"Man, I am telling you, I thought I would die under that axe then and there."
"But you didn't?" Altman retorted
Baltasar shrugged his shoulders and stretched his arms, "You don't understand, that man moved too fast, his blows fierce and precise." Baltasar stopped for a moment, remembering that moment of life and death when men of his platoon fell left and right and right under that axe.
"you are stretching it too far; didn't he die under the king's hammer," Altman questioned again.
"Attention! General on the Floor" amidst the hustle and bustle of the camp on the shore. A loud voice interrupted their conversation.
A serious-looking no shit attitude soldier appeared in their field of vision, effectively interrupting their discussion. Behind him stood General Alyn of the Winter legion.
Both men gave a military salute.
"Wait a moment, Sir," Altman disappeared into the tent and reemerged after a while with large footsteps, " you are expected, Sir."
Alyn entered the alone; the tent was surprisingly neither small nor big, light in colour as sunlight passed through it, illuminating the inside. His eyes fell upon prisoners kneeling bound and tied to the side. Behind them stood soldiers of Winter legion as straight as statue ready to strike the prisoners at a moments notice.
"Greetings, Young Lord," Alyn bowed in aristocratic salute.
"I heard an interesting conversation outside the king fought a duel and won," he beckoned the General to sit, "wine?"
"No sir," Alyn took a seat. " the King fought got injured, it seemed the gods old and new were on his side; the other guy was fast precise, and the King is injured the remains of that Ironborn are ordered to be preserved and to be handed over to house Botley."
"Very noble of him,"
"As noble as a king and a knight should be," Alyn affirmed.
For a moment, Alaric didn't know whether he should cry or laugh; Jory fucking Cassel introduced himself to this wannabe knight. Alyn in front of him used to be his father's Household guard, second only to Jory Cassel. His ability to respond to rally men and lead them is second to none; this man has a keen grasp of the battlefield and a flexible command style compared to Jory. But this man's ambition is limited to knighthood since he follows the old faith; only the gods know what will become of his ambition.
"So, what's happening outside now?" Alaric asked
Alyn honestly reported the situation outside in detail. Apparently, after the landing battle on the beach, Lannisters and other houses directly disembarked their cavalry; the plan is simple. Devastate and destroy anything they came across along the way, brick by brick and plank by plank. Lannisters are on their way to level Lordsport to the ground, Stormlord's towards Botley Castle, Starks towards Castle of Pyke pillaging anything they came across. Tomorrow everyone will rendezvous for the siege of Castle Pyke.
"Might sound bold, but my lord, what are you going to with them," Alyn gestured at kneeling Ironmen.
Not all of them were warriors; some of them were directly abducted by Winter Legion from nearby settlements for interrogation.
Alaric glanced at newly arrived parchment from his spymaster, informing him of their activities in Bolton lands and the status of assigned objective in regards to the Dreadfort and Boltons, accomplishing the first part of the plan.
He slung the parchment into the fire, " I have no need of them anymore you take them away." Alaric replied nonchalantly, yet his expressions betrayed him.
"I came here to ask for another thing, Milord!" Alyn finally moved to the main topic.
"What is it?" Alaric asked, his mood still ecstatic.
Alyn decided to strike while the iron was still hot, "it is like his Milord! We have taken more than 300 casualties," he glanced at the young lord's face noticing no fluctuation on the lord's face, he continued. "I hope you can allocate more funds to the legion and help us directly to reach the strength of 6000 men."
Sure enough, militaries all over the world know only how to ask for more budget, but this man here is asking for more money for the army without consideration. He has yet to sink his budget in gold swallowing beasts like the Navy, and the army already came here without waiting for the war to end. It would be difficult for him to immediately come out with such a large sum of money even if he has to loot a bank of bravos that also takes time, not to mention certain death in that.
Without letting the other party understand his mood, he replied in two words, " I will think about it."
Before the other party could open his mouth, Alaric already gestured the other party to go out.
Alyn got up and dragged the prisoner outside along with him.
Alaric glanced at the Ironborn prisoners for one last time.
His brain smoked with molten red hot anger at the things he had heard from these men. How could anyone be so stupid? the fucking drowned god and all the gods must toss the coin in the air, and the Iron islands must hold their breath whenever a Greyjoy is born. The madness of house Greyjoy is far worse than Targs. Illiteracy and ignorance is a crime in its own way, but Balon Greyjoy is even more outrageous; he took it to the level with his old way bullshit. Robert Baratheon may forgive and break bread with him, but even he can't do much against the collective interest of the entire aristocracy and the mainlanders, nobles and peasants alike. Let's see how they cope with the castrated version of the Versailles treaty. Why kill them like brutes when you can bury them under their own weight.