"So… are ye comin' with me?" Ivar asked as soon as he finished explaining what he had been doing over the past moons. Alfyn was pacing around the tent, as usual. The man always grew excited whenever Ivar spoke of his clashes with Jorund's men, so Ivar had long since grown used to the restless movement.
Alfyn stopped the moment he heard the question and turned to him with a grin. "Are ye kiddin' me? O' course I'm comin' with ye. There's no way I'm passin' on the chance to get back at Jorund. We already had a deal, remember? That we'd pool our forces when the time came to strike him. And I think this is it, this is the right time!"
He had been waiting for this moment for a long time. His clansmen, his brother, his wives, and his sons who had died at Jorund's hands would finally be avenged.
Ivar nodded. "Alryt. Gather yer warriors and follow us south on the morrow. Just make sure ye've got enough supplies for yer men, I won't be sharin' me food with ye lot. I've brought many warriors this time, and we'll need every scrap we've got."
"Aye, o' course," Alfyn replied as he sat down across from him. "We'll handle our own food. Yer salt's been a great help, we can store far more meat now. We've got plenty stocked up, and there's no better time to use it than now… to kill Jorund." He paused, then added, "What about Arvid of the Howlers? Are we bringin' them into this?"
Ivar thought for a moment before answering. "Go to him and tell him what we've discussed. If he's willin' and can gather his men in time, then he can join us."
"Alryt… alryt. I'll head there now. Fortunately, their settlement's only a few leagues away." Alfyn rose at once, pushed aside the fur flap, and strode out of the tent.
Ivar didn't stop him. He rose as well and stepped outside. Alfyn's family would surely be returning soon, and Ivar had no desire to remain inside the tent when they did. There had been times when Alfyn's wives cast him lingering, suggestive glances, as though eager for his body and cocktail, and Ivar wanted no part in that. He would not risk earning Alfyn's ire if anything were discovered, and, truth be told, he had no interest in them at all.
Once outside, he avoided looking at the women as they made their way back toward the tent and headed straight for his warriors' camp just beyond Alfyn's settlement. Without delay, he gathered his commanders and informed them that they would resume their march south on the morrow, this time joined by Alfyn and his warriors, and Arvid as well, should he choose to come.
Ivar then ordered his men to rest as there would be no such luxury once they returned to the haunted forests.
The next day, after waking early and finishing his cultivation, Ivar sought out Alfyn to see how many warriors he would be bringing. It was always a headache asking him, Alfyn had a habit of answering in "scores" rather than exact numbers, which often forced Ivar to see and count for himself. Of course, Ivar understood that they just didn't know how to count after tens, but it's still frustrating.
It did not take long to find him. Alfyn stood in the middle of the settlement beside a dying fire, speaking with Arvid.
The moment he saw Ivar, Alfyn greeted him. "Mornin', Ivar! Yer just in time. Arvid here says he'll be comin' with us, along with his warriors."
Ivar nodded to Arvid and asked, "How many are ye bringin'?"
"Scores of my best warriors," Arvid replied.
Ivar didn't bother pressing further. He would count them once the march began. "Good," he said simply, then turned to Alfyn. "How 'bout ye? How many are ye bringin'?"
"I'm bringin' plenty of my best warriors, o' course," Alfyn answered, gesturing toward the men gathered not far from them. "Just enough left behind to guard the settlement."
Ivar followed his gaze and counted. When he finished, he found himself slightly disappointed, only seventy. Still, he accepted it. Even with the constant recruiting they had done in the past year, not everyone could fight. Most came with families, and that always meant fewer warriors.
"They'll do," Ivar said at last. "We'll be leavin' once the men are done eatin'. Make sure yer lot doesn't take too long, we've a long journey ahead."
"They're already cookin', so we'll be ready soon. Me supplies were packed last night so I'm all set," Alfyn replied, then turned to Arvid. "How about ye?"
Arvid frowned slightly. "I'll head back and have my men and supplies ready in a jiffy."
"Then go," Ivar said at once. "We won't wait fer ye if ye're not ready when we are. We need to cover at least ten leagues today if we're to find a good place to rest at night."
Arvid wasted no time and hurried off.
Watching him leave, Alfyn shook his head. "That man's goin' to slow us down, won't he?"
Ivar's gaze followed Arvid's retreating figure. "Don't worry about it. If he's not ready by the time we finish eatin', we'll leave him behind. He can catch up to us if he truly wants to join us in this fight."
"Alryt," Alfyn said, accepting it easily.
With nothing else to discuss, Ivar turned to leave, giving a brief wave. "Have yer men ready. I'll send word when we're set to move."
"Aye." Alfyn nodded, then turned and barked at his sluggish warriors. "Oi! Get up and finish cookin' the meal quick! We're leavin' as soon as we're done eatin'!"
—-------
Arvid arrived just in time at Alfyn's settlement, accompanied by his warriors and their supplies. Once again, Ivar found himself slightly disappointed, there were only twenty-five of them. Still, he chose not to dwell on it and immediately ordered the march to begin.
The first day of their journey was slow, the combined force of three groups moving less smoothly than Ivar would have preferred. Even so, they reached his favored resting spot by nightfall just as the last light of the sun faded beyond the horizon. Fires were kept low, and the men ate in near silence before settling down for the night.
At dawn on the second day, Ivar roused them early. The march resumed without delay, and though the pace improved slightly, it was still far from what he was used to when leading only his own warriors. Alfyn's men were steady but lacked discipline, while Arvid's warriors lagged behind more than once, forcing brief halts to keep the group together.
Ivar said nothing at first, but by the third day his patience wore thin. He began making examples of those who dragged their feet. Alfyn and Arvid both tried to intervene, but a single look from Ivar silenced them. They had seen him fight before and knew that, despite his youth, he was not someone they could easily challenge even if they outnumbered him. In the end, they could only watch in silence as their men were beaten until black and blue.
Fortunately, the message was understood immediately. The men and women straightened themselves and the pace of the march improved considerably. When they finally halted for the night, it was not one of Ivar's usual resting places, but the ground was defensible enough. Scouts were posted, and the men ate quickly as usual before turning in.
By the fourth day, around midday, they reached the edges of the haunted forests. The shift in the land was immediate, the trees got thicker and the light was dimmer beneath the canopy. Ivar wasted no time then and ordered heightened caution and sent scouts ahead to guide their path, ensuring they avoided any settlements or wandering groups. He had no intention of revealing his presence yet; if Jorund or Sylas caught wind of a big group's movements too soon, it would make them suspicious and Ivar didn't want that.
They moved carefully through the forest, circling around settlements and slipping past bands of hunters whenever possible. When avoidance was no longer an option, they struck swiftly, leaving no witnesses behind. By nightfall, they reached one of Ivar's preferred resting spots within the forest and settled in.
The following day, signs of conflict became more frequent. Not long into their march, they began encountering warriors clashing in scattered skirmishes. Once Ivar confirmed that these were men of Jorund and Sylas, he acted without hesitation. He struck down the victors, beheaded them, and claimed their weapons before ordering their bodies burned.
Afterward, he urged his warriors to move faster. He wanted to meet with the crows first and confirm that their agreement still held before committing fully to the conflict. Fortunately, he found them the following day.
Ivar did not approach the crows' camp directly. Instead, he sent one of his men ahead to inform whoever was in charge that he had returned. He did not have to wait long. The man came back accompanied by several crows, led by none other than their First Ranger, Brandon Snow.
Ivar recognized some of the men standing behind Brandon, they were the same ones he had met when he first arrived at Castle Black. As they approached, Ivar smiled and nodded to Brandon, then did the same to the familiar faces. They did not respond to his friendly gesture, but he did not mind. It was enough that they understood his friendly gesture.
At the same time, Brandon observed Ivar and the warriors he had brought with him. There were several unfamiliar faces, likely men who had remained behind in Ivar's settlement before and were only now joining the fighting. After briefly scanning them, Brandon fixed his gaze on Ivar and spoke. "Ye surely took yer time. Ye've been gone fer almost a moon, brat."
Ivar shrugged. "Can't be helped. My settlement lies far north, and travelin' with hundreds of men is not the same as travelin' with a few." He paused before continuing, "But we're here now, aren't we? So… does our agreement still hold? We don't want to start fightin' without knowin' that."
He grinned slightly.
Brandon frowned at the boy's cautious nature but still answered, "Aye, it does. Though it's up to ye whether ye still wish to fight. Jorund and Sylas are already clashing every day. It won't be long before they commit all their forces."
Ivar's grin widened as he glanced at the crows' camp, which had grown significantly since his last visit. They had clearly brought more men, likely preparing to strike down whoever emerged victorious between Jorund and Sylas.
Without showing his thoughts, he said, "But ye still need us to thin their numbers, don't ye? The way I see it, ye'd rather we do the fightin' so ye won't have to risk more of yer brothers, right?"
He watched closely and caught the tightening of Brandon's jaw. So he had been right, then. The thought crossed his mind with quiet certainty. He had not been entirely sure whether the Night's Watch was truly dwindling in number in this timeline, but from what he had just seen, it seemed his suspicion had been correct.
Brandon took a slow breath before sweeping his gaze over the gathered wildlings once more. Then he replied bluntly, "Ye're right. We want ye to die fer us."
Several of the crows laughed at his words.
Ivar simply shrugged. "It's not like we fear death. Just don't forget our payment when the time comes." He paused, as if recalling something, then added, "I brought some friends along…" He gestured toward Alfyn and Arvid, who stood nearby. "They'll be fightin' with me. I assume that doesn't change anythin' in our agreement, even if they kill some of the men we're countin' fer ye?"
Brandon considered it briefly before nodding. "Aye. Just make sure they never raise their weapons against my men, and we'll have no problems."
"No problem," Ivar replied easily.
He then gestured toward his men, who stepped forward and dropped several severed heads onto the ground. "These are from the past two days. We kept the heads as agreed. Count 'em and remember. We'll be claimin' full payment once this is all over. Aye?"
Brandon wrinkled his nose slightly at the smell, proof that the heads were not freshly taken, but he nodded nonetheless. "Aye." He signaled one of his men to begin counting.
They spoke a while longer before parting ways. Ivar and his group returned to their own camp, where he immediately began organizing his forces.
He divided his warriors into groups of fifty, each led by himself, Torren, Haldor, and Solveig, who had proven her bravery and leadership during the last raid. Asgeir and Eirik were assigned to Torren's and Haldor's groups, as they still lacked the experience and reputation to lead such numbers. Ivar intended for them to learn under stronger commanders while remaining protected.
Alfyn's and Arvid's warriors were left in their own groups, as they were not part of Ivar's core force. Still, both men acknowledged Ivar as the overall leader of the army and accepted that they would follow his orders, wherever and whenever he chose to deploy them.
Once everything was settled, Ivar dismissed them. He then spent the rest of the day resting in his tent. Though his body was stronger than that of any of his warriors, fatigue still found him, especially the kind that weighed on the mind. He rested through the night, and by the time he woke up, dawn had already broken.
Ivar cultivated for a while before preparing himself for the day ahead.
When everyone was awake, had eaten and ready, particularly the fifty men under his direct command, he left the camp and began hunting down the warriors of Jorund and Sylas once more.
—--------
Ivar crouched low and watched the battle unfolding in the distance. Nearly a hundred warriors clashed on both sides, the largest engagement he had seen since he began ambushing the forces of Sylas and Jorund a fortnight ago. He had already scouted both their settlements alongside the crows, and from the movements he had observed, it was clear they were preparing for a decisive clash. It would not be long now.
Sylas's and Jorund's men tore into one another without restraint. Heads were severed, limbs hacked apart, and others fell with blades driven through their eyes or bodies, collapsing lifeless into the snow. Ivar and his men watched in silence, poised and ready, waiting for the battle to burn itself out before making their move. By now, his warriors needed no commands. They knew what to do and would follow the moment he acted.
"Ahhh!"
"Uhhh!"
After what felt like an hour, the fighting finally began to die down. It seemed Jorund's men had won, as the surviving warriors of Sylas broke and fled for their lives. Ivar waited a few moments longer, allowing the victors' adrenaline and bloodlust to ebb.
When he saw them finally drop to the snow to rest, he made his move.
Still crouched, he advanced swiftly, his men following close behind. When the cover of the bushes could no longer conceal them, he rose and surged forward at full speed. His warriors followed without hesitation, rising as one and charging after him.
His men didn't shout as they made their dash just like he wanted. And by the time their enemy realized they were under attack, it was already too late.
"Oi!"
"Look!"
"We're under attack!"
Ivar cut down the man nearest to him, who had tried to block his strike. Without pause, he moved to the next, who attempted to flee, and drove his blade into the man's back. The third charged at him head-on, wild and reckless, but Ivar slipped past the strike and took his head cleanly.
By then, his warriors surged past him, cutting through the remaining enemies. Some tried to run, but they were already spent, exhausted from the earlier fight, while Ivar's men were fresh and fully rested. Those who fled were chased down and slain within a few hundred meters.
Ivar did not move after his third kill of the day, allowing his warriors to finish the rest. There were still a few greenhorns among them, and though they had gained some experience over the past sennights of fighting, more would only harden them further.
It did not take long for the fighting to die down. Every one of Jorund's surviving warriors was slain. Ivar's men suffered one death and several wounded, and he could not help but shake his head at the result. No matter how often he reminded them to be cautious and not underestimate their enemies, some would always forget in the heat of battle. The man who had died had slipped on the snow, and his opponent had seized the moment, driving a blade straight through his mouth.
Still, Ivar accepted the outcome. Since they had begun these ambushes, he had already lost seven men. That left him with only forty-three who were still capable of fighting, some barely so, as their wounds had yet to heal.
The other groups had fared no better. Some had lost more than ten men by now. Yet he could not truly blame their leaders. Jorund's and Sylas's warriors were seasoned fighters by now, hardened by countless battles and difficult to bring down.
As for Alfyn's and Arvid's men, Ivar paid them little mind. They had joined him of their own accord, bound only by shared purpose rather than loyalty. Even so, the last time he had counted, they had already lost almost half their numbers since arriving here.
Once his men had rested enough, Ivar ordered them to loot the dead of their belongings and weapons. The furs on the bodies could be used by others back in their settlement, while those still in good condition could be traded later when they found a better buyer than the crows. As for the weapons, Ivar reckoned he now had enough to arm every able-bodied person in his settlement, easing one of his earlier concerns about the lack of weapons for his growing army.
He would have preferred to acquire armor as well, but the people of these lands rarely used it, and the crows would never part with their own. For now, he would make do with what he had.
By the time they finished looting and burning the dead, the sun had already set. Ivar ordered his men to make camp a few leagues away from the battlefield. Once his tent was set up, he stepped inside and sat down to rest. However, he had barely been seated for a few minutes when one of his men entered.
"Ivar! Tarn's arrived. Says he's got somethin' to tell ye."
Ivar searched his memory and recalled that Tarn was one of Haldor's men. Curious as to why Haldor had sent him, he rose at once and went to meet him.
When he arrived, he spoke without delay. "Why are ye here?"
Tarn, visibly worn from his journey, answered in a tired voice. "The crows approached Haldor. They told him that a large force had left Jorund's settlement, nearly emptying their settlement as a result. Said a big battle's comin' soon, and they asked fer ye to meet with 'em to discuss some sort o' strategy."
Finally.
Ivar felt a flicker of satisfaction at the news. It seemed this long stretch of fighting would soon come to an end.
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A/N: Please don't forget to rate and review the story after reading. And if you want to read ahead. You know where to look.