Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

POV: Adoamros;

Dreadfort.

Year 285, 17th day of the second moon. About two weeks after the meeting between Roose Bolton and Helman Tallhart...

Adoamros stood before the Lord of Dreadfort. Next to him was the Bolton family's chief attendant, Rigghert.

"Do I make myself clear, Rigghert?" Roose Bolton asked his attendant in charge of the castle's finances.

"Yes, my lord. I will burn the documents as soon as I have finished accounting for everything." Rigghert replied promptly, bowing.

"Go on then. Leave us." Roose.

"Yes, Lord Bolton." Rigghert, bowed again and prepared to leave.

As soon as Rigghert stepped out, Adoamros took a step forward.

"My lord...Forgive me for allowing myself. I would like to ask if I could observe your eyes for a moment." Adoamros asked with humility and awe.

Roose Bolton was slightly surprised by the request. Adoamros, at this point, should have known 'the rules' well.

"For what purpose?" Roose asked coldly and suspiciously.

"My lord...I notice a slight redness near your iris. On both eyes to be precise. I would like to check it more closely. If you will allow me." Adoamros.

Lord Bolton, thought about it for a moment. He knew the man couldn't be armed and had nothing but his clothes and a book with him.

"You can do that. Also check this rash on my left arm and tell me what it is." Bolton.

Adoamros, bowed after hearing those words. He approached calmly but also confidently towards his master.

Without tremors in his hands or hesitation, Adoamros opened his patient's eyelids wider and searched his eyes for a good minute.

"Do you feel an itch in your arm, my Lord?" Adoamros asked, turning to his arm.

"Yes...for about a week now. What is it?" Roose Bolton asked quietly and coolly. From the man's voice, he didn't sound frightened but his gaze expressed an icy hint of anger and ruthlessness.

"My lord...

Before I answer you, I would like to bring in Maester Wolkan as well. I would also need his opinion to confirm my suspicions."

End POV.

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POV: Griff 'Rusty Sword' .

King's Road, about 80 miles from Winterfell.

Some forty days after Adoamros first visited Lord Roose Bolton...

Griff, who had been nicknamed 'Rusty Sword' for over a decade. He had been in the service of the Tallhart family for over 50 years. All his life he had fought alongside House Tallhart. He had started as a soldier at only 16 years of age. He had served Lord Helman's Grandfather William, his son Ecbert and 5 years under the command of the last Master of Torrhen's Square before being discharged with full honours. He was even granted a piece of land and a mill, for all the years of loyalty and valour he had shown to House Tallhart.

When Lord Helman called together the men of his lands to march south, Griff, who had just turned 77, begged Lord Helman to allow him to join his army.

Lord Helman refused his pleas and forced him to return home to enjoy his years of well-earned rest. It was his son, Edd, who went in his stead and never returned...

Griff was left alone. When he was called to Torrhen's Square to receive an honorary commendation for his Edd's sacrifice, the old man refused to take the money. Not because he was offended, but because he wanted a different reward....

What he wanted most was for his name to be immortalised alongside his son's in the marble slab of the war memorial. And now, he had his chance. A chance to serve Tallhart House one last time...

"I won't die lying on a bed because of a cough.

No...

I'm going to die standing up with a sword in my hand!!!

Lord Helman, he even granted me the chance to contribute to the plan to avenge my son Edd! ' Old Griff thought with a smile. The man, out of excitement, clutched the hilt of his rusty old sword. A gift from Helman's grandfather for the valour he had shown in his battle. He had tended that sword for over forty-eight years. Although the steel was worn and rusted, the sword was still razor sharp. Hence its nickname ''Rusty Sword''.

''This is it... They're coming! ' He thought as he looked at a mounted group of about thirty armed men.

Griff was currently sitting on his four-wheeled wagon, pulled by two tired old nags. It was carrying fifteen twenty-gallon barrels of fine liquor.

About a minute later.

"Hey there Old Man! What are you carrying? " Asked one of the thirty bloodthirsty men.

"What do you want?! Who are you? Don't come any closer! This... this is a shipment for Lord Eddard Stark himself!" Griff replied, trying to play the part of 'the poor, frightened old merchant' to the best of his ability.

"Ahahahah! Did you hear that?! A load for 'LORD EDDARD STARK! Good stuff boys!", "Aahahaha!".

"So old man...Choose! Hands or feet? " Asked the man with a wicked smile.

"Wha...What you mean?" Griff.

"You know...We have a habit of chopping off limbs here and there, and today you my friend will be the lucky one. Since you're giving us the gift of precious cargo, we'll even let you choose between 'hands' or 'feet'. Well?" The bandit.

"No, please! Take whatever you want! But don't hurt me, please! I have two grandchildren to look after! Have mercy in the name of the gods!!!" Griff retreated backwards, trying to get off the cart awkwardly.

"Ahahaha! Look at him! He's trying to escape!", "Ahahah!", " Boss leave him to me please! "

"Hear that old man?", "Rosgho will play with you! Try not to shout too much. He loves to hear his prey scream." Said Vargo Hoat 'The Goat', deputy commander of the 'Braves Companion'.

Rosgho, seeing the old merchant limping as he tried to escape, dismounted his horse to catch up with him on foot. It would have been too easy and too little fun otherwise.

When he got about 5 feet from the old man, Rosgho noticed that the merchant was clutching a bundle wrapped in a woolen cover. He was about to grab the old man's shoulder with his right hand... and then the old man turned his head.

Rosgho's hand was on the ground and what was left of his right arm was a blood-splattered stump.

"ARRRGHH!!! MY ARM!!!" Rosgho.

" Not to mention the left.", " Slashh!", "Spurzzsh!" Griff, seized the opportunity for distraction to cleave another blow towards his left hand.

"ARRRGHH!!! DAMN IT!!! HELP ME!!!" Screamed Rosgho in pain and panic.

"SOON! TEAR THAT OLD MAN DOWN! MOVE!" Vargo Hoat suddenly ordered. Three knights rushed forward, two lancers and an archer.

Griff saw that the archer, less than 30 feet from him, was about to shoot an arrow. At the last second, he shielded himself with Rosgho's still shocked body.

"Phew! Stuck!", "Urghaa..." Rosgho fell to his knees after the fracas hit him on his back.

"CHARGE! DIE OLD BASTARD!" Shouted a lancer, picking up speed.

'This is the end...

NO! I can still kill a horse! ' Thought Griff smiling for the last time.

15 feet...10 feet...5 feet.

Griff, clutching his faithful sword with both hands, launched himself with the full weight of his old and frail body, towards the throat of the horse that was about to run him over.

"SPFHUZZ!", "NIIII HIIII!!! ", "STROSHCRACK!!!'...

These were the sounds Griff managed to hear, before everything went black....

End POV.

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POV: Blade 57;

A headland in House Stark lands about 6 miles from the border of the Boltons' lands.

Three days later.

Blade 57, aka 'Thirsty Blade Garofd', was standing guard in the small clearing that contained over 100 horses, belonging to the ' Braves Companion'.

It was almost two moons ago that he, and his ''fellow adventurer'' Dast ''The Kettle of Rabbits'' ( Blade 111), had joined the group as ''novices''.

Less than three weeks ago, Blade 57 and 111 had taken part in two raids on villages under the protection of House Bolton. All on the orders of Roose Bolton himself....

The Lord of Dreadfort had to prove to his protector and the entire North that his lands were swarming with 'dangerous bandits'...

Now there were only a couple of days to go before the real plan. House Tallhart's caravan was on its way to this path, and by tomorrow it would arrive at the ambush site.

They had chosen this spot because it was uninhabited, not subject to patrols and perfect for a raid.

"Take the apples. The time has come. "Blade 57 ordered his subordinate, who nodded readily.

This was the third phase of the plan.

First, for about four days now, Blade 57 and 111, had killed four 'Braves Companion' men. One each night...

They had arranged for the body to be found under grim and mystical circumstances. The body stripped bare, the victim strangled to death and the blood spiraling down his chest...

Then they had spread a rumor among the men...

'The lost Stark. '...

A descendant of House Stark, who lived over two hundred years ago, who had sold his soul to the God Stranger, renouncing his faith in the Old Gods...

The 'legend' (totally invented by the two of them) was that Diggard Stark, 'The Direwolf', had to pay a sacrifice every day, so that his life could last one more day without aging, which had reaped tens of thousands of poor souls. And now the 'Stranger Wolf' had come down on the 'Brave Companions' for daring to camp in his territory. On the first day, the story was laughed at and taken as a joke.

On the second day, it began to be taken seriously.

On the third day, panic spread among the men.

On the fourth day, seeds of despair began to sprout. Guard shifts were tripled. Half the men could not sleep, at least 50 of them had not slept for two days.

Then came the second phase of the plan: 'Poison the food'.

Blade 111, cooked a delicious rabbit stew for over a month, which was a great success among the men. Even the leader, Quorik, ordered Dust, 'The Kettle of Rabbits' to prepare that stew at least once every two days. So it was that Dust easily managed to corrupt the stew with a special liquid...

About 100 men, of the original 206 (now 201), who had landed in the North for a special assignment, were struck down by repeated bouts of fulminating diarrhoea. Twelve of the hundred were feverish in bed, dehydrated and unable to get up.

Blade 57 managed to find a way to 'alleviate those symptoms'. Fortunately the 15 barrels, plundered a few days ago from an old merchant who managed to kill one of theirs and shoot down a horse that, in the fall, fractured the leg of a second of their riders, seemed to contain a high-proof liquor that managed to calm the inflamed bowels of half of the 'Brave Companions'...

Now, almost all of the 200 men were used to drinking more alcohol than water....

Now, the third phase of the plan had finally arrived...

The penultimate one before the start of the assault on the caravan.

Drugging the horses.

Blade 57 and 111, were distributing poisoned apples to over 150 horses. The group's scout had indicated that the three caravans and the 60 men-at-arms escorting them would arrive at the appointed location around dawn the next morning.

This was the ideal time. So that the horses would have half the energy and strength they should normally have the following morning.

About 3 hours later...

"Hey Garofd! It's not your turn...Coorfff...Gurrlp...Clugh.." The man on patrol that night was stabbed in the throat. Ten other sentries met the same fate...

"Hide the bodies! And be quiet... You will all have to wear these clothes. Make sure that when the time comes, the red sash is clearly visible in the morning." Twelve men dressed in black, nodded at those words and began to get to work.

End POV.

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POV: Vargo Hoat.

The same promontory.

Dawn of the next day.

What the heck is wrong with my horse! ' Thought the deputy commander of the 'Brave Companions' in frustration.

"Move you stupid beast!" Said Vargo, trying to spur his mount on harder.

They were about half a mile from the hillside overlooking the path.

Shit! I can't wait to leave this barren, cold place! We've had nothing but bad luck and misfortune of all kinds since we've been here!' Vargo thought angrily.

But now, he had no time to think about it. Although they had three times as many men as their target, Vargo, knew full well that half their men were tired and drunk. Even he had drunk two horns of the liquor the night before to get to sleep. The strongest he had ever tasted... but also the sweetest. Once tasted, every other drink tasted like piss. A few minutes ago he even had blackouts...

He had seen a couple of faces in his group that he couldn't recognise. He pretended not to, because his head was still spinning from the hangover. He couldn't even remember the names of the new members. All he knew was that one was called 'Kettle of Rabbits' and the other... no, he couldn't remember the other at all.

He had promised himself that if they actually earned the amount Roose Bolton had promised them for their services, he would buy dozens of those barrels. For his own use only.

' 15,000 g.d. is less than a mile away from you! Concentrate Vargo! ' He thought as he shook his head slightly.

"MEN! TO ME!" He commanded loudly trying to rally the 60 knights at his direct command.

'As soon as the chariots reach that point, we will begin the charge! Remember! No one must be able to get back to us! Cover your faces and hide all symbols. Should anyone escape, no one must know that the 'Brave Companions' were involved. FIFTEEN THOUSAND PIECES OF GOLD AWAIT US! LET'S GO GET THEM!" He encouraged Vargo as he raised his spear to the sky.

"YEEEAAARGGHH!!!" More than half of the armed men responded with euphoria and desire.

About twenty minutes later...

"SOUND THE CHARGE!!!" Both Vargo and Quorik shouted in unison.

"WOOOUUUUUUHH!!!"

End POV.

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POV: Bloody Snow;

On a trail in the lands of House Stark.

A few seconds after a horn alerts the men of the caravan.

"PREPARE THE WAGONS! MEN IN POSITION!" Thundered a white-haired boy.

"YES, MY LORD!" More than 50 men roared in response.

The men knew what to do, they were well prepared for the coming battle.

The three 15-foot-long 'special' wagons, each secretly containing 8 men-at-arms, were quickly positioned about 10-15 feet apart. Spiked steel chains, which in turn supported a five-foot high wire mesh, were attached to the rear base of the three wagons, which were positioned in a semi-circular pattern.

"MEN! ON MY SIGNAL, PULL THE LEVERS! CROSSBOWMEN READY TO FIRE! CAPTAIN PETER, GATHER THE CAVALRY!" Bloody Snow, continued to fire orders one after another.

"AYE, MY LORD!", "THE CHAINS ARE READY, MY LORD!", "READY TO FIRE ON YOUR COMMAND!", "MEN ASSEMBLE, READY TO CHARGE ON MY SIGNAL!". They answered one after another, their respective group leaders and captains.

"Don't move away from me or Will and keep that shield up at all times." Recommending Syggha to the boy's side. She[9], Will[9], Josua of Jhala[9], Narbo[10] and Dywen Stone[8], were the masters charged with protecting the 'ward of Zich' at any cost. Cohollo and Galladon Sand, rode alongside the young Captain Peter.

"Yes, Master Syggha!!!" Bloody Snow.

"200 FEET!" Shouted a lookout and continued.

"150!"

"100!"

"50!"

"COMING!!!

"CHAINS!" Three men, one each from each wagon, pulled three reinforced wooden levers in unison. Counterweights clicked and the chains were tightened. A railing of sharp steel and barbed wire rose to a height of 5 feet above the ground.

"CARRIAGES '1' AND '3'! PULL AT WILL ON THE FLANKS!!! CAR '2' TO THE CENTRE!" The commands were heard just in time, before chaos erupted.

"UUUAAAARGHH!!!" "NIIIII HIIII!" "SPIGNH! ZUFHH!" "ARRGHH!", "MY LEG!!", "I'M DYING!", "HELP ME!!", "IT'S A RETREATING TRAP!!", "URRGH!!", "DART!!! THEY'RE SHOOTING AT US FROM THE SLOTS IN THE WAGONS!!!" "NIII!! HIII!".

Dozens of cries of distress, screams, nitrites of dying horses and orders here and there created absolute chaos. Only one voice thundered louder and clearer than all of them.

"PETER,NOWW!!! CROSSBOWMEN, CONCENTRATE FIRE IN THE MIDDLE! SHIELDS AND PIKES, TO ME!" Ordered the militia commander, clad in splendid chain mail armour of fine, well-hardened steel with custom-made leather armour underneath. He was armed with a strangely shaped short sword, never seen before which he christened 'Xiphos', and a custom-made thin steel hoop shield.

"MEN CHARGE!!!" Shouted Peter, 60 feet from the chariots. He personally led 20 horsemen, well armed and steel clad on the left wing. Cohollo led the remaining twenty on the right wing to close a pincer hold on the enemy forces.

Some fifty enemy corps and horses had already massed outside the Iron Curtain before the charge began.

As soon as the charge of their cavalry units began, Bloody Snow, gave the final commands.

"SEND THE SIGNAL TO THE FROST BLADES!"

"CROSSBOWMEN, BREAK OFF! TAKE UP SHIELDS AND SWORDS AND ASSEMBLE IN FORMATION!!!"

"SHIELDS FORM LINE!

"ON MY SIGNAL, LOWER THE IRON CURTAIN!"

The twenty crossbowmen threw their crossbows to the ground and picked up their swords and shields, heading for the second and third lines of infantry.

Red and white flags were waved by a pair of men positioned ten feet above the wagons.

Two lines of seven men each, armed with tower shields and spears, led the infantry. Behind them were the units of shields and swords, led by Bloody Snow himself.

"UNLOCK!!!!" Thundered the boy. Immediately three levers were lowered and the wall of wire landed on the ground.

"FOR YOUR LORD! FOR TORRHEN'S SQUARE! AND FOR THE NORTH!!!....CHAAAARGEE!!!!!!!!!!!! " Incited the commander.

"FOR THE NORTHH!!! The men replied in unison.