personal 4

Seaguard. 348 years before conquest (BC)

Looking out onto the sea the former king, now a high lord, Manfred Mallister felt the familiar unsettling feeling in his stomach as he had gotten many, many times in his five and forty years of life. He was not one of those men who anticipated battle with eagerness, not like either of his sons or indeed his king or son in law. Those men were warriors. He was not, he preferred the library to the training yard and the seas to the horse. However the seas that he had learned to sail on were now the vessel of nearly two hundred Ironborn longships. He guessed from first glance that around a hundred were those of the Iron fleet, similar in size to the drommods of the mainland yet smaller than the Essosi war galleys his king commanded. These Iron fleet longships could carry around 200 men each. The other hundred ships were the smaller and more common longships that belonged directly to the lords of the isles rather than the Seastone chair itself. These ships could boast a hundred men each. 30,000 men. The entire strength of the Iron Islands. This was not a large raiding force. This was an invasion fleet.

The Booming Tower had sounded the alarm as soon as the first longships had been sighted by the fishermen. His orders had already been given. Riders had been sent to the surrounding villages and the smallfolk had been brought into the castle to save them from the defilement the Ironborn would inflict on them. It brought more mouths into the castle in case of a siege but he doubted it would be, he knew for a fact his son and king were marshalling the armies of the realm in response, but that was a long process and he guessed he would need to hold for two weeks before the army arrived. He had the stores for it. Winter was approaching after all but it would no doubt eat into his supplies.

"How many men do you think there are?" asked his son's wife. Daria Reyne, a westerlander and a worshipper of the new gods. She was a pretty though not beautiful girl a little older than his son but the match was a good one as her family was rich and her blood was good, a Lannister mother. She seemed nervous, her already pale face was a white as snow and she anxiously played with locks of fiery red hair in her fingers.

"All the fighting men of the Iron Islands, perhaps 30,000 or so." He responded.

"How many men do we have?" She asked.

"3,000." responded Manfred. "I was advised to raise my levies and garrison the castle with them by King Lucas."

"Ten to one." Rasped Daria, her hand moving to the small pump on her belly protectively and tears falling from her eyes. Manfred turned away from her, unable to keep the sadness of his face.

"If this castle falls, Daria. Do not let them capture you alive." Manfred told her quietly, handing her a dagger and she let out a sob.

"How could I? Kill my own child as well? Your grandchild!" she said panicked. Manfred pulled her into a hug and let her sob into his shoulder.

"Trust me Daria, they will kill you eventually, and it will not be quick if they do. They will use you until they are bored or you are overused and then they will kill you, your child would be dead long before that. Or perhaps they won't get bored and that would be worse for they would enslave you and make you a salt wife for them to rape as they please. Trust me Daria, they care not for the nobility of your blood." He told her sadly, running her back sadly. His own wife was long dead, having died birthing his daughter who was now married to the King's cousin, the Lord Redwood. If she were still alive she would be here comforting Daria and assuring her of victory, perhaps she would speak of the countless times Seaguard had thrown back Ironborn invasions, of how the castle was more fortress then castle and how it was nearly impregnable. But he said none of these things instead he waited for the tears to stop.

"Go and rest Daria, tomorrow the battle for our lives starts." He told her.

—-

A week later 

The first day had been the worst. The Ironborn had thrown everything at them in order to try and storm the keep. The Hoare king himself had shown his face but after a day of hard fighting they had stood, exhausted yet still determined. The defences of Seaguard made the numbers of the Hoares more a weakness than a strength as they had been intended to when they were built for just this occasion. The gatehouse had barely been touched and the iron portcullis stood still protecting the first gate in the gatehouse. Instead the Ironborn had focused on the walls and sent ladders up the steep cliff on which the fortress stood. The fighting had been hard but they had held and by the end of the day he estimated 2,000 Ironborn to be dead and perhaps an extra 1,000 or so wounded, his own men had suffered as well however to a lesser extent courtesy of the defences. 400 of his own men were either dead or too injured to keep fighting. By the end of the week that number tripled and now he had eighteen hundred men left standing and they were tired, days of constant warfare had hardened them but it was shattering on the body. A militia of the few men that were just outside the age of levying or had not been called into the levy was being trained from the men that had come into the castle and that would give him another 500 or so men. Hopefully it would be enough.

—-

A week later.

This was it. The last defence. 400 men were still standing, bloody and brave; they held the inner wall and the last line of defence between the Ironborn and their families. Manfred was bloody and barely standing, wounds decorated his body like rippons but still he shouted commands and swung his sword. He knew a fair amount of the men by name now, a rare thing for a lord but he saw no reason to act above them, once they respected him that was all that mattered as of now. He was well aware he was not a warrior of great skill, he was average at best with a sword but a lord's training was enough to make him better than most that had come up against, pride and determination had dealt with the others. They had bled the Ironborn for all their worth but now they were on their last legs, the inner keep and their bodies were all that remained between the Ironborn and their families. Their only hope now was to survive the night, and hope and pray to the old gods that King Lucas would arrive with his army.

An hour later and he could see it in the eyes of his men, just 300 now, they were giving up. They killed almost unconsciously, hardly aware when an Ironborn warrior fell at their feet or fell off the ladder they had tried to climb, some like him had turned half mad from all the killing. The walls were strained scarlet with blood as though they had been painted the colour. He doubted he would ever bother to clean it if they survived this, it would serve as a reminder to his family for generations to come. The bloody walls of Seaguard, he laughed madly, as his sword pierced another man in the neck, the blade was chipped and in poor condition from the weeks of constant fighting but it did the job just as easily, though a lot less clean.

Letting the man drop he ignored the burning and protests of his body and stalked over to look over the wall. Grinning madly at what he saw. More Ironborn bastards cueing up to come and die on his blade. Feintly aware he was laughing again he smashed his gauntleted fist into the first man who tried to climb up the ladder sending him falling. He was just about to knock the ladder off the wall again when he heard it. War horns. Blackwood warhorns. He laughed louder at that, the sound of half mad cackling reverberating around the narrow curtain wall that was their last line of defence.

"King Lucas has arrived." He shouted still laughing and the brave men of Seaguard gave a roar as 22,000 riverlanders appeared in the distance advancing steadily. The Ironborn began to withdraw from the walls as the defenders of Seaguard chucked anything they could down from the walls, spears, helmets, rocks, bodys and even a few severed heads. Even as the Ironborn retreated out of the fortress to face the army at their rear Manfred kept up his horrifying laugh, even as his legs gave out and he fell to his knees he kept up his laugh, and when his last breath escaped him it was in the form of a laugh, one that would become the favourite verse of singers for milenia to come as the brave stand of the men of Seaguard was immortalised in song.

—-

Outside Seaguard.

The two armies engaged in a brutal clash. The disciplined shieldwall King Lucas the Great against the ferocious and wild charge of King Harras II Hoare. Lucas did not intend to break them here, that would come later, instead his men met the Ironborn axes with shields and their ferocity with arrows and spears. From his horse behind the army Lucas's eyes drifted up to the great fortress of Seaguard. The first two walls had fallen, though even from this distance he could see hundreds, possibly thousands of bodies just on the first wall. Nodding at the nobles beside him he rode over to the right flank and joined the cavalry there. Unsheathing the Valyrian steel blade that was nearly completely black in colour that had since been named Morrigan after the Gaelic goddess of battle, warfare and death who often appeared as a crow or raven, though he had simply told people he had heard of the story from a singer in a Inn once. The 2,500 mounted men on the right flank took his lead and readied for battle, lowering visors and gripping lances tightly.

"For the Riverlands and the men of Seaguard." He shouted and signalled for the horn blower who signalled the charge on both sides. Cavalry smashed into the lines of Ironborn sending men flying. Lucas swung Morriganwith a vengeance cutting through Ironborn like they were paper and not armoured warriors. It was not long before the Ironborn were on a map route. The cavalry of the Rivermen screened their every move, sometimes making quick charges into their lines even as the Ironborn kept retreating towards their ships. They were within a kilometre or so of them now and The Ironborn had finally formed something resembling a disciple retreating as one unit rather than a large stream of men. But they only equaled the cavalry in numbers now, so bloodied from their repeated assaults on Seaguard and the bloody clash beneath its walls. Lucas kept up the screen and often made as though he was going to charge them but never did.

He knew the Ironborn were no doubt extremely confused and some of his own men were beginning to get antsy, desperate to slaughter the reaving Ironborn who were so hated. Then they were 300 metres to the ships that were landed in a bay north of the fortress and where the Ironborn no doubt hoped to escape on, but as the bay came into view the answer as to why he had not charged became obvious. The Iron Fleet was trapped. The Riverlander fleet proudly flying Blackwood colours blocked their escape and the Ironborn came to a halt as their commander, maybe it was their king Lucas could not be sure, for perhaps Hoare had gotten himself killed on the walls of Seaguard, realised their situation.

They had eight thousand men at most. They could perhaps sail a quarter of their 200 ships if these ships but that would be with tired and undermanned crews in a head on naval battle against the war drommods and gallyes of the Blackwood fleet, their commander must also have known that Lucas would not simply just allow his men to board and they would likely lose another thousand or more that way. They were trapped.

Lucas stopped as well and allowed his men to get into position for a charge, a line of horses forming to his back. He rode out in front a couple of steps joined only by his standard bearer and Lucas knew it would have made for some picture. His raven cloak and the Blackwood standard blowing lightly in the coastal breeze as thousands of armoured horsemen sat bearing down on the trapped Ironborn warriors with him just a couple of steps ahead in black armour with a raven crown atop his head watching them like a predator ready to strike. And then he did.

"No mercy! Kill the reaving bastards to the last man!" He shouted, his voice so accustomed to the fields of battle carried in the wind and even to those that didn't hear it the savage roar of approval of the men who did surely gave them a clue as to what he had said. These were the men who had ravaged their coasts for generations and launched countless invasions on their lands and they had them cornered like prey. They would relish the chance to slaughter them. The trumpet sounded and for the second time that day the cavalry charged and Lucas felt the thrill rush through his body as the sound of hooves and roars of men filled his ears. It took not five seconds before the first Ironbron broke formation and sprinted for the ships. And like roaches whose nest had been disrupted the rest soon followed, ditching weapons and armour in their haste to reach the ships.

It was well known that Ironborn did not hold against a large cavalry charge, it had been proven multiple times and it was proven today again. They died in their thousands. Lucas was nearly tempted to jump from his horse to fight on foot but knew it was stupid and a unnecessary risk and so he stayed mounted on his horse and cut through men like they where made of butter, he loved this sword. At his guess around four hundred made it to the beach where the cavalry were at a disadvantage, the rest were slaughtered like pigs. Unwilling to allow even a single man to escape, Lucas dismounted and led a portion of men on food onto the sands, and where before Lucas felt somewhat limited on his horse fighting on foot felt like it was something he was born to do.

Few men even got the time to swing their blade before he had landed on them or cut through their shields. He killed one man in Goodbrother colours and then another fierce warrior in the Greyjoy colours before he came across the Hoare king and was disappointed in what he saw. The man was frail and gaunt and breathing heavily in his armour. How had this man lived this long? Unwilling to underestimate him Lucas began to test the man's defences only to be surprised when his wariness proved to be pointless as the man barely raised his axe intime to block the first strike and even so there was only just enough strength in it to block the sword. Lucas ended the pitiful man's existence with a feint and thrust before he decapitated the older would later learn that the Hoare king suffered from weakness in the lungs and while in his youth he had been a great and reputed warrior towards the end of his days the man was barely standing straight. A disappointment for Lucas who had expected a great and fierce warrior king.

As the last raider fell Lucas's mind drifted back to the plan he had at the start of this war. It had been a solid plan and would no doubt have worked. But he had not expected the Ironborn to stay so focused on Seaguard. He had expected it to be sieged certainly but not by the entire Hoare force and so when he had gotten that news he had changed his strategy, adapted. "In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable." He remembered that quote from his old life, Eisenhower, it was, he had never really understood that one, even after the many battles he had fought his plans had always well… gone to plan.

Now he understood it though and with that he decided to adapt once more. Over the following two moons the Iron Islands were decimated. Their ports, keeps and infrastructure burned, their mines collapsed, their thralls were set free and many would end up settling in the Mallister lands where young men were in great need, their forests were burned to deprive them of wood from which they could make ships and many noble lines were reduced to nought. Loot and plunder was seized and given in the most part to the Mallisters to help rebuild their decimated seat. Though the walls of Seaguard would remain stained red for hundreds of years to come. Not for three hundred years would the Iron Islands ever pose a threat to anything other than an unfortunate trade vessel. Lucas had thought about setting up noble houses on the Islands but decided against it in the end, the people were too set in their ways and the lands too barren to be worth the deaths and garrisons needed to hold them. Within another six moons the Lannisters would land on the Islands and establish a weak rule over the Islands though how long it would last Lucas was unsure. All that mattered was that the Ironborn were dealt with and would not threaten his position ever again. To the east he knew many men would hear of this and rethink their standing against his house, though perhaps not enough of them. This victory also gave him more room to manoeuvre in domestic affairs. He had just saved the Riverlands, and the seat of one of his most powerful vassals and led a complete ravaging of his people's most bitter enemy after all. That meant a lot to a Riverlander.