Chapitre 89: ' Protect Lord Jorah! '
Hello, everyone.
Here's another chapter!
I had already sketched it out a little last Sunday. Maybe I'll be able to publish another one this Saturday.
From then on, I'm afraid I'll only be able to post one a week.
Please don't let my bosses know that I 'Hate My Job'!
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Thank you all and happy reading!!!
P.S.
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POV: Balon Greyjoy;
Fortress of Pyke.
About three days after a fisherman's son was made Lord...
"Well? Has anyone answered our ravens?" The King of the Iron Islands asked his second son.
Little Theon and Yara were also present at the meeting.
"... Yes, father. None of the vassals who responded will be sending reinforcements...
House Harlaw, House Drumm, Blacktyde, Botley, Tawney, Orkwood, and Saltcliffe have lowered their war banners and surrendered to Robert...
It's over, father...
We have lost." Maron replied in a dejected tone, his gaze turned to the granite floor.
Balon got up from his seat and slapped the sixteen-year-old with a violent backhand, knocking him to the floor.
"IT'S NOT OVER UNTIL I SAY IT IS!
YOU'RE TALKING TO YOUR KING!" Balon shouted as he looked around at the other members in the room.
Only a handful of captains had managed to retreat to the safety of the fortress.
Maron jumped up with an angry look on his face and replied:
"We have lost, my 'KING'!!!
The harbour and the beach have been conquered!
We have no news of the Uncles, Victarion and Aeron!
Euron is a prisoner in Casterly Rock!
We have no ships. A dozen of them fled before the enemy arrived...
Half our men on the beach threw their weapons ashore before the battle began...
We have less than two thousand men left!!!"
"We have PYKE! Our fortress has never been conquered!
What is dead, shall never die!" Balon.
"The fortress?!
Open your eyes, father! Lookout and see fifty thousand men preparing to build: Siege towers! Catapults and Trabucchi!
We don't have the strength to repel them...
Even if they starve us out, we'll only be able to hold out for two moons at most before we tear each other to pieces!
WE MUST SURRENDER!" Maron.
Balon struck the boy again several times.
"Urgh!", "Argh!", "You're crazy! AArgh!" Screamed the helpless sixteen-year-old on the ground.
"YOUR BROTHER RODRICK!... WOULD NEVER GIVE UP!" Shouted Balon between punches. Then Balon stood up with a murderous look on his face and continued to vent his anger and frustration at his flesh and blood.
He kicked the poor boy's stomach consecutively until Yara interposed herself between the two.
"Anf Anf... Get out of my way, Yara! The punishment for your brother's cowardice isn't over yet!" Said Balon as he caught his breath.
"Stop, father!
You'll kill him! Please, your majesty... Mercy!" Pleaded Yara, embracing Maron's bruised and unconscious body.
Balon stepped back and gasped, trying to regain his senses.
Although he knew that the Iron Fleet had no chance of holding out against four times the number of enemy ships, he still hoped that the sea and land defences of the valiant ironmen would push the enemy back enough to give them more time.
Time to call in reinforcements and force Robert into a negotiation...
House Harlaw had betrayed first.
A couple of his captains, still loyal to House Greyjoy, had informed him that Rodrick's men were spreading dissension and fear in the enemy lines just before the landing of enemy troops.
Of the six thousand men ready to fight and welcome the enemy to their chosen terrain, half of them surrendered before the first drop of blood was shed.
The madman Robert himself had led the Baratheon vanguard into the field. The men looked like they were possessed by a demon.
They were all thirsting for blood, glory, and honours. Two thousand men of the Baratheon vanguard and Umber were enough to break three thousand ironmen even before the allied reinforcements arrived to support the King of the Seven Kingdoms.
It was a one-sided massacre.
Of those three thousand, over eight hundred ironborn had fallen and over two thousand were taken, prisoner. The enemy had suffered less than two hundred casualties...
Some of the surviving men who managed to retreat inside the fortress said that a 'Giant of the North', wielded a two-handed broadsword of Valyrian Steel and had taken down more than twenty enemies single-handedly.
Robert Baratheon's hammer had also mangled several of his men, but it was Greatjon Umber's fury that broke the Ironmen's morale...
Not even on the water had King Balon achieved a favourable result.
Some traitorous captain had driven fourteen of his best ships to flight just before Stannis and Paxter Redwine's fleet arrived.
Balon would have liked to drown those cowardly traitors himself!
Only eighty longships engaged in battle.
Eighty against four hundred.
The enemy had, if anything, lost barely a dozen ships in the fight.
A shameful result for those who claimed to be the best fighters on the seas.
Only the fortress of Pyke remained.
Even if he had wanted to, Balon could not have surrendered so easily.
The fortress had to hold out at least long enough to tempt Robert into a negotiation not so unfavourable to Balon.
If they surrendered immediately, it would be the end of House Greyjoy.
Balon wanted to at least retain control of the Iron Islands... even if he had to bend the knee.
He could rise again in time. Harder and stronger than before...
But he had to at least find a way to create that possibility.
Balon sat on his stone stool and stared at the occupants of that room.
"Lock that cowardly traitor in the cells!
Prepare for battle!
I want every axe and bow ready to fight!
This will not be the end of the Ironborn! We will make the enemy aware of the values of the old way!
IF THEY WANT THIS FORTRESS, THEY WILL HAVE TO EARN IT BY PAYING THE PRICE OF IRON!"
End POV.
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POV: Ser Wyatt Stout;
Allied camp less than two miles from Pyke's fortress.
The night before the attack on the fortress.
This was four days after King Robert's army had routed the Iron Fleet and taken control of Pyke Island. Only the fortress remained, and the Greyjoy rebellion would come to an end.
One last possible risk to take, and then Ser Wyatt could once again find the serenity to sleep more than four hours a night.
House Stout had always been loyal to House Dustin.
Wyatt Stout, Lord Harwood's third son-in-law, was currently second in command in the secret unit created by Lady Barbrey three years ago.
'The Collectors'.
A unit currently consists of three hundred and forty-four male and female members.
The unit trained for over a year by the best two Frost Blades in House Tallhart.
Ser Breston was the number one man in that unit, but he was currently busy in Essos. It was up to Ser Wyatt, the second-best man among the 'Exactors', to take on this crucial mission entrusted to him by Lady Barbrey herself.
[to protect the future Lord of Barrowton at all costs.]
A mission that could not fail.
Lady Dustin had personally advised Ser Wyatt and his men that if Lord Jorah fell in this war, they should flee as far away as possible from the lands known to man.
No place would protect those men from the wrath of Lady Barbrey Dustin...
Despite the rigorous training he had gone through during that year in which he had been through hell, Ser Wyatt was still afraid of that woman.
A demon more ruthless and cold than his instructor lurked behind that suit of flesh, bone, and courtesy...
The Knight, trained by Blade[1] himself, led an elite team of thirty Exactors. The best Barrowton had to offer.
Lady Barbrey had convinced Lord Jorah to keep him and his team close at all times.
Presently, Lord Jorah had passed command of his Fleet to Lord Stannis. An admiral with more experience than him.
And now, Jorah was in charge of leading the armed forces of House Mormont and House Dustin.
A combined force of nearly two thousand men.
At the previous war meeting, Jorah had volunteered before the King to lead the first attack charge...
Inside the marquee used for the strategy meeting, the faces of Ser Wyatt, Duncan Tallhart, and Eddard Stark paled.
All three looked as if they wanted to shout at once:
[NO! NOT YOU, LORD JORAH!! IT'S TOO RISKY!].
The Protector of the North was unable to object in time before Robert fired the order:
[Good! Lord Jorah will lead the first charge as soon as the breach in the walls is created! It is decided].
Ser Wyatt knew why his lord had volunteered first.
Since the rebellion began, Jorah had no way to show his worth in the field. Every man in the North has been itching for a slice of Greyjoy flesh since the day the Ironborn set foot on Bear Island.
Lord Mormont in particular felt frustrated and impatient most of all.
He had not even been able to fight on his own island.
Stannis had taken command of his ships, and Lord Stark himself had ordered him to lead the rearguard in the land assault.
They should have expected such an event from the man.
Jorah should not have participated in that council of war...
For the sake of House Dustin, his Lady, his family, his team's, and his own... Wyatt would have been Lord Jorah's sworn shield.
He would have been his arrow meat if it had been needed.
'For no dying, Lord Jorah will have to come out of this unscathed tomorrow!!' Thought the man before closing his eyes on what would perhaps be his last night.
End POV.
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POV: Ser Haymitch Rivers.
Marquee of the banquet set up for the nobility.
About two hours before a ''Chief Exactor'' fell asleep with ominous thoughts...
Ser Haymitch sat next to a drunken red priest who was Robert's friend, Thoros of Myr. He and the priest were toasting and cackling in the company of the king.
Ser Haymitch the drunkard was standing with a cup in his hand as he finished telling one of his adventures.
"I didn't have a penny on me!
The pouch of money bestowed upon me by Chief Steward Poole the day before had been stolen by who knows what sweet and persuasive hands... BUT! Thanks to my charm and the promise that the noble LORD EDDARD STARK would settle my debt to the kindly matron of the Winter Town brothel... " Haymitch paused to take another sip of well-deserved wine.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! NED! You're getting plucked by your Knight!!! AHAHAHAH!" Robert thundered amidst big fat laughs as he gave poor Ned's back next to him a hard pat.
Ned merely snickered in moderation as he held Robert by the arm. The Warden of the North was afraid that the King might tip over from his chair.
Haymitch resumed...
"AND SO! That evening, too, I was able to afford a night of pleasant company. A sixteen-year-old newcomer named Rose wanted to join us, trying to convince me to have a double duty that night...
And I assure you that Rose is one fine Northern belle! Red hair, clear and silky skin, the biggest and firmest breasts I've ever seen!
A true challenge of the Maiden herself!
But I said:
[NO!!! My good name as a Knight does not allow me to violate a young maiden, my Lady Rose! Bethany will be more than enough thanks.
ALSO!... I cannot abuse the hospitality of House Stark!" Both Robert and Thoros could not contain themselves.
"AHAHAHAHA!!!", "SPURZZZH!!! COUGH! AHAHAH! COFF! COFF!!!" Thoros nearly choked on his beer.
The red priest in R'hllor's service was in danger of being killed by laughter.
Haymitch resumed...
"And so... I, sweet Bethany, prepared to get busy in our private room for the high-class guests!...
There were a few candles lit... Bethany and I were making a lot of noise and a lot of movement!
Neither of us noticed that a third presence had snuck into the room...
and do you know who it was? THAT'S RIGHT, THE YOUNG, ROSY-WHITE GIRL!!!
And do you know when I noticed it?" A dozen Lords and Knights fell silent to listen better to the final part of the tale.
"WHEN I SURPRISE SHOVE A FINGER UP MY ASS!!!!" Haymitch.
"AHAHAHAHA!", "PHUAAHAH!", "AHAHAH!" Half the long table began to laugh. Robert and Thoros most of all.
"That Northern maiden has ruined me and the finances of House Stark! Ever since that night, I can't help myself!!!" Said Haymitch giving the coup de grace to some poor noble Lord who wanted to maintain some semblance of demeanour and decency.
After several moments of thunderous laughter, Thoros got up from his chair and proposed a toast by raising his tankard.
"TO ROSE! THE MAIDEN OF THE NORTH! CHEERS!!!"
"TO THE MAIDEN OF THE NORTH!", "TO THOROS!", "TO THE RUINED KNIGHT!" Dozens of tankards were raised toasting and celebrating the tales of war and adventure with the female graces of the Seven Kingdoms.
An hour after the banquet ended...
"Good work, Ser Haymitch. Robert already adores you." Ned complimented.
He and his trusted knight were inside Lord Stark's private tent. It was the last night before the start of the great assault.
"Robert is a nice fellow, my Lord. Drinks, brothels and war stories are my chosen ground. " Haymitch.
"...Now I have another great favour to ask of you, Ser." Ned's gaze became serious again, full of concern.
"Oh, at last, I shall be given to know why Lord Eddard was so worried from the end of the war meeting until now. You were the tensest and least relaxed of all at that banquet, Ned. I feared I had disgraced the good name of the Starks too much." Haymitch replied wryly.
"It wasn't for your jokes. You could have even insulted the King in that situation, and Robert would have let you get away with it." Ned replied with a faint wry smile.
"Then what? Is this about the battle tomorrow?
Fear not. Your vassal's plan is sound.
We will not suffer many losses and the fortress will fall before nightfall." Haymitch.
"... I'm not worried about the plan, but about one person. A life the North cannot afford to lose, Ser." Ned.
"I don't think you're referring to the King, yourself, or Bloody Snow... Then who?" Haymitch.
"Lord Jorah Mormont.
Jorah absolutely must not perish tomorrow, Haymitch...
A catastrophe would befall my House and the entire North if that man were to perish in this war." Ned.
"He who will lead the vanguard of the first assault on the fortress...
Yeah, the man's a bit of a risk. Are you asking me to assist him tomorrow? Protecting Lord Jorah's backside instead of yours, My Lord?" Haymitch.
"Yes, Ser, I must ask you this. My life is far less valuable right now than that of the future Lord of Barrowton.
I know I'm asking a lot of you, I..." Ned was interrupted.
"All right, I will. Fear not, Lord Stark. Tomorrow I will prove to you that I have not needlessly spent thousands of gold coins to quench the thirst of a lowly, drunken knight. I will do what I can to keep your bannerman from being gutted to death by the Ironborn." Haymitch.
Ned breathed a small sigh of relief.
"Thank you, Ser Haymitch." The knight nodded and raised his flask in response.
"I'd say it's time to break out that famous Tallhart-made armour I won as a prize a few years ago."
End POV.
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POV: Vice-Commander William.
Camp Tallhart Island of Pyke.
A few minutes before the Protector of the North called in a favour from his sworn shield...
"No, Lord General! You cannot go alone!
You cannot ask this of us!" William replied in an indignant tone.
"You and all the Winter Guardians will stay behind and support Lord Jorah, Vice-Commander. I have already given instructions to Captains Eric and Josh.
That is an order, William." General Duncan replied without granting any opening for negotiation.
"But General!" William.
"No buts. I even managed to convince my father.
Desist from your purpose, William. You will not come with me. The priority is to protect Lord Jorah Mormont! Whatever the cost, Vice-Commander! Do I make myself clear?" The General.
"You are clear, my Lord... Could I at least point out to you that not even Blade[3] will be able to support you in this crazy mission? If we don't follow you inside the fortress, then who will?" William.
"Fifteen Frost Blades, Ser Jaime Lannister, Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion, Ser Balon Swann, Jory Cassel, and another thirty or so fine Tallhart, Stark, and Baratheon swords will support me. Don't worry, William, we're a good team. We'll hold out until you get here.
Ah! I almost forgot. Give this to our best Guardian who can wield a bastard sword." Said the general, setting Red Rain down on the table.
"BUT GENERAL!" William.
"THAT'S ENOUGH, WILLIAM!
Phew...
Forgive me. The business of Lord Jorah commanding the vanguard has worried me greatly.
I'm not giving you the sword because I don't think I'll be back, but simply because I'll never be able to draw it within the walls of Pyke. I might as well stick an 'I am Bloody Snow' sign on my chest." Explained the general.
"General... can you at least tell me why Lord Jorah's life seems to be worth more than yours? Why go to such lengths?" William.
"You disappoint me, William... You should also know that there will be a wedding between Lord Jorah and Lady Barbrey shortly." The General.
"Yes, I am aware of that, my Lord, but..." William was interrupted.
"Do you know how much power I have given in that woman's hands, William?! I'm talking about military power, information, influence, and most of all 'Gold'." Duncan.
"I... No, general. I don't know how much exactly." William.
"Think of a rough estimate... and then multiply it by ten. Here...
read it for yourself. See what Lady Barbrey wrote me in this letter!
Since the first day of the beginning of this campaign, I have been re-reading it almost every night before I go to sleep!" The General pulled out a folded piece of paper inside a small personal trunk.
William unfolded the paper and read:
[If in any way, Jorah should perish in this war.
Whether by a lucky stray arrow, an infected wound, an incurable rare disease, a storm, a lightning bolt that fell from the sky, or even if the gods themselves descended from the heavens to claim his life...
My vengeance will come upon you, Duncan of House Tallhart.
I will use every means at my disposal with the sole aim of making you suffer and destroying everything you love most.
I may never be able to touch Stark House again, but I will destroy you, your House, and all the rest of the North if need be.
I will pursue anyone who might be held, even in the smallest way, involved in the demise of my husband.
Mark my words, Bloody Snow.
My Jorah Must Not Die!]
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
Duncan_Randar
Duncan_Randar Fuck the King!!! To Lord Jorah!!!!
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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