hill I organized my forces into three lines, with my infantry in the center and projectiles to the sides. As the sun set across the waters, I led the infantry out into the open and called on the Ironborn.
One interesting thing about the Ironborn, they don’t favor arrows. I prefer the sword, and the axe, something you might use while on the deck of a ship. Sure, a few will know how to handle a bow, but it isn’t something that is encouraged by their nobility. So when the Ironborn saw me and my infantry, and that they outnumbered us, they formed up into a loose line and made a slow walk out of the hamlet and towards me.
I honestly don’t know if I can take on a few thousand men armed with swords, but I’m glad I didn’t have to find out. Once the Ironborn was cleared of the hamlet and the civilians inside, my Commandos gave the order for my still hidden archers to unleash an arrow storm. I had never actually seen a storm of arrows before, but it was everything the ancient books made it out to be. Thousands of tiny spears, the last vestige of sunlight blinking off the metal heads, firing over my head thick enough to block my view of the sky…it was both beautiful and terrifying.
The arrows ripped apart the Ironborn, causing casualties and a forming a vital distraction. Unable to respond in kind, the Ironborn took shelter where they could; under shields, planks of wood, even the bodies of their fellow men. By the time they reached me their lines had been gutted, and a vicious free-for-all then ensued. The ferocity of the Westerland men, born of a desire for vengeance, ripped the Islanders apart. In some cases, literally.
Out of an enemy force of 3,000, we only took fifty prisoners. On the flip side, we lost only a dozen. A combination of tactics, timing and surprise gave us an easy victory. Too bad storming the castle won’t be so easy.
So that is how things stand at the moment. The hamlet has been liberated, though its population is a fraction of what it once was. Even so, the people are thankful and are helping us resupply. Dacey wanted to cut the privates off each Ironborn and send them to whomever controlled Faircastle, and I almost let her, but eventually I argued it down to cutting off the left ear before we buried the dead at sea. Islanders preferred to have their bodies given back to the sea, and I see no harm in allowing it.
Until next time.
DACEY
She rubbed the fingers of her right hand on the firm ashwood of the spear as she rode, absently tracing the smooth interwoven patterns nature paced inside. It was a pleasant distraction on a bright cool day after a night of war and burial. Not that fighting was all bad; there were the great battles, the planning and outthinking your enemy, the satisfaction of knowing that you were saving lives.
“War has its uses, but it would be better without all of the killing.”
Dacey Mormont looked over her shoulder at the hamlet for a moment as it faded in her wake, and then turned back with a slight shudder. It was good to get out of there. The wailing of women, the tears of old men, there was only so many horror stories you could listen to. No matter how hardened your heart is.
Her mare kept to its same walk-trot-canter cycle as the rest of the group, a scouting party Rogers had organized to screen the Lannister army, moved away from the beaches and towards the thin forest interior. The feel of the beasts great muscles between her thighs were like coils of living steel, longing to burst forth and run. There were no horses on Bear Island, but she had learned to ride during the long journey from the North. She rather liked the beasts.
They’d needed less than an hour to clear the open country and reach the forests to the southeast, only the occasional vine and creeper-grown mound showing where a burnt-out farmhouse had once stood. It was so very different from her family’s island, covered in old gnarled oaks, tall pines, flowering thorn-bushes, moss-covered grey stones. But here the so-called forest was mostly a thin spattering of thorntrees, which grow spines and have short, hard braches, with thick bushes and ferns filling in the rest of the empty space.
She noticed something odd of the corner of her eye, a small movement in the thickets that shouldn’t be. A moment leter a streak of white blurred out of it.
“A rabbit breaking cover as we pass? And not paying any attention to us? Rabbits on this island are not very wary, but they are not that brave. It was running from something. Or somebody.”
Nobody honest should be here; too close to the hamlet before the ravagers Islanders arrived, too isolated now. Her eyes probed the land and she emptied her mind and the patterns show themselves.
To her east was weeds and grass that rose stirrup high or better, a newer growth rank tall through last year’s dead brown stalks. Leaves and clusters of yellow flowers dotted the ground. Late bloomers pushed past their forlorn in crimson and blue; darting swarms of insects hovered around the blossoms. Patches of brilliantly green reeds waved amid the buzz of gnats.
An abandoned cart sat near a tree, a mound of berry vines growing along the curve of the wheels and the shape of the bed. Patches of wood left along the top showed the touch of man. Small fringes of saplings, young trees as tall as her own six feet or higher, spread their thin green branches out like an open hand. The leaves fluttered like the banners of a conquering army, with black and silver blooms in the shade beneath.
More small animals ran across their path. Birds speed overhead; she spied dark-faced tyrants and white-bridled finchs flying in swooping curves, and all of them moving north-to-south.
She made a sharp clicking sound with her tounge. Nearby, Steven Rogers turned in the saddle. His dark brows went up as her hand moved, pointing at the animals and the way they came. Then the eyes narrowed, brilliantly blue shooting out like a beam of light breaking a forest canopy.
“Can you hear anything strange that way?” Dacey mouthed, knowing he could read her lips. “North?”
Rogers square-jawed head turned, shoulder-length yellow-blond hair brushing his back. After a moment he slowly nodded. He mouthed back to her, “A dozen men, maybe more. Shadowing us.” He smiled at her and added, “Good job.”
Their two horses reined aside, both were smart and could tell something was a little unusual. Their nostrils flared and ears swiveling in the search for danger. Dacey kept her eyes busy, while Rogers closed his and took off the helmet to rest on his saddlebow, frowning in concentration.
Even with apprehension growing like a weed in her chest, she smiled a little. Rogers was special to her, a sworn sword and friend, and had been since they met when Prince Robb came south to Harrenhal late last year. She was five years his junior, but in many ways she seemed older than he. And after a few months she was included in the Steve’s Commandos, whom even the North and Riverlands concede are best warriors in Westeros. Plus he was just fun, interesting, to be around.
But there was no denying that he was a man out of touch with the world. “Self-dramatizing” was the way her mother had put it.
An example would be his armor. It was good black leather; cuirass, shoulder armor pauldrons with neck guard, gauntlets on each arm, pants, belt and boots. It was all high quality and purchased in Riverrun, just like her own, with steel protection hidden under the animal skin. But unlike the red tunic we and the other Commandos wore with ours, his was white-trimmed blue with a golden eagle, its wings outstretched, clutching arrows in one talon and olive branches in the other.
“Not to mention the helmet.”
Unlike everyone else’s simple bowl-shaped with nose-guard leather helmet, Steve’s was long and covered the entire head with slits for the eyes and mouth, a long curved projection protected the neck and cheeks, and looked a lot like the drawings she had seen of Old Valyrian (Corinthian) armor. The same eagle on his tunic was carved into the helmet, and when asked he said it was the bird of his people. A guardian animal.
It was all very impressive, even more so than the thick blue armor he left at Harrenhal, but it was also a little unsettling. The Old Gods often enjoyed to take the form of a beast from the forest, and like the Direwolf they were not to be invoked lightly. They had an affinity to show up in the Aspect you called upon.
After a moment Rogers looked up at her and quietly said, “Ten and eight. Mostly in light armor. I can hear the jingling of mail on a few. I think they were with the group we smashed last night, sent to Faircastle to let them know what happened. So why are they still here?”
“It only takes one man to deliver a message.” Dacey thought aloud. “Perhaps the rest turned back, and after seeing what happened they wanted to get a little revenge.”
“No,” Steve said, his eyes casually scanning beyond the trees. “They sound better trained than that. They aren’t in a hurry to engage us.”
The rest of the Commandos had moved on another few hundred yards, and had stopped look back at them. She expected many of them to be smiling, maybe at the sight of seeing two whom spend so much time together spending a little more, but if they had been their smiles died as Rogers held up a hand and waved them back.
“Should we head back to the Hamlet?” Dacey said thoughtfully, “Grab a few dozen men and hunt them down?”
Her commander shook his head, “No. We can handle them.” Then he suddenly smiled, “I think I will go see who’s trying to hunt us.”
Steve reached for the sword in its saddle-sheath, and Dacey smiled again. The blade was a gift from King Eddard, as long and as sharp as his Valyrian steel greatsword but made from traditional steel, given to him after they were returned to Winterfell. It is incredibly heavy; impossible for a normal warrior to wield, but he holds it like it was made from feathers. The steel was cold blue, the hilt tinged with gold, with an eagle head pommel. She only spared a glance at his shield, his real shield, hidden inside a false one and strapped to his back.
Before he could lift his blade he stopped, became perfectly still, and after a moment said, “They aren’t after us. They are after them.”
The She-Bear turned her head, following her Commanders eyes, and spotted people darting though the woods. They were running, stumbling, and looking over their shoulders. Six adults women, three children over the backs. They were staggering with fatigue, sweat funneling down the sand and filth on their faces in spite of the cool day, their chests heaving. The children cried, but their mouths were clamped tight in fear. They and the adults were ragged, bleeding scratches from the thickets adding to the other much larger and older gashes.
Her eyes met Steven’s.
“Well, this is why the Commandos make an oath.” She said, thinking back to the day she bent her knee and said the words of loyalty. To the day she decided she wanted this man.
Steven half-grinned, half-laughed, “Yes ‘Protect the helpless’ seems to apply.”
His eyes went wide, “Okay, I can hear the Islanders moving on them. These people must have fled from as far away as Faircastle.”
She nodded, flicked her mount into motion, galloping with her head bent low over the beasts neck.
The refugees looked up; maybe they heard the sound of the hooves. They cried out in helpless despair and stopped in their tracks as she rode towards them. The other Commandos fell in with her, Steve on her right and the others behind with arrows drawn.
Rather than calling out to them, reassuring the women and children, she and the other riders sped past them. Trying to talk to them would be useless, they’d been beaten into mindlessness by fear and exhaustion. It would take hours to get anything coherent. She fought down a surge of anger; one of the children was the same age as her youngest sister, and they were being hunted.
As they crested the hill, bringing the Islanders into view, Dacey snarled and threw her spear…
STANNIS
Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, started at the great map that showed his domains across the known world. His eyes fixed on his stubbornly independent neighbor to the North, and his teeth ground as the jaws locked together in frustration.
Winds racing out of the Blackwater Bay howled amongst the towers like a great beast, and drove rain though open windows to splatter audibly against stained-glass windows as well as those hidden by tapestries shimmering with gold and silver thread. The map covered one wall of the Great Hall in the Red Keep, built in time of Aegon the Conqueror with a splendor of gray-veined white marble columns with brass inlay.
Then he turned on his heel and walked, almost stomped, to the larger of two thrones sitting atop its raised iron dais with high and narrow steps; his left foot automatically kicking the scabbard of his longsword out of the way as he sat atop a chair as cold as people believed him to be. The chair was massive, constructed by Aegon Targaryen from the swords surrendered by his enemies. Thousands of them cast monsterous spikes and jagged edges of twisted metal. It is an uncomfortable chair, perfect for an uncomfortable man. The second, much smaller throne was his addition, forged from volcanic rock on Dragonstone and inlaid with gold and silver by the best artisans in King’s Landing.
The day’s gray light was fading into blackness under clouded skies, but the Hall was brilliantly lit by hundreds of oil lanterns and candles, the blazers built around each column, and by several huge chandeliers handing thirty feet above their heads. Their wax-and-lavender scents filled the chamber, hanging over the metal polish and cloth and the sweat of fear from the crowd of well-dress clerics, advisors and officials in attendance. Except for the ocaasional creak of shoe-leather, ripple of lavishly decorated tapestries, or the crackling of wood burning, it was silent. The shifting glitter of flame cast the throne made it seem as if it was afire.
Goldcloaks stood like statues about the walls, their mail and plate armor gleaming like treasure, while warriors of the recently expanded Queen’s Guard formed a living wall between the Throne and everyone else; their red and gold mail hauberks burning like fire and the heads of their seven-foot spears gleaming; their massive kite-shaped shields were flat matt black, bearing the same sigil of a black stag dancing in a flaming heart that stood on the great banner hanging from the ceiling to the landing behind him.
After a moment the Red Woman seated in the other throne reached out and gently touched his arm. Stannis nodded and said, “You may rise, Lord Footly.”
The knights before Stannis’s throne stepped aside in perfect unison as the man and his wife approached, swinging like a door. When they stopped, they-and their weapons-were within a few feet of the man. The Queen’s Guard, in reality servants of the Red Woman and R’hllor, remained still like iron sculptures with living, starving eyes.
Lord Armen Footly was a big man, an inch or two over Stannis’s six-two, and similarly broad-shouldered, though unlike his King he’d added the beginnings of a paunch, despite being a little younger than his overlords mid-forties. His domain of Tumbleton was traditionally no more important that a sand dune, but with the succession of the North and Riverlands it placed those lands along the border with a potential enemy. Stannis had to fight to remember that. Armen had promptly obeyed the summons to court, though some would have thought about hiding in their castles, but that was for the desperate. The way his wife’s eyes occasionally darted to the Red Woman, Melisandre, was probably some political appraisal or search for help. The women had recently become friends, as the whole family forsaked the Faith of Seven in favor of the Lord of Light. Clearly she didn’t find the stone-like calm on Melisandre’s expression to be very comforting.
How close the guards stood within arm’s reach wasn’t very reassuring either. Nor was it meant to be.
“I sent you and twelve thousand men to capture Harrenhal. A castle defended by two thousand farmers. Would you care to explain how you could fail me?” Stannis snarled at the kneeling man.
“Your Grace, I had pleaded an audience to explain a few weeks ago-“
“If you had tried to explain what had happened then, I would have had you given to The Fires. I’m not a forgiving man by nature. My Red Lady tells me it’s my greatest fault.”
A ripple of muffled chuckles ran though the court, except for a few of Red Priests, and Stannis spared a glance towards Melisandre and grinned inwardly behind an impassive mask. He knew it was an open secret in King’s Landing that She was his mistress. Some even went so far as to claim she was the true Queen, as his wife kept herself locked away in the Keep’s “Queen’s Ballroom” with its beaten silver mirrors that makes the fires of R’hllor she and her closest devotees worship at seem brighter. In truth, the Red Woman was his closest companion-maybe even friend-and at the insistence of his wife he had begun sleeping with her. Even now, he could see her belly bulging beneath full breasts and imagined his promised son growing inside her.
“Your Grace,” Footly plowed on, fretting as he slogged over a speech obviously memorized in advance and probably written by his spouse. “I believed Harrenhal would fall quickly, and after our scouts confirmed the fortification was lightly garrisoned by peasants I pushed the attack, thinking that our more heavily armed and numerous force would be more than sufficient. I even lead from the front, and my son led a second force around the rear to hit their dock. He was killed in battle even as I and the others rushed though the castle gates and into a mercilous storm of arrows that none have seen or experienced before. It wasn’t until we were already falling that the castles commander, Steven Rogers, entered the fray. I personally saw the man, no, the monster throw his shield through three men before it returned to his hand and continue to fight off a dozen others with blinding speed. I admit error, and I beg your mercy for it, but I claim innocence of any malice or disloyalty. I would never have assaulted Harrenhal as I did if I hadn’t thought it the safest course of action.”
Melisandre spoke, her sonorous voice echoing off the Halls high walls, “But it wasn’t safe, Lord Footly, as sieging the castle would have been. A military commander is supposed to be smart, not charge in headfirst like a common bandit and hope for the best.”
Silence fell, and Armen opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it.
That was smart, Stannis thought.
The whole past summer had been a series of disasters following his victory at King’s Landing. The Lannister brothers escape, the failure of Footly attempt to capture Harrenhal, the bankruptcy of the realm, the North and its Riverlands leaving the Kingdom to form their own, the Ironborn trying to do the same thing. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Islanders were doing the very thing he had been planning to do to the Lannisters he would have considered this whole thing a waste of time. As it was, with news of Winter coming many of the Lords just wanted to return home and manage their own lands and keep discontent to a minimum. He could wait and deal with the North, and Rogers, when the snows melt.
When he spoke next it was to everyone, “I never asked for this crown. As Robert’s heir the throne is mine. That is the law. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I wear the crown I have a duty to protect this Kingdom. If I must sacrifice one to the flames to save millions more from the dark, I must.” He glanced at Footly, watched as his held his breath in waiting for the sentence. “I will pardon Armen Footly for his failure. You are forgiven.”
But not forgotten. He quietly thought.
Stannis noted how Armen’s wife sought Melisandre’s again, and how her face relaxed ever so slightly at his Lady’s smile and nod. Armen is a good man with a blade, but it is easy to see who’s got the brains in that House. But fail me again and you are going to spend your final minutes aflame.
But he knew the threat didn’t need to be said aloud, his stony face was more than enough. Footly and his family bowed and backed six paces away from the Throne, joining a crowd that no longer avoided them like plague victims anymore. With an effort of will Stannis thrust his gnawing fury aside; he couldn’t afford distractions. Instead he made a gesture, and his stewards announced it was time for dinner and that any other matters could be discussed tomorrow.
“I suppose we should go eat.” He said, Melisandre’s fingers came down to rest on his arm, and he nodded as they rose and headed out of the Hall.
Entry Twenty-One
Date: 299 After Landing, Winter
Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way
Who vows to fight like a man for what’s right, night and day?
Who will campaign door-to-door for America?
Carry the flag shore to shore for America?
From Hoboken to Spokane,
The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!
We can’t ignore there’s a threat and a war we must win!
Who’ll hang a noose on the goose-stepping goons from Berlin?
Who will indeed lead the call for America?
Who’ll rise or fall give his all for America?
Who’s here to prove that we can?
The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!
Nearly three years…THREE YEARS…and after all that time that crazy song bounces back into my head like it never left. I started humming it to myself while our army was marching on Faircastle, and a few of my Commandos overheard it. After an nearly an hour of them prodding they got me to sing the words that went with it. I know music in Westeros is more…archaic when compared to where I came from, but from their reaction you would guess they never heard any music before. Suddenly they wanted to know everything about it, where it was written, what it was written for…
It was a little embarrassing. Admitting that the tune was written about me, and for the purpose of getting the people of my land to get behind a just war, was difficult. But the idea didn’t seem to surprise them all that much. They are used to songs of heroes, and music being used as propaganda isn’t a new concept. The Lannister’s and their “Rains of Castamere” is an excellent example.
After that the flood gates kind of opened and they convinced me to sing more songs from my land. The styles was just so different, they had no idea what to expect. I tried to remember some of the stuff coming out when I flew that HYDRA plane into the ocean…ended up singing “Don’t Fence Me In, That Old Black Magic, Jingle Jangle Jingle,” and eventually “God Bless America.”
They all loved the various songs, the different styles, but I really wish I hadn’t sung that last one. I hadn’t really thought about how long it had been since I was home…but I guess Westeros is my home now. Still, I suspect the longing will never go away.
Dacey said I should change a few words around and use the “Star-Spangled Man” as a marching hymn. Not a bad idea.
Anyway, after retaking most of Fair Isle back from the Ironborn, liberating several more hamlets and farms from their endless pillaging, our army made for Faircastle. The Islanders attempted to block us several times by setting up defensive positions, mostly make-shift moats with log palisades, but we mostly avoided these hastily erected and undermanned forts and marched straight for the castle. We had captured or killed several thousand defenders by this point, but with at least 10,000 defenders the prospect of sieging Faircastle was not inviting. And with winter approaching, the cold, wet, weather made for less than ideal combat conditions.
We set up camp just outside long bow range of the castle, and I spent the next day studying it. The day after, I sent an envoy to deliver my demand for surrender to whomever was in command. When the young man returned unharmed I learned two things; the commander was intelligent and at least partly civil, and that the commander was Asha Greyjoy -daughter of Balon Greyjoy, the so-called “King of the Iron Islands” and sister to King Eddards ward, Theon. This made things, more delicate. I soon gave orders that, should we capture her, Asha was not to be harmed.
In truth, this was enlightening for me. Except for Dacey and her family, I hadn’t seen an example of women in power outside of King’s Landing. I suppose women in battle isn’t unheard of, just not very common in the here and now. I read, in the books of my homeland as well as those in Westeros, of women warriors but in the current age the sight is rare. I suppose some regions are just more aware that steel in a woman’s hand can kill you just as easily as steel in a man’s.
We spent the next few days camped outside the castle constructing siege weapons. Catapults mostly. Thanks to the nearby mountains there was plenty of rocks for ammo. But even as the weapons were built, I hoped they wouldn’t be needed. Thinking ahead, Faircastle would be a perfect staging area for an invasion of the other lost Westerlands as well as an invasion of the Iron Islands. I had watched several Ironborn vessels supplying the castle with food, so it was safe to assume that the castle’s supply of sheep and stored goods was already starting to run out. I also noticed that no one was leaving the castle, or joining it, so Greyjoy believed her victory to be assured.
I considered just sneaking into the castle as I had with others, but that would make it clear who I was. If I look different, I must act different. I took a few dozen men, a mixed force, and led them up a nearby mountain that held a decent view of the castle as well the dock the Ironborn were using for resupply. It took an additional 2 days to haul lumber and set up a catapult, but on the third day we were able to “sort-of” fire upon the Islander ships as they attempted to resupply the castle. We sunk several ships, and on the fourth day they stopped arriving.
In retrospect, I should have just did my usual infiltration and be done with it. But I suppose hindsight isn’t one of my gifts.
On the 7th day of the siege, Asha’s men captured the catapult I had placed in the mountains and turned it on our encampment. We lost a few dozen men and had many more injured by the bombardment, which only stopped after I made a mad dash up the mountainside and took care of the Islanders who had cut down my defenders mercilessly. But in the chaos, half of the Islanders garrison left the castle and made a mad dash on our forces. Our flank, composed of mostly crossbowmen quickly retreated at the advance. Islanders then sent reinforcements in and the flank crumbled completely. By the time I got down from the mountain, Dacey had tried to recover the situation by unleashing the limited cavalry to break the offensive on our flank, leading them herself.
It was the right decision, the Islanders had no cavalry of their own and we caused significant casualties on enemy. But many of the sparse horsemen still fell to the significant Islander presence…Dacey was unhorsed and took a bad wound to her left leg…
The Islanders, seeing their surprise attack failing, tried to retreat. In response I took a mixed force of five hundred and cut them off, wedging myself between their slaughter and safety. Caught between my shield and sword, the Islanders who yet lived started to throw down their weapons. We lost a thousand men all told, but we managed to kill or capture 4,500 Ironborn.
With the majority of the Islander army destroyed, Asha Greyjoy had little choice but to give up the castle and the Island. The next evening, my scouts in the mountains saw a dozen galleys arrive from the nearby Crag and ferry the Islanders away from Fair Isle. No doubt they are planning to redouble their efforts in the other captured territories. The next day our forces marched into Faircastle, defended only by the sick or the injured. The citizens looked tired, malnourished, and beaten, but also happy to see their liberators putting shackles on the Islanders who were quickly ferried off to the dungeons.
Asha wasn’t an idiot though. When I took a survey of the castle, I found stored grain and salted beef either missing or destroyed and the docks busted. The Island’s survival during the coming Winter would be in question unless additional foodstuffs could be shipped over. Otherwise, the Island will have to be abandoned until after the coming Long Winter.
Faircastle’s maester still lived, and I had him tend to the wounded (both friend and foe equally) while I sent ravens to Tyrion and Eddard to let them know what happened. While technically a victory, this felt more like a defeat. Still, with a little hard work the docks can be repaired and the ships from Lannisport can be moved here to put pressure on Greyjoy.
Dacey…for now I have her resting in the former Lord’s chambers. No sign of the members of House Farman, but I suspect they were smuggled away with Asha to use as random or hostage. I’m tending to Lady Mormont’s wound, but it is deep. Without the medicine from my lands, I don’t know if I can save her.
…I must save her.