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this art is dope as fuck.

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Asha I Battle of Ice (entire chapter)

For convenience, I just post the whole thing here so it’s easier to read.

The following is a speculative fan fiction based on the facts established by The King’s Prize chapter in A Dance with Dragons, the Sacrifice chapter in A Dance with Dragons, and Theon I preview chapter in The Winds of Winter. The Night Lamp theory was initially created by BryndenBFish on reddit I believe. Also there’s Asha fragment, a paragraph decoded from an enhanced image of GRRM’s computer. I wrote this fan fic, and ahhhh... follow me on instagram @truestannis

The day was cold, and the white winds bit harder as Asha inhaled. Ser Justin Massey, the freckled knight of summer, had left with the banker Nestoris and Ned Stark’s daughter. She did not desire him, a southron knight who wore a pretty blonde beard could hardly be her Lord husband in the days to come, were she to live. And yet, she thought of him. The other queen’s men, Farring and Suggs, thirsted for her blood like a pack of jackals. The knights of the greenlands would pray to their queer god of fire, but the North was of the old, and the old gods were more punishing and severe than R’hllor could ever be. Doomed, she thought, doomed men on a death march.

         The ice lakes at the crofters’ village were caked with snow. When Asha walked outside along the camps, the snow seeped into her boots. The hill tribes, the southron knights, and the Glovers had been working day and night felling the trees. Catapults, she thought. Why would Stannis want siege weapons when the enemy were to meet him in an open field?

         The king walked out of the tower. She had last seen him when she was pleading for her brother’s life, or a quick death, rather. “Your Grace. My brother—“

         “He will live, for now. I have better use for him, because he knows the layout of Winterfell. Which walls are the strongest, and which gates the weakest. It’s not me you need to worry about, Lady kraken, it’s these northmen. Norrey and Wull would not hesitate for an instant to bloody their axes with Theon’s head.”

         The queen’s men escorted their prisoner outside. Arnolf Karstark was accused of conspiring with Lord Bolton to turn on Stannis’s rearguard once the battle began. The queen’s men prepared a pyre for Lord Karstark on the weirwood island. Next to the pyre was a chopping block. The Wulls, the Flints, and the Norreys gathered around the king and his men.

         “Lord Arnolf Karstark, you have been charged with treason and the conspiring with the enemy. I, Stannis Baratheon, the one true King of Westeros, sentence you to die. You are a northman. I do not wish to tamper with your old gods or your tradition in front of the brave men who stand beside me. Confess, and I shall grant you the swift death with my sword. Lie, and you will meet a warmer end. Choose wisely, Ser Clayton Suggs has much and less patience than I.”

         “Aye, I confess. What of it! Lord Bolton has seven thousand strong. You will starve, and freeze, pretender. The Frey host alone is like to shatter what’s left of you and yours without breaking a sweat!” The old man spat onto the snow. He turned to the Wull, “Hugo fucking Wull. You support some southron fool now? Much is the pity! You are dead men! Do you hear me? Dead! Dead will be your false king, and dead your sons. Be cursed!” The old man coughed and grinned.

         “Very well then,” the king pulled his magical sword from the scabbard. It was bright, and red, and orange. The light was as blinding as the sun.

         The old man quivered before the sword and squinted his eyes. His cracked lips nonetheless widened into a hideous grin, “All hail King Tomm—” The old man’s head came falling before he could finish his words. Thirty yards away, amidst the cold winds, Asha could still hear the king’s teeth grinding as the name Tommen was mentioned. Baseborn abominations, he’d liked to call the children of Cersei Lannister. The king would not risk the allegiance of the northmen, so even a treasonous schemer such as Arnolf met his end in the ways of the weirwood. Arnolf’s sons, Cregan and Arthor, as well as Arnolf’s grandsons were still kept in the cells, except the one who’d lost his arm. Stannis had need for Karstark’s strength, four hundred spears, two score archers, and a dozen mounted lances.

         “Eddard Karstark, step forward,” the king commanded. A boy, no more than twelve, walked forth to Stannis. The clansmen and the knights made way for the boy who bore the wolf’s name. The lad was of neither Rickard’s nor Arnolf’s line. The Tallhart next to Asha told her that the boy was kin to the Hornwoods and the Manderlys. Harrion, the rightful heir to Karhold, was Lord Walder’s prisoner still. Stannis needed not an heir to Karhold, but a man who could command the Karstark forces in the battles to come. Boys have been conquerors before. Mayhaps little Ned will surprise us yet.

         The boy knelt before the king dutifully as he swore his allegiance. The queen’s men, once again, began singing the only song they knew, “One realm! One god! One king! One realm! One god! One king!” The clansmen sneered at that.

         Morgan Liddle rode back to the islet with a group of scouts. He climbed off his palfrey and walked towards the king. Ser Godry soon followed.

         “Your Grace, the Freys will be upon us soon. Mostly mounted knights, followed by the baggage train,” the Middle Liddle brushed the snow from his warhelm. “The Manderlys are yet to be seen.”

         “The turncloak told the truth, it would seem.” Stannis smiled at that. “Lord Wull, give the order, we will march forth to give them battle. Get the men in formation now. It’s time.”

         “Men!” The Big Bucket Wull walked forth to his men. The clans gathered and began forming the van. He brushed the ice off his long, thick beard with one hand, and raised his huge battle axe with another. “We’ve been through many battles, aye, and this is like to be our last. I remember the days when I dreamt of glory, listening to the songs and tales of great heroes and their greater deeds. The first battle is like fucking for the first time. You are afraid, so afraid that you may foul your breeches. We all shit ourselves. There’s hardly shame in that. We are marching towards almost certain death. We may never return again to embrace our wives, or cradle our babes as they draw breath for the first time. And yet we must fight, and we must die, for the Ned, his house, and all he’s done for us. Let the Freys know the wroth of the old gods. Let them scream as our axes bite deep into their skulls. Let them know that winter is here, and the North remembers!”

         “The North remembers!” The clansmen chanted in unison. The king’s knights joined as well. “The North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers!”

         The king gathered his knights, as Ser Richard Horpe, his second-in-command, gathered whatever horses they hadn’t eaten.

         “Fifty horses we have left, sire. Adding to the dozen from the Karstarks, two and sixty.” The knight said grimly.

         “The mountain clans will ride forth with whatever few garrons they have. The snows will halter even the finest breeds. It’s spears and shields we need to face Ser Stupid. The night falls early this time of year. Use it to your advantage. Attack their train and gather whatever loot you can gain. Ride back when you see the men from White Harbor or the Bastard. You are far too few to engage them as yet.”

         “Your Grace,” Asha walked towards the king. “Free me from these chains and put an axe in my hand.”

         “You are in no position to make demands.” Ser Richard intejected

         “The kraken’s daughter has no lack for courage, it would seem. The banker ransomed your lot from Lady Glover, it would seem only fit that I put you under her men’s command. Ser Richard, bring Lady Asha to Ned Woods and unchain her. Give her a bow and an axe. Keep her close to the Liddles as well. The Liddles know their lands. Let them guide the sixty horses you have. Tristifer Botley and his men, we need more bows. Go, now.”

         Asha climbed onto Ser Richard’s horse and they rode to gather the queen’s men, the ironmen, the Liddles, and a dozen Glovers. I am the daughter of the Lord Reaper of Pyke, and yet here I have no ships, no seas. Only an axe and bow. I am fighting alongside the men who want me dead. I am sure to die here, but I’m no craven. I will die with a war cry and blood on my face and hands. Asha thought as she looked on the lay of the land.

         Asha squinted her eyes as she turned her head to the north. The enemy emerged from the snows. The leader of the enemy wore silvered plate and mail, inlaid with details of lapis lazuli. The crest of his warhelm was tall, fashioned in the shape of the Twin Towers of House Frey.

         Before him rode three banner bearers, One bore the stag and lion standard of King Tommen, another the Twin Towers of House Frey. The third brandished a bloody head impaled upon the point of a tall spear. An old man’s head, white-bearded and one eyed. The spear was made from a pale wood, almost white. Its upper shaft was dark and red with blood. Crowfood Umber, Asha knew. The old northman had fought to his death, it seemed. Perhaps the foe had thought the sight of severed head would strike fear into Stannis’s men. They rushed together as Hugo Wull raised his shield wall. The Karstark men remained at the longhall. The Karstarks are meant to defend against Manderly’s knights, Asha thought. The twin lakes provided the king with some advantage, it would seem. One narrow passage. Stannis does not wish to be ambushed again as he was at the Blackwater. He has no lack for caution. Robert was always the bold one. Ser Justin once told her that Tyrion Lannister’s mountain clans from the Vale had attacked Stannis’s forces at the kingswood, thus preventing him from knowing the Lannister-Tyrell relief force in advance. No trick will work against him twice. Good.

         “Will they hold?” Asha asked.

         “The clans are not meant to hold,” Ser Richard replied, “they’re meant to retreat.”

         “Where do they retreat to? The longhall? The weirwood islet?”

         “Stop asking questions and mind the surroundings. If a dozen Frey knights are to follow us, or if the fat lord appears, I want to know. You’re wanted for your axe and your eyes, not for those prattling lips that irk me so.” Ser Richard was less harsh a man than the likes of Godry the Giantslayer and Clayton Suggs, nonetheless his patience wore thin as ice in such conditions. The winds came slashing against Asha’s face, each cut harsher and more ruthless than the one before. She felt her lips crack, but refrained from licking them, as she knew it would soon turn to ice. She pressed her cheek against Ser Richard’s cloak. The cold winds and the snow are foreign to these southron knights, and yet they fight for their king as they always did. Does the faith in R’hllor warm their hearts, or the faith in Stannis? The promise of a northern castle, or the glory in the battle itself?

         It was not long before Asha saw the baggage train. Ahead of the train were twenty riders, all clad in heavy armor and the surcoats of House Frey. Ser Richard drew his longsword from the scabbard. “Men! With me!” Asha raised her axe as the enemy rode forth to them. Richard gestured the men to spread out the flanks to envelope the enemy. He raised his sword and charged against the enemy leader. The foe was no craven, and his sword nearly cut off Asha’s head. Her battle axe had shorter reach than the long sword, but there were more than one way to engage a mounted enemy. As the Frey’s sword clashed once again with Ser Richard, Asha cut off the palfrey’s leg with one firm swing of her axe. The loss of balance had Ser Richard’s horse founder into the snow. Asha was tossed some ten feet away. As she pushed herself up from the damp and cold ground with her axe, she saw the unhorsed Frey knight walking towards her. His helm was gone. Asha readied herself, as the man put both hands on his the hilt of his longsword and lunged forward. Before he could reach her, Tristofer charged forward and lopped his head off with his axe. The Liddles finished off the rest of the enemies soon enough, and seven Frey horses remained alive. The majority of palfreys and destriers in Stannis’s army hadn’t survive long in the march, but more horses were better than no horses.

         Ser Richard lead a captured Frey destrier towards Asha, “Now you have your own horse, my lady.”

         “I’m not a lady.” Asha took her gift gratefully.

          Richard pointed at a few Glover men, “take these Frey armors and bring the train back to the king from the south side of the lakes. Rest of you, with me. It’s getting dark, we must return and give them battle.” Ser Richard commanded.

         Asha looked towards the village, the snow was blinding, and the darkness was soon to come, and all she could see was the faint lamp light from the watchtower.

         The night fell as the king had promised, as the sky shifted to grey, to a dark blue, and then black, in contrast to the white of the never ending snow. Asha could scarce make out the sound of cold steel clashing amidst the punishing winds. Her back ached from the fall, as she could hardly keep the lance straight. I’m more fit for an axe, she thought. The Frey soldiers were more like to use long swords, spears, and crossbows. Asha had slung the dead Frey’s crossbow onto her back. She thought of her uncle Victarion who would cut through scores of foes with his battle axe. Had I not pressed my claim, would he have won the kingsmoot then? Anyone in Westeros would be fitter to sit the Seastone Chair than Euron Greyjoy.

         She could almost make the Frey banners as she rode forth towards the light. The Frey rear marched slowly whilst the van was engaged with the clansmen. The two flanks of the Frey army attempted to envelop the clans but arrows flew from the king’s position, halting their formation. The fire arrows provided little or less light as they were extinguished as soon as they hit the snow.

         “We’ll lure out their rear,” Ser Richard commanded, “separate them from the main force. Ready the men!”

         Asha and the rest of the ironborn loosed the crossbow bolts onto the Frey rear. A few Frey horses fell into the snow. The rearguard turned, and they outnumbered Ser Richard’s men two to one by sight. However, by the time that their luxurious and yet impractical southron breeds managed to turn around, Richard’s cavalry already jammed their lances into a row of Frey knights. The rest of the foes remained ferocious, however, and they retaliated. The right wing, commanded by Liddle, began to retreat, and the freshly aggravated Freys ate the bait and then some. As the left wing of the rearguard rode forth towards the Liddles, Asha, Tristifer Botley, and the men under Ned Woods’s command went to engage them. We have the element of surprise, and their numbers matter but little so long as they can’t maintain the formation.

         Asha drove her spear into the back of a Frey’s neck. The man wore chainmail under his warhelm, but the sheer impact broke his neck. In a matter of moments, the left wing of the rearguard was all but annihilated. There were many left still, Asha realized that as a man cut her spear in half with a sword. She drew her axe and engaged, but her arm was growing weak. The initial blood rush from a battle would make one forget the very concept of exhaustion, but soon or late, fatigue always set in. In that instant, she grew thankful of Ser Justin Massey, who had urged her to devour more horse meat despite her lack of appetite. She gave all the strength she had and swung the axe upward, and the blade almost touched the enemy’s warhelm. Her body was left defenseless, and the foe lowered his sword to his chest level for a killing strike. Oh, fuck me.

         The foe’s head came flying towards Asha before his sword could land a killing strike. Tris? she thought for an instant. As the headless body rolled off the horse, the man who appeared was Qarl the Maid. Asha remembered the night she had spent with Qarl in Deepwood Motte, when he’d sucked her breasts whilst driving his firm cock into her wet cunt to release his seeds. Asha had loved the rough play. Quiet, mind, she reminded herself. She gave a nod to Qarl. It may be that I shall never bed you again.

         The Freys were no meek foes, the rest of the rearguard were not to submit without a fight. Thirty men or so they had left, perhaps fewer, got in formation, and charged forward with a chilling war cry, as the Liddles turned around. Ser Richard’s men engaged them, and Tris was on the left wing, attempting to surround the Freys once again.

         Qarl rode close to Asha. He sees that I’m weak, Asha thought begrudgingly, I’m not some princess who needs a flowery knight to shield me from danger. And yet she seemed to be surrounded by men who’d die for her, and a precious few who’d love to see her burnt alive. Almost forgot that.

         “Thank you.” It took a deal of reluctance for Asha to express her gratitude. She had affection for the pink-cheeked boy once in a while. Asha rubbed on her right shoulder to make sure that she could still swing. When she turned her head it was too late.

         A spear went through Qarl’s back and protruded out of his chest. Qarl had worn only jerkin, fur, and light armor, and the blood rendered the back of his white horse crimson. He held onto the tip of the spear with his right hand, and coughed out blood. The enemy tried to pull the spear but Qarl would not let go.

         No time to grieve, Asha turned her horse towards the Frey. The man loosened his grip on the spear to draw his sword, but Asha killed him with a single swing before his sword could clear the scabbard.

         “Don’t forget me.” Qarl smiled with blood around his lips. It was the sweetest smile he ever gave. Asha fought her tears, and she fought them hard. A few managed to drop, however, and they froze onto her cheeks. she pressed her hand against her cheek to break it. Qarl almost fell from his horse, and she held him.

         “Go.” He planted one last kiss upon Asha’s lips before he fell into the snow.

         “What of our losses?” Ser Richard cut down a Frey and rode forward to Middle Liddle.

         “A dozen or more,” the Liddle replied.

         Richard ordered the men to ride towards the light of the watchtower. When they rode close to the lakes, Asha realized that the light was not from the tower at all.

         The tower was all in darkness. Instead, the light that they saw was on the weirwood islet. Asha remember the tales of the night lamp of Sisterton, where the sistermen lure ships with false beacons.

         The mountain clans fought the Freys on the surface of the ice lake. Already Asha saw a few horses sinking their limbs into the ice as the knights fell off their backs. When the Frey knights got on their feet, the clansmen cut their throats.

         Asha heard one blast from a horn, coming from the longhall. The mountain clans began to spread out and retreat. The Freys either chose to dismount, or struggling to hold still. One Frey who was larger than most, dismounted and cut down two clansmen. He was freakishly huge, althought not as big as Gregor Clegane. The big bellied chief Hugo Wull raised his axe to engage him. The old man struggled, as the Frey was much stronger. The old man blocked the Frey’s blow with the hilt of his axe, but the knight kicked him in the belly. The old man rose and lunged forward, raising his battle axe. The knight got on his feet and parried the attack and drove his sword into the old man’s throat. Two of the queen’s men began fighting the ferocious Frey. And then came the second blast. Stannis’s men moved farther from the islet, and the Freys struggled. The holes were not only for fishing, Asha thought. Ned Woods had made a remark about Stannis’s men drilling holes into the ice.

         When Asha heard the third blast of the horn, large rocks were flung into the lakes from the north and the south. Catapults, Asha noticed. large portions of the ice began to crumble and crack. two dozen Frey knights sunk into the water as the rest attempted to retreat. The king’s knights and the mountain clans lined up along the east side of the lake and held a shield wall. Another hail of rocks were launched with the next blast of the horn. Dozens, or hundreds of horses fell. Asha could barely tell as the snows were blinding. The heavy cavalry were mostly sunk as the barding on the destriers added more weight. The king’s archers got into position as well, two dozens at the north side of the lake, and another two dozesn at the south side.

         “Nock! Draw! Loose!” A hail of arrows were loosed onto what remained of the Frey van. Some arrows found their way onto the clansmen’s shields as well. Most of the Freys dismounted and drew their swords to engage in melee with the mountain clans. The horses were spooked and began running in all directions. The Freys’ castle-forged steel were still an advantage. The Frey men got into formation in an attempt to fight their way out of the mountain clans’ envelopment. They concentrated their forces on the right wing. Stannis’s archers were lightly armored and the Freys cut through them with ease. The Freys began pushing south as they were no longer surrounded. The large Frey fought in the frontlines and cut down half a dozen of the tribesmen. Asha had seldom seen such ferocity. The man reminded her of her uncle Victarion. Stannis’s knights went towards the Freys. Asha could hardly see faces, but she saw the winged pig and the purple knight sigils. Suggs and Farring, she thought. For a split moment Asha wished that the bloodthirsty queen’s men would fall. She hoped that the fearless Frey knight would cut them in half. She soon regretted that thought. She wondered why she grew to hate the queen’s men a little less. Perhaps it was Ser Richard, she thought, nothing in this world turns foes into friends faster than comraderie born amidst a bloodbath.

         The fire-crazed knights were indeed a fearsome lot, as their steel clashed against the Frey armors. The knight of the winged pig, Ser Clayton Suggs, stroke the helm off the tall Frey. A husky man with a jut-jawed face thick with beard and full of rage. He blocked the blows from both Suggs and Farring, and pushed forth with his freakish strength. Godry the Giantslayer lowered his sword and cut the Frey’s leg, and as the Frey went onto his knee, Clayton drove a dagger into the brawny man’s throat.

         Asha heard a horn blast from the north, but a deal farther than the one before. More men? She thought. By the sound, Asha judged them to be a few hundred horses at least. Asha looked towards the north and could almost make out the banners. Green, she thought, a white figure on a blue-green field, a merman. The knights wielded tridents instead of spears. The Manderlys. The Karstarks came out of the long hall to engage the White Harbor knights. She could almost hear the laugh of relief of the Freys. Their saviors finally came for them, and we are fucked.

         Except, the tridents went through the necks of the Frey knights, not Stannis’s men. The clans soon understood the situation and surrounded the Frey knights completely. More cavalry came pouring through the woods onto the helpless Freys. The trumpets were blowing, as the knights continued to charge and trample through the deserting Freys, and the words they cried were “the North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers!”

[jitolibido]

Asha I (part ii) Battle of Ice fan fic

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The night fell as the king had promised, as the sky shifted to grey, to a dark blue, and then black, in contrast to the white of the never ending snow. Asha could scarce make out the sound of cold steel clashing amidst the punishing winds. Her back ached from the fall, as she could hardly keep the lance straight. I’m more fit for an axe, she thought. The Frey soldiers were more like to use long swords, spears, and crossbows. Asha had slung the dead Frey’s crossbow onto her back. She thought of her uncle Victarion who would cut through scores of foes with his battle axe. Had I not pressed my claim, would he have won the kingsmoot then? Anyone in Westeros would be fitter to sit the Seastone Chair than Euron Greyjoy.

         She could almost make the Frey banners as she rode forth towards the light. The Frey rear marched slowly whilst the van was engaged with the clansmen. The two flanks of the Frey army attempted to envelop the clans but arrows flew from the king’s position, halting their formation. The fire arrows provided little or less light as they were extinguished as soon as they hit the snow.

         “We’ll lure out their rear,” Ser Richard commanded, “separate them from the main force. Ready the men!”

         Asha and the rest of the ironborn loosed the crossbow bolts onto the Frey rear. A few Frey horses fell into the snow. The rearguard turned, and they outnumbered Ser Richard’s men two to one by sight. However, by the time that their luxurious and yet impractical southron breeds managed to turn around, Richard’s cavalry already jammed their lances into a row of Frey knights. The rest of the foes remained ferocious, however, and they retaliated. The right wing, commanded by Liddle, began to retreat, and the freshly aggravated Freys ate the bait and then some. As the left wing of the rearguard rode forth towards the Liddles, Asha, Tristifer Botley, and the men under Ned Woods’s command went to engage them. We have the element of surprise, and their numbers matter but little so long as they can’t maintain the formation.

         Asha drove her spear into the back of a Frey’s neck. The man wore chainmail under his warhelm, but the sheer impact broke his neck. In a matter of moments, the left wing of the rearguard was all but annihilated. There were many left still, Asha realized that as a man cut her spear in half with a sword. She drew her axe and engaged, but her arm was growing weak. The initial blood rush from a battle would make one forget the very concept of exhaustion, but soon or late, fatigue always set in. In that instant, she grew thankful of Ser Justin Massey, who had urged her to devour more horse meat despite her lack of appetite. She gave all the strength she had and swung the axe upward, and the blade almost touched the enemy’s warhelm. Her body was left defenseless, and the foe lowered his sword to his chest level for a killing strike. Oh, fuck me.

         The foe’s head came flying towards Asha before his sword could land a killing strike. Tris? she thought for an instant. As the headless body rolled off the horse, the man who appeared was Qarl the Maid. Asha remembered the night she had spent with Qarl in Deepwood Motte, when he’d sucked her breasts whilst driving his firm cock into her wet cunt to release his seeds. Asha had loved the rough play. Quiet, mind, she reminded herself. She gave a nod to Qarl. It may be that I shall never bed you again.

         The Freys were no meek foes, the rest of the rearguard were not to submit without a fight. Thirty men or so they had left, perhaps fewer, got in formation, and charged forward with a chilling war cry, as the Liddles turned around. Ser Richard’s men engaged them, and Tris was on the left wing, attempting to surround the Freys once again.

         Qarl rode close to Asha. He sees that I’m weak, Asha thought begrudgingly, I’m not some princess who needs a flowery knight to shield me from danger. And yet she seemed to be surrounded by men who’d die for her, and a precious few who’d love to see her burnt alive. Almost forgot that.

         “Thank you.” It took a deal of reluctance for Asha to express her gratitude. She had affection for the pink-cheeked boy once in a while. Asha rubbed on her right shoulder to make sure that she could still swing. When she turned her head it was too late.

         A spear went through Qarl’s back and protruded out of his chest. Qarl had worn only jerkin, fur, and light armor, and the blood rendered the back of his white horse crimson. He held onto the tip of the spear with his right hand, and coughed out blood. The enemy tried to pull the spear but Qarl would not let go.

         No time to grieve, Asha turned her horse towards the Frey. The man loosened his grip on the spear to draw his sword, but Asha killed him with a single swing before his sword could clear the scabbard.

         “Don’t forget me.” Qarl smiled with blood around his lips. It was the sweetest smile he ever gave. Asha fought her tears, and she fought them hard. A few managed to drop, however, and they froze onto her cheeks. she pressed her hand against her cheek to break it. Qarl almost fell from his horse, and she held him.

         “Go.” He planted one last kiss upon Asha’s lips before he fell into the snow.

         “What of our losses?” Ser Richard cut down a Frey and rode forward to Middle Liddle.

         “A dozen or more,” the Liddle replied.

         Richard ordered the men to ride towards the light of the watchtower. When they rode close to the lakes, Asha realized that the light was not from the tower at all.

         The tower was all in darkness. Instead, the light that they saw was on the weirwood islet. Asha remember the tales of the night lamp of Sisterton, where the sistermen lure ships with false beacons.

         The mountain clans fought the Freys on the surface of the ice lake. Already Asha saw a few horses sinking their limbs into the ice as the knights fell off their backs. When the Frey knights got on their feet, the clansmen cut their throats.

         Asha heard one blast from a horn, coming from the longhall. The mountain clans began to spread out and retreat. The Freys either chose to dismount, or struggling to hold still. One Frey who was larger than most, dismounted and cut down two clansmen. He was freakishly huge, althought not as big as Gregor Clegane. The big bellied chief Hugo Wull raised his axe to engage him. The old man struggled, as the Frey was much stronger. The old man blocked the Frey’s blow with the hilt of his axe, but the knight kicked him in the belly. The old man rose and lunged forward, raising his battle axe. The knight got on his feet and parried the attack and drove his sword into the old man’s throat. Two of the queen’s men began fighting the ferocious Frey. And then came the second blast. Stannis’s men moved farther from the islet, and the Freys struggled. The holes were not only for fishing, Asha thought. Ned Woods had made a remark about Stannis’s men drilling holes into the ice.

         When Asha heard the third blast of the horn, large rocks were flung into the lakes from the north and the south. Catapults, Asha noticed. large portions of the ice began to crumble and crack. two dozen Frey knights sunk into the water as the rest attempted to retreat. The king’s knights and the mountain clans lined up along the east side of the lake and held a shield wall. Another hail of rocks were launched with the next blast of the horn. Dozens, or hundreds of horses fell. Asha could barely tell as the snows were blinding. The heavy cavalry were mostly sunk as the barding on the destriers added more weight. The king’s archers got into position as well, two dozens at the north side of the lake, and another two dozesn at the south side.

         “Nock! Draw! Loose!” A hail of arrows were loosed onto what remained of the Frey van. Some arrows found their way onto the clansmen’s shields as well. Most of the Freys dismounted and drew their swords to engage in melee with the mountain clans. The horses were spooked and began running in all directions. The Freys’ castle-forged steel were still an advantage. The Frey men got into formation in an attempt to fight their way out of the mountain clans’ envelopment. They concentrated their forces on the right wing. Stannis’s archers were lightly armored and the Freys cut through them with ease. The Freys began pushing south as they were no longer surrounded. The large Frey fought in the frontlines and cut down half a dozen of the tribesmen. Asha had seldom seen such ferocity. The man reminded her of her uncle Victarion. Stannis’s knights went towards the Freys. Asha could hardly see faces, but she saw the winged pig and the purple knight sigils. Suggs and Farring, she thought. For a split moment Asha wished that the bloodthirsty queen’s men would fall. She hoped that the fearless Frey knight would cut them in half. She soon regretted that thought. She wondered why she grew to hate the queen’s men a little less. Perhaps it was Ser Richard, she thought, nothing in this world turns foes into friends faster than comraderie born amidst a bloodbath.

         The fire-crazed knights were indeed a fearsome lot, as their steel clashed against the Frey armors. The knight of the winged pig, Ser Clayton Suggs, stroke the helm off the tall Frey. A husky man with a jut-jawed face thick with beard and full of rage. He blocked the blows from both Suggs and Farring, and pushed forth with his freakish strength. Godry the Giantslayer lowered his sword and cut the Frey’s leg, and as the Frey went onto his knee, Clayton drove a dagger into the brawny man’s throat.

         Asha heard a horn blast from the north, but a deal farther than the one before. More men? She thought. By the sound, Asha judged them to be a few hundred horses at least. Asha looked towards the north and could almost make out the banners. Green, she thought, a white figure on a blue-green field, a merman. The knights wielded tridents instead of spears. The Manderlys. The Karstarks came out of the long hall to engage the White Harbor knights. She could almost hear the laugh of relief of the Freys. Their saviors finally came for them, and we are fucked.

         Except, the tridents went through the necks of the Frey knights, not Stannis’s men. The clans soon understood the situation and surrounded the Frey knights completely. More cavalry came pouring through the woods onto the helpless Freys. The trumpets were blowing, as the knights continued to charge and trample through the deserting Freys, and the words they cried were “the North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers!”

[jitolibido]

Asha I The Winds of Winter (Part i)

Asha I The Winds of Winter (fan fiction based on the real decoded Asha fragment from a high definition image of GRRM’s computer and the facts established in A Dance of Dragons as well as Theon I The Winds of Winter)

True Stannis @ instagram

The day was cold, and the white winds bit harder as Asha inhaled. Ser Justin Massey, the freckled knight of summer, had left with the banker Nestoris and Ned Stark’s daughter. She did not desire him, a southron knight who wore a pretty blonde beard could hardly be her Lord husband in the days to come, were she to live. And yet, she thought of him. The other queen’s men, Farring and Suggs, thirsted for her blood like a pack of jackals. The knights of the greenlands would pray to their queer god of fire, but the North was of the old, and the old gods were more punishing and severe than R’hllor could ever be. Doomed, she thought, doomed men on a death march.

         The ice lakes at the crofters’ village were caked with snow. When Asha walked outside along the camps, the snow seeped into her boots. The hill tribes, the southron knights, and the Glovers had been working day and night felling the trees. Catapults, she thought. Why would Stannis want siege weapons when the enemy were to meet him in an open field?

         The king walked out of the tower. She had last seen him when she was pleading for her brother’s life, or a quick death, rather. “Your Grace. My brother—“

         “He will live, for now. I have better use for him, because he knows the layout of Winterfell. Which walls are the strongest, and which gates the weakest. It’s not me you need to worry about, Lady kraken, it’s these northmen. Norrey and Wull would not hesitate for an instant to bloody their axes with Theon’s head.”

         The queen’s men escorted their prisoner outside. Arnolf Karstark was accused of conspiring with Lord Bolton to turn on Stannis’s rearguard once the battle began. The queen’s men prepared a pyre for Lord Karstark on the weirwood island. Next to the pyre was a chopping block. The Wulls, the Flints, and the Norreys gathered around the king and his men.

         “Lord Arnolf Karstark, you have been charged with treason and the conspiring with the enemy. I, Stannis Baratheon, the one true King of Westeros, sentence you to die. You are a northman. I do not wish to tamper with your old gods or your tradition in front of the brave men who stand beside me. Confess, and I shall grant you the swift death with my sword. Lie, and you will meet a warmer end. Choose wisely, Ser Clayton Suggs has much and less patience than I.”

         “Aye, I confess. What of it! Lord Bolton has seven thousand strong. You will starve, and freeze, pretender. The Frey host alone is like to shatter what’s left of you and yours without breaking a sweat!” The old man spat onto the snow. He turned to the Wull, “Hugo fucking Wull. You support some southron fool now? Much is the pity! You are dead men! Do you hear me? Dead! Dead will be your false king, and dead your sons. Be cursed!” The old man coughed and grinned.

         “Very well then,” the king pulled his magical sword from the scabbard. It was bright, and red, and orange. The light was as blinding as the sun.

         The old man quivered before the sword and squinted his eyes. His cracked lips nonetheless widened into a hideous grin, “All hail King Tomm—” The old man’s head came falling before he could finish his words. Thirty yards away, amidst the cold winds, Asha could still hear the king’s teeth grinding as the name Tommen was mentioned. Baseborn abominations, he’d liked to call the children of Cersei Lannister. The king would not risk the allegiance of the northmen, so even a treasonous schemer such as Arnolf met his end in the ways of the weirwood. Arnolf’s sons, Cregan and Arthor, as well as Arnolf’s grandsons were still kept in the cells, except the one who’d lost his arm. Stannis had need for Karstark’s strength, four hundred spears, two score archers, and a dozen mounted lances.

         “Eddard Karstark, step forward,” the king commanded. A boy, no more than twelve, walked forth to Stannis. The clansmen and the knights made way for the boy who bore the wolf’s name. The lad was of neither Rickard’s nor Arnolf’s line. The Tallhart next to Asha told her that the boy was kin to the Hornwoods and the Manderlys. Harrion, the rightful heir to Karhold, was Lord Walder’s prisoner still. Stannis needed not an heir to Karhold, but a man who could command the Karstark forces in the battles to come. Boys have been conquerors before. Mayhaps little Ned will surprise us yet.

         The boy knelt before the king dutifully as he swore his allegiance. The queen’s men, once again, began singing the only song they knew, “One realm! One god! One king! One realm! One god! One king!” The clansmen sneered at that.

         Morgan Liddle rode back to the islet with a group of scouts. He climbed off his palfrey and walked towards the king. Ser Godry soon followed.

         “Your Grace, the Freys will be upon us soon. Mostly mounted knights, followed by the baggage train,” the Middle Liddle brushed the snow from his warhelm. “The Manderlys are yet to be seen.”

         “The turncloak told the truth, it would seem.” Stannis smiled at that. “Lord Wull, give the order, we will march forth to give them battle. Get the men in formation now. It’s time.”

         “Men!” The Big Bucket Wull walked forth to his men. The clans gathered and began forming the van. He brushed the ice off his long, thick beard with one hand, and raised his huge battle axe with another. “We’ve been through many battles, aye, and this is like to be our last. I remember the days when I dreamt of glory, listening to the songs and tales of great heroes and their greater deeds. The first battle is like fucking for the first time. You are afraid, so afraid that you may foul your breeches. We all shit ourselves. There’s hardly shame in that. We are marching towards almost certain death. We may never return again to embrace our wives, or cradle our babes as they draw breath for the first time. And yet we must fight, and we must die, for the Ned, his house, and all he’s done for us. Let the Freys know the wroth of the old gods. Let them scream as our axes bite deep into their skulls. Let them know that winter is here, and the North remembers!”

         “The North remembers!” The clansmen chanted in unison. The king’s knights joined as well. “The North remembers! The North remembers! The North remembers!”

         The king gathered his knights, as Ser Richard Horpe, his second-in-command, gathered whatever horses they hadn’t eaten.

         “Fifty horses we have left, sire. Adding to the dozen from the Karstarks, two and sixty.” The knight said grimly.

         “The mountain clans will ride forth with whatever few garrons they have. The snows will halter even the finest breeds. It’s spears and shields we need to face Ser Stupid. The night falls early this time of year. Use it to your advantage. Attack their train and gather whatever loot you can gain. Ride back when you see the men from White Harbor or the Bastard. You are far too few to engage them as yet.”

         “Your Grace,” Asha walked towards the king. “Free me from these chains and put an axe in my hand.”

         “You are in no position to make demands.” Ser Richard intejected

         “The kraken’s daughter has no lack for courage, it would seem. The banker ransomed your lot from Lady Glover, it would seem only fit that I put you under her men’s command. Ser Richard, bring Lady Asha to Ned Woods and unchain her. Give her a bow and an axe. Keep her close to the Liddles as well. The Liddles know their lands. Let them guide the sixty horses you have. Tristofer Botley and his men, we need more bows. Go, now.”

         Asha climbed onto Ser Richard’s horse and they rode to gather the queen’s men, the ironmen, the Liddles, and a dozen Glovers. I am the daughter of the Lord Reaper of Pyke, and yet here I have no ships, no seas. Only an axe and bow. I am fighting alongside the men who want me dead. I am sure to die here, but I’m no craven. I will die with a war cry and blood on my face and hands. Asha thought as she looked on the lay of the land.

         Asha squinted her eyes as she turned her head to the north. The enemy emerged from the snows. The leader of the enemy wore silvered plate and mail, inlaid with details of lapis lazuli. The crest of his warhelm was tall, fashioned in the shape of the Twin Towers of House Frey.

         Before him rode three banner bearers, One bore the stag and lion standard of King Tommen, another the Twin Towers of House Frey. The third brandished a bloody head impaled upon the point of a tall spear. An old man’s head, white-bearded and one eyed. The spear was made from a pale wood, almost white. Its upper shaft was dark and red with blood. Crowfood Umber, Asha knew. The old northman had fought to his death, it seemed. Perhaps the foe had thought the sight of severed head would strike fear into Stannis’s men. They rushed together as Hugo Wull raised his shield wall. The Karstark men remained at the longhall. The Karstarks are meant to defend against Manderly’s knights, Asha thought. The twin lakes provided the king with some advantage, it would seem. One narrow passage. Stannis does not wish to be ambushed again as he was at the Blackwater. He has no lack for caution. Robert was always the bold one. Ser Justin once told her that Tyrion Lannister’s mountain clans from the Vale had attacked Stannis’s forces at the kingswood, thus preventing him from knowing the Lannister-Tyrell relief force in advance. No trick will work against him twice. Good.

         “Will they hold?” Asha asked.

         “The clans are not meant to hold,” Ser Richard replied, “they’re meant to retreat.”

         “Where do they retreat to? The longhall? The weirwood islet?”

         “Stop asking questions and mind the surroundings. If a dozen Frey knights are to follow us, or if the fat lord appears, I want to know. You’re wanted for your axe and your eyes, not for those prattling lips that irk me so.” Ser Richard was less harsh a man than the likes of Godry the Giantslayer and Clayton Suggs, nonetheless his patience wore thin as ice in such conditions. The winds came slashing against Asha’s face, each cut harsher and more ruthless than the one before. She felt her lips crack, but refrained from licking them, as she knew it would soon turn to ice. She pressed her cheek against Ser Richard’s cloak. The cold winds and the snow are foreign to these southron knights, and yet they fight for their king as they always did. Does the faith in R’hllor warm their hearts, or the faith in Stannis? The promise of a northern castle, or the glory in the battle itself?

         It was not long before Asha saw the baggage train. Ahead of the train were twenty riders, all clad in heavy armor and the surcoats of House Frey. Ser Richard drew his longsword from the scabbard. “Men! With me!” Asha raised her axe as the enemy rode forth to them. Richard gestured the men to spread out the flanks to envelope the enemy. He raised his sword and charged against the enemy leader. The foe was no craven, and his sword nearly cut off Asha’s head. Her battle axe had shorter reach than the long sword, but there were more than one way to engage a mounted enemy. As the Frey’s sword clashed once again with Ser Richard, Asha cut off the palfrey’s leg with one firm swing of her axe. The loss of balance had Ser Richard’s horse founder into the snow. Asha was tossed some ten feet away. As she pushed herself up from the damp and cold ground with her axe, she saw the unhorsed Frey knight walking towards her. His helm was gone. Asha readied herself, as the man put both hands on his the hilt of his longsword and lunged forward. Before he could reach her, Tristofer charged forward and lopped his head off with his axe. The Liddles finished off the rest of the enemies soon enough, and seven Frey horses remained alive. The majority of palfreys and destriers in Stannis’s army hadn’t survive long in the march, but more horses were better than no horses.

         Ser Richard lead a captured Frey destrier towards Asha, “Now you have your own horse, my lady.”

         “I’m not a lady.” Asha took her gift gratefully.

         “Botley, Maid, Woods, take these Frey armors and bring the train back to the king from the south side of the lakes. Rest of you, with me. It’s getting dark, we must return and give them battle.” Ser Richard commanded.

         Asha looked towards the village, the snow was blinding, and the darkness was soon to come, and all she could see was the faint lamp light from the watchtower.

(To be continued)

[jitolibido]