Chapter 63: GOT : Chapter 63
( Rickard )
The command tent was eerily silent while the King in the North studied the maps presented before him.
After leaving Riverrun in all haste, the Northern forces were now at the gates of the North once more. Yet, the gates were closed to them. The Ironborn, this wretched scum, had stabbed them in the back and sacked most of the coastal settlements…including Moat Cailin.
Why the Ironborn would ever want Moat Cailin was beyond the lord of Karhold's understanding. As he saw it, the Ironborn were a bunch of murdering thieves who were all too happy to pay for their damned "Iron price". And the Moat had no riches, no women, no gold, nothing, really. Not even a garrison worthy of the name. Why would these fucks suddenly decide to take the place?
Not that they would stay there much longer.
The King had burnt their ships on the Fever River and seized the few that beached themselves during the night attack. With Lord Reed's constant harassment of the Ironborn foraging around the castle, they were trapped and without supplies.
And with the Manderly host approaching from the north, their situation would degrade, and the matter should be dealt with by the end of the month if that.
This displeased the King greatly. He hoped to cut his way through the Moat and relieve Torrhen's Square, Deepwood Motte, and Winterfell as soon as possible. Waiting was not an option that he seriously considered.
"How long till Lord Manderly's host arrives?" the king asked.
"About a week, your grace." Daryn Hornwood answered.
Good lad, that one. Good fighter too. He would make an excellent husband for little Alys. A wedding that should take place as soon as they reached Hornwood.
"A week…" Robb Stark sighed. "We don't have a week."
"The Ironborn will be forced to lay down their arms soon enough, your grace." Rickard Karstark finally spoke up. "I wish to see the Ironborn gone from our lands as much as you, but we cannot sacrifice men which we would otherwise need to help our allies."
"It's not the Ironborn I worry about." The king tapped his fingers nervously on the oak table.
Rickard Karstark's confused stare met that of the Greatjon, equally confused.
"Then, what?" Rickard asked.
"I received a raven not so long ago. From my brother at the Wall." The king stared at the small assembly.
Besides the Lord of Karhold, it was a really small war council, only the Greatjon Umber, Howland Reed, Daryn Hornwood, and Dacey Mormont were present.
"He brings ill news." The king continued; his voice cold as the ice running through his veins. "A host has gathered beyond the wall. A self-proclaimed king called Mance Rayder has assembled all of the tribes, almost a hundred thousand strong, and is marching towards the Wall."
"A hundred thousand?" the Greatjon laughed. "The wildlings can't stand each other! Are you sure your bastard brother did not write this in his cups?"
"I must agree with Lord Umber, your grace," Rickard interjected. "A hundred thousand seems…unbelievable. A few tribes could mount up to ten thousand, but every single tribe…I don't believe it."
"I trust my brother with my life." The king shook his head. "Need I remind you that he is my heir?"
The room went silent once more, with the Greatjon begrudgingly nodding.
"Aye, your grace. Let us hope it does not come to this."
"It won't." the king answered swiftly. "But I want help to arrive as soon as possible, and right now, I don't have men to spare."
Suddenly, as if on cue, a man of house Liddle appeared.
"Your grace?" the black-haired man seemed to be a little intimidated by the present company. "There's a messenger that has arrived under a flag of truce. From the Ironborn."
The king frowned.
"Let him in."
The Ironborn that entered the tent was a real piece of work. He wasn't highborn, by the looks of it, and his armour was in a terrible state. Not to mention his face, covered in mud and blood, with pieces of grass in his beard.
"Speak, squid." The king snarled.
"Erm…yer…grace…" the fool stumbled. "Milord Victarion Greyjoy offers you a deal."
"What kind? I do not have time to play guessing games. Speak or be gone." The king was quickly losing patience.
"Milord asked me to offer ye a duel. If he wins, we get to go free with the ships ye took frum' oi." The Ironborn repressed a smile. "If he loses, we will surrender. Milord will represent himself and asks ye name a champion."
Robb Stark stroked his beard for a few moments, thinking.
"Liddle, bring this man outside. I shall discuss it with my council."
The Liddle man nodded and quickly shoved the Ironborn outside. As soon as the pair left, Rickard anticipated what the king was going to say, but to his surprise, it was the Mormont girl that got to him first.
"I know what you are thinking, Robb. Sorry. Your grace." The she-bear frowned. "Don't."
"It's our opportunity…" Robb pleaded. "We could end this, right now."
"I must oppose this course of action." Daryn Hornwood spoke in turn. "We will have our victory soon enough, there is little need to agree to this duel. We need the ships that are still intact to help us clear the Ironborn from our shores. Not to mention we don't want the Ironborn here to warn their friends at Torrhen's Square and Deepwood Motte, let alone Winterfell."
The thought of Theon Turncloak escaping justice seemed to have weakened the king's resolve. However, he did not back down.
"We need to clear Moat Cailin as soon as possible. If none of you wish to champion for me, I shall do it myself."
Rickard's heart sank completely. Victarion Greyjoy would massacre the boy. Luckily for him, the Greatjon stood up.
"There will be no need for this!" his booming voice carried. "I'll whack the squid into the ground where the maggots will feed on his corpse!"
"Jon, are you sure about this?" Rickard asked. "The squid will have no mercy."
"Pah!" he laughed. "I've killed tougher men than him."
"Then it's settled. Dacey, please run out and grab Liddle. Tell the Ironborn that we'll accept his offer." The king asked. "But. Tell him only that we accept that in case of our champion losing, we will agree to let them go. Do not mention the ships."
The Mormont girl nodded and hurried out of the tent. Meanwhile, the king had a large smile on his face.
"Good. We can now proceed with our new plan."
"Our new plan?" Rickard asked.
"Yes, first of all, Lord Reed." The king turned to the Crannogman, who had stayed silent during this entire council. "You will hold Moat Cailin and defend it with whatever you can scrape. Furthermore, if the Ironborn do win, I will make them leave. South, and on foot. Make sure none of them escape the Neck alive."
"Yes, your grace," Reed answered. Always one for simplicity, that one.
"Next, recall Lord Manderly's host immediately. Tell him to join Cassel and make haste for Deepwood Motte. Tell them to get Asha Greyjoy alive, she can be useful. Once we have finished here, we will head straight to Winterfell ourselves." The young wolf tapped his fingers on the map.
"I'll send a contingent under Cerwyn to dislodge the Ironborn at Torrhen's Square. There may be a few Tallharts that can help. Once they've finished, both Cerwyn and Manderly should send half their forces to Moat Cailin and half of their forces to Winterfell."
The king then turned his head towards Rickard.
"We have no time to lose, Lord Karstark. You will make haste towards Karhold and then Last Hearth once we've dealt with the Ironborn. Due to this, we will have to organize your daughter's wedding at Karhold on the way, if it pleases you."
"It pleases me very much, but won't Lord Hornwood be insulted?" he asked.
"My father will understand." Daryn Hornwood answered simply.
"I shall do as you ask, then." Rickard smiled.
"Very well." The king nodded without a smile. "Once the wedding is celebrated, we will march on the Wall and get rid of this so-called king, let the men rest, and go back south…with the Stony Shore properly manned, this time.
Now with that out of the way, you might want to go and prepare, Lord Umber."
Indeed, the Ironborn hadn't noted the subtlety of Robb's conditions and had accepted the duel anyway. Either the fool sent to bargain forgot about it, or Victarion Greyjoy didn't notice it. Either way, it was in full battle armour that the latter sallied out of the gates of Moat Cailin as the sun was about to set, with an impressive battleaxe at his side, under the cheers of his own men.
The Greatjon was also impressive, in his full armour clad with the sigil of House Umber, he had opted for an equally impressive hammer. Both men's shields were decorated with the sigils of their house, and both were as tall as a small man.
Under the Northmen's cheers, Umber sallied forward in turn. Neither man had a horse, and they silently judged each other. Greyjoy tried to strike first, but the Greatjon anticipated his strike and made to move in.
The Greyjoy's movements were slow, but the man showed incredible strength as he managed to recover in time to dodge the Greatjon's hammer, which nearly sent Lord Umber flying considering how much force he'd put into the swing.
Luckily for him, the shield parried the blow from the battleaxe that came right after. Despite his head likely ringing like a bell, the Greatjon pulled himself together and stood firm, not wanting to leave another opening to his opponent.
This was a good move. The Greyjoy tried to strike again with his axe, which cut through the air as the Greatjon expertly dodged despite his large stature. Despite this, the Greyjoy, summoning truly supernatural strength, struck at the Greatjon before he could even start to exploit a mistake, forcing him to stay on the defensive.
It was clear the momentum was on the squid's side, and the Greatjon knew it. Taking advantage of a flurry of rapid strikes from the Greyjoy warrior that left him panting, Umber managed to lunge his hammer forward and strike his opponent in the shoulder.
This was far from winning him the fight, but it did silence the squids watching, whose cheers suddenly died down at the sight of their leader getting his shoulder smashed.
Yet, the Greyjoy was resilient. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he continued to throw his axe at the Greatjon, almost relentlessly. Every time, though, the Greatjon parried his attacks with his shield, while the Greyjoy would do the same with Umber's attacks. This was quickly turning into a game of who would tire out first.
However, he did notice that the Greyjoy's movements were becoming slower and slower. Looking at the ground, Rickard saw that Umber had slowly been pushing the Greyjoy warrior into a muddy area, while expertly dodging this ground himself. As a result, the squid was far slower, which enabled the Greatjon to continue his flurry of attacks, while the Greyjoy exhausted himself much faster.
Finally, the Greatjon found an opening. After another swing from the Greyjoy, Lord Umber didn't just strike the giant in front of him, he charged. Clearly his opponent wasn't expecting this, and couldn't react on time.
Rickard held his breath as the Greatjon collided with his opponent, sending the Greyjoy warrior to the muddy ground. For a moment, Rickard thought that Umber would soon follow as he tumbled forwards, but with extraordinary agility, the Greatjon managed to stay up.
His opponent, though, was writhing in the mud, his shield having become stuck. He roared, shoving it aside as he used his axe to parry the first of the Greatjon's blows. He wouldn't be so lucky with the second however, which hit him square in the face.
The Greyjoy tried to swing his axe at the Greatjon of course, but failed miserably. This failed strike had doomed him, and Lord Umber brought his hammer down on the poor fool. He struck again. Again. And again. And again.
Soon enough, there was a pool of blood next to the muddy ground where Victarion Greyjoy had once stood.
The Greatjon kept hitting.
By the time he stopped, his opponent's face was no longer recognizable. It had been reduced to a bunch of flesh, blood, brains and bone. The Ironborn had stopped cheering, and looked at each other with resigned faces.
The Greatjon on the other hand raised his hammer, threw his shield to the ground, unveiled his helm and shouted at the top of his lungs:
"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"
The roar from the northern crowd was indescribable.
"UMBER! UMBER! UMBER!"
"THE GREATJON! THE GREATJON!"
"THE NORTH IS OURS!"
Rickard Karstark smiled as he saw the terrified faces of the Ironborn. Their champion was dead, and they would likely not see the barren rocks that they call home for a long time. He however, would soon be on his way to Winterfell, and then Karhold.
Tomorrow is another day, but today, well, Rickard Karstark felt like nothing could stop the Northern Army. Ironborn, wildlings, Lannisters…they would all face the wrath of the Northmen.
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