From the Lips of Flayed Men - GoT AFFC Spoilers

[JodelDiplom]

Applause!!! Applause!!!!

That was a really wonderful piece of writing. I really thought Stannis was done for, even though story logic dictated that he (as the protagonist of the chapter) ought to live. That's how thrilling it was for me.

Just one thing - why isn't the Night's Watch using fire arrows against the zombies? In the books, fire is the best weapon against them.

 

[Henry v. Keiper]

Can't wait for the next update!

 

[ATempler]

Applause!!! Applause!!!!

That was a really wonderful piece of writing. I really thought Stannis was done for, even though story logic dictated that he (as the protagonist of the chapter) ought to live. That's how thrilling it was for me.

Just one thing - why isn't the Night's Watch using fire arrows against the zombies? In the books, fire is the best weapon against them.

Thank you! I spent a bit more time than usual on that one, and killed off a lot more people than usual to boot. As for the fire arrows, the unfortunate part that I hoped had been conveyed and might have been mistaken of was just that they had been on the run after a lost fight with few supplies, and the scant time to prepare that they had, coupled with the bad weather prevented any possibility of readying fires. Lightbringer was the only source of flame for the Night's Watch and while I toyed with the idea of Stannis walking the line with his sword to light the arrows, I decided against it. Practically, that would take a lot longer than just walking down the line when the arrows aren't doused in gas/grease.

Can't wait for the next update!

Thank you! It might be longer than usual.

For anyone wondering, the update is on the bottom of the last page.

 

[JodelDiplom]

Thank you! I spent a bit more time than usual on that one, and killed off a lot more people than usual to boot. As for the fire arrows, the unfortunate part that I hoped had been conveyed and might have been mistaken of was just that they had been on the run after a lost fight with few supplies, and the scant time to prepare that they had, coupled with the bad weather prevented any possibility of readying fires. Lightbringer was the only source of flame for the Night's Watch and while I toyed with the idea of Stannis walking the line with his sword to light the arrows, I decided against it. Practically, that would take a lot longer than just walking down the line when the arrows aren't doused in gas/grease.

Hmm. But people wouldn't rely on the supply train to provide them with something as essential as flint stones, would they? I would think outdoorspeople like the night's watchmen would carry such stuff on their bodies, so they can make campfires in the evening. Fire arrows might indeed not be something that you slap together quickly, if you lack tar, but torches would be quickly prepared even if you have no supply train at all. I just thought it a bit strange, that the Night's Watch would have enough time to rally and form battle lines like you describe, and not prepare some torches from firewood, rags and some pitch / sap / tar leftovers. They have, after all, fought the zombies before, haven't they?

 

[ATempler]

Hmm. But people wouldn't rely on the supply train to provide them with something as essential as flint stones, would they? I would think outdoorspeople like the night's watchmen would carry such stuff on their bodies, so they can make campfires in the evening. Fire arrows might indeed not be something that you slap together quickly, if you lack tar, but torches would be quickly prepared even if you have no supply train at all. I just thought it a bit strange, that the Night's Watch would have enough time to rally and form battle lines like you describe, and not prepare some torches from firewood, rags and some pitch / sap / tar leftovers. They have, after all, fought the zombies before, haven't they?

That's a fair point that I hadn't considered, but even so the battle takes place after they've fled a loss in an open fight outside the Wall against the Wildlings, and again here in an open field of snow with barely enough time to run up the hill and organize themselves before the White Walkers struck. Perhaps the lack of emphasis on their unpreparedness is to blame there. Even so, I don't know that if they would have brought a baggage train that they would have held onto it after a rout at the hands of Tormund. With a martial skill of 31 I don't see him letting them escape unharrased or with much gear - if any.

For that last question, some of them have - namely Stannis but that hasn't been an open fight and was more like being hunted in the woods. They would have had reports from three decades ago and heard stories, but few of them would have survived any encounters - and some of them still might have refused to believe the truth of it. As well, they had marched out expecting to face and beat the Wildlings, not be routed and then be attacked by an army of dead men.

 

[ATempler]

Book II - The Dying Light​

Act I - Winds of Winter

Chapter XX - Castle Black

Through the falling snow it was difficult to see the castle pressed up against the wall of the glacial cliff. It looked like little more than a group of weathered towers and worn huts against the behemoth of ice that rose behind it. The buildings clustered around the stone peaks as if they might have offered some semblance of protection. Perhaps in days past they had but the scattered flames spread over rooves and on the bodies that littered the red stained field around them spoke against any such inclination. As did the wailing screams of injured Night’s Watchmen. About a dozen crows littered the field and all were still save for those in dancing flames. The deep red pools of blood around them spoke to their deaths. The arrows that had buried themselves in their backs and bodies had bled them dry in the freezing dirt. Perhaps some had been lucky and the cold had taken them. If such was luck at all.

​

Eddard Bolton, Son of Roose the Flayed Wolf, sat upon his charger in full plated armour and wrapped in the skins of wolves and shadow cats. It trotted closer to the castle as Eddard spotted it. Pulling the furs closer to his chest over his shoulder while he gripped the reins his eyes arched up along the burning lift to the top of the wall. The smoke was rising gently but the winds at the top of the wall scattered them. It was why they hadn’t seen it before. “Have they crossed?” Eddard sad to his companions.

​

“It’s not beyond belief. I would have if I was them.” Came a woman’s voice. It was Lady Elyana Woolfield of Ramsgate. She had rallied quickly to his force when the call had gone out. From what Eddard had gathered she was fond of the turn his family had taken under Roose’s guidance. Whether she was trying to meet the next generation and judge them was something he wasn’t sure of. Even so the Gods knew he was righteous. He could feel their approval in the winds. Lately though there had been something else.

​

“Those fuckers could be a dozen leagues away now.” Said an old man. It was Master Arthor. He too had answered quickly. For his swiftness the old man was rewarded with marching in Eddards camp on the wall. Why such an elderly man desired to march beside him was beyond Eddards mind. It seemed to him much more sensible for him to have sent a younger man in his stead. Normally he might have put it down to adventure seeking but Arthor didn’t strike him as the type. Elyana perhaps but not Arthor.

“No they won’t have moved on. Look at the lift. The crows must have destroyed it to stop the Wildings from coming down the Wall. Judging by that I’d wager the gate still holds.” Came a small voice. Eddard turned to hear it over the weather. It was from a boy who looked about thirteen and unusually out of place in the army and atop a horse larger than Eddard’s own.

​

“Forgive the little Lord my Lord Bolton. He is still learning his place at my side.” Wayn Umber said. Wayn had succeeded his father as the Lord of Last River and possessed the terrible strength that the Umbers were known for. As Eddard understood it the little Lord Leobald Flint had been sent north as his pupil in the arts of combat. Whether that showed promise Eddard couldn’t tell but the boys mind seemed quick.

“Forgiven Lord Umber. Tell me Leobald what else makes you think the gate holds?” The boy hesitated and pulled his coyote skin tight over his shoulders. “Watch the tracks my boy. The crows are left in the snow and the blood has pooled undisturbed.” He turned back to the fort ahead of the commanders. “Gods be good the Wall holds. Send a rider ahead of the army. It will take us an hour to reach them in the column. Be sure they expect our arrival.” Eddard said.

“Aye Lord I will send a man.” Arthor said as he turned his horse. The chainmail on the old mans army cracked as he moved and flakes of frost fell to the ground and tumbled off his horse. Eddard realized the whole army must be coated in frost and ice. Winter had come at last. Despite the progress and speed they’d made considering that it may have been too long.

“So the Wildlings hold the Wall. They’ll be striking the other forts. Trying to find a way down.” Elyana noted. Her eyes scoured the length of the ice to see if they were being watched but at such a distance it was futile. There was no way to know.

“I would think so Lady Woolfield but in small numbers. They can’t have moved a whole army up the Wall. They’ll likely try to breach the gate.” Lord Umber added.

“And use the battlements to harass the Watchmen. They’ll have turned the-“

“Leobald.” Wayn said as he reached out to grasp the boys arm.

“The boy is right. The defences at the top of the Wall will be turned on Castle Black when they attack. I doubt the Night’s Watch will be able to hold them off.” Eddard thought aloud. It would take an hour to reach the fort and … He looked to the sky and tried to tell through the clouds how long he had before the sun set. Not long enough.

“Lord Umber-“ he began, wheeling his horse around to face his party. “Gather fifty horsemen. I want to reinforce the Castle before the army is forced to fight. Leobald will remain with Lady Woolfield and the rest of the army.” Wayn Umber nodded and pulled his horse back towards the cavalry. Eddard thought he could hear the man shouting and imagined him waving his big powerful arms. “Lady Woolfield lead the army just beyond the firing range of the Wall. Set up camp and have the men rest for the night. They need to warm before the days ahead.”

“The days ahead?” she asked.

“Just a feeling.” Eddard said. “I think we’ll find this is only the beginning.”

“I hope you’re wrong my Lord.” She said. “For all our sakes.”

“My father will see us through anything. Trust the Gods for that.” Eddard said with a smile. There was no one he had met like his father. Even for his faults he was accomplished and he was at least trying to reconnect with mother after what had happened in the South. Eddard still wasn’t sure if that was because it had caused a war with Brienne or if it was because he had found the shame in what he’d done. He hoped it was the latter. It was only thinking about it that he really realized how long it had been since he had seen his father. It felt like an age though it was a year? A year and a half? Eddard was not one to dwell on far off thoughts.

“Roose will be fine in the south my Lord. He’s bested worse men than Brienne the Beauty.” Elyana joked.

“Aye but Brienne’s no man.” Eddard said, turning his horse back to the fortress as they walked on. The sound of hoofs approached after a few minutes and with a quick glance back to his men Eddard broke his mount into a gallop in keeping with the cavalry under Wayn. They would reach Castle Black first and hold it for the night.

The ride was cold and the wind as they raced forward had watered Eddards eyes. He blinked and felt their icy chill roll down his cheeks several times before they finally galloped into the courtyard of the castle. Looking around Eddard realized just how much of the courtyard was littered with arrows or stones dropped from the heights of the Wall. Clearly the Night’s Watch had been taking a heavy punishment for failing to hold the battlements.

Eddard swung his foot off his horse and dismounted as his men clustered within the square between the crow’s quarters. They looked around nervously some with swords already clutched tightly in their hands. A few dismounted and murmured to themselves. Where were the Night’s Watch? They should have come at their arrival.

“Find the crows.” Eddard ordered. The few men who had dismounted marched to the doors left half open or closed on rotting, frost coated hinges. The Wall was a harsh place but not harsh enough to prepare them for the cruelties of war. Eddard rounded a building and found one of the watchmen face down in the snow and a trail of red trailing the roll of the boulder that crushed his skull.

“My Lord I’ve ordered the men to focus their search on the towers.” Lord Umber said behind him. “If I were the crows that’s where I’d have taken shelter.”

“You’d think they would have heard our arrival. Fifty horsemen galloping in the evening is hard to miss.” Eddard mused turning away from the corpse. Umber winced as he saw the mangled skull.

“They might think we’re Wildlings.” He guessed. Eddard nodded.

“Warn the men.” Eddard said walking forward. Behind Umber he noticed a group of three soldiers pushing into a wooden hut and could hear them calling out for the Night’s Watch. “Hopefully they’re just waiting to see who we-“ A terrible scream from above silenced him.

The building behind Umber erupted in flames as a massive barrel of flaming oil and rockes burst through the thatch roof. The pair of them were blown to the ground as yelling broke out across Castle Black and the whine of arrows and ballista bolts shot fell through the air. The dull thud of arrows buried in wood and dirt came in a wave like rain as Eddard clutched his ears and rolled to the side against the stone walled building beside him. His head was dizzy and a high pitched tone sounded in his ears. Slowly his head cleared and he lunged forward to grab Lord Umber and drag him against the house wall.

“Fockin’ Wildling focks!” Umber screamed. A line of blood ran down from one of his ears and the shock let a trail of Umber curses flow from his lips. The men of the Last Hearth had developed their own harsher dialect and in the shock of the attack it was on full display. “What the fock kind of bastards drop a ball of fire on a mans arse!” he screamed.

“Wayn!” Eddard called as he shook the man. “We need to get to the Tower.”

“What? I can’t fockin hear you!” Umber answered pushing himself up to look at Eddard. Eddards grip failed him as the built Wayn tore himself from his grasp. “We need to what?” he screamed in Bolton’s ears.

“The Tower!” he screamed pointing at the closest one. Another explosion erupted in a house farther off in the fort as another wave of whining arrows fell into the courtyard. Lord Umber nodded as he understood and together they pushed along the wall to the edge of the open square between them and safety. A number of his men littered the courtyard and what could have been two or three horses lay dead alongside them. An explosion had blown them apart and their burning corpses stung his nostrils. No doubt many more would be found in the morning. Hopefully the horses had scattered back to the army and the men had the sense to raise their shields.

“My Lord Bolton!” came a voice from the tower door across the square. It was a man in a northern uniform and another man alongside him clad all in black. They gestured with their arms for him to make the run and Eddard peered back to Wayn who was still coming to his senses.

“On me!” he yelled grabbing Lord Umber’s collar to get his attention. Wayn saw the doorway and nodded as Eddard turned and sprang into the clearing. Another explosion erupted in another house and Eddard imagined another cluster of his men falling in a burst of flames.

Together Lord Umber and Lord Bolton crossed the courtyard and clambered through the doorway as another hail of arrows and bolts crashed into the settlement from the battlements atop the Wall. “Lord Bolton. It is good to see the Seven Kingdoms remember their embattled defenders.” Said the crow as he extended an arm for Eddard to grasp.

Extending the courtesy Eddard took the man’s forearm and shook it firmly. “Ser I can’t say I know you.”

The man smiled and it was only then that Lord Bolton realized how dirty the man’s face. It was absolutely covered in grime. “I am Lord Commander Gilbert Bywater. I apologize for such a poor reception but we’ve been under cover for some time now.”

“Good. What’s your plan to retake the Wall? I imagine you’ve thought of something while you’ve been in here.” Eddard said between panted breaths.

“To retake the Wall? My Lord I-“

“Yes to retake the Wall that is what I said.” Eddard repeated. “How does the Night’s Watch intend to turn back the Wildlings.”

“My Lord … you’re looking at the Night’s Watch.”

Eddard looked around the room. There were merely a dozen members of the Night’s Watch left. Most were bandaged in one place or another and all were as dirty as Commander Bywater. “What happened to you?” he asked.

“Would you like a chair my Lord? And perhaps some wine? We’ve been keeping off the drink to keep our minds clear. I imagine you’ll want some for what I have to tell you.”

 

[oxfordroyale]

Boy was I surprised when I received a notification for this.

 

[ATempler]

Boy was I surprised when I received a notification for this.

It has been a while since my last update ... 4 days short of a year to be exact. I hope my return wasn't a poor showing.

 

[Rascar Capac]

It's wighted!

 

[JodelDiplom]

Hallelujah! It's back !! And in excellent form

 

[Saxon125]

It Lives... IT LIVES

 

[./Jester]

Can't wait to read more!

 

[ATempler]

It's wighted!

Hallelujah! It's back !! And in excellent form

It Lives... IT LIVES

Can't wait to read more!

Great to see some old fans and new interest in this. Updates will be sporadic for a while but I am glad to be updating again. I was shocked to see it was 4 days shy of a full year that I was posting an update. I'm aiming for another one this week but no promises on that just yet.

 

[ATempler]

Chapter XXI - Under Attack

The wind howled across the burning wastes that surrounded Castle Black. Scorched and scarred by days of artillery fire from atop the Wall there was little left to provide cover for any approach to the ruins of the famous fortress. At the base of the wall a series of trenches and dugouts were positioned around and carved beneath the rubble strewn across the ground. Few of the buildings were still recognizable. Only a single tower held out from the onslaught.

From the top of the Wall a pale, bald and bearded Wildling looked out at the southern army that had been sent against his people. Low fires still warmed their tents beyond the range of his weapons. They were simply waiting out the Free Folk. Waiting until their supplies dwindled. It was a good plan Tormund knew. He had a hard enough time controlling his own men. He didn’t need them over eating or being too eager with their batteries. Only a few clans were trusted enough to stay in line and it was to them that he had assigned to the guard. They could only do so much.

It had been a week since the southerners had come. A week since they had started digging. That they had managed to dig in the frozen ground at all surprised him even with their strong steel. That had set off the game of opportune barrage after barrage. Tormund didn’t know what else he could have done. He’d never fought a battle like this. A static siege was anathema to him. But he was the King and a King needs to lead, adapt and overcome.

“Tormund!” a deep voice called out from behind him. “What keeps you out here? Nothing is going to change from you glaring at them.” The free King turned to face the approaching man and wrapped his arm over his shoulder as he stepped up beside him. The man was almost his own age but baby faced. Sigorn Bluerage was a man dear to him. He had been one of the first to believe in his own prophetic visions.

“If I had your face to glare with they might turn back South.” He said.

“Aye but you’d have a throng of southern girls come looking for you and we’d have to fight them off all the same.” He answered.

“You always did think fondly of yourself.” The pair of them chuckled and Tormund tasted blood in his mouth as he licked his cracking lips. The cold was getting worse. “How long do we have before the stores run out?”

“A few days. At most.” Sigorn said pulling a piece of bread from the folds of his fur stitched coat. He tore it in half and handed a piece to Tormund. With a deep crunch it became clear the bread was near stale. He’d look forward to finding more in the south. The grain was a novelty after living so much of his life on meat, fat, marrow and cooked moss. “Longer if we were Thenns.”

“We’ll not eat our own people. Those savages can do what they like with Crows but we are kin here.” Tormund turned and stalked the battlements as he glanced at the assorted artillery that he still had the ammunition for. That was dangerously low as well. “We’ll have to hope that Borroq and Errok are successful in their raids.”

​

“You doubt they will be?” Sigorn asked with an inclined head.

“No but the more men they lose the fewer supplies they’ll be bringing back. We need food, munitions-the whole works. I’d rather not dig into the majority of our supplies still north before we cross the Wall.”

“We’ve been raiding our whole lives. We can forage.”

“Aye but this is winter Sigorn. There’ll be less to forage. Not to mention how on earth you expect us to bring our supplies up the Mountain. The climb was dangerous enough. We’d never get supplies up.” Tormund looked out to the camp of the southern lords as he spoke. “No Borroq or Errok have to bring us supplies and take one of the forts. We need to break through. The Wall can’t hold us forever. You know it won’t hold our Masters.”

“I don’t. I thought that was the point. We cross the Wall and leave them here to freeze and rot.”

“That is the point.” Tormund said. He turned with a grave look to face Sigorn on the battlements. The wind whipped around them and for the briefest of moments he wondered if his gods could hear his voice carried from the Wall. “But you think they won’t find a way?”

​

Leagues away over the ice and frozen tundra that lingers at the Wall a black fortress rose up against the sheet of ice like a clawing hand. Towers rose and scowled at the surroundings on the approach from the South. Men with bows and clad in black stood at every window at the ready and an arrow knocked. In the heart of the castle men rushed from one post to another carrying bundles of arrows or setting a row of spears by the gate that led through the Wall and into the wild. Each of the men had a single thought in their mind.

The Nightfort is under attack.

Stannis had broke the news on his arrival that morning. With all the subtlety of a Baratheon he had arrested and executed Commander Sylies on sight. The whores had been thrown out of the gates and the babe sent along with them. In a morning Sylies had been purged from the greatest seat of the Night’s Watch. And now each of them knew.

​

The Nightfort is under attack.

“Send more men up to the top of the Wall. They’ll scurry along like rats in a sewer.” Stannis barked. A quick nod from the sergeant was followed by the swing of the door and orders screamed in the courtyard.

“Commander are all these steps necessary?” asked one of the men he had gathered. Stannis hadn’t learned their names yet.

“The defence of the Nightfort is necessary. If Sylies had seen to that perhaps you wouldn’t all be in such a sorry state.” One of the captains bowed his head and thereafter kept his mouth closed.

“Commander if they are coming along the top of the Wall then why are the majority of our men not stationed up there? Wouldn’t it make more sense to catch them at the top?”

“The top of the Wall is narrow trenches. Only so many men can fight there. If they bring too many their numbers-and ours- would be meaningless. We can’t count on them not having snuck to the ground as well. In fact you can join the defences up top. Have them send down all supplies stored up there. We don’t need to lose anything in the fighting not with winter here.”

“Yes Commander.” The captain said. He rested his hand on his sword hilt as he stepped out of line to leave.

“Captain” Stannis called back to him. The man turned back. “Your name.”

“Edwile Hilek.”

“Captain Hilek you are responsible for the defence of the Wall. Take over from whoever is in charge up there.” Stannis paused for a moment as if he struggled to form a thought. “Keep the Wall for the Night’s Watch.”

Captain Hilek nodded and set out as ordered. Stannis grimaced at his own attempt at inspiration and sat in the seat behind him. He grasped the arm rest and ran his cold fingers along the lattice stitching that covered the wooden frame. He could feel it sag to the right. Even this far north the cold did nothing to stem woodrot. “You.” Stannis said to the man who had questioned him. “Get out.” He said without waiting for acknowledgement.

The man stepped back and turned. His protruding gut led him out into the courtyard to join his men wherever they were stationed. These were what Stannis had to work with. It disgusted him. If he had but won the war so long ago. How much bloodshed could have been stopped? How many lives would have been saved? How many more swords would have been sent north? He scowled as he thought of it all. What a mess he’d caused. Now the enemy was here. The enemy was here and they weren’t ready.

It would have to do.

​

“Send me to fight her!” Roose yelled slamming a fist into the oak table before him. Queen Myrcella’s goblet shuddered in response. “I don’t know why you leave this to other men. I will crush her and her army in a single battle!” He screamed. This was not their first argument over the matter.

“We have talked about this a hundred times!”

“And a hundred times you have dismissed me! You have my men fighting in the field. Men that I pulled from fighting in the Vale or from the Wall and you refuse to let me lead them!” He screamed.

“They have capable commanders. We have the weight of six kingdoms against the Stormlands. Brienne will lose.” Myrcella answered. She looked down at the warrant of arrest on the table and signed it will she sipped some win.

“Six kingdoms? Myrcella. Dorne is in a civil war. The Vale is in a civil war that half the Riverlands are fighting. The Iron Islands and the Reach fight themselves. The North is fighting on three fronts. At best you have two kingdoms- and we both know Brienne is worth two kingdoms by herself.” He said. His face was red from the arguing. It had gone on since the declaration of war by Brienne had been read at court. Weeks had passed and he was stuck in King’s Landing for all of it.

“You are forgetting the Crownlands.”

“Ah of course.” Roose spun and threw up his arms in the air. “The Crownlands. So we have three kingdoms worth of fighting men. Brienne has one and she is worth two. I’m still not seeing any weight in our favour.”

“If you’re going to continue like this I won’t have it.”

“You don’t have it anyway!” He yelled turning back to face her.

He leaned forward to rest against the table. His arms propped him up while his face fell forwards. It was exhausting. The wars. The arguing. He hadn’t seen his family in what felt like an age and all the while he had been betraying them. Even after what had felt like divine punishment for adultery and he had stopped-he’d continued to linger here. Far from them. With his former lover. He couldn’t imagine how much they’d changed. One of his boys led an army to the Wall as he stood in King’s Landing. While his men fought and died for the Queen who held him half a prisoner in the capital.

She was beside him pulling one of his cheeks to look him in the eye. “We need to work together to get through this. You’re the only one who can stop her. That’s why I need you here. You must fortify the city.” He was silent.

“You are the only one who can match her mind for war. You are the only one who she can’t outthink. I need you here to beat her back when she comes. You know she will come here first.”

“Aye.” He conceded. “She will. You’re here and so am I.”

“So is Cersei.” Myrcella said.

The child. The price of his sins. A bastard born to a Queen. He knew it was no precedent but all the same it ate away at him. There was a time he thought he was better than that. Then again there was a time where he would have been in Brienne’s place and their roles reversed.

“Yes.” He admitted. “She’s coming for all of us.” He looked into Myrcella’s eyes. Those deep pools of clear sapphire. She smiled at him and he felt her hands run up the side of his face as she rested her head against his chin.

It was too much. “My Queen.” He said stepping back. “I will fortify the city as you command.” He said turning on his heel. It was all he could do to pull himself away before the urge took control. Before the fire inside him needed to be sated.

He looked forward as he walked quickly for the door. Grasping onto the handle shaped like a ring in a lions mouth he pulled hard and stepped through. He didn’t hear what Myrcella said as he closed the door behind him and exhaled. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath.

 

[zxcv4102]

What an awesome awesome fic. I recently just came across this forum and checked out this story which is AMAZING.

I love how its mostly narrative which is what I like about the AARS, ive wanted to make one too but i dont think Im as good at writing out stuff like that. Please continue this is a great AAR

 

[ATempler]

What an awesome awesome fic. I recently just came across this forum and checked out this story which is AMAZING.

I love how its mostly narrative which is what I like about the AARS, ive wanted to make one too but i dont think Im as good at writing out stuff like that. Please continue this is a great AAR

Thank you very much! I'm thrilled to have your first post.

I've found that I use AARs or some other fiction writing (Usually 40k although when I was younger it was Lord of the Rings and Halo) to practice my writing style until I feel it's getting to a level that I would be comfortable writing my own work (Which I've made a few attempts at, again mostly when I was younger.) I would really encourage you to give it a go! I've found that they have made me a better writer and are well worth working on. The fact that it is an AAR also makes focusing on the writing easier because the game will direct you as to how the story proceeds although I think every writer twists or tweaks it a bit for their own purposes. If you do start one I'd love to see it and help however I can. It's intimidating so I understand where you are coming from. As I said though it's a great learning experience if you go for it and the community is helpful in their tips and critique a lot of the time.

Hope that helps! Welcome to the forum!

Expect an update around the end of the week.

 

[zxcv4102]

Thank you very much! I'm thrilled to have your first post.

I've found that I use AARs or some other fiction writing (Usually 40k although when I was younger it was Lord of the Rings and Halo) to practice my writing style until I feel it's getting to a level that I would be comfortable writing my own work (Which I've made a few attempts at, again mostly when I was younger.) I would really encourage you to give it a go! I've found that they have made me a better writer and are well worth working on. The fact that it is an AAR also makes focusing on the writing easier because the game will direct you as to how the story proceeds although I think every writer twists or tweaks it a bit for their own purposes. If you do start one I'd love to see it and help however I can. It's intimidating so I understand where you are coming from. As I said though it's a great learning experience if you go for it and the community is helpful in their tips and critique a lot of the time.

Hope that helps! Welcome to the forum!

Expect an update around the end of the week.

Thank you for your response. When you say 40k, do you mean Warhammer? I like those games alot. I'm currently doing a couple of different playthroughs for CK2 but I haven't really found one interesting enough to fill in the blanks as a narrative like you and a few others have done. Thanks for your tips and glad to see an update is coming.

Keep up the great work!

 

[ATempler]

Chapter XXII - The Nightfort

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The pale light of the moon cast the Nightfort in an eerie glow. The icy blue landscape surrounding the fort was perforated by a number of bright orange fires that burned with a feigned heat. The cold that enveloped the north was too deep – too harsh – to allow any reprieve in the open air. Inside the towers it may have been different but the fires were kept low. Enough to see within the rooms but not enough to be distinguishable from outside. It wouldn’t do them any good to stand out as silhouettes for targeting nor to have their night sight ruined in the firelight. Such as it was the Night’s Watch froze with anticipation in the northern wastes. The attack was almost upon them.

Their preparations were as best as they could have been made. There was nothing more they could do. Spotters littered the woods on the ground beyond the debris barricades around the fort and dozens of archers waited from their perches overlooking the approach. The gate was sealed and the lift to the Wall was halted and guarded. Atop the wall the brothers hid in alcoves and side passages in the trenches atop the glacial barrier ready to spring an ambush on any approach. A pair of horn blowers waited atop the Wall to signal the contact and another on the ground held the instrument to his lips. All in all they numbered over a hundred but they had grown soft and complacent. Whether they were each worth a real brother of the Night’s Watch well who knew?

Time would tell. Stannis knew that. He had known it ordering them into position. He had known it when he realized the attack would devolve into two separate battles. One would be atop the wall in the narrow confines of the ice. The second would be in the fort grounds below. Neither would be able to reinforce the other – the lift would simply be too slow. Nor would the stairs to the top of the wall offer any hope. Whoever won their battle would be too exhausted after crossing the hundreds of steps to be of much use. That was also assuming the climb or descent of the steps wasn’t fatal. Of all the castles along the wall this was the only fort with the stairs carved into the ice. Whoever had had the original idea and for whatever reasons it hadn’t worked out. They were a death trap in and of themselves.

He had been the last to ascend the lift to the Wall. He had torn himself between the two battles before he settled and rose to join Commader Hilek. Each of the men atop the Wall had settled into an alcove or a nook with two or three of his brothers. Few amongst them were alone. Stannis was one of them. He could hear in one or two of the trenches brothers were whispering to themselves. At least one was running a whet stone along his blade. Not exactly the silent predators waiting in ambush.

Stannis could feel the cold in his bones. They ached. His hands and feet were numb. His face burned in the open air and the wind even with the bear fur hood pulled over his head. He clenched his hands into fists. Sometimes it helped but in the thick gloves it was next to impossible to manage. How long had he been cold like this? How long had he been waiting already in silence? Perhaps he had a moment.

He spoke in a hushed whisper. “Lord of Light. If you have ever watched over me I trust that you are seeing this.” He looked around at his position. He was huddled in a corner of the ice trenches at the far end of the world. “I know that you abandoned me long ago. I had your favour …” he remembered the sacrifices that killed Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy and Joffrey Lannister. He thought of how the war turned after that. The war in the north against the Boltons and after his retreat south his defeat by Tommen. It had ended with his exile to the Wall. “I don’t know why you cast me out. Why you sent me away from my place. I had a duty … a destiny.” He paused and shifted in his seat against the cold beneath his cloak. “Now all I have is this flaming sword.” He gripped the handle of Lightbringer. Flexing his hand over it. Stannis coughed as he took a sharp breath of the chilled air.

“A flaming sword and a black cloak. Still fared better than your red priestess though.” He said with a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It was tempting to reminisce about the execution of his old confidante. He should have listened to Davos when he could have. Before the Leech Lord had caught and flayed him. “But that’s it isn’t it?” he said. “All you have are priests. Priests and flaming swords to run through them.”

His head rolled back as he thought the words to himself. I would burn every temple in your name to the ground. Would that be a fitting tribute? Would that earn me your attention again? Stannis eased his grip over the sword. He hadn’t realised how tightly he grasped it. “It doesn’t matter.” He said to himself.

I’m not speaking to a god. I doubt there ever was one. What a fool I’d been. He blinked at the night sky. The stars were bright and the sky was clear. He was alone in the trenches like the lights above him stranded in the darkness of twilight.

“You should not doubt our Lord.” Came a voice. It was familiar to him but he couldn’t place it.

“Who are you?” Stannis growled unsheathing his blade and readying himself to lunge to the mouth of the trench.

“My Lord? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” He recognized the voice and knew why he’d had trouble at first. The last time they spoke – she was screaming.

“You’re dead.” He said in a low voice. His face contorted into a scowl. He had no patience for the tricks of his own mind. “Must be the cold getting to me.”

“Or you’re dead.” She said with an inquisitive tilt of the head. He faltered a moment.

“Not yet Melisandre. Not yet. Soon perhaps but not now.”

“Stannis do be careful. We both know you’ll survive the night.”

“We?” he laughed. For the first time in a long time he laughed with his booming voice. “There is no we. You’re dead and I’m-“ he paused looking for the words. Losing my mind. He couldn’t say them. He wouldn’t say them. It was the cold or exhaustion. Something explainable.

“Yes my King. You killed me. But-“ she hung on the last word and stepped forward into the moonlit alcove. She was exactly as he remembered. Wet blood stains covered her stomach and ran down the dress she had worn as long as he knew her. The scarlet was stained crimson. If it wasn’t etched into his memory he might not have noticed – but she was. A stream of blood had dried at the corner of her mouth to drip down her chin and the slash he’d given her across the throat still looked to ooze out blood in time with the beat of her heart. “But we aren’t finished yet.”

Stannis squinted his eyes in the pale light. It was hard to be sure it was her. It can’t be. He reminded himself.

“Beware my King.” She said in her soft foreign voice. “The night is dark and full of terrors.”

He opened his mouth to speak and-the blast of a horn silenced his words.

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It shook him to his senses as he blinked his eyes. He was slouched against the trench wall and his sword was sheathed at his side. Was that- His thoughts ended with a second blast of the horn.

Wildlings.

Immediately the screaming started. Stannis was barely to his feet with his sword drawn and rounding the turn in the ice when he heard the clash of steel. The sequence was his first hint that the ambush hadn’t been a complete failure. At the Nightfort far below him he heard the echoing blast of horns in alarm.

Rounding the corner to the main line atop the Wall he saw the bodies of half a dozen Wildlings smeared in blood as one wrestled a sworn brother in front of him. The freeman had his back turned to Stannis but would never realize his mistake. The Baratheon slashed upwards with his blade as it burst into flames at the taste of blood. The wildling screamed as his legs crumpled beneath his body weight and he scrambled to feel the wound across the whole of his back. The brother he’d fought jumped on the man and began driving his fists into the Wildling’s face as Stannis sought another kill.

One with white fur clothing a necklace of animal teeth jumped at the chance in front of him and swung wildly with a sword and a climbing axe. Block, parry, counter. The wildling fell headless to the floor as blood sprayed from his open neck wound.

Stannis gasped and hunched forward as he felt the strain on his ribcage from the movement. Broken bones don’t heal fast enough. He braced his right hand against his hip to straighten himself as he stepped forward with Lightbringer tightly in his left. It was a struggle but this was war. They were all struggling.

The ring of steel continued over the battlefield as men in black and wild fur fought and died in the ice. Stannis paced through them hacking away at anyone he could find to strike. One wildling further ahead was swinging a maul over his head and crashing it down into the shields of crows as the stepped up to strike him. The maul was bone at its shaft and wrapped in leather trappings for the handle. The head of the weapon was a giant block of ice frozen around the bone.

Stannis turned and slashed a wildling in the back of his legs as he struggled to tear the shield off of a crows arm. The woman screamed and reached for her legs as the man in black smashed his shield into her face and drove his sword down into her chest as she fell back. Her body was pinned in an unusual fashion. It reminded Stannis of the contortionists in King’s Landing the way she was bent underneath the sword. Blood sprayed from her wounds as the agony on her face slid into terror and into nothing.

Splatter landed on Stannis cheek as the sworn brother pulled his sword out of the woman and yelled in triumph and battle lust. Stannis had never understood it. The fury of war that overcame so many men. His brother Robert had thrived in it. If anything it made him a better warrior unlike so many Stannis had seen. But Stannis? To him it was a cold affair. To call it simply murder was to distort it he knew- but how else could he explain it?

Slipping his sword between the ribs of another Wildling he cursed as he pulled Lightbringer free and the man split open. Maybe it was the unnatural flame on the sword or the ‘holy’ metal but it cut through his bone like butter. Entrails spilled across the ice as a Wildling lunged for him. The man had been so fast cutting down one of his brothers that Stannis had barely seen him move before he had to raise his sword to block and threw his head back to dodge a blow. He whipped his sword round to strike and he heard it scrape off contact from the steel dagger the freeman held.

Stannis grimaced when the Wildling blocked his sword with a pelt covered shield. The expression cracked the blood on his face and the frozen droplets fell to the floor like snow. He swung his sword overhead and knocked the incoming dagger away from his torso and with a flash it was up to block the counter of the shortsword. Stannis grabbed the dagger at his belt as he blocked the knife coming back towards his throat. Pulling it from the sheath he blocked the shortsword and felt the blades lock in place. The sword had dug itself into the steel of his knife. With a tug he and the Wildling realized that they were stuck in place – unless the sword could break the blade from the hilt.

Stannis jabbed his sword forwards to push the Wildling back from exerting any force on the interlocked blades. He managed to fend off a few lunges in this way before he himself lunged forward. With the interlocked blade of the wildling pressed against the scaled steel of his cuirass he slashed at the dagger hand of the man. The visceral spray signalled the severance of the hand to the floor and the Wildling screamed. Pulling back in agony on the blade Stannis felt his dagger break and the scrape of the shortsword against his armour.

The armour held. He decapitated the Wildling in a single stroke with his flaming sword. All around him the violence was coming to an end. The big man with the Warhammer was on his knees farther ahead. Stannis watched as Commander Hilek pulled the man’s head back by his long blonde hair. With an expression of mad rage on his face the Commander dragged a dagger over the freeman’s throat. Blood seeped from the wound as the man’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened in horror. He reached up for his throat and tried to close the wound with his hands. Pressing on the wound wouldn’t help. His softly convulsing body ceased moving after a few moments.

“Finish them off.” Stannis ordered as he limped over to Hilek and braced his hand on his hip again. A sharp breath sent a pain in his side. God his ribs ached.

He barely took notice of the sworn brothers killing the injured and dying. Only when the screaming drew quiet.

“Commander Hilek.” He called as he approached. He stopped a few paces from the dead Wildling and pushed him onto his back with his foot. He looked at the man’s face. Still an expression of terror. They always were. “A good kill. You avenged our brothers with this.” He said, not looking at the dead crows around the trench.

“Thank you Commander.” Hilek said in between heavy breaths. “We” he paused for another breath. “We barely caught them offguard.” He cleaned his blade on the dead man’s coat. “A good thing too.” Hilek looked back over his shoulder and Stannis saw a dozen cold and still Wildlings impaled with arrows around the walls of the trench farther down the main line. It was a straight road to Castle Black from the way they came.

“Victory comes with good planning.” Stannis said looking back to count the survivors in his men. He could see many. Too many to count quickly. “Hilek have someone take account of the survivors and get back to me with numbers – and get these bodies thrown down to the Nightfort. They’ll need burning.”

“You want to throw them off the Wall?” Hilek asked turning to face Stannis. He was disgusted.

“There’s no ceremony for our enemies.” Stannis said.

“It’s not that Commander … the mess at the bottom.” Now it was clear.

“The men down there can use shovels if they have to and scrape them off the ice. The important thing is that-“

“Commander Baratheon! Commander Hilek! The Nightfort is falling!” screamed a man ranning from the edge of the wall overlooking the south.

“No …” Hilek whispered as he took off in a run. The snow jumped up behind his steps and he almost stumbled in the ice. Stannis limped after them down the trench around the bend and to the observation post. A low fire burned in a steel basket to the right of the men as they watched under a wooden thatched shelter. Below them Stannis could hear the screams of dying men and jubilant cheering. There was no clash of steel. The fighting at the Nightfort had ended almost as quickly as the fighting on the Wall.

“What do you see?” Stannis asked as he approached coughing through the pain in his ribs.

“Bodies.” Hilek answered. “Black cloaked bodies.”

“How did they take the Nightfort by surprise? They have a clear view all around the south.” The messenger asked frantic.

“Because they didn’t come from the south. Brother-” Stannis said grabbing the crow by his shoulder. "Go and check the north side for signs of the Wildlings. Come back with any news.”

“The north?”

“Yes now go!” Stannis commanded. The man ran off and the Lord took his place beside Hilek leaning against the shelter. He exhaled gently as he felt the pressure ease on his ribs as he ceased standing upright. There was silence between he and Commander Hilek for a moment. Silence because each knew what must be done. It had been discussed earlier but seemed to terrible to repeat. At least for Hilek. “Burn it all down.” Stannis said. Hilek closed his eyes at the order.

“How did they cross?” he whispered.

“The Nightfort has always had a secret entrance through the Wall. How they found out … well it doesn’t matter now. Not when we burn it down on top of them all.” Stannis grunted.

“A secret entrance through the Wall? How many other forts have them? By the Seven none of the forts are secured! If they know about this one then they could do the same thing to anywhere else!” Hilek yelled turning to Stannis and leaning in to his face. “You could have done something. You could have warned us!”

“You should have known.” Stannis growled. “Don’t blame me for the incompetence of Sylies. It cost him his head.”

“And it cost us the Nightfort!” Hilek yelled into Stannis’ ear.

“We’re going to lose a lot more before this fight is over.” Stannis said. It was a low tone that spoke volumes more than Hilek’s raised voice. The man stepped back away from Stannis and turned back to the carnage below them.

“You really want to burn the Nightfort to the ground?”

Stannis didn’t hesitate.

“No.” The word hung in the air a moment. “But we have to. We have to seal the passage and stop them heading to Castle Black.”

Hilek clenched his fists as he looked down at his dead brothers and the jubilant Wildlings. “Damn them to the hells.”

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The messenger was quick to return and revealed that tracks had indeed come from the North to the base of the fort on the other side of the Wall. Somehow the Wildlings had heard of and actually used the passage to attack undetected. Maybe some of them were killed when the horn was blown on the Wall and the alarm was raised. Maybe the Night’s Watch had lost the fight on the ground before it began. From the Wall though it was a different story. Caskets of oil were tossed to the ground along with the bodies of the dead free men and women. The caskets crashed and split on the buildings, the towers and all over the ground in the castle. Black liquids dripped from the broken casks and covered much of the fort in a nightmarish ichor.

The hail of burning arrows set the fort alight and it wasn’t long before the fire had turned from a spark to a raging inferno. Men on fire screamed and ran in frantic patterns in the snow away from the fort but they quickly collapsed and burned where they lay. The screaming was terrible in the first minutes. Stannis tried to think of the horror they would face. Their friends and their own bodies lit aflame. In air so hot and so terrible he imagined the furs they wore were erupting into fire. What a terrible sight it must have been – and the dead. How many dead? Dozens? A hundred? He couldn’t say. The bodies were still being tossed down from the Wall when the flames grew so hot and so grand that Stannis could feel the heat on his face from the observation shelter.

If the Red God was ever real Stannis knew he had got his attention.

 

[zxcv4102]

Awesome update! This deserves alot more attention (considering nobody has commented on this update yet.)

Excellent writing as always and Stannis is just very badass in this.

 

[ATempler]

Awesome update! This deserves alot more attention (considering nobody has commented on this update yet.)

Excellent writing as always and Stannis is just very badass in this.

Thank you! I'm glad Stannis is coming across well. He can be tough to write and give character to with having only seen the show.