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The Icefyre Conquest-25
🕑 Added 2023-11-25 18:32:39 +0000 UTC“Any maiden caught your eyes yet, Ser Snow?”
“I believe you are asking that question in the wrong place, Tyrell,” I answered back, keeping down a mug of ale as I rolled my eyes, while everyone around me laughed. “Laugh it up all you want, at least I am not swooning like Brynden over there.”
Everyone roared with laughter again, the mead and ale making every small thing seem like the funniest shit ever as we looked over at the Blackwood Heir. The man was seated a few paces away from us, and was being practically fed mugs of ale by two women. Evidently, Brynden was going to enjoy two whores at once tonight—that is, if he still had his wits about him by then. Taking another swig of the mead, I sighed and leaned back, eyeing the group of young men around me that had decided on a whim to celebrate Robb’s wedding, by spending the night and gold in the Wintertown’s whorehouse.
Now, surrounded by colored lamps, scented candles, and lanterns, along with plenty of mead, ale, and rum bought by the Karstark Heir, the heirs and men of the same age were sitting together. Naturally, I had been dragged along by Garlan and Lucas both, the elder Tyrell citing that he was tired of living in the Keep, while Lucas needed someone to drink with him, since the boy was not keen on fucking so nearby his brother. There were no other patrons around, as Harrion had bought the whole whorehouse for the night, with the best girls and women being asked to serve food, and attend to the men should they please as such. The smell of mead and rum hung heavy in the air, and food was coming in aplenty, with scantily clad women walking in with plates and pitchers, and often enough, I found myself wondering just how long it took for a single drop of water to roll down from their neck to down their navel. Suddenly, I looked around at all the men and turned towards Garlan. “Loras isn’t here,” I commented, looking at his elder brother…who was biting into a roasted lamb with an expression of pure bliss on his face. For a moment, the man looked like a child who had been given the best toy ever, such was the bliss and wonder on his face. Snorting as he bit even harsher into the lamb’s tender flesh, I rolled my eyes and commented. “For all that Reach calls itself the Kingdom of Grains, you sure look like you haven’t tasted anything better.”
“They don-don’t have lambs this good down South,” Garlan replied, swallowing the mouthful of honeyed flesh in his mouth as he turned towards me. His eyes sparkled with joy as he licked the rivulets of juices and butter running down his chin, smacking his lips in delight as he looked down at the plate before him. “I don’t know how, this is far better than the honeyed lambs the cooks in Highgarden make.”
“Well they ain’t good then,” Smalljon snorted, slamming down an empty pitcher of mead as he burped loudly, patting his belly as he continued, his words slurring slightly after the seventh pitcher of the large man’s drinking spree. “Trust me, Tyrell, you Southerners wouldn know good taste if it smacked ya’ll asses in the face!”
“Well good thing I came to your home then,” the knight laughed, and I breathed a sigh of relief, noting that Torrhen and Lucas were both doing the same. Once again, Garlan made himself stand out a little more in my eyes as the man began to talk with Harrion and Smalljon both, discussing a fucking recipe of all things. And the two hotblooded Northmen were listening with rapture, nodding and humming along! Deciding to ignore the three older men and leave them to their culinary desires, I turned toward Lucas and nodded at the mead.
“Well, you and I are both not gonna take a whore to bed…might as well spend Harrion’s gold on some mead and rum.”
“It has been a wish of mine to come to Winterfell since childhood, glad that it wasn’t a wasteful one,” he said, picking up his mug and raising it towards me as he continued. “To Heir Stark and his wife’s long and happy marriage.”
“Well it certainly is going to be happy for sure,” I muttered, remembering just how fast Robb had picked up his bride and practically ran off for the bedding. The whole hall had roared with laughter at the scene, and it was one of the rare times that I had seen even my uncle laugh out loud so much. “Still can’t believe the carrot-top got married at sixteen though.”
“And who are you gonna marry, eh Snow?” Daryn jeered as he leaned towards me, wiggling his eyebrows as everyone seemed to turn towards me at that. I regarded the Hornwood Heir for a moment, half of my mind busy on just how the Hornwoods had been about to approach the Karstarks for a betrothal between Alys and the man before me. However, Lord Karstark had been looking to make Alys the Lady of the North ever since she had been born, and with how suddenly the chance came, Uncle Eddard and Rickard had wasted no time in marrying Robb and Alys.
As he had said that day on the balcony, The North needed an heir secured before we marched.
“Women must be liftin their skirts to get a chance at Jon the Daring of Winterfell!” Smalljon nodded, sloshing the ale in his hand as he raised it high, and I sighed as a few women around us actually giggled at that, some of them sending me quite blatant looks as they blew kisses at us. “Why aren't you taking your pick of the whores here, eh? I would have already fucked every willing woman by now if I was you, Snow. I heard even Ros wants a piece of your ‘sword’.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” I commented drily, my eyes flicking to where a few paces away, behind a set of curtains, Domeric Bolton had been led through by a sweaty, scantily clad Ros, “Besi-sides I have no interest in fucking whores.”
“Cause Dacey will tear your arse in two if you touch ‘nother woman’s tits,'' Smalljon cackled, craning his neck up as a woman walking by fed him an apricot, and I sent him a withering glare as everyone laughed loudly—with Garlan almost falling off the couch as Daryn barely caught the knight. “Tell me Snow, you two back to fucking yet?”
“They ain’t fucking anytime soon,” Harrion shook his head as he stood up, belching loudly as he swayed on his feet, giving me a thumbs up as he staggered round the table towards me. “But I know Jon will be fine, after all, twas I who taught about girls and how to win ‘em!”
As the argument erupted between the Karstark Heir and Smalljon over who it was to have taught Robb and I about women, I shared a look with Daryn and Lucas, hoping one of them was at least looking out for me…only to find both of them laughing as they clutched one another for support. I sighed, catching Harrion as Smalljon gave him a push, and looked forlornly in the direction of the Keep.
I could have been sleeping with Visenya right now.
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Eddard grunted as he swung Ice, the greatsword weighing much less than a sword its size ought to as the Valyrian steel cut through the air silently. It had been a while, he realized with a wince as he felt the throb in his shoulders and back. He had gotten too used to life in a solar, and he had much less time than he would have liked to change that. Twisting his wrist to turn Ice in a parrying motion, Eddard sliced upwards as he watched the gleaming edge of his ancestral blade.
For a fleeting moment, the thought of passing Ice onto Robb occurred to him, just like it had ever since he had started to train himself into shape again. He knew he wasn’t the best of the fighters even back in the Rebellion, and a life spent without every day practicing in the yard had done him no favors in that. Now, with his age well past seven-and-thirty, he knew that the time for him to rush battles was over, especially with how the Lords now had their sons to take the lead. But still, he was no coward to sit back on his horse and watch his men die in front of him, and thus, he would fight…and to fight, he needed to get back to swinging Ice like it was an extension of him.
“You look like you could use some help, father,” Jon’s voice broke through the silence around him, he stopped his swings as he turned around, watching his sister’s son emerge from between the trees, the sheathed Nightfall in his hands. Panting a little as he felt his heart pound within his chest, he smiled at his nephew and shook his head as Jon removed his cloak and dropped it on a branch. “Do I see an extra grey hair than this morning?”
“You sure have grown a big head,” Eddard commented as Jon unsheathed his blade, his eyes following the longsword’s edge as the afternoon sun reflected along its fuller. “Where is Lyanna?”
“She is with Alyssane and Maege right now,” Jon nodded in the direction of the keep as he ran his fingers along the flat of his sword, before shifting it between his fingers and lowering it before him. “Are you so tired today that you need to fight a girl right now?”
“I dread to think of the day when she hears you say such in her vicinity,” he shook his head, wrapping his other hand around the hilt of his greatsword to swing it up in his stance, keeping the blade raised a little by his side as he took a step back. “Enough talking for now. Now we spar.”
“I heard how you have begun to train in the evening too,” his son—or was he wrong to think that despite how much he loved the boy and cherished their newfound bond as family?—said, striking at his side with Nightfall, bringing the longsword up sharply. Taking a step back, Eddard moved his hands and blocked the blow that would have cut off his left arm, tilting his sword to make Nightfall glance off its edge as he turned Ice over and cut towards Jon’s chest. Jon moved to the side wildly, lashing out with his free hand, and Ned grunted as a punch slammed into his ribs.
It had been wrong of Greatjon to suggest that the kids begin punching the walls as practice.
Shrugging off the momentary throb, he took a step forwards and drove his own hand into Jon’s chest, shoving him back right as the greatsword carved upwards, its edge barely passing by his face. “It is necessary,” he finally replied, gripping Ice once again with both hands and cutting through the air towards Jon’s shoulder, the strike meant to cut right through an enemy’s chest. But young though he was, his nephew was not an ordinary warrior, and it showed as he brought up Nightfall with a two handed grip sharply, angling the longsword just enough to make Ice slide up the sword and off its edge as the boy twisted his blade.
“Seems to be working, you are faster than you were when we started,” he commented, Nightfall swinging down for a slash across Ned’s chest, and he hurriedly took a step back. Bringing Ice back down in an attempt to prevent Jon from following up on the offensive, he took a breath as he winced, feeling the burn in his back flare up once again. That brief moment of pause on his part was enough for Jon to once again resume his offensive, the sound of Nightfall cutting through air stopping right as the sword did next to his neck.
“You are tired,” Jon observed, barely breathing hard as he straightened, lowering his sword and taking a step back, looking in the direction of Winterfell. “You need to rest. You have not stopped for a moment except to sleep for a few hours since the wedding.”
“Rest can wait, I am the Lord of the No-”
“And the North can run for a day or two without its lord or heir coming out of their rooms,” he interrupted, and Ned blinked as Jon sighed and shook his head. “Just go and take a bath, before you sleep till whenever you wake up by yourself. I will tell the cooks to send the dinner soon. Catelyn and Poole can handle the castle and the royal guests for a while without fucking it up, and as for the Northern ones…well we don’t need any handling there.”
“I am not tired Jon,” he protested, raising Ice and taking his stance again, ignoring just how badly his back was throbbing, or the way he could feel the burn in his shoulders.
“You are panting after barely a minute of sparring,” came the dry response, and Eddard hated how true the words were. Even now, he could feel the little trembles in his arms as he held his ancestral sword up, feeling as if his forefathers were mocking him for being unable to stand straight in battle. A hand gripped the crossguard, and Ned watched as Jon frowned, lowering Ice slightly to look into his eyes. “You need to rest, father. The armies are already assembling across the Kingdoms, and the required force from the North is nearly here. The men from the Neck have also arrived in Torrhen’s Square, and western keeps are all walled up and ordered to be on lookout!”
“And I have to fight by all of them!” Eddard retorted, anger shining in his eyes as he waved a hand in the Keep’s direction, “I am not a Southerner who will stand behind adn watch his soldiers die for him. I have to, and I will step into the battle, but I can’t hope to fight the Ironborn like this, if I can’t even spar for a minute with a sixteen-year-old!”
“You are not the Eddard Stark of Robert’s Rebellion,” Jon said softly after a moment of silence, and Ned blinked as the lad gripped his shoulder for a moment, an expression of understanding and concern on his face…and it was the sheer shock of seeing such emotions directed at him, that too from his nephew that made the tirade of words about to pour out of his throat stop. As if sensing the hesitation on Ned’s part, Jon continued, “And neither are you the Eddard Stark of a decade ago. And not being as much of a frontline fighter doesn’t mean you have to rest at the back in a tent, or you are no longer a figure to be respected by the Northmen who are going to be fighting beside you. It just means…that you now have us to fight for you, for our family, for our land. You have swung your blade for this land enough Father, now let me and Robb do our part. No one is telling you that you have to sit out, but understand that you also have a family to live for. Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, all are still so very young, and think of them when you decide to step into battle. You are not so young or so alone to rush into battles Father.”
“Quite true, Jon,” Maester Luwin’s voice agreed from their left, and Ned blinked as he turned his eyes away from his nephew to look at the aged man. Giving Jon an imperceptible nod, his advisor, and holder of knowledge and records at Winterfell turned towards him and gave a short bow, “My Lord, the last of the soldiers called to arms have reached the edges of the Stark Lands. They shall camp there along with the men from the Manderly and Cerwyn lands. The men from the north have also finally assembled in full capacity, and as per your orders, three thousand men will be camping outside Winterfell at all times to support the Western Houses in case of an Ironborn. That leaves us with about eight thousand men to carry South.”
“And what are the numbers being brought forth by the others?” Jon asked, sheathing Nightfall in a smooth motion as he picked his cloak off the branch.
“I am not privy to any such information, as the Maester that came with them from the South has been keeping all the information from King’s Landing a secret,” Luwin shook his head and sighed, “However, based on the last time the armies were brought together, I would expect about the same number of men, with maybe an up or down of at most a thousand men each. Might be possible that the Eastern Kingdoms send little fewer men, as here infantry is far more useful and needed than cavalry, and the Reach has always had a problem with mobilizing its forces so quickly.”
“It always did, I hope Stannis doesn’t take umbrage regarding Mace Tyrell’s presence once again,” he shook his head, picking up the sheath of hsi own greatsword from the roots of the tree beside him. Sighing as he wore his fur cloak again, Eddard felt the weight of the Lordship he had been saddled with once again settle upon his shoulders—and like every time it had happened before, he couldn’t help but once again wish, that he were naught but a titleless second son. But the die had been cast, and he was the Lord of the North, until he passed on from the world and Robb ascended to the mantle.
“The Riverlands have completed gathering their men,” Luwin spoke up, providing him a much-needed distraction from his morbid thoughts, and Eddard turned towards the man as he fished out a parchment from his robes, “A Tully servant dropped this in the Keep somewhere, and Miranda brought it to me this morning. The Blackfish was recalled from the Bloody Gate by your godfather, and Lord Arryn temporarily relieved him of his post as the Knight of the Gate, along with letting him have his choice of fifty knights from the stronghold for a personal group. Other than that, the only news is of the Lannister banners assembling and marching across the Westerlands, with the number being somewhere around fifteen to seventeen thousand, all infantry and mostly well-armored and equipped knights.”
“Infantry is not a problem against Ironborn,” Jon interrupted, tapping the ground with the tip of his sword as he shook his head, “It is the battle of the fleets that is. Most of Harlaw’s strength was away when I raided it, and so were the ships that Rodrik had in his command. From what you have told me of Balon Greyjoy, and his brothers, they aren’t the type to follow the Crown’s order of destroying or regulating their fleet. We have miles of unruly sea to cover before we make landing at the Islands, and in between that, we have to fight with Ironborn on the sea.”
“Stannis knows how to deal with them,” he waved off Jon’s concern, knowing if there was one thing he could trust the middle Baratheon brother with, it was performing his duty perfectly. Besides, the Master of Ships had broken the Iron Fleet before, and had been dealing with the pirates from Stepstones and the bay further for years, “And with the Redwyne fleet joining him for the journey to facilitate the infantry movement, we have enough ships and galleys to deal with the Ironborn without taking heavy losses.”
“Speaking of dealing with enemies, I wanted to tell you something Milord,” Luwin spoke up, raising one hand to thumb at the chain he wore around his neck, “A party of soldiers on patrol caught a man a few hours ago…he is a deserter of the Night’s Watch Milord.”
“Just what I needed,” he sighed, the curse slipping from his lips as he looked up at the sky above him, “There is still plenty of light…send someone for Bran. I shall depart with him and Jon for the execution myself. It is time Bran experiences what life in the North is like beyond the comforts of Winterfell.”
Comments
TheWateringWizard
Ohhh they’re going to get the direwolves !! Can’t wait to see what you get for Visenya and if the adult one will survive to be Ned’s. Always love when authors give Ned a direwolf also
PP092
stay tuned for more! Also, TIC will definitely have a chapter in December, so heads up
VØ1Ð ÐŘÄĞØÑ
Yus! I always love anew chapter. I was wondering when Jon was getting Ghost. Also will Lyanna/Visenya get her own dire wolf? If so I wonder what appearance it'll have.
