Chapter XXVI
I have always considered myself a good man, and I like to think my smallfolk are of like sentiment after thirteen years of peace and prosperity. But even the best of men is just a man, so to speak, and weakness lurks in the heart of us all. My weakness, my sin, my muse, had become Grisella.
Many men in my situation would seek to assuage guilt by blaming wine, the bane of Kings and thralls alike, but I had no such excuse. I was sober the night I first took Grisella to bed, and all the nights thereafter. Have I truly sinned though? I am Ironborn. The Drowned God bids us take what we desire, and I had never desired anything more.
The thought is cold comfort.
I did not have long to dwell on my guilt, or lack thereof. Ravens came down to us from The Wall, bearing tidings of a Wilding Invasion led by some brute who styled himself 'Kyleg the Great'. Though loathe to be torn from my lover's embrace I knew the dangers Wildings presented. mine own uncle had fallen to wounds received when he slew the last savage King on field of battle.
There was also the matter of my son to consider. I did not think he knew of mine and Grisella's indiscretions, but he had a mind like a razor, and it was perhaps best to keep him distracted. What better, then, than his first war? By all accounts of his youthful adventures Bennarion always loved killing more than loveplay anyway.
We flew north with Drogon and joined the forces Lord Stark had raised to meet the invasion, some eight thousands or so. A paltry force, but sufficient to smash the invaders if we could bring them to battle. I took overall comand, whilst entrusting my right flank to Bennarion and my left to Lucas Cobb, a trusty Ironborn warrior.
We marched north, passing through Castle Black with the blessings of the Night's Watch and crossing into the wild lands Beyond the Wall. I had seen the wall before, for it is visible from great distance when a-wing on dragonback, but to actually fly over the ancient structure was a truly moving experience. Indeed, I may well have been the first true King to visit this desolate place in centuries. I asked Bennarion, who had led the men through the passage under the wall, if he felt similarly moved, but he simply shrugged his shoulders in teenage disdain.
After pausing to compose a poem dedicated to The Wall I led our men further into the wilderness, which was to prove harrying experience in itself. Kyleg ran from our superior forces, and as he knew the ground far better than we was able to evade us seemingly at will..
Our men started to die after the first week. Some froze in their tents, others fell prey to the hazardous terrain, whilst some simply died without cause or reason, and others just vanished into the snow. The men began to whisper of dark things skulking at the edges of our camp, preying on those fool enough to stray to far from the camp. They even told each other that our missing soldiers would sometimes return to camp days later, as walking corpses that killed their former friends until they were hacked apart and burned.
I treated such rumours with the disdain they deserved. Where were these wights and their illusory masters? All I ever saw were pieces of dead men my superstitious soldiers told me had been walking corpses they'd dispatched. It was preposterous, one might as well pretend we were being assaulted by grumpkins! Worse still, the Night's Watchmen that accompanied us seemed determined to spread such wild tales. The First Ranger even came up with excuses for me not seeing any of the creatures. "They fear t' Dragon, Yer Grace," the rascal said, face as straight as stone, "and it's always by yer side. If'n it weren't here...we'd most like all by corpses, shambling in the snow."
I rolled my eyes at his nonsense. Whatever the reason, we had lost close to three thousand men chasing Kyleg through the wilds, and so it was with glad heart I greeted tidings that we had cornered the bandit in his hall.
We descended on Kyleg's refuge with our remaining strength, some twenty times the force that he had gathered about him, and took his hall by storm. Our men were weakened by the travails of the campaign, but I suspect they were glad to be given the chance to fight. Bennarion, certainly, looked happy as I've ever seen him as he lead the charge, hacking open the gates with a battleaxe and reaping grisly harvest of wilding dead.
The battle was over quickly, and Kyleg dragged before me in chains. He looked up at me, distaste writ clear on his face, then marvelled as I ordered his bonds struck from him. This was how true Kings treated their prisoners, I told him, expounding about the virtues of noble rule in some detail.He was free to go as a part of the truce I wished to forge between us, and I bade him joy of the lands North of the Wall.
I'm quite sure I got through to him, odd chap that he was.
Bennarion and I returned south, but it seemed events had progressed somewhat in our absence. Grisella had begun to swell with child not long after we left for The Wall, and had given birth to twins, a son and daughter of distinctly Greyjoy countenance.
Naturally, my first thought was that this was no concern. Her husband was my own son, after all, and could well be the source of the children's features. But I had reckoned without Bennarions oddness. He rarely lay with his wife, he said, for he was often at sea and was of uncertain mood even when he was at Pyke. The age of the babes did not match the last time he and Grisella had been together, and he looked at me with eyes filled with a suspicion fast turning to certainty. A certainty that hid molten rage and promised bloody vengeance.
I sent them away, Bennarion and Grisella both. What else could I do? Bennarion left Pyke for his Lordship of Gravesham, under Falyses's watchful eye, and I tried to forget the rift I had caused in our family. My wife I could not so dismiss, and her cold fury was difficult to endure, but a man does what he must.
A year passed in relative quiet, and like a fool I began to hope that Bennarion might someday forgive me my crimes against him, but it was not to be. My Master of Whispers, Lady Asha, came to me one morning with words that chilled my heart, then wrenched it free of my breast. I should have known, I should have seen. My son was never a forgiving man. He was a Greyjoy.
I had Bennarion imprisoned. It was that or sit and wait to die, but my plan was not without purpose. I would call my son to trial by court, demonstrate his guilt, yet portray it as a youthful indiscretion, and pardon him of his crimes. Surely, I thought, my magnanimity would not go noticed? Bennarion would recognise I had forgiven him and so, in turn, forgive me, and all would be as it was between us.
The guards brought Bennarion up from the cells, to stand before the court. The maester asked him how he would plead, and received steely gaze in response.
"I am Bennarion of House Greyjoy, and I do not plead." My son said. "I choose the sword."
That was scant hours ago now. The trial by combat is to be held at Naga's Bones on the morrow, and I shall be the one who faces my son's blade.
It has to be me. My captains love my Bennarion, for in him they see the Kings of Old, but I know they would face him if I asked it, and some few of them may have skill enough to slay him. But why would I want that? Bennarion is my son, my poor, mad, little boy, and I would not have him die whilst I drew breath. My foolishness and presumption brought us here, and I must bear responsibility for it. I can not ask another to die in my place, not in this. I will face Bennarion tomorrow and die upon his sword. When, years from now, we meet in the Drowned God's Halls I will be the first of his ancestors to embrace him, and offer him my forgiveness.
Perhaps by then I will have earned his.