Chapter 57: Oldtown

From his chambers up on top of the Hightower, Lord Leyton Hightower could only see a vast array of Ironborn ships in the bay of the Whispering Sound as he looked out of a window, each one sending a steady amount of firebombs over the walls into his city of Oldtown. His face was stern and grim as he watched on, his own forces barely able to put up their own fight after the bombardments of the past weeks.

Above him he heard the roaring of the beacon fire. Dark green flames bellowed out of the beacon, indicating to all of House Hightower's banners to send aid by land. Those forces had gathered outside of the city, effectively holding the Honeywine against any ambitious Ironborn ships that snuck past Oldtown's defences. His own banners had been joined by those of House Florent, as well as a relatively large force from Leyton's grandson, Lord Loras Tyrell, a sizable force of Reachmen.

The issue however was the Ironborn weren't threatening the land beyond Oldtown, and the first action of their assault on the ancient city had been to decimate the small number of ships kept in the bay. All ravens sent to the Arbor and King's Landing had so far born no fruit, and so Leyton, a usually calm and patient man, was getting frustrated.

A knock on his door came, and Leyton turned away from the Iron Fleet to greet his second born son, Ser Garth Hightower. "Father." The knight greeted, before looking towards a desk in the corner. "Malora."

"Garth, any news?" Leyton asked hopefully.

Garth shook his head. "Nothing as of yet from Baelor. Loras is growing impatient too, and my nephew growing impatient cannot lead to anything good."

"He will have his time I am sure." Leyton sighed. "I will personally see to it that the Iron Islands burn for this." He seethed.

"And they shall, once we defeat their ships." Garth nodded. "I do have some news, Humfrey has made landfall in Braavos, the ship makers there have accepted to give us credit and are in the process of building a Hightower fleet with the utmost urgency."

Leyton was happy at that news, he had sent his youngest son to Braavos via King's Landing with a chest full of gold, as well as his personal promise to use as much of Oldtown's coffers in order to get a fleet for himself as quickly as the Braavosi could. "Good, for too long we have left the defence of the Whispering Sound to the Redwyne's, no longer." He said firmly. "You should get down to the coastal walls son, see to it that the morale is still there."

"At once, Father." Garth bowed again. He turned to leave and made a few steps before he stopped cautiously. "Will you be making an appearance as well? I know the men would be happy to see you."

Leyton shook his head. "Not yet, there is something in these ancient texts, we will find them."

Garth looked uncomfortably over towards his sister, but nodded the once anyway and departed the room, leaving Leyton alone with his daughter. He returned to looking out of the window again, his heart aching as he saw another fire ball sail into a house by the coast. "Tell me you have something."

"All these spells are too complicated for even Marwyn." Malora grumbled. "Unless we have some form of sacrifice…"

"Never." Leyton snapped angrily. "I will not win a victory through such barbaric methods."

Malora rolled her eyes from the corner. "Then unless you have a dragon hidden up your sleeve, I can't see anything in here that will help us." She explained as she snapped a book shut.

As soon as that happened, a freakishly terrifying roar sounded from outside the Hightower, and the bells started ringing. Leyton rushed as fast as his old bones could carry him over to the window, and from his vantage point high in the sky he watched on in amazement as three dragons zoomed past the Hightower over towards the Whispering Sound, unleashing a torrent of dragon fire onto the closest ships to the harbour. Leyton let out a loud, bellowing laugh as he pointed towards the dragons. "There are your dragons, child!" He cried in ecstasy to his eldest daughter. "Ha!"

"Ships too, Father." Malora muttered, moving his point towards the horizon. And she was right, Leyton's eyes weren't as good as they once had been, but he could make out the outlines of hundreds of ships in the distance.

"Fantastic." He grinned. "Mal, get my armour."

Malora snorted. "You are too old to be fighting, Father."

"Perhaps." Leyton said as he made his way over to his fireplace. There on display on the wall above it was a longsword that had been placed upon the same mantle for over 20 years. Leyton carefully lifted it down, admiring the grey leather scabbard that housed the blade, as well as the careful decoration of the Hightower on the pommel, a rare orange citrine gem depicting the beacons flame. Pulling the blade an inch out of its scabbard, Leyton Hightower grinned at the Valyrian Steel ripples. "But I will be there all the same, defending my city." He finished off, snapping the sword back into its scabbard and the Lord of Oldtown prepared to leave the Hightower for the first time in over a decade.

The bay outside of Oldtown was black with smoke. Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion had dealt the Ironborn a heavy blow by destroying dozens of ships themselves, whilst those that tried to flee were set upon by King Stannis and the rest of the fleet. As the sounds of battle died down and the royal forces converged on the docks of Oldtown Jon lifted Rhaegal high into the air to scout, making sure no surprise attack was incoming. After hovering for a few minutes, he felt happy that the fighting was over with and he pushed Rhaegal down, landing heavily inside Oldtown's walls. Dismounting, Jon walked over to the docks, where Daenerys had met up with Lord Leyton Hightower and King Stannis. Jon stopped by Bran, who's bloodstained Stark style armour reminded him of Torrhen's with the black leather, although underneath he had a yellow gambeson stained with red blood, showing his new colours proudly to the world.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked his brother, not caring for formality.

"I'm fine Jon." The 17-year-old Stark insisted. "It's not mine."

Jon breathed a sigh of relief, before realising the company. "Apologies Your Grace, My Lord."

Lord Leyton waved his hand. "Nonsense, Lord Targaryen." Jon cringed internally at the name, but that was who he was now. "We were just discussing the pursuit."

"Pursuit?" Jon asked.

"Euron wasn't here." Dany explained to him. "This was roughly half the fleet."

Leyton nodded. "The Silence and the others left around three days ago in the direction of the Islands." He explained. "Not that it stopped the bombardments." He muttered bitterly.

"You are liberated now." Stannis said formally. "Although this Ironborn menace needs to be dealt with once and for all."

Leyton looked nervously at his feet at that, a sight which didn't escape Bran. "Is there an issue with that My Lord?" The young Lord of Summerhall asked.

"What? No!" Leyton exclaimed, before sighing. "Although, there has been news from the North…"

Around half an hour later the Hightower was host to a large War Council. Jon and Dany stood away from most, although Lord Monford Velaryon stood firmly with them. As Jon looked around he saw nobles from the Reach and the Stormlands all mixed in, whilst Stannis was flanked by both Bran and Ser Davos Seaworth.

"We have had reports that the Shield Islands have fallen." Loras Tyrell explained. "I have sent a strong host to flank both sides of the Mander with siege weapons in case they decide to go for Highgarden."

"We may have a bigger issue, Lord Tyrell." Ser Davos explained. "The Wall has fallen."

The gathered nobles were deathly silent, and all Jon could think about was his family. "Winterfell?"

"Evacuating." Bran explained. "The entire North are making for Moat Cailin."

"Then that is where we need to be." Jon told everyone. "Euron can wait…"

"No he cannot." Stannis said firmly, leaving Jon incredulous.

"Your Grace…" He began.

Stannis however, glared over at Jon. "Euron Greyjoy is a disease. If we leave him alone in the South while we march North and deal with these demons we won't have a South to come back to."

"And if we leave the Northmen alone to deal with the White Walker's then we'll all lose." Jon bit back. "If we leave Euron, he may take some castles, but he cannot grow his army. If we leave the North, then our task gets extremely more difficult."

"Which is why we deal with Euron quickly." Bran interjected. Jon went to complain, but Bran didn't give him the chance. "They are my family too Jon, remember that. But His Grace is right, we deal with Euron now and then go to the North's aid."

Jon was getting angry. "You want to leave Father? Robb? Torrhen?"

Bran slammed his fist on the table, the display of anger shocking almost everyone in the room. "Of course I don't!" He exclaimed fiercely. "But the North has enough aid."

Jon looked questioningly over at his brother, but Ser Davos answered the unasked question. "The Riverlands, baring the naval defences needed to prevent an attack from sea, and the Vale are preparing to march to the North as we speak. Dorne has 20,000 spears sailing there too. Moat Cailin will have enough men to hold. Our job is to kill Euron as soon as we can and to join them."

"We aren't just killing Greyjoy." Stannis piped up then, looking at the map laid out in front of them. "My Lords, I have fought through 2 Greyjoy rebellions as have many of you, this will be our third. I don't intend for there to be a fourth. The Iron Islands bring no value to the Seven Kingdom's, they bring no trade, no loyalty. Only death and kidnappings to our subject. No, there will not be a fourth rebellion I will make sure of it. We leave the Islands as shells, with no nobility nor power structure that can grow enough to threaten even our weakest of landed knights." His gaze was fierce as he lifted his eyes to meet Jon's own. "Prepare yourselves, My Lords, for this isn't a war. This is an extermination."

Jon gulped at the gaze and almost felt himself cower under the intensity. He didn't get a chance to counter the King's orders as Stannis left the room, flanked by both Ser Davos and Bran, leaving no room for arguments.

The Crow's Eye himself was drunk. After hearing of the Royal Fleet passing by the Elbow of Dorne he had taken his stronger captains and sailed back towards the Iron Islands, stopping by the Shield Islands to capture them. He had left his men feasting on the food and the women of Lord Hewitt's castle and taken the bitter Falia Flowers, bastard daughter of the now dismembered Lord of Oakenshield, to bed.

He couldn't sleep however, so after leaving the busty young bastard snoring and naked on top of the covers he went and poured himself a wine, looking out of the large windows overlooking the east, where Euron knew the entrance to the Mander was. He took a large gulp and threw the goblet away before opening the window and stepping onto the ledge, feeling the breeze against his bare skin.

A knock at the door sounded, and Euron heard it open and footsteps enter the room. Turning around, he saw the wielder of the Valyrian Steel blade Nightfall, Ser Harras Harlaw.

"You wanted to see me." Harras grunted. Euron knew that the knight was unhappy with him for killing Rodrik the Reader, but the man disrespected Euron and had to die.

"I did." Euron nodded, moving to grab a black silk robe. He poured two goblets of wine and handed one to the Harlaw. "It appears you're discontent with our battles."

Harras scoffed. "I'm never discontent with battle. I've only tried to understand the plan." He looked over at the bed briefly, but it was a gesture that Euron noticed.

"She'll be asleep for the night." Euron waved away with a cocky smirk. "I tired her well enough."

"We heard." Harras grunted.

Euron grinned, taking a sip. "You know, my Father once told me that there is no wine sweeter than that of a vanquished foe." He began. "He was a fool with no ambition, wine is wine no matter where it comes from." Harlaw stayed quiet. "The plan is simple. We cannot match the Greenlanders for numbers, so we have to be strategic and we need to fund the armies of the east."

"You want us to fight with sellswords?" Harras asked distastefully.

Euron rolled his eyes. "I spent many years travelling the east. If there's one thing they enjoy almost as much as money, it's slaves. And the Greenlanders have the sole reason that slavery isn't very profitable any more amongst their ranks."

Harras was starting to see the picture. "So you want the Targaryen's?" He asked.

Euron grinned. "I want the girl. Kill the bastard and she is available. Bend her to my will and I control Slaver's Bay as well as her dragons. Mix that with cutting off the head of the Greenlanders armies…"

"And they'll be fractured while we grow stronger." Harras finished up. "I see."

"Stannis Baratheon has come himself to put an end to the Ironborn menace." Euron mocked. "He dies and his heir is a girl, the only warrior among the Stags being the flower in charge of Storm's End. We will take King's Landing, we will take the Stormlands. We'll take everything our ancestors called theirs and more." He smirked, tipping his goblet towards the new Lord of Harlaw. "Does that ease your worries?"

Harras smirked. "It does and more." He stated bluntly.

Euron noticed Falia stirring in the bed. "Good, now get out." Euron commanded, slipping his robe back off his shoulders. "Or stay." He shrugged. "You'll get to see how it's done properly."

Harras didn't react to that, but he fled the room briskly, not wanting to hear the overexaggerated screams of pleasure sounding from the bastard girl.

A single horn blast at the gates of Moat Cailin was all it took for Torrhen to rush towards the Winter Gate, hoping for any signs of Direwolf banners coming down the Kingsroad. Instead he saw the banners of House Dustin and House Stout riding towards him with several thousand fighting men. The Stark quickly made his way down to the courtyard and stood in wait, his hands nervously fingering the wolf head pommel of Winter's Bite. Howland Reed soon joined him and noticed the look on Torrhen's face.

"We will hear from your Father soon, I am sure." Howland said calmly.

Torrhen murmured in response. "Every day I hear nothing I fear for them even more."

"He is a smart man, Lord Eddard." Howland said calmly as the Dustin forces streamed into the fortress.

"Aye." Torrhen agreed, as Lord Edrick Dustin and Lord Harwood Stout dismounted in front of Torrhen.

"Lord Torrhen." The Dustin Lord bowed his head. His uncle followed suit.

"Lord Edrick. Lord Harwood." Torrhen bowed his head back in greeting. "I trust you are well?"

Harwood Stout nodded. "Well enough. The women and children have taken their boats and are sailing into the Riverlands as we speak."

"Good." Howland said, pleased. "The more people we can get out of danger the better."

"Aye." Torrhen nodded, before turning to the 17-year-old Lord Dustin. "Any news from Winterfell? It's been silent here."

Edrick shook his head. "Sorry, the last raven from Winterfell was the call to arms and evacuation notice."

Torrhen bit down his disappointment quickly. "Very well." He sighed. "Lord Howland will take you to the Barrow Tower." He pointed to the relevant tower, decorated in the banners of the Barrowlands. "You are both invited to sup with myself and the other Lords inside Moat Cailin tonight."

"Thank you, Lord Torrhen." Edrick bowed again politely before he and his uncle followed Howland towards their tower. Torrhen stood still for a few moments as he processed the lack of news coming from his childhood home. As he almost disappeared into the bustle of the newly arrived soldiers finding their way around the castle his faithful four legged friend came walking over to him calmly, scaring a lot of the men who had never seen a Direwolf before, let alone one the size of Balerion. The black furred beast was now almost as big as most small horses, and it took Torrhen some effort to scratch behind his ears.

"You should be with Gendry." Torrhen said calmly, and the Direwolf just snorted. Torrhen looked at Balerion's side and noticed the flexible armoured plating that was strapped to his back. Torrhen looked back into Balerion's eyes and rested his forehead onto the Direwolf's. "I'm fine Bal, just worried." He reassured.

"Lord Stark!" The voice of the Baratheon bastard called over the rest of the noise in the castle. "I'm sorry, he just walked off."

"Not to worry Gendry." Torrhen said, not moving from resting against Balerion. "Come on Bal, we'll get you fitted and then you can go and hunt." Torrhen moved his hand to the Direwolf's neck and guided the beast back towards the forge, all the while hoping in his mind that his Father was ok.

It had been a tearful farewell at the White Knife crossing of the Kingsroad, as Catelyn, Rickon, Robin Arryn and the girls had been escorted with the other non-combatants down the river towards the Manderly ships ready to take them Southwards, whilst the fighting force had continued down the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin. Ned didn't say anything, but in his mind his farewell with his wife, son and daughters had been a final one.

As his force came to a halt just inside the Barrowlands on the 5th day of their march, Ned took a moment to realise just how ferocious the snow had started to become. He may have been Lord of Winterfell, but he along with everyone else grabbed whatever they could to shovel snow away in order for the camp to be raised as efficiently as only the Northmen knew how in this weather. It was a very tired Lord of Winterfell that fell into his makeshift bed that night, only for him to be awoken barely an hour later by a single horn blast. Grateful that the loud noise wasn't sounded more, he sat up in his bed and put on his armour in time for the tent to rustle.

"My Lord, The Mountain Clansmen are here." His guard for the night explained.

"Send them in." Ned called back, and he sat down in his chair to rub his eyes. In streamed a number of men that Ned recognised. Brandon 'the Younger' Norrey, Black Donnel Flint, and Duncan Liddle. Each of them the heirs of their respective clans. There was another figure behind them, but Ned didn't have a chance to identify him before Brandon Norrey crashed into him with an embrace.

"I am glad to see you all." Ned told them, confused. "And slightly concerned."

"The Wall has fallen." The unknown man spoke gravely, and Ned recognised the voice.

"Kingslayer." Ned spoke calmly.

Jaime Lannister uncovered his face and took down his hood, and Ned winced at the amount of dried blood on the man's head. "Lord Stark."

"What happened?" Ned asked as he poured everyone ales.

"We got your bird." Duncan Liddle explained. "We all gathered our men when we heard the crashes."

"So our Father's sent us to you while they went to rescue the Watch." Brandon Norrey continued.

"They found the handful of us that remain." Jaime took up the story. "We had been fighting for days, each night they picked more and more of us off. Thorne banished most of those that didn't trust him to the Shadow Tower. That's where I was when the wall came down. I barely escaped."

Ned grimaced. "The entire Wall?"

"All of it." Jaime scowled. "It crushed my men, it crushed thousands of us. The elders dug some of us out, but by nightfall we all just had to run as far as we could. The elders…" He paused, the memory clearly haunting him. "They stayed to buy us some time."

Ned hung his head low. "I am so sorry." He said to the new clan chiefs of the Mountain Clans. "Their sacrifice will never be forgotten."

Black Donnel grinned. "They die as they wanted to, fighting demons to protect the Ned and his lands. We are willing to do the same."

"Aye." Came the call from the Mountain Clansmen.

"Hopefully it won't come to that." Ned muttered quickly. "How many men do you have."

"Around two and a half thousand." Jaime answered quickly.

"Good." Ned nodded. He motioned to the Clansmen. "Go and get some food from the pots outside, I must speak with Ser Jaime."

The Clansmen all nodded, each clasping arms with Ned before they went and left the Lord of Winterfell alone with his one-time enemy. Jaime smirked, but his amusement didn't reach his eyes. "Ser Jaime now?"

"I've held you in distain a long time." Ned admitted. "That all seems a bit foolish now."

Jaime nodded slowly. "That it does."

They fell into a silence then as each tried to wrap their heads around what had happened. "So who is in command of the Watch?" Ned asked.

Jaime snorted in fake amusement. "What watch? There's a handful of us left, if that." He sighed. "Those that we pulled out of the rubble named me as Lord Commander. Though I don't know what that's worth. We don't know what's happened at Eastwatch, nor in the Gift."

Ned clenched his teeth in anger. "Everyone knew the plan." He said, telling himself more than Jaime. "We all know to meet at Moat Cailin. That is the stronghold they will not get passed."

Jaime looked at Ned honestly. "You haven't seen them, Stark. I…" He paused to catch his shaky breath. "I don't know how we beat them."

Ned stood tall and placed a hand on the Lannister's arm. "We do it together. Win or fall, we are stronger as one."