278 AC

Grunting I duck below yet another sweeping strike that just might have taken my head off in a battle ...and with life steel. Thankfully we are using blunted tourney blades so the backhand I do not see coming just hurts like a bitch as it hammers into my side.

"Ah fuck..", I groan as I stagger back, Harren waiting for me to recover.

"Come on Milord, we are far from finished. How often have I told you that you have to pay attention to your footwork! Again!", the old master of arms tells me before falling back into a ready stance.

So, yeah. This has been my life since waking up one day in a world I have only ever read about before. Or watched, if you count the series. After the first mental breakdown – which thankfully got taken as effects of a severe illness I apparently suffered – I adapted. What choice did I have, really?

Let me introduce myself. My name is Darren Ryther, heir of house Ryther and vassal to house Glover...and I am sixteen. Our words? Never cut twice. Somewhat ironic considering we had two crossed swords on our banner on a grey background.

In summary I now had a different name in a different universe and lacked all the amenities of modern life. Also...fucking sixteen? Can you believe it? I went to bed 35 and woke up god damn sixteen...I still have not wrapped my mind around it. At least I retained my body – as far as I can tell or better said remember – and knew what I would grow up to be. Average height, here I come. Well average for the modern world, in Westeros I suspect that I would grow up to be on the larger side heightwise, already was sort of...if something did not kill me beforehand.

Considering the place I found myself at, this was a real risk, more so as house Ryther was located on Sea Dragon Point, close to the sea...and any reaving Ironborn that might feel like raiding more than a fishing village. It hadn't happened in a while I am told, but it would again at some point.

Eyes widening I quickly raised my shield to block Harren's attack only to find myself on my backside a moment later, not quite knowing what happened. Staring up at the sky the man enters my field of view with a scowl before shaking his head. "I have never seen a noble quite as useless with a sword as you, my Lord. You were on a good path before your sickness...now you are not. What happened?"

Ah, yes. I was also fucking useless with a sword. Whatever reflexes my body might have had had been lost with my arrival. I had never used a sword in my previous life and had literally no idea what I was doing.

"It just does not feel right, Harren.", I grumbled as I got to my feet again, wincing at yet another bruise I could feel forming on my left leg.

"Doesn't feel ri… my Lord!", he thunders before shaking his head in disgust and turning around, "You WILL be reasonably competent with the sword when your father returns even if I have to beat you bloody to do it."

Yes, I mused as I watched him leave the training grounds, that would likely happen more than once before I managed to at least fake some sort of competency. Shaking my head I place my shield and the blunted sword in the rag at the side of the field and make my way to my chamber. Cleaning up a little with a wet rack I look outside the window over the castle.

Rythstone had fallen into disrepair at some point over the past few centuries. Oh, it had not been the fault of my...new..family, mind you. We had taken over the caste two hundred years ago and it had already been half a ruin at that point. House Ryther had simply never been big, strong or simply solvent enough to repair more than the most necessary parts. We had neither the population nor the resources to do more than hold the status quo...and even that turned out impossible more often than not.

My family...that was my father Brandon Ryther and myself. My new mother, a Frey of all things, had died in childbirth and he had never married again. Once learning of my mother's house I had thanked all the gods old and new that she and I had not gotten the 'family looks'. That would have been a pain to deal with.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, my eyes move past the crumbling walls of the castle to the large village roughly half a mile away. Nearly five hundred people lived next to our castle, with our whole lands boasting a population of ten times that many souls. That might sound a lot, but if you considered how bloody mind boggling big the north was it actually turned out to be a lot less. Even the fief of a minor house like ours would take a week's ride from one side to the other. The place was just that huge….and very sparsely populated. Because of that my house could never field more than forty fighters if called up to military service.

Of those forty my father took ten with him to attend the tourney of Harrenhal that was set to happen in six month time. It also meant that I had roughly twenty years before the war of the five kings kicked off and a few more before the white walkers came south.

The distances involved meant that my father had to start travelling months beforehand. He told me that he would try winning the melee as the money would go a long way to bring our house forward...and he would try to arrange a betrothal for myself. The chances of both happening I estimated to be rather low. He was a passable fighter but there were many better ones out there and at THAT tournament especially. Finding a woman for myself...that might actually happen even if I considered sixteen a rather young age. But this was Westeros...when in Rome...I sighed. I had long since accepted that there was no way back to my old life. Whatever cosmic accident had landed me in this world was unlikely to happen again, so I would have to make the best of it.

Making the best of it. Heh… easily said. I had all my knowledge I accumulated in 35 years of life, which should have made it easy. More so as I was highly motivated by remembering the books and the show clearly. I knew what lurked on the other side of the wall and at least a rough timeline of what would happen. But you know what? Knowing about gunpowder and actually making it turned out to be a lot more difficult than I first thought. I did not have wikipedia at hand so I only had my general education. I remembered that the powder was a mixture of sulfur, charcoal...and some other stuff, that only worked if you got the ratio right. Now, the list of problems... What were the extra ingredients? I had no fucking clue. What would be the right ratio? No fucking clue. Where would I find them in this world. No fucking clue. Were the ingredients even called the same here? ...no fucking clue.

You see? That is where my idea of an easy "I win" scenario died a hard death. I had a lot of ideas in my head, a lot of knowledge...and I had to admit that I would not be able to use many or even most of them because I had no idea how to construct the tools to construct the tools to make the machines that made them possible. For nearly five month I had been in this world and already my ideas filled three books, the needed paper having consumed all the 'spending money' allowed to me.

The reality was that I could not do much of anything just yet. I was the heir, which gave me some power, but I was still young and unproven. To be completely honest, I was god damn scared of what I would have to do to change that. Robert's rebellion would start in less than two years and I just wanted to run as far away as possible to avoid it. I would be eighteen then,
'a man grown' as the locals called it, and fit for war because of it.

So before I did much of anything else I needed a strategy to survive the slaughter that would come to be. Safest place on a battlefield? Not being there. Sadly that would more likely than not, not be to an option...so I would try to avoid being at the frontlines. Less glorious for sure but also a lot safer as well. Glory was for amateurs anyway. If you got it, you simply survived a situation you shouldn't have been in the first place.

Where did this thought process leave me without being able to keep from the battlefield completely? Correct, training my archery...which I turned out to be surprisingly good at. I was far from a master marksman like Ramsay Snow or Theon Greyjoy but I might get there in time. Not even Harren could find anything negative to say about my marksmanship. I spent nearly three hours every day at the range to keep it that way. This of course did my swordsmanship no favours, so I remained as incompetent with it as I had been since my arrival...much to Harren's frustration. I knew of course that I would need at least some ability with the sword...but all in due time.

Leaving the room again after donning my customary light armour of boiled leather and sheathing a short sword and a dagger at my sides, I made my way to my fathers solar. Well, my solar, as long as he was absent. Entering I found Wyndal already there and waiting. Wyndal was not really a maester, we were actually too unimportant for the citadel to send one, but he had learned there for a few years. He could read and write and actually had some skill in healing...for all that really counted in medieval times. I hid my grimace at the thought of what 'medical practises' the current level of medicine involved. I would be very careful not to need them more than absolutely necessary.

"Is it done?", I asked him as I seated myself behind the large wooden desk.

"Aye, Lord Ryther.", he replied at once and handed me a scroll, "the census has been finished. Might I ask why you ordered it?"

I hum as I looked it over before glancing up at the middle aged man. "I would use the time my father is away to further my house's fortunes. But to do so I need to know what I have to work with, hence the census."

"And what do you intend to do now?", he queries, interested but also sceptical.

"Nothing too big", I reply while adding a 'for now' in my mind, "I am not my father and completely changing everything will test my peoples patience too much. No, I intend to improve things in...little ways...that hopefully see great benefits sooner rather than later."

Returning to the parchment I quickly scanned over a few key numbers.

Ryther Lands Census
Population: 5.142
Villages: 11
Lumber camps: 2
Horses: 73
Sheep: 513
Pigs: 150
Cows: 212
Fishing boats: 5

"That is it?", I question, disappointed. "No resources like iron, copper or tin? Nothing more than farms?"

Wyndal hesitates for a moment, "Well, we might have those but who would know? We do not have the necessary expertise to survey the mountains and hills in your lands. So yes, that is it."

"What would be required to get a survey done?", I ask with some resignation, already knowing the answer.

"Money to hire the necessary experts and time for them to do their work.", the learned man answers at once.

"Great", I mumble, "money we do not have and time I would rather spend on other things… Do we have the money?"

"No", he shakes his head, "we do not."

"Just as expected", I sigh. "Very well, it will have to do for now. Have my commands regarding hygiene, especially during childbirth been implemented?"

"Yes", Wyndal answers at once with a frown, "even though I do not see the use in washing hands in alcohol or boiling the clothes used beforehand."

"You will see the use soon enough", I smile, knowing that at least something was being done. "If I am right we will see deaths on the birthing bed going down sharply, which will be a great boon to my house in the long term."

"How so?", he queries and I look at him for a long moment before posing a counter question.

"What do you think is the greatest problem House Ryther faces if it wants to prosper?"

Wyndal remains quiet for a long moment before answering. "A lack of natural resources?"

Nodding I smile at the man. "In a way, yes. But the most important resource we are missing is...people. Everything else we might be missing we can work through in time, but if we do not actually know about our lands, it might as well be a white spot on the map. So with more people it will lead to more farms, to more food, to more taxes, to...more options. Without growing our population our means will remain limited. A situation I do not intend to let persist. And one of the easiest – if slow – methods to increase population is to keep the current one alive, the mothers most of all."

"Ah, I think I understand", the older man smiles, being a little impressed at the reasoning. "Is that the reason you ordered more fishing boats built as well as an expansion to the docks, nearly clearing our treasury out?"

"Yes. In winter little will grow but the seas have yet to freeze solid in recent memory. If I intend to grow our population it will be of little use for the children to be born healthy only to starve in winter."

"Impressive", breathes Wyndal as you explain the reasoning behind the projects i had started in my father's absence despite the grumblings of some advisors.

"Thank you", I reply and cannot help feeling pleased at the praise. "The expanded dock will also have the twofold advantage of being less prone to damage, being stone instead of wood, and...hopefully attracting trade once it is known that a safe berth is available in this area."

"And you would of course profit from docking fees as well.", the scholar adds with a laugh as i only smile.

"Which brings me to the last project I have ordered. The watchtower.", I add and glare at the man. "I have yet to see anything happen...why is that?"

"We do not have the money to build a tower on the cliff", the man answers at once, wincing as my glare sharpens. "We simply lack the materials."

I really want to be angry at the man but I know the realities just as well as him. Massaging my temples I turn to the small tankard of ale on the table and take a deep swing. Being underage by modern standards did not really interest anyone in this era...and I liked the taste too much to leave it be, not to speak of the many many illnesses I was avoiding by not drinking water.

"Next time please inform me directly if something cannot be done, Wyndal", I start and continue after his nod, "if we cannot afford the tower I still want watchers up there at all times. I am not building a new dock to get a surprise visit by ironborn. Have four men up there at all times and a signal fire prepared. If they spot raiders they are to light it. With luck being spotted will drive off the raiders in itself...if not we will at least have ample warning and can evacuate the smallfolk before giving battle."

"Yes, Lord Ryther", Wyndal accepts the command at once and excuses himself, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Earlier I stated that I could only do so much as the heir and being as young as I'm supposedly am. 'So much' turns out to be surprisingly much all told. Being a noble leads to commands being accepted that would be ignored by any modern society. Even all but breaking the treasury – as I had – could be done. I just hoped that...my father.. accepted what I had done.

Oh, I was sure that he would do so on the outside. Not showing weakness or disunity always has been a key to survival. But he just might rip me a new one once we were alone, something that would leave me with a lot of bruises more likely than not. Corporal punishment was a thing here and enthusiastically practised. The easiest way to avoid that? Having something to show for it before he got back.

The problem with that? Most of the things I had in mind would only show results long term, like the docks. The hopefully lower death rate on the birthing bed would become apparent sooner but it was also the project with cost next to nothing beyond ordering it. Docks and the watchtower – if I ever got it running – would be a lot longer in showing their value.

As would my archers. I smiled as I moved to the shooting range and spotted twenty youths my age shooting at targets roughly fifty feet away. Harren still thought I brought them into the household at a fancy two month ago, but that was only half right. All of them had nowhere to go after a "rogue" ironborn raider had plundered their village a year ago. Their fathers had been slain, their sisters and mothers mostly dragged off. They only survived because they had been on a hunting trip to the nearby forest at the time of the attack.

Not one to waste perfectly good manpower I recruited them. Being the one to rescue them I had their absolute loyalty, something I intended to use to the fullest. My conscience had screamed at me for abusing their situation for my own gain, but I did so anyway, arguing that what I had in mind for them would be a step up for most of them. They put a strain on the foodstores for now, but I did not expect it to be a problem for long, Robert´s rebellion likely cost at least some of the men their lives. Or something else would kill some hungry mouths off. This was Westeros, something always happens.

A month later I was proven right, of course.

Murphy hated me something fierce it seems, but at least we had some warning. The signal fire lit up at first light as two ironborn galleys were spotted sailing hard for the coast. Sadly they did not turn at being discovered, but only rowed harder for the docks that were still being constructed. I got the first report as I was putting on my armour and grabbing the bow I had gotten used to over the month. Still shit at sword fighting, I nonetheless armed myself with one.

Walking out of the main tower I am greeted by forty men at arms, my twenty archer youths and another fifty peasants armed with anything from pitchforks to spears. Looking them over I nod to myself and take a deep breath.

"Men of Rytherstone! The Ironborn are coming for our woman, sisters and daughters. For the grain we wrestled off the land, for everything we have worked for. We could withdraw into the keep and simply leave them till they left again and I am sure they would expect just that. But I say nay! I say we kill those fuckers that dare prey upon us! Are ye with me!?"

The first part I merely shout, the last I roar and they answer, battle fever gripping them.

"Alright then, here's the plan!", I shout and point at the villagers, "You will build a barricade and meet the ironborn first. Make it easy to break and retreat deeper into the village after giving the raiders a bloody nose. They will follow you, eager to make you pay in blood."

Pointing at Harren I continue, "My Men will split in two groups and hide in the houses on both sides of the road. As soon as the ironborn are past they will fall into their backs, I will signal the time with a single horn blast."

Gesturing to myself and the other youths I continue "Myself and the archers will get onto the roofs of the surrounding buildings and hide, shooting as soon as they are caught in the trap."

Every man roars in approval, my last words nearly getting swallowed. "And remember! The first clash needs to be bloody but short! Do not tempt them to search for ways past the barricade! Now go!"

Harren moves up to me as the men move out, passing the steady stream of smallfolk moving into the security of the castle. "Are you sure you want it to go this way, Lord Ryther?", he asks quietly, "There is a good chance this trap fails and if our fighting men fall in the village the castle will be easy pickings."

"Aye, I am sure.", I reply and start to move for the village, "I cannot leave the reavers unchallenged on my own land, so I better kill them fast." Harren looks at me for a long moment before nodding, a rare smile on his face. "As you wish, my Lord."

It does not take much time for me to find a good spot on one of the central rooftops and I settle down to wait. This is of course the moment my bladder makes itself known and I feel the very urgent need to piss. Shrugging I adjust my trousers and simply let it go into the thick thatch of the roof below. Better now than in the middle of battle, I reason...not caring what the smallfolk living below my hiding place would think of it.

From my vantage point I had a good view on the docks and could easily count the ironborn that jumped on the stone dock after bringing their ships ashore without meeting any resistance. I count 80 fighters with another 10 remaining behind to guard the ships. Even from my position I could hear their jeers and shouts, literally screaming what they intended to do to the heavens. As soon as they spotted the makeshift barricade they actually stopped a moment to laugh at the defenders before charging straight into the weapons raised by the smallfolk.

The first clash is brutal and I feel bile rise in my throat as my people start to die, the screams of battle echoing through the settlement. The villagers lose ten of their number for five of the better armoured ironborn before the barricade is broken and the smallfolk start to flee in our direction. Quietly signalling the other archers to choose their targets I grab the small signal horn fastened to my belt...and wait.

I grimace as three more of my people are cut down fleeing but I control myself, waiting until the reavers have moved past my hidden men at arms, too driven by bloodlust to even think about checking their flanks. Blowing into the horn causes the ironborn to hesitate for a split second before all hell breaks loose. Nineteen arrows kill fifteen warriors outright, mine slaying another a second later after having let go of the horn. The villagers turn on a dime and charge the ironborn with murder in their eyes while my men at arms crash into their rear.

It is absolute chaos as the reavers try to sort themselves out while being assaulted from all sides and being showered with arrows from above. I killed four more reavers in a trance, not really registering that I was killing sapient beings, something that should have had my mind gibbering in terror.

Then it is done, the survivors throwing down their weapons and pleading for mercy. A few more are killed in the chaos before I can stop my people from finishing the bloodbath, a scant dozen reavers remaining on the blood soaked battlefield. Taking a look around I grimace, seeing vast holes in the ranks. The fight had been hardest on the smallfolk, only twenty of the initial fifty remaining standing. My men at arms had also suffered greatly, losing nearly half of their number in the bloody melee. Even so we had downed roughly 70 ironborn and were not yet finished.

"Bind them and guard them", I command the surviving villagers. "Give mercy to the wounded reavers and save those of ours who you can. Send a messenger to the castle for more men to come down. Strip the ironborn of their armor and valuables, gather it in one of the buildings. Start gathering wood for a pyre. We must take care of the dead before they start a disease."

Turning to the men at arms I continue. "We will attack the ships. There are only ten reavers left...I do not intend for them to be allowed to go free." The men cheer and fall in line behind me as I jog for the dock, half of my archers falling into line behind them. "Never cut twice!", I scream and lead the men down to the docks, their voices taking up my shout.

"Never cut twice! Kill those fuckers!"

It is all over half an hour later. The ironborn guards had tried to escape but their low number had slowed them down enough for me and my men to board both ships and take them intact. At one point I had grown a little overconfident and nearly been a head shorter because of it, only my reflexes saving me. The scar just below my left eye had since stopped bleeding but it would be a reminder not to be stupid for the rest of my days. I lost two more men at arms taking the ship but I won the battle...which had to count for something, right?

Shaking myself out of it I return to shore from inspecting one of the ships. Thirty young women and a few boys had gathered there after being freed from the holds, the pirates obviously having raided other settlements before. The holds also had a moderate amount of riches, enough to make up for the money I invested into the docks and then some.

Taking a long look at the rescued northerners I turn to the surviving reavers, who had been bound and forced to their knees only a dozen feet away with my men at arms watching them with eagle eyes. Only fifteen had survived the attack on my lands and I knew what would be required of me.

"In the Name of House Stark, Wardens of the North, I, Darren Ryther of House Ryther find you guilty of piracy, of slavery and murder. Your sentence is death by hanging for those that do not choose the black."

I was not surprised that all but one chose to take the black. Nodding to Harren – who had thankfully survived the slaughter – I turned to Wyndal, who had appeared at my side after the battle finished.

"Break open the storerooms. Invite all those who fought and their families to my hall, they will feast and drink on my coin tonight! To victory!", I state, carefully pitching my voice in a way that all those nearby could hear it. Their cheers answer me a moment later.

"Victory! Ryther! Victory!"

The next day I am again in my solar, nursing the headache of the millennium. The feast the night before had gotten a little out of hand but it had been worth it. Despite having lost nearly half my standing force the mood had been jubilant and the respect afforded me increased by a considerable amount. I was now blooded and some things that I had not been able to do before would now be possible.

"Wyndal, what are our losses and gains", I ask the scholar and lean back in my seat with a wince, the new scar on my face still burning with every word I spoke.

"We lost 35 of the smallfolk that participated and twenty men at arms. The equipment of the men at arms has been recovered and will be repaired before being stored in the amory. They will be buried or burned depending on their families wishes within the next two days. The reavers have been thrown on a pyre and their ashes scattered. Damage to the village is negligible, the docks have not been damaged at all."

"Good", I reply and look pointedly out of the window, where the two anchored longships can be seen, "now about the loot."

"Considerable, Milord", Wyndal smiles with a certain amount of satisfaction, "The two ships alone are worth roughly 3.500 golden dragons apiece. The recovered ironborn equipment in armour, weapons and valuables make for another 200. The ships' holds were also quite full. We recovered another hundred dragons in coin and I estimate the rest of the wares that were piled within to be worth a further 300 dragons."

I cannot quite contain my wide smile, "So we have gained a hundred dragons in hard coin, a theoretical 500 in equipment and valuables and a further 7.000 for the ships themselves should we choose to sell them...7.600 dragons total. Not bad...not bad at all."

Taking a deep breath I push the loot out of my mind for a moment. "What of the prisoners?"

"The reavers prisoners have been released and taken in by the smallfolk. They have nothing to return to and chose to stay without exception.", Wyndal replies at once.

"And the reavers?", I inquire, "Do we know which house they belong to or their home port?"

"No, Milord. None have named their lord, nor do I expect them to without...persuasion."

"No need for that", I wave off, knowing that it would not matter in the end. "Have them sent to Lord Glover under guard and send a messenger ahead informing him of the battle, the results and their choice to take the black. Also make it clear to them that any attempt to escape will be their death."

"Aye Milord. It will be done.", Wyndal acknowledges and moves to follow my commands, leaving me alone in my fathers solar. Leaning back in the chair I sigh and look upwards to the ceiling.

I had been handed a lot of money, potentially at least… now I would have to do something with it.

Decisions, decisions...