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CHAPTER 230
295 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
Ondrew Locke's solar was subtly adorned with symbols and artifacts reflective of his faith, including a delicate seven-pointed star crafted from silver that hung above the weirwood desk and a small altar bearing representations of the Seven in a discreet corner of the room. The juxtaposition of Northern traditions and the faith of the Seven created an interesting blend of cultures within the solar, reflecting the lord's commitment to both his religious beliefs and the ancient customs of his region since his ancestors were once believers of the Old Gods.
The weirwood desk at the center served as a focal point, where Aermir, Ned Stark, and Ondrew Locke gathered for a meeting that carried an air of palpable tension.
Ned Stark, in his characteristic measured tone, initiated the conversation, "My lords, we must find a way to resolve the conflicts surrounding the Sisters. The divisions between us only serve to weaken the Kingdom. Perhaps we can seek a peaceful solution to our differences."
Aermir, his impatience thinly veiled, responded firmly, "Lord Stark, I bear no ill will toward the Vale. However, the lords of the Sisters, who belong to the Vale, have attacked my lands, and they must face the consequences of their actions. I shall not relent until all five islands, including the Paps and Pebble, are firmly under my rule."
Ned attempted to mediate and find common ground between the parties, but Aermir's determination remained unshakable. Ondrew Locke, an unwavering believer in the Seven, couldn't conceal his passive-aggressive demeanor. His disapproval was evident in his gaze as he exchanged glances with Aermir, representing a clash of territorial ambitions within the meeting. Ondrew angrily said,
"Paps and Pebble? Lord Drasil, your ambition knows no bounds, does it? I understand you are angry, and that is why you are massacring innocent faithful, but it should have its bounds. What did the dwellers of those islands do to you?"
Aermir said, in a cold matter of the fact tone,
"Nothing."
At that moment, old Lord Ondrew slammed his hand to the table, his old bones shaken,
"You see my Lord; you see his wanton acts. Please, my lord, you need to rein Lord Drasil in."
Just as Ondrew wanted to continue, Aermir cut him off,
"The dwellers of those islands did nothing to me, but their lord did. It looks like you are blind to your coreligionist's actions like every other believer of the Seven. The hypocrisy of your kind baffles me. They have the right to attack me, but I cannot attack them."
Ondrew didn't know Lord of Paps and Lord of Pebble had attacked Aermir's men. He didn't know it and was humiliated for his remarks. Throughout the deliberations, tensions in the room continued to simmer. Ned's efforts at mediating and pacifying Aermir appeared fruitless as Aermir's resolve to secure the islands remained undeterred. Ondrew, conflicted between his loyalty to the coreligionist in Sisters and to the North, kept his silence after his humiliation. His body language, however, spoke volumes, reflecting his disapproval of Aermir's expansionist actions.
...
Ned Stark, the Warden of the North, stood on the rugged shores of Oldcastle, the cold sea breeze biting at his face. His fur-trimmed cloak billowed in the wind, and the dire wolf sigil of House Stark was etched on his chest. His dark eyes, though weary, held a resolve that was a bit shaken.
The meeting he had just concluded with Aermir had left him with a heavy heart. Aermir's intentions were clear—peaceful negotiations were not an option. What began as a dispute over the Sisters had now evolved into a complex struggle, where the clash between the faiths of the Seven and the Old Gods added an unsettling layer.
Ned couldn't simply issue orders to his bannermen to stay out of the impending conflict. The Vale lords had already descended upon the Little Sister, and the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. The reverberations of this turmoil extended far beyond the islands themselves. It had become a question of faith and power, and Ned found himself caught in a web of intricate alliances and rivalries.
As he strode through the courtyard of Oldcastle, his thoughts swirled in a tempest of uncertainty. He had pledged to keep the peace and protect the North, but the reality before him was a stark reminder of how fragile those vows could be. It was no longer a matter of political maneuvering; it had become a battle of belief systems.
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Ned knew that the northern houses, such as the Karstarks, Umbers, Flints, and even some Mountain clans, had pledged their men to Aermir's cause. The Skagosi, too, sent their warriors in a desperate bid to seek forgiveness from the Old Gods for their past sins.
With every step, the weight of the decisions he faced pressed upon him. He had to consider the people he led, the faith he upheld, and the intricate political dynamics of the realm. The North's loyalty to House Stark, its guardian, ran deep, and it was his duty to ensure their interests were protected.
Ned ascended the steps of the Great Hall in Oldcastle, its ancient stone walls holding centuries of history within their confines. The hall was dimly lit, the only source of illumination being the flickering torches that cast dancing shadows on the banners that hung from the rafters.
The North was on the brink of a conflict that extended beyond the realm's borders. If he pushed his bannermen, it could blow back on him; he wanted to have peace, but if he couldn't have that, he would rather that the North come out on top of this conflict.
...
In the heart of the Little Sister Island, the Vale army, under the command of Yohn Royce, prepared for Aermir's imminent assault. The soldiers, resolute and disciplined, moved with a sense of purpose. Their encampment had become a hive of activity, each task meticulously orchestrated.
Soldiers gathered around their commanders, maps and strategies unfurled before them. Yohn Royce, a seasoned and steadfast leader, stood at the center, his stern countenance a reflection of the gravity of their situation. His voice carried over the crowd as he issued orders, his steely gaze unwavering. They were here to defend the faithful.
Builders erected wooden barricades, fortifying key positions on the island. New archers and crossbowmen underwent rigorous training; their arrows became accurate with every day passed. Barricades of sharpened stakes were driven into the sandy soil, ready to repel any potential invasion. The Vale's formidable infantry readied their spears and shields, their formation unwavering.
On the island's coastline, 20 warships were anchored, their crews on high alert. They formed a naval barrier that would not yield easily to an opposing fleet. Scouts combed the surrounding sea, gathering intelligence and keeping watch for any sign of Aermir's forces.
...
The aftermath of the first naval battle left a grim and haunting scene in its wake. The combined forces of the Sistermen and Vale lords who had taken part were now decimated. Their drifting ships had no life in them now, with many succumbing to the relentless grip of hunger. Desperation had spread among them, and the dire circumstances had led some to contemplate escape.
However, the relentless pursuit of Repun and his pod of killer whales had made escape all but impossible. Those who dared to flee were relentlessly hunted down, their hopes of survival dashed by the determination of their aquatic pursuers.
As the surviving lords huddled on their warships, their desperate attempt to sabotage their own vessels was crushed by the sudden onslaught of the rats. These creatures, guided by Nin and Kilim's uncanny coordination, executed a swift and relentless attack. The chaos that ensued was a gruesome tableau of death and terror. An army of 180 rats crawled out of every corner of the ship, trying to stop them.
The Lords of Sisters, Paps, and Pebble found themselves in the crosshairs of the rodent army. The rats, guided by an otherworldly intelligence, overran the ships, their razor-sharp teeth tearing through flesh and bone. The sounds of screams and the grotesque gnawing of rats echoed across the tumultuous sea.
Amidst the blood-soaked decks, Nin and Kilim communicated effortlessly through their telepathic link, ensuring precise and coordinated strikes. The survivors, once harboring thoughts of sabotage, were now facing a more merciless fate at the paws of their relentless assailants.
They were so weak from the weeks spent drifting in the sea, but they were not entirely helpless. After the shock of what was happening passed, the soldiers and the lords started to fight back and managed to kill most of the rats. Both sides were receiving great losses. Lord Pryor and some of his men were killing some rats when a black rat jumped down from the mast and ripped one of his men's necks, a fountain of blood sprinkled from the wound.
Lord Pryor cornered the black rat, but in the blink of an eye, the rat disappeared into the shadow at the base of the mast. Lord Pryor couldn't believe his eyes. He slowly approached the shadow, but there was nothing there. He turned around, and as he was about to leave, a giant black rat jumped out of the shadow and bit his ankle off, ripping his Achilles tendon off. Lord Pryor falls to the ground while screaming in pain. The rat was bigger than a cat, and it was standing on two legs like he was posing; all that mana coursing their body had made Nin and Kilim grow up like every familiar of Aermir. Lord Pryor was trying to keep Nin at a distance by swinging his sword wildly.
-Hmph, how dare you attack my lord's head, ninja! You are defenseless against my ninjutsu.-
An angry female voice appeared inside Nin's head,
-Stop messing around and fight. Didn't Master forbid you talking like that and watching his memories?-
-To follow my ninja way and serve my lord, I have to disobey him. I need sacred knowledge to continue my ninja training. Kage kie-jutsu (Shadow Disappearing Jutsu)-
Nin becomes invisible inside a shadow and circles around Lord Pryor, striking his neck and killing him.
-You are not a ninja, you idiot; it is magic.-
-Shush, sister, do not disrespect my ninja path by disregarding my efforts and training.-
After some time, all sounds disappeared from the ship other than the sounds of rats munching on dead bodies. A day or so later, Aermir's ships emerged on the horizon, swooping in to claim the damaged warships left in the wake of the rodent onslaught. These vessels, though battered, were valuable spoils for Aermir's forces. They were to be transported to the Sweetsister, where skilled hands would repair the damages, ensuring that these ships, now under Aermir's control, would once again sail the seas.