Chapter 21: Heartbreak

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Morra gravely underestimated me if she thought I was some soft southern Queen who hid behind her bodyguards and courtiers. I may be growing old but I remember how to fight and how to swing a sword, and I remember the value of a rapid advance and brutal strikes. Morra, apparently believing I was fodder with a ceremonial sword, was caught entirely unprepared for my charge.

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I aim a strong blow at her and she is unable to bring up an effective parry - I strike the axe away from her hands and follow up with a second attack before it has landed. This drives deep into her collarbone and she squawks in surprise and pain. I draw it out and she falls to the ground instantly, grasping futilely at the wound. I might be losing my touch but I’ll be a Lhazareen goatherd before I’m killed by some jumped-up Wildling bitch.

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Still, the effort leaves me drained. Just two strong strikes and I feel my body protesting. I could have managed more if I needed to, but I clearly don’t have the health or youth that battle demands, not anymore. I must try to be more careful in future. At any rate with Morra and her little band dead, I am free to assess the situation again. It is as it was - desperate. I order the signal given. We retreat again.

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Even as we move I realize we will again be encircled and trapped. The Wildlings and Northerners know this land better than we do. They know the winter better than we do too. My only remote hope is that Lord Lomas can keep them busy while we arrive. He won’t have to hold out long, but he is outnumbered ten to one. (As an aside note that the enemy is down to 15000 out of 71k men. Seems winter’s been even harder on them than on us. I don’t know how many more they might have out there, but if we could beat this army we might honestly have a chance.)

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Lord Lomas proved his worth. He was able to harry and distract the Northern army while we arrived, and we broke through their ranks with fewer casualties than we might have. We carry on towards Greywater Watch, which is where this thing could be decided. I have recently hired a host of mercenaries and they are finally passing The Twins themselves, so we will be able to meet there. They will have abundant time to prepare defenses in Greywater Watch. We’ll still be outnumbered when the fight comes, but a dug-in army of fresh sellswords bolstering my ragged band could, just, be enough to make the difference.

Thinking on this, I check the accounts. We have just enough. I smile, for the first time in weeks, as I hastily pen a letter to King’s Landing and have it sent by raven. Another 1500 mercenaries are to be raised along with whatever new recruits the Crownlands can provide. Further they are to find whatever ships we can scrounge up in Blackwater Bay. They are to be ferried northwards around The Vale with all haste. We lacked the ships to do it with the other mercenaries, as they were still engaged with Boremund’s forces, but now we may be able to get these men north quickly enough to make the difference.

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But for now the battle must be joined. We meet at Greywater Watch and clash - outnumbered, currently two to one, but in a decent defensive position. Before the battle is barely underway a Wildling has managed to slip through the ranks and find me. I wonder whether Jarl has offered some bounty on my head and whether I should do likewise to him. It hardly matters - Ser Dobber steps forward to defend me and the Wildling decides discretion is the better part of valor. This act of valor inspires my men notably, and they fight with renewed courage as they try to intimidate their own foes into retreating.

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There have been too many close calls though. I am growing too old for this business and I know it will be just a matter of time before one of these Wildlings has the skill or luck needed. I try to draw myself back from the lines without being obvious about it, but I know the men will realize it sooner or later. Still, my survival is important, more than obvious courage on my part.

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Failure. The new men from the Crownlands arrived during the battle, but it was not nearly enough to turn the tide. I can see little way to achieve victory now, and when it is possible I will instruct our retreat to the ships. I wonder, during yet another hasty flight from our enemies, whether there is any way to salvage this whole sorry war.

I make the decision as we have boarded the ships and are beginning to sail. We’ll not give up yet. We’re going back to the Karhold. It’ll take the Wildlings a long time to reach us, and the mercenaries will be able to gather a few new men in that time. When an enemy army is sighted we’re just going to hope back onto the ships and find another target. A Targaryen fighting like an Ironborn or Stepstone pirate. Well, fine, they can say what they like as long as they bend the knee.

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My heart is broken. My Kennett, my Lion, has died. He was wounded and sickened by this war, but never told anyone, not even me. And aged just 45 he has passed away. I am lost without him, and I do not know how I can carry on. I take the rather irregular step of replacing him as Master at Arms with the High Septon, who has surprising martial knowledge and had quietly expressed a desire for the position. I’ll have to investigate his motives at some point. For now, I’ve asked him to work on training men in King’s Landing.

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I cannot shed my thoughts of Kennett. Even this damned war is not enough to distract me. I see his absence in the command tent when we draw our plans, I hear the silence that replaces his wit when I take lunch. I feel his absence in my tent at night. His warmth was the only source of comfort on this campaign. I order wine brought regularly. It doesn’t make it easier to bear, but at least when I’m drunk my tears don’t make me feel ashamed as well.

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Another war between my vassals. Their total inability to help the Realm is… no longer a surprise. I can’t even muster any anger up. At least there is some good news though - just as that war begins, a different one ends. Barion won the war against The Vale. But perhaps now Lady Margaery can actually send some men to help us.

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I was contemplating suicide. I had thought of the means and the timing. I was wondering whether to pen a note to apologize or just to do it and be free of my burdens. But then news comes - rumors from the Free Cities brought by the sailors who bring our supplies. News that could change everything. Magister Terro of Myr has found an object of absolutely unparalleled importance and gravity. He has found a dragon’s egg. Many dismiss the news, but I know better. I have searched my entire life for it. I have spent thirty years with the ambition of finding one, but I have never come across one, just whispers of rumors that never went anywhere. But now one exists - could the Dragons be returning? Thoughts of suicide are banished from my mind. This news would not have come to me now, in my darkest hour, if it did not mean something. I am the Dragon! I will endure and I will win this war!