Chapter 7: Trouble in Little Wyk
As always, I own nothing.
What will we do with a drunken sailor?
What will we do with a drunken sailor?
What will we do with a drunken sailor?
Early in the morning!
Way hay and up she rises
Way hay and up she rises
Way hay and up she rises
Early in the morning!
Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Shave his belly with a rusty razor
Early in the morning!
Way hay and up she rises
Way hay and up she rises
Way hay and up she rises
Early in the morning!
It took them a few tries to get it, but nothing beats boredom at sea like a good sea chanty.
With rowdy laughs, the sailors and soldiers had taken to the song like ducks on a pond. Beor supposed that it was a good thing for morale and to take their minds out of the battle.
They had been on the sea for three days now, and they had run out of stories to tell and jokes to make. They then started singing. Most songs everybody already new, so the young lord decided to introduce one of his own. Well, not literally, but since he was the only in this world who knew of it, it might as well be.
At first, they were sceptical, as most men are of new things, but the simple lyrics and the catchy tune soon won them over. Next thing you knew, they were making lyrics of their own, while keeping the chorus.
" You have a talent for singing, lord Mormont", said a voice next to him.
"Why, thank you, Lord Selmy, I never fancied myself as much of an artist, you know."
The older man chuckle at that. " I am a knight, Lord Mormont, not a lord. And do not sell yourself short. You have a lot of talents for one so young. It's almost unnerving."
Beor turned to him, and said: "If I had a gold dragon for each time I was told this, I'd be shitting gold along side the Lannisters." a smile in his face.
He had met Selmy a few days before leaving port. The man mostly talked to Jorah, as he was the senior of the two. He was always respectful towards most, an attitude that belied his terrifying talent for the sword.
They had gotten more familiar after that, mostly after seeing the boy thrashing grown men about like oversized ragdolls. He was obviously impressed, saying he reminded him of a younger Robert. 'Honestly, you remind me of the Mountain, but that's an insult I would never utter in this life' Selmy thought.
They were not friends by any means, the age gap was much to great, or so Selmy thought, but they sure got along. He even sparred with Jorah a few times. All that to say that they seemed to have made an impression on the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
"We will reach Old Wyk in a day, my
lords. We do not expect any resistance at sea thanks to the Westerman and the Royal fleet controlling the waters around the island." Selmy said, looking at the lords under his command.
"If we meet any resistance, their longships are woefully prepared to take on war galleys" interjected a lord for the Crownlands.
"That is very true, Lord Buckwell", he continued," Old Wyk is the holiest ground for the Ironmen. I expect them to fight like the madmen they are, and remember. we are fighting on their lands, but we are dictating the terms of the fight. There are ten of us for every one of them, and any one of you is worth five of them!"
At this, lords, sailors and soldiers alike roared in approval. Selmy motioned them to settle down.
" You have your orders, my lords. I bid you good luck in the fight to come." he said, dismissing the meeting.
"Ser Barristan!" yelled Beor after the old man.
" Yes, lord Beor? "
"Something is not right, ser"
Barristan looked at the boy, puzzled. "How do you mean?
"Well, we're basically at the door of the enemy, near the holiest sanctuary, yet, we've seen nothing, no longboats, no movement. Do you not find this unsettling?"
Barristan smiled, a knowing look on his face. Putting his gloved hand on the boy's shoulder he said: Now, Lord Beor. I understand. People forget often how young you are, regardless of your many talents. The silence before the chaos is always unsettling, even for weathered and blooded old bones like me. It's not an insult to your honour to be worried at the coming battle. In the contrary, it's a sign of courage and greatness to face the danger despite the fear. "
Beor didn't know what he hated more, the fact that Selmy addressed him as if he were a child or the fact that the words of the man managed to calm his nerves. Taking a deep breath, he nodded, a grateful look on his face.
" I thank you, my good ser. Your words have soothed my worry. My apologies for such an uncouth spectacle."
"Think nothing of it, Lord Beor. You are a lot braver than most just for being here. That has to count for something, I say" he answered, a smile brightening his wrinkled face.
"You should go join the others, sing them one of those songs of yours. It might help soothe frayed nerves, don't you agree?"
" Yes, ser. Thank you for your time" Beor said, walking away.
Everyone seemed oblivious to what he felt, deep in his bones. For everyone, it seemed retaking the island was a matter of "if", not "when". But in his mind, the quiet only brought one word: Okinawa.
They landed in the morning, troops in barges, expecting heavy resistance, only to find little to none. There was a small skirmish with inebriated fishermen, who were quickly set right.
After making camp, Lord Selmy decided to move in and capture the island post haste.
Thus, late in the afternoon, multiple contingents, commanded by the knight himself, marched into Old Wyk. As Beor expected, all that was there to be seen were empty houses and villages, and a few frightened soldiers who promptly surrendered.
Most of the king's army seemed relieved at the lack of resistance, Beor, from atop of his horse, couldn't help but glance around nervously at the quiet and heavy atmosphere.
His instincts were screaming at him to run, fight, to do anything but walk willingly into the butcher's den.
His men and him were positioned near the middle of the fray, much behind the Westerlanders and the Crownlanders, led by the lord commander himself. 'I've seen that movie before', he thought, examining the naked ridges and wind beaten hills in the area. 'Perfect for on final decisive assault, or guerilla warfare', he concluded.
"Jorah", he said, addressing his cousin, only to be cut off by him.
"I know, Beor, I feel it too. This is a trap, isn't it?"
The young lord nodded, a wary look on his face. Jorah chuckled looking at his younger cousin, "I did tell you this was insane, didn't I?
Beor rolled his eyes at that, smirking at him. " They'll spring the trap eventually, and we have to be ready for it." he said, in a more serious tone.
" What do you advise, then?"
" Signal the men, tell them to keep an eye out and stay near cover at all. And get a raven to be sent back to the ships. I fear their first order of business would be to cit our retreat. If this happen we would be little less than prisoners waiting to be taken."
Jorah nodded, and was about to ask something else, when Beor grabbed his arm, urgency in his voice, "Now, cousin. You have to trust me."
With a look of hesitation, the older man turned his horse to talked to his commanders and relay Beor message back to camp.
Beor, for his part urge his horse forward, towards the front line, intent to talk to Lord Selmy. Turning a particular sharp corner, he saw the bones of the Naga on a nearby hill. They would soon get to the sit of House Drumm, which ruled this island.
" Lord Selmy! Lord Selmy!" Beor yelled, when he heard a whistle in the distance. It would have been but a muffled sound in the distance to a normal ear, followed by the familiar twang of a longbow.
" ARROWS!" he yelled instinctively, just as thousands of arrows obscured the already cloudy sky.
Taken aback and without cover, many fell from the attack, taken by surprise. Arrows bounced harmlessly on Beor's armor horse, whilst he lifted his kite shield to protect himself from the projectiles.
Volleys after volleys assailed the invaders, completely taken by surprise by the cowardly tactic. Barristan had little success rallying his men amidst the chaos, and by the time the enemy infantry came charging, it might be too little too late.
"Shields! Raise your shields, men. The enemy is upon!" He saw the young lord Beor twirling his heavy mace above his head. "Bearmen! To me!
Beor heard Jorah barking orders and rallying the men. "Jorah! on the ridges! The archers are on the ridges!
Heeding his cousin's word, Jorah took twenty good men with him to circumvent the rocky formation and flank the archers from behind before they sowed any more chaos in the ranks.
As he was doing so, a roar signaled the enemy barreling down on them from the hills around them, yelling like mad men, some riding horses, but most on foot.
He felt more than saw movement towards their rear as well, as the Ironmen successfully cut the host in half with light cavalry armed with lances and blunt weapons.
Heavy infantry to the front, longbowmen raining death on them and cavalry towards the rear. They weren't lost as their army was much larger than the attackers' but chaos is nothing if not a major force multiplier.
Trusting Jorah to deal with the archers on the ridges, Beor led his remaining men towards the cavalry charges. They were more used to fight infantry, but the Ironborn horsemen were not organized as say the Vale knights, so he counted on isolating them and dealing with them as quickly as possible.
"Bearmen! Here I stand! " he yelled pulling the reins of his mare getting their attention, " those horsemen are our targets! I don't know if they are good men, so we'll let their Drown God sort them out! No mercy!"
So the Bearmen advanced, keeping formation, following their young lord as they carved a path towards the rear until they had a clear view of the cavalry. Their longbowmen loosed their arrows towards the incoming horsemen, the projectiles piercing their light armour and felling their horses.
"Pikes! the young lord yelled, and immediately the men responded, a line of angry ironheads forming a deadly fence upon which poor horses and men ran to be impaled.
The Ironborn finally saw the Bearmen as the threat they were, and focused more energy on breaking the line they have formed to protect the invading host.
Other men of the king's army seeing the controlled formation of the Bearmen joined them bolstering the rear and slowly rendering the light cavalry useless. Beor himself was starting to feel a itch he had never felt before. He wanted to taste blood . The blood of monsters who burned villages and towns because it they thought it was their right. Might made right in Westeros. 'It's high time might does right in this wretched world', he thought, ' and if it must began with those cowards, then I'll be glad to oblige."
Raising his voice once again, he turned towards the men behind him, and said : "Death!"
As one, the Bearmen along other troops, yelling their lungs out, smashed into light cavalry and the infantry behind them, hooking the riders and dragging them to the ground, piercing the enemy with arrows and slashing throats open indiscriminately.
Beor was like a beast in the fray. From atop of his horse, he was smashing heads left and right. He punched a rider off his horse sending him flying to the ground, only for the poor soul to be trampled by the fighting men.
A few men actually did manage to pull him from his horse, dragging him down. Slightly disoriented, he barely dodged the morningstar meant for his head. Grabbing his assailant by the leg, he used the man as a mace, swinging him around, bashing him into his brethren. Undeterred, the Ironborn kept the pressure on him, only for them to be savagely mauled by an angry Mormont boy.
Roaring like a mad beast, he joined the battle proper. The Bearmen had rallied around him when they though him in danger only to look at him in awe for the way he tore through the Ironborn. Walking slowly, he grabbed a pair of axes from the blood soaked ground, looking for mem to kill. Around him, all he could hear were the cries of dying men. He did not like that it didn't bother him.
After twenty minutes or so of relentless battle, the cavalry was dealt with. Dead or dying Ironmen and their horses littered the stony ground. Amidst the battle a light rain had started falling, the sky weeping in the sight of such wanton madness.
Driving his men back towards the heart of the battle, he met up with Jorah, who besides a few light wounds. was relatively untouched. Smiling at him, they clasped arms, as brothers in arms are wont to do, each glad that the other was safe.
" The archers are dealt with they had support, but a stormlord came to the rescue before we suffered much casualties."
" Well done, cousin. Glory is here, on this battlefield. It is our to take."
Smiling, Jorah nodded, his eyes shining with pride at the young man in front of him.
"Together", he answered, solemnly.
"Together", his cousin agreed.
They rode ahead, Beor having retrieved his horse. They met Barristan near the front, and relayed to him the situation in the rear.
"Lord Selmy", began Jorah, the archers on the ridges have been dealt with and the rear is secure. We have routed their excuse for a cavalry and awaiting orders as to how to proceed.
Lord Selmy, looked at them, a relieved look in his face at the news and congratulated them for their heroic actions that no doubt saved countless lives that day.
"We have news from the camp. They had coordinated attacks on our detachment and the camp. Thankfully a raven had gotten there not ten minutes before to alert them if a possible imminent attack."
Beor smiled at Jorah, who looked away, sheepish.
"Thank you, my lords, you have done a great service to the realm today. But the battle is not over. We have words that Dunstan Drumm has barricaded himself in the castle alongside Euron Greyjoy, no doubt the progenitors of this devious plan.
The plan is simple. Clear out the field for any more splinter cells, secure the coast, and breach the keep .
"They most likely already blew their load on that one. If I were to wager this was done to send a message. They do not plan on surrendering." Beor chimed in.
"I figured as much, my lords." Barristan answered, somber.
"When will we be ready to breach the keep's gate, my lord?", Jorah asked
"I'd say in a week at most. We have to make sure that there are no more surprises
That night, the King's army celebrated the Mormonts as heroes.
Jorah of the ridges, who single handedly slew hundreds of archers with his mighty valyrian steel sword, and Beor the Red Bear who tore the heads off of horses with his bare hands, showering in the blood of his enemies whilst singing pretty songs.
Needless to say, he was not quite happy about the last part, nor did he decapitate any horses, but these are war stories for you.
He was of course hounded for a song ever since the sea chanty episode- which he starting to seriously regret- and he found himself in a circle of drunk and rowdy soldiers, high on victory. He couldn't think of no more appropriate song to sing.
" Well, it's a simple one", he began. "Stomp your feet twice and clap once. I'll handle the rest."
Soon the whole camp joined when they got the hang of the simple chorus.
"We will, we will rock you!"
That night they sang and danced to the words of their new war song.
About a week later the area was pacified with most of the remaining forces barricaded in the keep. Some small groups did sprung from time to time, but these were mostly fanatic followers of the Drowned God trying to protect their sacred land.
Selmy had warned the lords that in the morrow they would march towards the keep. It was no castle, really. It was built for large assault, yes, but was nowhere near as impregnable or powerful as the castle on Pyke or the citadels on the mainland.
Thus here they were, with rams and fortifications, assaulting the strong gates, whilst being peppered with heavy rocks, arrows and whatever else they could throw at them. But due to a combination of high morale and superior numbers, it was only a matter of time before the walls were breached.
Westerosi men poured into courtyard, massacring whoever put up any resistance. They were to offer surrender to those who didn't fight and death to those foolish enough to do so.
Beor and Jorah were making their way inside the keep, their men in tow. They encountered heavy but disorganized resistance. The reavers were not used to fight defensive battles and it showed. Ironmen fell to Bearmen's swords and lances, no much for the well oiled killing units.
The reached a cross road where a mountain of a man was busy dispatching a group of unfortunate Westerlanders. His men and him seemed to be protecting a hallway possibly leading to the Dustan's solar. If this battle were the end, Beor would have to go through him.
Glancing at Jorah, they both darted forward, Jorah with his bastard sword, and Beor with the twin axes he scavenged from some dead Ironborn. The two group clashed violently. Whilst the Bear Islanders were better soldiers and despite having superior numbers, the Ironborn stood fast, determined to protect their lord.
The giant man after a quick scuffle with Jorah, threw across the room like a old sock, the poor man smashing into a wall, groaning. Beor jumped between them, hoping to stave off his cousin's attacker.
" Little Mormont, I have heard of you. " the man said in a gravelly voice, circling around the young lord. "Demon, my men call you, say you fight with the strength of ten. But all I see is a boy out of his depth. Tell me, have you come here to die?"
" Die?" Beor said, glancing at Jorah, seeing him slowly getting on his feet, slightly confused. " That sounds awfully boring. What don't send you first so you can tell me out it is?"
"My name is Andrik, champion of House Dustan. Fight me, Beor Mormont" he said, the people around them stopping to witness the duel.
'Oh shit', Beor thought, slightly fanboying, 'that's Andrik the Unsmiling, allegedly the greatest Ironborn warrior these Islands have ever have.'
"Very well, Andrik the dead man, I will you today"
At that moment, Andrik the Unsmiling smiled. It was a vicious smile, one that promised countless deaths and untold misery. With a roar, he swung his great sword. meaning to decapitate the young man. Beor sidestepped to his left, dodging the attack and quickly closing the distance swung his axes, which were supposed to be two handed each, at the Ironborn, the later blocking the hits with his shield.
They soon got into a rhythm, Andrik obviously the more skilled of the two, but Beor seemingly having the speed advantage. A mighty sword swing from Andrik smashed into Beor's brigandine bending it inward, but leaving him otherwise untouched. Beor had managed to shatter Andrik's shield sometimes during the battle.
A lucky strike to the Ironman vambrace made him drop his weapon. The next thing he knew Beor was on him, axe edge against his throat. Only for him to remove the axe, and throwing them in the floor, he beconned the giant man towards him, adopting a boxing stance.
"Have at me, Ironborn. you wanted to fight me, didn't you? Well here I stand. Come get your glorious death."
Incensed at such insult, Andrik the unsmiling swung a heavy fist towards Beor , who slipped the attack before countering with a hook of his to his opponent jaw. The punch sent Andrik's mind reeling with pain inly for others to smash into his face, liver and solar plexus. spitting blood, Andrik smashed his foot into Beor's abdomen, sending him skittering back, wincing in pain.
The young lord, without hesitation, threw a superman punch, catching the man off guard with such an unorthodox attack, before smashing his knee into his stomach, making him retch. Beor, quickly going behind his opponent, hoisted him with all his might and suplexed him into to hard floor, breaking the man's neck and cracking the stone floor.
Huffing and puffing. he turned to see the other Ironborn looking at him in undisguised awe and after a moment, dropping their weapons in a sign of surrender. Nodding, at this Beor turned to assess Jorah, who had recovered during the fight.
"Are you alright Jorah? he asked, clear worry, in his voice.
"Yes, it looked worse than it actually was, Beor." and chuckling, he added, " You know I'm supposed to be the one protecting you, you know?"
"We're family, Jorah. We protect each other, and now, we finish this."
Going further in the keep, they of course encountered resistance, though not as much as before until they made it to the lord's solar, which seem to also double as a throne room and there sat Euron Greyjoy with Lord Drumm and about twenty men with them.
" Surrender, Lord Drumm! Your sons are captured, the keep is taken. Stop this senseless bloodshed.", Jorah said, with authority.
Beor saw everything in slow motion. Euron Greyjoy smirking, grabbing the crossbow that was laying by his foot and in a fluid motion releasing it towards Jorah's head.
He'd never know if he could have actually stopped the projectile in time. He probably could have, he was fast after all. But he hesitated, just for a very small moment. And that costed him. Lunging to push Jorah out of the way, he saw he was too late. Then everything went back to normal speed he merely stumbled and watch the arrow claimed the life of someone he had come to respect greatly in the past months or so.
Chaos erupted in the room, both sides springing into action.
"Capture Lord Dustan alive, Greyjoy is mine!" Beor heard himself yelled, holding the dying Jorah in his arms. A lone tear was shed for his cousin, before sadness turned into ire and madness. He heard the cackling of Crowseye, has he fought his way out around the room, seemingly just relishing in the mess he created.
Suddenly, Euron felt someone grabbed his arm and punch him so hard a few teeth flew out. Beor grabbed him by the his coat, lifting him well above the ground, an inhuman glint in his eyes.
"My name is Beor Mormont", he said, is voice much deeper than normal, "you killed my cousin. Prepare to die."
His mind still muddled by pain and confusion, Euron was lucky he didn't see what was about to kill him. Beor was fuming, literally, with steam seeping of his skin, his hair shaggier then normal. His muscles were rippling under his armour, and he felt as if his clothes were two size to small.
With no further preamble, Beor grabbed Euron by the neck and shoulder, and slowly pulled them apart, the man yelling in agony and kicking the whole time until he went limp, his head in Beor's left and and his torso hanging from his right hand.
The room went quiet at that. Everyone was eyeing the Mormont with fear this time at the brutal display of power. Huffing angrily, Beor turned towards Lord Dustan Drumm who had also stopped fighting, seeing his liege lord's son so savagely killed.
Dropping the remains of the Greyjoy, slowly made his way towards the master of the keep, and snatched his sword, Red Rain, right out of his hands.
"This battle is over, Greyjoy is dead, Andrik the unsmiling is dead. Your sons are prisoners and I've taken your ancestral sword. You have lost. Now surrender in the name of the king or die." He said in a deep, growling voice.
Lord Dunstan fell to his knees, head bowed, prompting his men to do the same, de facto ending the conquest of Old Wyk.
Beor sheathed Red Rain and Longclaw, handed them to one of his man and delicately picked up his fallen cousin of the floor. He then promptly left the room, walking out into the rain that made his eyes and cheeks even wetter.
He passed by Lord Selmy who was walking towards the keep. "The island is yours, my lord." he said before turning away and walking off to Gods know where.
and das a wrap. long one. A bit hard to write, but I hope you do enjoy it nonetheless. Sorry for typos, of course.
Cheers.