Deepwood Motte

[Erik]

The longship carries nothing peculiar. It is lightly manned, and they allow themselves to be searched and taken without too much complaint. Their commander is a handsome Ironborn who identifies himself as Mortimer Pyke.

[barker520]

After the ship has been escorted the short, the men are taken to seperate cells in the towers of Deepwood Motte, but were given fresh food and drink, and treated with respect. Mortimer Pyke is summoned to the solar Lord Lydden had been granted leave to use as his own.

[Erik]

Mortimer drapes himself on a chair, smirking.

"I don't suppose you have any wine?" He asks, drumming his fingers on his leg.

[barker520]

"Alas, I do not, but I can send for some. I had been under the impression that your people preferred ale," Lewys remarked, motioning at a flagon by Mortimer's chair. He spoke calmly, and sat relaxed, dressed in heavy mail, trying to appear soldier-like. "I trust you have been treated well? Your men and yourself will not be mistreated, that much I will tell you."

[Erik]

"Ale is wonderful for celebration, sorrow-drowning, a number of things. But negotiations, they go best with wine."

He swings his head around, taking in the details of the room before continuing.

"We've been treated fine, for prisoners. But coming here under a flag of truce, I thought perhaps we would get a slightly better reception."

[barker520]

Lewys sent a serving boy for wine, and grimaced at Mortimer's last remark. "I agree, I wish there was a way I could have acted more... honorably. But burning villages, killing the smallfolk and raping their women isn't very honorable, either. I made the decision to take no chances. I do not trust you or your Lords," Lewys said sharply. The boy returned and poured the guest a cup of wine, but Lewys stuck with the ale. "You come offering peace. Tell me the terms," he finished bluntly, and then reclined in his seat, waiting for the response.

[Erik]

Mortimer thanks the boy for the wine and sips it, then nods approvingly.

"First of all, no ships from Bear Island have gone raiding.

"Second, all I know is what I read in the letters I'm sent, but from what I hear, you fine honorable Westermen decided to murder or attempt to murder some of the most prominent Ironborn in the realm. If we're going to point fingers to who's at fault, they go straight for your damn fool of a Lannister, couldn't accept he was cuckolded.

"Third, like it or not, that is how wars have been fought for longer than the maesters have recorded. Villages are burned, women are raped, children are killed. It is shameful. But it is nothing unique to Ironmen.

"Fourth, terms. Again, I only know what I'm told way up here on the edge of nowhere. But let's think rationally. You have, at the very least, far too many men tied up here. The realm is uncertain. Your knights would do far better protecting Lannisport, or The Rock, than they would trying to capture some island of no strategic value whatsoever. An attack would be costly, and you would lose far more soldiers than the whole affair would be worth. Apparently real soldiers, too - I saw quite a few banners of knightly origin fluttering on the breeze. You're sending your best to die on the freezing, ass-end of Westeros. Think. Does that truly sound like a good idea to you?"

[barker520]

Lewys smiled at Mortimer's shrewd comments before answering. "The Regent has obviously deemed those you mention innocent of those crimes, so there has been nothing done dishonorably on our part. And you say that the crimes your people have committed is excused because it has been done before in the past. You're right-- murder has been done before. Should all murderers from hence forth be let free? Rape has been committed in the past. Should all who are guilty of this crime be allowed to escape justice? No, that way of thinking is wrong. A crime should be punished, whether it has been done once or a million times." Lewys took a long swig of the strong ale before continuing.

"As for your battle advice, I thank you, but I can assure you that I need none. We have no need of more men in the West, we already outnumber the whole Iron Islands by almost three to one. What we need is ships, and we have few of those up here. Also, I can serve as a sort of distraction up here in the freezing, ass-end of Westeros. The ships I will destroy will never sail south to defend your homelands. The men crewing and fighting among them will feast forever in the watery halls you believe in, but they will never rape or murder westerners again." His voice had grown cold, acidic, and angry all at once. "As far as I can tell, you have come with no truce, only unneeded advice. I will confiscate your ship to use against your own, but you and the crew will remain here, under judgement of Lord Glover, whose lands you have stepped foot upon." Lewys regained his composure, taking another drink of the ale.

"Now, I have a battle to win. Is there anything else you need?" Lewys finished, motioning to the guards at the door to assist the man back to his quarters.

[Erik]

Mortimer lets out a laugh, as joyful as Lewys has ever heard. It goes on for a few seconds before he drowns it in some wine, and replies.

"I see. As per usual, the Southerner prattles about honor, and proceeds to ignore it. A tale as old as time. Tell me, do you people try to breed dishonor, to cultivate it? It's the only explanation I can come up with. At least my people are honest about what we do. Don't usually imprison, and, I must assume, execute the messengers, though. That's new."

[barker520]

Lewys frowned at Mortimer before replying. "No one will be executed, I will make sure of that. Take this man back to his quarters, and keep three guards at all times," he told the two standing at the door, sword in hand. When they had left, he turned to the serving boy. "Run and get two more guards to escort Mortimer back with the other two, just in case he is up to something."

[Erik]

Mortimer finishes his wine before leaving.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Lydden. Damn shame we'll have to crush your fleet." He says as he's led away.

[barker520]

Lewys shakes his head. He's a good man, but he's not one of us. And I don't trust him, he thought. When the serving boy returns, Lewys gives him another command. "I have changed my mind. Three guards are not enough. Post six guards on Mortimer, night and day. Two on the other prisoners." Lewys drains the last of his ale and seeks out his brother Mors. He felt like laughing.

[barker520]

The castle is on high alert after finding two guards dead in the hall. One has some of his clothing missing, presumably the fugitive is now in disguise. Guards travel in large packs, stalking through the castle, shouting challenges at one another. The castle gate has been sealed shut, and the thousands of men inside Deepwood Motte's walls are instructed to keep any eye out for anyone matching Pyke's description.

[barker520]

Lewys rubbed his temples wearily. The things Mortimer Pyke had said to him was bothering him. He had heard whispers of such crimes committed by his overlords before. The truth, why is it always so evasive? he thought bitterly. Suddenly, he stalked across the room and grabbed some ink and parchment and began writing. Two hours later, after he had sealed the three letters, he ordered them taken to the maester and sent to their respective destinations.

[barker520]

The western host was brooding in Deepwood Motte's dark halls after the defeat. We had twice their numbers, Jon throught wearily. His own ship had performed well, but that was not the case with many of the other westermen. Nor even the sailors from White Harbor, or Seagard. All were pushed backwards by the furious assault of the ironborn boarders. Shaking his head, Jon retreated up the halls, surrounded by six guards, to the maester's chambers to check on his brother Lewys.