Chapter 114: Inside and Outside Seagard

House Frey formed an army much more quickly than Lynd had anticipated. Shortly after his forces crossed The Twins and reached the southern bank, House Frey organized cavalry patrols led by Ser Stevron Frey, the eldest son and heir of House Frey, who joined Lynd's counterinsurgency cavalry patrols.

Though House Frey mobilized their forces rapidly, the quality of the army left much to be desired. Of the 2,500 horses, only about 500 were suitable for war, while the remainder were weak and ill-suited for combat. Moreover, the majority of the soldiers were infantry, barely capable of remaining on horseback, rather than trained cavalry.

Nonetheless, House Frey sent a contingent of one hundred hedge knights, primarily assigned to protect Stevron Frey. From an outsider's perspective, the inclusion of the heir to House Frey demonstrated the family's loyalty and commitment. However, in Lynd's view, Walder Frey's decision might have been a calculated move. By risking an heir, Walder could later claim a reputation for sacrificing his family for the Iron Throne, much as he did during the War of the Five Kings a decade later.

For Lynd, Walder's motivations were inconsequential. He never expected the House Frey cavalry to provide significant combat effectiveness. What mattered was their presence and the attitude it conveyed.

After the House Frey forces joined, Lynd avoided dispersing their ill-equipped troops among other units, which could have diluted the army's overall strength. Instead, he positioned Jon Umber behind the House Frey contingent. Should they falter or attempt to avoid engagement during battle, Jon Umber would ensure they were driven forward into the fray.

Lynd did not immediately march toward Seagard. Instead, he sent scouts ahead to gather intelligence on the situation. He camped near The Twins for the night and set out the following day.

The scene shifted a day later to the outskirts of Seagard. Rodrik Greyjoy stood grim-faced, watching a group of his men return to camp with spoils looted from a nearby village. For Rodrik, these raids were not merely about acquiring supplies—they were a means to bolster the morale of his troops. To that end, he had vowed not to keep any share of the loot for himself, instead distributing everything among his men. This tactic aimed to maintain their enthusiasm and focus on taking Seagard as quickly as possible.

Recently, Rodrik had received news that his uncle Victarion Greyjoy had successfully captured Moat Cailin, halting the advance of the allied forces from The North. Rodrik commanded far more troops than his uncle, with an additional 3,000 men secretly sent by his father, Balon Greyjoy. Yet, despite this advantage, Seagard Castle still stood defiant, and Rodrik's forces remained stalled outside its walls.

By this point, Seagard should have fallen according to their plan. Once secured, it was to serve as a base of operations for raids deeper into the Riverlands. Using the Green Fork and Blue Fork of the Trident as routes, Rodrik's forces would have ravaged the region, tying down the armies of the local lords. Now, however, that plan lay in ruins, a bitter failure that gnawed at him.

The motto of House Greyjoy, We Do Not Sow, encapsulated the Ironborn way of life. Conquest and plunder were central to their identity, and Rodrik understood that his ability to command the loyalty of the Ironborn hinged on his success in bringing them wealth and glory. Though he was Balon Greyjoy's eldest son and heir, his position was far from secure. With numerous siblings vying for power, his inability to deliver victory might undermine his claim to the Seastone Chair on Pyke.

"Lord Rodrik, a letter from the Iron Islands," Rodrik's captain of men-at-arms hurried toward him, clutching a piece of paper.

Rodrik took the letter and scanned its contents, his expression darkening further with each word.

The message was straightforward: Victarion Greyjoy had been recalled to the Iron Islands to participate in the upcoming attack on the Arbor and Oldtown fleet. Following that, Victarion and Euron Greyjoy were to lead raids into The Reach, plundering its wealth and forcing the coalition armies there to retreat from their allegiance to the Iron Throne.

To Rodrik, this was unequivocally bad news. Even a fool could discern which region held more riches: The Reach or the Riverlands. Victarion and Euron's campaign in The Reach would undoubtedly yield fortunes, overshadowing any gains made in the Riverlands. This turn of events would sow dissatisfaction among Rodrik's men, who might begin questioning his abilities and leadership. Worse still, it could destabilize his status as the eldest son and presumed heir to the Greyjoy legacy.

What gnawed at him more deeply was the unspoken implication of Balon Greyjoy's attitude. Though the letter made no explicit mention of his father's thoughts, Rodrik could sense the disappointment looming between the lines. Balon's decision to transfer Victarion—who was defending Moat Cailin—back to the Iron Islands for a pivotal naval battle, while leaving Rodrik in the Riverlands, felt like a veiled judgment on his failure to capture Seagard. The perceived slight was enough to stoke a simmering frustration within Rodrik, as the realization of his father's discontent sank in.

"No, if this continues, I'm finished," Rodrik muttered, his hand crumpling the letter into a tight ball.

Without hesitation, he turned to the captain of his men-at-arms. "Tell them we will attack the castle tomorrow. Seagard must fall tomorrow!"

The captain hesitated, his voice cautious. "My lord, if we do that, we'll lose many men. We've already lost over a thousand in previous attempts. If—"

"Shut up!" Rodrik barked, grabbing the captain by the collar and yanking him close. His face was a mask of fury as he hissed, "Your only duty is to relay my orders. Do not speak another word. Do you understand, Cotter Pyke?"

The captain stiffened, his voice trembling. "Y-yes, my lord." He couldn't help but recall the fates of Rodrik's previous captains who had failed to meet his expectations.

Word of Rodrik's orders soon spread among the noble officers under his command, further fueling discontent in the camp. The Ironborn had already suffered over a thousand casualties in earlier assaults, yet they had seen none of the wealth promised to them before the campaign. The lack of results coupled with the mounting losses made dissatisfaction with Rodrik's leadership almost palpable.

Still, none dared openly defy him. With 5,000 Ironborn loyal to House Greyjoy under his command, Rodrik's authority was unassailable for now. Resigned, the officers returned to their camps to mobilize their soldiers and prepare siege engines for the next day's assault.

The Ironborn made no effort to conceal their movements, their preparations plainly visible from the walls of Seagard Castle. Patrek Mallister, who had spent the past days keeping a vigilant watch from the castle walls, was the first to notice the activity in the Ironborn camp. Observing their maneuvers, he quickly deduced their intentions.

Wasting no time, Patrek began organizing the castle's defenses. He positioned the garrison soldiers strategically along the walls, personally inspecting each defensive point to ensure there were no weak spots. At the same time, he sent messengers to the sanctuary, calling on the citizens of Seagard who had taken refuge within the city to arm themselves. These civilians were to serve as reinforcements, ready to step in if the garrison could not hold the walls against the Ironborn assault.

As Patrek gave orders to his men, Tristan Rivers, captain of the Lord's Guard, watched the heir of Seagard with a sense of relief.

Before the Ironborn invasion, few in Seagard held Patrek in high regard. To them, he was merely a playboy who spent his days in brothels and taverns or indulged in hunting and leisure, utterly unfit to inherit the Lord's title. Such behavior sowed anxiety about Seagard's future.

Not long ago, Lord Jason Mallister fell gravely ill during a severe cold, succumbing to a high fever that left him comatose. With Lord Jason's condition uncertain, many feared that Patrek's ascension would spell disaster for Seagard.

Yet, to everyone's surprise, when Patrek assumed the duties of governance, nothing unraveled. Contrary to the reckless behavior they anticipated, he adhered closely to Lord Jason's methods in managing the affairs of Seagard. While his execution still carried hints of inexperience, it was evident that he bore traces of his father's influence.

Then came the Ironborn invasion, and the once-dismissed playboy continued to defy expectations. He did not retreat to the safety of the castle's interior; instead, from the war's onset, he stood with the soldiers atop the battlements, sharing their fate.

This resolve did not directly enhance the castle's defenses or the soldiers' fighting prowess, but it significantly bolstered their morale. His presence inspired them to repel attack after attack from the Ironborn.

"Ser Tristan, do you see any flaws in the arrangements I've made?" Patrek asked, turning to the captain of the guard as he routinely did after organizing the castle's defenses.

"There are no problems! You have done an excellent job, my Lord," Tristan replied.

"How is my father's health?" Patrek inquired next.

Tristan's tone was measured. "The lord's health has improved; he can get out of bed and walk around. He even wanted to join the fight on the battlements, but Maester Egbert stopped him."

Patrek nodded, visibly relieved. "How long will the castle's food supply last?" he asked.

"With current consumption rates, at least another month," Tristan replied seriously. "However, Maester Egbert suggests reducing the refugees' rations slightly. That way, we can ensure the garrison soldiers have enough provisions while extending our overall supplies."

"No," Patrek said firmly, his voice resolute. "The people trust us Mallisters and have sought refuge in the castle during this crisis. It is our duty and obligation as lords to provide the protection and care they deserve." After a moment's thought, he added, "If food becomes truly scarce, then slaughter the horses."

Tristan frowned. "My lord, those horses were specially imported from Dorne…"

Patrek's response was calm and unwavering. "What good are horses if we lose our lands? Besides, they were nothing more than a small indulgence of mine—far less important than the safety of our people."

At that moment, Hoth Mallister, the Castellan, burst in hurriedly, clutching a piece of parchment tightly in his hand. His excitement was unmistakable as he exclaimed, "This is truly great news!"

Hoth's enthusiasm was understandable. For weeks, every message carried by raven had brought nothing but ill tidings. Riverrun, overwhelmed by the king's summons, could spare no troops to assist Seagard.

Asking for aid from the Castle on the Twins had led to the old man of House Frey demanding an outrageous price—an enormous sum of money and a marriage alliance between Patrek Mallister and a Frey woman. This demand was a profound insult to the ancient House Mallister, a family once seated on the throne of the Trident, carrying more or less royal blood in their veins. To marry into a family so recently risen to power was unthinkable.

This time, however, a raven brought unexpected news, something Hoth had all but given up hope of receiving. Not long ago, word had reached him that the combined forces of the Riverlands were already en route to King's Landing. This meant that no reinforcements could be expected, and the chance of good tidings seemed remote.

Yet, the contents of this letter surprised him. It was the best news in quite some time, and Hoth wasted no time delivering it to the castle walls to inform Patrek. The morale of Seagard desperately needed a boost.

"Moat Cailin has been retaken by the Chosen One, Lynd? And now the Chosen One is bringing reinforcements to Seagard?" Patrek read the letter carefully, his face alight with astonishment.

He recalled mentioning to his father that Moat Cailin had fallen to the Ironborn. At that time, his father, upon hearing that the Ironborn had over 3,000 troops stationed there, declared it an impenetrable stronghold. He had told Patrek not to pin his hopes on any aid from the North. In his father's mind, even with just 2,000 defenders, Moat Cailin could withstand the siege of tens of thousands.

Yet here it was, retaken. Patrek couldn't help but wonder how it had been accomplished and at what cost.

"Is this Chosen of the Gods, Lynd Tarran, the Bear Hunter who nearly killed a hundred men at the King's Landing tournament over a year ago?" Patrek asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes, this is Ser Lynd Tarran," Hoth confirmed with a nod.

Hearing this, Patrek's excitement grew. He had spent considerable time in taverns and brothels, where bards often sang of great deeds and legends. The Song of the Bear Hunter had long been his favorite. Over the past year, as Lynd's fame grew, the song had evolved into The Song of the Chosen. Patrek, like so many others, had developed a profound admiration for Lynd.

Now, the subject of his admiration was coming to his rescue. The idea thrilled him. He could almost see Lynd, a living envoy of the Stranger, cutting down his enemies as vividly as the ballads described.

"What are we to do? How should we assist Ser Lynd?" Patrek asked Hoth eagerly.

Before Hoth could respond, Tristan, who had been studying the letter, pointed to a passage at the bottom. "It says we don't need to cooperate. We are to hold the castle walls."

"What?" Patrek blinked in surprise. Taking the letter back and rereading it, his face fell slightly. "Should we send another raven to ask when Ser Lynd's support will arrive?"

"There's no need," Hoth replied, analyzing the information. "Judging by the distance from Moat Cailin, Lynd's forces should reach Seagard in three or four days from the day this raven was sent."

While the defenders of Seagard debated Lynd's arrival, a different scene was unfolding on a hill near the castle. A patrol of Ironborn cavalry lay dead on the ground, arrows protruding from their bodies. Silently, an army loomed on the hilltop, gazing down at the Ironborn camp outside Seagard's walls.