The Vale rained, almost as a metaphor for the Falcon's cry, Ned thought, the rain will cover-up their tracks as well as muffle any sounds that they made.
The guard who had left their caravan had been ordered to wait at the Bloody Gate along with a host of men-at-arms as well as with a Maester.
"They took us, hook, line, and sinker." Ned remarked, his voice the very definition of calm despite in the presence of hostile territory.
They hopped off the caravan, and Ned grabbed a wildling who was assigned with the unfortune task of unloading every barrel by himself. He overheard them saying that it was because he had lost a bet.
Ned grabbed his combat knife with his right limb and held it at the wildling's throat, his other hand was used to hold the wildling's hand in place. "Don't move. Don't say a word." The man struggled for a moment but Ned punctured the man's throat slightly, not enough to cause a serious injury but enough to cause the man to stay still. "If you make another move then I'll stab your Larynx." The man, however, was confused on the term. Ned clarified in sarcastic kindness, "What I meant is that you won't ever speak again." The wildling nervously nodded.
"Where did you take them?" Ned interrogated.
"At the caves. I swear-" The man breathed no longer as his purpose was served. His throat was slashed and all he could do was gargle uselessly, rather morbidly, Ned planted an apple into the man's mouth to keep him silent as he bled and then dumped the corpse into an empty barrel in the caravan.
Robert walked up to his foster brother and gestured ahead, Ned looked to see a mouth of a cave just a hundred meters across from their position. Ned nodded. Robert walked behind Ned to act as the eyes behind his back, and to observe and report any and all anomalies.
Ned took, yet again, another Black Ear who parroted the words of his predecessor, he gave the Black Ear the same fate and put him into the bushes.
They sneaked their way past the Black Ears who were partying, as far as Ned knew, they had a celebration due to their 'haul', Ned grimaced. They approached the cave through the bushes which was guarded by two sentries, both armed with clean castle-forged steel, possibly taken from the guards of the caravan they had recently taken, they were still donning the garbs of a wildling as well as a necklace of bloodied ears, as was their tradition. Robert was breathing quickly, in almost near anticipation in reaching their target. Ned gestured for Robert to wait as he narrowed his eyes.
Two sentries, one was a bit frail and tipsy whilst the other hawked over his 'prized possession' like a banker would his own purse. Ned paused as an unknown individual- two people, one was a child and the other an adult, he realized, entered the cave with all the grandeur of a royal accompanied by their child. Ned surmised that the older individual must be the clan chief, though he couldn't ascertain the gender of them. Ned readied his crossbow and knife, as Robert watched the path in the event of further unknown variables.
Ned laid prone and crawled along the muddied surface, his armor getting brown stains in the process. Ned walked to the nearest wildling and stabbed him in the neck whilst simulatenously loosing his trigger on his crossbow upon the head of the farthest sentry. The people he killed hadn't made enough noise to arouse the disturbance of their fellow clansmen. Ned reloaded his crossbow quickly, though his crossbow might be a bit worse for wear after getting mucked about in the mud. Ned gestured Robert to beckon to him,
"Robert, stay and watch the entrance." Robert nodded, keeping his eyes on it. Robert held a sharp dagger, his preferred implement which was the war hammer was far too heavy and too long to be used in cramped places.
Ned entered the cave with caution, the presence of the two unknown variables had made him wary. The cave was wide and was well-lit with candles stolen from merchants. Ned knew that he could only rely on his skills and experience from the dreams he had, though it didn't sit well with his psyche. Ned thought that every corner and shadow that he didn't see might contain a wildling waiting to pounce on him and stab him in the back, and possibly take his ear.
He came a chamber within the cave that had rows and rows of arranged wooden cages containing the hostages, Ned counted them, twelve captives. Most of them were unharmed save for scratches and bruises, most of them were women and children. Ned checked around the chamber only to spot no crevice with which a wildling could pop from, the cave had ended here, so he slowly walked towards the nearest cage.
"What's your name?" Ned said carefully to the captives, specifically to a young boy. The boy stayed silent, seemingly scared of him. "Mine's Eddard of House Stark." He offered, trying to give them some measure of calm.
"Elaic." the boy quietly answered.
"I've come to bust you out." The boy tilted his head, "It means you're getting out of here-"
"Not so fast." A girl said, a knife propped against his back. "Drop it."
He raised his knife and crossbow to the air, and slowly turned around. A wildling child was pointing her knife at his neck, from further back was a man that he could only guess was the girls father was aiming a bow at him.
Ned inquired and not caring a slight bit about his neck, "How'd you sneak past me?"
The father answered with a grin and with pride, "We hid on the buckets, it might amaze how you on how the body can bend itself to fit on such small things. We hid on that when we saw the ruckus you caused. The name is Cheyk, Chief of the Black Ears. The girl is Chella, my daughter."
Ned grinned as well, "Buckets, huh. Nice trick."
"Thank you."
He slightly lowered his raised arms, "Did we say you could move!" Chella yelled.
Ned only chuckled, the girl asked rudely, "Somethin' funny, stranger?"
"I'm Eddard of House Stark, the child of the rulers of Winterfell." The girl slightly paused in the realization of the prize of their 'catch', but that small pause was all that Ned had needed to disarm the girl, and shoot his bolt at Cheyk.
Cheyk had managed to jump out of the way of the bolt's path to his head, though he was unfortunate enough to have the bolt be embedded in his shoulder which disabled his ability to loosen any arrows. Ned flipped Chella, and threw her off to the side and focused his attention to the greater threat which was Cheyk who was still putting up a slight bit of resistance as he pulled a knife, though Ned could tell that Cheyk was using his non-dominant hand to use the knife as he was slightly awkward with it.
Ned evaded a slash intended for his gut, and another to his leg, not wanting to prolong the combat for any longer, he kicked his opponent's legs and bringing him down to kneel, he grabbed a hold of Cheyk's hand which gripped his blade and he thrusthed the blade into the neck of the Wildling. Ending his life. Chella turned to scream but Ned applied a technique called 'Nami Jumi Jime' which involved applying pressure to both sides of the kid's neck to strangle her to 'sleep'.
She's not dead, of course. Ned was not one to kill children, but he was not about to let her off the hook, after all, children given enough training and opportunities can kill even Barristan.
Ned walked to the cell and began to lockpick every one of them, though, one of the captives, Elaic, if he remembered, had a sprained leg and couldn't walk. So he hoisted the boy on his shoulders. He said aloud to them, "Which one of you is Waynwood?"
A demure, little girl walked up to him, "Ser Eddard. I am Olira Waynwood-"
"You're Jon's niece, right?" Olira blinked at his casual attitude, and could only nod. "Right, all of you are to not make any noise."
The crowd nodded and trailed behind him. Ned exited and saw Robert still keeping watch of any wildlings to come by, in fact, as he noted, there were five new corpses. Ned tapped Robert's shoulder, and Robert nodded and looked his way at Olira Waynwood.
"It's time to go."
Things should've been smooth sailing once they had freed the hostages, but a sentry had spotted them, and now most of the Wildlings that were drunk from their celebration were now chasing at most of them, so they had to change their pace. To make matters worse; Elaic, one of the boys that they had saved; had sprained his ankle whilst sprinting and now one of the hostages were slowed down in carrying the boy.
They were currently trekking along the roads leading into the Bloody Gate, but that Gate was a long distance away; so they had to be fast if they had to live.
Robert was slightly halted when a duo of Clansmen had attacked him so he embedded his sword at the skull on one of the Wildlings and used him as a shield to cover him from an arrow shot. He quickly ran back to the party. He would've preferred a hammer, truth be told but swords were better at engagement in very close quarters.
Ned was light on his feet, disarming one of the Clansmen and using the foe's sword against his own comrades. He had long dropped his own blade, which became stuck when he used it to pierce through the slim belly of his opponent; wasting a moment in retrieving his blade would've meant that he would be further exposed to the attacks of an enemy. He slashed at the leg of an incoming Clansmen then quickly followed it up with a slash at the neck.
Robert yelled out at his foster brother whilst he himself was engaged in a clinch, "Go! I'll stay and hold these fuckers' back, just get reinforcements and get the hostages to safety!"
"You sure?' Ned asked whilst he dove under an downwards slash of an opponent, he then quickly slit open the armpit of the man who dared attack him. He then placed a gash on the scalp of the man.
"Yes!" Ned nodded and quickly carried Elaic from a Maid. An assailant tried to wrestle him but a quick kick to the head had ended his efforts.
Robert stood against a dozen men or so; with more coming to end his life, he was fatigued, but he was not going to buckle against them. He was the Lord of Storm's End and his was the fury. He gutted a man then decapitated another with relative ease.
He was the foster child of Jon Arryn, and he will die to make sure that the good men and women of the Vale will survive.
He spotted a warhammer, though one of dubious quality, being gripped from a dead clansmen whom Ned had previously slain. He wrestled it away from the corpse and used it to bash the unprotected head of a Wildling. He then swung it at the chest of another opponent and broke their ribs.
By the gods! His blood was almost on fire, he was practically born for this, for combat.
He quickly launched himself into a small crowd of enemy; for as big and burly as they were, they had been unprepared for a warrior of his mettle. They were dead or quickly dying in a few moments. He would've went for more of them but he had to seek cover against the arrows of the enemy.
He swung his warhammer against possibly the biggest Clansman that he had ever seen, though his attack was for naught, as the dubious quality of the warhammer had finally worked against him as the shaft had broken off; his enemy though staggered by the attack, had retaliated by gripping Robert's neck and holding him aloft with a single hand with a blade at the other hand; The Stag guessed that the man was going to remove his ear. Robert wasn't about to give up, however, and he slammed his fists against the opponent which had keeled him over. Robert then slammed it again and again at the head of the Clansman, his hands turning bloody from the viscera.
The remaining wildlings had been thoroughly been spooked by the sight, though The Stag had shouted into the air, "Heed my words! You fuckers will not live to see the end of this day!"
Some of the wildlings had tried to retreat but the sight of their incoming reinforcement had persuaded them from the idea.
Robert bellowed with a hollow laughter. He rushed himself at three of the Clansmen and quickly disposing them of their ability to retaliate further.
Damned it all, how long had he been keeping at this? He must've lost count of time by now, it must've been ten or fifteen minutes since he had to stay back. He tried to raise his hands but it could no longer raise itself, it would seem that the body had lost whereas the spirit was still willing. No matter, if he couldn't use his hands, then he'll kick and if he couldn't do that either then he'd bite until he was dead.
Robert nearly keeled over as he headbutted against yet another Clansman. He sighed deeply.
The neighing of horses had revitalized his blood however, he turned around to see a blur of torches and a sizable force of Valemen having quickly galloped to him, the remaining clansmen had finally retreated and those who didn't had suffered the consequences. A rider had come up to him and an unmistakable voice could be heard, "Kept you waiting, huh."
"What kept you?" Robert asked before promptly plumetting to the ground in sheer exhaustion, though his fall was prevented when Ned catched him.
Robert along with a host of men-at-arms and his foste- his brother, Ned had escorted the rescued to the way to the Eyrie. They had passed by the Bloody Gate, where a Maester had awaited to administer healing upon the rescued. He was sure that he'll make Jon angry, but he'll also make the man proud. Robert had rejoiced the tale of his stand to the men, who earnestly listened, as they walked to the path along the Eyrie.
The women and children were relatively unharmed, thank the gods, and were riding on a caravan.
Ned walked, at a steady pace, his gaze and expression was unreadable, and no joy could be glimpsed from him. His horse, was similarly, as dour as his rider.
They had finally reached the gates of the Eyrie which was open. Where Jon awaited them on a horse . . .
Jon dismounted on his horse, and ran to hug his niece, Olira who also hugged back crying.
Robert smiled, come what may, he'll remember this for the rest of his life.
The celebration that should've been about the announcement of the heir of the Eyrie was now about the return of the hostages. Robert told the tale, with a slight hint of exaggeration to those who were willing to listen—and there were many. Many had now referred to him simply as The Undaunting Stag, and he had to admit that it had fitted him.
He quickly gulped down a cup of alcohol before calling to a maid to have it be refilled; a young maid had come to him, beautiful and with some substantial assets. When his cup was finally refilled; the maid had turned to leave, and though Robert did not want her to leave, he certainly liked the way she left. His foster brother, however . . .
"Not gonna happen." Ned blocked his eyes from glancing a further peek at the maids buttocks, "You're gonna get betrothed to my sister, and I'm not gonna explain to Lyanna about any potential Baratheon bastards."
Robert groaned.
