Chapter 34 31

The Iron Islands. Harlaw. Ten Towers Castle. 289 A.C.

Axel Arryn / The Witch-king of Angmar.

Walking through the castle corridors toward the great hall, I let my thoughts run where they would. It had caught me off guard emotionally, even if my mind had already worked it out, that Lord Harlaw would surrender the castle without a fight. I had steeled myself for an exhausting siege, but when our army drew up to the walls, what met us were open gates and the lord of the castle standing in them.

After brief negotiations Ned, as our commander, reached an agreement on honorable surrender with Lord Harlaw. We occupy the castle, the men are disarmed, and a portion of the stores is confiscated for the ongoing campaign. In exchange we release the prisoners for a reasonable ransom and conduct ourselves impeccably: no plundering, no rape, no killing.

And even I, strange as it may seem, had no quarrel with these terms. Lord Harlaw had shown himself to be a measured, well-read man who wanted no part of war in any form, but who had been bound by oaths and blood to support Balon Greyjoy. All things considered, we found plenty of subjects to talk about, and I can say he became someone worth knowing.

As a wraith of the ring I had felt no pleasure of the flesh or of the spirit beyond mass slaughter. But killing alone is not enough to fill a man. Sauron did not want a bloodthirsty berserker. He wanted a capable slave, and had carved away everything he deemed unnecessary. Stripped of every ordinary human pleasure, I had been left only with the pleasures of war and of self-improvement. I was trained like a dog, broken to warfare and to the endless drive to become more.

A new life cannot undo the habits built by millennia of conditioning by a fallen Maia. And throughout my short life I had been doing, without fully realizing it, exactly what had been instilled in me. Training with a sword or sitting with a book gave me genuine pleasure, something comparable to sex. If sex brings physical satisfaction, the other things bring something emotional.

By my fifteenth year I was better read than most lords of Westeros. That, regrettably, was more a testament to the lords than to me. They do not understand what power has been given to them, and how completely they squander it. In a lifetime they might read a handful of books, and some of them cannot read at all even as they are dying. And to my good fortune I had found one of the rare well-read people in this world, one who was not afraid to hold his position in an intellectual argument.

I enjoyed arguing with him about history, traditions, and beliefs. It was a refreshing thing, because even my own father would eventually exhaust all his arguments and fall back on my age and inexperience, which irritated me enormously and at the same time proved my point. And so, almost three weeks later, word came from Robert. Stannis had managed to break the Iron Fleet off Fair Isle and was now sailing for Lannisport to ferry the king's army by sea to the assault on Pyke. Robert wrote that we should prepare, as part of the royal fleet would come to collect us so that we could join as one force.

For the past two days commanders and soldiers had been running in every direction dealing with no end of organizational questions. Lord Harlaw helped, but only passively, and no one could hold that against him.

Ned had originally intended to leave me on the island with a small garrison, partly out of concern for my safety and partly because of my rapport with Lord Harlaw. His plan would have worked, had I not simply refused to move on the matter. No appeal to his supposed authority changed anything. Ned argued, called on my good sense, tried to bargain, invoked my father's name. I did not care.

I noticed with some surprise that the war had done me good. I felt as though I had shaken off a set of chains. The trio of my father, Ned, and Robert had until recently been unquestioned authorities I tried to fit myself around. But now, having tasted blood and war, I understood. To hell with all of them. Why should I perform some role I did not choose and bend myself to their expectations, when they consistently disappointed and betrayed me?

My father had given me as a hostage to the Martells, even though we had won the war. It was an extraordinarily questionable thing to do, handing your heir over to the losing side. No adequate explanation for it existed beyond his weakness of character. The only reason I had come through it well and without difficulty was my own qualities. Any other child my age would have been broken by it.

Ned had always kept me at a distance and called himself my friend only in words. When I was at my lowest and looking for support, he had gone north. When I asked him to take me as a ward so I would not be used as a political bargaining chip, he brushed me off. It would have cost him nothing, but the noble Ned Stark could not bring himself to stoop to a child's problems.

Robert was harder to read. He thought of me as a younger brother, had helped me in a moment of need, and had intended to help resolve the question of my upbringing, but Lyanna Stark's death had broken something in him. You could understand Robert. He had loved Lyanna and raised a rebellion for her. When he learned of her death, he had nothing left for my problems. If I am being entirely honest, he was never obligated to solve my problems in the first place. Understanding, though, is not the same as acceptance. The resentment remained, even if I forgot about it quickly enough in his company. It was impossible to stay angry at him for long.

I had been given a second chance at life. As King of Numenor I had always been consumed by affairs of state. Wars, intrigues, studies, all of it devoured too much time. When I finally understood that time was finite I became obsessed with immortality and magic. Once the ring came everything spiraled, and I ceased to be a man. In short, I never had a youth, and that is something I intend to correct. As for politics and intrigue, they can go to hell along with my father.

I miss violence. I want to spill someone's guts. The sooner we sail for Pyke and I can kill a few squids, the better.

...

The Iron Islands. Pyke. Outside the Castle of Pyke. 289 A.C.

"Ned, Axe, how glad I am to see you!" We had not even had time to drop to one knee and give our report, as tradition demanded, before we were seized in a bear embrace.

"Your Grace, if you would allow..." I tried to extricate myself while Ned stood in stunned silence beside me.

"No! To hell with 'Your Grace,' I will forget my own name at this rate. Robert. I am called Robert."

Expected.

"Robert, please let go of us. We have only just come off the ship."

"Ha! Fine, go and rest, but afterward I want to hear everything, and especially about the exploits of the Falcon's Eye!" Whoever invented that name, when I find them I will hang them by their own entrails.

"Agreed, just let go. I am exhausted."

"Pff, weakling. Look at Ned, suffers in silence like a proper man. Right then, Ned, don't be a stranger, come and drink with me!" The Wolf was absorbed into the fold quickly enough.

As I walked toward the prepared tent I could feel Stark's envious and resigned gaze on my back, which gave me considerable satisfaction.

...

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