After recovering from the shock at my brother's letter I realized what were Galbart Glover's intentions on that meeting we had. The man was doing damage control.
I was now a lord proper, brother to the King no less. To top it all, I had been named commander for the Maidenpool campaign, and Donnel Locke had been… caustic for a while already. Was it safe to assume, that he was given leave by Galbart to be that way? I couldn't say.
Alas, I wouldn't be dealing with the idiot for the time being. Robb ordered the Neck and Bear Island's hosts to retake Maidenpool. In addition, Perwyn and Ronel joined our forces. They said it was to get glory, but I believe it was because they can't stand Ser Donnel either.
Together we had short of two thousand men to secure Maidenpool. Meanwhile, Galbart's host was soon going to be reinforced first by riverlanders and then by Lord Bolton's host.
Five days ago we started our march, and we expected to reach Maidenpool in three more days. On our way we found more burnt villages and smallfolk ready to join our camp followers. Dacey took it upon herself to make warriors of the riverlander women we found. Predictably, it was not going very well.
I believe she decided it when she got her squire. The girl in Darry, the one protecting her sister, Melissa. Jorelle told me the girl and her sister started going to their training grounds and watched, keenly. Dacey approached them and asked if they wanted to be warriors. And well, "The girl has talent," Dacey said.
As for the younger sister Mya, she became her cupbearer.
The squire and cupbearer sisters were partially responsible for our current circumstances.
"A frontal attack then, my lord," Perwyn said. How could he make sound an honorific address so disrespectful was anyone's guess.
"Yes, Ser Perwyn." Sadly I didn't have his talent, my attempt just sounded prickly. "Unless you have a better idea on how to rout these bandits, we settled for a frontal attack."
A village we passed told us of particularly hateful and vicious bandits in the area. Ser Ronel checked possible hiding spots until he found them. The bandits were confirmed to be around fifty, they found a ravine between hills and built flimsy palisades around their camp. Now, early in the morning, we were about to rain on their parade.
"No, my lord. Just confirming."
'Just confirming' he says. I sent a warning look at Hatten, knowing my disrespectful aide, he'd be snickering were we not about to engage in bloody combat.
"We are just waiting for Lady Mormont's warhorn to charge," I said.
Dacey took her men to the other side of the ravine. "No one can escape us" she declared. Apparently her squire knew the bandits by description.
I took Ghost and Cerati with us. I still couldn't skinchange into my hawk, but we could communicate with each other. Nothing complex, just general feelings, 'vibes' if you will.
"Lances up front," I ordered. I got the feeling Dacey was getting ready on her side.
Ghost rose from his short nap, ready to join me in battle. Soon after, we heard the Mormont warhorn.
"Charge!" Ghost howled and my column moved forward.
In ideal circumstances, untrained bandits would panic hearing warhorns in camp and foolishly try to escape. However, from what Melissa told, these outlaws weren't untrained.
The bandits scrambled around in their camp, running from one side to another pulling whatever blades and spears they had. No one, not one of them tried to mount their horses and flee.
"Halt!" I growled, Hatten sounded my order with his warhorn. As we suspected, these people were not your common outlaw. "First line, dismount! Shields, dismount and up front!"
I heard the sound of battle coming from the other side. Shit. We were too slow, the Mormonts were already engaging.
"Charge! Break the palisade!"
The good thing about halberds, is that they are versatile. With a side swing from my fullmetal halberd, the palisade in front cracked. With a second swing and a kick we had a breach.
A spear greeted me, but our pikes were longer. The spearman was skewered when he tried to lounge.
"Forward!" I snarled.
We secured the breach before dismantling the sides and making it bigger. The moment we went in, the tattered bandits charged at us. It was, of course, futile. We were armored and with polearms, they barely wore leathers or perhaps chainmail, and were armed with swords.
Their ferocity made our initial formation stutter, but we recovered fast. I stabbed a man in septon garbs and buried my halberd on another's shoulder. My weapon eagerly drank their blood. Perwyn cut the arm of a man in multicolored garbs, making him drop a hideous triple morningstar.
The fight didn't took long. We surprised them. The idiots reeked of alcohol and didn't even had sentries posted.
Soon enough, we rounded up the survivors and Jorelle took it upon herself to find any smallfolk prisoners still in the camp.
The Mormont soldiers roughly tied the leader of the outlaws. The man was tall and had a goatee that reached below his navel.
Jorelle came from the side with people who looked completely defeated. Hollow eyes, hunched and wearing tatters.
"Your name" Dacey coldly asked the goat-like man.
"Vargo Hoat, leader of the Brave Companions, my lady. I've been in thervith of Lord Tywin. I can tell you of much of hith planth," the man lisped.
"Your other men will inform me of that. Your head, on the other hand, has a price already paid." She made a gesture. "Gag him."
Vargo tried to pledge and beg, no one listened. This was the promise Dacey made to her squire, a semblance of justice for Melissa and Mya.
He was secured to the ground, legs and arms tied to four posts and a bag over his head.
Dacey picked a polehammer and presented it to the rescued smallfolk, "Here, it won't bring back your dead or erase your suffering, but it's the closest to justice I can offer you."
Not one of them approached her to pick the polearm. They just shrank on themselves a bit more. I searched for Jorelle's eyes, I had promised to let them handle this, but pressuring people like this wasn't right.
She returned my look. "Trust us," her gaze said.
After a few heartbeats of no one moving, Melissa approached and took the polehammer from Dacey's hand and swung it on Vargo's right foot.
"This is for ma!"
The young squire pulled back the hammer amidst the muffled cries of the goat-man, and swung it once again.
"This is for Lily!"
A tremor run through the girl, her hands locked on the hammer. I could hear her sobbing. She pulled the hammer one more time, tears pooling in her eyes, she swung at Vargo's left foot.
"This is for pa!"
Faster than before, Melissa raised the hammer and shattered Vargo's knee.
"This is for Dijon!"
Her legs buckled from under her, Dacey caught her squire before she could reach the ground and pulled her to the side with her hand covering the young girl's face.
Jorelle moved forward picking up the polehammer from the ground. "Anyone else?" she asked the survivors.
This time, an old woman took her on the offer.
I turned around to Hatten. "Let's secure at least one for questioning. Tywin wouldn't have shared anything important with mere sellswords. Besides we'll probably just end up hanging them anyway."
###
We returned to the column around noon. Lord Greengood of the Neck lords, kept the host marching in our absence. Lords Blackmyre and Boggs weren't particularly happy about it, but caring wasn't on the menu, at least not today. I'll compensate them some time in the future, just not sure how. But, that's a problem for future me.
When the host stopped for the day, I picked up my halberd and found a nice, calm place to start my drills. I wasn't able to exercise in the morning. And now, I had about half an hour before spending some quality time with ol' Amory.
I started my routines and forms. Stab. Thrust. No useless flowery movements. Just like Ser Rodrik instructed back in Winterfell.
The air was unusually refreshing. The terrain, easier to move in. The usual bumps and irregular ground didn't bother me as much.
Once settled in the familiar rhythm, my mind went to other places.
Taking the survivors to the camp was pretty hard. A test of patience really, they calmed a little when Dacey went all formal and said 'In the name of King Robb Stark…'. Honestly, it's still a bit creepy when smallfolk listen to someone because they are highborn. Even if it's to our benefit.
What we didn't have much trouble with was transporting our prisoners. To my surprise, the riverlander survivors let ten Brave Companions alive. We tied them up real tight and carried them like flour sacks on horseback.
As part of our loot, we got some food, around thirty horses and thirteen zorses (an unholy cross of horses and what sounds like zebras). Perwyn grabbed one of them for his mount. "The Jogos Nhai breed them. My brother Willamen told me about them when I visited him at the Citadel. They are foul tempered and hardy, just like my father."
Willamen is Perwyn's full-blooded brother, he explained. Their late mother, Bethany nee Rosby, was niece of old Lord Rosby. Part of me wanted to ask more about his mother. I changed my mind when I saw the forlorn look he had on his eyes.
A light breeze rustled the trees to my right and helped me focus on the last part of my set.
A thrust marked the ending of the exercise. There was something weird going on, it was as if the universe conspired to give me the absolute best environment to do my drills. For obvious reasons, I couldn't time precisely how long it took me to complete my forms, but I was absolutely sure I was faster doing this set.
Well, whatever. It was getting late to my meeting with ol' Amory. Perhaps I just had a better affinity for the afternoon? Who knows. I'll still practice in the mornings, if only because it's more convenient.
I mentally called Ghost to my side, and checked on Cerati's 'thread'. He was in his comfy cage back in my tent. I was able to feel my feathered friend quite clearly. Huh, I'll get to skinchange into him soon, it seems.
I went straight to the questioning tent, carrying my halberd with me. I was late after all and taking a detour, even a small one to put it away, would do me no favors.
Amory and I had an established routine. Ghost and me would enter the tent. He'd whimper and cry. I'd sit in front of him, Ghost would growl menacingly. Amory would squirm and shake. And I'd remind myself of the smallfolk testimonies I had compiled.
I took a breath to collect myself. And pushed.
Today it felt different. Easier.
Normally it takes a little over fifteen minutes before Amory starts feeling it. Today, Amory started struggling much sooner. I think somewhere close to ten minutes, maybe a little more.
The oily veil protecting his mind from mine felt more fragile. No, that was not it. It's just that my 'push' was stronger. Perhaps today is the d-
Trumpets. Wha-
Men-at-arms, knights and freeriders were galloping by my side. I pulled back in the last meters, before reaching the spear line. Let stupid lesser men die in the first clash.
Howls. Roars. Arrows. Bolts.
Things weren't going well. The savages didn't break. Thankfully my liege sent reinforcements to drown the wolves.
Screams. Roars. Lannister! The Rock!
One of Tyrion's barbarians was in the ground trying to stem the blood from a wound on his shoulder. From the moment I saw them, I knew these unwashed savages were cravens unworthy of being part of the vanguard. "Get up and fight!" I ordered him. The man frowned at me but didn't move. A quick swing with my sword and the beast died. No need for cravens in Lord Tywin's army.
Warhorns. Trumpets. Stark! Winterfell!
The savages were all around us. I had to get to the river, my horse can swim me across. The wolves pushed forward. A giant of a man, at least seven feet high, cleaved through the line in front.
To the river, I had to reach the river. Lesser men and cravens were blocking my path. They weren't like me, they weren't knights, they weren't trusted by our liege lord. I am ten times more important.
Move! Stab. Swing. Blood.
Finally, the river was right in front. I saw men jumping there and I saw them drown. Even riders were dragged down by the current and drowned not even halfway through. A tall sellsword in black ringmail ripped off the Lannister coat of arms from his clothes and threw himself to the river. I didn't see the fool come back for air.
Warhorns. Screams. Fear.
In front of me, cravens threw away their spears and swords. The Karstarks accepted their surrender. I identified the Northerners weakness for what it was and ripped off the sigils on my armor and threw away my sword. I am too important to die.
Pain. White and Red.
My hands were clamping my halberd. Ghost head-butted my side, almost throwing me out of my chair. The world reset but I was still in the river.
My eyes were shut. I gritted my teeth and gave my legs a couple of love taps to center myself. Colors started becoming real once again. Slowly, I unclenched my halberd and blinked repeatedly a few times. At last, I could feel my legs. They felt like they were not there, like they were made of air.
Amory was slumped in his chair. His wrists chaffed, his mouth lolling to the side. Drool and tears running down his cheeks and jaws.
I felt some strength return to my legs and stood. My legs almost entangle one another and my eyes went black for a second. I found myself on one knee in the ground and tried to breathe some fresh air, but I was interrupted by a dry heave.
Shit.
I stay low until my breathing normalizes. I don't want to kiss the ground and sour this moment, more than it already is I mean. I did it.
I fucking did it.
No secret would be safe from me. Bloodraven had one thousand eyes and one? What a chump. I only have two, and I'll have all the secrets I'll ever need. A 'Lord of secrets' in truth.
I let out a chuckle and felt the dryness of my mouth. The tent became more and more real with each heartbeat and breath. My legs no longer felt fake and I was able to stand.
I reached the tent flaps with the help of my halberd. "Don, bring me Urswyck of the Brave Companions" I order to one of the guards.
While I wait for the wretch, otherwise known as Vargo's second in command, I turn to the craven in my tent. Amory is still out, but I had the distinct feeling that I didn't need him awake for prodding his mind.
My first try was incredibly uncomfortable, but I feel my limbs regaining strength by the minute. It was nothing like skinchaning into Ghost, the experience was much more… distasteful. Besides I highly doubt Tywin told this 'lesser man' something of actual value. Alas, practice is practice.
###
The night before reaching Maidenpool, I called for a war council to decide on exactly what to do.
Unlike Galbart's, my tent didn't have sculptures and centerpieces to make me look noble and lordly. My tent was bare with a table made of hastily assembled planks sitting over two sturdy stools. At least the chairs were comfy. And thankfully, the people being hosted weren't overly worried for appearances. Or at least, they didn't gave me any reason to believe they did.
I would've offered snacks in the meeting, if not for the little voice in my head telling me that looking like we were doing something serious was important too. So I chose to be a follower instead of a trend disruptor.
Once Lord Greengood entered and sat, the meeting started. I swiped my gaze through all the attendants: Lords Blackmyre, Greengood and Boggs to my left, Dacey and Jorelle sitting to my right, and Sers Perwyn and Ronel next to them.
"Ser Perwyn," I said. "Tell us everything your scouts were able to get about Maidenpool's garrison."
"Aye, my lord." The knight stood up from his seat. "Ser Ronnel Rivers and his fifty riders tell me there are around six hundred lions manning the city. They don't have any siege engines, nor enough arrows to resist a prolonged siege. Unfortunately for us and to no one's surprise, they also sacked and burned the lands around the town. Our army won't be able to forage."
My own scouting with Cerati also told me as much. All of the shacks outside Maidenpool's walls had been burned to the ground, some of the houses inside shared the same fate. Tents occupied the places where houses used to be and, just like in Darry, there was a newly built gallows in the town square.
"Your scouts did good, ser," I nodded at Perwyn. "Our baggage train will last us a month, but I don't plan to let the lions last that long."
It was a plan I had discussed and refined with them after the Brave Companions incident. The Neck lords liked my plan exactly as I presented it. "Southrons deserve nothing, my lord! The Neck will stand proudly with the Starks!" Meanwhile Dacey almost throttled me for planning to outright lie to the Lannister garrison. "You are representing your brother Jon! How do you think he can handle negotiations after his brother broke his word like it was nothing?"
It was a wake up call. What in the world possessed me to think of something that stupid? Lying as a representative of a house can make things easier in the short term, yes. But what about the aftermath? How do you recover when your words are worth nothing?
Thank the gods I breached the subject in private and in a 'this is not the final version' kind of way or I'd be hard pressed to follow through.
We went over the plan and asked for any issue. Be it sickness in camp or maybe a broken siege ladder. We were all good.
Unlike Galbart's meetings, this was a short one. Mostly because I stuck to the 'this could have been an e-mail' mantra. I think everyone was better for that.
Tomorrow we'll reach Maidenpool, the place where an eventual march on King's Landing would be staged. My sisters were coming home, no matter what.
###
Back when he was a boy of ten, Jaime Lannister had a nightmare he'll remember to the last of his days.
His nightmare started with a dragon made of smoke sauntering about a city bigger than Lannisport. All the people he saw were dirty and hungry, not even paying attention to the dragon. And then, from a heartbeat to the next, the dragon stood before him, its back turned, tall and proud, readying to breathe fire on the city. The nightmare ended with Jaime raising his sword hand and being blinded by a white gleam.
His night terrors continued until his hand touched a sword and his uncle Gerion told him the story of Ser Barristan cutting his way through the Golden Company to slay the last Blackfyre pretender. Cersei convinced him the dragon in his nightmare was a secret Blackfyre and that Jaime was the hero called to slay the false dragon and spare the people from its wrath. It was then, his childhood nightmare became his dream. Jaime Lannister, Blackfyre slayer, hero of the realm.
Now, after being dragged from a battlefield he did not partake in, it was only his sister's memory that allowed Jaime not to curse his luck every second of the day while training the fresh levies from Lannisport. The sound of steps coming from behind broke him from his thoughts.
"Grave news, Lord Jaime," said Tytos Brax.
The realm had three kings as of yet, perhaps the news was of a fourth king? mayhaps a fifth?
"The capital is not receiving food from the roseroad. King's Landing will starve if nothing changes soon."
The words came as a question to Jaime's ears and just like every other question asked before, he didn't have an answer. He was not Tyrion, nor Tywin for that matter. His father's last raven appointed him as the Warden of the West and ordered him to train levies and take them to King's Landing. How? He didn't specify. Renly on the south and the Young Wolf in the east wouldn't make it easy to move an army.
His brother would have come up with a brilliant plan to distract the Starks and bring food to King's Landing in one fine stroke. His father would split the Northern lords in half and then do the same with the Reach. Jaime… he was only good with a sword in hand.
"Find as many horses as you can. The levies have to be ready for battle soon. We smashed the river lords in the foothills of the Golden Tooth, even if Northerners join them this time, I'm confident we'll break them again."
He didn't have a mind as sharp as his brother, nor could he scare nobles into submission like his father. What Jaime knew, however, was his way with a sword in hand.
He had two options, fight his way through Renly's army, or go east taking advantage of Harrenhal's siege and take the Young Wolf's army a piecemeal. The last time the Stark boy tricked me into retreating. This time, he won't escape me. My dreams were right twice, a third time should be the same.
While laying siege to Riverrun, Jaime dreamt one more time. On this occasion, he was in a dark forest running barefooted from wolves stalking him. And just like his first dream all those years back, it became reality when his lords impeded him from joining the fight and he disgracefully turned around from the battlefield.
Another dream came to him in Oxcross. This time, Jaime was wearing the crimson of his house and fought wolves left and right. This dream ended with the biggest grey wolf wounded and him raising his sword to finish the job.
'Kingslayer' was the title Eddard Stark gave him, it seemed fitting for him to give his title more weight.
###
A/N: Kinda wanted to give Jon more of a chuuni moment, but it all felt too much.
So Jaime has some weird dreams huh? I wonder were he got them from?
Btw, I made a p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / yorud, I won't add chapters there until I fulfil my promise for midweek chapters though.
Give me your comments! (⌐□_□)