Alesander X

"All right, you lot, put your backs into it!" said Jack-o-nose commanding his Bolton men. Bolton builders, more like.

The rubble, charred ruins of burnt buildings, and general disarray had finally been cleared off. For lack of enemies, Ser had set the soldiers to rebuilding the damage the Ironborn sack had done to Lannisport. Even Al had gotten involved. Just now, he was helping a carpenter repair a broken hinge on the door to a lesser merchant's limestone townhouse.

"Hold it still while I fasten it, if it please milord," the humble carpenter told him politely. Everyone was on the extra special best behavior, it seemed. Al just hoped he'd work faster. This damned door was newly hewn from raw wood and bloody heavy! His arms were burning by the time the carpenter finished...whatever it was carpenters did. Oh, he knew theoretically how they built in wood, but bless Alesander Frey if he knew how! For him, it was just step and fetch and hold while the tradesmen did the actual work.

After a few experimental openings and closings, the carpenter grunted with satisfaction and dismissed him. Outside, the children, which was funny to say, since Al felt half a child himself, though he was a knight and a married man besides, were making a game of who could stack bricks the fastest. It seemed Arya had his little brother Bradamar handily beat.

Well, mayhaps I ought not to call them children, Alesander thought. They were reliable enough in battle, took their training at arms seriously, and followed orders well. Though Ser Domeric charged him with "watching their back," it wasn't a terribly trying duty. Brad and Arya were turning into valuable additions to the party, if he said so himself.

He spotted his wife Elia holding court with some of the local goodwives who were drawing water at the well where two lanes met. Today, she wore a man's tunic of orange wool with the red castle of their house embroidered on the breast. Her colors. Our colors. It made him happier than he could say.

"Milady, would you...would you speak to my daughter? The iron men got hold of her, you see, and well, she hasn't gotten out of bed in a week. I told her king's men came and saw them off, but she can't hear me! She can't hear anything! It's like she's already dead, though she lives and breathes!" the middle-aged woman pleaded desperately.

Elia rested a hand on her sword pommel and listened with grave dignity. Those hard viper eyes grew misty by the end. "Of course," she answered. Al didn't want to intrude, but their eyes met, and his wife beckoned him over. They walked hand in hand to the little wattle-and-daub hut with the girl who was afraid to go outside.

His wife went in, alone, and did not return for almost an hour.

"The Ironborn raped just about every girl in the city," she told him afterward in a leaden voice.

"I...I heard," Al said stupidly. But what else could he say? It was monstrous.

Elia, meanwhile, hated. It was a cold hate, so cold it burned. He could see it in the set of her shoulders and the way she shifted her weight from boot to boot, body eager to fight a battle with no convenient enemies about.

"You know, Al," she began in a deceptively soft voice, "I really can't wait for Paxter Redwyne's ships to get here. The wild men and the Lannisters were fighting for their people or their king. These Iron Islanders fight to take what doesn't belong to them, who doesn't belong to them! You know, I really don't care if Ser wants to sacrifice them all to the gods, everyone. It would be justice, I think. They want their iron price," she drew her sword, "well, I've got their iron right here."

That night they held each other for a long time and got hardly any sleep, though their chamber in Casterly Rock was luxurious and their featherbed the best he'd ever had.

***

The red comet was still burning when Greatjon Umber returned with his men. Ser Domeric wanted to speak immediately and invited Al and Elia to join in. They hasily arranged a meeting in the solar of a guildhall he'd set up as his headquarters in the city.

"Kayce and Feastfires crawl with Ironborn, right enough," the big man spat. He had a new scar on his arm, and his son, who was even taller than he was, had a broken nose.

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"Aye," Domeric agreed. "There was a big battle here, might've been five or six thousand. They sacked the city pretty bad, but they were cravens, wouldn't fight until we got off our horses."

Umber chuckled. "That sounds like them. Near as I can reckon, Fair Isle has the best part of their power. After we retook the castles, most of the raiders came from that direction."

"Then that's where we strike next. The Redwyne fleet has completed their repairs and is sailing again. They'll pass by Crakehall any day now. Once they reach Lannisport we'll merge the army back together." Domeric paused for a second, making the expression he made when he'd thought of something. "Ah, we need a bit of training."

"Training?

His master smiled. "You'll see."

***

Cold! It was bloody cold! Naked and paler than usual, Alesander shivered in the waters of Lannisport bay.

"No complaining!" Ser shouted over the crowd. "Every man here is learning how to swim. You've got not choice! Like as not, our next battle will be on the decks of our ships! Some of you will fall overboard and drown, but fewer than before, after I'm done. Our first lesson is how to float!"

Elia looked even worse off than Al was. She was skinny, lean, and sunk like a stone, had to fill her chest with air and angle herself a certain way to stay above the surface. The Northmen were trying not to complain, but Al could tell they liked the cold no better than other men. Meanwhile, Arya and Brad were having the time of their lives, laughing and splashing. Even the great wolf Nymeria liked the water.

After floating, the second lesson was treading water in the "egg beater" fashion. Alesander didn't know anything about beating eggs, but he found it hard to believe this queer motion was how cooks did it. It kept him above water, at least. Arya and Brad could do it for hours, but he and Elia were getting pretty tired by the end of the lesson and had to be helped to shore.

The next day, they moved on to a basic sidestroke. "This is just to get you to a piece of floating wreckage!" Ser Domeric explained. "You need to clutch something that floats long enough to be rescued. If it's fifty paces away, you've got to swim to it."

Like everything else, the kids got it the quickest. They were practically racing across the bay. Personally, Al was thankful everyone was too miserable, cold, and tired to oogle his naked wife. Well, she was only able to keep her head above water most of the time in any case. This was very serious combat training, and everyone knew it. There was hardly a jape after the first day of "water survival" as Ser called it. The sea was the enemy's realm, and they were going to meet him on his own terms.

Last of all, Ser Domeric had them practice ditching their gear. "Everyone will have a weapon, a shield, an iron halfhelm, and a ringmail hauberk. Nothing else! If you go into the drink, you've got to ditch everything weighing you down and do it fast! Don't panic! Panic is death! Remember, smooth is fast!"

This was the hardest lesson, and the most dangerous, so they only practiced it in the shallows. Once most managed the drill, Ser Domeric added a complication. A second man would spin you around under water until you didn't know which way was up, and only then were you allowed to ditch your gear. It was bloody hard, but after a few days, Alesander was confident he could keep his head and shrug out of his armor if he suddenly found himself upside down in the sea.

By night, Ser Domeric and the dwarf lord discussed carpenters and siege engines. Rams, scaling ladders, trebuchets, and so forth would be partially assembled, packed away, and then hastily constructed once they found an enemy castle. There was much talk of numbers, supplies, and "sustainment" as Ser called it. He was planning nothing less than the downfall of the Iron Islands, one by one in systematic fashion. This time, they'd stay down, he said.

Once the Redwyne fleet arrived, they got a "crash course" in fighting with a moving deck beneath their feet, but they'd never be a match for men who'd done it their whole lives. Few longships had been sighted on the coast this last turn of the moon, which might be a good thing, but it might mean they were concentrating their power. Well, it would avail them not at all! Domeric Bolton and all his lads were coming for them!