"Burning the lannister fleet and Lannisport is the only success the Ironborn can claim." The king fell into thought for a mont after that. A few minutes passed before he delivered his verdict.
"When Stannis finally drags himself here, we march on Pyke. We end this cursed rebellion once and for all!" A fine speech, but an indifferent plan, which I said so.
...
"Your Grace, Even with Prince Stannis having beaten the squids off Fair Isle, he took heavy losses. He will need at least three weeks to reach us. We also have no idea where the remnants of Victarion and Rodrik Greyjoy's fleet are right now. It would go very badly for us if we were cut off from our supply lines and bottled up on the island." Rob looked like he wanted to respond, then thought better of it. Mace Tyrell, however, saw an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the king:
"King Robert is a great commander who has won great victories and you are a boy playing at war. It is not your place to dispute His Grace's plan. Be grateful you are here at all." The Fat Flower had chosen this mont to demonstrate his intellect to everyone present, or rather the complete absence of it.
Silence fell over the hall after that. Ned was frowning but said nothing. My uncle had gone crimson with anger. The rest watched the spectacle with interest. My uncle was just drawing breath to shout when another, angrier voice got there first:
"Tyrell, you fat flower. While your sons wave their swords and play at knights or suck at your wife's teats, Axel is here fighting for the peace of the Seven Kingdoms. And you mock him. You know nothing of war, nothing of battle, nothing of strategy. It was Randyll Tarly who beat at Ashford, and you claid the credit for yourself. Did you think I would never learn of it? If Jon had not been pushing for peace and a second chance, I would have turned your head to paste with my hamr. Mind what cos out of your mouth, you fool, or one day soone will take your head off for it." I ought to have been stung that soone was fighting my battles for . Instead I was only pleased.
"No need, Your Grace. I am sure Lord Tyrell did not an to put down. I am a green boy yet and he has indeed warred with great commanders such as yourself." A beat of silence, then barely-suppressed laughter disguised as coughing broke out around the table.The Fat Flower could not endure it. Unable to produce a worthy reply, he stord out of the hall. When Robert had laughed himself out he asked:
"If you don't like my plan, let's hear yours. And God help you if your plan involves sitting still." He tried to put sothing threatening into his voice at the end, but I could tell it was in jest.
"No, my plan involves no sitting at all."
...
Standing on deck and looking out at the fifteen ships of the Lannisters' "great fleet," I studied the shores of Harlaw. Pyke, which required no great insight to work out, would be the rallying point for every Greyjoy ship still afloat. And while the Iron Fleet had been broken off Fair Isle, the total number of Ironborn vessels remaining was plainly well above fifteen. Being bottled up on an island without supplies would be very unpleasant.
So our army had a different task to see to first. We were to move through the other Ironborn islands with fire and sword. Every man capable of holding a weapon was to be put down, all the shipyards and vessels burned, their food stores seized.
My plan, brutal by Westerosi standards, was t with silence. Accusations of bloodthirstiness and dishonor ca quickly, and even Uncle Yohn and Ned, though they said nothing outright, were in agreent with the sentint. The uproar ended when Lord Tywin gave the plan his support. After that it beca a proper discussion, the details worked through one by one. The burning and plundering stayed in, but killing n who might otherwise be fighters was struck out.
Robert had wanted to sail here himself and crack so pirate skulls personally, but was collectively talked out of it. He appointed Ned as commander of the forces on Harlaw. Naturally I went along with him, to "learn sothing about war."
The first target was the port of Myrecas, where nine Ironborn ships had gathered. The battle was short and bloody. Despite the elent of surprise, our losses ran two to three against us. The cause was the fanaticism of the raiders. In boarding actions they showed no reluctance to wear armor, which gave them a significant advantage in fighting on the water. The Ironborn did not fear drowning the way other sailors did. The very na of the god they worshipped made that plain enough: the Drowned God.
We won in the end, but the losses were considerable. One of our planned lines of attack had to be abandoned. The original plan called for our combined force of three thousand to break up the remaining pirate fleet, take Myrecas, and then ferry soldiers across in groups to seize the key castles.
After the first naval engagent we had fifteen hundred combat-effective n remaining. The quick assault on Myrecas cost another three hundred, and that castle was among the least well-defended of them all. In the end we had seventeen hundred n, six hundred of them wounded.
I had commanded the assault on one of the walls. It was a dull piece of work. It dragged on for three hours, and only because of the enemy lord and his household guard. Lord Myre was running back and forth along the walls with his guardsn, shoring up the line and keeping the defenders' spirits from collapsing entirely. I grew tired of watching it, and within the minute Lord Myre went down with an arrow in the throat. His death was the last straw and the defenders crumbled.
After the castle fell Ned organized a council in the main hall and invited to attend.
...
The regional divisions were apparent the mont you looked around the council. The northern lords gathered near Ned, the Vale lords near . After the battle they had begun regarding with considerably more respect, though I had done nothing remarkable. I shot Lord Myre with a bow and cut down two islanders during the final assault. That is not sothing to take pride in. Our commander, Ned Stark, opened without preamble:
"I will keep this brief. Axel, what are your losses?"
This was precisely what I liked about northerners. Their practicality.
"A hundred and thirty-three dead, seventy wounded. About thirty-five of those will return to the line in a few days." I had made sure to find all this out before the assembly.
"Understood. We have a hundred and seventy-four dead and sixty wounded. That gives us roughly eleven hundred n in total and around six hundred wounded. We need to leave people to guard the castle, the wounded, and the prisoners. I have about thirty prisoners. How many do you have?" He looked across at .
"None."
His eyes narrowed sharply at that, and his voice dropped a degree when he spoke again.
"Explain yourself."
"No prisoners. We did not take any."
"You killed unard n, n who had surrendered. That is a dishonorable act."
The word honor drew sothing hot out of .
"Then tell , Lord Stark, is treachery ever appropriate in war?"
"That is not what we are discussing!" Ned raised his voice at last.
"Then let us discuss it now!" I raised mine in return. Ned held my gaze without blinking.
"Leave us." The lords stirred quickly and cleared the hall. When they had gone, Ned stopped performing the role of a man carved from ice and let out a long, defeated sort of breath.
"All right, Axel, let us talk. I believe that n at war must uphold the Laws of Honor, because those laws were not invented for nothing, and your contempt for them will bring you no good."
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