:-[Chapter 37]-:
"Probably to lick their wounds. After we let that young man Gawen from the Reach go with the message for them to come get their dead. Mace Tyrell is not known to be a military genius, contrary to what he would like to be known."
Eddard chuckled at the older man comment's. It was true that the first day was a resounding success in almost every category possible. The North suffered very few losses of life and the wounded were less than a thousand men and women. Now, his sister and brother had something to do with their days in taking care of them. Their presence as members of House Stark helped the men tremendously. The young wolf was grateful to the Old Gods that his beloved Ashara was happy to help also and not simply waiting in the tower. Her and Princess Elia were helping the Stark children, bringing supplies to the warriors on the inner wall and sometime even taking care of the food by. Everyone had their role and no one was hiding in the crypt under Moat Cailin in fright.
The young Stark was looking far ahead into the snowy field and then the enemy camp. Even from here, he could see the movement of the southern camp. He knew right there and then that the third day would bring something different then the first.
:-[T.A.B]-:
Gawen could not believe his luck. He was the only known survivor of those who had tried to take Moat Cailin's high wall. He did not know why he was spared in particular, and not one of the others. Sure, he had his message that he had to give to Lord Tyrell himself but he did not understand why he survived. He had lost everything in that fight. His axe was split clean in two by none other than Ser Barristan the Bold and they took his bow and what was left of his arrows when they sent him on his way.
His reappearance gave a shock to many of the Reach men, who were not expecting at all to see one of their own exit the dreaded castle. The men in the camp quickly freed him and brought him to his liege lord, Lord Tyrell himself. He remembered his conversation with him.
"What did you see in that fucking castle? What are their numbers? Did our attack have any impact whatsoever on them? Tell me peasant!" Lord Tyrell asked Gawen as hi sat on his knees, shivering under his lord's gaze.
"M-Milord... I-I-I was unconscious. Once I woke up, they immediately put a blindfold on my face so that I could not see anything. They gave me some water..." trailed the man. "a-a-a-and a man whom presented himself as Lord Winterstorm told me to give you this message."
"Well, what is it then?" Lord Arryn asked, his tone kinder than Lord Tyrell but still firm.
"You may come and get your dead. Dispose of them however you wish. The Northern sorcerer will not use his magic tonight."
The lord of Moat Cailin was true to his word. He did not attack, nor did he used his vile magic, as his liege lord was calling it. The southerners were able to collect the many, many bodies lying in the once white snowy field. Sure, they had the overbearing presence of the castle's bowmen above them, who seemed ready at any time to let an arrow fly but Gawen and the others continued gathering the countless bodies. The first day had managed to give them a serious reputation as a deadly force while a storm was present.
Gawen was promoted as a captain, since the last one had died on the battlefield. The young hunter did not really understand how he became the leader of a small battalion but there he was. Luckily for him, it was with a nice raise which he sent to his father, Old Gawen in the Reach, near Highgarden. He was given a new weapon, a sword made of quality steel. It was his new pride and joy, as was his new bow, given by the Hand of the King himself.
He puffed up his chest, basking in the moment. The Reachman gathered his hundred men, coming from the four corners of the Reach and yelled out, catchning his men's attention.
"Men! Our great Lord Tyrell, Defender of Highgarden and Vanquisher of the North has come up with a great idea. During the last day and night, the men of the Vale worked tirelessly to give us the means to defend ourselves against the enemy archers. We shall have portable palisades to help us block the arrows. The winds are calm this morning and snow has not fallen since our first try."
:-[T.A.B]-:
The battle was raging once again. For hours, the thousands of archers from Moat Cailin have successively pushed back the armies of the South. Harry decided to not use the crystal on this day, wanting to keep the crystal's energy high. He was currently on the wall, in company of his Moat's Wolves, shooting arrows as if he was a simple archer in his garrison.
"My lord! These palisades prevent us from reaching their cursed archers. What should we do?" one of the men asked him.
"I have another little surprise for the Reach." smirked Harry. "Torrhen, do you mind holding my bow?"
The giant man took the weapon without a word, putting it upon his shoulder to keep his hands ready for his great sword. The young sorcerer looked on the field, spotting his targets down. Putting both of his thumbs together and index finger stretch out in the shape of an L, he let out his first spell of the day.
"Augue!"
A massive fireball came from his hands and went flying toward the closest small wooden wall that made up the palisade, thus exploding into a thousand pieces. The men behind it never saw it coming and died of the explosion and the many splinters force at high speed into their body of face. One survivor had half of his face burned off and stumble out of the debris and started screaming before a couple of arrows came for him, taking his life.
Harry continued with the same spell on every small group of soldiers and palisade that he saw, thus winning yet again the day against the Fat Flower of Highgarden.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 4]-:
On the fourth day came a change in the war. Done were the simple levies without true armour. Now, Lord Mace Tyrell had decided to use several thousands of Summer Knights for the first time. His second failure to put down the futile resistance of the North at Moat Cailin was a resounding failure, yet again. Surely his knights would succeed where the foolish peasants had failed.
"Servant! Bring me warm wine!" yelled the indulgent man.
He was tired of this land already. He could not wait to be in his magnificent castle, with his magnificent wife and child, Wylas. Strangely, he was even missing his fucking mother and her ways to constantly belittle him at every corner. Now when he would return, he would do so as a hero.
The servant came, his lips blueish due to the terrible conditions he was living in, with a glass of warm wine, as his lord had demand it. He was hoping that seeing him shaking terribly like he was that his Lord would help him getting better clothing but the fat lord did not even bother looking in his direction, even less so acknowledging him.
Mace drank a big gulp of his wine and moaned slightly at the warm feeling he felt sliding his throat. He only wave at the servant so he would go away allowing Mace to start his feast. He had been a couple of fortnights without one after all.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 8]-:
Four days of hell. Gawen could hardly believe what he was seeing. He could hardly believe that he was even alive. For days the sorcerer rained literal fire upon them. Such much so that now, rumours that now dragons were freely roaming the North under his command were raging in the camp. Smallfolk levies just like some of the Summer Knights were starting to believe in these rumours. The lords under Lord Tyrell were trying to mitigate these issues but even the young hunter could see in their eyes that they did not believe in themselves at all.
The crusade was going badly, if he was honest with himself. The men were losing their courage faster than a whore spread her legs. Even Gawen himself, started to doubt, even if Lord Tyrell kept saying that everything was under control. Control of what, thought Gawen. The man had lost many men for very little gain, if any. The camp was a mess, a cluster of tents if you will. There was no organization at all in the camp. Soldiers were ordered to put their tents and supplies wherever they wanted. The personal stuff of the dead was taken without a second thought by the surviving men. Clothes and furs were the main objectives of course, since the cold had not stopped one bit.
Gawen was now captain of the digging division. Their jobs were to dig the offending snow to create paths toward the castle. It was hard work, as the snow was ice at some point but the young hunter pushed his men, mainly from the surviving levies, as hard as he humanly could. Now that the battlefield was covered in snow, the Summer Knights could move in safety. The advantage was now on their side in a sense as the arrows of the northerners could not reach them.
The white snowy field was no more. Now, there was only blood red stains everywhere where soldiers had fallen, creating a vision of horror if Gawen was honest with himself. Blood and viscera were spread upon the field, a stern reminder of what the soldiers of the Reach were facing everyday.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[At the same moment, Harrenhal]-:
"What news from Lord Tyrell?" snarled the king, sitting on his throne in the main Throne Room of Harrenhal.
"Your Grace, Lord Tyrell tells us that the negotiation has failed. The hostilities have begun and while there were some setbacks, the letter says everything is under control. The Lord of Highgarden promises a victory soon." Ser Gerold Hightower answered in a bland tone without emotion as per usual.
"He better procure us with one very soon, or else. Who knows what may happen to the Reach while the majority of their armies away making war?" cackled the monarch. "Now, what is the news about our traitors, Barristan and Lewyn?"
"Ser Barristan Selmy was spotted on the wall protecting the Stark boy, Eddard. His blade is still as sharp as ever and witnesses describe him as a demon with a sword. The levies of the Reach did not stand a chance in front of him."
"What about the Dornish scum?" scowled the king.
"No men from Dorne have been spotted yet, your Grace. Same goes for Ser Lewyn Martell himself. The Spear of Dorne has yet to appear." The White Bull said before visibly hesitating.
"What is it, Hightower?" demanded the king, spotting the hesitation.
"There is report of dragons, your Grace. According to Lord Tyrell's report, his men suffered severe burns. Huge flames from the castle were seen by thousands of soldiers. Rumors that the North possesses at least one dragon are spreading and morale is said to have taken a hit."
"Dragons? Dragons!? I am the dragon! Me!" yelled the king, jumping up from the throne.
"Of course, your Grace." nodded the Lord Commander of the kingsguard. "I am merely reporting what our Lord Paramount has said in his letter."
"Continue, Lord Commander." King Rhaegar said, squinting his eyes dangerously.
"The flames have eaten all of the palisades Lord Tyrell had made for his men, forcing them to adapt. They intend to dig trenches within the snow and to start putting a true siege to Moat Cailin."
"I do not trust him anymore. Starting a siege almost a week after arriving at destination is unforgivable. Smiling Knight!" the king called.
"Yes, your Grace?" giggled the crazed man. "What can I do for you?"
"You are to lead the Riverlands army in my Holy Name and put an end to those fucking barbarians. Do everything needed and show no mercy to those heathens. Take everything you need from the armory."
"Thank you, your Grace. I would need something more... powerful however, with your permission." the man smiled, showing his rotten yellow and black teeth.
"What do you need, my kingsguard?"
The laughter that the Smiling Knight gave froze the blood of everyone present in the throne room, except for the king.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 9, sun is not up yet]-:
The time for the crannogmen to enter the war had arrived. Lord Howland Reed was leading every single skinchanger his people had. They were a little more than fifty from all ages. The youngest was one and ten and the oldest was six and eighty. They all answered the call of war as soon as everything was ready. During the forced exile of his people, Howland had previously ordered the capture of every lizard-lion his people could find.
The reason was simple. Unleashing a horde of angry and famished animals upon the South's massive camp during the night would bring chaos. The lizard-lions were the symbol of his House and not without reason. These fantastic animals were domesticable if you knew their secrets, which his House had known for thousands of years. In that knowledge, theirs minds knew they were particularly sensible to skinchanger.
Leaving through the northern gate while keeping silent, taking , Howland and his men marched quickly and silently towards the enemy camp in a roundabout path. They were protected by the archers of Dorne who all immediately volunteered for the operation. Prince Oberyn and his men decided to forsake their flamboyant orange for a more subtle attire. They were all dressed in black from head to toe, hiding perfectly in the darkness.
Easily killing the very few scouts ahead of the enemy camp, the group of around a hundred and fifty men advanced quickly but very quietly and prepared everything. The skinchangers went into position and took possession of the minds of two hundred lizard-lions. These animals had not eaten in days and were famished. Combine this with the fact that their minds now belonged to those of sentient beings, the beasts were now extremely fearsome and lethal.
Slowly but surely entering the camp, the hundreds of mind-controlled lizard-lion started their first meal in days.
:-[T.A.B]-:
"I do not care about your feeble excuses, you peasant!" yelled the Lord of Highgarden in the poor man's face. "I want fucking results! Real men are fighting outside against those miscreants, are you telling me that you cannot do some simple digging?"
"M-My lord, the snow is now frozen after all the days it stayed there. It is now difficult to remove as quickly as we wish, especially under constant threat of death under the North's arrows."
"We understand your concerns, Captain." said Jon Arryn, trying to calm the situation. "The Summer Knights are doing their best. We need more from the Reach's levies."
"We need more equipment, lord Hand. The temperature is dropping every night. I beg of you, we are not equipped to resist this winter! We are dying!" begged Gawen.
Already due to the harsh condition they were force to live in, many of the levies, badly equiped to survive a winter, much less fighting in one, were getting sicker by the day. The warmth from the fire in the camps were ineffective against the cold. Even with the supplies they took from the dead, it was not enough to fight this winter properly.
"Foolishness! My armies will not be..." started the foolish man before getting interrupted by a huge scream of terror.
"BY THE GODS! THEY ARE EVERYWHRE!"
Lord Tyrell and the Hand of the King, Lord Arryn rushed through the tent's flap only to see soldiers running away from something. Even his proud Summer Knights were running in fright, their screams higher than usual.
"Run!" screamed another.
"AAAARRRRGGG! ONE GOT ME! HELP ME, PLEAAASE!"
Screams and profanities were heard everywhere in the front of the camp. In the darkness of the morning, Gawen could not see anything. He left the front hours ago when summoned by his liege lord and had no idea what was going on. The northerners had never attacked before and seemed to be content to stay behind their high walls in safety. The young captain stopped one man by grabbing him by the arm.
"What is going on? Tell me, in the name of Lord Tyrell!"
"Monsters! Monsters everywhere!" the man said before roughly freeing his arm and running away.
Then Gawen saw them. Monsters coming straight from the Seven Hells. The animal was at least fifteen feet long and had the largest amount of teeth the young hunter had ever seen in a beast. A quadruped, the thing was moving almost just as fast as any man. Dark thick scales covered it in its entirety as if in thick armor. The growl that came from it was terrifying and unlike anything the young man had heard previously in his life.
"By the Seven-Who-Are-One..." started Gawen, slowly but surely backing up.
"Demons! Demons are attacking us!" screamed Lord Tyrell as soon as he saw it. "FLEE! FLEE FOR YOUR LIFES!"
The men did not need to be told twice. As soon as the liege lord of the Reach started screaming his order to flee, all of his men started to run away, Gawen among them. It was a complete rout, quite simply. Thousands of men were running in all directions to avoid the gigantic animals.
:-[T.A.B]-:
Oberyn had never believed in magic before he came to the North, more precisely to Moat Cailin. After keenly observing Lord Harry Winterstorm and now the crannogmen, he was convinced everything was true. Seeing fifty of those men and women take control of such ferocious animals gave him a new meaning of the word, respect. The decision in helping the North was the correct one and he could not wait to tell his brother, King Doran of Dorne.
Prince Oberyn Martell was having the time of his life. He was shooting at everything that came too close to the crannogmen with absolute glee. Killing Reach men was an old pastime of Dorne before the kingdom joined the Iron Throne and the Red Viper had great fun doing it. Dressed in all black like his compatriots, the man was using the fact that the sun was still not up high in the sky to blend into the darkness. Clouds were passing in front of the moon and stars, hiding almost any kind of light.
The Dornish, however, were excellent at guerrilla tactics. They repelled the first Targaryen's invasion almost three hundred years ago and never once did they meet them in battle. The two thousand men who came with Oberyn were already the best in Sunspear. So, when came the time to choose who would come with him in assisting the crannogmen, he chose the best of the best. His men were, like him, shooting at any man from the Iron Throne's army, causing a lot of damage. The fleeing men were causing accidents with the campfires, which started a small fire in the camp. Many of the tents were burning ablaze, causing even more panic, as the lizard-lions snatched and devoured anything they could reach.
The Red Viper saw some men from the Vale arriving in panic. Thousands of dead and wounded were lying on the ground. The Prince saw the Old Falcon, Hand to the King of the Iron Throne starting to bark orders to his men. The knights of the Vale began to try to control the situation but, the highly intelligent mind-controlled animals were extremely tough to kill as each time one of them died, the crannogmen that controlled it had better control over the others, making them even deadlier.
Seeing the old man of the Vale in such a vulnerable position gave the Red Viper an idea. Nocking a very special arrow with an extremely lethal poison of his own concoction, Oberyn let the arrow fly in the direction of the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn.
:-[T.A.B]-:
Thank you everyone for reading Chapter 37 of The adventure begins! Please let a review in the comment, letting me know what you think about my story or what you would like to see.
Criticism is always welcome as long as it is constructive.
Thank you to abarai72 for his amazing help in developing this story!
To Sheploo: Yes its does! I hope you like this chapter also. Please, tell me what you think!
To Artur Hawking1: His fate will be shown soon! Thank you for the review
To Travis Btmb : tftr!
To Blaze1992: Yeah, I wanted Eddard to at least have a small fight atoop the wall but nothing major happened, thanks the Old Gods!
To Qhristhian: :- )
To : Some probably lost themselves haha
To BioHazard82: And once again, thank you for your amazing support each week!
To Mark1: Harry does not know the spell yet!