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Betad by Priapus
The Unbound
Chapter 41: Mance Rayder
– King Orys Baratheon –
It seems fate itself is determined to keep me in the North as long as possible. Lord Manderly has prepared a ship to take me home to King's Landing but a King's work is never truly done and when one crisis ends, another springs up to keep me occupied.
Sitting on the throne of Winterfell, I listen carefully and hold in an annoyed sigh. Wildlings… requesting diplomacy? How novel. More importantly, while many of the Northern lords wouldn't mind me having Mance Rayder and his tribe thrown from the Walls, I can hardly be less civilised than a wildling.
"What about the fucking Skags?" Lord Umber asks, sending a wave of grumbling through the hall. "The fuckers have never listened to us, and now they sided with the Boltons!"
The other north-eastern Lords agree, the room a mixture of a royal court and a meadhall. I think father is regretting not taking more inspiration from the North for his own court, sitting beside Lord Stark with that beaming smile he's had since he heard I killed Roose with his hammer. People shout out about the various crimes of the Skagosi, how they still practice right of first night secretly, how they are probably cannibals and basically just wildlings with family names.
"Too true. House Crowl, Magnar and Stane all chose to throw their lot in with the Boltons and they tied their fates to Lord Bolton," I agree calmly. We can't allow traitors, and they aren't wrong about the Skagosi to begin with. If they weren't shit sailors, it'd be another Ironborn situation but they lack the skill and resources to leave their islands in any great numbers. "As such, I declare their land attainted, given to Lord Stark, Warden of the North, to hand out to loyal men of the North. As their men died fighting, the women are to be taken as hostages of House Stark, and afforded the proper care of their station. Perhaps in time, future generations can undo the crimes of their fathers and they can rise again, but for now they are to be landless nobility."
A round of cheers and approval passes, because I've worked out that these Northmen are not complicated. They don't want southern interference, and that means I just need to pass the bulk of the work on to Lord Stark, who was respected before the campaign and has their undying loyalty now. Lord Stark accepts the charge with his usual severity but I can sense his approval and pleasure at the Crown simply letting the North govern the North.
Honestly, I can see why my father likes them. In the south, half the time I feel more like a royal babysitter having to mediate between squabbling children who need a royal hand to get them to stop fighting over petty things, or demand my attention when I'm working. Here? They just want me to give them all the work and fuck off south. Which, funnily enough is exactly what I want to do.
Dealing with the aftermath of this could take years, and with a very pregnant wife at home I don't have years to spend squabbling over which Northern house gets which piece of land. Lord Stark knows the land, he knows the Houses far better than I, and he's a diligent and loyal man.
Especially after his bastard son was freed of Ramsay's curse. In truth, I'm not quite sure what Jon Snow is anymore but his heart beats. A living vampire? He still struggles with daylight, though it is far from fatal to him. He lacks most of the power he had as a vampiric thrall. Even the Gods just shrugged when I asked what he was. He's stronger than a normal man, faster too, but he still lost handily to Barristan and then Loras.
I've given Lord Stark leave to handle that situation. The taint of corruption is gone, though I fear Euron Greyjoy may be able to reassert control over him should they meet. A large part of me wants to have him put down, but I can tell that such a demand would greatly damage Lord Stark's loyalty. He'd do it, I feel, but the seed of resentment could lead to a far more unruly North. He knows my future Master of Mysteries will be wanting regular updates on Jon Snow, but he's just relieved that Jon gets to live.
Unlike the Werebeasts, there is no denying that Jon's power comes from an evil source. Molag Bal has a hook on the man's soul, and while the domination is gone, the presence will be with Jon for the rest of his life. He still needs blood to feed, and finds holy places uncomfortable. Weirwood burns him to touch, as does blessed metal. It is an unfortunate existence, but an existence all the same. It is his to make of it what he wills, I simply fear that a bastard will long for more now that he is actively stronger than the common man. Sure, there are werebeasts here but the one in Winterfell is also his kin, and loves him like a brother. Emotions make it hard to do what needs to be done, look at how the sight of Lyanna paralysed my father.
Roose would never have gotten such a blow on him in any other situation but he was just stood there staring at her corpse, in the middle of a battlefield. I don't want to have to come up here again to put down Jon if he rebels and tries to succeed where Ramsay and Roose failed.
Naturally, the idea of Skagos being 'up for grabs' has the Northern Lords arguing over who should get them, because ambition is universal. I have no input, because now that I've passed the duty onto Lord Stark, I'd be demeaning his authority if I then gave my 'suggestion' because he'd be stuck between accepting it and looking weak or refusing the Crown after we just helped free his homeland.
Nothing gets decided tonight, anyway. Which is a large part of why I'm so ready to pass the duty on. Eddard will remain in the North, putting his province to rights. He has the time to decide who is the best person for the Dreadfort and Skagos, and to take measure of who survived and which houses need support. We still don't know what really happened to the Mountain Clans, beyond the enthralled slaves we slew at Winterfell. It will take time, effort and resources to bring the North back into any kind of acceptable state, made all the harder by the encroaching winter. I've already arranged for the repairs of the castles along the Wall and the rebuilding of the New Gift but I am well aware the North will need support going forward to not starve this winter. The Reach wheat will do much to alleviate the worst of it, already moving up the west coast now that the Ironborn are no longer an issue.
Tonight I've heard the various lords considering building a port town on the western shores, now that the North has a navy of its own from the confiscated Ironborn ships and since it won't be at threat from the Ironborn anymore. Fishing will almost certainly increase as well, as fishing villages along the coast will be safer. Essosi pirates or slavers wouldn't make the journey all the way around when they could go to the eastern shores instead.
I will likely support it should they go through with the plans, because it will force another form of communication between the isolated North and the rest of the kingdoms. Trade is the lifeblood of any realm, and opening up the western shores means trade with Lannisport, Oldtown, and perhaps even Dorne. Plus, the Iron Islands will need to trade for what they can't make as raiding is no longer an option for them. Most Northmen wouldn't do trade with the Ironborn but Eddard is a rational man and would be open to trading with them, plus the Ironborn will eventually take back to the seas and I'd rather they turn their nautical expertise towards mercantile efforts than try to go back to reaving. They are damn fast, and that could be good for getting goods from the Free Cities and beyond to the Reach, Riverlands and Westerlands. Manderly already trades with them but a second source of foreign goods is never a bad thing.
Waiting for the arguments, shouting and negotiations to settle, I sip my drink with an amused look. I appreciate the distraction, in truth, because while they squabble over who gets which Skagosi rock, I have time to think about what to do about Mance Rayder requesting negotiations.
A part of me says 'fuck the Wildlings'. They are worse than the Ironborn, led by a deserter, and have been raiding the North for centuries. They would spit on us for being 'kneelers', taking pride in being barbarians. But… Euron went north, and at the very least, it would be good to hear what is going on in the 'True North' from the mouths of those who know it best. They must be desperate to be requesting anything at all.
The word from the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch is that a large collection of Wildlings are milling around at the bottom of the wall, not trying to bypass it but resisting efforts to drive them off. Something is making the tribes of the Wildlings move south, and I fear I have a good idea just what that something is.
"Lord Stark. What do you think of Rayder's… request?" I ask, getting his attention from where he was mediating between House Umber and Karstark. They fought side by side not one day prior but now they are yelling at each other over which would be better suited for bringing Skagos under proper control.
"Things must be truly dire for the Wildlings to be requesting anything. Some are calling him another King Beyond the Wall, but the reports have him barely able to handle the tribes that have gathered at the wall," Eddard says, confirming my suspicions. "Many of his fellow wildlings will despise him for even attempting negotiations, and Lord Mormont agrees, saying they've seen heavy infighting already."
"Do you think he's worth listening to?" I ask, getting various shouts about the wildlings being cunts, and that we should let them kill each other before Eddard gives the belligerent men a stern look.
"I do. We can't be surprised again," Eddard agrees simply. "And if we turn them away, they'll try to push through the wall by force like the last King Beyond the Wall. The Night's Watch is still stabilising after getting their influx of manpower and goods. The Ironborn could decide they like the idea of being free folk more than black cloaks."
I don't sigh, because that would be very unregal of me, and yet I can tell my displeasure is clear to see.
"If you call a meeting at Castle Black, you could take a ship from Eastwatch-by-the-sea back to King's Landing after it is done," Eddard says, catching on to the source of my annoyance. I'll be cutting it extremely close, but if we have Manderly send the ship to Eastwatch, it can take me directly home once the agreements are done. Doing the mental logistics, I groan. Fate has a sense of humour. If the negotiations don't last too long, I'd be getting home around… oh, eight or nine months after leaving.
"Send word to the Lord Commander to arrange such a meeting. Rayder can bring a dozen men, no more, unarmed. We ride tomorrow, at first light," I say, downing my goblet of wine. "And have Lord Manderly send the ship to Eastwatch-by-the-sea to collect me when this is done. If this isn't important, I'll throw Rayder from the Wall myself."
"He's a deserter. Hanging him from it would be more fitting," Eddard says simply. Considering most deserters go south, into his lands, I don't blame him for his annoyance.
"Facing the 'True North', so the rest can see the fate of would-be Kings Beyond the Wall," I agree darkly. I swear to the Gods, if anything else comes up after this is done, I'm just going to take Father's hammer and beat whatever is causing issues until it gets out of my way. "Oi, Father. Don't get too drunk, I need you sober enough to ride a horse at first light."
Father laughs, boasting about his legendary tolerance, but I'm already heading to my chambers before he's finished. I do trust that he'll at least be in a condition to be able to move come morning. He's had plenty of practice, and tonight is a night of celebrations.
As I head for my bed, wanting nothing more than to be face down and asleep, Loras gestures for me and speaks in hushed words, but I just pause before waving him off with thanks for the warning as I enter.
"Not enjoying the festivities, Your Grace?" Nymeria asks, lounging on my bed in nothing but what she was born with, a sly smirk on her lips. I suppose some distractions can be permitted.
"Not when my bed is looking so appealing," I reply, slowly looking over her nude form. "How thoughtful of you to keep it warm for me."
"Oh, I know how cold these northern nights can be," Nymeria agrees with a stretch as she hops off the bed and struts over to me. "It's the least I can do for my King, but it's a start, isn't it?"
As she speaks, she slowly undoes my tunic and guides it off my shoulders and as she goes to speak again, I silence her with a kiss, grabbing her and carrying her right back onto the bed much to her giggling approval as her hands work at my belt.
The North might be cold, but a little Dornish heat does a lot to warm up the cold nights.
Breaking the kiss, she grins at me as she slides my trousers down with a sultry look.
"Arianne hasn't shut up about your cock since you made her your bitch, Your Grace. Care to show me what has her so enraptured?" Nymeria asks, her eyes widening slightly as she grasps my length and realises that whatever Arianne told her about my cock, she wasn't exaggerating about my size.
"Arianne needs help to handle my… appetites. Are you sure you're capable of handling them alone?" I ask teasingly, kissing her neck as she lines me up with her already-wet cunt.
"Now, now, that almost sounded like a challenge, my King," Nymeria purrs, legs hooking around my waist as she starts to pull me in. How little she knows.
It was a warning. Brienne is a strong woman with a minor divine blessing, and she's barely able to sate my lusts. Nymeria is a doomed woman, but I think she'll enjoy her fall.
– Days Later –
The Night's Watch aren't happy, and it is clear as day but Lord Mormont runs a tight ship and I can't help but notice quite a few of the guards around the rooms are former Goldcloaks. Being from the south, they have less bias against the Wildlings and are less likely to cause trouble during the negotiations.
In truth, I expected, perhaps even hoped, that Rayder would refuse my demand. To enter Castle Black with only a handful of followers and not a weapon between them should have deterred him if he had any plans for betrayal and yet as the doors open, the rough looking man enters all the same.
As he lays eyes on me, with almost my entire Kingsguard lined up at either side of me, he hesitates but he can't show weakness before his followers and he knows it as he pushes forward and takes the seat directly opposite me. The only missing member of my Kingsguard is Boros Blount, who made it home with Ser Preston Greenfield's body and is now guarding the Queen (and awaiting the utter beating Barristan is going to give him when we get back to King's Landing).
He's got an eclectic collection of followers with him, a redheaded man who is the only person in this damn room smiling, a bald man that I recognise as Styr, Magnar of Thenn thanks to Lord Stark and the Lord Commanders tutelage, another bald man with a thick white beard that my eyes recognise as a skinchanger. As if to prove us right in looking down on their kind, one of them is wearing bones which rattle with each step, and the scowls of the Nights Watch only increase at the idea of having the 'Lord of Bones' inside their castle. Finally, three women. One pregnant, sticking close to Mance. Another beautiful blonde with a confident expression that hides her inner concern at being so heavily surrounded and unarmed, and a redhead who can hide her concern far less.
With their culture, being unarmed around men who might want to 'steal' them is a genuine cause for concern.
"So this is the Kneeler King? I thought he was ten foot tall, with glowing golden balls," the redhead says before anyone can speak, and it does briefly amuse me to see the Northern man and Night's Watch all stiffen in anger. Some of the Kingsguard reach for their weapons but a look from Barristan stops that.
"Tormund," Mance hisses, but the redhead looks unrepentant so he turns back to me. "King Orys. You have my thanks for agreeing to speak with us."
He's careful not to call me your grace or anything that could be seen as accepting me as his King, since kneeling would ruin his reputation amongst his own people.
"I could hardly be less civilised than a Wildling," I reply calmly, resting my head on my fist as I give him an analytical look. He's not much to look at, but he's managed to keep the peace for the most part in the gathering of tribes. He's got every possibility to become a King Beyond the Wall and I won't tolerate that. "You and your people have gathered before the Wall, and I would know why. What causes the men of the 'True North' to flee so desperately?"
Some of them scowl and glare at the reminder that they've been running, but there's an air of defeat about them already. They can posture all they like, but the truth remains the truth.
"First, may we partake of bread and salt?" Mance asks, very much wanting guest rights in place. I simply nod, gesturing for it to be brought forward. I've been a little petty by bringing the best bread I could get on short notice, far softer than anything they've had before as we swear to the Gods to not spill each other's blood.
"I believe introductions are in order. I recognise Styr, Magnar of Thenn, and Rattleshirt, but the rest are unknown to me. Oh, and as a warning, do not try anything, Skinchanger, you will not survive to change," I warn the old man, seeing his shock. His eyes flicker to Dacey and Robb, and something between them passes before he relaxes and simply nods once.
"I am the Lord of Bones, not Rattleshirt," Rattleshirt says, almost hissing. I am well aware that Rattleshirt is an insult.
"Oh? I wasn't aware that 'Free Folk' had Lords, nor do I recognise House Bones," I reply simply, the man almost rising before the redhead places a hand on his chest and pushes him back into the chair, his shirt rattling as a result.
"Aye, we don't. Ignore him, he's just a cunt," the redhead says cheerfully.
"This is Tormund Giantsbane," Mance introduces, eager to move on before Rattleshirt can open his mouth.
"So called for my massive cock that makes the giant women come around when-"
The smaller female redhead hits him over the head before he can continue his story, looking more than a little irritated.
"Thank you, Ygritte. As I was saying," Mance continues, also giving Tormund an annoyed look. "This is my wife, Dalla, to her left is Varamyr Sixskins, a Skinchanger, as you realised. Ygritte is one of our best scouts and has been essential in our survival of late. You know Styr and Rattleshirt, and-"
"I can introduce myself," the blonde cuts in, scowling at Mance. "Val, of the Free Folk."
"A pleasure," I reply blandly. "I am King Orys Baratheon the First, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm of Westeros. To my left is Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North that your kind have been raiding for generations, and to my right is Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, I believe you've met. Now, speak. You didn't come here for pleasantries, deserter. You're no fool, Mance, half the Night's Watch want to hang you, the other half want to simply throw you from the Wall, and yet you came here anyway."
"You'd threaten us under guest rights?" Ygritte asks, posture stiffening.
"No. I assure you, I'm a very civilised man. Should I decide you all have to die, I'll let you go back to your people first. Then I'll have my army crush your encampment at the bottom of the Wall," I say bluntly.
"You'd die trying," Rattleshirt threatens, rising from his seat. Why would Mance bring someone so argumentative?
"You've picked the worst time for this, I'm afraid. The Night's Watch has recently tripled in size, and the combined armies of the North, Crown, Stormlands, the Vale and Riverlands are just on the other side of the Wall. We have more battle-ready soldiers than your entire population combined. I assure you, wiping you out as I was recommended would not be a tedious campaign," I reply with a bored look.
The other wildlings look either disbelieving or worried, the idea of their ancient enemy being so heavily reinforced filling them with dread but… not Mance. He knew. Wait, oh you sneaky fucker. He knew Rattleshirt wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut, that it would lead to threats from both sides, and that we'd come out on top. Styr and Tormund share a look that can best be described as 'well, shit'. Val purses her lips, glancing at Mance with annoyance.
"Rattleshirt, sit the fuck down," Mance warns, even as he hides his sliver of satisfaction at things going the way he hoped. Rattleshirt scowls, but as he glances around at the many heavily armed men currently staring him down, he slinks back into his seat like a scolded child. "The True North is lost, King Orys. The dead have claimed it. Those at the foot of the Wall are likely all that remains of the living in the North, the rest added to the armies of the dead."
Mutters go around the room, but given that we just had to fight a fucking vampire lord, his words don't get the mockery they would have a year prior.
"So you seek passage through the wall," I say, and the moment the words leave my mouth there's murmurs of anger and disagreement. The Night's Watch exists to keep these fuckers North, not to just let them frolic through the Wall as they please. "And yet, you know that I cannot allow that."
"So you'd have us added to the ranks of the dead, to return as monsters when the dead reach this far south?" Val asks, scowling as she crosses her arms.
"It's a simple fact. Our cultures are incompatible. I did not wipe out the Ironborn and their raiding culture to subject my people to a different, no less barbaric type of raiding. There are thousands of Free Folk gathered at the foot of the wall, and how do you intend to feed that many people? How will you house them when the land is owned by the Lords and Ladies of the realm, not simply free for you to occupy as you please?"
"You cannot own the very land," Ygritte scoffs.
"I think you'll find I can. Everything south of the Wall is mine, managed by my loyal subjects. Or would you have me shrug and say 'well, it's just their culture' when people come to me with stories of the Wildlings I let pass 'stealing' their daughters? We call that rape in the South, and we cut off cocks or heads for it," I say plainly. "So again, tell me why I shouldn't simply have you driven off. You're right that adding more to the forces of the dead would be an issue, but it is easily solved by killing you ourselves and burning your bodies."
They wouldn't respect gentle diplomacy, and I want them to understand that I wouldn't lose a night of sleep over giving the order to have their tribes crushed once and for all.
The conversation continues, back and forth between us and the Wildlings, as we get more information on what the fuck is going on in the North. As they tell it, it has become so cold in the Land of Always Winter that it kills in an instant, making fire impossible and ending all life, and that cold is slowly creeping further and further toward the Wall. The undead are moving with it, animated corpses for the most part, of both men and beasts. It is so slow that at the rate they are describing it could be a year or five by the time it actually reaches the Wall but the undead range outside of the endless spreading blizzard.
The Wall cannot stop winter itself. If this cold reaches the Wall, it will roll over it and freeze the entire North before continuing further and further south. Or… could it? This wall was not made through mundane methods, I can feel the very power within it. They didn't build a wall this big to stop wildling raiders. No, it was built to stop something far worse. The Gods speak to themselves as they discuss (argue) over whether this blizzard would be able to continue past the Wall and eventually more or less agree that it wouldn't… as long as the Wall remained intact.
But if an army of the dead is coming with it, they'll push and try to take or destroy the Wall. I wonder if Mance understands the irony of the report of the Wildling ensuring that the Wall gets all the support it will need? The castles will have to be rebuilt and manned, all of them. Septas of the Mother's Mercy and perhaps even Red Priestesses. The werebeasts have blood so hot that they'll be able to range beyond the wall without freezing.
"You can't hold them off without us," Rattleshirt says, puffing up his chest.
"Incorrect. You would actively be a hindrance in any military operation. Your men are undisciplined, poorly equipped and as likely to stab the Brothers of the Night's Watch as they are to fight the dead. Generations of hatred and bitterness won't go away just because we have a common enemy," I counter. "Lord Jeor, what generation of Night's Watch Lord Commander are you?"
"997th, Your Grace," Jeor responds simply, well aware of the point I'm making.
"Nearly a thousand Commanders have stood on this wall and prevented your kind from raiding our lands," I continue. "Do you expect me to believe that your raiders will simply live and let live? I will not put a knife to their backs before the biggest threat they've ever faced arrives."
"You wouldn't have met with me at all if you weren't willing to negotiate," Mance cuts in before Rattleshirt can reply.
"You already know the price, Mance Rayder. If you want to cross the Wall, you can't do it as Wildlings, only as subjects of the Crown," I say simply.
"You'd have us kneel?!" Rattleshirt shouts, standing to his feet again with so much force that it knocks his chair over. It'd be more impactful if he hadn't done the same three other times so far. "We do not kneel."
"Then fuck off back to your free land, Rattle," I reply with just as much venom. He seems genuinely surprised by that, but the others don't. Whatever they expected, they're learning that the Kneeler King is by no means soft. They were shocked to learn what I did to the Ironborn, even Mance was surprised by how completely I crushed their culture.
"What exactly are you offering?" Val asks, pride clearly wounded but pragmatism forcing its way forward.
"You need land, shelter and food, safe from the armies of the dead. I can provide all of that," I say simply, sharing a look with Lord Stark. We decided exactly what we were going to offer them before we even left Winterfell. "Blacktyde Isle, of the Iron Islands, is all but empty after House Blacktyde sent all its men to war against the Crown. I will permit your people to inhabit it, and one of your number to become the new Lord or Lady of Blacktyde Castle. In exchange, you will all swear fealty to the crown before the Gods, Old and New, and swear to obey the laws of the Crown."
House Blacktyde is extinct now, and the isle is empty, as without a Lord, the smallfolk moved to other isles seeking protection. It is big enough for them to settle, but lacking in much. They'll be utterly reliant on the North and the Crown to survive until they can learn to fish and farm properly. Better yet, Wildlings are shit sailors. They sometimes use rowboats, but sticking them on an island surrounded by sharp jagged rocks means they won't be able to leave easily, especially with Lord Seaworth closing his iron grip on the islands. The Onion Lord has proven an efficient Lord Admiral and Royal Castellan. Nobody leaves or enters the islands without him knowing of it.
"We do not kneel, cunt," Rattleshirt shouts, reaching for something. He has a bone knife hidden in his shirt, but the sight of many men in plate armour staring him down with swords makes him reconsider as he storms away. I have a feeling Mance is going to kill him soon.
"So, become slaves to the dead or to the crown?" Tormund asks with a deep huff. "You're one mighty cunt, your magnificency."
"I'd be a greater cunt to harm my own people for the sake of outsiders who have nothing but disdain for me, my people, my ways and my Gods," I say plainly. "But yes, I am. It comes with the crown."
"It is a mighty fancy hat," Tormund agrees with a huff of bitter laughter.
"I'll need time to talk to my people, and the other tribe leaders," Mance says, but he's missing one small detail.
"Of course, but there is one other thing. You are not to be the Lord of Blacktyde. You're an Oathbreaker already, and the promise of a deserter is worth less than the parchment it is written on," I say plainly, watching him tense up, arguments on his tongue.
But this isn't the land beyond the wall. He can't settle disagreements with his blade, and he has no power to negotiate. Lord Stark wanted his head, this is the next best thing. Mance has all the ingredients to become a King Beyond the Wall, and I won't allow that. He's their best leader and that's why he can't be their leader. An advisor, maybe, but not their lord.
He can't complain, because that would be telling the Wildlings that he wants to be a Southern Lord. It's a bitter enough pill that they have to kneel to live, and I imagine there will be a civil war once they return to their camp, but if he looks like he's using this for his own ambitions, he's triply fucked.
"As you say," Mance agrees, doing his best to sound indifferent.
From the looks Val, Dalla, Styr and Tormund give him, it didn't work.
As the negotiations come to an end, I frown to myself as I stand up and stretch. I hate spending hours squabbling over details, my legs always hurt and the 'throne' I had today wasn't exactly cushioned.
After the wildlings are kindly escorted out of the castle and back to the bottom of the Wall, I stroll the Wall and look down at the gathered encampment. It's tiny from up here, the many people smaller than ants as I lean against the battlements with a sigh. Life would be easier if I just killed them. For all of us, I think. The cultural shock of having to become 'civilised' will be hard on them, and I imagine Davos' gallows will have quite the waiting list when many of them inevitably break the laws of the Crown.
This will cause no end of headaches, but… their camp is mostly women and children because their men died to the undead, being bitten and turned. Sure, the women are spearwives but I've got enough blood on my hands without slaughtering a camp of people who are barely able to fight back. I lied, earlier, I would lose sleep over it. The Ironborn earned their executions, but this is different.
Pausing to look around, I turn back and spit over the edge. Heh, always wanted to do that since I first heard of the Wall. I wonder if it'll freeze before it hits the bottom? Maybe I'll be lucky and it'll hit Rattleshirt.
Author's Note: Orys' work is never done. Fate (me lol) keeps fucking him over.
Written: 21/07/2026