A bitter Easterly tore at the faces of the onlookers. To those cultured in Skagosi life, one could taste the salt-tang sweeping upslope borne off the Shivering Sea. The castle, modest by Westerosi standards, stood to the backs of the gathered mass. A thousand Men at arms, voltiguers, Knights, exiled Lords, cavalrymen and their numerous squires, servingmen, miscellaneous retainers and their mounts as the Grey Rose on an Ice-White field banner riffled alongside the Red & Black interlaced peaks of House Crowl. Other sigils included the Driftwood Tree on the Pale Green of House Stane and the Magnar Lobster of Kingshouse Green on White handling a black harpoon.
At one end of a crude palisade, a makeshift tilt barrier, sat Benn Snow, A bastard son of House Locke of Oldcastle on a huge chestnut destrier, his lance was striped in the purple and bronze of his father’s colours and his polished bronze greathelm emblazoned with two crossing keys. He was the surest rider of the Company of the Rose and had never lost a tilt. At the other end lay a nightmare; Kane Crowle was Lord of Deepdown and House Crowl of Skagos. He stood at over seven feet and was broad as an aurochs. His mount was a black unicorn with a mane shaggier than an Ibbenese whore and a temperament to match. Its eyes were a lurid blue, its horn some four and a half feet of polished onyx and it stood, some would tell you, thirty hands high though in truth it was closer to twenty five and was named
Lancebane.
As Kane thundered to the end of the list he bore no help, allowing his mutton-brown hair and beard to flow loosely in the wind and he roared in defiance as he thrust his simple wooden tourney lance skyward. “Crowl!” He boomed, the Skagosi gathered echoed the cry. Newer recruits to the Company of the Rose stared on enraptured, this being their first visit to Skagos and the hospitality of Lord Kane they had never seen or scarce believed in unicorns and couldn’t believe their host would insist upon tilting against their most renowned rider before even offering of his bread and salt. The more experienced among them knew only too well the mummer’s farce about to play out but said nothing, genially cheering Benn Snow on, his cocksure smile hidden behind that greathelm.
There was little pageantry here, spectators were all required to stand if they hadn’t a horse to sit and in the centre of the throng stood the principal members of House Crowl; Kendra- Lady Crowl- Kane’s wife; Myrla Crowl- Also Lady Crowl- Widow of Kane’s late older brother whom Kane had also subsequently taken to wife; Dorla Crowl- Myrla’s twin sister and wife to Hobb Crowl, Kane’s younger brother who wasn’t present at the spectacle having seen it all before. Oric Magnar stood beside Old Coratt Crowl, Kane’s Uncle.
Oric was a man of fifty and served at Deepdown as a Master of Arms and had a complexion verging on grey. Coratt’s white beard was so vast it obscured most of his face, two dark grey eyes set deep beneath huge white brows gave away little of what the old warrior was thinking. Finally, draped in dark brown roughspun which was all she’d wear was little Marga Crowl, Kane’s niece now stepdaughter, eight years old but with all the misery and wisdom of eight and eighty.
“You ready Snow?” Bellowed Kane, the air was acid cold but his arms were bare as his head and he could feel hot blood coursing through his veins as well as his beast’s. He thumped the air a final time and kicked Lancebane into a trot. He was huge and crunched the iced earth underhoof but gradually built speed and momentum. Snow was quicker and his destrier was born into this dance; trot, canter, gallop, charge- the progression seamless as the knife-sharp wind. His lance a diabolical extension of his right arm, his shield arm adorned by a plain black buckler but as he neared the first collision Kane had thrown caution to the wind and his lance too.
The crowds gasped, some in shock, others in pantomime as the blunted weapon tumbled harmlessly to earth, Benn Snow saw it and seemed to hesitate, debating whether to check his first blow in the interests of sportsmanship and in that second of hesitation, all hell broke loose. With a thumping kick to Lancebane’s flank, the beast threw itself sideways, crashing clean through the thin palisade barrier into Snow’s lane. The destrier reared in terror whilst Benn Snow clung to the reins, lance and shield and all in desperation. Within seconds, the chestnut mount had its heart skewered through by Lancebane’s horn and the impact threw the bastard rider near ten feet clear. A sickening impact but bruised and winded with maybe a broken rib was better than kicked to death by your own mount’s death throes.
“Who’s next?” Screamed Kane jubilantly, Lancebane whickering in triumph before the horrified crowds. Those who’d seen Kane’s party piece applauded but only once Snow had been helped to his feet. He left the field groggily but managed a half-bow towards Lord Crowl before setting some of the Company’s servants and squires to trying to ease his head from a badly dented bronze helm.
For the feasting, three men in every four were to dine outdoors because the hospitality of Crowl though generous was limited by the size of the holdfast itself. Deepdown boasted a tower of only four floors, a simple keep in which the Harvest Hall sat a few hundred at a push and the rest was all outbuildings, the yard and the bailey. Outside the low curtain wall lay thick woodland and to the rear, a vast Godswood where only Skagosi were permitted to visit, no matter if visitors kept the same gods as many of the Company did. Their Commander was Albus Norry- his sister had wed Cregan Stark- Lord of Winterfell and Albus had left for the company that same night. Now he had risen to commander and this was his third visit to Deepdown. He had a broad, genial face though lines of age had crept into the corners of his eyes and his short cropped beard was flecked with grey in the corners. He had an uncommon knack for appeasing the sellswords in his charge, many of whom had grave misgivings about visiting Skagos even those that had visited before.
The sconces were burning low in the Harvest Hall and the men at the high table had eaten or waved away the fifth helping of roasted aurochs. Some men, Kane knew, had refused his board on suspicion he’d serve them manflesh- this despite them watching the huge steer turning on the spit all evening.
Daft cunts he thought
like I’d waste manflesh on the likes o’ you!“Come Norrey, you old prick! You and your locusts have had half my harvest! What fool’s expedition have you twats thought of now?” He levelled his fork at Norrey threateningly but the commander swatted it away with a laugh. “You don’t frighten me you big shithouse!” He roared back. “My flesh is tougher than you fuckers could stomach!” Kane howled with laughter, he loved nought as much as a good insult, sharing Kurrgan’s humour for that. His older brother had bedded Kane’s own wife on their wedding night and when Kurrgan and their younger brother, Hobb, had been sent a pair of Stane maidens to wife, Kane had fucked the pair bloody in retribution. Hobb had tried to kill him for it but Kurrgan nearly choked on his wine when he heard, he’d laughed so much. Kane was proud to be Lord Crowl but he did miss his little big brother.
Norrey stopped laughing at length and shared his news. “In truth, Lord Crowl, you big ugly bastard, there’s going to be war.” He grinned like a Septon in a whorehouse. Kane pondered these tidings as Norrey continued. “Dragon versus fucking dragon.” His dark-hazel eyes flashed in the flickering candlelight. “Viserys is dead and whilst he’d said as his lass could have the throne, her half brother, the King’s second wife’s eldest lad had parked his fat royal hide on them old spikes before they’ve let on he’s dead.” He took a long draft of his mead and wiped the froth from his lips with his sleeve.
Kane scratched at his lustrous brown beard, besmeared with gravy and lumps of roast aurochs, thoughtfully. “A scandalous tale, old cunt, but the fuck has that t’do wi’ me or mine? They’re not like to burn Skagos and if they did, it’s near winter and we could do with the warmth!” Norrey thumped him on the elbow. “I know y’could do wi’ the warmth! Gods we’ve not come to this shithole to bronze in’t sun!” Kane spat out half a gobful of mead himself at that, guffawing at Norrey’s latest jibe.
“No, you’re right. Winter is Coming as my cunt brother-in-law would no doubt remind us, I know what you savages can fucking do out there in the field. The Sea Snake has made an offer- I’ve no more love for these Old Valyrians than thee but there’s little doubt he could pay his way. We just need to supply the swords.” The smug smirk of Norrey’s was on him again. Kane belched and shrugged. “I don’t give two shits for swords.” He began.
“Fuck you, Crowl! Swords, axes, fucking poison quills! You take my meaning. Gods, I wonder that they didn’t roast Kane fucking Crowl tonight and I’m talking to the Aurochs. I’d get more fucking sense!” Norrey shook his head despairingly. Kane was almost doubled over with laughter. “I wish they fucking had then I’d not have to listen to your bloody riddles!” He quipped.
“Fuck off. Listen.” Norrey had Hobb leaning in intently now and Oric Magnar was nodding along, sifting out the irrelevant banter and piecing together Norrey’s proposal. “You know we’ll rid you of some o’ them useless mouths afore winter by takin’ em with us.” He continued.
“It makes no odds to me, you sellsword prick, if my smallfolk are hungry I’ll fucking eat them.” He promised.
“The others take your smallfolk!” Norrey slammed his fist on the table which made Kane laugh even more. “Fucking shut it!” Shouted the commander, also struggling not to laugh. They were both well in their cups and conversations between these two were always ten times longer to accommodate all the insults. Often, the moment you feared Norrey had gone too far was the moment Kane would shake the walls with the biggest gale of laughter yet.
“What I mean, prick, is you get off your lazy arse and put that fucking unicorn to good use. What’s a beast like that doing shitting in a stable and knocking someone on their arse in that mummers’ show every couple o’ years?” He laughed along but waved a hand to show he was in earnest to an extent. “Ah fuck you, Norrey! It’s because I’m such a fucking beast that the clans have all gone quiet so as I
can sit on my arse!” He boasted but Norrey’s words had a ring of truth that meant he was keen to hear more. “What’s some dragon war going to do for us Skaggs? I might enjoy a hunk of manflesh after a skirmish but I’ve no taste for dragon!”
At the rear of the hall, Benn Snow walked gingerly to table, having left to make water. Norrey pointed him out to Kane. “Him there, still half without his wits, is as fine a fucking horseman as any in Westeros.” He stressed.
Kane shovelled another mouthful of Aurochs in; it tasted bland by now and Kane wished Norrey would make his offer or fuck off. “He was shit.” he spoke plainly.
Hobb cleared his throat and leaned in so as to be heard. “I sthink my sbrother woulth like you thoo make sthome offer.” He slurred his words, the legacy of Kane’s fist after Hobb had tried to stab him. “Fuck me, gasped Norrey, I see why you do all the fucking talking, Lord Crowl!” Hobb eyed the commander with a cold hatred but Kane shook with laughter again. “You’re fucking telling me. I only gave him a slap ten year ago and now if he brushed his teeth his head’d fall off!” Hobb rose to leave. “Fuck ofth Kane!” He spat before stalking away from the hall.
“He’s a sensitive little prick, our Hobb. But he’s right. I hope you don’t keep your bitch waiting this long before you deliver, her cunny’d dry up!” He smacked Norrey on the shoulder and the commander nearly flew from his chair. “Fuck me! Watch out you clumsy twat!”
He laughed. “Listen up then. I’d have had this out be now if you’d stop pissing about you great fat fucking lump!” He pressed on before Kane could retort, “I’ve some six-thousand infantry, and near two-thou ahorse. These here tonight are mebbe an eighth of our strength. Rest are camped on the outskirts o’ Braavos, probably making too much fucking trouble for their own good.” Kane had guessed the Company had come in near full numbers but was impressed at their growth since he last feasted them here shortly after Kurrgan’s death.
“There’s not eight thousand men in all o’ Skagos, Norrey. You scarce need us.” He reasoned more seriously.
“What could you give us? If you gathered all your strength here? Obviously leaving garrisons and what have you… In faith, how many? How many o’ you cunts ride fucking unicorns for a start?” He quizzed.
“We. I mean if Stane and Magnar would agree.” Oric nodded to show he believed his uncle’s house would answer Crowl’s call. They’d have to secure Stane, too but those bastards loved a good dust-up more than he did. “I’d guess two.”
Norrey frowned. “Hundred?”
“Thousand.” Oric spoke for the first time, a voice like it was echoing through a weirwood log. “Of Unicorn riders, a handful at Stane, mebbe a half dozen Magnars and here, well there’s Kane and the lass…” Norrey looked askance. “The lass?”
“My sister, Tyene.” Kane spoke, his voice mirthless and cold.
“I had forgotten, I haven’t…” Norrey wondered aloud.
“She hasn’t been here. I commanded her to attend the tilt so she’s fucked off out riding. Mind you! She’s probably back be now but will have gone straight to bed. She somehow tamed that fucker that killed our Kurrgan. Came riding home bold as brass. Cold as the grave that one.” Kane admitted.
“But we’d need to take her too. If there are so few unicorn riders?” Norrey was pleading and Kane was resigned. “No. We’d need to take her because she commands my fucking cavalry!” He shook his head. “But this is all, Norrey, mebbe there’s ten can ride a unicorn but each o’them’s worth twenty heavy horse. You saw out there before.” He quaffed the rest of his mead.
“We’ll be glad to have you our sworn br..”
“I’ll swear nowt. Aye, we’ll come, we’ll fight and afterward, we’ll return. There’s hard winters in these lands Norrey, worse’n ever you get in them northern hills I’ll wager. I’ll not leave the Skaggs to face it alone… And I want my share. I’ll command my lot and leave you to yours but the spoils get split fair.” He levelled a knife at Norrey’s eye.
“You’ll get your due, though what you fuckers would spend gold on around here I shudder to fucking think!”
Crowl only laughed. “Shudder away! That need be none of your concern. Aye, write to this Snake prick. Tell him he’s
Just In Time For Dinner…” The Crowl words, often mocked on Skagos and Westeros alike, had scarce sounded so shit.
