Chapter 258: Speed is the Essence of War
Asha knew perfectly well why she was still alive.
After losing the Kingsmoot to her Uncle Euron, fleeing Deepwood Motte in terror of a man in black leading a mob of peasants, and finally suffering a crushing defeat and capture on the beach... she was no longer the proud Daughter of the Kraken. She was the spoils of war for some fellow in black, a trophy to be displayed to the North as proof of the Night's Watch's victory over the Ironborn.
She had once thought the plan she and her father devised for invading the North was imaginative enough... but the Night's Watch marching south to rescue the North? This unheard-of, fantastical shift in the tides of war had never been factored into any council, no matter how thorough. It wasn't until she was bound hand and foot and brought before this so-called Lord Commander of Logistics in black that she was forced to accept reality.
She had indeed been played, though she suspected the man in black wasn't as clever as he thought. Based on Asha's knowledge of Northmen, capturing a woman wouldn't earn their respect, and using her as a hostage was worthless. Her Uncle Crow's Eye ruled the Iron Islands now, and he would be glad to see the Northmen finish her off. Only the paralytic husband Euron had foisted upon her might consider her a loss, but the old man didn't have enough coin to ransom her.
Her greatest utility now was likely as a trade for the two Glover children she had sent back to Ten Towers.
Yet, the man in black once again took measures Asha couldn't fathom. After capturing her, he didn't throw her into the dungeons of Deepwood Motte to await a prisoner exchange. Instead, after a single day of rest, he set out again with her and those two thousand peasants.
She assumed he intended to bring her to Winterfell to claim credit from the Starks, but she was proven wrong again. The column didn't stop at any castle; instead, they pushed south at a staggering pace, setting out at first light and marching until sunset every day. This frantic pace was grueling for the soldiers and left them wide open to ambush...
Unfortunately, no one knew better than Asha: there were no roaming Ironborn left in the North with the intent or capability to strike a military force of a thousand men.
The caged wagon jolted and swayed with the uneven, pitted road, causing her heavy chains to clatter. The shackles didn't just chafe her wrists and ankles; they wore down her pride.
This was the most shameful experience of her life, but after several days of this mad march, she began to feel fortunate to be one of the few in the entire host allowed to sit in a wagon.
The days of marching finally ended. Shortly after the simple, temporary camp was established, Asha Greyjoy was brought before Egger once more amidst the clanking of metal.
The combat effectiveness of the Gift's first army was nothing to boast about, but the mountain clan warriors and the New Gift-dwellers lived by foraging and hunting in the mountains and beyond the Wall. Their endurance was beyond question. After days of forced marching, Egger had reached the northern side of Moat Cailin with his first captured noble.
When he first led the Gift army south from Queenscrown, his thought was merely to clear the Ironborn raiding parties along the Kingsroad to restore the Northern lords' food supply to the Wall. But upon arriving at Last Hearth and learning from the Umber castellan that the situation had shifted, he turned his sights toward retaking Deepwood Motte for the Northmen. After achieving that goal with barely a dozen casualties and even capturing a high-born hostage, he suddenly realized: joining a war at the right moment could yield victories and rewards far easier and richer than imagined. And he, it seemed, had seized just such an opportunity.
If he didn't expand on this victory now, he would never forgive himself. He made a bold decision: he wouldn't wait for Robb Stark to take Moat Cailin and come looking for him. He would strike across a thousand miles and personally let in the Lord of the North, who was currently locked out of his own house.
After days of forced marching, he arrived near his destination with his exhausted Gift army. He was met by scouts under Lord Manderly of White Harbor. Seeing the Merman banner, Egger feared for a moment he was too late... but fortunately, they informed him that Moat Cailin was still in Ironborn hands.
"Kneel!" A logistics soldier pushing the captive Asha Greyjoy shoved her, pressing on her shoulder to force her to bow to his commander.
"No need," Egger said, waving a hand. As a transferee, he wasn't used to people kneeling to him. Moreover, half his force were Wildlings; while he had forced them to give up calling him kneeler, the Gift had completely abolished the practice of kneeling. "Get a stool for Miss Greyjoy. We'll speak sitting down."
The guard shrugged awkwardly and turned to follow the order.
"Lady Greyjoy, have you rested well these past few days?" Egger nodded to Asha with a smile. He remembered her performance the night they surrounded the Ironborn on the beach vividly. This slender, model-esque woman had cut down at least two mountain clan warriors with a battle-axe and was only subdued when a crowd swarmed her while she fought a third... When she was first shackled and brought to him, she had tried to kill him, and even while pinned, she spat in his face. Her ferocity was a stark contrast to her delicate appearance. Fortunately, after a few days in a cage, she looked much more subdued. "Allow me to introduce the man beside me: Ser Wylis Manderly, son of Lord Manderly."
Asha snorted. On the day of her capture, countless loyal subordinates had died or been taken before her eyes. Enraged, she had thought only of taking the enemy down with her. Days in a cage had brought clarity.
"Bending the knee doesn't kill you," her father had taught her. "Kneel and you can still draw a blade later; stand proud and you're just a stiff corpse." Balon Greyjoy had proven this truth after his first failed rebellion; he knelt to the Stag and the Direwolf, only to rise again after Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark were dead.
As long as she lived, there was hope. The Night's Watch had set a precedent today by interfering in the internal affairs of the Seven Kingdoms; one day, she would repay this in kind!
However, being calm didn't mean she intended to back down. A stool was placed behind her, but she refused to sit—not for any particular reason, but simply because she didn't want to do what he said.
As the only true city in the North, White Harbor was ruled by the Manderlys, who were fabulously wealthy. Lord Wyman was nicknamed "Lord Lamprey" and was said to be the fattest man in the North. His son, Ser Wylis Manderly, was similarly stout and prosperous. Sitting beside Egger, he intended to glare coldly at the daughter of the North's public enemy, but his eyes lit up in spite of himself when he saw Asha. This Daughter of the Kraken had an incredible leg-to-body ratio. Her slender frame, salt-stained high leather boots, and green wool breeches only emphasized the visual effect of her long legs.
Even shackled and caged after days of travel, Asha exuded an aura that invited a man to conquer her. The first instinct of any man looking at her was to subconsciously imagine what it would be like with her beneath him, those long legs wrapped around his waist.
To prevent accidents, Egger had assigned fifteen men to guard her—five New Gift-dwellers and five mountain clan warriors to prevent escape, and five trusted soldiers to ensure the other ten didn't get any bright ideas... Honestly, when one woman, especially a beautiful one, is surrounded by hundreds of men, the term femme fatale is an understatement.
Any man naturally included Egger. So, seeing Ser Wylis staring blankly at Asha, Egger coughed to break the tension. "Let me summarize the situation. Lord Robb Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, is currently ten miles south of us with twenty thousand men, separated from us by Moat Cailin and a vast swamp. A few hundred Ironborn have held back twenty thousand for weeks. They are tough men; I admire them, truly—"
"But you have no hope of winning," the fat Ser Wylis interjected, snapping out of his reverie regarding those legs. Overcoming his embarrassment, he added, "Lord Stark did not wish to add more casualties to a frontal assault, so he ordered me to lead the Manderly forces south through the Bloody Gate into the Vale, board ships at Gulltown, and land at White Harbor to strike Moat Cailin from the north."
"So?" Asha said, looking as if she couldn't care less.
"Moat Cailin is a natural fortress against enemies from the south, but it is not so impregnable from the north," Wylis Manderly chuckled. "Besides the White Harbor forces, House Reed of Greywater Watch has also been instructed to find paths through the Neck to bypass the Moat... They've arrived and are currently lying in wait in the swamps to the east and west to prevent the Ironborn from abandoning the castle."
Asha shrugged. "Oh."
"In other words, even if the Gift army hadn't arrived, Moat Cailin would fall within days under a pincer attack," Egger added. His face was expressionless, but he was inwardly relieved. He finally understood the meaning of speed is the essence of war. If he hadn't forced his men to march so hard, Robb Stark would likely have been halfway up the Kingsroad by the time he arrived, leaving him with nothing. But now he was here... even if he didn't lift a finger in the coming assault, he would still share the glory of participating in the battle of Moat Cailin. If not for merit, then for effort. "But the North has suffered enough from war. I hope to end this conflict in a more peaceful... less bloody way."
"A more peaceful way? Ha! A fine speech. You brought me here as the 'Daughter of Balon Greyjoy' to persuade the Ironborn at Moat Cailin to surrender, didn't you?" The dark-haired woman laughed with zero captive-modesty, standing tall in the center of the tent with a haughty look. "You must misunderstand the Ironborn. The men of the Islands only care for their captains and leaders; the concept of liege and vassal is thin. Not to mention the men at Moat Cailin are not my crew, but even if they were, I would never take orders from a crow."
"This girl doesn't know her place," the fat Ser Wylis chimed in. "It seems your policy of treating captives well was a mistake. Give her to me, and in a few days..."
Egger had no intention of handing his first noble captive over to anyone else, especially not a beautiful one. He waved him off. "Lady Greyjoy, there are roughly two hundred Ironborn in Moat Cailin. A pincer attack will break them, but the attackers will still likely lose twice that number—four hundred men. If you can convince them to surrender, you save two hundred plus four hundred—six hundred lives."
"Why should I save six hundred lives? Give me one reason," Asha sneered. "If I save them, will those two hundred Ironborn be grateful? Will they follow me back to the Islands to help me take the Driftwood Crown? No. They'll just say I'm a broken whore who got fucked by a crow on the battlefield and then in his bed, wagging my tail to carry his messages... As for those four hundred Northmen who would have died... who knows who they are? No one will thank me, and you won't let anyone go. I'll come back from the Moat and have to climb right back into that wooden cage, won't I?"
"Mmm—mostly correct. I'm sorry, but that isn't up to me," Egger shrugged. "Lady Glover insisted on trading you for her children, so... until then, I can't give you any guarantees. I can only promise that I will fight to keep those two hundred Ironborn alive..."
"That, I believe." Asha looked at Egger's black clothes with disgust, likely guessing how his "fight to keep them alive" would work, but she wasn't interested. "My answer is—no. Now, take me back to my cage."
"No?" Egger's expression shifted. Usually, he would start spinning a web of persuasion to trick her into doing what he wanted, but days of forced marching had left him exhausted. Suddenly, he didn't want to think. "Wait, I wasn't accurate just now. The number of people you can save isn't two hundred Ironborn. It's two hundred and fifty-three."
Asha had already turned toward the tent flap, but she froze at those words.
Fifty-three. That number wasn't pulled out of thin air. If she remembered correctly—of the Ironborn who had survived and been captured during that disastrous night on the beach, there were exactly fifty-three.
"Are you threatening me?" Asha turned back, her fists clenched.
"You could say that," Egger shrugged. "I believe a woman as loyal and spirited as Lady Greyjoy wouldn't just abandon dozens of brothers who fought and bled at her side."
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