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A Golden Path: First Steps 1.8 (ch. 8)
🕑 Added 2024-10-07 14:17:33 +0000 UTCApologies for the borked format in advance. I'm having to post from my phone because I'm fighting for my life for a decent internet connection.
...
Skagos was a rough and barren land, Ned thought to himself as they arrived upon the island under a dense and heavy fog. The ride had been a short one, thankfully, but a tense one. Robert had braced himself against the railing in anticipation that they would strike an iceberg on the way. The trip was quite too, no one speaking with only the ropes creaking and waves lapping to fill the silence.
It felt like stealing away into the domain. As if they were trespassing. It grated at Ned's nerves, but upon their arrival, he knew it was the correct decision. The beach they landed on was made of stone -- rough sand and pebbles acting as the beach head while tall jagged cliff sides acted as a barrier of entry. With just a hundred men on that cliffside, armed with arrows and heavy stones, would have been able to repel an army a thousand strong. It was almost like looking at a castle.
“Come, come! I will take you to the others,” the man that rowed them across the straight said, gesturing for them to follow. “Best to hurry. They might not know where we are, but they expect someone to come eventually.” Paul inclined his head to the man, following him into the dense fog while the rest of their guards arrived. The ship that they arrived on similarly seemed to melt into the fog while he, Elbert, and Robert all made to follow their guide.
“Ned, I mean this with love -- but what a shitehole,” Robert summarized his thoughts on Skagos as he pulled his cloak closer to his body. “It's the height of summer, and I'm about to catch a bloody chill. Can't see a damned thing either, but what I do see reminds me of the Eyrie. No offense, Elbert,” he added, squinting into the fog as they walked.
Elbert offered a small chuckle, “None taken. At least in the Eyrie, it's warm.” There was a small pause before he continued, “It's rather interesting to think that anyone would willingly choose to live here.”
There was a reflex to defend his homeland from their words, but it was hard to disagree with them. He had yet to see the whole island, but what he had seen so far was rocky soil so poor that grass couldn't even grow in it. Though, that could be because of the summer snow that occasionally crunched under foot. The island was barren. The waters around it treacherous. The air frigid. It was a land that you could only love if it was the only land you had ever known.
“There must be some draw to it,” Ned acknowledged. “I suspect that we might find out soon enough.”
They would, as it so happened. As they climbed up the cliffside by a rough trail, the fog began to thin out little by little. By the time they reached the top, they could see beyond the bridges of their noses. The terrain was rough and mountainous -- not so much as hills but sudden cliffs that could just go up as little as a foot to towering over them. It was as he gazed out into the thinned fog that he saw a man on top of one of the cliff sides.
The man himself was less of interest than what he was riding. It looked to be a large hairy goat with a horn jutting out of its head. A unicorn, Ned realized. Lyanna couldn't ever be allowed to see one. Her heart would be equally heartbroken by the tedious creature as it would be set on riding it. The unicorn's rider brought a horn to his lips and blew, the sound echoing out.
Their guide threw up his hands, “Bah! Of course. I make a dozen trips by myself no problem, but as soon as I escort some lords, I get caught.”
“That was one of Lord Crowls scouts, I take it?” Ned ventured, watching the man pull away from their view. Likely off to inform his lord what he had seen.
“It was,” Paul agreed, unbothered by their arrival being announced. “Stilgar -- I trust everything is in position to greet them?” He asked, his pace not breaking stride as he continued onward.
“You shame me for even having to ask,” the now named Stilgar said, making a dismissive gesture to his lord. They had a unique relationship, Ned thought to himself. They didn't behave like a Lord and vassal.
However, that wasn't the issue here. “If you have a plan, Lord Atreides, I would know of it.” He spoke up, setting pace next to Paul and sending him a pointed look.
Paul inclined his head to him, “The grounds where the conversation will happen have been chosen in advance. Lord Hjalti will arrive with his men mustered as a show of force. The field we have chosen limits the effectiveness of his advantage in numbers.”
It was disquieting how calmly he spoke of it -- as if there was no doubt what the Lord Crowl would do. And while Ned was uneasy at the thought of this coming to a fight, Robert was grinning ear to ear.
“So, it'll be a fight then? Perfect! Let's crush some skulls,” he said, gazing off in the direction that the scout had taken off in. He was ready for a fight. Ned supposed that it was a good thing he had already packed his armor. Elbert, however, seemed far less enthused at the prospect of battle.
Ned swallowed a frown, “I have no disagreements with the precautions taken. So long as diplomacy is made in earnest. If Lord Crowl shirks his vows and disobeys the will of my father… whatever happens next is on his head.” Ned voiced, earning a nod from Paul as they continued on.
“An attempt will be made, my lord. The result, I'm afraid, is a forgone conclusion,” He voiced and Ned found that he didn't disagree.
The location for the talks was a good one, Ned saw upon their arrival. It was a plateau that putted up, almost like a small mountain rather than a hill. Deep crevices surrounded it, but the cliff sides weren't so steep that they couldn't be surmounted -- just unappealing when there was a much easier land bridge that led to the plateau. Based on what he had seen in the Eyrie, it seemed that there was once a river that flowed around the small mountain.
At the plateau of that mountain, Ned saw signs of a camp. It was a bit high up, but within walkable distance. Casterly Rock writ small, if the descriptions of the Lannister home were to be believed.
“He knows his stuff,” Robert remarked as they crossed the land bridge that was just wide enough for ten men walking shoulder to shoulder to cross. “This place looks like a right pain in the arse to attack.”
“You honor me, Lord Baratheon,” Paul replied without looking back. “Provided that all goes well, this shall be the home of House Atreides for generations to come.” He informed, making Ned inspect the lands anew. The terrain around the area was everything but even. There was no farmable land to be found either. They would have to sustain themselves with fish from the sea, but…
This was a hard land to live in.
The mission his father gave to him rang out in his ears, prompting him to speak. “Why here? It is a defensible location, on that I can easily see, but…”
“I can't imagine why anyone would willingly live here,” Robert continued, his tone blunt as his hammer. Paul laughed lightly, far from offended.
“It is as I told your father -- the location of which my people can settle are few because of specific conditions. This, my lords… is an aborted volcano,” he informed as they continued to walk. “Some six hundred years ago, there was an eruption north of the Wall and it strangled this would-be volcano in the crib and left it inert.” That was…
“How?” Robert blurted, interested as is looked at the small mountain- a volcano with fascination.
“The easiest way to explain it is that when the pressure was released in this area, things shifted. Instead of underground pressure building up here once more, it built up in another location. It could be nearby, or it could be far away -- I don't know.” Paul elaborated as they walked, and as they did, Ned saw a cavern. He peered into it, only seeing darkness, unable to see its end. “The result is that the entire area is littered with magma tubes. They run throughout the volcano itself. Added to the natural hot springs that still linger in the area… the lack of farmland aside, it is uniquely situated to fulfill my needs.”
That would explain it, Ned reasoned as they reached the top. A place like Stony Shore would be more convenient, but it lacked what he needed. Likewise, it made whatever process that he used difficult to replicate because Ned couldn't imagine there were many dead volcanoes in the world.
At the top, Ned saw the camp itself. It was organized. The tents were arranged in neat rows before the opening of what seemed to be a great cavern with people walking about, hurrying along with tasks and preparations. All of them wore that same odd-looking armor that Stilgar wore from what he could see. The people didn’t look like wildlings- or, rather, what he assumed wildlings would look like. There was no crazed faces, sharpened teeth, or gratuitous scars.
They looked like normal people. Well groomed considering the hard march they must have experienced. There were men, women, and children that all swiftly took notice of their arrival. It was then that Ned saw them greet their lord.
They greeted him with love. There was no fear or nervousness to be found. The people that Paul took as his vassals loved him. Respected him. Admired him. They greeted him as if he were a conquering hero that walked out of a storybook. It was revealing, Ned thought. Before his departure, he was informed of the measures that his father and brother took to learn more about their new vassal. They never managed to discover anything.
And perhaps this played a part of it.
Their party was welcomed into the camp and they were quickly settled near the heart of it. Robert readied himself by putting on his armor while Elbert walked the grounds. Ned joined Paul in his tent, finding that it was equal to anything he could expect from a high lord. Paul was left behind the Wall, but he hadn't suffered for it as far as Ned could tell.
“Time is short -- I expect that Lord Crowl will arrive in force shortly. Before then, I would like to know what you intend for the peace treaty,” Paul spoke, certain that it would be a fight.
His father's words echoed in his ears, and Ned considered it. His father wanted harsh punishments. To destroy House Crowl as a warning to any other House in the North that considered disobedience. A punishment that felt… undeserved, in Ned's mind. They should be punished. Harshly, even. But to destroy them was excessive.
Yet, they were the orders of his father.
“If Lord Crowl cannot be made to see reason, then my father has granted me the authority to condemn them. Lord Crowl will be stripped of his lordship, and his lands granted to his next of kin, however removed.” That was a fair judgment in his mind, but not what his father desired. “The next lord will be required to pay you restitution of some kind. Such as a portion of the taxes House Crowl collects would be granted to House Atreides.”
For a small house such as House Crowl, already weakened by a portion of their lands being taken, the restitution would be a death blow. They could hope for a slow death -- their strength being leeched away and left unable to support themselves… or, given the harshness of the land, one of their fellow houses would pounce upon their weakened state.
It wasn't truly what his father wanted, but Ned tried to convince himself that the result was the same. He had little taste for needless slaughter.
“I am amenable to these terms,” Paul stated. “Though, I have little need for coin or foodstuffs. What I do require is manpower. My craftsmen are skilled in their trade, but building castles are outside of their skill set. For the most part,” he added and Ned found himself rather curious about the admission.
“You would trust your foes to build your home?” Ned questioned instead, finding that he liked the idea. It would be to the same end if the smallfolk were granted to House Atreides -- though, such a thing was far too akin to trading in flesh for his liking. There was a better way, in the end.
They simply expanded Paul's lands. The villages, thus the smallfolk within, would then pay homage to their new lord.
That, Ned suspected, would please his father more and it saved Ned from pointless killing.
“I don't consider Lord Crowl to be my enemy, Lord Eddard. What he's doing is understandable,” Paul admitted, his lips thinning. “I am the one that has come to his homeland and decided that I would take a piece of it for myself. While he should obey his liege lord in all things, I do understand why he shall refuse.”
Ned breathed a little easier hearing that. “As do I, if we are being honest,” he admitted.
Paul inclined his head to him, “I intend for the transition to be as smooth as I can make it. I require them to help build my castle, and I would see them compensated as they deserve. I am no Harren the Black.” He knew of the history of the Seven Kingdoms. That was good. It showed that he intended to join the Seven Kingdoms in earnest rather than merely paying lip service.
It made Ned feel a little more confident in the whole arrangement. He would do his duty no matter what, but he would prefer knowing that he didn't leave a disaster in his wake.
All that was left was actually winning the battle to come, and Paul had been right on the mark there -- they didn't have to wait long. Almost within the hour, the scouts on watch reported that Lord Crowl was coming at the head of a small army of a hundred soldiers. He didn't put spears in the hands of every boy, but he made his intentions known.
Ned readied himself for what would be a battle. He was dressed in his armor -- chain mail with dull gray plate over his vitals. Half-plate, in function as he was still growing and his house was hardly so rich they could afford to produce a new set everytime he had a growth spurt. Once he was properly equipped, wielding his greatsword strapped to his back, he departed down to the land bridge where the talks would be happening.
On the way down, he saw Robert. He wore a set of full plate, colored gold and black after the colors of his House. Antlers putted out of his helm at the sides while a hefty warhammer rested easily in his hands. It was a far cry from the puck hammers most warriors wielded -- in truth, it was closer to an anvil on a stick than not. Completely impractical and unwieldy for anyone else, as most struggled to lift the warhammer as it was so off balance, much less wield it with the swiftness of a dagger like Robert managed.
He was brimming with excitement. Ned swallowed a smile when he saw his friend and felt compelled to point something out. “Your father is going to be rather cross if he hears about this.” Robert liked to make light of it, but the truth of it was that he was the heir to the Stormlands. And this was ultimately a skirmish between Northern vassals.
Robert chuckled, “If.” That seemed rather optimistic to Ned's ears, but it was the kind of response he expected of his friend.
Skirmishes between vassals were hardly uncommon. Within the North, the most well known example would be the Whitehills and Foresters. Ancient feuds gave men plenty of reasons to draw their blades against their neighbors. But, what would happen here was no mere feud.
“Hm. I suppose I won't tell anyone if you won’t,” Ned said, earning a hearty chuckle from Robert. “I expect that Elbert is the wiser of the two of you?”
“Boring lout, more like,” Robert agreed. “He’ll observe, but he won't get his hands bloody.” He said the words as if there was something wrong with Elbert for it. It was the opposite, really. This was an affair of the North and the heirs to other Kingdoms shouldn't be involved at all. Ned simply knew better than to try to convince Robert to sit the battle out.
They chatted on their way down where Ned observed Paul already there and waiting. His banner flapped in the wind -- a red hawk on a black background. He shared House colors with House Crowl, who had taken position across from the bridge. A red spikes on black. At the head of the small army that effectively had them besieged was a tall man. Fiery red hair, a bushy beard that had beads interwoven into it, while he wore furs and leathers.
Lord Crowl looked almost identical to what Ned imagined a wildling might. He looked like he could belong to the Mountain tribesmen in the Eyrie.
“We shall meet them in the middle to discuss terms. If peace can be made,” Ned decided, speaking to Paul. If it came to battle, Ned felt confident. They had fewer numbers than Lord Crowl, but their position more than made up for it. They arrived with twenty five guardsman, Paul had fifty warriors -- which put their numbers near enough even. Crossing the bridge would be painful, but tempting enough that Lord Crowl wasn't likely to be dissuaded from making the attempt.
Across from them, Ned saw mostly infantry. There were a handful of archers that he saw, but they were a loose scattering. What he was more intrigued by was their cavalry -- men mounted on unicorns, and there were a good dozen of them. They seemed useless in the battle, which made it puzzling why exactly they hadn't dismounted to join the infantry.
Paul nodded, making a gesture before a white flag was raised. Lord Crowl had one raised as well before both of them met in the middle.
The results were… to be expected.
“This is my home,” Hjalti Crowl uttered after Ned delivered the terms -- the immediate acknowledgment of the order issued by his father with the disbanding of the army he had amassed. There was a low bitter anger in his voice, looking upon them with nothing less than contempt. “It was the home of my father, and his father before him. For thousands of years, these lands have belonged to my family. I won't just give them away on the order of some mainlander.”
Ned met the man's gaze evenly. He understood. More than he wanted to admit. “That mainlander is your liege lord,” he reminded firmly, though he expected nothing of it.
Hjalti spat on the ground, “Aye. And what has that given us? My ancestors bent the knee to the Starks only to be forgotten. When our babies die of the cold, when our children and elderly die of hunger -- has the Starks ever once lent us aid? Or a word of acknowledgment for our losses?” Hjalti cursed, proving to be far more well spoken than his appearance implied.
The grievances sounded familiar to Ned's ears. Almost identical to the grievances that his father had with the Crown.
“Now you come here, after forgetting that we existed for centuries, to take what is mine. What belongs to my children and grandchildren,” Hjalti continued, his lips peeling back in a snarl. “A pox on you, Stark. You, and your kin. You'll get nothing from me but a swift death, and even that's more than you deserve.” His ire was firmly on Ned because of his name, but Paul wasn't silent on the matter.
“Then I shall take that as a refusal of the terms?” Paul spoke up, making Hjalti's furious gaze shift to him. “If words have no luck making you see reason, then our point shall be made with the end of a sword. Shall we settle this the old way? Myself against you? Or whatever champion you wish to name.”
Hjalti scowled, his gaze flickering down to his ruined hand. It had suffered poorly because of frostbite over the winter, leaving him only with a pointer finger, part of his middle finger, most of his pinky, and thumb. “No,” He decided, looking back up at Paul. “The Starks have proven their word means less than a dog's turd, and you smuggled your people into my lands. I have no faith that you will follow through on any promises that you make.”
Ned was uncertain how much he believed that and how much was his lack of confidence that he could win. It was a moot point, in the end. The offer of a duel was refused, leaving them with one solution. Force of arms.
“Then let us commence with the battle of there is nothing more to be said,” Paul decided, inclining his head to Hjalti.
The man looked down at Paul, his lips thinning. His disliked his confidence, but there was only one thing he could say in response. “Aye. Let us begin,” he said, turning away to join his army that readied itself to fight.
Likewise, he and Paul returned to their side of the land bridge. It was then that he noticed something -- their numbers should be about even, but it didn't look like it. The guardsmen that came with them served as the center with a handful of Paul's men acting as the flanks so the guardsman could thicken their formation. There were about ten archers in total, but Ned noticed that all of them wielded weirwood bows. A treasure by any standard, and if now was the time for questions, Ned would wonder how exactly Paul had so many.
“It is my intention to fight in the vanguard,” Paul informed him as they made their way back to the line. “While I am appreciative of Lord Baratheon's willingness to fight on my behalf, should he come to harm would be… disastrous. For both my House, as well as the North, I suspect.”
Ned nodded, accepting the point. “You would have me hold him back, then?” Robert wasn't one to miss out on glory.
“Only until the battle has already been won. It won't take long,” Paul stated and Ned found his confidence reassuring. It was hard not to when he made it sound like victory was certain. “I just need you to hold your line until the signal is given -- a horn will blow.” He said and Ned nodded, accepting the task.
While he outraged the newest vassal of the North, petty pride would only get people killed if Ned demanded changes to the strategy in the final hour. And only to massage his own ego.
So, he was content to follow the plan that Paul laid out. The formation was set, shields were raised, and after a long moment if tension, the silence broke when the Crowl men-at-arms began to march forward.
First, there was an exchange of arrows from the archers. On both sides of the bridge, they fired at the other side. It was then that the weirwood bows made their quality known. Their range was much further and in the well trained hands of Paul's archers, they were devastatingly accurate. The arrow skirmish lasted only a few short volleys before the archers on Hjalti's side fell back, some dead, most injured, with only a few left in the fight.
Abandoning the exchange, the warriors of House Crowl began to march forward in a dense formation. They anticipated the issue of the land bridge and prepared a solution -- moving slowly with their shields overlapping both at the front of the formation as well as above their heads. It protected them from the arrows as they slowly made their way forward. Well, it did for the most part.
There were narrow gaps the the shields that the archers exploited with deadly accuracy. Many arrows thudded into the shields, but some struck true in the gaps and there were cries of pain from within the formation. It still held strong, moving closer. And, it was only when the quivers were empty that the formation started to pick up speed.
It was also when Ned was greeted by a ridiculous sight that left him bewildered. The cavalrymen that rode upon the unicorns dropped down into the crevice below. Ned was certain that they would break their legs or fall to their deaths, but with an almost unnerving amount of grace, the unicorns hopped down the crevice before they started climbing up, bypassing the bridge entirely.
The forces of House Crowl were committed and their plan clear. The cavalry would arrive behind them just as the main force struck their line. Between the two, their forces world crack and with the advantage of the terrain gone, their defeat almost seemed certain.
At least until Ned heard a sharp whistle in the air. His gaze went up to find that it was an arrow fired by one of their archers…
And it was then that he saw the battlefield change. Beyond House Crowl, almost exactly where their army had stood, were men that were throwing off their disguises. Stones and flats of pebbles revealed themselves to be men in disguise, seamlessly blending into the terrain until the signal was given. They revealed themselves by breaking into a dead sprint, rushing the army from behind while the army of House Crowl recoiled in surprise.
There were shouts of shock and people barking orders to protect their rear. It was then that Paul shouted, “House Atreides! On me!” He exclaimed, breaking into a dead sprint across the bridge with the odd twenty men that had helped guard their end. Robert nearly joined them, only to be held back by a hand on his shoulder.
He would have just gotten in the way, they learned with Paul jumping up, using a shield as a platform to flip over the now divided formation. He spun like he was in a mummer trope, and the moment he vanished from sight, Ned heard the sounds of men dying. The formation itself collapsed under the weight of being surrounded, shattering like glass.
“Gods be good,” Robert muttered, simply watching the battle happen. Ned himself was in a similar state of disbelief.
It was a slaughter. Pure and simple. Every warrior moved like they stepped out of a tale -- they wielded dual dirks with long thin blades with deadly efficiency. Every move spelled death, even as they blocked an attack, they were countering with their other hand. Their teamwork was flawless, working in perfect sync with those around them.
It was as if they were watching the kingsguard unleashed against unsuspecting peasants.
The battle was over almost as soon as it began. Within minutes, men were throwing down their arms and surrendering. It was too late for most of them, Ned saw, realizing that the men of House Crowl had been cut down to half of their number. Blood flowed, dripping off the edge of the land bridge like rain. It was only then that Ned realized that the cavalrymen never made it up the side of the crevice. More men had been waiting for them at the bottom.
A flawless victory, Ned realized as he approached, feeling… unnerved by how utter the victory was. The trap was laid perfectly, every move was anticipated, and Paul's warriors were ferocious killers. Not so peerless that he couldn't imagine himself winning, but he knew it would likely be the hardest fight of his life.
“My apologies, my lord. I anticipated stiffer resistance. It was not my intention to misleading you,” Paul said, greeting them with a bow of his head while his men expertly took those that surrendered prisoner. Others looted the bodies of their arms and armor, along with whatever trinkets they might possess. It looked very practiced to Ned's eyes.
Robert barked a laugh while Ned found his words. His gaze drifted down to Hjalti, who was taken prisoner and thrown to Ned's feet. The older man looked up to Ned, his gaze clear before he spat on Ned's boot.
“Get on with it,” he said, making Ned close his eyes for just a moment. Defiant, even in death.
So, Ned drew his greatsword and held it aloft. “I, Eddard Stark, of House Stark, find you guilty of sedition against your liege lord, Rickard Stark. For your defiance and raising arms against House Stark, I sentence you to die. Do you have any last words, my Lord?”
“Just make the cut clean,” Hjalti said, offering his neck.
Ned obliged him.
Comments
LiQiye
Man Paul's tactics are going to give Robert some ideas during the rebellion, poor Rhaegar his defeat is likely to be even worse this time around.
Max Horrichs
oh that's what it was meant to be. I thought it was something like he would normally be outraged a vassal commanded him.
godUsoland
Thanks for the chapter! Btw "While he outraged the newest vassal" should be changed to "While he outranked the newest vassal"
