[Chapter Size: 3700 Words.]
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Third Person POV
Bear Island, 300 AC.
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The sound of water being struck by the bodies of the giants echoed across the beach, as horses and giants began to disembark from the ships.
The beach was filling with Arcticans as they organized themselves to invade the island.
Jon headed to where the women were, in a corner of the beach, wearing new clothes and eating the food the men had given them.
The women were there, seated on logs on the beach, drinking some tea prepared for them with the intention of comforting them. They did not seem to have cheerful expressions, but they were there, thanking every time an Arctican brought them something, whether a blanket, food, or medical assistance, since among the Arctican soldiers there was at least one medic for every 100 soldiers.
Arya was with them, talking about what had happened, affirming that justice would come, even if she had not prevented this tragedy.
"The king Robb abandoned us! His brother left the North behind for a crown!" one of them shouted loudly, enough to make the others nearby shrink back.
There was sadness and despair in her voice. Arya stood there, listening to her. Probably having approached to check on her and hear about what they had lived through there since the raiders arrived.
The woman looked at Arya after the outburst with reluctance, her lips trembling. "Sorry about that... You have nothing to do with your brother... I just... am tired... tired of being in the middle of these wretches... They killed my son in front of me... he had only had 8 name days..." She began to cry.
It seemed that even after all the misery, there was no greater pain than losing her child. The woman was supported by the one beside her. Arya remained there, watching with eyes full of pity.
Jon approached them, watching the interaction, and although he kept an indifferent expression, he felt deeply for the woman, a pain he would never wish to feel.
The women turned to him. Some cautious, others curious, some even resentful, the kind that would be ready to attack anyone after what had happened. Looking for someone to blame.
"I know we cannot change the past, nor what happened here." Jon began, until someone interrupted him.
"Where were you when the North suffered? You were born here, just like your sister!" someone—one of the resentful women, as if she had nothing left to lose—interrupted Jon.
"Watch your words, woman. You have just been rescued and you begin to attack those who pulled you out of that hell. We will not listen to you offend the king or Arctic just so you can have someone to place the blame on." It was Lancelot who raised his voice in anger. So much so that the woman shrank back, unable to face anyone.
"Forgive her, my lord. She has lost everything..." another woman said.
"That is no excuse to attack our savior..." another former Ironborn captive said. "We are here, aren't we? Why not simply accept that life has been cruel to us... If we must blame someone, blame the North itself. Robb Stark could have returned with the Northern army, but he simply wanted to be king of two kingdoms and we suffered for it." A middle-aged woman, perhaps the oldest among them, said.
"What is your name?" Jon asked her.
"Marta, Your Majesty. Unlike the idiot over there who will soon die because of her uncontrolled mouth, I acknowledge your help. I heard that you fought against the Long Night north of the Wall. There was a time when the sun barely appeared during the day... We lived in darkness while at the same time being hunted by those Ironborn." Marta said as Jon nodded.
"That is true. Arctic was attacked by an army of thousands of the dead. We are here now, in the South, because our problems in the North have finally been resolved, and no matter how much you try to blame us for not having sent men to help you." Jon turned his gaze to the woman who had judged them before. "You had a king. My uncle may have been declared king of the Seven Kingdoms at his execution, but the North chose its own independence in my absence. So do not blame me for the mistakes of your own rulers." Jon openly mocked.
He paused. Arya remained silent the entire time. "Now we will deal with those damned men. I am here to bring all the kingdoms to their knees, and now you are my responsibility, and the least I can do is bring justice to you." With that, Jon turned his attention back to his soldiers, turning around to begin organizing the troops.
Ghost was stepping into the water, finally leaving the main ship, running toward the beach. Going to Jon, who was organizing his men with Lancelot.
"We will split up from now on. You already have your troops to lead." Jon addressed his men. Arya also left the 40 women they had rescued and went to join them.
"We will take care of the western part of the island, my king." Lancelot said.
Jon nodded, and while they discussed the final details, 1,500 horses were brought onto the beach.
Jon would lead 1,000. Lancelot would command a cavalry of 500, all of this before the rest of the men advanced against the enemy's shattered defense after the first cavalry charge.
"How are things on the island?" Arya asked Jon, as he organized the men he would lead, along with 30 members of the royal guard with him. Lancelot would remain with the rest of them, including Barristan Selmy.
"I have given an order to every living creature on this island. To slaughter the raiders without mercy. When they are in doubt about whom to attack, I take over their minds. I do it all the time, even now, speaking with you, I have to check when the bears and other animals do not know whether they should attack..."
After all, they can sense who are the predators and the prey among humans, but sometimes they hesitate and Jon takes over their sight to check. That prevented a bear from devouring a group of native men who had managed to hide in the forests with their families. Or even when women managed to bring down some raiders hunting them in the woods.
Jon even took control of the dogs used by the Ironborn some time later, and they began to be attacked without warning. All across the island, raiders were dying constantly.
"I am exterminating the small groups so they will not be a problem later. Now we must deal with the larger ones." Jon said.
Jon turned back to Ghost. "You know what to do, buddy." With that, the direwolf began to move away and run toward a corner of the beach with his 6 meters of length.
"Follow him, Nymeria." Arya asked, and her she-wolf ran after Ghost.
The direwolves had been brought with the army marching a moon to the west.
Arya knew what Jon was going to do when he gave the order to Ghost and let Nymeria help him. After all, they would soon have scouts keeping an eye on the beach while the first group of Arctican soldiers organized themselves there.
Meanwhile, the Ironborn who had fled from the beach on the northern coast, which were only a few hundred, finally managed to reach the main group that was in the middle of the island.
"What is this?" the man asked.
It was Victarion Greyjoy, Balon's brother, and the man who commanded all the Ironborn here on the island.
He had been working on the siege against the Mormont Stronghold in recent weeks. He was preparing for another day of harassing the castle, launching stones with the catapults and even piles of flames, where it was always possible to hear the cries of despair coming from inside the stronghold, which was very entertaining, with its walls and ramparts cracking with each stone hurled.
He was waiting for the stronghold to simply open the gate when they reached their limits.
Victarion was in no hurry to conquer, due to his comfortable position. There was no real resistance here. The last point of the island was Castle Mormont itself, with the people who had managed to flee sheltered inside.
He knew that the eldest Mormont daughter was gravely wounded, as she had not appeared for days. Instead, her younger sister — who was nothing more than a child — was managing the stronghold and shouting orders, which Victarion found hilarious.
He could not be more amused. The latest reports he had received from Greyjoy indicated that the Boltons were fighting to take control of the North, having recently returned from the South and being on their way to their lands. And they should now be trapped at Moat Cailin, since the Ironborn were holding the fortress.
So here, besides having no resistance from the Mormonts, the Boltons could not raise an army among the Northern houses at that moment, and it would perhaps take moons until any real opposition arose. By then, House Mormont would already have fallen and the island completely plundered.
Because of this, weeks passed in relaxation, without much effort or the sacrifice of many men. They left only a small portion of their men guarding the hostages farther west and spread their warriors across the island, searching for any survivors in the countless villages they had plundered in the past moons.
His men liked it. He saw no problem at all. After all, their conquests were their own. The Ironborn take everything that belongs to them.
But that day something strange happened.
He simply received a message from a scout informing him that numerous men who had been guarding the northern coast were running directly toward them, between the conquered town and the Mormont Stronghold, which remained under siege.
"All the men from the north are coming here, my lord!" the mounted scout shouted as he approached.
The commander, Victarion, frowned, watching another scout in the distance speaking with the first ones who had stopped. He could not see their expressions due to the speed at which they had ridden there.
It seemed troubling.
Why were all the men positioned in the north simply running toward them, as if they were fleeing from something?
There was no way the Mormonts could react with the island already dominated. Practically all the Mormont warriors had been beheaded.
Whatever had frightened them did not seem to be the result of an internal force.
But the North could not have such strength.
So… who would it be?
The South would have no way of reaching there without alerting anyone, especially on the western coast of the continent... Could something have come from beyond the Wall, from that kingdom?
But that would be impossible. Despite having been hidden for almost an entire year, with no news of them, the West should be the last point of Westeros they would reach. After all, their ships usually came from the east of the continent, and to reach that region they would have to sail around the entire continent.
Because of this, the Ironborn were more than confident that they could plunder and steal as much as they wished. Even if they came by way of the Wall, there would be no ships for them... Not ships built without them knowing, for it would take moons to build a number that could threaten them.
With so many questions, Victarion simply waited for his scout to arrive on horseback to know exactly what was happening.
"My lord… the Arcticans!" the man exclaimed.
Victarion raised an eyebrow. 'So it was truly them.'
"What? How? How are they here?" Victarion asked.
"They simply appeared, my lord. The men are all fleeing from the North. A great fleet with more than fifty ships advanced from the North. They had no choice but to flee and abandon the ships..." the scout said.
Victarion frowned. There were so many questions that made no sense.
Still, he was the commander. He needed to make decisions quickly.
"Fifty ships… We do not know how many men fit in each of those ships, but I wager it was not a small contingent, correct?" he asked, still watching the men running in his direction.
"That must be it, my lord. Better information will come with those men," the scout replied.
Victarion already felt the weight of the situation. When the men finally stopped before him, they looked exhausted, constantly glancing back.
"My lord, the Arcticans!" said Rodolf, one of the leaders Victarion had placed in charge of the group, his voice breathless.
"I have already heard that, Rodolf. I want more details. Tell me, how large were the ships? Are you certain it was truly Arctic?" Victarion asked.
"The banners are unmistakable, they bear the snowflake! And the ships, large, my lord! Larger than ours, large enough to carry giants as well. I swear I saw one on each ship. I swear it by the Drowned God," the man said, trembling.
Victarion was not at all at ease with that news.
"Damn it… If there are fifty ships, so be it. We will prepare to face them. Gather all our men. Also send word to all our ships around the island! I want them to prepare to attack those fifty ships in the North immediately," Victarion ordered, as his men nodded.
"I want some ships from the south to sail to Deepwood Motte and personally warn Ashara about what is happening. I will send a letter to Pyke about the arrival of the Arcticans," Victarion said, as his men began to move.
His gaze then turned to the Mormont Stronghold, where the Mormont men — and even that little girl — were watching the commotion. After all, it was not every day that they saw so many Ironborn fleeing with their tails between their legs, coming from the North.
"Do they know?" Victarion wondered.
Rodolf had not yet finished, seeing Victarion preparing to depart. "We left some men there to keep watch. They ran as fast as they could to bring information about what is happening on the beach," he said at last, while Victarion nodded.
"Good. Take your men, rest a little, then take up an axe and prepare for battle. We will also prepare our hostages. We will use them as a shield of flesh if the Arcticans prove too threatening," Victarion said, as the men around him began to move.
He quickly wrote a parchment in one of the houses where he was staying in the town, before placing it on a raven and sending it to Pyke. The raven flew south, and Victarion was no longer watching when the bird simply turned in the opposite direction.
The raven flew over the forests and the entire path between the middle of the island and the North, reaching the last line of trees. Along the way, men were devoured by direwolves, who killed any scout observing the movements.
Ghost was easy to see. He was the size of a small tree, and caused pure terror when sighted, a monster capable of swallowing a man whole with a single movement. Nymeria also hunted other scouts, being more silent.
The raven passed over the trail of death created by the direwolves and finally arrived where the Arcticans were, standing before their troops on horseback, already preparing to advance toward the center of the island.
The raven landed on Jon's arm, and he calmly took the parchment.
"What do we have here? A message for Pyke?" Jon murmured.
He would never allow any animal to carry information off the island about what was happening. The continent must not know that Arctic had already made its move.
Jon read the letter. It summarized the arrival of fifty Arctican ships from the North and their preparation for battle, not knowing whether they would survive or not. Merely a warning that Arctic had moved.
However, Pyke would never learn of it.
By the time they did, Arctic's ships would already be advancing toward the port of the Iron Islands, catching them by surprise.
"Let's go. We have nothing more to do here," Jon ordered.
With that command, Jon advanced with his thousand horsemen. Lancelot also advanced along the side of the beach with another five hundred. Another five hundred men on foot followed Lancelot, while Jon had another thousand behind him.
There were hundreds of suits of Valyrian steel armor among the men, to the point that it seemed like a common metal, and nearly all the swords were made of the same material. The armors that were not were made of eldenmetal. A truly armored army, even being 3,000 strong, they were already unlike anything Westeros had ever seen.
Elsewhere.
Meanwhile, groups of raiders ran toward where the main camps were located, fleeing from different points on the island.
"Quick! We finally found one of the camps!" one of the men shouted, referring to the concentrated site in the west, where they kept most of the hostages who were to be transferred to the Iron Islands.
There were three of them running, some with blood dripping down their clothes, but that did not stop them from running as fast as possible.
"Halt! What is this?" said a mounted scout who approached.
"We need to see the camp commander! Something has happened on the island, I swear!" he exclaimed.
"What do you mean?" the scout narrowed his eyes.
"There are aggressive bears and wolves everywhere. We were in a large group, trying to reach that group of natives living in the forest, and suddenly we were ambushed by animals. We barely survived. There were twenty of us, and only three made it."
"What do you mean bears and wolves?" the man narrowed his eyes at the three, who looked deeply traumatized.
"I'm saying the animals are hunting us. We found more bodies along the way. Men like ours, torn apart… They are attacking. I think it is the old gods. We should not have abused more than we already had," the man said.
The scout snorted. "You must be joking with us."
"I'm telling the truth, you idiot! If you do not want to listen, take us to the commander!" the other man exclaimed angrily. They knew what they had seen.
The man merely nodded despite his dark expression and led them to the camp, where there were several cages, most of them with women inside. As they liked to say, it was a good harvest.
Tristifer Botley was in charge of that camp under Victarion's orders, since Asha had dismissed him on the continent.
"What is it now?" the commander of the place stepped out of his tent to see what the scout wanted, noticing only three men whom he swore he had sent to search for hostages in that part of the island.
"My lord, we found the group of hostages, more than forty, among men, women, and even children. We were close, I am certain we would have reached them soon, but something happened. My lord, I swear by the Drowned God that I am not lying. The animals of the forest began to attack us."
"We even managed to bring down some of them, but there were too many. Bears, wolves, and birds simply invaded the group, killing us without mercy," exclaimed another man, making the commander grimace.
"You must be joking with me? That is not possible!" the commander said, irritated by the way the other men were looking at the scene, already drawing closer to listen.
"Look, my lord. Do you think this was done by a man?" he exclaimed, showing his arm, where two claw marks were still bleeding. The other showed his leg, where there was a deep bite, blood running down.
"I am telling you: the animals have gone mad. We must stay as far away from the forests as possible," they insisted.
Even the commander frowned. Those wounds were clear proof that they had been attacked by animals.
"Damn it… Then do not send any more groups near the forests. I want to see what Lord Victarion has to say about this," the commander said.
He stopped suddenly at the sound of hooves. It was a rider coming from the main camp.
"What is it now?" the man left the crowd and went to receive the messenger coming from the main camp, clearly in a hurry.
"Listen! Fifty Arctican ships have just docked in the North. We do not have much news, but the enemy has arrived. Everyone must prepare for a possible battle!" the scout shouted.
Tristifer Botley did not know what else could possibly make things worse.
"Did you hear? It seems we have an enemy. Prepare everyone for whatever is coming from the North. Arcticans… I do not know why they are here, but we will deal with them," the man said, still unsure what to think about the people who lived beyond the Wall.
He quickly began walking toward his tent, but stopped halfway.
His gaze turned northward.
Inside the forest, everything seemed normal at first glance. But the sound coming from there began to grow louder and louder. Even the men who were farther away stopped, looking in the same direction.
"What is that?" someone murmured.
The commander looked at the scout, frowning.
"That is… a cavalry," Tristifer said, stunned.
Hundreds of horses were advancing through the middle of the forest. The terrain had been carefully mapped by Jon and passed on to his men to identify the best path for a cavalry charge, so they would not have to worry too much about the ground or the trees. And although it was a forest, that side had trees spaced far enough apart to ease the advance.
Five hundred horsemen advanced at full speed under Lancelot's command.
They finally spotted the Ironborn in the distance.
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