Maekar and his escort rode hard towards Deepwood Motte; their skirmish with the wildlings had left Will, one of the guards, in bad shape. His condition was stabilizing but still severe.
The encounter with the wildlings here was unusual. Typically, small bands of wildlings might be spotted near the Gift, where the Umbers made sure they didn't venture further south. However, encountering a group as large as twenty this far into the North was deeply unsettling.
The possibility that this was not an isolated incident gnawed at him. His mind analyzed potential scenarios—perhaps Mance Rayder had organized an army but he quickly ruled that possibility out as the Night's Watch was at its strongest since the Conquest. There was one thing his uncle begrudgingly respected his father for, and that was his constant support for the Wall.
Then how did a band of wildlings this large get past the Watch when it was at its strongest in years?
He was left with more questions than answers.
Deepwood Motte was soon in sight. It was situated on a rounded hill with a flattened top, giving it a strategic vantage point over the surrounding area, though the fortifications themselves were not particularly strong. The castle was more functional than imposing, constructed primarily of wood from the abundant forests that gave the region its name.
The approach to Deepwood Motte was scenic, with fields of oats and barley stretching around the hill, waving gently in the breeze. These fields provided the granary needed to sustain the garrison and the small population that lived within the motte's modest walls. The structure itself was surrounded by a wooden palisade, offering basic protection. Inside, the buildings were similarly constructed with wood, practical and sturdy against the elements but lacking the grandeur of more southern and some northern fortresses.
As he rode up to the gate, he could see signs of battle; the guards seemed alert but they quickly recognized our banners and allowed us entry.
The guards with him quickly got Will off his horse.
He looked at the entrance of the castle to see Galbart, head of House Glover, walking towards him. "Master Glover, it looks like you've had some problems," Maekar opened the conversation, acknowledging the tension that seemed to pervade the wooden castle.
"It seems you have had some as well, my prince," Galbart replied, his gaze drifting to the guard being helped towards the maester's quarters.
"Wildlings," Maekar stated simply.
Galbart's face contorted with a mixture of rage and frustration. "Aye," he confirmed grimly. "We were attacked at night. Five dead, and Ethan..." His voice trailed off.
Maekar knew Ethan Glover; he was his uncle's squire and had been left at King's Landing for the first few years for his protection. He only had fond memories of the man, and the saddest day in his life before coming to the North was when Ethan left Kings Landing.
"Ethan !!, what happened?" he asked, panic rising.
"Ethan was injured; he lost one of his arms. One of the savages cut it off," Galbart said with barely controlled rage.
"Fucking wildlings," Maekar cursed under his breath, his frustration echoing Galbart's.
"I was about to send word to Winterfell, but it seems our lord has thought ahead," Galbart said with a smile.
"Uncle Brandon heard of the wildling attacks at Bear Island, and I was sent to assess the situation, but this is far worse."
"Only the gods know how the savages slipped past the Watch," Galbart said, leading him inside.
"Perhaps by sea," Maekar mused aloud.
"Aye, considering they reached Bear Island first, that could be a possibility," Galbart replied.
"Galbart, I'll need to speed up my journey to Bear Island," Maekar said decisively. "But first, we need to inform Winterfell of this development."
"I'll ready our fastest ship for your journey, my prince," Galbart responded.
.
.
.
Will received the necessary medical attention and would recover. He would be left here as he was in no state to travel.
Maekar visited the maester's chamber and wrote a message to his uncle, detailing the attack on him and the presence of bands of wildlings in the Wolfwoods. He emphasized the urgency of the situation. Handing the scroll to the maester, he watched as it was quickly tied to a raven and sent off toward Winterfell. The black bird took flight, disappearing into the grey sky. Through the window, he could see Galbart's brother Robett drilling soldiers; they were going to search and hunt down more wildlings.
He then decided to visit Ethan. As he walked through the wooden corridors of the castle, he was shown into a dimly lit room where Ethan was resting. His face was pale, and there was a stump where his left arm used to be. Noticing that Ethan was asleep, possibly aided by milk of the poppy for his pain, he chose not to disturb him. Instead, he stood quietly at the bedside for a moment.
He left after a while and went straight to the yard. Bear Island would be more dangerous than here; he hoped Dacey and her sisters were fine. He had grown close to her during the times she visited Winterfell and had become close........very close.
"Up for a spar, Robett?" he asked, spear in hand as he approached Galbart's brother.
Robett grinned, taking his sword. "Aye, I heard you were good with that spear."
"Come find out then," Maekar said, pointing his spear at Robett.
.
.
.
By the afternoon, Galbart had readied the fastest ship he had for Maekar's journey to Bear Island. Maekar and his escort of guards, all in full gear, made their way to the harbor.
"Master Glover, I hope you clear out those savages. I'll try to find the root of the problem," Maekar said, standing at the docks.
"We'll get those fuckers, my prince," Galbart replied, to the cheers of his men behind him.
He nodded and proceeded to board the ship. Soon, the ship cast off, the crew unfurled the sails, and the coast of Deepwood Motte began to recede from view. He stood at the stern, watching the land disappear.
As they traversed the tumultuous waters of the Bay of Ice, the night air grew bitingly cold. Wrapped tightly in his cloak, Maekar stood on deck, regretting his decision to travel through the night.
The cold seeped into his bones, but the sight above offered a breathtaking distraction. The clear, dark sky was alive with the shimmering colors of the northern lights.
The sea around them was rough, tossing the ship with waves that seemed intent on challenging the vessel's integrity. However, the men aboard were seasoned sailors, so he was in safe hands.
His gaze remained fixed on the northern lights, their brilliant hues casting ghostly reflections on the churning waters below. It was a rare kind of beauty that only a few in this world have experienced.
He went to sit near a lamp, absorbing its modest warmth as he stared at the sky. His thoughts wandered to his future; he knew his uncle was planning to have him married to a northern lady and have him settled in Meakarton. It was a safe and respectable path. Yet, as comforting as that vision might be, he harbored grander ambitions that stretched beyond the borders of the North and into the very heart of the Seven Kingdoms.
His name and fame were already trickling through in to the South, and he knew soon enough his father would call him back to the capital or one of his enemies would have his father do it. They did try to kill him ten years ago; perhaps they would think it easier to try the deed again in King's Landing.
It was only a matter of when the raven would come with orders for his uncle to send him back, and he was ready. The capital wouldn't know what hit them...
His thoughts were interrupted when one of the sailors shouted, "LAND!"
The sky was brightening with the first signs of dawn. He stood up, shaking off the remnants of the night's cold, and stepped towards the railing. His gaze fell upon the approaching rocky landscape.
'This will be fun,' he thought as the land became clearer and the sun rose over the horizon.