6

Chapter 6: We're going down to Pyke, away, away!

Wow, I'm seriously floored by the positive response to this. So thanks a lot guys. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing this.

Now to answer a few comments from previous chapters.

1) Maege was not married, she sired her daughters with a bear.

That always sounded to me like she was being cheeky. The North is ruled by Ned Stark, a man who takes honour and the law really seriously. No way any of her daughters would have been anything but Snows. Also Jeor Mormont would never stand for such behaviour. If you ask me, I think the bears are just people from Bear Island, maybe someone who weren't nobles or of high standing. Case in point, only Jorah is known to have married outside of Bear Island( first with an unknown Glover woman, then Lynesse Hightower), we don't know who Jeor, Maege or Alysanne SOs are. But I'm certain they would have to get married for their sons/daughters to carry the name of the noble house.

2) Beor is 11, which is pretty young to go to war. I admit that is true, but Jorah isn't planning for him to actually see battle( not that he had a say in that really). He is trying to sculpt his younger cousin to be more like him, a talented and hardened warrior. Also, despite the scale of the forces involved, the Greyjoy rebellion wasn't as harsh and dangerous as it seemed. Besides the burning of Lannisport and the attacks on Seaguard, which were both surprise attacks, the Ironborn were on the defensive the whole campaign. Beor going to war is more of a set up for later in the story, really.

3) House Mormont is not rich yet. Jorah is just splurging...

Now, unto the story.

I do not own any right to nothin'

Jorah looked resplendent in his new set of armour. It was perfectly fitted, darkly coloured with the rampant black bear of house Mormont on a green field. He really did cut a dashing figure, especially with Longclaw, the ancestral sword of house Mormont hanging from his left hip.

Ever since the introduction of the new processes and tools that Beor invented, House Mormont had come to earn a good deal of pretty coin. In the two years since, our grain and vegetables production had almost tripled.

The whisky and vodka, whose production only started last year, had been a moderate hit so far, only spreading in the North. Last they knew, the beverages had reach the Iron Islands. Besides this, the production of sugar was still in its infancy, with only enough to supply the local population and the neighbouring Glovers.

Which is why this war was quite boon for Beor and his ambitions. For as grim as it did sound, war meant movement of people, money and resources. In a world where most people lived and died in the same village, it took massive effort to find new markets to sell products. War, however, streamlined that process for him.

Go to the warzone with fun new products, let the stuffy rich lords try them, they enjoy it, and suddenly you find yourself almost uncomfortably rich.

So with that in mind, Lowry- read Beor- had advised Jorah to bring shipments of the new products with him, in the hope of them reaching larger markets. You could almost see the man's eyes lighting up at the thought and enthusiastically approving the idea.

So here they were, Jorah in his new armour, which probably cost a lot of coin, and Beor saying their goodbye to the household. Maege looked proud but worried for her young son and cousin. Dacey was put off that she didn't get to go. Alysanne seemed like she was on the verge of tears.

After Jorah said his part, Beor found himself emgulfed in a hug by his mother. "Come back to me, my little man.", she said, barely loud enough, her voice shaky. She straightened herself, looking up into his golden eyes.

"Remember what I thought, keep your shield up, but not too close." She ran her hands on his gambeson, picking off some imaginary lint. "You have to eat, at least twice a day. And for the sake of the Gods, don't be so absent-minded" she said, eyes shining with unshed tears.

Beor felt a lump form in his throat. He'd never seen his mother so emotional before. She was always the figure of stability in a sea of changes and uncertainty. To see her so vulnerable broke his heart. Gone was the fearless warrior, only leaving a mother kissing her son before he left for war.

"It'll be alright, mother, I promise. You've taught me well. Next time you hear mine name and Jorah's, it'll be in songs that'll be sung by bards all over the seven kingdoms" he answered, trying to lift the mood.

"Fuck the bards and fuck their songs!" she retorted, a sad smile in her face. " Just promise me you'll be back."

"Aye, mother. I'll be back, you have my word"

"Good", she said in return, and looking over his shoulder to address Jorah, pointing an angry finger at him, she said: "And you, if he doesn't come back safe and sound, the Old Gods and the New won't have enough swords and shields to hide you from me!"

"Yes, aunt Maege, I know. You've told me already."Answered Jorah with a chuckle, sitting atop of his horse.

Beor moved down to his sisters, saying his goodbyes, with Dacey punching him in the arm and telling him to be careful, before shoving a rough bear claw attached to a string in his hand.

"Give'em hell, little brother" she said, not looking at him in the eye. With a nod. he turned to Alysanne, who was openly bawling, at this point. She was always the girlier of the two, which wasn't really saying much, but now, it actually showed. She hugged him tightly, before releasing him and kissing him in the forehead. She attempted to say something but with her sobs, it was pretty much lost in translation.

Finally it was Lowry's turn. It was more business-like when compared to the previous interactions.

"Please do take care of the cultures, maester. It is of the utmost importance that the mould stays out of contact with the air for at least the first eight to ten days. The only successful samples are with me, so if you mess it up, we won't anymore until after my return."

"Yes, my lord. I shall be careful. Safe travels and please come back to us. You have a lot to offer the world."

With a smile a pat on the shoulder, Beor bod him adieu.

With one last hug and kiss from his mother and sisters, he climbed on his horse, a sorrel mare of two years. Urging the horse forward at the behest of his cousin, the Mormonts and their levies, a hundred and twenty men strong, took their first steps towards war.

The march to the Westerlands was long, slow and tedious. Beor would wake up, eat some rations, wash himself if he could and ride, then ride and ride.

And ride some more for good measure.

He did train with Jorah quite a lot, sharpening his skills and getting to know the man. He was a decent fellow, but there was always an edge to him, as if he had a chip on his shoulder.

He also got to meet and train with other lords or their sons, something he never got to do before since he'd never left his island before. He met Lord Stark himself, ever silent and serious, Jory Cassel, nephew of Rodrick Cassel, and future kebab.

It took almost a month to reach the Westerlands, during which time, Beor had found himself assailed by conflicted feelings. He had lived most of his life as a man of science and only ever committed violent acts in a control setting. He had never imagined that he would be put in a situation where he would've to fight a war and kill men. Yet, he could not deny the trepidation he felt at the thought if war. The idea of sowing choas and fear in the heart of those who would dare opposed him. When training with the other soldiers, he felt as much pleasure as he did astonishing poor Lowry with some new invention or idea. Amd that scared him to no end.

As someone who has spent most of his life building and producing, he found it almost repulsing to find the same enjoyment in destroying. Yet, here he was, yearning for a fight. As much as he tried to deny it, he knew he would enjoy it, and that scared him to his core.

It was a week away from Lannisport that they started seeing signs of the conflict. Burned villages, bloated amd rotten corpses assailed by swarms of vermins. Every once in a while they would stumble on survivors, wandering, with a blank stare that spoke of the horrors they witnessed.

"To think those barbarians made it this far inland." said some soldier, spitting on the burnt ground in disgust.

Another, a riverlander, retorted " I'd say fuck the Lannisters, but those poor souls dinna deserve such cruelty."

A man at arms from House Manderly, swore under his breath, unable to look at the massacre. Beor, however felt aware of everything. The annoying swarm of flies buzzing about, the crows clamoring the heavens for the feast, the smell of death and decay, the little wooden doll, half burned, peeking under a ruined house.

He felt anger, righteous anger for the departed, and and loathing for those capable of such wanton destruction. If a people found glory in acting as monsters, maybe the should be treated as such.

You don't negotiate with monsters. You kill as many as you can and as efficiently as possible until they either get the message or go extinct. And if before he had any qualms about causing pain, he had no issues if the object of his ire were monsters such as these.

He heard a loud crack and looked down at his hands, only to see the splintered remains of his mace. The iron was bent and the wood shattered. He looked up to see his cousin Jorah looking straight at him with a somber look in his face. They did not seem to agree in much, but it seemed on that, they were in accord.

He broke eye contact to see a runner coming towards them, no doubt with a message from Lord Stark from the van.

As if on cue, the young, still out of breath, said, between huffs: "message from Lord Stark, m'lords. He requests your presence in his tent."

With a silver coin and pat on the back, Jorah sent him on his way and motioned to Beor to come with him. Getting up on their horses, and getting up to a trot, Jorah looked at his younger cousin, and as he was about to talk, Beor cut him off.

" You're going to tell me to remember that I am not to be on the front line or the battlefield if possible, correct?"

"Aye", the older man answered, curious to where this was going. " This is what we agreed on, isn't it?"

"Yes, it was", Beor admitted, pulling on his gambeson, ' why is it so damned hot, here' he thought, exasperated. " I thought I could", he continued out loud, " just stay at the camp and wait for the adults to do their duty. But I have to see this done. I want to smash the face of the bastards whio this did." he said, barely containing his anger.

"Beor, I..." Jorah started only to be cut off by his younger cousin.

" They killed children, Jorah!" he all but yelled, "Fucking children!"

For an instant, the lord of Bear Island could've sworn that he saw the skin of his cousin ripple, akin to a large predator swimming to close to the surface. The horses froze up, as if they were staring at an angry predator, loking around nervously for the unseen threat.

Beor slowly exhaled, his breath misting the air despite the heat. He looked at Jorah, contritely, trying to composed himself.

"Look", Beor said, sounding much calmer, "I have to fight, Jorah. I will, even if I have to go on my own."

Jorah looked at him pointedly, saying silent for a moment, then sighed, relenting.

" Well said, Beor Mormont. You will fight", Beor gave him a grateful smile at that, "But", Jorah cut in, " you will stay by me at all times, if anything happened to you, I could never forgive myself. I want you to give me your word, cousin."

" You have my word, then. I will stray from you during the battles to come." Beor responded, solemnly.

Lord Stark had news from the King himself. Good news at that.

" Two days ago, Lord Stannis and Lord Paxter cornered the Greyjoy fleet in straight of the Fair Isle. The enemy was thoroughly defeated and the leader, Aeron Greyjoy was captured." Eddard said, a serious look on his face.

" Good", Lord Karstark exclaimed, "finally so bloody good news!"

"Aye", Lord Bolton chimed in, "that means, the Greyjoy have lost their sole advantage. The Iron Islands are unprotected.

"Thank the Old Gods for the that Stannis!" guffawed Lord Umber, " he might be a dour fuck, but he sure can fight. Must be in his blood! he finished, his laughter booming, the other lords joining in as well.

"In three days' time, we will meet with King Robert to finalize the plans to pacify the Iron Islands and put an end to this madness!" proclaimed Stark, raising his voice, his men roaring in approval at the promise of retribution towards those who dare break the King's peace.

"Eddard!" roared a giant of a man, Robert, Beor presumed. The king was a giant of a man, not as tall as Great Jon, but what he lack in size, he made up in sheer charisma. He would speak and men would listen, he would order, and with his words only, armies of loyal men would rip a kingdom a new one with their bare hands.

Beor was truly jealous of this. The natural ability to inspire loyalty and bravery in men. 'Oh well', he thought, 'at least my wife isn't cuckolding me with her twin brother, so who's the real loser, here?'

From atop of his horse, he saw Eddard and Robert conversing, no doubt catching up on lost time, in Robert's case or trying to lead the conversation to more fruitful pastures, in Eddard's. He could see the legendary characters that he thought only existed in books: Ser Barristan Selmy, wearing his white like an ivory crown, matching his milky white armour, ever the noble and gallant knight. Lord Stannis Baratheon, looking as stoic and dour as ever, he looked just like his brother, if the man went and exchange his charisma for dutiful austerity.

A few hours later, the lords convened to share the plan and recieve their assignment. A tenth of the were tasked to bolster local forces in an attempt to root out the Ironborn that were still reaving up and down the coast of the Riverlands and the Westerlands.

The bulk of the planned invasion was to cut off Pyke, the sit of House Greyjoy from reinforcements and resources. With their navy in pieces, the Ironborn could not stop the landing forces but attacking Pyke as is would be invite a three pronged riposte from the enemy.

This it was essential that the islands around it be taken, specifically the Wyk islands, Great Wyk and Old Wyk, in order to cut off retreat and reinforcements.

To that end, Lord Stannis was tasked to retake Great Wyk, while another force will go to Old Wyk under the command of Ser Barristan Selmy. Only after this, with no retreat possible will the Greyjoy be forced to surrender without conditions. The King himself will command, with Ned Stark as his second in command. They would bend the knee or they would lose their heads.

"Jorah?", Beor asked, not looking away from the king, "what do you say we go and fight besides legends?"

Jorah, turned to him, a questioning look on his face. "How do you mean, cousin?" he asked, curious.

Beor smiled, a glint of malice in his eyes, "Why wait for greatness, when we can grab it ourselves? The Northern levies will mostly sit out the pacification of the Wyk islands to focus on the siege of Pyke. I say we go to Old Wyk, break their defenses and when we are done plundering them we come to Pyke and finish the job. What do you think?"

Jorah thought about the proposition, a frown on his face. To participate in not one. but two amphibian invasions would be a surefire way to immortalize himself in the history books.

" But what about the men?" he asked, "that's a lot to put on their shoulders, I think.."

" But you forget one thing, Lord Mormont."

" And what might that be", Jorah asked amused by his cousin.

" We are the Bears of Westeros, our men will fight like ten of theirs. and you know it. This kind of situation will not present itself again, Jorah. Search your feelings, you know it to be true.", he finished, a smile on his face.

The older man looked at his cousin, sizing him up. He had grown in the past months, Jorah noticed. Beor was just shy of six feet, built like a bear with broad shoulders and legs like tree trunks. He smiled, patting the young man on the shoulder.

" We must be mad for even thinking about that"

" It's a thing line between madness and greatness. isn't it?

Chuckling at that, Jorah nodded.

Very well, Beor. We are going to Old Wyk.

and that's wrap. not much happening in this one. I attempted to flesh Jorah and Beor's relationship and how the scales of power are slowly but surely tipping towards Beor as he gained Jorah's trust and respect.

Don't forget to review and favourite this thing.

I have a lot of fun writing this.

till next time, I suppose.