"What? They want to play as sellswords?" Harron blurted out before bursting into laughter.
"Hah!" His beard shook with the force of it. After a moment, still amused, he added, "Wildlings as sellswords?" and laughed again.
Across from him, Brandon simply smiled as he took a slow sip of his ale. He had hurried back to Castle Black to report the red-haired brat's proposal, to be hired as a sellsword to deal with Jorund and Sylas. Even on his way back, he had found the idea of wildlings acting as sellswords absurd, yet he could not dismiss it entirely. The Night's Watch was short on men, and desperate times often called for unusual measures. In the end, he had chosen to present the idea to the Lord Commander and leave the decision in his hands. After all, if the red-haired brat was so eager to throw himself into death itself, who was he to stop him? Still, there was a hint of regret in Brandon's thoughts, as he had begun to like the stubborn wildling more than he cared to admit.
Once the Lord Commander's laughter subsided, Brandon finally spoke. "Aye. I thought the idea absurd as well. I've no notion where that red-haired wildling came up with such an idea, or the information behind it but it's a strange one to be sure. Still, the more I considered it, the harder it was to dismiss it entirely. Absurd or not, it could be to our advantage, especially given how few men we have to deal with both Jorund and Sylas even after they've worn each other down. So I came back in haste to place the matter before you and let you decide whether hiring them as sellswords is worth the risk."
Harron took a long drink of his ale to soothe his throat after laughing, then leaned back as he considered the matter. Even as he did so, a faint smile lingered on his face; the idea still struck him as ridiculous. Never before had he even entertained the thought of hiring wildlings as sellswords, and he suspected no Lord Commander before him had ever considered such a thing either. Yet, for all its absurdity, he could not dismiss it outright. Brandon was right. Ever since he had taken command as Lord Commander, the Night's Watch had struggled to maintain even a passable number of men along the Wall. Recruits dwindled with each passing year, and even the criminals sent north by the lords of the realm were no longer enough to make up for their losses.
He let out a quiet sigh, the weight of their situation pressing heavily on him. He had not expected the people of the North or those of the South, for that matter, to lose their will or sense of honor when it came to joining the Watch. At times, he found himself wondering what had changed, but the question brought him no answers, only a dull ache in his head. Shaking off the thought, he straightened slightly and spoke again, his tone more measured now. "Tell me exactly what the wildling said to you about being a sellsword."
Brandon nodded and recounted everything the red-haired brat had told him. When he finished, he took another sip of his ale to wet his throat and waited for the Lord Commander's decision.
Harron grew thoughtful for a moment before asking, "Have you visited their settlement? And did you find out where they truly got their salt from?"
Brandon shook his head. "I haven't had the chance. I've been too busy watching Jorund's and Sylas's men tear into each other. They haven't stopped fighting since they first began skirmishing. Makes me wonder what truly sets them against one another."
He paused briefly before adding, "Why not send someone else to look into it? What about Edric? He's been out there before."
After a moment's consideration, Harron shook his head. "The boy's father sent me a letter, asking that I not send him beyond the Wall again, at least for now. I'll have him range again eventually, but not this year."
He tapped his fingers lightly against the desk as he thought, then continued, "Here's what we'll do. You may agree to hire them as sellswords, but make sure to include a condition in the agreement. Their settlement is to serve as a safe stop for our rangers. I want our men to be able to rest there during their rangings and receive aid if needed. As for their payment, you may negotiate that yourself, but don't offer too much. Do you understand?"
Brandon smiled at the decision, a hint of anticipation stirring within him as he thought about what the red-haired brat might do next to surprise him. The memory of not besting the man in their previous encounters still gnawed slightly at his pride. "Aye. I understand. Is there anything else?"
Harron nodded. "Be cautious. Don't trust those wildlings to guard your flank, they might betray you at any moment. Give them smaller tasks first to test their skill and more importantly their obedience. Tell them their role is to make Jorund and Sylas bleed, and kill as many of their warriors as they can. And once you've secured the agreement, send someone to their settlement at once. I want it mapped so we can verify things ourselves later."
"Aye. Don't worry, I'll be careful," Brandon replied seriously. He had already considered as much. While he had come to respect the red-haired wildling, whether for his skill in a fight or his boldness, he would never entrust his back to him. He knew too well what wildlings were capable of.
The two continued discussing their strategy for dealing with Jorund and Sylas for a while longer before finally adjourning the meeting. Brandon left the Lord Commander's solar and made his way to his quarters. After shrugging off his cloak and pulling off his boots, he lay down on his bed and allowed himself to relax. He would need the rest as he intended to ride out again at first light on the morrow to negotiate with the red-haired brat.
The next day, Brandon and his party departed from Castle Black after gathering the supplies needed for their ranging, all under the watchful eyes of his brothers and the Lord Commander himself. Before leaving, Brandon cast one last glance back at the Wall, his gaze lingering on its towering height, certain that the Lord Commander was watching his departure from above. He gave a small nod to no one in particular before turning away and leading his men into the dense trees of the Haunted Forest.
After more than three days of travel, they arrived at their forward camp, a day's journey from Jorund's settlement. Brandon greeted the brothers he had left behind and asked for a report on what had transpired during his absence. Fortunately, nothing of note had occurred, and the camp had remained hidden and secure. Satisfied, he rested for the night before setting out again the following morning with a few of his brothers to locate the red-haired wildling's camp.
Though he had never been there before, Brandon trusted that the wildlings would not deceive him, especially after proposing to be hired by the Night's Watch. After traveling for half a day, he finally found their camp. It was better concealed than his own and, somewhat surprisingly, far more orderly and clean than he had expected. Still, he paid little mind to it as several wildlings stepped out to meet them with their weapons on hand, their eyes fixed on his group.
Brandon gave them a nod and spoke plainly, "Where's Ivar? I've something to say to him."
Ivar stepped out of his tent almost as soon as the words left Brandon's mouth, a faint smile already forming as he approached. "How was yer journey?" he asked lightly. "Did ye manage to speak with yer Crow Commander? What did he say?"
Brandon's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the red-haired wildling, watching his approach with caution. Only after confirming that Ivar was unarmed and that nothing about the camp suggested an ambush did he allow himself to relax, if only a little. Wildlings, after all, were not known for being predictable. His gaze swept the surroundings one last time before he answered, his tone measured. "Aye. My Lord Commander agrees to cooperate. He's willing to hire you and your lot as sellswords but there are conditions."
Ivar inclined his head, his expression sharpening with interest. "Then let's hear these conditions first before we speak any further."
Seeing that the wildling preferred to get straight to the matter, Brandon nodded and laid out the terms his Lord Commander had instructed him to deliver, adding a few of his own as well, chief among them that Ivar and his men were to assist any of the crows they encountered, whether wounded or not, and to follow every instructions he has on when and where to attack. Once he had finished, he fell silent and waited, watching closely for Ivar's reaction.
Ivar did not answer immediately. Instead, he stood there for a moment, weighing each condition in his mind, measuring their advantages and risks with careful thought. After a brief pause, he gestured toward the center of the camp.
"Come," he said. "Sit by the fire and have some broth first. I'll give ye my answer after I've had time to think it through."
Brandon saw no issue with that and accepted the offer without protest. Together, they made their way deeper into the camp, where a fire crackled steadily and the scent of warm broth hung in the air. As they approached, Brandon's attention was drawn to a group of wildlings nearby, moving in unison as they marched back and forth under shouted commands. He slowed slightly, his brow furrowing as he watched them.
"What are they doing?" he asked, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice.
Ivar, who had been lost in thought, followed Brandon's gaze before answering.
"That?" he said casually. "They're marchin'. Learnin' to move together, left and right. Just simple trainin', really."
Brandon's lips pressed into a thin line as he watched the formation shift again in practiced rhythm. Simple training, he thought, unconvinced. He had seen such discipline only among organized armies south of the Wall, never among the wildlings. Yet he kept the thought to himself and continued on.
They settled near the fire and were soon handed bowls of steaming broth. For a time, neither of them spoke much, though Brandon's gaze drifted more than once toward the drilling warriors, his curiosity lingering despite himself. There was really something different about this group of wildlings, something he could not quite put into words, but he pushed the thought aside and focused on finishing his meal.
Once he was done, he set his bowl aside and turned his attention back to Ivar, who had remained unusually quiet throughout. "What have you learned about Jorund and Sylas?" he asked. "Are they still fightin'?" His men already told him the status in the area but he still wanted to know what the wildlings knew that his men didn't.
Ivar lifted his head slightly, pulled from his thoughts, and gave a small shake of it. "Not as much as before," he replied. "Skirmishes still happen, but not daily. More like every other day now. Looks to me like both sides are lickin' their wounds, holdin' back instead of throwin' everything at each other."
Brandon nodded thoughtfully, as it matched what his own men had reported. That only confirmed his suspicion, Jorund and Sylas would likely stop clashing soon, and that was the last thing he wanted. He needed them to bleed each other further. His gaze returned to Ivar and he asked, "Have you thought on the conditions long enough? You're takin' your time with it."
"What d' ye expect?" Ivar replied flatly, rubbing his beardless jaw as though in deep consideration. "Ye crows are known for swindlin' and twistin' words. I'd be a fool not to think carefully about what ye're offerin'."
Brandon stared at him, momentarily speechless. Irritation flickered across his face, but he forced it down. He needed this wildling to agree, anger would serve no purpose here. So he held his tongue and waited.
After a long pause, Ivar finally spoke again. "I can agree to lettin' yer men use our settlement as a safe stop when needed, but that comes at a cost. Every visit means payment. As for helpin' any crow we come across, wounded or not, that's fine. But the rest…" He shook his head. "I won't agree to followin' every command ye give. I'll have a say in when and where we fight. And if I think ye're sendin' us to die for nothin', I reserve the right to refuse."
He met Brandon's gaze steadily, making it clear that this was not a point he would yield on. In truth, Ivar had already decided what he would accept and reject long before this conversation began. The delay had only been to let the crows grow accustomed to his camp, to see his warriors, and perhaps to unsettle them just a little. He wanted them to be comfortable soon enough so he could acquire more benefits later.
Brandon frowned at once. "Those conditions are not optional," he insisted. "If you're to be hired, you follow orders."
But Ivar did not budge. He would not place his life, or the lives of his men entirely in the hands of the Crows. He held his ground, calm but immovable, knowing full well that Brandon needed this arrangement as much as he did. He had already guessed that the crows could not fight Jorund and Sylas head on based on how they approached the situation after knowing where their settlement was.
The argument stretched on, voices rising and falling as neither side gave way easily. It took nearly two hours of back-and-forth before Brandon finally relented, his patience worn thin and his options limited.
In the end, they struck an agreement. Payment would be measured in heads, those of Jorund's and Sylas's warriors. For every head Ivar's men delivered, the Crows would compensate them according to their terms, mostly in grain, livestock, and hens. Ivar had pressed for horses and iron, but Brandon refused outright, leaving him no choice but to settle for what he could get.
Still, as the terms were finalized, Ivar felt a quiet satisfaction settle within him. He would be paid for doing what he already intended, killing his enemies and at the same time, stacking his settlement with food.
Brandon, on the other hand, let out a silent sigh. He had hoped to bind the wildlings more tightly, to direct them as he saw fit, but the red-haired brat had proven far more stubborn than expected. In the end, he had no choice but to compromise. At the very least, the Lord Commander's core condition had been met, and that, for now, would have to suffice.
With the agreement settled, Brandon moved on to outline what he wanted from the wildlings, to kill as many of Jorund's and Sylas's warriors as possible and weaken both sides further. However, Ivar refused outright, shaking his head before presenting a plan of his own. He proposed that his men would masquerade as Sylas's warriors and strike Jorund's settlement, causing as much damage as they could before withdrawing. Then, they would do the same to Sylas's settlement, this time posing as Jorund's men. Such attacks, he reasoned, would only deepen the hatred between the two Magnars and ensure that their war continued without pause.
As Brandon listened, he could not help but inwardly marvel at the scheme. This red-haired wildling was far more dangerous than he had first assumed, capable of planning with the cunning of a southron noble. The thought both impressed and unsettled him. While his respect for this red haired brat grew, so too did his caution. This was not a man to be underestimated.
In the end, Brandon agreed to the plan and told Ivar to inform him once they were ready to begin, as he intended to witness the attack himself. Ivar accepted without hesitation, adding that it would take a sennight, perhaps a fortnight, before they could move, as he needed to return to his settlement and gather more men.
Brandon felt a flicker of disappointment at the delay, but he knew better than to argue. There was little he could do but accept it, so he gave a curt nod, already preparing himself for the days ahead. Not long after, he departed the wildlings' camp with his brothers, the light already fading as evening settled over the forest.
As Ivar watched the crows disappear into the trees, Hilde stepped up beside him, her gaze following them as well before she spoke. "Are ye sure about this, Ivar? Attackin' Jorund's and Sylas's men with our numbers feels like a losin' fight to me. We've seen how many warriors they have, ye'd be lucky to come out of it unscathed." Though she had not understood every word of the earlier discussion, Ivar's constant push for them to learn the crows' tongue had been enough for her to grasp the heart of the matter.
Ivar nodded, his eyes still fixed on the direction the crows had gone. "Aye. We've already delayed our journey south to deal with Jorund, might as well gain somethin' from it. It sounds dangerous, but it doesn't have to be. We strike only the outer tents of their settlements, hit fast, make sure they know who we're pretendin' to be, and then we withdraw before they can react properly. Then we do the same to the other side. After that, we vanish and let 'em tear each other apart."
He paused briefly before adding, "Simple enough, and if it works, we might even get our chance to finish Jorund for good."
Hilde frowned slightly, unable to fully follow the depth of his reasoning, yet trusting him all the same. In the end, she simply nodded and asked, "When are we headin' back? Are ye really plannin' to gather more men for this?"
"On the morrow," Ivar replied, finally turning his attention away from the forest and toward his camp, where several of his warriors were still drilling in their marching formations. "This is a good chance to blood the new ones back at the settlement and give 'em real fightin' experience. Be a waste not to use it. And while we're at it, we'll trade more with the crows. I'm willin' to bet the fur coats Ylva and Freya have been makin' will fetch a fine price, probably sell out the moment we bring 'em."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Makes me wonder how many they've finished by now."
Hilde followed his gaze for a moment, watching the men train, before giving a firm nod. "Aye. Then I'll get them ready."
With that, she turned and strode back into the camp, her voice soon rising as she began barking orders, setting the warriors into motion in preparation for their departure at first light on the morrow.
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A/N: Please don't forget to rate and review the story after reading. And if you want to read ahead. You know where to look.