Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Hello everyone, here is a new chapter.

I would like to thank to:

[moku8]!

[Patrick Rodriguez]!!

[Sdri]!!

I don't know who you are guys, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!!

Thanks again.

For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I'll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page.

https://ko-fi.com/duncanrandargotpaladin

Thank you all for your comments and advice!

Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate.

But if you feel the visceral urge to do so... Well, do it. AHAH!

P.S.

If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I'd appreciate it. Thanks in advance!

-9 days!!! ( Job is Coming))

Happy reading!

-------------------------------------

POV: Captain Ser Amon Fury;

On the Third Black Swan less than 200 feet from the Greyjoy lookout ship.

About five minutes after a light signal from the First Black Swan was cast...

It was the moment of truth.

The limit distance had just been reached. From that point, they could have successfully hit the target.

Time slowed down for Captain Amon...

The man relived all the most important moments of his life.

House Fury was just a small House of Nobility of recent origin. They owed their allegiance to Stannis Baratheon. Amon himself was invested with the title of Knight when he saved more than forty souls from the storm at Dragonstone that had nearly sunk the entire royal fleet five years earlier.

He would not have wanted to take part in this mission. He had a wife and two children waiting for him in a small manor.

Amon had lived more than thirty years of hardship. What he had was more than enough. He did not know why he had accepted...

He didn't have to. Only volunteers could take part in this almost suicidal mission.

At the time, when Amon tied a rope around his chest and jumped into the sea to save those castaways, he did it out of instinct and not because he saw an opportunity...

His hands and legs had moved on their own despite a voice in his head screaming at him not to.

It was the same for his tongue when Ser Davos came to him to ask if he wanted to be part of that group...

He wanted to answer [Forget it Ser Davos! This is a suicide plan! I'd have a better chance of surviving the assault landing on the front line!] ...Instead, the answer he gave was:

[I will go with you, Ser Davos...]

"Captain! We've cut the anchor lines and the sails are set!"

"Wex, Edd help me with these ropes! We'll have to tie them to the rudder soon.

You two! Start lowering the lifeboat!" Ser Amon ordered.

"Yes, Captain!" The four members of the crew alone replied.

The direction had been set.

The rudder had been tied, and the ship would arrive at its destination.

The final touch was missing...

The captain tinder lit a torch hanging in a safe position. This single source of light was the only reference point their archer would have to hit the target in the pitch black.

As soon as the torch was lit and the lifeboat touched the water, the Captain commanded:

"Abandon ship!"

About three minutes later...

"Captain, the signal!" Said Wex pointing to a bolt of fire in the sky.

"NOW WEX! You three paddle with me as hard and fast as you can! We have to cover the fastest half-mile of your lives! REMATE!!!" Amon.

"YES, SIR!!!" The three men answered in unison, oar in hand.

Wex, the best archer of the group lit a small brazier on the boat and dyed his arrowhead in the flames.

The ship was about eighty feet away. Not too difficult a target.

Wex drew his bow, aimed at the still visible target, and fired the bolt of fire...

A few seconds later, more flaming arrows appeared in the sky...

Fifty arrows to be exact.

It was a masterly deed... as no more flaming arrows were fired. All the archers in the lifeboats had hit their targets...

A spectacle of dancing red and orange lights radiated for nearly a mile radius.

Fifty ships caught fire, all pointing in one direction...

The mouth of Pyke Harbor.

Wex stood still and admired the spectacle with satisfaction.

The moment of glory and spectacle lasted until the archer heard a voice...

"EXCELLENT SHOT WEX! Well done...

Now put out that damn brazier and grab an oar if you don't want to kill us all!!!" He praised and scolded Amon at the same time.

"Y-YES!!! I beg your pardon, Captain Fury!... But..." Wex noticed something.

"BUT?! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WEX?! The Greyjoy ships are going to swoop down on us if you don't turn that light off now!" Amon.

"... Captain! I see a signal from Ser Davos.

They need help.

We're the closest...

What do we do Captain?" Wex asked. The other crew members stopped their actions to all stare at their captain.

Amon bit his tongue. He didn't want to say those words.

Not this time...

'NO! Not this time! Don't do it, Amon! Don't do it!

Think of Cassy!

To Jory!

Little Lola!

NO! DON'T DO IT!

That will be the decoy ship! It will be suicide! DON'T DO IT! DO NOT SAY THOSE WORDS!' shouted a voice inside Ser Amon Fury's head...

Never would he have boarded the ship that was to be the decoy for the Greyjoy fleet! That would have been a certainty of death.

"FUCK!!! Fuck me and fuck whatever is wrong with my rotten head!!!..." Said the captain cursing himself.

Finally, Amon sighed in a surrendered manner...

The four crew members had been waiting for an answer for almost twenty seconds...

"What are your orders, Captain?" Edd, the second in command, asked.

Amon grasped his Captain's status with both hands, and with it all the duties and responsibilities that title carried.

In a firm tone, and without a trace of doubt, he said:

"Our comrades need us...

Set course for 'The Beacon of Hope'!!!"

End POV.

-------------------------------------------------------

POV: Ser Davos Seaworth;

On the newly captured and renamed 'Lighthouse of Hope' Longship.

One minute after a lifeboat answered the distress call...

There was still hope.

Davos glimpsed and identified the captain who had responded to the distress call.

'Bless you, Ser Amon!" praised Davos inwardly as he gave instructions to his reduced crew.

The Longships of the Iron Islands were among the best ships in the Seven Kingdoms, both for speed and stability. But they did have one flaw...

They needed at least a crew of twenty-five to thirty able-bodied seamen to maneuver the craft to maximum efficiency.

Davos had selected thirty able-bodied seamen to take with him on the 'Lighthouse of Hope'. That is the ship that was supposed to draw the full attention of the Iron Fleet behind it so that the other two hundred and forty-five brave souls could join the ten support caravels behind them.

Unfortunately, at the decisive moment, ten of his sailors had escaped.

An unforeseen mutiny... but at least the mutineers had not brought with them the weapons and equipment the warriors from the North would have needed.

Davos could not have outrun the Iron Fleet with only twenty sailors. And he couldn't have asked for help from the twenty-five warriors who had just fought their way onto the ship.

Those heroes needed to dry and warm their bodies, or they might freeze to death. They had the necessary skills to help.

The Onion Knight needed at least five more sailors...

And lucky for them, they found them.

"SET THE SAILS! LIGHT THOSE FIRES! AND THROW EVERYTHING YOU DON'T NEED OVERBOARD! INCLUDING PROVISIONS AND KEGS OF BEER.

We'll have to be brighter and faster than a shooting star to get back to our families safely!" Shouted the Captain as he prepared to turn the helm with his own hands.

"YES, CAPTAIN!!!" Twenty able-bodied sailors replied in unison.

Bloody Snow and his twenty-four companions were stripping off all their wet clothes and drying by a brazier, before dressing in the clothes and armor that Davos' crew had brought with them.

"MOVE!! THROW A ROPE TO OUR REINFORCEMENTS!!!" Davos ordered when he saw that the lifeboat was already less than fifty feet from the ship.

They didn't even have time to admire the success of the first part of their plan.

At least, even if all of them had perished under the Iron Fleet's vengeful wrath, their sacrifice would have already saved thousands of lives. Pyke had just lost at least a third of their defensive power, and the remaining hundred ships would be no match for the Royal Fleet.

About two minutes later...

"We owe you our lives. Thank you for answering our call, Captain Amon." Ser Davos said, gripping the arm of the man in front of him tightly.

"Let's not waste time on small talk, Ser Davos!

You owe me your gold, your lands, and at least one of your sons, should the gods ever take one of mine from me!

GET TO WORK, MEN! Why the fuck hasn't that contraband been untied yet?!"

End POV.

------------------------------------------------------

POV: King Balon Greyjoy;

The Great Keep, Isle of Pyke.

About five minutes after the last sail of the 'Lighthouse of Hope' was unfurled...

The King of Rock and Salt, Balon Greyjoy, stared pensively into the fireplace at that late hour of the night.

The leader of the Iron Islands could not afford to show any hint of doubt or fear.

And indeed, Balon showed no sign of relenting even to his wife or children. The same confidence and stubbornness in his decisions was as ironclad as the name he bore.

Despite this, even the foolish Balon knew that words could prevail against numbers to a certain extent.

Of the original five hundred and twenty-seven warships he had built or assembled from all the islands during those six long years of preparation, only two hundred and thirty-four remained available.

After that huge loss on Bear Island, House Drumm had withdrawn their support in this campaign. Not a single one of their men had responded to the king's call to defend Pyke.

What troubled Balon the most was that not even House Harlaw, one of the most powerful and great houses in the Iron Islands, had contributed anything close to a pittance.

Alanny Harlaw's husband had hoped that at least his brother-in-law, Lord Rodrick Harlaw is known as 'The Reader', would provide at least three thousand good Ironmen and fifty of his ships. Instead, Lord Harlaw had sent only seven hundred men - and not the best seven hundred. Only twelve longships were currently anchored in Pyke harbor...

Without House Harlaw's support, less than five thousand men were defending the harbor and beaches.

His brother Euron was currently a prisoner in the cells of Casterly Rock.

His favorite son Rodrick, his pride, had died at the hands of Lord Jason Mallister in Seagard...

But the thing that stole Balon Greyjoy's sleep the most was the gold coin he clutched in his left fist.

A Braavosi gold coin still stained with blood.

At first, Balon was not frightened by the threatening message he had received along with those two thousand tortured bodies.

But after the Iron Bank's contacts dissipated like mist in the wind, he began to fear the unknown...

The name 'Bloody Snow' was far more redundant than Robert Baratheon's...

The King of the Iron Islands was not as clueless as many thought. While he may have put on a big, swaggering voice towards the emissaries of Braavos, Balon would not mess with the true Titan of Braavos.

He knew that if the Iron Bank wanted him to, he might as well have assembled a fleet of three thousand ships... A monstrous number.

Not even a thousand longships with good ironmen leading them could prevail against such an enemy.

And now it seemed that the Titan had stepped back as if in fear of something...

What was stealing the King of Rock and Salt's sleep was the fear that he had awakened a larger giant. A giant he did not know...

And the only clue he had was that very nickname 'Bloody Snow'...

That bloody coin was a clear message to him:

[I know you were aiming at me and that the Iron Bank asked you to do it.

I am coming for you.]

Balon was tired of anxieties and doubts. Now he felt only anger and frustration.

You may have been lucky on that island, but Pyke is an Iron Island. My domain and even I have a secret weapon... two to be exact.

filling your lungs with water, salt, and blood...

Come, Bloody Snow.

Victarion and Aeron await you.' The King's sadistic thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Who is disturbing the King at this late hour?" Balon.

"Father, it is Maron! Come and see the harbor, quickly!" Said the King's sixteen-year-old second son hurriedly.

"The harbor?... What's happening at the harbor?

Has the Royal Fleet arrived yet?" Balon.

"No father... For the moment, only the signals of an enemy ship are visible." Maron.

"And you come to disturb me over one ship?" Balon.

"... No, father. The enemy had at least fifty ships...

Useless to explain it in words, my king.

Come on deck and see for yourself..." Maron.

About two minutes later...

Balon was staring wide-eyed at the scene less than two miles from his fortress.

The Castle promontory was the highest point on the Isle of Pyke.

The bridge was about three hundred feet above sea level.

The horizon could be seen well over thirty miles away.

The first bridge of the four towers of the Greyjoy fortress faced right towards the harbor.

The screams at the harbor could be heard from there. A wall of flame, at least ten feet high, stretched the length of the harbor entrance.

Dozens of burning wrecks blocked the only way in and out of Pyke harbor. A port that currently housed half of King Balon's offensive Fleet.

A surge of anger and despair made the man lose his mind...

"NOO!!! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?!! WHO DID IT?

I WANT THE ENEMY RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS DISASTER TO BE CAPTURED ALIVE!!!!

I SHALL PERSONALLY DROWN AND BAPTIZE THOSE UNBELIEVERS!!!...

MARON!!!" He finally called to Balon.

"Yes, father," Maron answered instantly.

Balon managed with an enormous effort to regain some of his lucidity.

"Have the Iron Victory send a message...

By order of the king, that enemy ship must be captured at all costs.

... Tell your uncle Victarion that failure will not be allowed."

End POV.

---------------

POV: Bloody Snow.

On the Lighthouse of Hope, about two miles away from the Greyjoy Fleet.

About two minutes after a light message was transmitted to a flagship outside the harbor...

The ship on which fifty-one heroic individuals were resting their feet was in full motion towards a dark but well-charted course.

Duncan had just heard a sailor shout. The speed that the ship had just reached was nine knots.

A truly remarkable achievement. Enough speed to outrun most enemy ships.

A dozen ships had already left in pursuit of theirs.

Bloody Snow hoped that number was at least thirty.

But even twelve was better than nothing. At this rate, those twelve enemy longships would be headed for a fleet of over four hundred ships ready to greet them.

All the sailors in the lifeboats, even the cowards who had abandoned Ser Davos, were already safe in the ten support caravels provided by House Tallhart. The Iron Fleet would not have been able to reach those ships. In a fair wind, a caravel could even reach a speed of eleven knots. An unattainable speed for the Ironborn Longships.

By now, the distress beacon must have reached the Royal Fleet stationed just over thirty miles away.

A chain of dozens of fishing boats had been placed along a line to send out a signal light as quickly as possible.

Now the Lighthouse of Hope, the former Greyjoy ship, was traveling at full speed towards the Allied Fleet. In less than two hours they should have been able to reach their third and final goal of the plan.

Entitled [Saving the Brave Heroes from the Drowned God].

If they had managed to evade the enemy ships for more than an hour and a half, they would have had a chance.

Five hundred versus fifty, that was a tough challenge even for the heir to The Watcher...

We've had a tough time of it this time...

Luckily there are still a few Heroes in this rotten world.

My father, but especially my mother, must never know how much we risked.

If Ser Amon Fury and his four men had not answered our call, we would most likely have made it halfway before we were caught.

Every good sailor had more than ten good soldiers in this particular situation.

I swear, if we make it out of this in one piece, I'll make sure those five Heroes of Westeros come out of it showered with gold and honors...

I will make sure that history will never forget their deeds.' He promised himself, a boy who never forgot anything.

By now his body and that of his twenty-four comrades-in-arms were dry. They were no longer in danger of hypothermia.

The boy thought it was time to put on his new armor. Only after the cold had passed did he notice that his sword, Red Rain, was missing from the unaccustomed pile of weapons and armor.

As soon as he finished putting on his armor, which consisted of the first layer of fine chain mail, a layer of boiled fine leather, lined in silk and linen, steel leggings and armbands, triple-scaled shoulder straps of basilisk skin, and the usually studded leather gloves standard issue for all Winter's Watch, he reached Ser Davos.

"Ser Davos, can I trouble you or should I come back later?" The boy asked the man who continued to grip the helm.

"You must disturb me, Lord Duncan... I need a distraction to keep me from shitting myself.

I've managed to maintain a decent image so far after all." Ser Davos replied as he continued to shift his gaze between the compass, the horizon, and the sail.

Every inch of canvas was tightly stretched and bulging in one direction.

It was proof that a good captain was always holding a course with the wind in his favor.

"Ahaha! Glad to be of help, Ser... I'd like to ask you a question.

But I'm beginning to think I shouldn't ask...

It would be a blow to me to receive an answer like:

[Because of that regrettable incident called 'Mutiny', where I thought we were all doomed, I haven't had time to think about your steel sword of Valyria. It's probably lying 50 to 60 feet deep near Pyke harbor by now]." The boy was half ironic and half-seriously concerned.

"Ah, right your sword!" The Northern hero nearly collapsed upon hearing the first part of the reply... but then Ser Davos continued, saying:

"I have it right by my side, my Lord. Fear not." Davos uncovered part of his velvet cloak showing a very, very familiar handle and scabbard.

"Phew... Thank you, Ser Davos. I..." Bloody Snow was interrupted by a shout from the boatswain's mate on the main ship.

"CAPTAIN!!! SHIP APPROACHING!" The boatswain.

Davos turned sharply behind him, but with that darkness, he couldn't make out the ship among those dozens of lights in the distance.

"WHAT SHIP, NYMOS? DESCRIBE IT" Davos shouted to get an idea of the possible threat.

"A DOUBLE-SAILED DROMON! A FLAGSHIP, CAPTAIN DAVOS. IT'S CATCHING UP. ABOUT 9-10 KNOTS OF SPEED! BANNER GREYJOY ON BOTH SAILS!" Nymos.

"Do you recognize her?" Bloody Snow asked with concern.

"...THE FIGUREHEAD, NYMOS! CAN YOU SEE THE FIGUREHEAD?" Davos.

"NO FIGUREHEAD! IT LOOKS LIKE... AN IRON BRIDGE FOR ATTACK DOCKING!!!" Nymos.

"...it's the Iron Victory. The fastest ship in the Iron Fleet.

Victarion Greyjoy will be joining us." Davos announced that gloomy information while keeping his cool.

The experienced sailor, a veteran of dozens of life-and-death experiences, looked for a solution before panicking.

"How long before he reaches us?" Bloody Snow.

"... An hour if we're lucky. The Royal Fleet won't arrive for another hour and a half." Davos.

"Can we gain a few more minutes? If it's just Iron Victory we have to hold off before reinforcements arrive, we can do it." Affirmed the boy confidently.

"Just the Iron Victory? That is the largest ship in the entire Iron Fleet. Victarion Greyjoy has at least a hundred men in his crew." Davos.

"A hundred men and a great warrior is a challenge we can still hold our own against... So is there any way we can get just that one ship to board us without the other twelve backing him up?" Bloody Snow.

Davos thought about that for a moment...

"There is... but it's a gamble. If Stannis is only a few minutes late we'd all be fish food." Davos.

"Do it, Captain Davos.

Let us warriors do what we do best." Said the boy, grabbing the hilt of the sword still attached to Davos' belt.