Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Hi everyone, sorry for the delay.

Preparing this chapter and laying the groundwork for the sequel was a mess.

Watch out for the attached pictures (maybe there are some that interest you).

Happy reading!!!

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POV: Denys Drumm;

Bear Island.

Two hours after the Iron Fleet invaded the island's harbor...

Captain Denys Drumm (c. 37 years old), eldest son of Lord Dustan Drumm (75-76 years old), Lord of Old Wyk, was in command of 112 ships and over 5,300 real bloody iron men.

Old Wyk is the holiest of all the Iron Islands. The legendary Grey King slew the sea dragon, Nagga, upon its shore. On Old Wyk, the First Men found the Seastone Chair, the traditional throne of the Iron Islandsra.

It was on that island that Balon Greyjoy was crowned King of Salt and Stone some two weeks before.

His king had charged House Drumm, one of Greyjoy's most loyal houses, with an important mission: Destroy Bear Island and consecrate every inhabitant in salt and water...

No one would become a slave or a salt wife... not this time.

Any spoils found on the island would belong to House Drumm, as well as 'special booty'.

If they were able to find and kill a certain target, Balon would give his House 50,000 G.D., a sum sufficient to double House Drumm's fleet...

On this occasion, because his father was too old, Lord Dustan Drumm granted Denys, one of the fiercest fighters in Old Wyk, the ancestral steel bastard sword of Valyrian steel, 'Red Rain'.

A blade that had belonged to his House since their ancestor, Hilmar Drumm, took the blade from a knight in armor with nothing but his wits and a wooden club. From then on he was called "Hilmar the Clever".

It would be Denys' first battle with Red Rain... and he would consecrate it with the blood of that supposed hero of the North, 'Bloody Snow'...

A perfect sacrifice that would raise his and his House's glory to unprecedented heights.

"Admiral Drumm!" He called to an officer under his direct command.

"Speak up, what did the scouts find?" Denys.

"My Lord, every house is abandoned...

The ships along the coasts, they found no trace of the Mormont or Tallhart fleets, just a few old fishing boats." Denys grunted conspicuously, clenching his fist.

'Bloody cowards! Where have they gone?

There's no way they could have escaped...

They shouldn't have heard about our attack for at least a day...' The Admiral thought reflectively.

It was true, the enemy fleet, even if it had escaped a day earlier, would have been stopped by the blockade of Iron Fleet ships. Before attacking the Island, Denys had made sure that no one could leave the Island. His target would not have to escape.

After a few seconds, Denys made a decision.

"Give the signal for 50 more ships to dock...

Thirty ships will remain to cover our backs.

I want every man ready to attack Castle Mormont." The Fleet Admiral ordered.

"Yes, Admiral, aye aye!" The officer stepped back to carry out Denys Drumm's instructions.

About six hours later...

"My Lord...there is no one inside the fortress.

It looks like they abandoned it in a hurry.

We found several supplies and some treasures scattered everywhere." Reported a captain to the commander-in-chief.

"So they're still here!

They can't be too far away...

Collect the treasures and anything else that might be useful!

Then burn everything!

Search every stone and forest within 30 miles of here!

They'll have left a trail!" Denys.

"Yes, Lord Drumm.

My Lord..." The captain.

"Speak up!" Denys.

"It seems that in many houses, small booty has been found...

Many men are concentrating on plundering, you see...

It will be difficult to explore the island in a short time..." Said the young captain, being careful with the words he used.

He didn't want to tell that bloodthirsty madman, Lord Drumm's son, that the men were practically getting caught up in the Gold and Silver fever and ignoring orders...

"...We don't have time for a few measly coins!

Within four or five days at most, reinforcements from the North will arrive...

Have a dozen mutineers executed as an example." Admiral Denys Drumm replied angrily.

"...Yes, my Lord."

End POV.

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POV: Lieutenant Brywen

Selected battlefield, Bear Island.

About four hours after fourteen ironmen were executed in front of everyone...

Brywen (about 17), Tom's youngest son, was on the left edge of the first line of 30 men. To his left was the last member of the Guardians who would protect the most vulnerable point in the formation, his own, General, Lord, hero, comrade, and friend, Duncan Tallhart.

Soon Deputy Commander William, the most capable scout in the entire unit and perhaps in the entire Tallhart army, a direct pupil of Master Zick's traveling companion, Ramas, would be returning to inform everyone short of the shifting enemy forces...

With a few bags of silver and bags of gold, the Mormont-Tallhart allies had managed to make the enemy army lose more than half a day. Within a maximum of two days, reinforcements would come to their aid.

If they could hold out for two days, victory would be theirs.

For Brywen, this was his first real battle. Many of his brethren had already fought and bathed their blades in blood. For the past year, Bloody Snow, as part of the drill, had personally led all 500 of the Guardian recruits on a bandit hunt...

They had routed two large groups that year.

As the defenses of each village in the Tallhart lands were considerably increased, many small bands of bandits formed coalitions.

The first band of nearly 100 armed men was broken up in less than an hour...

The second group, of about 150, managed to last almost four hours, but only because the General had chosen to fight on the safe side...

In any case, Brywen, didn't get the chance to fight and face his first baptism of blood.

Today would be the day, and he would be baptized in the blood of the ironmen.

The skill level of the bandits was... pathetic, to say the least. Only able to prevail on old men, women, and children. There were barely three lightly wounded in both punitive expeditions.

This time it was different...

They would face real warriors armed with well-honed axes that had been used many times before. Fierce men, even without a strategy, strongly believed that dying in battle would make them immortal.

'What is dead may never die', that was their mantra, their philosophy of life...

Brywen checked his equipment for the umpteenth time.

His steel helmet, lined inside with feather padding, was securely fastened.

The large round ironwood shield, plated in polished steel, three and a half feet (1.05 m) in circumference, rested at his feet.

The leggings and armbands were securely fastened.

Leather gloves with close-fitting pads on the palms and small steel plating on the backs had been put on.

His studded leather armor, made from the finest Karstark leather on the market, adorned with fine metal rings at the joints, had been properly fitted.

The seventeen-year-old wriggled out of it to test its comfort...

The silk-lined inner padding made it soft and not at all uncomfortable. His skin did not friction with the armor at all. His movements were free and unencumbered by unnecessary weights.

His short Damascus steel sword was in the leather sheath on his left, the opposite side of his sword hand.

The dagger with the hand shot handle, also made of Damascus steel, was behind in the small scabbard fastened to his belt.

'The spear!!! Where is the spear?!... What an idiot I am...' Brywen thought as he looked at the seven-foot spear, with the ironwood shaft and the tip also made of Damascus steel, which was already firmly in his right hand...

Brywen, did not know, that by removing the Damascus steel blades, which were currently only wielded by: Generals, V.Generals and Winter Guardians, his remaining single piece of equipment, was worth as much as the production cost of 3 full sets of white plate armor of the Royal Guard...

Blades were simply priceless on the market at the time...

Torrhen's Square blacksmith, Will, loyal to House Tallhart for over thirty years, had personally forged all those weapons in over two years of non-stop work...

Only he and the one who had taught him the forging technique currently knew the formula for creating such steel, which was second only to Valyrian Steel in both thread, strength, and durability.

This was Brywen's actual equipment.

The boy had no idea how lucky he was.

He found the weapons and armor, simply very good, to wear or wield...

The armor was suited to the northern climate, it protected well against slashing blows, but was 'weak' against blunt and piercing blows...Of course, weak in case he got hit if he didn't have his shield...

"This is the fourth time in an hour you've rechecked the equipment Brywen...

I'd say that if ten minutes ago, your third check was fine, your fourth is a bit of a stretch. Don't you think?" His General asked.

"Yes, my Lord General! You're right!" Said Brywen in an embarrassed tone.

"You don't need to call me...

Let's just leave it at that.

I'm starting to lose hope by now, both with you and your brothers...

Are you scared?" Bloody Snow asked.

"...Yes, my Lord General," Brywen admitted.

"I'd say that's good.

It means you're not stupid. Ahaha!" Bloody Snow.

"My Lord General...May I ask you...?

How can you laugh at a time like this?" Brywen.

"Everything that needed to be done has been done.

Now all that's left is to wait... And it's getting boring!

I mean, how stupid can those squids be?

I thought the coin trick was supposed to buy us five to six hours.

We're almost to the 11th hour.

All we can do is laugh! Ahahahah...

All kidding aside, I think Zick's to blame." Said Bloody Snow, who managed to wring a small smile from Brywen's lips.

"My Lord General, do you think we'll be able to hold the defensive line and...yes in short survive?" Brywen.

"Tell me again, the first and second rules of the front line." Ordered the General.

"1) [Do everything you can to protect the comrade on your right and have total confidence in the comrade on your left. If you do that, the line will not collapse."]

"2) [Mentally repeat the first rule three times, just before the fight begins.]" Brywen.

"Will you abandon Lieutenant Erick who is on your right?" Bloody Snow.

Erick turned around as soon as he was mentioned....

He too was curious about Brywen's answer.

"NO! NEVER! I SWEAR ERICK!

Hey! Don't look at me like that!" Erick was mocking him by staring at him with a look full of doubt.

"Ahahahahaha! Don't torment the poor Brywen, Erick!" Erick gave an amused grin and went back to minding his own business.

"So, where were we...ah yes...?

Do you trust me, Brywen?" Bloody Snow.

"Of course, my lord general! With all my heart!!!" Brywen.

"Do you think your other companions will follow these two rules?" Bloody Snow.

"I am convinced of it, my lord! They-" Brywen didn't have time to finish his sentence.

"Then I am quite certain the defense will hold." Cut Bloody Snow short.

"I understand, my Lord...but...even if I didn't want to...

I mean do you think I can manage to protect...' Erick' " He whispered the last word, though unnecessarily as Erick had heard him very well.

"Your brother Peter could do it in your opinion?" Bloody Snow.

"Of course! Peter is so strong! He..." The boy was interrupted again.

"Then I'm sure you'll make it.

You've already reached your brother's level." Duncan had explained up and down, the esteem he placed on each individual to his fellow soldiers.

They all knew: What grade from [1] to [10] their General gave each one of them.

None of the Winter Guardians were below a 6...

The first line consisted of twenty-eight levels [7] + one level [8], namely Commander Gellert. Besides him, only Vice Commander William was at the same level.

"Really, my Lord?!" Brywen asked, calming down after realizing this.

"Really." Bloody Snow.

Another minute of silence passed, then another question came to Brywen's mind. This was perhaps the least suitable time to ask it.

"My Lord General..."

"Yes, Brywen?" Bloody Snow asked calmly.

"What's it like...

What does it feel like to take a life?" Brywen.

"Mmmm I don't think you need to know that, Brywen." Bloody Snow.

"May I ask why, my Lord General?" Brywen.

"Of course you may.

When the fight begins and that moment comes, you won't have time to think about what you felt...

Instinctively your body will only be thinking about how to get your clean blade in and how to get a red blade out.

You will be focused only on the here and now. Your survival instinct will take over spontaneously without you even realizing it...

In two days, you can tell me how that felt, Brywen." Bloody Snow.

"I understand, my Lord General...Thank you." Brywen.

"You're welcome...

Do you have any more doubts or questions Brywen? This is the time if that." Bloody Snow.

Brywen thought about it for a while... then found it. The question that had been nagging at him for some time.

"Yes, my Lord General...

I wanted to ask you:

Why, when Lady Dacey came looking for you, did you hide behind Jeremy?" Brywen had touched a nerve.

Duncan was slightly shaken and unprepared for this question.

Not only Erick, but this time Jeremy and six other Guardians all turned to their General with baleful ears.

"YOU!!! You're just a bunch of meddlers!

SHAME ON YOU!!!" roared Bloody Snow indignantly.

No one was the least bit touched by these accusations and they continued to stare at the target waiting for an answer that they too wanted to know...

Duncan tried to escape somehow or find allies to support him...but it was no use, he was surrounded by implacable stares.

After a few seconds, he sighed and replied:

"...I don't feel comfortable in her presence! Okay?!

I can't have any distractions right now!

I have to stay focused to save your ungrateful hide!" Some nodded with a smirk, Erick even ventured a wink.

After a few seconds, Bloody Snow saw his escape route. His hero William was coming to his rescue less than three hundred feet away at a brisk pace.

"All right, all of you! That's enough! Concentrate and think only of fishing and spearing squid...

Boredom is over, Guardians."

End POV.

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POV: A Division Commander;

Selected battlefield, Bear Island.

About a minute after Bloody Snow shouted to his comrades...

"Commander, report!" Said William while maintaining a formal stance. The boy of just sixteen must have run more than two miles and didn't look tired at all.

"Go ahead, Deputy Commander William." Gellert.

" Three hundred and nine ironmen, are following the trail and have already alerted the rest of the vanguard of the enemy army.

Within an hour at most, at least 2,000 men will be here." William.

"Well, good work, Deputy Commander. Now retreat, rest and hydrate. I want you fresh and prickly as a rose in an hour." Gellert.

"Thank you Commander, it will be done, Sir." William retreated behind the front line to head for the camp where 600 Tallhart-Mormont men were currently resting.

Then Gellert shouted:

"HERE WE GO, MEN! SQUIDS WANT TO COME AND TASTE OUR BLADES!

WE MUST NOT DISAPPOINT THEM!"

"YES, SIR!" One hundred men thundered in reply.

"Lieutenant, recall our 150 brethren on duty." Gellert.

"Yes, Sir." The young Guardian, barely eighteen years of age, sprinted towards the rear.

Currently, only a hundred Guardians and two hundred Mormont soldiers were on guard.

The allies had to make sure all the warriors were well rested. Shifts were set to change every three hours.

One-third of the army would remain in position, while the remaining two-thirds rested.

The terrain and men were ready, everyone knew what to do and when to do it.

Two lines of thirty Guardians with spears and shields were the first defense and vanguard. They formed a human wall of almost a hundred feet. On their hollow sides, both about 50-60 feet wide, was the ground filled with sharp stakes, foot-wide hidden holes scattered almost everywhere like a minefield, and gold and silver coins scattered here and there.

If an iron man had tried to pick them up, he would at least have stabbed himself in the hand or foot. Each hole, about a foot and a half deep, concealed a steel blade ready and waiting for any limb that dared to step into it.

The Guardians were positioned on three sides, forming a square horseshoe. The first main side was formed by two lines of 30 shields and the remaining two by a single line of 20 shields.

If by some miracle, or by the presence of the bodies of other squids forming a safe bridge for others, the iron men had managed to cross those 60 feet full of traps, spears, and arrows, they would have reached the Mormont lines. One hundred and fifty veteran warriors including archers, lancers, and swords, were ready to welcome the survivors.

It was almost a certainty that on the first day of battle, the Ironborn, after feeling out the enemy's defenses, would choose to tackle the front line (visibly the most feasible at first glance).

They would soon realize how wrong they were...

The Ironborn didn't have the time if not the ability to build siege tools like catapults from scratch. If they had chosen to forgo melee and concentrate on a shower of arrows, they would only have wasted time and materials.

Of the two hundred and fifty Guardians: 100 formed the wall, 50 were archer-bowlers and the remaining 100 were tasked with 'restoring the wall', protecting and supporting the archers...

The Mormont lines were also well prepared against a shower of arrows. Palisades and wooden walls had been built and well-positioned to provide shelter for all the Mormont lines and the resting rearguard. The allies had even made sure that every stump of wood was well dampened and covered with fresh furs.

Fires would not have been a problem.

The rearguard, protected by another eight-foot-high, two-foot-thick wall of logs, would constantly hold at least three hundred to four hundred men.

Men who needed rest, food, fluids, care, or other necessities. After the first few hours, the Ironborn would probably opt for a battle of attrition, feeling strong in their numbers. They had to make sure they could hold their own. Every three hours, the men would rotate line shifts.

All preparations were complete.

General Duncan had set a target of at least 1,000 to 1,200 enemy casualties before reinforcements arrived.

Gellert was confident they might even reach 1,800-2,000.

If the Ironborn fought in a 'militarily suicidal' manner, the Northmen could even halve the enemy army in two days.

About ten minutes later...

"GUARDIANS!

PLAN [A]!

WHAT ARE THE OPENING TIMES?" Roared Gellert.

"15, 13, 10 AND 12, SIR!!!" thundered in unison 250 men ready for anything.

"I DIDN'T HEAR THAT!" Gellert.

"15!!, 13!!, 10!!, AND 12!! SIR!!!!!!" Answered with a louder synchronized shout from the Guardians.

Those just mentioned were the intervals in seconds with which they would open the wall to launch their attacks.

New intervals were chosen for each battle, all above ten seconds but with a maximum of 20.

If the Commander, or his Deputy, noticed that the enemy seemed to have become accustomed to the pace, it would be up to plan [B] with more different intervals.

"Well...

I'd say we're ready." Muttered Gellert in a low voice, deciding it was time to slip on his helmet.

A helmet that set him apart from the others.

About two hundred and thirty fellow soldiers, their faces still bare, followed his example at the same time.