Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Hello everyone, dear readers.

As promised, here is another new chapter for you.

Please bear with me for any translation and spelling errors.

I do the best I can with what I have.

If you find any errors, please point them out to me and I will correct them as soon as I can. Thank you so much for your help and support.

Next week I should be able to post Chapters '1' and '2' (Cleaned) on my new page: Paladin Of Old Gods.

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POV: Ser Haymitch Rivers;

Siege of Pyke, less than half a mile away from the walls.

Year: 289, the ninth day of the fifth moon. About a minute after the Pyke breach was opened...

The battle had officially begun.

Ser Haymitch had taken charge of the front lines of the vanguard. Nine hundred northern men between Stark and Mormont.

The rubble of the newly collapsed walls was still causing havoc within the enemy lines. The ironmen would need at least a good minute to reorganize their defensive lines ready for the enemy. However, at least three hundred men, including archers and crossbowmen, were ready to greet them from the lacework and ramparts of the walls. In all probability at least three dozen good soldiers would have fallen under that storm of darts, spears, arrows, and stones thrown at them in that brief interval.

"Attack!" Haymitch set the example by leading the charge first as he pointed his longsword in the direction of the newly formed breach nearly twenty feet wide. Hundreds of fierce shouts answered the call.

House Karstark and House Tallhart had contributed greatly to this military campaign. Lord Rickard and Lord Helman had provided excellent studded leather armour, helmets, ruffs, chaps and shoulder straps of fine hardened steel as well as countless shields reinforced with fine ironwood, to all the minor nobles of the North who could not yet afford to supply their militia with such fine equipment. House Mormont was among them. More than four hundred men from Bear Island, poorly equipped, had been clad in new from the tips of their toes to the top of their heads.

House Stark had, for over a year now, replaced the standard equipment of all the militia in their service. Certainly, House Tallhart remained in first place in the matter. A good quality piece of equipment (including weapons) for a soldier costs on average four to five gold coins... Haymitch's witty eye had estimated at least twenty gold coins for each regular soldier of the Tallhart militia, but he had no idea how much the weapons and armour of the Winter Guardians unit were worth. Definitely not less than a hundred gold dragons.

Many blades and arrowheads would not have been able to reach vital points of the brave Northmen of the vanguard that day...

Haymitch didn't have excessive sympathy for House Tallhart and that demon-boy 'Bloody Snow', very few people in the Drunken Knight's life enjoyed that privilege, but at least this recognition and praise for safeguarding the North had to be given to him.

The very battle armour Haymitch won at the Torrhen's Square tournament was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. One that only a great lord of a wealthy House could have afforded.

Ser Haymitch didn't like heavy armour, but for the one he had on at that moment, he would make an exception. He could not afford the luxury of agility and freedom of movement in such a situation.

The Captain of the Stark Vanguard ran at a brisk but sure pace, keeping his round shield firmly raised above the top of his head.

A quote, taught to him by his uncle over twenty years ago, rang in Haymitch's head. 'Oak and Iron protect me well, or of hell, I shall know the pains!' A couple of arrows had already scratched the surface of the shield, a few cries of distress behind him signalled to the captain that some of his men were already badly wounded if not dead...

It was a hundred feet away from the breach.

"Advance! Align shields!" The pace of the charge began to slow, and a respectable defensive formation came to life three of the Allied front lines.

The cloud of dust, created by the collapse of the stone, had not yet dissipated. Visibility was reduced.

Haymitch was the first to cross the Pyke breach...

Awaiting him were two dust-covered opponents still confused and disorganized but with axes firmly in their hands.

Without hesitation, Haymitch struck a slash, ripping the throat of the opponent least prepared to receive it. The second ironman tried a blow from above wielding the long axe with two hands. The knight held back the slash jamming the final part of his blade at the base of the metal, from there he fractured the man's nose hitting him with a head butt reinforced by a heavy helmet of excellent steel. The thin iron strip that protected the ironborn's nose folded inward due to the impact devastating the enemy's face. Haymitch finished the man off by hitting him in the windpipe with his shield.

The *Crack* he heard was loud enough to cross the threat off his list.

Haymitch had abandoned honour long ago... In a real battle, he would have no qualms about using any means, no matter how dirty it looked in the eyes of the Cavalry, to take down a potential threat. Probably no one was better at that specific art in all of the Riverlands than he was.

{Hitting at any weakness of the enemy was permissible in war}.

No one was going to convince him to change that personal pillar of his life philosophy...

Five more opponents were approaching, but now he would not face them alone.

Now Haymitch had a good view of his surroundings.

About four hundred ironmen were less than sixty feet away from the breach.

"Captain Ted! On the right! You men, with me! To the walls!!!" Haymitch thundered. This was the best plan to follow if they wanted to conquer the first tower by increasing the odds of the two main objectives as much as possible: 'Protect Jorah' & 'Infiltrate Special Units'.

The Allied forces had a detailed map (provided by Lord Rodrick Harlaw's library) of Pyke's fortress. Haymitch had studied by heart every corridor, staircase, the main or secondary passageway in all three towers.

One hundred Northmen were to keep the enemy defences occupied until Lord Jorah and his main forces arrived. The task of Captain Haymitch, commanding four hundred Stark warriors, and Vice-Captain Ted, commanding four hundred Mormont warriors, was to storm the enemy walls and annihilate the Greyjoy firing units. That way the greatest remaining danger to Lord Jorah would be the overland clash of swords, shields, pikes, and axes...but from there the Winter Guardians would step in.

The battle was already won in Haymitch's mind, the factor of 'how many' and 'who' among the their allies would die in that battle was the only remaining issue.

Ser Haymitch led his squad down the left side towards the flights of stairs that led up to the second level of the walls.

Half a dozen ironmen tried to block the passage to the walls but were cut down in a dozen seconds.

"Protect the Captain's flank!" Shouted a Stark soldier with a familiar face but whom he could not associate with a name.

An enemy shout alarmed the veteran of House Blackwood.

"Crossbowmen! Fire on those northern dogs! Don't let them up!" Shouted a supposed Greyjoy commander on the ramparts of the wall. A score of crossbowmen turned their attention to Haymitch's group.

"SHIELD!!!" Shouted Ser Haymitch instinctively in a higher tone of voice.

*Stock!* *Pungh!*, *Studhg!*.

Fortunately, no crossbow bolt seemed to undermine his group's modest wall of shields... Haymitch wasn't going to try his luck again.

"Let's get up there! Let's not give them time to reload!!!" Spurred Haymitch, climbing the steps two at a time. The valiant knight gave up his shield and threw it at a screaming iron man who was charging him to try to impale him on his pike. Throwing the unbalanced enemy to the side, Haymitch stabbed him in the back with a backward blow, even giving up his long sword. He didn't even need it anymore. From that moment on the battlefield would be narrow and cramped and he was tired of fighting in that style. Ser Arthur Dayne was not the only knight skilled in Dual Wielding. From now on, the short sword and his modified gavel would be his weapons, and enemy bodies his shields.

A cracked skull, a stab to the groin, a nearly severed arm and two smashed faces and Haymitch had finally reached the top.

His loyal men were less than five feet behind him finishing off or throwing the dying animals below, victims of the Bastard Knight's fury.

The next enemy Haymitch pounced on was the octopus commander himself, who was about to order a second volley of darts to be fired.

After about thirty minutes of blood, piss, shit, guts, severed limbs, screams and death...

The east side of the first walls had been conquered, the Greyjoy banners lowered and replaced with those of the wolf and the crowned stag.

One Stark soldier died for every three enemies. This was the price of blood paid per stretch of wall. Ser Haymitch had lost at least eighty good northern men under his direct command, and about a dozen were hovering between life and death. About three hundred Stark warriors were still skilled in the fight.

Even Vice-Captain Ted lacked little to match the achievements of Haymitch's garrison. The main Allied forces were still in melee against some five hundred tired and wounded Greyjoys. With each passing minute, the Dustin-Tallhart units gained two or three feet of the ground pushing back the enemy defensive waves.

'Twenty-six more broken promises' Haymitch thought for a moment remembering the oath he had made to his beloved young wife almost seven years earlier.

[I promise you, my love. This will be my last battle... When I return I will bury the sword and pick up the plough. Ser Haymitch 'The Drunk' will be forgotten and replaced by Haymitch the 'husband and family man farmer']. That was the promise he had made to Seline, the one woman to whom he had given his heart, the one who had given her his greatest reason for living, his son Jonas...

"Milord..." Ullen, Lieutenant Stark under Ser Haymitch's direct orders, was awaiting instructions. The knight awoke swiftly from those sad and distracting thoughts. At last, he was able to remember the name of that face. Apparently, the alcohol had not yet completely clouded his memory...

"Transport the wounded to shelter and try to treat the most urgent wounds.

Collect enemy weapons. I want every man who can wield a bow to provide covering fire for the central forces. Takedown those archers. Crossbowmen concentrate fire on the remaining Greyjoy troops! Don't give them a moment's respite! We must force the enemy to fall back inside the tower!"

End POV.

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POV: Duncan;

Just outside the gates of The Great Keep, the first tower of Pyke's fortress.

About five minutes after the Stark and Mormont units began firing arrows and darts at the enemy...

Ser Haymitch and Captain Ted had successfully carried out the first part of the plan. My squad of ninety-nine fools and I were hidden in the last ranks of the rear guard. Each of us was disguised in ironborn's armour and robes bearing the colours and banners of House Greyjoy. A long dark woollen hooded cape concealed our robes. It was not our place to join the fray at this early stage of the battle. We could have begun to act as soon as the fight moved inside the halls of the first tower of the keep.

A hundred or so Allied archers were giving the marksmen defending the second walls a run for their money, almost all of them concentrated on the lacework and slits just above the gate.

Some forty or so Mormont and Stark crossbowmen, taking advantage of their high position on the captured first walls, were raining death and pain on the last five rows of Greyjoys still trying to hold their defensive position.

Within two or three minutes at most, they would have retreated... Our first two lines, composed of Winter Guardians, were not conceding even an inch of ground or the slightest defensive opening in the shield wall.

Lord Jorah Mormont was safely in the centre of the sixth line. He probably hadn't even had a chance to cross swords with any opponent.

After not even a minute the sound of a horn was heard...

*Wooouuuu!* and a "Retreat! Retreat inside the fortress!" Roared one of the surviving Ironborn captains. The heavy, thick grates of wood and iron began to rise.

It was the moment of truth... It was time to find out if Blade [7] and Lord Harlaw's small infiltration team had managed to take control of the halls of the gate lever mechanisms.

About three hundred ironmen, tired and demoralized, began to retreat into the main corridor. About fifty soldiers remained behind as they tried to buy time for their comrades by holding back the Northern forces...

Lord Jorah didn't miss that opportunity. "Front line! PUSH! Break that formation at any cost!!!" Thundered the commander-in-chief.

"AWOO!" Replied my boys in reply. The first three Tallhart-Dustin lines gave up their defensive formation for an all-out assault. Those brave fifty ironmen could not hold out for more than twenty seconds... However, the gate of the first tower was wide enough to allow five to six men to pass through at a time. That time was enough to provide safe passage for the remaining enemy forces.

"Close the gate!!! Close the gate!!!... I SAID CLOSE THE GATE, DAMMIT!!!" Shouted the gatekeeper panicking.

The grates remained up... A dozen Dustin soldiers had already made it through and soon chaos erupted in the main hallway of Great Keep.

'Yes! They have succeeded!' I exulted inwardly, thinking of how much time and lives we would save in this attack.

"Inside the fortress!!! FOLLOW ME!" Jorah Mormont thundered, encouraging the troops. "UUAAARGHH!!!" Roared more than a thousand men in response.

"Follow your commander!!! Protect Lord Jorah!" Shouted the deputy commander to the personal escort of Lady Barbrey's bride-to-be.

One of my best men, Todd 'The Shield', was Jorah's shadow. Now that the area's most risky battle was won, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. I could finally focus all my attention on my part of the plan.

Ser Haymitch and Ted gave the order to signal to the main forces of the Royal Army that the attack for control of the tower had begun.

Dozens of flags and staffs were waved in the air from the walls. Shouts of jubilation and horn blasts came seconds later. King Robert and Lord Eddard would soon arrive to reinforce the vanguard.

"Ser Barristan, the time has come. I leave the command of the rear guard to you. ALL OF YOU... I RECOMMEND... A credible setup. If I fall, follow Ser Jaime, if Ser Jaime falls, follow me!"

End POV

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POV: Ser Barristan 'The Bold'

At the entrance to the Guest Keep, the second tower of Pyke's fortress.

About twenty minutes after the Allied forces captured the first Tower...

All ninety-nine infiltrators managed to blend in between enemy lines. The ironborn style robes, weapons and armour they wore were strategically stained with cattle blood and dust. So that to show everyone at first glance that they too had faced the 'enemies of House Greyjoy' with valour...

Dozens of eyes had even witnessed their (simulated) 'fight' with some Stark and Mormont soldiers during the armed resistance in the first Tower.

Barristan was the hero who had single-handedly saved King Aerys II at Duskendale. Twelve years ago, he had managed to infiltrate the fortress with nothing more than a dagger, a sword, and linen rags. Yet, even he found Bloody Snow's plan a suicidal gamble...

One misstep, one word too many or one wrong answer and ninety-nine brave warriors of Westeros would have to face off alone against at least eight hundred fierce ironmen armed with pikes, swords and axes with no chance of escape.

"Milord, the bridge has been raised and all the crossbowmen are in position!" Said a soldier to what appeared to be the commander-in-chief of Guest Keep.

"Damned dogs of the North! Purharg! You two! Tell King Balon that Great Keep has fallen and called for at least a hundred more archers for reinforcement!" Ordered the commander, spitting on the ground and cursing at the enemy forces.

"Aye, Captain!" Two young porters, too immature to be warriors, prepared to deliver the message.

"Captain Warryn! It seems the enemy is making arrangements to launch a second attack on the gates!" Shrieked a soldier who looked like he had just come back from a long descent.

"What! Do they want to assault Guest Keep? Crazy bastards! Victory must have clouded the enemy's brain... Exterminate anything that moves on the bridge! Those idiots! Do they think it's that easy to conquer the second tower? A thousand dying soldiers will teach them this hard lesson! Come on, move it, you lazy bastards! Everyone in position!!!" Ordered the commander. This was the perfect opportunity Barristan's group had been waiting for... Now they could move freely around the tower.

It was up to the elderly Knight, along with Thoros of Myr, Beric, Henry, Lord Fury, and about twenty Knights Errant and Tallhart warriors, to assault that side of the gate. Bloody Snow and the remaining forces would wait and storm the opposite side when the time was right.

'We must lower that bridge and open the gate no matter what!' Barristan thought, remembering every part of the plan.

About three minutes later...

"You! Stop there! Who are you? What are you doing... Urgh!" Barristan quickly slashed the words and the throat of one of the sentries guarding the levers, then instantly drew his longsword stabbing a second guard in the belly who was too slow to react. Thoros and the others threw themselves against the remaining five ironmen taken totally by surprise.

A quick and successful first assault. The men behind the door seemed not to have been alarmed... The real challenge would begin shortly. All men were in position and ready for the second assault.

Barristan threw open the door and quickly entered the room. His experienced eye quickly counted fourteen enemies to neutralize.

"Hey! Who are you guys! How did you get in here?" Reprimanded a tall man in his forties clutching his axe. "Attack!"

The Royal Guard threw itself first into the jaws of the supposed watch commander. The opponent managed to deflect Barristan's first two slashes. 'A worthy opponent' The old knight thought instinctively.

The adrenaline and excitement of a real battle flared up in Ser Barristan's tired muscles and bones. A pleasant and familiar feeling that he loved and was born to. Every cell in the man focused on the 'Here and Now'.

He deflected a slash to the side and counterattacked, managing to graze his opponent's right armpit. A second adversary armed with a sword entered the fray to help his commander. Barristan was not caught unprepared and played in advance cutting off the forearm of the enemy.

"Quickly! Call for reinforcements! Sound the alarm!!!" He managed to shout the ironman in charge of the team before reentering the fray with his opponent.

A boy who didn't even look like he was of age answered the call, attempting to make his way to the secondary door of the room.

"Henry! Stop him!" Barristan thundered in response.

The archer of House Tallhart was ready. An arrow pierced the poor devil's throat sideways just a second later. The boy slumped at the door, spitting blood from his mouth.

Barristan's forces were getting the better of him, there were four enemies still standing. The Knight took a counterattack an imprecise slash of his opponent, cut the wrist of the hand that held the axe and turned the sword masterfully cutting off his head.

Thoros slaughtered a second enemy and the remaining two quickly followed the fate of their comrades.

'Victory is ours.' Exulted the leader of that team in a composed and guarded manner. ''Quickly! Operate the levers! Let's lower that bridge and bolt those doors! Soon we'll have visitors..."

End Part III