Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Sorry guys for those who read in the first 10 minutes there was a transcription error. I don't know if it was my fault (likely) or a bug. One part was missing.

It should be fixed now, if you notice any errors please report them. Thank you.

Happy reading!

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POV: Admiral Danys Drumm;

Bear Island Battlefield.

About two hours after William informed the camp...

Danys was in a newly erected tent with twelve other captains.

"Admiral Drumm, the enemy forces should not exceed 800.

We outnumber them 6 to 1, and ours are all veteran ironborn.

That northern line of men is less than 300 men...they still look like they're soaked in mother's milk.

It won't be a problem breaking through that line." Said one of the more experienced captains.

"Aye!" several of them replied in chorus.

"Even a baby with a blade in its hand can kill an ironborn at the right time and under the right conditions.

They may be young, but they are tough and well equipped.

They also seem to have been waiting for us..." Lord Drumm said wisely.

"Admiral, if I may..." A young captain asked.

"Speak up." Lord Drumm.

"Probably, one of their ships or fishing boats must have spotted us at sea and managed to alert the Island...

With a day's head start, they may have rushed to set up a defense in those caves...

Maybe they think they can hold out until reinforcements arrive.

The fact that they didn't even have time to bring gold and supplies with them is proof of that, my lord." Said the captain named Qobbish.

"Aye, it must be so, my lord." Many nodded at those words.

"...Yes, it is possible." Lord Drumm.

"They hope they can hold out for more than four days with those measly numbers! Then it is true that women mate with Bears on this Island! Ahahahaha!" Many people began to laugh and sneer at the Northern people. All except Lord Drumm...

The Admiral reasoned silently for more than a minute staring at a barely sketched map of the camp.

''Are those Tallhart forces?

Do the scouts confirm they have no way to escape?" Denys asked one of the captains.

"Yes, Admiral. The seal of House Tallhart is on the shields. We have not yet identified or scouted the location of Bloody Snow...

We're not certain he's there, my lord...

No passages or exits have been found in that rocky area above ground.

If there is a way it's only through possible underground cave passages, but even if there were, we know there are thousands of civilians in the caves. Wouldn't they mobilize quickly...

They're trapped, Admiral." Said the captain in charge of exploring the camp's surroundings with a smirk.

'None of these idiots are wondering:

Where did the ships Mormont and Tallhart go?....

Are they hoping to escape to the Wildling lands?...or maybe they want to try and attack the ships...?

No, they're not.

They don't have more than a dozen ships, nor the men to sail them. They wouldn't stand a chance against the thirty ships I left behind...' Lord Drumm thought calmly.

Although everyone knew how fearless and reckless the eldest son of House Drumm was, few knew that he was also one of the best commanders of all captains.

His father trusted him.

In the past, Denys Drumm had always proven that he knew when to attack or when to retreat. He had even advised his father against joining this rebellion...

He believed Balon Greyjoy to be too arrogant and obsessed with the 'Old Way'...

But he also knew that things would never change in the Iron Islands.

This was their way of life...but that didn't mean they had to antagonize the whole world.

Denys would never fight a losing battle in the first place.

He felt strongly that stupidity and courage were two sides of the coin.

He knew that if he wanted to accomplish this mission, they would have to defeat the enemy within the next three days at the latest. After the third day, the risk was too high.

In that time interval, it was possible that the North would be able to gather and send at least 1,500-2,000 men.

He did not want to face that kind of battle.

He had to exploit the advantage here and now.

'Everything I've seen so far, only makes me conclude that stubborn people, want to fight to the last man and only hope somehow to win an almost impossible to win the battle...' Denys thought, giving vent to all the rationality in his head.

After another minute of thought, the Admiral made a decision.

"Deploy the vanguard.

I want that line to fall before the sun rises tomorrow...

Send in the least experienced and undisciplined warriors first... they must have some kind of plan.

I want to know what it is.

What is Dead, May Never Die." Denys announced.

"What is Dead, May Never Die!"

End POV.

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POV: William;

Battlefield Bear Island.

About twenty minutes after a plan of action was decided...

It was already two hours since the Allied army had deployed ready for battle.

For the Winter Guardians, this was no problem at all.

They had learned to save every ounce of strength at the opportune moments. Even in this seemingly uncomfortable position, he and his comrades could rest. By relaxing their muscles and applying the right breathing technique, there was no difference between sitting and standing for them.

The sun had been down for over an hour. The first few hours of battle would take place in the dark.

'Better that way...

As General Duncan said:

[Theatricality and deception, are powerful weapons.]' William thought with a smile.

The ironmen, they were in for a treat...

And with only the dim light of the torches, he could look like a shadow demon bringing death.

William was the exception among the Guardians. He alone wore that kind of armor. His 499 companions had standard armor. His was still studded leather armor, but instead of having laminated studs, it had small blades.

Throwing blades.

William was an expert Dual Wielding fighter. His weapons of choice were two short curved swords (smaller and thinner than standard weapons) and countless throwing knives.

He was eager to prove himself.

The last two years had been pure hell.

After a couple of months of William being officially integrated into the Guardians, his master, Ramas, took him under his wing.

Ramas was a monster...

The first three months of physical training seemed like a cakewalk compared to the man's schedule.

William had learned to climb wherever there was a small foothold, to sleep with one eye open, to rely on his hearing and smell more than his sight, and of course...to fight.

Every evening after dinner, Ramas would force him into a hand-to-hand fight in all kinds of terrain. A confrontation in the dark was the most frequent.

In those two years, William had suffered 36 different types of fractures, 21 cracked ribs and gods only know how many bruises and sprains...

Maester Qyburn's healing treatments were miraculous...

It could be said that House Tallhart, had given a budget to that unit, enough to fund at least 4 legions...

No expense had been spared. The best medicines, herbs, bandages, treatments, and tonics were always available in unlimited supply.

Now the time had come to repay that debt.

William and his fellow unit members had to prove they were worth the investment.

Suddenly, a loud echo thundered less than 400 feet from the formation...

"FOR KING BALON!!! CHARGE!!!!!", "FOR KING BALON!!!!" About five hundred screamings, bloodthirsty Ironborn roared.

'And so it began...' Thought the Deputy Commander.

"GUARDIANS, IN POSITION!!!

SHIELD WALL!!!" Thundered Gellert in the front line.

"AWOO!!!" Roared the remaining 99 members of the wall in unison.

'A vanguard of about...450-500 men maximum...

They are ill-equipped, movements imprecise and disorderly...

The enemy wants to test our defenses with expendable meat.

So be it.' Quickly assessed William analyzing the nearly five hundred screaming men who began a charge three hundred feet away.

"Captain Phillis," William called to the captain of the crossbowmen-archers squad.

"Yes, Sir?" Phillis.

"You have command of the firing unit.

I want to let off some steam." William.

"Yes, sir.

FIRING UNIT, TO ME!

IN POSITION!" Roared Phillis took command of 20 crossbowmen, 30 archers, and 80 support men.

"YES, SIR!!!" The 110 men answered in unison as they took up their positions.

"LET'S GIVE OUR MEN SOME VISIBILITY!

ARCHERS! RAIN OF FIRE!" 30 men lit their arrows in the braziers provided.

"TENDER!...

SHOOT!" Thirty tiny little red dots scattered about 100-120 feet from them, giving the men on the front line a better view.

The 60 support men, quickly prepared to place the 30 shields for each archer. The 20 crossbowmen positioned themselves behind the second line with the remaining 20 of their support men.

The crossbowmen were equipped with a special new type of crossbow.

A double-stringed instrument of death with two trigger levers that was capable of firing two darts in a row instead of one.

Their supporting companions not only protected the twenty crossbowmen from various threats but also repeatedly reloaded a spare crossbow with additional darts. In this way, between intervals, the barrage of darts was constant.

William approached the second line on the center-right side.

He was less than 15 feet from Gellert.

The seconds ticked by and the enemy charge was getting closer and closer...

"100 FEET!!!" warned Gellert...

"50!!!"...

"HOLD!!!"...

"AWOOOOO!!!" Roared 60 human walls in unison, a moment before collision.

"SDDUUURGHH!!, AARRRGHRR!!, TO KING BALON!!, URGHH! DIE NORTHERN DOG!!!, UUUUUAAARGH!!, TEAR THEM APART!!, CLASHS!, TIINGN!!" A loud crashing noise, along with a cacophony of screams, curses, axe blows clashing on solid objects and countless other sounds dropped and burst like thunder in a clear sky.

The first 30 Guardians were holding out in silence, concentrating only on their breathing and a countdown...

The front line was visibly retreating at least one foot every five seconds...

Not because they could not prevail against the enemy's thrust force, but to save their strength for the decisive push...

It was the second line that took on the task of holding the first line steady.

The first thirty men had to concentrate mainly on leg stability, the last 30 supported the torso of their comrades in front by pushing.

'4...3...2...1...it's the time!' Thought William in sync with hundreds of loyal comrades.

"NOOW!!! PUSH!!!" Gellert.

"AWOOO!!!" The 30 men who were sparing themselves pushed with all their might as if they were released tension springs.

About forty iron men, tired and sore from the pressure, flashed back at least 6 or 7 feet, losing their balance.

"OPEN!!!" Commander Gellert.

"DISCONNECT!" Phillis.

Before they could even try to take a step forward, the poor front line composed, of the brave, valiant, and stupid ironmen, was met by 30 razor-sharp spear blades and 20 crossbow darts.

A moment after the fellow crossbowman next to William fired his arrow, the Vice-Commander sprinted forward into the opening in the two lines that had been created for him.

William stepped over the first line and into a tangle of screaming, dying, and wounded men.

Before drawing his two short blades, the 'Shadow Demon' threw one of his daggers, striking the eye of an uninjured Ironborn.

Then the real fun began.

William drew his two blades and taking advantage of his short stature, spun around, slicing cleanly through one man's leg and another man's bare knee.

An eye, a leg, and a knee!...There!' William counted within himself, activating his perception and death zone to the max. He found another target to hit in time before retreating.

'Slurshh!!! AAAAARGGHHH! BASTARD!!!" Unfortunate ironmen, he would no longer be able to beget sons and daughters of salt...

"KILL HIM!!!" Three men noticed the mad Northern target daring to enter the melee alone between enemy lines.

William quickly stepped back.

"CLOSE!!!" Gellert roared.

Before axes, swords or spears could strike the fearless William, a tower of shields interposed itself between him and the enemy.

The formation [Wall of Shields] was closed exactly as before and a new countdown began.

But the counterattack was not over...

"ARCHERS, NOWW!!!" Captain Phillis roared.

Thirty pairs of Guardians raised a shield by gripping handles.

The thirty archers crouched in balance on those shields, equipped with thirty new modified bows, made from the finest golden heartwood and specially manufactured in the Summer Isle with the proper specifications, rose into the air reaching eleven to twelve feet high and fired their hollow-pointed arrows at thirty different targets.

"AARRGH!, HELP ME!!, ARROWS!!, SHIELDS SOON!, AAARGHH!" Shouted the panicked ironmen who, in their confusion, couldn't even figure out where that volley had come from.

The first round of plan [A] was over...

'About 40 mortally wounded, a dozen seriously wounded and another dozen barely hit...' William counted instinctively within himself.

Ramas had always taught him and repeated an important rule.

[Learn to count! Words and actions can hide lies, numbers cannot! Learn to keep track of everything around you]. One of his master's golden rules.

'The traps...' Thought William trying to get an idea of the fallen ironmen who had chosen to walk a different road.

A dark road, full of potholes, blades, and sharp poles...

Making full use of the few seconds he had left before the second opening in the wall, William quickly estimated the bloodshed and death that was taking place on both sides of the front line...

At least 30 men from the Iron Islands had been impaled or impaled by sharp, rusty blades...

The other ranks of men, seeing the bitter end of their comrades, stopped their charge and retreated on the orders of one of their leaders in command.

William moved to another point in the second line.

Rarely would he attack from the same point for more than an interval.

He must have been an invisible and unpredictable shadow....

The Ironborn's second charge of attack was much sloppier and easier to handle...

Now that at least fifty of their comrades had died before their eyes, with an ease and speed never before seen, fear and doubt plagued the enemy formation.

Even the bodies of their comrades, which stood in their way, made the offensive at least three times less fierce and oppressive than the first charge.

The worst words the poor vanguard of Lord Drumm's army could hear thundered again.

"PUSH!!!", "AWOOO!!",

"OPEN!!!"

"UNLOAD!!!"

"CLOSE!!!"

"ARCHERS!"...

End POV.

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POV: Duncan;

Battlefield Bear Island.

About fifteen minutes after the fight began....

It was a massacre...

There were no other words to describe the first phase of the battle.

About 350 corpses of the original 500 fearless and bloodthirsty squids of the vanguard were lying on the ground beginning to form a second wall.

A wall made of human flesh...

The stench was atrocious and pungent, but the Guardians were prepared for that too.

Each of them carried a small bottle of aniseed and licorice balm, which they rubbed under their nostrils. In this way, the stench of dead blood and shit was considerably more tolerable.

Another forty ironborn survivors still lay screaming or crawling on the ground...

Some who had fallen into the concealed holes, which contained a sharp rusty blade, were trying with all their might to get back to their camp, limping or crawling. Others were trying somehow to blot up the blood and not bleed to death...

"I tell you there were eight of them!!! Three to the belly, four to the chest, and one to the throat!" Brywen scolded Erick.

"Yeah right...at most I'd say [6] and that's only because I'm generous." Retorted Erick trying to safeguard his [7].

"You!!! One of them was even going to chop off your arm with an axe! that's how you thank me?!?!

You're just saying that because you don't know how to lose!!!

I have the Lord General as my witness!

My Lord?" Brywen turned to me looking for support.

"Confirmed Erick, pay your silver moon and keep your dignity high." I saw Erick sigh conspicuously and Brywen gloats over his victory.

"You shouldn't be gambling and betting on human lives...it's not Guardian behavior...

And by the way, you both owe me a Moon.

I'm up to eleven. Ahaha!!!" Both Brywen and Erick looked at me with a surprised look and a hint of doubt.

I was slightly offended by this gesture that expressed a lack of trust in their commanding superior....

"General." A voice behind me almost caught me by surprise, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes, William?" I asked my trusted second-in-command.

"Commander Gellert requests your advice for the next few hours." William also acted as a messenger between the various ranks of command during a formation.

"Of course.

Before I give my advice.

I would like a report on our losses..." I asked hoping inside that nothing serious had happened to any of my comrades or allies.

"No losses, General.

Just a few minor injuries.

Berk and John from the front line were stabbed in an arm and a shoulder, but the blade didn't penetrate more than an inch.

Peter while shooting an arrow, was hit by a throwing axe on his helmet but caused only a scratch on his face and a slight stun.

All three are already at camp for treatment, General." William.

"Good...I'm loaded with 'energy'.

I'll be heading over shortly to treat them 'personally' in the private tent." I had the option to activate my divine ability [Lay of Hands] and use three first-level spells if necessary.

Lay of Hand, could be rationed up to fifteen small uses.

Each of the fifteen small portions of divine energy could ration one 'mortal wound' to one of 'serious' level, and one 'serious' wound to one of 'serious' level.

I could also use several portions of energy at once.

If I used all the divine power at once, I could easily totally heal up to two mortal wounds.

Furthermore, I could use up to three [Cure Wounds] spells.

Each [Cure Wounds] could heal a mortal wound up to a 'minor wound' level.

I should have saved these life-saving skills and spells to save as many comrades as possible.

I would have to meditate for four hours to recharge these skills or sleep for at least 7-8 hours.

If there had been a weirwood tree engraved with a face in the camp, I could have recovered my magic in a single hour.

I considered it likely that after this massacre, the situation would be quiet for at least 5-6 hours.

"Your opinion on the first enemy forces that attacked us, Vice Commander?" I asked William looking for the second point of view.

"Sloppy, poorly organized, and expendable, General...

I believe Lord Drumm decided to test our forces by sparing the true warriors of his army.

That five hundred ironborn could at best be compared to a bunch of bandits, General." William.

"I thought so too.

The enemy commander isn't so bad after all...

If I were him, after witnessing this massacre, I would wait and calmly evaluate.

I think we're going to be pelted with a rain of fire soon.

Let them waste their arrows needlessly and conserve ours.

I don't think there will be any more attacks before dawn.

After learning about the dangerous terrain full of hidden traps, I would consider it very unwise to attack in the dark.

The real fight will begin tomorrow...

If I were in the enemy commander's shoes, I would have battering rams built out of forest logs. They will try to break through the front line as if it were a fortress gate and I would harass my enemy during the night with continuous volleys of arrows to at least try to keep them from sleeping...

The greatest danger could be fire.

I would throw buckets of oil and pitch at our front line and set them on fire with torches...

Yes, I would do that and I believe Lord Drumm would make a similar if not identical decision.

Knowing all this, Deputy Commander:

How do you think it is best to act?" I finally asked, allowing William the chance to think for himself and come up with a plan of his own.

William pondered the answer for a few seconds, and then said:

"I suggest that we evenly distribute the enemy corpses on the ground around us.

Our enemy must not have a high ground position. We would be more easily targeted by arrows, axes, spears, oil, and pitch.

I would give the shift now to ensure that our strongest lines are fresh for the battle tomorrow.

Also, we should do a short drill to be able to counter tomorrow's rams.

We should prepare buckets of muddy water for our front lines, which will need to be soaked and soaked thoroughly before the battle.

Also, I think we should increase the line of archers by specifying to target their oil and pitch carriers and hit them with flaming arrows.

That's all I could think of, General." William.

"Then go tell that to our Commander.

And specify the fact, that the plan for countermeasures was drawn up by you, Deputy Commander." I said, nodding proudly at William.

I had come up with very similar if not identical countermeasures.

William was growing up nicely.

"Thank you, General." the Vice Commander was about to retreat.

"Deputy Commander!" Brywen's voice stopped him.

"Yes, Lieutenant Brywen?" William.

"How many enemies have you downed, Sir?" Both Brywen and other comrades were curious about the answer.

"Define 'downed' better, Lieutenant.

Are we talking fatal, serious, or medium wounds?" William.

"Ah, I beg your pardon, Deputy Commander!

Mortal wounds, Sir." Brywen.

"...23."