AN :
Next goal for another extra chapter is 300 power stones.
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait. The more Power Stones you offer, the faster the chapters come.
...
Her heart thundered in her chest as the slender boy raised his hand high up above his head, and the crowd slowly began to quiet.
A bitter wind ripped through the square and he coughed again. Yivanna felt a chill go down her spine despite her warm clothes. Was he sick? The child who was so blessed by the Seven?
...
But the boy shook it off, and to a crowd now practically vibrating with anticipation, he began to speak.
"I need you all to stay calm for a moment. The… town needs to evacuate, all in an orderly fashion. Women, children, and old men should take the fishing boats upriver to Geert's Gap. Take food and valuables with you. Any men strong enough to fight, I'll need you at Reddinghall, we are going to hold off the Ironborn if they come this way, at least until my Uncle arrives."
"We have to leave? But the Ironborn will burn our homes!" A voice called from the crowd, but the boy shook his head.
"My uncle left only forty men behind, and half are not suited for fighting. He will be here in a week, but your lives cannot wait a week. Gather your things and fl-" The boy began to cough again, more harshly this time. One of the soldiers walked towards him to help, but he raised his hand, recovering himself, though he seemed pale. "Listen to me. Take your things and escape as I've asked. You will be luckier than the men and women of Trout Point and of the Running Country. Just please, leave with your lives. A house can be rebuilt in time."
Yivanna frowned, as she saw that his words caused confusion in the crowd. She supposed it made sense, few wanted to leave home on such short notice. Even if they knew the threat of the Ironborn, they hadn't truly been raided in generations, and it was winter besides. Traveling would be harsh on them.
Still. The blessed child was right. Their lives were more important. Yivanna cleared her throat. "Listen to him!" She shouted over the murmuring crowd, projecting her voice as far as she could. "Your lives are more important than your possessions! Can you not hear his words? The Seven themselves send the blessed child to save us and yet you quibble about your old houses? Before the wrath of the Ironborn, you would lose them anyway! Pack your things and go!"
Yivanna hadn't even noticed the eyes starting to turn towards her, the whole of the crowd beginning to change their focus. She suddenly felt very small, but the hoarse voice of the blessed child came just after.
"Well said Septa!" He shouted, seizing on the momentum she had given him. "Everyone gather your things- food most of all, but valuables too. Leave nothing for the Ironborn that you can carry. Those who will escape to Geert's Gap! Follow the Septa! Those who can fight, follow me and my men. We will set out to Reddinghall in one hour."
"Take the children to the boats first." Someone shouted, and soon more voices joined them.
"My boat has room for several families!"
"Bring your things to the docks, we'll load them down as heavy as they can still take the river!"
"Septa Yivanna, what should I do?"
Yivanna blinked as she saw that one of the older women in the crowd, Lina, had approached her. "I don't think I can carry much…"
"Guide the children," Yivanna said instantly, her mind rolling across the plains like a hundred horses. "I'll get your things…"
It was neither the first nor the last question she got that day, as Yivanna soon found herself in charge of well over half the town's people, navigating a stream of fishing boats up the Hullock and away from their homes.
...
( Gorman Bloodtooth POV )
"They knew we were coming," Gorman muttered, leaning on the head of his greataxe as his gaze moved across the deserted town. The settlement of Red-Port, normally a prosperous trading hub, had been stripped before their arrival. The people fled and took most everything valuable with them. It wasn't a terrible loss, but it foreshadowed dark things to come.
"Aye." came the reply of Longshanks beside him, looking like a petulant child. "They'll have fled to the Castle at Reddinghall. The traders say that Lord Tygett refurbished it." the Greyjoy heir in his disguise frowned. "We should go and lay it flat, while its master is still in the Running Country."
"Flat?" Gorman chuckled. "Have you ever been in a siege before brat? The Lion would be on our hands before we even had a good camp established, and we've scant the provisions for it besides." the old raider tapped his chin. It galled him truly that things had come to this. His heart still burned with vengeance for his son… but old senses long honed told him that the raid had gone sour. It was time to withdraw with the loot he'd already gained.
To draw back to the Isles and wait for another chance, with fairer weather and perhaps less impetuous allies. "I still want the Bastard's eyes, but this is a sign. When the villages start to empty ahead of our coming, It's time to stop raiding. The longer we drag this on, the greater the risk of defeat."
The other man turned to Gorman with a sneer. "What, have you turned coward? We know where they ran! Even if it's best to leave, surely we can at least have the castle's loot."
"And how do you suggest we take a castle before the Lion and his cavalry return?" Gorman asked, shaking his head. "I was young like you once Gr-Longshanks. Raiding in Slaver's Bay around Yunkai. I always thought I was invincible. I'd chase after fish far too big for me to catch, and then be surprised when they bit my hands. No. My revenge won't be best served by taking silly risks. If the Westerlanders have escaped us now, there's nothing to stop us coming back in three months, when they're not anticipating the fleet on their doorstep."
"And how did you win gold and glory except by feats of daring?" Longshanks returned his ire. "Just because you're old and salty now, doesn't mean you didn't earn your name by doing great deeds. Would you deny me my chance for the same?"
Gorman frowned, the Greyjoy brat's words were true. Caution might make a man rich, but it wouldn't make him great. Still, what Gorman wanted above all was revenge. That was the fire that burned cold in his heart. Fame was a virtue he already possessed, and glory lacked charm unless it served some greater purpose. Still, Gorman was swayed a bit by the young man's passion.
Before he could think of a reply, one of the parties they'd had scouting the countryside returned, and both Ironborn glanced up to see a lanky blond man being dragged in chains through the town, a gag over his lips.
"Captain Bloodtooth, Lord Longshanks." Hralfi, the leader of the little band greeted them. "We caught this Greenlander watering his horse. He's wearing Lannister colors." Hralfi kicked the man over on the ground, causing him to let out a groan. Gorman could see that he wore a red and yellow jerkin, along with other riding leathers. He didn't look like a knight exactly, so probably one of those cavalrymen Lord Tygett had riding about with him.
"Well, what are you waiting for, get his gag off, let's see what our friend here has to tell us," Longshanks demanded, and Hralfi dutifully obliged, the blond staring up balefully at the reavers as they undid the bond around his mouth.
"You Ironborn bastards, go drown your heads in the sea!" the Westerlander shouted almost as soon as the gag was removed. In response Hralfi, with his heavy steel gauntlet, laid into the man's cheek with a bunch, drawing a bit of blood from the ridges of the metal knuckles. The young man groaned but didn't say anything else, only glaring up at them with his battered face.
Longshanks stalked over like a demon, drawing the longsword from his belt, he plunged its tip into the dirt by the man's nose, making the green-lander flinch away in fear.
"That's better. You ought to know not to speak that way to your betters, wretch." the Greyjoy heir's voice oozed disdain as he squatted down next to the man. "Now listen to me, you're going to tell me everything you know about that castle at Reddinghall, and if you lie I'll cut off your dick and feed it to you."
The westerlander looked back up at Longshanks and, with a quivering lip, spat on his sword. "Fek you. Your Mother's a whore and your father's a horse!"
"Why you!" The Greyjoy raised his blade to stab through the man's face, but Gorman caught his shoulder, pulling Longshanks back.
"Don't do something stupid," Gorman said plainly. He reached down and grabbed the man by the cheeks, and, in a move that left Gorman's old back aching, he pulled the Lannister man from the ground, squeezing his face as he lifted him, but leaving his eyes so that Gorman could look into them.
The man was still defiant, obviously, but Gorman had ways of changing that. Ways that were far better at keeping the man alive compared to slicing his face off.
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