:-[Chapter 39]-:
Harry was ecstatic at the moment. A little bit stressed out about being outside of his fortress and having a massive number of enemy soldiers between him and Moat Cailin but overall the young wizard was proud of himself and his compatriots. He could feel his familiar breathing just behind him, ready to pounce at the first sign of aggressiveness.
"Lord Tyrell, a pleasure to see you again. Lord Roxton, we never had the pleasure. I am Lord Harry Winterstorm, Lord of Moat Cailin and Sorcerer of the North." Harry nodded. "It is my pleasure to announce your capture by the forces of the North."
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 11, inside the South's camp, hours after the fight]-:
The only thing the poor man felt was pain. For two days, Jon Arryn knew only pain. The arrow that hit his arm was covered in poison and the Maesters could not find a way to remove it, so he was given milk of the poppy to help ease down his suffering. He felt like hundreds if not thousands of tiny needles were entering his body at the same time. He knew he was dying. The Old Falcon felt it in his bones, literally.
"Do... did the m-men find Lord Tyrell?" Jon said, his voice barely above a whisper to the Maester.
"No news yet, my lord. Lord Tyrell could not have made it very far, if I may say so myself." the old Maester said, he back turned to Jon Arryn, focusing on his work.
"Send m-more... finding Lord Tyrell is of the utmost importance. He..." Jon was forced to stop to cough violently for a moment. "He... He is the only one who can maintain the army with me gone."
"At once, my lord." said the Maester, calling for a guard and passing on the instructions of Jon Arryn.
Denys Arryn, the Darling of the Vale, was beside him, supporting his liege lord as the Heir of the Vale of Arryn.
"My lord, what about our men?" asked Denys. "Should our forces retreat back to the Vale, in the mountains?"
Jon only coughed for a moment, making the pain worse. "I gave my word that the Vale shall follow the Iron Throne should the negotiations fail. They h-have failed."
"I understand, my lord. On my honor as an Arryn, I shall keep the army here while we wait for the Crown's reinforcements."
The dying Old Falcon only nodded to his Heir. He wanted to rest a little but one of his men entered the tent, seemingly in a rush if his red face and panting gave anything away.
"My Lord Arryn! I have grave news." the man said urgently.
Jon sighed dejectedly in pain. What was it this time?
"It is Lord Tyrell. We know where he is." continued the man. "I must insist that you come and see for yourself, my lord Hand."
The Lord Paramount of the Vale nodded and indicated to Denys to help him get to his feet, which the heir did immediately. Both present men helped the old dying-of-poison lord get up and walk to see what the soldier was showing.
"It is this way, my lords."
"This... this is the way to the frontline. W-What is g-going on?" Jon panted with difficulty.
"Lord Royce has given me explicit orders to wait until you see for yourself my lord. No mere words can explain the mess we are all in."
Jon did not say anything else. The pain of simply walking was immense and the man was having difficulty thinking at the moment. It took them around fifteen to twenty minutes to arrive where Lord Royce was, surrounded by his own knights.
"Lord Arryn, we have a problem." Royce said, giving him a beautifully crafted spyglass from Essos.
With slow movements, Jon managed to put the object in front of his eyes. He saw the northerners seemingly celebrating something on the walls. He looked around trying the find what was their reason for doing so during a crusade and then... he saw it. Mace Tyrell was in the custody of the North.
Then, he felt it.
An extremely sharp pain was felt through his entire body with the core being his arm where he was shot. Jon screamed in pain and fell to his knees, on the cold ground. The Old Falcon did not even hear his men beside him screaming his name before darkness took him down forever.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 12, Moat Cailin]-:
"Your armies are in complete disarray. There is nothing the Reach can do to turn the situation around. Even with Denys Arryn who is barely able to maintain the rule upon his own lands, there is no way he would be able to control the lords of your kingdoms without a real leader backing him." Rickard said, his voice devoid of any emotion.
"Of course, no one can replace me." Tyrell said in a pompous tone, puffing up his chest.
"That is a mistake, lord Tyrell. You never thought of what would happen if you were to die in battle? Who is supposed to take care of your men if you fall, hmm?" continued the Old Wolf.
"I-I-I.." stuttered Lord Tyrell. Trying to respond but was unable to do so.
"Enough. I do not care to hear your stupidity any longer. Winter has come for you, southerner."
"I expect to be put in a proper room with ink and quill. I still need to lead the Reach, even if I am here under guard. Many important things require my attention." Tyrell said, puffing up his chest once again.
"Would you like a warm glass of wine also? What about a whore to keep yourself warm during the cold nights here in the North?" Rickard said with the utmost derision he could muster.
"Absolutely, thank you Lord Stark." the Fat Flower said, clearly not understanding the sarcasm he was the victim of.
"Clearly you do not understand your situation, Tyrell." the Lord of the North said, his voice cold. "Let me be clear. While yourself, Lord Roxton and the peasant we captured are allowed to live simply because my son has given his word in the name of our House. Otherwise, I would kill you without a second thought."
Mace Tyrell gulped audibly, his face as pale as a ghost.
"You shall stay here, in the dungeon where two meals a day await you. Nothing more, nothing less. You shall eat the same food our soldiers eat. Rest well, Lord Tyrell." Rickard said, ignoring the loud protest of the Fat Man. The leader of the North did not care in the least. He would honor his son's promise as his honor as a Stark demanded it.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 27, The Neck]-:
The Smiling Knight was riding with Ser Simon Toyne as the two kingsguard were the leaders of the army, to the great disdain of the proud Lord Hoster Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. The Old Fish was with his brother, Lord Bryden Tully, the Black Fish.
Hoster was a tall man with broad shoulders and sharp blue eyes. Eyes that he gave to his two daughters and son. His children were lucky enough to have inherited the flamboyant hair of his dearest departed wife, Minisa Tully nee Whent since he himself had flat brown hair. The lord did not like not being in the forefront on his own army. It was outrageous to be relegated to a secondary position when he was a Lord Paramount, the highest possible rank he could achieve. It was possible that he could be given the position of Hand of the King since Jon Arryn was dead, but the man needed to be seen in charge, not obeying the orders of fucking criminals.
"I can feel your eyes on my back, Tully. Do you have something to say?" the Smiling Knight giggled, not looking back.
"Not much, kingsguard. I simply cannot wait to see your plan in action. Any chance you would actually tell us what are in those crates of yours?" Hoster replied.
The Smiling Knight only laughed out loud. "You may wait along with the others, Lord Fish. My plan is for those I trust. We need my plan to be as secret as possible so that the sorcerer cannot find out about it."
"Yes, that is why your band of criminals are the only ones who can handle those crates, right?" Ser Brynden Tully said, rolling his eyes.
"You should show respect to the man who leads your armies, dear Tullys." the kingsguard said, still giggling madly. "We are only a couple of days away from Moat Cailin. You shall see there."
Hoster did not say anything else. What use was there to try and negotiate with a madman? It was useless and trying. Only a look to his brother made him stop altogether also.
:-[T.A.B]-:
A scream of rage was heard in Harrenhal, where the servants scampered quickly away from the throne room, the source of the commotion. Very few lords were courageous enough to stand in the presence of the enraged king.
Lord Tywin Lannister, Lion of the Rock was standing in the company of his lords and soldiers. Ever since the king had started to burn people left and right on a whim, the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands was always moving with men surrounding him. It was a necessity for his security. Even if he was the good-father to the king himself, Tywin remembered how Rhaegar killed his own father in cold blood in King's Landing and refused to take any chances in public. His men were extremely loyal to him after all.
"Read the letter to me again, Master of Whisperers." King Rhaegar ordered, his voice full of venom.
Varys nodded and started reading once again.
"To King Rhaegar, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and Voice of the Seven.
I am Denys Arryn, Heir to Lord Jon Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale.
The hour brings grave news, Your Grace. Our Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn, is dead. Lord Arryn was struck with a poisoned arrow and died from it days later. The reason that it took so long to send you the news, Your Grace, is that the army of the Reach is in complete disarray. The entire host has fled the North and is coming back south. I have managed to keep the forces of the Vales in check, however.
I have even more grave news, Your Grace. It is with great regret that I announce the capture of Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach by the forces of the North. Lord Tyrell is alive and well and is taken care of by the Sorcerer of the North. Lord Roxton was also made a prisoner by Winterstorm.
The war is not going well, Your Grace. We need a proper leader. I confess that I am doing the best that I can to provoke the northerners and harass them everyday. However, the winter storms have stopped for a reason that I can't explain. We woke up one morning and the snow in the camp was almost gone. I am afraid that the supplies of blankets and furs will be for nothing.
Signed, Denys Arryn, Heir to the Vale."
The silence was deafening. Tywin could see the rage bubbling inside the mad Rhaegar and wisely decided to keep silent.
"Enough is enough." King Rhaegar said. "Prepare my armies. The Targaryens are going to war themselves and the dragon shall win."
The 'dragon' rose up from his throne and looked at Tywin Lannister, his crazed eyes full of madness.
"Tywin, you shall have the rear guard. The lions shall follow the dragon into war."
"Of course, Your Grace." Tywin said, bowing low to the king, hiding his anger deep inside his countenance. Rhaegar, just like the late Aerys seemed to be unable to fully trust him like they should. The Lion of the Rock was honestly getting tired of it. He was put out of his inner thoughts when his son came inside the throne room back the back door. Jaime stopped one moment, clearly looking for something and their green eyes crossed paths. Quickly, his first son crossed the long hall approaching Tywin.
"What is it, Jaime?" Tywin whispered softly.
"It is Cersei, Father. She... she is with child!" his son almost whisper-shouted.
This completely changed Tywin's plans.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 29]-:
Harry was once again looking at another army coming for him and the North. This time, it was the combined army of the Riverlands and what was left of the army of the Vale. Maybe the young wizard should have killed them with a terrible blizzard and be done with it. Well, it wasn't that he would not, it was more that he could not.
The crystal was losing power. The price for the terrible winter he forced for weeks upon the land had drained it and the young wizard could feel the power flow out of the green crystal. Harry, also with Lord Rickard Stark and Prince Oberyn Martell have all decided to keep the rest of the energy for a last resort. They were currently in the best conditions possible, still with small reinforcement supplies arriving every day or so.
The young wizard had full faith in his castle and his men. They have all trained meticulously for this moment. Now they were facing an army of around 70,000 men. This time however, they were facing a proper army with a proper sense of creating a siege. Harry knew the enemy host was officially led by the criminals Ser Simon Toyne and the Smiling Knight but he also knew Lord Hoster Tully and his brother had experience in how to manage the camp.
Thanks to his link with his familiar Hedwig, Harry was able to see the enemy camp was in a far better shape than the one under Mace Tyrell and Jon Arryn. The tents were aligned in perfect rows so that the men would be able to move easily and get into formations when needed. He could also see a massive bonfire in strategic position where the men were able to warm themselves,
'A far, far better opponent than the Fat Flower for sure' Harry thought.
However, what stressed him out the most was the wall made of wood he was currently seeing built. For days, hundreds of men were working tirelessly to build it. The wall was made of uprooted trees and the bark was removed, creating a solid wall between them and their camp.
'An ingenious tactic to be sure. It made their future raids far harder than before.' Harry thought again, so lost in the moment that he did not hear Eddard coming.
"You should be careful, Harry." making Harry jump. "I could be an enemy, trying to corner you." Eddard said wisely.
"Aye, you are right. I was thinking about our new enemies."
"Do you mean the criminal pair or the Fish Brothers?" Ned asked.
"Both actually. In a way, I can understand putting one of your kingsguard in charge of an army but using rapists and sadistic criminals instead when you have the Tullys who actually have experience in war? Makes no sense." Harry said, bewildered by the decision of Rhaegar.
"Let us not underestimate the cunning of an enemy just because he never put a castle under siege. The Smiling Knight is used to different tactics and does not have the same education as the high lords, if any."
"When did you became so wise, my friend?" the young lord laughed.
"I have always been wise." Eddard said, looking fake-affronted.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 31]-:
"Mwa hahahaha! Kill them all!" yelled happily the Smiling Knight, atop a ladder on Moat Cailin's southern and main wall.
The man was killing northerners left and right with an ease few men could boast about. The infamous knight was covered in blood, only adding to the insanity the man exuberated. He was the first of the day to put his feet atop the wall, kill a woman by splitting her head in two.
Not too far from there, was none other than Eddard Stark, second son of Rickard Stark who was fighting further down the wall. Ned of course had his loyal sword shield with him, protecting him from any harm. The Young Wolf, as he was starting to be named by the men under his command, was fighting like a beast to defend his home from the invaders.
Behind him, Ser Barristan Selmy was fighting with all of his talent to repel the Rivermen from the walls and from his protege. Said protege had once again refused to stay far from the front line, wanting to fight everyday with his men.
After what seemed to be hours of non-stop fighting, Eddard finally came to the Smiling Knight. The men from both sides created a circle around them, not wanting to miss this fight between the two important figures.
"Look at the young pup, thinking of himself as a warrior! Mwa ahahaha!" the Smiling Knight laughed out loud. His cackling was giving the creeps to almost every northerner present, with Eddard Stark as the exception. The Young Wolf was stoic, in the face of his most dangerous enemy yet.
"I am the only warrior here, you are a mere criminal, nothing more." Eddard said calmly. His grip firm on his sword and shield.
"I am a kingsguard of His Grace, King Rhaegar Targaryen!" the crazed man yelled, before running toward Eddard and swinging his sword around.
The Young Wolf was able to easily parry the man's blows. The man had no technique and Eddard was able to easily see his attack pattern. The Smiling Knight was probably used to simply rushing his defenceless victims and killing them without remorse. This time however, his was facing a man trained by two ex-kingsguards and had killed Ser Jonothor Darry in a single duel.
What the second son of Rickard Stark did not see was that he was close to the edge of the inner wall and a fall of around thirty meters high. Using his more imposing size, the Smiling Knight managed to push the young Stark back enough so his feet were just off the edge.
"You are too cocky, young pup!" screamed the Crownlander, before kicking Eddard's shield with all of his might.
Instinctively, Ned tried to absorb the shock of the kick by putting his right foot behind him but the Young Wolf only found open air. He quickly lost his balance and fell through a roof, destroying it due to his weight and his armor.
"EDDARD!" yelled Ser Barristan Selmy, in shock at seeing his protege fall and disappear into a cloud of smoke.
The Stormlander rushed forward at the Smiling Knight, wanting to remove him from the battlefield once and for all. He was just able to see a flash of white in the corner of his right eye before his years of training took over and raised his shield up just in time to parry a deadly blow.
"Ser Barristan the Bold. An honor to meet you." the bearded man said.
"Ser Simon Toyne, lackey to a criminal and a Mad King." Barristan answered, having immediately recognized the man due to his white armor and cape.
"Lackey? I will show you lackey, you old prune. Do you know what has happened to your family at Harvest Hall? We crushed them all. They surrendered of course when they saw our armies but King Rhaegar wanted us to make an example of your House. We killed your entire fucking House by fire and blood. The lady was... particularly delectable, just before we put her on a pyre."
"You fiend. I shall send you to the Seven Hells where you and your kind deserve to be." Barristan said, sneering at the man behind his helmet and pointing his sword towards the villain.
They both exchanged violent sword blows with each other. It was like a dance between the two and neither of them had the advantage at the moment. To the normal soldier's eyes, it looked like they were of an equal talent but to an experienced one, they were looking for a mistake in their counterpart's guard.
The surrounding men created another circle around them while the Smiling Knight was fighting a horde of extremely angry northerners, forcing him to back up. Barristan made a quick feint towards the leg of Simon Toyne but actually aimed for his sword wrist. He sadly failed his technique and the criminal used it to press his advantage.
"You are old and useless Barristan and I will prove it by killing you and bringing back your he..." Simon tried to finished his sentence but a sword was passing through it.
"You talk too much." the sworn shield of Eddard Stark said, his voice neutral.
With a simple move, Ser Barristan removed his sword from the offending man, killing him. He took the time to make sure the body fell on his side of the wall. A monster like him did not deserve an honorable grave.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 31, the sun is set]-:
Inside the Direwolf Tower, Eddard Stark was lying down on a comfortable bed. With difficulty, he opened his eyes, only to see that he was in his own chamber. A small candle was lit on a bedside table, revealing someone sitting in an armchair. It turned out to be his father, Rickard Stark.
"You have caused us all a huge fright, my son." the man said simply, his voice soft.
"My apologies, Father... I-I was only..." Eddard began, before getting interrupted by his father holding up his hand.
"You have nothing, absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Ned. You have fought against a kingsguard and he outwitted you, it is that simple. Take the night to think about it. The fight will still be there in the morning."
"What do you mean, still there in the morning, Father?"
"The Rivermen are not going away during the night it seems. They have done a rotation while you were pulled out of the danger by our warriors and the southerners have fresh men at the moment." Rickard explained.
Eddard sat up from his bed, his head spinning slightly. He knew he was out of the fight for at least the night and needed some rest. The Young Wolf went to the windows and saw the fighting that was still raging. He could see from where he was the men still fighting against the invaders. From the top of the gates, where no ladders had managed to land successfully, Ned could observe massive balls of fire, meaning Harry was still fighting, late into the night.
"He does not want to quit, even with a normal warrior's rotation. His Moat Wolves are doing a rotation between themselves to offer him protection at all times. Ser Lewyn and of course Torrhen included. I truly believe the man must have giant's blood as he did not stop to rest at all."
"Aye, Torrhen is a rare breed indeed."
:-[T.A.B]-:
"Come on you fuckers! Come and meet my mace!" yelled Torrhen, swinging his weapon with lethal precision. Harry noticed that the man had another type of weapon in his hands once again.
"Torrhen! Why do you always have a different weapon? Don't you like a specific type?" the lord of Moat Cailin asked, using his own magic to throw some fireballs into the enemy crowds in the Red Field, as the southerners were beginning to call it.
"I am a weapon enthusiast, my lord." simply answered the Household Captain, smashing his mace against the helmet of a poor knight from the Riverlands. The knight fell to his knees, unable to make any sound. Harry saw Torrhen bashed his shields on the man's face, obliterating him. "Also, you have a big armory thanks to the many Houses in the North that send weapons, thanks be to the Old Gods."
Harry wanted to say something else but closed his mouth with an audible click. Letting the matter go with a smile, the young raven-haired wizard continued to let fireballs go from his hands.
:-[T.A.B]-:
While the majority of men from all the kingdoms was fighting in the North, the situation in the South was starting to be unbearable for the smallfolk that stayed home. Banditry was rampant almost everywhere.
The Reach was the most affected by the crusade. With the news about the capture of their Lord Paramount, Lord Mace Tyrell, bandits were becoming bolder by the day. Villages around Highgarden were raided almost continuously. Only the presence of Lord Randyl Tarly, the Lord of Horn Hill, was helping the situation. The man had decided to split his army in two, one keeping Dorne in check, as his king had ordered and the other was trying the clean the Reach but with mitigated success, as the kingdom was vast and the owner of Heartsbane, a Valyrian steel greatsword, did not have the necessary men for this.
In the Vale, the many Mountains Clans have used the death of Jon Arryn to openly revolt. With no Knights of the Vale to properly keep them in check, those men were raiding and taking every poor woman they could find for their clans.
The Westerlands did not have as many problems as the others. Lord Tywin Lannister had already thought of this problem of course and had forced each lord to keep men in reserve for this exact reason. Overall, the Westerlands was just fine.
For now.
The Iron Islands decided to follow in the North and Dorne's example and declared independence. Lord Balon Greyjoy was now King Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands and called for all of his reavers to start a great raid upon the Reach and the Westerlands since they were such easy prey.
The Crownlands were lucky since Lord Steffon Baratheon of the Stormlands had taken upon himself to protect the kingdom with his own men. Banditry was rare in those kingdoms, luckily for them.
Dorne was content to simply prepare in case of an invasion. Their castles were full of food and supplies and every lord under King Doran was ready for an attack, be it by land or sea.
:-[T.A.B]-:
:-[Day 32, very soon in the morning]-:
Harry was exhausted. His magic was almost depleted and he could barely move at all. His arms and legs were feeling extremely heavy and his head was pounding. The young wizard was presently alone in his bed, looking at the roof, trying to fall asleep but sleep would not come easily. While he was guarded by his loyal Moat's Wolves, he had asked Torrhen to supervise everything for him on the walls.
Suddenly, the candle on his bedside table went out. Looking painfully at the candle, Harry tried using his magic to light it but was too weak.
"You truly made a mess of yourself, Chosen One." a mysterious voice said, coming from the shadows.
"W-Who's there?" a weak Harry managed to say.
From the dark came the small form of a small child, or so Harry thought. When illuminated by the moonlight, the young lord was able to see that the child's skin was as white as the Weirwood tree Moat Cailin had since the rebuild. His hair reminded Harry of Hermione Granger's mane of hair but with the color of autumn. What took Harry by surprise and slight fear, was the eyes of the child. They were as red as the autumn leaves falling from the trees with a slight black slit in the middle.
"All of us are here, Chosen One, and it is thanks to you." the small being said.
"Who... who are you?
"My name is unpronounceable in your gruff tongue, wizard. You may call me Red Leaves and I am what the people of the North call Children of the Forest." the newly named Red Leaves said.
Harry was stunned by the revelation. He wondered briefly if his guard outside was hearing their conversation as he did not put any spells on the door.
"He won't. He is sleeping very soundly on the ground at the moment. You are not the only one who can do magic, young wizard. You should really work on your mind, it is like an open book to us Singers." said the diminutive being, jumping on Harry's bed and then squatting.
"The Singers? Is that what you call yourselves?" not feeling threatened at all by the proximity with Red Leaves who nodded, smiling at his answer.
"You have a quick wit, Chosen One. I am glad the Gods were able to send you here to help us. Do you know what you have done?" Red Leaves asked. When Harry shook his head from left to right, he continued. "Your actions in fighting the South and the Seven Gods Faith have unified the North into our cause willingly. Your stance here at Moat Cailin only increases the faith in the Old Gods from the northerners. We are becoming stronger every day and the fact that I can come here is proof of it!" Red Leaves finally managed to calm down, still smiling from ear to ear.
"How... how so?" Harry said, feeling more and more exhausted.
"The numbers of prayers around the Weirwood trees have doubled ever since the rebuilding of Moat Cailin and even more since the start of this crusade. Each Weirwood tree has a representative among our people and I am yours."
"Wh-What use is there to have a representative of the Singers?" asked a curious Harry.
"This."
The little being put his hand on the young wizard forehead and closed his red eyes. After only a few seconds, Harry felt just as good as he did last morning before the fight. He looked in awe at Red Leaves.
"Our role is to instruct, to guide and also to help. This is a war for our cultural survival. If the rest of the Weirwood trees are cut down in the North, our entire race will disappear with them, for we are bound to them. The time has come for those who sing the song of earth and wind to return to Westeros."
:-[T.A.B]-:
Thank you everyone for reading Chapter 39 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 Blaze1992: Your funny feeling is probably right indeed! Thank you again for reading!
To Bear-Approved: Thank you so much! I hope you liked this chapter also my friend.
To Travis Btmb: tftr :-)
To rajeshkont: Aye! The southerners were pretty lucky to have found their lord that quickly. Thank you again for reading!