Chapitre 50: Chapter 31: S2-E7: Grey Tales & Midnight Flames
Chapter Thirty: Grey Tales & Midnight Flames
Forward: Editing credit to Rainsfere.
Geralt –The Fury, Entering The Bite – Late Morning
…
Geralt slowly paced about in the captain's cabin, gaze moving from between the pinned-up map of the world and to Stannis who sat behind the large desk. Davos stood beside his King, whispering to him over everything the Witcher had shared. After the attack by Euron's pirates, he had only a few hours of rest before being requested to speak to Stannis over the nature of his 'powers'. Much like how he had told Lord Eddard and his companions, he was detailed and blunt about how his Signs worked, even demonstrating Igni to control the candle flames in the room. As usual Stannis was difficult to read, the man able to keep that stern composure even when seeing magic before him. Perhaps witnessing the more flashy power had him more prepared for the full reveal.
"As usual Geralt…you're a man of continuous surprises." Stannis muttered, sighing as he interlocked both hands in thought. "I feel I shouldn't be surprised though because of all the rumors that have been going around and the claims of witchcraft on your bounty."
"So the question is will it be an issue for you?"
Stannis smirked slightly. "You know I'm not a superstitious man Geralt, I'm not fearful of the unknown like so many others. Besides, you are on our side and will no doubt be invaluable as the war goes on."
Geralt didn't remark about the King's remark about being involved in the civil war. In fact even he wasn't sure what role he'd play until the meeting between Stannis and Robb were finished. "So no more questions then?"
"None for now…though I can tell you have your own questions to ask."
The Witcher nodded. "Its about last night's attack, mainly this Greyjoy we evaded. Is there a chance he may become a risk towards us in the future?"
"A fair question which I feel best suited to explain." Davos said, Stannis nodding in agreement. "Focusing on the Iron Isles…he isn't exactly welcomed there. While a master planner and captain during the Greyjoy Rebellion his dark and depraved habits is what got him exiled. I don't know the details of his crimes, only that it is relates to one of his brothers."
"So then the Lannisters, would they try to ally with him."
"That is tricky to say. He was key in planning the destruction of their fleet during the Greyjoy rebellion, at least from what I heard. Considering though the Lannisters lack a real fleet, they could be desperate enough to bargain for his aid."
Stannis nodded, standing up from his desk as he moved to the window facing westward, watching the coastline they were sailing along. "Whatever the case his time will come, be it if we face him again in battle or hunt him down once the warring is over. For too long his ilk has been left unchecked and under my rule such parasites will be crushed with no mercy."
"Noble aspirations your grace." Davos remarked in agreement. "So what of the pirates we've captured? Do you plan to pass judgement now or later on?"
"Their fate is obvious considering their actions…yet after some thought I feel it would be fitting for Lord Robb to judge them."
Geralt gave a curious look hearing this news. "So another 'gift'?"
"In a manner of speaking. Afterall, we captured them close to Northern waters, thus it is the right of the Warden of the North to decide their punishments."
"Huh…logical and cunning choice." Geralt muttered surprised at the political cunning Stannis was showing. "That aside, I take we won't have any more surprises now that we're within The Bite?"
"Aye." Davos quickly remarked. "The waters here have Whiteharbor ships patrolling about, meaning only someone of Euron's madness would dare brave these routes."
"Even so, we'll remain on guard until we reach the port or find one of their ships to escort us." Stannis added. "For now you should get some more rest. We should arrive at the harbor within a day and a half if the weather is on our side."
Despite the chaotic night, Geralt didn't feel tired after a small dose of Swallow and a few hours of meditation. The intensity of being in a large and real battle after so long just left him restless, even if he didn't show it openly to everyone else. "I'll be ready for when we disembark. Goodbye King Stannis."
The stern Baratheon nodded as he returned to his seat, Davos already talking with him on possible battle plans to come. It seemed the two wanted a clear war strategy to present to the Lords of the North, hoping for a quick victory in this war. Walking onto the deck, he saw the crew active as they were cleaning the deck and doing repairs after last night's battle. The crewmembers were quick to give friendly greetings or respectful nods as he passed by, Geralt returning a few in return as he made his way to the stairs below deck. Feeling a tad hungry, he decided to head into the mess hall which was lightly crowded, since those injured during the battle were enjoying their double rations. At one table in the corner of the room he noticed Sansa, Arya and Barristan sitting together having their meal. All of them seemed to have gone through the night safely, but the girls had a nervous look in their eyes.
"Everyone doing alright?" Approaching them, the Stark daughters did seem to snap to attention, welcoming smiles on their faces.
"We're a bit…shaken after the attack. It is a good thing we were below deck when it happened." Sansa replied back politely.
"The girls were restless last night and decided to do a bit of reading here. The open space in the mess hall is more welcoming." Barristan added.
Arya nodded. "When we heard the bell and yelling we were confused, at least until the whole ship shook. You should have seen how Sansa nearly fell out of her seat." She giggled, trying to jest a bit.
"Some of those pirates did get below before the hatches were closed. Barristan took care of them with ease even before the crew could even react."
"He seemed as fast as you Geralt! Even after all my practice I could barely see what had happened."
"I was simply following my promise to protect you and the safety of the ship. Still the praise is humbling." Barristan as usual downplaying his amazing skill. "Besides Arya, you were just as quick to react drawing that blade of yours. I'm sure you could have handled yourself against one opponent."
"Surely I could have taken two…umm…maybe three?" She lightheartedly argued. "I mean…I did hesitate when I saw those men. The wild look they had on their faces was fearsome."
By now Geralt took a seat beside the young Stark, knowing the girl seemed unsure about her capabilities when the threat of a real fight had broken out. "The Ironborn are fierce fighters, focusing on shock and cruelty to surprise their enemies. Very different from a House soldier or a knight."
Arya sighed, nodding in understanding. "I know freezing up like that can get me or someone else hurt. I'm not sure how I'll overcome that feeling."
Admittedly Geralt wasn't sure how to answer. His intense training and the mutations had overall dulled his fear, while Arya needed to overcome such an emotion more readily. "It is a difficult matter…" However he then remembered that one book he had been saving. "But maybe we can find the answer. Tell me has any of you heard of a tale relating to someone called the Grey Knight?"
The Stark girls gave thoughtful looks before shaking their heads in response. Barristan did seem to have an odd look in his eyes, but said nothing on the matter, leaving the Witcher curious if the old knight knew something. For now he didn't press the matter.
"So…is he like those mystery knights that appear in tournaments!" Arya quickly remarked excitedly.
"Maybe. Best we see what this book says about him." Geralt remarked, shifting to get up from his seat. "Just be a minute." Moving to leave the mess hall, he'd reach his room and quickly shift through his pack to find the old book. Returning to the hall and his seat at the table, he'd set the book down before opening it up. "Alright…A Study of the Grey Knights: Westeros' Forgotten Champions..."
"Please don't tell me this is a history book." Arya grumbled, though was shushed at by Sansa to be quiet.
…
Forward
The history of Westeros is a long and old tale. From the myths of the Children, the ancient tales of the First Men, the invasion of the Andals and lastly the conquest of the Targaryens. Many focus on the stories of these defining ages, ignoring the smaller yet fascinating tales hidden away. Always I've been curious of the century when the Targaryens lived secluded on Dragonstone while the land of Westeros remained divided into separate warring kingdoms. Following records from the Citadel and Dragonstone, I have pieced together a lost paragon, a True Knight, The Grey Knight. For this title stretches back to the Andal invasion thousands of years before the Targaryens would arrive.
Early History & Possible Origins
Set between the north of Driftmark and west of Dragonstone there is the remains of a small smoldering island. At a glance many would think it an inhospitable place, yet among it's charred remains lies hints of a small hamlet with a small keep watching over it. For here this was the domain of the Grey Knight, a man who dedicated himself to the tenants of knightlihood. The island in the past was a rich and fertile place, a stark contrast to the more barren shores of Dragonstone. Beyond the knight and his choice squire, a small community of the needy tended to the island, individuals the Grey Knight offered free refuge.
The origins of the Grey Knight is in fact a mysterious one, only that it traces back to the invasion of the Andals. From an exiled Andal lord or king, one of the last pure First Men, or even being a descendant of the Last Hero. Whatever the case he was a man dedicated to the just morals a true knight follows, but also a follower to both the Old Gods and The Seven.
The only connection I could find to explain about this dual faith is related to the Knight's distinctive armor and arms. Ornate plate armor that is as tough as stone, an unyielding full shield and lastly a large flanged mace that could crush even the finest plate. While I have been unable to find any pieces of this armor, it is believed that it was forged in a forgotten unity between the Children and Andal clerics. Blessed by both faiths, the forged gear was meant to be unbreakable and allowed only the worthy to properly don it.
Succession & Duties
An important detail is that the Grey Knight wasn't a single individual, but a title that is passed on from Knight to successor. The Knight is expected to have a squire or to at least have a prospective successor to appoint before his death. To take this role was to give up your name, titles and ties with family. It is a sacrifice that the records show is the most difficult to accept.
There are some accounts of the Grey Knight having fallen in battle, seemingly without a successor. However decades later a new knight would appear, with the armor and weapons seemingly disappearing from those who have claimed them as trophies. Some rumors say there is an unknown group whose duty is to safe guard the Knight's armor and arms, though wilder predictions say it is divine intervention. For now this remains a mystery.
Whenever there was warring within Westeros, the Grey Knight would sail from his island home. Seeking out the most just lord or king, dedicating his service to them. If he saw no one worthy to offer his loyalty to, he would focus on protecting the small folk from all aggressors. A knight may choose to serve under a Lord during peace time if he wishes, only leaving if his Lord goes against the tenants of the True Knight.
Indeed the Grey Knight is also deeply dedicated to the code of honor. Selflessness, protecting the weak and humility being the core traits he follows. Often this dedication has led to untimely ends for some Knights. Indeed this quality relates to the last recorded sightings of the Knight.
The Clash with Aegon
From what is recorded the Targaryen family had an eye out for the Grey Knight's lone island, seeing it a perfect spot to produce food for themselves. However the Knight's reputation made them hesitant, even with their fearsome dragons at their side. It wasn't until Aegon the First's conquest that the Grey Knight approached them, demanding them limit the destruction their dragons brought. For while the Knight saw the possibility of ending the constant strife between the kingdoms, the dragons wrath was too wild and unchecked.
Aegon, young and proud did not take the knight's warnings seriously and even sent a small force to claim his island. Twenty elite soldiers, their bloodlines having been loyal to the family for centuries, all of them repelled within the day. Not a single one was killed, only battered to submissive, baring a message challenging Aegon himself. A duel of honor to the death or submission.
The confident dragon lord accepted the challenge, curious to see if the Grey Knight's reputation was true. Arriving on the back of Balerion the Black, he thought the great dragon would have the Knight surrender at just the sight of the beast. Yet there on the island's grassy shores, the Knight stood unfazed, treating the conqueror's arrival with casual formality. Aegon was quick to point out he could simply have his dragon burn the knight to ash and claim victory, yet the Grey Knight was cunning. Playing on Aegon's pride, claimed that a true king wouldn't rely on anything else but his own personal skill and strength to win such a challenge.
Aegon accepted and the two battled, but the gathered tales do not explain for how long. The only details show that the Grey Knight simply wouldn't yield. Aegon's fighting prowess was legendary, but the Grey Knight was unmatched in defense. An unstoppable force clashing with an unmovable object. Whatever the case Aegon grew more and more frustrated as the Grey Knight remained ever calm and formal.
At last the young conqueror's patience snapped as he brought Balerion forth, demanding the Knight to yield or be burned alive. The Grey Knight refused, standing unfazed before the looming black dragon. It is said Aegon only wanted his submission, yet he hesitated in calling his dragon off before the beast unleashed an all-consuming inferno. His flames burned every inch of island, which had been evacuated before hand by the Knight's command.
When the flames of destruction cleared, Aegon shifted through the ashes, trying to find some trace of his honorable foe. For in his shock he found the nameless knight's armor and arms, the grey metal untouched by the draconic flames. Some tales claimed Aegon and even Balerion wept in shame, the Targaryen realizing he was not prepared to truly rule. With the Grey Knight's possessions gathered, it is said he built a hidden shrine to the knight, in hopes that one day a worthy successor would arrive to take the mantle.
While some of these details can be seen as exaggerated to glorify, the time this battle was reportedly set may have connections. After this point in Aegon's conquest, he took a more just approach to his battles, giving his enemies a chance to yield and serve him, keeping a degree of control over their regions. If the duel with the Grey Knight had happened, it could be the reasoning for this more diplomatic approach.
The Last Sightings
It would not be until Aegon's death that a new Grey Knight appeared to continue the tradition, with some accounts claiming to visit Aegon's tomb to pay respects. Throughout the Targaryen reign, the line of successors have fought for and against varying reigns. The last known appearance was late in Robert's Rebellion, taking a minor part during the Battle of the Trident, leading a small militia force of Riverlanders in a surprise flanking attack. In this case it was confirmed that the Knight did fall in battle, holding off Targaryen soldiers pursuing wounded Stormlanders and Northerners.
It is unsure if this Knight had a squire, but since that Rebellion was only a few years since writing this study, the next successor may not be active just yet. Time will tell if this True Knight of the ages will continue on, forever a hero within isolated folklore and an unknown figure throughout Westero's history.
…
Geralt continued to read further into the book which had more sections that detailed the mysterious knight's exploits. By this point a sizable amount of off duty crew were listening in with interest, wanting to be distracted by tales of knightly heroics. Considering how the last few decades had marred the image of knightly honor; this unknown story gave some hope of a return to those just ideals. While this old maester book was more of a historical study, offering a peek into the past. Fact and fiction did seem to blend at times, yet it was an escape from the grit and strife happening present day.
With his mind focused on the book, part of him wondered if this new war would be a calling for this Grey Knight. If there was someone the small folk of that unfortunate region needed, it was an honorable champion taking charge.
…
The Riverlands, Brave Companion Palisade, Somewhere between the Red Fork and River Road – Sunset
It had been over two months since the Brave Companions had begun their occupation within the Riverlands, all part of Vargo Hoat's deal after being hired by the Lannisters. Tywin lacked the numbers to fight both the Riverland and Northern lords, so recruiting the Companions ensured a quick foothold within the region. The mercenary company only a few hundred strong, but their ruthless tactics and mobility gave them an edge in the region. Hoat had been quick in occupying Harrenhal under orders of the King Regent, wishing it to make the ruined fortress the center of the Lannister's war effort.
However making that ruined holding suitable to live in and secure had its issues. Materials and labor was needed, things that the lands farther south couldn't supply fast enough. Of course the Riverlands had both in ample supply, only requiring a firm hand to acquire them. If there was one thing the Brave Companons excelled at, it was pillaging to get what they needed. Already they had rounded up able men from the nearby villages, taking advantage by the fact that the Riverland Houses seemed to be keeping their bannermen on the defensive. It was easy for the first few weeks around the crossroads region, until they began to expand to the west did they begin facing hindrances.
"Four setbacks in one week. Unbelievable." The mercenary captain muttered, a fair skinned Dornishman who had been working with the companions since it's founding. Shifting through reports, his eyes narrowed with each page he read.
One scouting unit had been sent to follow up on odd rumors going of a refugee community forming in High Heart, claims of three sisterly mystics offering safety. There had already been strange sightings of creatures and disappearances even before the Companions arrival, bringing up superstitious talk among the men. For now that piece of woodland was avoided until a more sizable force was mustered.
The two other reports involved raiding parties being repelled by two villages, the peasants seeming to have gotten basic gear being led by someone with battle tactics. At first these setbacks were ignored, attention refocused on moving supplies back to Harrenhal. Then those supply caravans were suddenly being hit, every man killed, and a few strung up in the trees in warning. There were also notices being found, bounties for Companion stripes and a sizable prize for Hoat's head himself. Whoever was leading this resistance was well organized and privately funded.
"Has to be another mercenary group, small but elite group. Maybe the Tully's hired them to counter us…though their methods aren't like anything I've seen before." The mercenary captain muttered. "And I bet Hoat knows who…that old Goat will have to tell me what the hell is going on when I report back!" Marching outside his tent and into the camp proper, he looked about the colorful band of mercenaries tending to their gear and milling around camp fires.
"Captain, we got one of the 'recruitment' parties returning. Seems that got a sizable group and a cart full of supplies by the looks of it." One of the men on a watch station yelled out.
"Good. We've been behind on laborer numbers and materials for over a week. Get those gates open!"
With the order given the wooden log gates were pulled open, letting a bound line of a dozen men marching forward with six mercenaries leading them along. At the rear was a large cart being pulled by a sturdy horse, a gruff Northerner in a deep green cloak manning the reins. At the front was a Dothraki, scarred across one eye which was pale in color. "Got a healthy bunch for you captain. Skilled laborers we tracked down between the Red and Blue Forks." The copper skinned raider chuckled.
The Companion Captain nodded, pacing along the line of prisoners who he examined. "All look healthy and fit enough." He remarked before, glancing back curiously among the newly arrived mercenaries. "You lot all from Harrenhal? Can't say I recognize any of you from our camp."
At this point the Northerner driver spoke up. "Aye. Commander Hoat decided we try a new approach after the attacks we suffered. I'm a newcomer admittedly, veteran from the Rebellion, know this region like the back of my hand." He grinned with smug confidence. "Knew of an easy crossing where the Forks split, let us get by them with ease and raid a quarry pit." He then gestured to the back of the cart which had a dusty tarp covering it. "Packed with good bricks and mortar powder, perfect for the work back at Harrenhal."
Moving around to the back of the cart, the captain lifted up the tarp to see the collection of building materials collected. Shifting one hand into the fine mortar, he nodded his head. "Not bad. At least you didn't waste space on looting. That can wait when we march west." The Dornishman remarked before tossing the tarp back over the supplies. "Get the prisoners into the pen and park the cart by the stockpile next to it. We'll take full stock tomorrow morning before we get everything shipped back to Harrenhal."
The group nodded as they'd guide the prisoners too a large wooden pen where more peasant prisoners were held, fifteen others by the looks of it. While the captives were being herded into the pen, the driver guided the cart to be parked beside the right side of the prisoner pen, which was alongside the material stockpile the Companions had been building up.
"Anyway, all of you go get some rest. You're all coming with me back to Harrenhal to sort your report out." The captain added before returning to the tent. With the new orders given, the newly arrived sellswords marched to a large empty tent just as the last lights of the setting sun were fading away.
…
The group relaxed once they were in the tent, everyone shrugging off their traveling packs and weapons, taking seats on laid out bedrolls. The Dothraki chuckled a bit as he'd draw out his Arakh, getting blade oil to maintain the sickle blade. "So far so good…eh Marcus?" Ogatto chuckled, words having a double meaning to their group and anyone eavesdropping on them.
"Aye. We best get a bonus for the effort we put in, right lads?" He gruffly remarked back, drawing out short replies of agreement from their companions. In the meantime, he opened up his large pack which had his crossbow partly dismantled. With practiced care he began to piece it back together, inspecting each part to ensure there was no damage to it.
His gaze did shift slightly to the tent flap, shadowy outlines of the other sellswords outside. It seemed that the captain was keeping an eye on them out of suspension. Marcus looked to their four militia companions, the most talented among the small folk for this infiltration. They were all nervous, knowing they were in the lion's den now, surround by bloodthirsty killers. While their confidence in fighting had improved greatly in the last few weeks, this would be their most dangerous mission yet.
Giving a small waving gesture to the tent flap, Marcus flexed his hand to show three fingers with his thumb covering over the pinkie against his palm.
Six men on watch.
The others nodded in understanding, everyone having been taught the unique code speak the Grims had. One of the militia members raised his right arm, arching it in a reaching motion as if scratching the back of his head. His left hand tiled to one side to show the palm before the index finger pointed up doing a short circling motion.
Question. When do we rally up?
Marcus nodded before showing four fingers, then clenching into a fist. Following that he had all his fingers make a circle at the thumb then change to hold up two fingers.
Four hours. Midnight.
"Get some rest men. We have a lot of work ahead of us." Marcus assured before focusing back onto rebuilding his crossbow. Ogatto remained on watch, not wanting to let his guard down when the guards were keeping an eye on them. The rest of the militia were busy getting rations out or getting ready for a short nap after the march to the camp.
"Now its up to the others…" The huntsman muttered to himself.
…
Four Hours Later
By now nearly half the camp was asleep, the Companions not fearing attack because of any notable enemies in the area and their strong defenses. At the southern watch station which faced towards the nearby road, two guards were on duty, both bored out of their minds with their current shift.
"Night watch. Bloody hate doing it…" One mercenary muttered, leaning back against a corner post.
"Maybe if you followed orders you wouldn't get stuck with this shift." The other muttered, being more attentive about keeping an eye out towards the dark woodlands. "It's the lazy ones like you that drag our name down…"
"Gah fuck off!" The lazy guard growled, leaning his head back and closing his eyes a bit. "I signed up to fight and pillage, not play babysitter for full grown men."
The other guard just gave a grunt back, leaning against the edge of the watch post railing as he keep his gaze forward.
"I don't get you professional types. We're not some fancy army after all, just bloody sellswords." He continued on. "Hells I bet we could sneak up on those Lannister mines within the Westerlands. With all of their army busy coming to the Riverlands, it'd be easy pickings!"
Once more his watch partner was silent, back still facing him and head lightly bobbing in fact as if he was dozing off.
"Well you could at least cuss back at me instead of being silent!" Annoyed with the silence, he stomped over to stand beside the fellow mercenary. "And all that talk of taking watch seriously! Why I-" When he reached to grip the man's shoulder to turn and face him, his eyes widened in shock. An arrow was lodged deep in the man's left eye, the man's death so quick that he still had a calm expression on his face. Right then the shocked sellsword wanted to yell out an alert, but a chilling gut feeling had him hesitate as he just heard something just down below the wall. By reaction he looked down, just seeing a spark of flame and a hooded cloaked figure hoisting a burning bottle.
A bottle that just smashed against his face, glass cutting into his face and flaming alcohol soaking all over his head. The flames quickly spread across the fur and cloth pieces of his outfit. At last the shock kicked through him as he stumbled about, spreading the flames onto the wooden watch station now before at last giving out horrible screaming and wailing. Between that and the fire, the other guards were quickly yelling out to alert the whole camp. The other watch station was also burning up, the other two guards scrambling to climb or even fall out of it to escape the flames.
"FIRE! THE SOUTH WATCHES ARE BURNING!" Someone yelled, men hurrying to get water before the whole wooden fortification was set aflame. With water barrels set in a central location, giving them a quick means to combat the fire that was slowly spreading along the palisade wall and nearby tents.
Already the Dornish captain was out of his tent, barking out orders. "Get those flames out now! I want anyone who is armed ready for anything! We're most likely under attack!"
At that point there be a resounding slam at the palisade gate, the barred entry buckling under the force. Again and again it followed, muffled yells following as these unknown attackers put more force in ramming the gateway.
"Damn it! Archers form up in the rear, shoot as soon as their through! Pikes and spears front, slow them down!" The captain ordered, getting the mercenaries into a defensive line with the bowmen ready to shoot.
With most of the camp distracted, that was when Marcus and Ogatto made their move. They along with their four militia snuck out from their tent, moving towards the prisoner pen. Only one lone sellsword was guarding it, the man seeming unsure if he should join the rest or remain. When he saw Marcus and the others he relaxed slightly. "Glad you're here. Was worried I'd be alone watching this lot." He remarked. "What the hells is going on though?"
"Surprise attack of some kind." Ogatto remarked, being the first to approach the guard, the rest of his party gathering around. "But you don't have to worry about that." Flashing a grin, he then gave a powerful punch across the man's jaw. The stunning blow had the man stagger, leaving him exposed for the Dothraki's strong hands to grasp the sides of his head, giving a sharp twist as he snapped the neck. A quick and silent kill, hidden from view by the militia members. Ogatto quickly dragged the dead mercenary behind the parked cart, hidden out of sight from the distracted Brave Companions. Three of the militia also moved to the cart, quickly shifting through the stacks of bricks and bags of mortar.
Marcus unlocked the pen cage, walking towards the gathered prisoners. Those that he had brought in smirked, nodding and muttering excitedly. As for the other captives, they were nervous and confused. "What the hells is going on?" One villager questioned.
"This is a rescue and a chance for you to strike back at the Bloody Mummers." Marcus gruffly remarked, grasping at the colorful patches of his disguise, ripping them off the sturdy leather and light chain armor he wore. At that point the fake captives would start drawing knives out, hidden up sleeves or tucked in boots, cutting their bonds off then moving onto the others. At this point the militia members walked into the pen with dusty bags of weapons, all of it hidden under the building supplies. Reinforced clubs, sturdy wooden round shields, short spears and slings. "I recommend the newcomers to pick out the spears or a sling if you know how to use one. If you lack the will to fight, then stay back here and out of the way." There was a resounding crack and more yells from the sellsword captain as the gate seemed ready to crack apart. "Got seconds left. So will you step up as men or hide away like a coward!" The mix of a rally and insult seemed to do the trick as the unsure prisoners gave stern looks before grabbing spare weapons.
"Then tell us what to do stranger." One remarked.
Already Marcus led everyone out of the pen, Ogatto waiting for them having stripped off the Brave Companion colors off his usual attire. "Seems we have a small army now." He chuckled, hefting his Arakh on one shoulder.
"Alright. Shields and clubs, you take front alongside our Dothraki. Spears, behind them. Slings, at the back with me! Let's surprise these bastards!" Marcus ordered as he readied his crossbow, everyone quickly getting into formation. They hurried forward together with Ogatto taking a slight lead in the short march to the camp gate. Just as the gathered mercenaries were in sight, the gate shattered apart, the dust from shattered wood clouded the opening.
"FIRE!" With the Dornish captain's command, the line of archers fired into the breach, a dozen arrows flying at once. They expected to hear pained cries and yells, but instead there was a dull 'thunk' instead of the arrow heads striking metal. With the dust clearing, a large grey metal shield was revealed and a large armored figure standing behind it. A group of shielded militia were formed up alongside Doric, large wooden shields up as another barrage of arrows flew in. "Keep firing!"
"CHARGE!" Ogatto's fearsome roar startled the Companion archers, one turning to face the Dothraki only to get his head cleaved off his shoulders. The villagers closed in behind the Blood Rider, using the shock the man brought to close in on the bowmen. With no melee weapons drawn, the archers could only try blocked with their bows which proved ineffective defending against heavy clubs. While most of the militia only knew the basics of fighting, their tactical positioning evened the odds for them.
"They are flanked! Move forward!" Doric called out, voice commanding yet ever calm. Taking the lead, he rushed at the line of spear men, shield forward and heavy flanged mace raised for a devastating swing. Three of the sellswords aimed their spears out, jabbing out from multiple angles to try harming or just slowing the imposing knight. Doric was prepared for them, body angled to ensure the spear heads struck his most armored spots, the wooden shafts snapping from the impact. Undeterred, Doric swung his mace in a sweeping strike, hitting into the left side of one gawking mercenary. The impact crushed that side of his ribcage, thick blood being coughed up by the man. The forceful momentum of that blow knocked him into a fellow mercenary at his right, both knocked over in that one attack. "Press on!" The knight urged.
At last the battle had fully broken out as all the militia and the Grims were engaged with the Brave Companions. Doric and Marcus gave out short orders or gesturing signals to ensure their villager allies adapted their positions. The Northern huntsman had moved his group of slingers to the right side of their forces, pelting at the pinned down mercenaries. Between his skilled aim and powerful crossbow, every shot ensured a downed foe. While the slingers rocks weren't as lethal as a bolt, the constant barrage was staggering as it was coming from both groups.
The Brave Companions were losing morale fast, attacking out of line and some even trying to struggle free from the melee to escape. One did get through but didn't get far as a fierce growl from a tent surprised the lone mercenary. Garm stepped into view, the large half-wolf having snuck in during the battle, playing to his role of picking off stragglers. Pouncing on the man and knocking him over, the yelling sellsword tried to ward off the vicious bites for his neck. It did little to stop the trained beast, screams becoming garbled as his throat was soon being ripped into.
To add even more to the chaos, an arrow or two shot out from the darker corners of the camp. Targeting the most able fighters among the Companions, the vicious missiles thinning the mercenaries numbers even further. At this point the sellswords were nearly at half their number, all of them huddling into a defensive circle now. The Dornish captain looking about, slightly bloodied in taking part in the fighting. Looking about at the surrounding militia, he could see a fierce confidence in their stance and a pent anger towards his group. "Everyone hold!" He yelled out. "We wish to parlay! There is no need to throw any more lives away."
At this point Doric stomped forward, the bloody head of his mace hanging low to drip onto the ground. "You speak of parlaying and lives, things that the Bloodly Mummers have never shown to others." The knight spoke back. His full helmed head turned, looking over his gathered fighters. "Your kind raid their homes, steal what little they have, rape their loved ones and then force them into bondage. You never give a choice, you simply take."
From the back a slinger threw a rock out, striking the Dornish captain across the jaw. "You bastards killed my pa! You fucking strung him up in the middle of my town like some criminal!" The youth with a sling cursed out. Everyone tensed up, both sides preparing to fight again. More voices joined in, the men venting all the crimes the mercenaries had done, some even dating back to the Rebellion years.
"Times are changing scum." Marcus spoke up, quieting the mob as he stepped beside Doric. "Be it mercenary, deserter or bannermen, anyone who threatens the smallfolk will face hard resistance." Raising his crossbow up, his stern eyes narrowed. "So lay down your arms. At the least some of you may walk away alive."
There was a long pause, the mercenary captain looking about, fear showing in his eyes as he knew there was no escape in this situation. "To be threatened by peasants. World is going upside-down…" He cursed lowly. "Men…drop your weapons. The peasants think they've won but the commander will make them pay tenfold for this." He tossed down his spear, glaring spitefully at the Grims. While the men were hesitant, they began to pile up their weapons, all grumbling low threats.
With the battle ended the militia cheered, men clapping each other on the shoulder in their victory. Marcus sighed in relief that the fight was over, putting his crossbow onto his back before whistling to Garm to come to his side. "It's a good start boy…a very good one." Looking to Doric, he saw how the knight watched the men. "Heh that helm may hide your face Grey Knight, but I know your proud of them."
Doric gave a short nod and 'hm', gesturing to silently order the militia to bind up the captured mercenaries. "Tonight they proved themselves. But that captain is right. It will only get harder for us all." His gaze did stray to the dead and injured smallfolk, being taken to captured tents to be tended to. "I wish that I could do more to protect them. My shield and body can only stand between so many foes."
"At the least these men died with honor." Ogatto remarked, having finished collecting a few colorful patches from the slain Companions as trophies. "They may not be as fierce as my kin across the sea, but these smallfolk do fight with double the determination."
"With their lives and homes on the line, they should be." Marcus muttered in agreement.
"Ah so very touching." A smug voice spoke up, making the three Grims look to their last companion. The Shadow was crouched low by a corpse, yanking out one of his signature arrows from a dead mercenary's throat. The barbed and serrated tip made a bloody mess being pulled free, the assassin grunting in annoyance flicking gore off the arrowhead. "We can talk on about noble intentions and 'bright' futures. Right now there is still work to be done."
"For once your right." Doric remarked, moving his attention to the Dornish captain who was shackled and separated from the remaining sellswords. "We require information on your forces at Harrenhal. Number of men you have, special units and the like. Do so and by my honor as the Grey Knight you will be fairly judged."
The Dornish gave a smirk and chuckle. "So, betray the rest of my company for a cozier pen? We both know that my fate is going to be on the end of a noose either way."
"The people want justice for your band's crimes, many of which you directed." The knight calmly stated. "I give you this offer because my companions will be less kind for answers. So if you have any decency, then accept my offer."
Shaking his head, the captain spit at the knight's chest plate, marking over the dull gray with a hint of red blood. "Fuck you. I don't need your pointless honor or pity." A cruel grin crossed his face. "Commander Hoat will butcher every stinking peasant who dare hold a stick…burn every hovel a family cowers in and then salt every inch of land of this cesspool they call home. Cross the Goat and he'll take everything in sadistic spite."
Doric sighed, wiping the gunk off his chest plate before stepping closer to the man. At last the captain could see a hint of eyes under that great helm, red eyes chilling him to the bone. "Then may the Seven and Old Gods know I did my best in your case." Turning away, he faced the Shadow. "Your turn then."
The black hooded assassin grinned evilly at the news, stepping up to the Dornishmen to grab at his shirt collar. "Wasted your breath trying to 'save' this one." Holding up one of his arrows, he put it close to the man's cheek. "Can say I've learned a lot when it comes to 'questioning', having met my share of outright nasty executioners and torturers." The serrated metal slowly cut along the tanned skin, drawing a hiss of pain from the captive. "Wonder what will break you first." Looking to Ogatto, he nodded to him. "Care to help? Rather not dirty the camp any further or scare the peasants."
The Dothraki smirked, seeming amused with the offer. "Always curious to watch your handy work." Stomping over behind to prisoner, he grasped his shackled arms to shove him forward. "Let's go on a walk 'captain'. A last one." The two Grims and the unfortunate captain moved out through the ruined gate, disappearing into the darkness of the surrounding woods.
Marcus and Doric meanwhile moved through the raided camp, searching for what they had originally came here for. Inside the back of the tent were the mercenaries extra arms and armor, enough to supply their growing forces. "Distasteful the weapons of war, but they will be put to a righteous cause." Doric muttered as he examined a rack of blades.
The huntsmen nodded in agreement as he too took stock on their prizes. "Aye. None of them should be forced to fight, but war never gives us a choice." His gaze was distant for a moment, thinking of the past and also of his family before coming back to reality. "In the end you're doing what your meant to do Doric. People need the Grey Knight, a True Knight in these unjust times. Tonight you showed that to them."
The armored man was silent, seeming as still as a statue. "It is true." He at last answered as he at last gazed at a gleaming kite shield, no doubt a prize stolen on a raid. "I will follow my duty as every Knight before me has. To my last breath. However it will never absolve me of my greatest mistake…nothing will."
It was harrowing to hear the knight say such things, making Marcus wonder what the honest man had done to be so burdened. Despite knowing Doric for so many years he knew so little about him beyond the history of his armored mantle and his noble personal actions. "Maybe…but I believe you'll find some peace one day." Placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder, he gave a small smile, Garm even coming over to nudge his snout at the knight's leg.
"You're an honest man Marcus. The best of us I say." With that kind compliment given, Doric moved to leave the weapon tent. "Now…I need some time for myself. See that we pack everything of use for tomorrow and prepare the message for the murderer Hoat. We stick to Zarin's plan, have our forces fortify in Fairmarket for our final clash with the Mummers." With the directions given, the Grey Knight marched out of the tent and another in the corner of the camp.
With the fellow Grim gone, Marcus moved to head for the captain's tent to check over his reports. However, he'd pause as he heard cawing, making him glance at the palisade walls to see a couple of crows perched on top. The sight reminded him of the same encounter he had back on the road with Hadrian, making that tense gut feeling return to him. Even Garm growled threateningly at the birds, one of which cawed back fiercely, beady red eyes glared at them.
Quickly drawing his crossbow, he aimed and fired it at the noisy birds, striking the one that had snapped out. "Stop watching us…whatever the Hells you are…" He muttered, continuing on his way despite the confused looks nearby militia showed.
…
The Crones – High Heart
"Gah! Pesky huntsman!" Weavess cursed, clawed hand swatting at the foul water within the scrying bowl in anger. She paced about their new lair, a massive hollowed-out tree that she and her sisters had willed to grow around their new pool of power. "These Grims. They aren't as blind as the other humans."
"But useful as well." Brewess chuckled from her spot by the pool, massive spoon mixing the thick red mixture within it. "They've left so many bodies for the pool. Strapping men unlike the frail peasants we've been getting by with."
"Indeed sister." Whispess remarked, walking into the inner sanctum in her 'graceful' form. With a gesture the illusion faded to return her to her true appearance as she moved closer to peer into the pool. "Let the Grims and sellswords fight. Whatever the outcome it will benefit us."
Weavess murmured in annoyance, though didn't argue with her elder sister. "How goes your visit with the Lords? Sway any more to our cause?"
"Lord Edmure does seem to favor us yet remains neutral. At the least he won't hinder us." She answered. "Among the minor Houses I have gotten House Bracken to ally with us, especially when I promised them control of Blackwood Vale. Their hatred to House Blackwood makes them easy to control."
"Oh? We still going after that boy?" Brewess cooed.
"Considering we will never get our claws on that House, it is best to remove them before they become a problem." Weavess remarked. "Besides it will be a show to…test our might and impress our new subjects."
Whispess nodded in agreement. "Next I think I'll go further north. If there is one House we need to ensure control of the Riverlands, it would be the Freys. They will be key to wiping out both these Starks and Lannisters once they begin their war."
All three cackled in glee. only quieting when a bestial bellow came from the pool. "Ah yes…he's ready!" Brewess chuckled, as a huge horned head began to peek from the waters and one massive three clawed hand grasped at the rough edge of the pool. Once more their newly created chort roared, breathing its first unnatural breath on this world.
…
Doric – The Brave Companion Camp
Entering the lone shelter, he gave a deep sigh as he made sure the tie the flap tightly to ensure no one could see within. "Peace." He set down his shield before laying his mace on top of it, then shifting fully to sit on his knees. Reaching up, he undid the clasps that kept his great helm in place before at last lifting off his head. For the first time since the morning he took in a deep breath of fresh air, eyes closed as he savored the one sense he could still enjoy.
In the low light from the fires outside the tent showed that his face was covered in worn bandage wraps, lightly coated in the ointments Zarin gave him. With practiced care, he unwrapped them to reveal his bare skin…cracked grey skin that covered every inch of his head and neck. Not a single hair remained on his head, having long fallen off because of the Greyscale.
Removing his gauntlets next, his hands were then exposed, also similarly wrapped though he didn't work on removing them. Both hands reached to touch his scale scarred face, going down from across his brow, cheeks and strong jaw. "Nothing. I feel nothing as always." He muttered to himself. It had been that way since Zarin had saved him, forever binding him to his service.
"A blessing and curse." Clashing both hands before him, he'd bow his head in prayer over his laid-out weapons. "By the Seven I ask for wisdom and guidance to be just. By the Old Gods strength and will to endure. Faith and duty drive me, for it is all I am." His prayers continued on, a rite he did every day to calm his wearily spirit.
"Lastly…I wish for safety to my Lady. For my failure brought on her own curse…the one I've burden myself with wholly." Closing both eyes, he take a deep breath. "Lady Shireen. May you and your father forgive me…"
…
Notice: A little change of perspective, but a needed one I think. Events are building up in the Riverlands with new factions making their stand, along with touch on Doric's mysterious past. I can promise next chapter, we'll return to Ciri and begin her adventures in Qarth.
I do have some more news about the episodes being features on the Fan Ramen Podcast. The episodes will be featured the week before Game of Thrones last season premier, between the 7th and 12th. It will be two episodes, one a 50-minute reading from the Fury of the Melee chapter. The another being a short interview with the podcasters and me talking about writing, future projects and the like.
There is also plans for a give away on Game of Thrones prizes the week before, but nothing is set just yet. I will put clear updates on my profile and blog in time, but to stay most up to date just visit the Fan Ramen podcast website. If anyone has any questions, feel free to private message me or chat in the Q&A on the forum here.
I'd like to give a big thank you to everyone reading my story, since without your support I wouldn't have this great opportunity being featured in this podcast. I'm sure you'll all enjoy it, since the team at Fan Ramen is putting their full effort into it.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone