Chapter 22: An Ending to Things


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The Karhold has held out, but it doesn’t matter much - Jarl’s armies have been split up and gone in every direction to deal with all kinds of threats he is facing, mine among them. We return to the ships and I direct them back to King’s Landing. I must give Kennett a true burial and I must amass a new force before we return Northwards. The ships make it a quick affair.

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Eight thousand men sail northwards yet again. This war is grinding us down, and it will take years to recover, but I will never submit to Jarl’s ownership of The North! We will make for White Harbor, the largest city of the Lord Paramountcy. As we are sailing, Ser Dobber dies. He was a loyal and brilliant soldier and I am dismayed that yet another of my Queensguard has passed, like so many have passed in this war. He seemed as healthy and strong as a man half his age but the pneumonia took him anyway. I will have to find yet another knight.

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As we land at Oldcastle, ready to move on White Harbor, I am brought news from King’s Landing. Winter has arrived there in force. I fear that a winter which spreads so slowly will be a long one, and I have had enough of long winters, but there is little to be done about it.

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I am fifty years old. My face is lined and worn, my hair grows thin and brittle, and I can hardly heft a sword anymore. I am old.

Jarl’s forces have managed to retake the forts I had conquered around The Neck. In exchange we take Oldcastle and Bittermouth Town. Instead of moving towards White Harbor we return to the ships yet again, and move back towards The Neck. I intend to retake these forts while Jarl’s men are away retaking my newest conquest.

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Wondering where my forces from The Vale are, I discover that that land is once again torn apart by other wars. In this case, it’s two distinct uprisings, one seeking to depose Lady Margaery in favor of Lord Elton Belmore and the other being waged against Margaery’s supposed tyranny. Clearly I can depend on not a single Lord Paramount, not even one married to my own son. Just days later I am told that my own son Aegor has been imprisoned by Elton ‘The Delicate Bell’.

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I have lost count of the wars raging between my Lords and Ladies Paramount in the five and a half years since this war began. This one concerns Barion and Renly, now known as The Simple Stag.

Defeat. Yet again. My remade armies are shattered by a Wildling force south of Moat Cailin and chased down in Greywater Watch. Bare hundreds survive. The last men straggle south to The Twins.

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I must accept that it is over. We are defeated, my armies are shattered, the holdings I had taken in The North have been reconquered, and Jarl has won. The ceasefire comes at an extortionate cost, but it must be paid. I weep quietly that night. For Kennett, for my reputation, for the dead and maimed sons. My return to King’s Landing is quiet, though whether this is because I am unpopular or simply because there is nobody left to cheer me I cannot say.

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It will take years to restore our coffers to positive figures. It will take years to restore the numbers of men, too. It will take infinitely longer to restore the name of my House. I wonder if I haven’t doomed the realm with my war. Had I won, I would have been truly remembered as The Restorer, but now… now I will live on in infamy and disgrace. I already hear whispers that Alaric surrendered the throne to me because the Gods told him I would prove House Targaryen unfit to rule once and for all.

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It is a long, long way down. Just before I hit the rocks I feel the gentle spray of the Blackwater and then - perhaps I shall see Kennett again.