They were pulled from the front, those two brothers, despite their eager willingness to fight in that crucial spot. The tall hook nosed Tyroshi man Byden had come to despise, grabbed them by their ears and dragged them back into the middle of the growing formation, five or six ranks deep. It was hard to tell in the poorly organized press of bodies. He left them in the care of a older Westerosi, who claimed he was some bastard or another of a Ironborn king, Byden could not care less and only glared daggers at the back of the retreating Tyroshi. He did not know the man’s name, no one seemed to. All anyone was sure of was that he had a very hooked nose, and he was big and tough and was more or less in charge of this particular mercenary cohort. Byden scuffed the dirt with his sandals, thinking of all the things he would do or say to the big Tyroshi if they weren’t surrounded by ‘comrades’ and on the verge of a battle. The best of which ended in Byden knocking the man down, calling him a whoreson, and stomping his face until his teeth came free. He did not have much time to fantasize his dark thoughts. The lines were coming together, and men pressed in tight all around, heel to toe, shoulder to shoulder until Byden felt he could barely breathe. The stench caught in his throat, and it took everything he had not to retch on the man in front of him. After weeks of marching with every little bathing water the men had taken on a very sour smell, one that reminded Byden of old cheese stuffed within a rotting fish.

	“Ye’d best put your fancy weapons away lads, you’re too far back in the line for them to be of much use to anyone.” The greybeard Ironborn was saying, in a melancholy way. “Spears will be the way forward, aye, and shields, keep them high. Archers will be loosing more than one volley our way ye can be sure of that. Typical for men back here to only die cause they didn’t keep their shields up. A good friend O’ mine died that way, we were near Maidenpool as I recall, and I told him, keep your shield up, I told him. But did he listen ye might be wondering?”

	“Why did he put us here?” Byden groused, cutting across the greybeard’s boring tale. “We wanted to fight, not watch the glory-making from all the way back here.” Byden might have been new to proper warfare, but even he could see they were far to deep in the line for even their long spears to be employed. At least four ranks would have to fall before they could even consider fighting, and Byden had been told they numbered near ten thousand in total, while the enemy was some half of that. How anyone could count that high, or how they had accomplished such an impressive feat with the constant movement of the men he could not say. He had enough trouble just counting to a hundred, and that was when he had a ledger to make marks on, and every remained still and in neat orderly lines. Anyway, ten thousand shoulder surely smash half that, Byden reasoned, and his brother Tebyn had come to the same conclusion. Which meant, if they wished to wet their sword and club they would need to be in the front and middle where the fighting would be heaviest.

	They risen earlier than normal, on the day some unknown force had determined the battle would take place, and found a good spot, right next to the bannerman and trumpeter. From that vantage they could even watch the enemy, in the shadowy morning light form up, and Tebyn who had the better eyes was calling out the different banners and colors he could see dancing above the heads of their foemen. Until the Tyroshi hook nose arrived, marching down the line and leering at the men in his stupid iron helm and red gambeson. He spotted them in a hurry, and with the strength no man should be afforded placed them so far back and behind so many tightly packed men even Tebyn couldn’t see the enemy lines, let alone their colors and insignia.

	Their ironborn guardian did not mind being cut off from his tale, and he explained the Tyroshi's reasoning in simple terms, as if he was speaking to a pair of children. “Best count yourselves lucky he spotted ye lads. The Hook did you a service putting you back here. He wants skilled and blooded men up front, folk he’s seen killing and slaying and fighting before. He knows his men that one, and his battles.”

	“I can fight, aye, and kill.” Tebyn insisted, and Byden chorused in righteous umbrage.

	“Fight and kill with the best of them. You’ll see, he’s making a mistake pulling us away, and leaving those ancients. They look as if a strong breeze will blow them away!”

	“In this army,” the greybeard countered. “They are like to be the only ones not blown away. You’re in a good spot, far enough away to run if things go bad, and close enough forward to chase and loot if they enemy breaks. Aye, the best spot.”

	“More like the cowards spot.” Byden muttered.

	Tebyn was more diplomatic however. “Will we be able to find some enemy to slay in battle? There is no glory in chasing down a man and shoving a dagger in his back…”

	The greybeard shrugged. “Who can say, ye might find a few who will fight you, whom you can slay if that be your wish.”

	“Wish!” Byden snorted incredulously. “Why in the name of the Seven would anyone be here if not to kill someone?”

	The greybeard shrugged again, he did that a lot Byden noticed. Perhaps because the raising and lowering one's shoulders was the most expressive gesture one could hope for in the tight formation. “Pay is good I suppose, never killed a man myself, and never wanted to.”

	Byden could feel his temper flaring and he began spewing forth a stream of curses and oaths in three different languages he had learned on the way there. He was a sailor after all, and had the mouth to prove it. They had marched, and stood watches in uncomfortable conditions for weeks, only, on the precipice of a great battle be forced into the care of a coward, far from any fighting behind a force of men who would be wetting their swords, and hoarding all the glory. Even Tebyn, who normally had twice the patience looked frustrated, and rightly so Byden thought. They were being cheated, and it was all the fault of the big Tyroshi man who fancied himself an officer. The few marks and coins they would make would never justify this shit he reasoned. Byden resolved to shove his spear through the back of the big Tyroshi’s throat should he happen to see him and get the chance, that at least would be justice in part.