Chapter 50

War Council, Last Hearth,
Bay of Seals
That evening

“So, we’ve beaten back the first assault of the newest wave. It won’t be the last, I can assure you of that. The Night King is playing the long game and he’s playing for keeps. He wants to overrun all of Westeros and the known world and cover them in ice and darkness and snow.

“Still, the flames have helped, no doubt of that. We’ve held our own in spite of a lack of proper arms such as dragonglass and Valyrian steel. Only by facing the blaze courageously, as the Hound has done, have we managed to throw the adversary back into the sea. For now, that is,” Tormund Giantsbane, the Wildling whom the King appointed to command the defense of the Bay of Seals, praised and warned his men at once.

That he singled out Sandor Clegane, the Hound, his deputy commander, for compliments was solely due to merit. The Hound had more than earned it, finally facing his dread of flames to help throw back the enemy. This was the same fear that had made him panic at the Battle of Blackwater Bay, but he had since steeled himself to the peril, at least in part due to wine.

Even so, he had to struggle with it, forcing himself to stay calm and not run or shit himself in abject terror of fire. Tormund knew and sensed this better than most, having seen plenty of such things in the past. The Hound was to be lauded for overcoming his principal weakness like that. Lately, it helped that he had a new companion, a lover, one Lady Alys Karstark of Karhold. They were seen everywhere together whenever possible, whenever Clegane wasn’t on duty, and it was no secret that they were intimate. In fact, there were whispers of a wedding in the near future for the couple.

“So, the Hound has a lady nowadays, a lover, soon to be his bride, mark my words. I know that girl. She wouldn’t give away her maidenhead without an intention to wed the recipient. She prizes her honor, too, in her own way, and the honor of Karhold and House Karstark. She’s also careful to protect her family and what better way than to unite it to that of a rising star such as the Hound. He’s a war hero these days, battling his own fear of fire to defeat the Dead,” Ser Marlon Manderly whispered to Lord Yohn Royce, who just arrived from Winterfell.

“Well, I for one, am not too bothered by it. You’re from a transplanted southern house that came up North and it worked out well for everyone involved. Perhaps it’s just that I’m of the Vale, not of the North, but I hardly see a problem for anyone here. It’s a welcome union, if you ask me. It’s a bit like Meera Reed marrying my own liege lord, Lord Robin Arryn of the Vale. Well done, by all means.

“As for other matters, how go things with your troops? Are they all in place, the Lannister captives and such? The more soldiers we have, the better, and these Lannister folks, for all of their faults, are battle-hardened veterans. Weary, from the look of them, but a little rest will give them more wind in their sails. There is no substitute for real experience of war, is there?” Royce reassured Manderly while inquiring of him.

“Yes, I got a full half of everything delivered by Yara Greyjoy at White Harbor. Except for Dander, the former Master of Whispers, who seems to have been ... chosen as someone’s lover. That kind of thing is all the rage these days, so maybe that’s why I was so touchy about it. It appears that my cousin, Lady Wynafryd, wishes to bed the youth, not that I blame her. He’s a pretty boy, that one. A bit like Lancel Lannister before he got religion,” Manderly declared, loud enough for all to overhear him, too.

“Is it true that Queen Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands wears nothing below the waist?” Lord Robett Glover asked, having just entered the tent.

“Hence her epithet, yes. I can attest that she is truly ... bottomless, as is claimed. It’s odd, but then she’s most often on the deck of a ship. One seldom needs skirts or trousers for that. At least if one has no hard labor to do, that is. She likes to stand on the deck in nothing but her mailshirt and boots, salt air creeping into her nether parts, I imagine.

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. She can’t be that far off, despite sailing straight for Eastwatch. For all I know, she’s already ashore. The only reason that I beat her was a forced march. It paid off, especially since it beat the defiance out of the captives, but wasn’t anything that they can’t recover from with a good night’s rest,” Manderly confirmed the gossip, what else.

“Yes, well, whatever the flaws of the Ironborn, we can’t be choosers, can we?” Lord Cley Cerwin now added his voice to the discourse.

“Indeed, we can’t. And while Yara is aiding us with her ships, her brother, the once accursed traitor Theon Greyjoy, is atoning for his past treachery by joining the Night’s Watch and fighting that way. Yes, you’ve heard right. Theon Greyjoy, son of the late Balon Greyjoy and nephew of Euron, has taken the black. He’s a crow now. I never thought that to be a good thing, not in the past as one of the Free Folk,” Tormund observed.