The Pale Upstart ( GOT System Fic )

Westeros was noticeably colder than Essos. Even in the Stormlands which geographically did not stand further north than the cities he had visited, he had often longed for the Essosi warmth. The Reach felt mild for his sensibilities. He had grown accustomed to it, though really he had no choice on the matter.


The collar he once had around his neck was not as missed as the weather. Yet ever since he had come back to Westeros, he had not quite felt as free as he now did. A shame this freedom had to come with a prize.


Gideon, assistant to the kind and eccentric Lord Aster Tyrell, clutched the proof of his release from service in one hand, the other resting on the sword left to him by said master. Freedom, a substantial gift of gold and a sword. Truly he had been blessed on this day.


But as it often did in his short existence, the blessing was to be followed with a curse. As he entered the keep of Honeyholt, Gideon once again repeated the words in his head.



' My ladies, my lords. I have arrived before you to deliver a most saddening news. The good Lord Aster Tyrell, my employer, has recently passed away.'



He knew he would not be able to deliver his message how he had wanted to, the moment he saw their faces. Lord Tyrell's wife and his three children. They were exchanging pleasantries with Lady Beesbury, as he had expected them to. As far as he was aware, the Lord Beesbury was not a man who sought to be affiliated with Aster Tyrell or his family.


His master had been one eccentric and unusual noble, far more than the rest of House Tyrell had ever tolerated, though not so much that he had to be banished from the Great House. This sort of political play was not unfamiliar to Gideon, but he had never fully understood them. Black Sheep of the family as he was, Aster Tyrell was still the brother of House Beesbury's liege. Then again the vassals of the Great Houses were not what Gideon would call the most loyals. There was a large contrast between what he had been told, and what he had noticed with his very eyes.



" Gideon? I was not told you would come to Honeyholt. Is my Lord Husband well?" The Lady Tyrell asked him as soon as she noticed him. Even amongst a crowd, she could have picked him easily, with his white cowl and the wrappings over his face. Anyone who had any sort of influence in the Reach would have the same ease he feared. He had become far more infamous since his return to Westeros than he had ever wanted.


When the young lords and ladies turned to him with dazzling smiles on their faces, Gideon was certain he could not deliver the news the way he had planned to. Lady Tyrell's eyebrows creased immediately as he came forward with his head down. He would do this often simply to hide his facial features, but she could easily tell this was more so because of his mood, and the severity of the message he carried.



" My Lady Tyrell, the good Lord Aster Tyrell….My Lord, he…." The words died in his throat. She stood up and Lady Beesbury brought a hand to her mouth, the shock evident on her pale face. She, too, was aware of Aster Tyrell's worsening health. Only the children- although it was ironic of him to call them so when he was not that much older- did not understand the sudden change.


" When? When did this happen? Has the rest of House Tyrell been notified?" Lina Tyrell said, her voice cracking as all the confidence she had been exuding or had tried to, in any case, crumbled. Lady Beesbury quickly went to her side to comfort her. Gideon saw that the children were finally catching on. The firstborn daughter, Alysanne, prevented her brothers from reacting strongly. Even when it came to mourning, nobles remained quite obsessed with their image. That much he could understand. One could live or die with the image they created; often that was the only thing you know of a noble whom you would probably ever see during rare and highly important events. Thus, few were the things that nobles regarded with as much importance as their image, even more so when it came to the image their entire House projected.


"Only two days ago. I was as swift as one could be. I left immediately after his last breath. Riders have been sent out just as I had left Ashford. By now the Great House Tyrell will have surely been notified."


The Tyrells were no weeping roses. Olenna Tyrell had made certain to impart this lesson to the lords and ladies of the House. Never before had he wanted them to discard this idea more so than in this instance. The boys sought the comfort of their sister, the Lady wife received it from Lady Beesbury even when she asked for none. Her teary eyes were trained on the paper he was clutching.



" Ah…The Lord has decided to…I have been released from my service to the Great House Tyrell. The Lord Tyrell has given me leave before his death and had this written on paper." He showed it to her with no small amount of grief.



" Gideon, you're l-leaving us?" The first son of his Lord, Arthur, asked. He had seen 13 name days and was his junior by only three more. Yet the little lord already stood at the same height, and Gideon did not know himself to be a small man.



The Tyrells were the only ones whom he knew not to wince when he gazed directly into their eyes with his own sickly pink orbs. He tried to avoid showing his eyes as much as he could outside of the occurrences where he had to intimidate others. But now, he could no longer do so.



" Yes. I was released, with enough gold to start a new life…and a last order from the Lord." He answered. Lady Tyrell gasped as he undid the wrappings around his face. He did so as swiftly as possible, as though they were burning him. Lady Beesbury, from disgust or fear, he knew not. The few guards instinctively grasped their swords. They did not unsheathe, but they certainly appeared wary.



" I am to manifest my dreams into reality, and never again hide who I am unless forced to." He spoke over the children's loud surprise. They had never seen his pinkish eyes or his long snow-white hair, though they had indeed been told after pestering their father for months. The fear he had been waiting for did not show itself. Only wonder and awe in those eyes he probably wouldn't see again for a long time.



" My lord husband's words are final. I would not release you from our service, had the choice been mine. But Aster always went on and on about your ambition…..Will you leave now?" Lady Tyrell asked him. She had plastered her face with a mask of control, but he knew she would cry herself to sleep that night. Perhaps not for Aster himself, but at least for the children.



" I would not lie to you, my Lady. Especially not in such trying times. I have always known I would one day wander Westeros as a free man. I have prepared myself for such a day. Now that it is here, I can hardly wait."



A part of him shattered as her lips quivered. Leaving a widow to deal with the aftermath of her Lord Husband's death. Leaving a family he had known for years now, at the first chance he was given.



He could only put the blame on his years as a slave in Essos. The 'freedom' he was given once reaching Westeros had not changed the child who had lost his heart amidst the brothels of Lys and the fighting pits of Mereen.



Or he was simply lying to himself once more.


" I sincerely hope you will find a way to realize the future Aster envisioned. I will not forget you, Gideon of Myr."

He pushed the paper into Lady Lina's hands. Then, he bowed, perhaps even deeper than was expected of him and quickly turned around to leave. He would not leave them with the unsightly last image of his own teary eyes. He was certain Lady Beesbury was puzzled by the events, but only a few knew how close he was with Aster Tyrell and his family.


They would never try to keep him against his will, they would never go after Aster's own last will and above all else, they would not mourn now. Now they had to be strong. They had to let him dismiss himself and then move on. They could only collapse once they took in the sight of Aster's cold body.



He knew the children would be quite crossed with him leaving without letting them give him a true farewell, but hopefully, the Lady would tell them that it was better for everyone. Better to remove the blade swiftly.



There was nothing else in Honeyholt for him, so he left immediately afterwards. His horse whined under him, unsatisfied with the short reprieve he had been given, but Gideon pressed on. He had to cover some grounds before night fell.



The journey to the Crownlands was going to be a long one. He could only hope the Roseroad would not offer him an onslaught of troubles. Gods knew this would not be the first time the supposedly calm lands of the Reach proved far more annoying than he once believed them to be.




Finally, he could free his mind of the worries that plagued him since Aster's death. And finally, he could focus on other pressing matters. He lifted his eyes off the road and gazed at the words only he could see, floating lazily right above.


[ The Champion has received a new quest! ]


Those words had been pestering him for the last week, but Lord Aster had been dying. Then he died, far sooner than Gideon had thought he would. He was in no position to address this.



Then again, hadn't he been ignoring this new reality of his for a couple of months now?



Aster Tyrell had lived as a merchant since his family unofficially pushed him away for his….'differences'. Gideon assisted him with all sorts of matters, as he was apparently as learned as a noble scion. In the months that preceded this mess, he and Lord Aster had been making quite a few coins selling wares from the more unknown nations of Essos. A chance meeting with some merchants from faraway lands had put their enterprise on the path to obscene wealth. When these strange words first appeared, Gideon had been in denial for a long time.



Then he accepted that he had not become mad. Why would madness only manifest in this strange and unheard-of way? No, clearly this was real. He then sought to understand. Why and how?



The why was clear to him. It could only be the Gods. Who else had this power? For this was not as simple as words appearing in the air. This was a power of unspeakable potential. For months, different sentences came to him. At times, he was given quests. Often he was notified of the completion of 'achievements' for what the Gods deemed to be notable deeds. His rewards for these achievements?



[ The Champion has regained his true freedom!]

[ Achievement reward: +2 Prowess ]



Now, what was prowess exactly? He had not sought explanations. He had indeed been avoiding this power for months. But he could easily guess. Before even this specific achievement, he had received some 'Prowess' as it was called. The result? He actually gained height! More than that, his strength had become greater. Not so much that he could best an actual warrior now, he was still a long way from knowing how to fight effectively.



Still, it had to be the Gods. And what a revelation that was. Was he blessed? He had never been pious, he could freely admit to that. Which Gods had even gifted him this power? The old or new ones? Would that even be the Gods of Westeros? What if it was the deities of Essos?



In truth, he had no way of knowing. He had tried to question them, but the words before him would not change. Not like he had expected the very Gods to speak to him. Still…..A champion? The power clearly spoke of him that way.



It did not matter for now. What did was this new quest he had received. Only once before had he completed a quest. He had received more than one quest in the time that he has had. However, these tasks given by the Gods all had relatively small time limits. He had failed all but that one.



It had been a simple task of helping Lord Tyrell reach a certain threshold of profits. In return, he had unlocked what the Gods called 'Masteries'.



He brought a hand to the words and tried to change them like he had done once. He could touch different 'Menus' as the words described them. Each showed different information, be that achievements, quests or, in this case, The Masteries.


[ Gideon ]

Stewardship: 5/???

Diplomacy: 2/???

Military: 0/???

Learning: 5/???

Prowess: 4/???

Artisan: 0/???



[ The Champion can select different menus by thinking of their name. The Champion is not required to touch the System ]



System? What a strange word. Were the Gods telling him the name of this ability they had given him? Again, he could not gain answers to his endless questions. However, this was good to know. It would have been awkward to utilize this power whilst surrounded by others.


The very day he had first seen the words, he had been given a warning. The champion should keep knowledge of his newfound abilities secret. The warning came with no knowledge of what would happen if he spoke, but then again convinced as he was that Gods were behind this, he would make it a point to keep his mouth shut.


In regards to those masteries, he had been told that these represented his abilities, be that his ability to handle his finances, his soldiers should he gain access to troops or even his own ability as a warrior. They governed all the aspects of his life but information on those masteries was hidden. Besides the actual value he had for each Mastery, he was told that there should be a value for the limit he could actually reach in each of them, but for now, all he could were those interrogation marks.



This was vexing, but he was not beyond working to gain this knowledge. In fact….



[ New quest: Turmoil for the Fish ]

The Great House Tully has seen a decade of bloody conflicts with its vassals since the previous Lord Paramount died of a disease and left his reckless heir in charge. Will you help the Great Lord Edmure Tully or bring about his downfall?


First Path: Help the Tullys win the Vassal War

Reward: +2 Martial, +2 Prowess, Access to Queries.

Second Path: Aid the rebelling vassals against House Tully.

Reward: +4 Martial, +3 Stewardship, Access to Queries, ???

Third Path: ???

Reward: ???


Time Limit: 1 week to Accept Quest, 4 months to Complete Quest.




This…..this was new. The previous quests had not nearly been as complex as this. He nearly fell off his horse as he read the quest. This was an endeavour the likes of which he had not expected to be a part of any time soon.


However, these queries caught his eye. Did the Gods mean by that, that he could then upon completion of this quest….Query them for information? This would be a great boon for him. And yet, he had to admit he felt far more trepidation than excitement when seeing this quest.



Worse still, this was personal. Before Aster Tyrell…before Essos…



He had been a peasant of the Riverlands.


He remembered it; he remembered it with frightening clarity. The villagers were afraid of him, but they did not push him away. They pitied him far more than they feared him. The weak child who could not stand under the sun. He had gotten better with time, even more so since he had been given these 'points' in 'Prowess'. He remembered the war with the vassals. He had left the Riverlands when he was five name days old. The war started two years after that. His first master had told him about it. He had been a good man, that master. He was murdered by his own wife; how tragic, really. Then again Gideon could take a part of the blame for that.



The war was always meant to happen. In fact, Holster Tully had started it. It only truly caught on when his heir took over because the boy, well a man now, was apparently quite foolish. Holster had been seen as weak, for seeking alliances left, right and center….or so he had heard. The man simply struck him as cautious and level-headed. Perhaps cruel to his daughters, but so were every Lord he knew of, except for Aster of course. The Great Lords could only be even worse.




He had believed Westeros to be far more stable than Essos. Then he lived in Essos and constantly received news of turmoil in his old home. He grew up to realize that Westeros simply…relied on image. The Lords all did. Sometimes this whole mask of peace cracked. Often, as was the case with the Lannisters, the Great Lords swiftly dealt with any issues before they could become large enough to embarrass them. Sometimes, as it happened with the Ironborn, the King himself acted.



Aster once told him that one had to see beyond the web of alliances. When everyone is allied to everyone else, it does not count half as much as it should. When the King wants to show favour, but his hand and just about every other advisor plead with him to avoid angering the Great Lords with favouritism…..When the Lords have become fed with the stillness of the Seven Kingdoms and seek glory and power…



He knew nothing was as it seemed in Westeros, more so than any other places he had been to or heard of. Once it saddened him.


Now?


[ The champion has accepted the quest! ]

The paths do not need to be selected. The System shall detect which path the Champion has gone with once the quest is completed.

Special rewards will be granted to the Champion should unique achievements unlocked with this quest be completed whilst the quest is active.



Now he was going to unravel the mysteries of this 'system'. He needed to know how to use it. He had to…



This was the path forward for his ambition to become a reality. He had nothing but his horse, some gold and a good sword. As intimidating as he looked, he was far more likely to get people to try to burn him than to get any benefits from the fear he created.




But with Aster dead, he could finally admit to himself that the old man's wish to change his nature would never come to fruition. So at long last, he could finally be himself. Aster had failed, and he would mourn him; he would miss him.



His death, however, meant one thing. The boy who had once poisoned the mind of a master's wife to get him killed, the boy who had trapped a master in a brothel he often visited only to repeatedly stab him until he bled to death, even though he knew it would not get him any closer to freedom….


That same boy was now on his way to the Riverlands to see the future Aster had envisioned, materialize before his eyes. Of that he was certain.



Aster Tyrell had predicted that should he be allowed to freely roam Westeros and so long as he was not murdered because some fools mistook his appearance for some great curse, he could go on to become a Great Lord. Perhaps the old man had simply wished to be kind to a foolish boy with dreams too grand for his delicate body.




Still, on the way to the Roseroad, Gideon whistled. As they did with all men, the Gods held the keys to his fate. He had not been a religious man before, perhaps that was now bound to change. He sang to himself as he planned for the journey ahead.



No matter what it could possibly take. He would go as far as this power could take him, and even further beyond so long as it simply relied on his willpower.



He had plenty to spare and a revenge to take. He was taken from Westeros. He suffered greatly in Essos, but more than that, he learned. He watched his fat masters with barely disguised hatred. Even in the early days of his comeback to Westeros. Oh, he hated Aster.



In all of his life, he had always hated the Lords. Most hated them because the world was unfair, and they could not accept it. Not him. He hated them because of something else. It wasn't justice that fueled his hatred.



It was jealousy. It had always been. On the Gods themselves he now swore…



He would take as much as his greed could possibly handle and then some more.





A.N:

So as already said in the description for this fic, this will be somewhat of an A.U. Not entirely, for certain, but expect Planetos and it's history to be somewhat different. In general, Westeros is boring. Not much happens there, there ain't many wars and I think even during the medieval age of Europe, it wasn't exactly all that exciting with constant conquests and adventures either.

But just as Martin neglected parts of his world to suit the politics and the whole Other subplot, I will remold parts of ASOIAF so that it fits this story.

I preferred not to outright state it in the description but the system in this fic is loosely inspired by the interface of Crusader Kings 3, this is mostly due to this fic being directly inspired by Legends Never Die, a 'historical fiction' if you can call it that, that I personally adore. Do not expect this story to play out exactly like Crusader Kings 3 game, because again this is only a loose inspiration, it is not the exact same and there are in universe explanations for it.

As a final warning for readers, I would say that one should probably not expect accuracy on the ASOIAF lore from this. I am no expert in it and even if I was, this story is headed a specific way and it will indeed go that way no matter what pieces of the lore, politics and geography I have to mess with to get there. Treat it as it's own story, even if it happens on Planetos, and you should be funny.

Any sorts of comments/reviews are appreciated. I will read all that I can to better this story and suggestions will be attentively looked at.

Cheers.

Lord Tyrell had often told him that he did not take enough time in a day to admire the beauty of the Reach. Until now he had never found a reason to do more than roll his eyes at the old man. Of course he would be biased towards his home. But he had known that the man–eccentric as he was– was one to consistently seek objectivity.



" To trust only your own feelings on a matter is to always risk being short-sighted. One could say this was the main problem of many Lords of days past. Each day I am alive, I seek to distance myself from such faults in my character."



He could only understand the wisdom in those words now that his Lord was dead, and his Lord no more. He had not exaggerated it one bit. Essos had often struck him as a desiccated land. He knew, from a select few merchants he had pestered about their homelands, that it was not even slightly the case. He only knew of a fraction of the large continent. Try as he might, he could not prove himself as objective as Lord Tyrell, he could not get the image of a gigantic desert out of his mind when he thought of Essos. He certainly had enough hatred for sand to last a lifetime.




The Reach, however, was a lifelike painting. It could not be real. If he ever met any fool lacking in wits enough to claim any of the other 'Kingdoms' were the equals of the Reach, he would certainly question their sanity. It was warm, but not overwhelmingly so like Dorne or Essos. Everywhere he looked, he saw green and a healthy green at that. Not the fading green making way for the death Winter brought with it. He idly wondered if the region had been transformed over time to become this breathtaking. Could nature produce this on its own?



He knew in his heart he was making a mountain out of nothing. There had to be other such places in the world. Not all the beauty men could ever partake in this world belonged to the Reach. This was, however, the very first time he ceased his endless scheming and paused to….



" Take in the sights, Gideon. Loath as we may be to proclaim our love for it, with all the suffering it has brought us, this is our home. And I mean the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. Not just the Reach. There are sights all across the land. One should appreciate them, free of the judgement that comes from misplaced pride in a single region always meant to be part of a whole."



He always had such a dopey smile whenever he tried to impart these lessons to him. He knew his dear assistant was merely hearing him. Listening, it appeared so now, only came once the old man was no longer around to dispense some much-needed wisdom.



He would take these lessons to heart if only to be a man comparable to Aster Tyrell in the lightness of the heart. The man was a feather uncaringly floating along the winds. He had enough reasons to be miserable, the rest of House Tyrell had made certain of that, but he stood in a world of his own making.




Days passed whilst his mind remained fixed solely on his old master. He made sure to make frequent stops; there was no need to work the poor beast to death. The horse, whatever its name may have been certainly seemed grateful every time he jumped off.



Whenever he made camp, he had to push down thoughts on how repulsive the food he had to eat was. Blame Aster for it, but he had acquired a taste for somewhat fine products. Not the kinds that the Lords would consider luxurious, but certainly that which a peasant like him would never have had access to in the past. Perhaps he could see his fate as a slave as a disguised chance? Lord Tyrell certainly was fond of that. Looking at painful memories and somehow twisting them into helpful and even necessary ambushes in one's journey.



He lost count of the days that had passed since he had left Honeyholt, but at long last he had reached the Crownlands. Thankfully he had stopped by Tumbleton on the way to stock up on food. It had been far more expensive than he had expected.



He had heard of high taxes pushing prices in the Crownlands but certainly not in the Reach. Then again Lord Aster was more often than not the one handling financial matters. In a way, Gideon had actually lived as some sort of pampered child under Lord Tyrell. That thought made him giggle softly.




According to his map, he would soon reach a small village named Vainwood. He could only shake his head at the name. It wasn't exactly the most ridiculous one he had heard in Westeros, let alone Essos, but it certainly was bizarre. He would briefly stop by the village to recuperate from the journey and then reach the Kingsroad. From there he would go to Rosby and seek information on the Vassal war in the Riverlands.



He had entertained the idea of visiting King's Landing, but he could hardly stomach the thought. Lady Tyrell had certainly complained enough over the few years he had spent with her family. According to her, not one single city in the entire world could be more foul-smelling, repulsive and corrupt as King's Landing. It sounded less so like the capital of the Seven Kingdoms and more like an overgrown den of unwashed bandits. When he had voiced the thought during one afternoon on the road to Highgarden, she had told him he was not far off from the truth.



No, he would not even approach the-




He furrowed his brows as he reached a crossroad. The road to the left seemed almost erased. He could hardly make it out as bad weeds had completely overtaken it. What truly caught his eye, however, was a jolly looking woman beckoning him. He had wrapped his head again on the road if only to avoid any risk of burning under the unforgiving sun. Thus, she did not seem as wary of him as one ought to be. Especially a peasant woman by the looks of it.




" Are ye making way fer King's Landing milord?"



Her voice was sweet, sickeningly so. He saw a few bushes rustle to his right but kept his eyes trained on her.



" Not exactly, but I am following the Kingsroad. Why have you stopped me, woman?" He exclaimed. He was quite used to making his voice sound far lower than it really was. He sounded every bit as young as he was, and he couldn't say he appreciated it.




" Well milord, I wouldn't r-recommend going that way" She pointed at the Kingsroad. He noticed how she struggled with the word." There's been bandits am afraid, milord. Them Crownmen or Crownguards or whatever, they've said to avoid the big roads." She finished with a half-smile.



He wondered what it said about him that he could easily spot the fakeness of that smile. She glanced at the bushes but only for a split-second. Unfortunately for her, he could hear further than the common man. A Maester had once told him it was a natural occurrence, linked to his poor sight. He never trusted those creepy old fools though.




An ambush then? He couldn't quite guess just how dangerous this situation truly was. He was certainly no great knight. With his current skill and, more importantly, his prowess, he guessed he could handle himself in a fight. The problem resided in the fact that his strength was far greater than his skill with a blade, and he was not even that strong to begin with. An ambush meant more than one adversary to face. He quickly picked his usual choice when facing any sort of danger: running away as swiftly as humanly possible.




" Got the little fucker!" A nasty voice registered behind him. Two strong arms wrapped around his stomach before he could react and he was lifted off his horse. He thrashed in his captor's grasp and crashed the back of his head into the man's jaw.



" Agh! The little shit's got balls."



He scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash for the forest. Judging by the shrieks of anger behind him, the others had not appreciated their fellow bandit's idleness. The bastard probably expected him to actually fight back instead of running away. Most of them did surprisingly so. Did he actually look like he was stupid enough to face impossible odds willingly?




No matter. Once in the forest, he had to admit he had no real plan besides 'Trying to outrun them.' Then he heard the gallop of his own horse and loudly cursed.



" This has to be a fucking joke! My horse!?"



It wasn't a horrible idea, but he would have preferred if they had just chased him on foot. Whilst he somehow started running even faster than before, he looked for any hiding place he could use. He was not outrunning a horse and he was certainly not facing them. Alas, he seemed out of options. No matter where he would crouch or lie down, they would see him.



' Think fast, think fast. The one on the horse will reach me first. If I can get him off and get back on my horse right after, I can leave them behind!'



He took out his sword and briefly admired its gleam. Lord Tyrell had probably spent a small fortune on it. It was fairly short truth be told, but it was a beautiful thing with intricate patterns on the pommel and the guard. He could admire it once safe and far away from this damn place.



Try as he might, he couldn't prevent his hands from shaking. He breathed heavily, and with each sharp intake of air, he hoped he was right, and they wouldn't all arrive at the same time. The next second, he saw the horse. He tried to anticipate, to drive his sword into the bandit's body at the right time, wherever it may land, so long as it got him off his horse. For his trouble, all he got was the handle of the man's axe snapping his head back with a single hit. He saw darkness before he collapsed.



A droplet of blood touched the grass beneath him and his eyes widened at the sight. His wrappings had come undone, and as the bandit turned the horse around, he took in the sight with far more horror than he had any right to feel.



" What manner of fucking demon are ya!?"



Crass as he was, he seemed more articulate than his female companion. Gideon clutched his bleeding head and opened his mouth to answer, perhaps even plead for his life, but in lieu of the bandit before him, he first saw a blindingly bright sentence hanging in the air. It had been pulsating in the corner of his eyes as soon as he was grabbed on his horse, but only now did it directly appear in his face.



[ The Champion has received a new quest!]


[ New Quest: Ambush by the Road, First Part ]


Objective: Survive


Time limit: 30 seconds.

Rewards: ???




He couldn't quite believe his eyes. 30 seconds? What did that even mean? Did he have 30 seconds until his demise or was he meant to survive for 30 seconds to receive his rewards? The 'First Part' written in red letters was perhaps the most worrying sight. He had to calm himself. He had to ignore the pain. He had to.




" I-I would say attacking a demon is an especially foolish idea. Wouldn't you think so?" He did not what pushed him to speak those words, but that was about all he could think to say. He was entirely too used to intimidation. Only now he could admit, he should have worked on other skills to get his way.



Unsurprisingly, the man's ugly mug did not contort itself in fear. He merely sneered but did not get the horse to move. He was waiting for his companions. Gideon did have a sword, unskilled as he was with it. He clutched it with all his might, as though it could save him on its own.




And then, the sound of a galloping horse again. No, this time he heard not just one horse. The large bandit before him heard it, too, and the colour threatened to leave his face, but he steeled his resolve.




" Ya fuckwits, get yer asses here! We's got some Crownmen!" He bellowed.



Gideon couldn't smother the shame he felt when he winced in fear as the rest of the bandits showed themselves. All eight of them. He could have only escaped with that hastily made plan. And they seemed fairly equipped at that, and disciplined enough not to scramble in fear as the forces of the Crown approached.




That much he could not quite understand. He hadn't even known the King had forces beyond the Kingsguard and his City Watch. And if he had forces indeed, he would expect them to at least be fearsome enough to send bandits scrambling away. All his questions answered themselves when he saw the 'Crownmen' arrive. Five horsemen, just that.



They wore the heraldry of the Great House Baratheon on their pauldrons and chests. If the bandits were well equipped, those knights were about the most shiny-looking bastards he had ever seen.



"Halt you scum!" The rider at the forefront screamed. He sounded far older than his build suggested. A well-built old man, a first for Gideon.



" You stand in the lands under direct control of his Grace King Robert Baratheon The First of His Name, King of the Seven Kingdoms! You lot would already be hanged to death in other lands, but you dare act under the watchful eyes of the King!?"



Whilst the man talked, Gideon ran– or rather scrambled for safety behind them– and found that none of the bandits so much as tried to stop him. He had an increasingly bad feeling about this. The knights were outnumbered, but even then they were a striking sight. None of these fools running around robbing people in the middle of the day looked even worried. He did not go with the assumption that they were overconfident.




" Whaddya mean scum!? A man and his friends ain't allowed to wander the woods at this hour? Is this about this here demon? Fool struck his head gainst' a tree!" The leader of the band, and the very same fucker on Gideon's horse, exclaimed.




" Seriously?" The knight at the front scoffed, and so did the others, for that matter. " We have full authority, bestowed by His Grace himself, to apprehend individuals under suspicion. Under mere suspicion, proof of ill deeds or not."




Again, not a lick of fear. Except on that woman's face, the one who had spoken to him. She had nothing but some ridiculous knife she held as though she knew anything about weapons, and clearly she did not.




This time he did not need the words to appear before him to focus on them.



[ Quest completed: Ambush by the Road, First Part ]

Rewards: +1 Military, Access to the Second Part.



He had sincerely hoped this would end with the arrival of the Crownmen. Apparently, the Gods did not wish to grant his wishes on that day. The second quest appeared, right about the same time as another group of bandits did, a few feet beside the Knights, who now found themselves pincered.



[ New Quest: Ambush by the Road, Second Part ]


Objective: Defeat the Bandits with the help of the Crownmen.

Rewards: Access to the Ressource Menu, +10 Relation with the Crownmen. Insignificant Reputation gain in King's Landing.




He knew it was a fault, a black mark on his character. But he could not help it. Greed represented in many ways who he was as a man. And when he read those words, this soothed the burning pain far more than the empty words he kept repeating to himself.



He had to survive anyway, but incentives were always appreciated. He used his sword to push himself upright. He had trouble standing, but he could somehow manage.



" You wish to face the Crownmen, you cur? You believe numbers will protect you?" The knight almost seemed offended. Gideon could understand it. All that shiny metal and those peasants thought they could win. Then again, he had seen his fair share of fully armoured men being defeated in frankly humiliating ways in Essos. There were gaps and weaknesses in every armour, no matter the blacksmith who made them.




The bandits paced around, both those on the right and those on the left. They did not know when to attack, but they were certainly not going to give the Knight an answer. Another Crownman beside him spoke in a hushed tone, but Gideon heard him all the same.



" You prepared for it already, Ser Lewyn. We only need to wait for the others. No need to face these fools with our numbers."




He could not see the face of that Ser Lewyn under his gleaming dark silver helmet, but he knew the man was just itching to stab the first sob he could get his hands on. This would certainly not be handled by a greater force of Crownmen. Gideon could not truly fault the man for it, but it would have made his life a bit easier for certain. Curse the do-gooders really.




He did not even give his fellow a response. With his sword unsheathed, he pointed it at the bandit on the horse, who certainly seemed a bit worried by the Knight's own lack of fear. Seems this has been mostly posturing with the hope that the Crownmen would back the fuck off.



Gideon couldn't hide the cruel smile that spread on his face as the bandits faltered.




" We shall see if number bests quality today. I'd wager it does not matter much as we also have the numbers on our side. " Only at that did the bandits truly realize their mistake. But it only spurred them further. They had to win and run away before the rest could catch them.




" Your ilk have been poisoning these lands for long enough. Bless His Grace for giving us this role. The Crownlands have been in need of rat-catchers"



[ A circumstantial objective has been unlocked!]

New objective: Personally defeat as many bandits as you can.

Rewards: Dependent on the number of targets eliminated.






The things he had to do to satisfy his greed sometimes…

In the time it took for Gideon to brace himself for what would come, it had already started. The horses shot forward with a power only the muscles of a beast could possess. Surprisingly, to him at least, the bandits sought to take the beasts down first. Perhaps they believed it was more important to first remove the knights' mobility than actually taking them down was.



As for himself? He waited for the knights to reach the last bandit. By that point, only one of them had died, his throat sliced and his blood watering the lavender flowers between two massive sentinel trees. Gideon found himself behind them; they had seemingly forgotten about him in the action. He sprang forward just as the knights turned around for a second charge.



" Get the damn horses!" The bandit leader yelled as he grit his teeth. The second group of bandits had joined with the rest; they all formed a tight circle. In his humble opinion, they could have handled the situation far better had they remained split since the knights couldn't quite as easily target two groups at once, but then again he had no experience in handling cavalry.



Ser Lewyn kept his eyes trained on the leader of the band, the only target on a horse, quite determined to cut his head off with this second charge. Gideon waited for them to be upon the bandits to synchronize his strike with theirs. The bandit before spun to his right to dodge a knight's sword and had the upper part of his arm cut open instead of his heart pierced.



Gideon cursed out as the bandit cried in pain. He seemed just as young as him. Tears pooled in his eyes but still he tried to push Gideon away with a kick. An axe nearly buried itself in the side of his head yet his eyes, sickly as they were, still caught the movement. He moved out of the trajectory whilst thrusting his sword forward. It was a thin blade, incapable of inflicting damage with its weight like a larger one would, but it was perfect to penetrate that leather armor the young bandit wore. As far as Gideon was concerned, it was more so clothing than armor. The other boy gasped as the blade entered a lung.



He could not celebrate his skill even mentally as he was backhanded away, the first colliding with his mouth and splitting his upper lip. Again, he saw black. Those bandits were definitely far stronger than he.



He turned around, and saw a head fly off. A horse whined before it dropped to the ground, an axe embedded in its skull. One knight found himself without a mount and the bandits sought to surround him, but their view was blocked by another horse. Sir Lewyn swung his bastard sword in one hand, slicing deep in a bandit's shoulder. A fellow knight of his fought with two swords, and he did so not with grace but with complete savagery. The man looked like he was posessed.




The bandits, however, were not dropping half as easily as Gideon had hoped they would. One grabbed him around the midsection whilst another stabbed his dagger near his chest. He tried to kick the blade away but only succeeded in having it stab his leg instead of his torso. He held back a howl and headbutted the scruffy man before him.



His near absent resistance to pain was already proof enough that he was no fight, but he would not go down that easily. At least he had taken down one bandit by himself, so he wasn't doing so horribly in regards to the quest's objectives.



" Duck, boy!" He heard Sir Lewyn's voice behind him and obeyed before he even processed the words. Thank the gods he had recognized the voice and did not freeze in place. Another head flew off as he jumped on the grass, he saw it roll beside him and stared at empty, glassy, eyes. This time, he did freeze.



He tried to stand back up but–


" Ugh!" A kick to the stomach knocked the air right out of his lungs and sent him tumbling away.




He was being man-handled like some particularly annoying brat but so far he had not died yet.



*Clang!*



Curse himself, he had spoken too soon! In a heartbeat, he put his sword in the way of his face to protect himself from the incoming blade. The force behind the strike nearly pushed his own sword against the soft skin. Against his better judgement, he placed his other arm against the blade, digging into his flesh to push away the bandit's weapon. He should have tried to punch him away, he knew, but his eyes were wide open as he stared at the clashing blades.




He kneed the bastard in the stomach but that did not get him off. He was stronger, at one point he would get through.



" Fer fuck sake! Kill the damn gnat!" Another unwashed bandit yelled, this one far older than the rest. Rushing to them, the old man stabbed his dirk downward. Gideon removed his second arm, letting his own sword bite in his flesh whilst using said arm to push the first bandit away….and into his fellow's dirk.




It struck him in the back and he howled in pain as he cursed his companion. Before he could finish his string of insults, a punch connected with his face, crushing his nose. The sensation sickened Gideon but still, he rolled away just as another body crashed into the old man, sending him against a nearby tree.



He wiped the blood that had gotten into his eyes and briefly paused as he saw his stained hair. He had always hated dirtying it and it looked especially horrendous, dyed in red now. He shook the thought off and refocused on the 'battle' if he could even call it that. The knights were naturally superior but they had indeed been bogged down by the bandits' numbers. A good five or six bandits had died or had at least been incapacitated.




Sir Lewyn and his dual sword wielding fellow were the only ones fighting effectively. The other two seemed somewhat decent fighters. But evidently they were not that superior, even in the face of untrained peasants. Then again he could not easily guess that these men were indeed untrained, they just seemed like boys before Sir Lewyn who easily handled them. His shiny armor probably helped, lucky bastard.



"Arghhh, fuck!" He screamed as a sharp pain registered in his ribs. He saw a head full of hair on his left side and dropped his elbow on it with all the strength he could muster. He heard a feminine cry of pain but ignored it. He grasped his sword with both hands and struck down whilst the bandit on the floor turned around to face him.



Blood sprayed on his nice boots and his pants as he drove the blade through the throat. He heard gasps and saw tears hit the flowers beneath, mixing with the red droplets. He stopped as he beheld his kill. The woman at the crossroad. Her eyes were wide, both pain and realization hitting her at the same time. She clutched the sword and her throat and he felt her weak hands try to push the blade out.




Her efforts ceased as her eyes lost their light. He took in the sight of her rosy cheeks and her hair, stained in blood as were his. He had not even recognized her and had completely ignored how high pitched her cry had been. But…she had tried to murder him.




A shoulder connected with his and the next thing he knew, he felt his back break against the hard sentinel tree.




One of the last bandits glared at him with some righteous fury. How he felt dignified to even feel as such, Gideon could not begin to guess. Behind him, his fellows had been slaughtered and three that remained could barely hold off the knights. The two swords wielding maniac was holding his helmeted head in one hand for some reason whilst another one was busy beating one downed bandit to death.



Ser Lewyn and the fourth knight would make quick work of the remaining bandits. But the one before him? He would get a few good hits in before they could get to him.




" Ross! The Snow hair!" Ser Lewyn's exclaimed. By that point, the furious bandit was already in his face, yet he did see the dual sword wielding knight madly rushing towards them. The sight of a fully armored knight running that quickly was truly terrifying.



Then again, he was rushing to help him. And Gideon knew how to take advantage of that.



" YOU LITTLE SHIT!" The bandit bellowed as he tried to put his grubby hands on Gideon's face. He ducked at the last second and sent his knee upward. He heard a grunt as his knee struck the man in the chest. The bandit recoiled but pushed through the pain and punched him in the temple. The fist had no time to fully crash against his head; the knight was upon them, swords in hands. He stabbed the bandit in the back and the two blades came out of the stomach and the chest respectively. One even nearly took his right eye as he fell arse first in mud.




" Well, should be the last of these cunts." Ser Ross said and Gideon could almost hear the smirk beneath the helmet. He freed his swords from the corpse and let it collapse besides Gideon. He did not even offer a hand and simply left to join his companions. Both Ser Lewyn and the fourth knight had restrained the leader of the band. He was surprised the man was still alive but apparently they had gone out of their way to spare him during the fight.




He got off the ground on his own and….took in the sight; blood plastered on the trees and dripping from flowers. He found his horse, unharmed but quite spooked. The knights had lost two of theirs, whilst Ser Ross had left his to….get close and personal with the bandits? Gideon couldn't quite read the man but he seemed fairly loose.




Only now did his heart start to calm down, the pain from the damage that had accumulated reared its ugly head and the system popped right in his face.



[ The champion has completed a quest! ]


[ The champion has completed additional objectives! ]


Rewards: Access to Ressource Menu, +10 Relation with Crownmen, insignificant reputation gain in King's Landing.


Additional Rewards: 50 Silver Stags.




Well, that was certainly something. The stags were a nice addition even with Lord Aster's parting gift. If he could expect such payments from this 'System' in the future, he should not fall into debt any time soon. That was a substantial amount for just….Two bandits? The system displayed the number, but he had a hard time believing it. He definitely felt like he had dealt with one more bandit…maybe it hadn't counted as his own kill?



He would wait to check the rest of the rewards, once he was back on his way. Especially now that Ser Lewyn was heading his way.



" What is your name, boy?" The knight asked. He had not removed his helmet. Was it not courtesy to do so? Maybe he had imagined that. He could not for the life of him remember the countless etiquette lessons Lord Tyrell had given him.



" Gideon. You are Ser Lewyn, correct?" He answered. The knight clasped an armored hand over his shoulder. It hurt, but he did not let it appear on his face.



" Ser Lewyn Brant, knight sworn to the Royal House Baratheon as a member of the Crownmen. You have good ears. My name was only spoken once, and Ser Duncan was not loud in the slightest"




Gideon gave him a dopey smile, mostly because the pain was getting to his head at that point.



" That I do. Ser Lewyn of House Brant is it?" He asked. The knight seemed far more….noble than his fellows.



" I belong to no lordly house, boy. I am but a knight. " Ser Lewyn answered curtly.



" A knight in quite the shiny armor, eh?" Then again, the others looked just as well-armed as Ser Lewyn. What were those Crownmen again?




He heard Ser Lewyn click his mouth whilst Ser Ross laughed.



" Aye, tis' some good steel. All paid for with Lannister gold!" He exclaimed. That only seemed to further anger Ser Lewyn.



" And the other Great Houses. The Lannisters had a larger contribution, that is all. The Queen is a Lannister after all. There are more pressing matters, however. You are injured, boy. Duncan, put some cloth on him!" He barked at the tallest knight.




" I…uh, I can get those looked at in a village, probably." Gideon stated. He had to admit he was not fond of the idea of letting anyone he did not know, see to his wounds. Other than a maester that is.




" We are not in any capacity to help you beyond putting some cloth to prevent bleeding anyway. You should head to Tumbleton to the west. You should not find any of….." He turned his head slightly towards a bandit's corpse. " Filth, on the way to the town. The Crownmen are patrolling along the kingsroad up north but some of us remained in the southern part of the road…just to be certain."


With that, Ser Lewyn went back to the tied up bandit leader and left Ser Duncan to see to the wounds. The knight had quite the deft fingers. The pieces of cloth were swiftly wrapped around his wounds, though not without some grunting and laboured breaths. It was no true method of healing, but at least he wouldn't die on the way to Tumbleton…probably.




To his surprise he found Ser Ross looking at him. Well, he could not see the man's eyes but he certainly appeared to be gazing deep into his soul.



" What kind of creature are you?" The man asked. Duncan whispered " Ross!" harshly but the knight ignored him.



" Uh…I happen to be a man, like you. I just have a few…unique features." Gideon answered, more so embarrassed than angered. He had felt a lifetime of anger already when it came to this unique appearance of his. He would not easily succumb to wrath anymore.




" Really? The eyes, the hair. S'all a bit weird, isn't it? Is it a curse?"



" Ser Ross! The Crownlands will not cleanse themselves!" Ser Lewyn called out to him. He was still awaiting Gideon's answer, but the irate knight yelled again.



" The King's Hand did not suffer countless hours of arguments to create our order, only for you to ruin it all with your laziness! Search the bodies and get ready to deliver the scum's leader when the rest arrive!"



Ser Ross sighed and then….ruffled Gideon's hair.




" You did good, during the fight I mean. I would give you a coin or two for your troubles, but I don't know if I'd get punished for it. It's good that the roads are not only frequented by smelly, scruffy and fuckin' ugly cutthroats. Try not to die, kid."



With that, Ser Ross left a stunned Gideon behind and joined Ser Lewyn.



Gideon wordlessly walked to his horse and rubbed the beast's fur to calm it. It was still shaken from the fight. He jumped on it and give it a gently kick. He looked at the knights whilst he left the forest, unsure as to how he should feel.




He was hurt. He had been terrified at one point, when he had thought it was just him and the bandits. He could not believe he had actually joined the fight. Did random travellers often join in on matters of the Crown? Probably not. The knights probably felt as weirded out as he was. T'was not his fault he had been attacked anyway.




He saw the road ahead as he passed through the last branches. He certainly hoped there would not be any more troubles on his road to…Rosby? Yes, that was his objective for now. A stop at Tumbleton for a day or two and then he would go to Rosby. With his luck he would probably get mugged if he went to King's landing. He had already decided not to visit, but the temptation was strong. It was the capital of the realm after all.




One day he would. Probably as a far greater man than he was now. But with this system….




Well, he would be a great man soon. Maybe not a good man, if he constantly received quests pertaining to conflicts. But he would be a great man.




He thought of that woman he had killed. He was no stranger to death. Essos was a rough to grow up in. And he had lot of growing up to do as a slave. But still…that was perhaps the worst experience he had had with taking a life yet. But he had to push through his doubts, and certainly through his morals.



He had promised to himself, that he would go as far as possible, no matter the cost. He would never become a great man, already doubting himself during the first steps of his journey.




Lord Tyrell often repeated the same lesson to him, one he had learned from his mother. The Queen of Thorns. He would tell him that the man who does not question his own choices and never wonders where he stands in the world will almost always turn to evil at one point. Because the heart of men, whilst not inherently evil, is easily seduced.




He had to admit, if only in the privacy of his own mind…..that he had been one of these men for too long, and his ambition was the consequence.

Chapter 4: Rosby




His head hurt, so did the numerous wounds he had sustained. The trip to Tumbleton was hellish, and he was not even exaggerating. It appeared his tolerance for pain, once the rush of action had passed, was even lower than he had expected. He had seen warriors in the pits of Essos with far more grievous injuries just bracing their teeth and shrugging them off.



Then again, it was a habit for them. They were used to pain. He would have to gain the same resistance with time. His dream required that he walked a path riddled with suffering.



Milk of the poppy, however, certainly helped. He had once asked a Maester about the origins of that strange liquid and the decrepit old man had compared it to the various substances one could find in Essos, those that helped the weak escape their dreadful reality by making them delirious. It was a surprise the old man had even visited Essos, but then again he could not claim he knew all maesters personally.




Thankfully it apparently was far safer than those substances, but that was a given. The maesters would not be using the milk of the poppy so recklessly if it was just as dangerous, right?



Contrarily to what he had planned, though, he was forced to remain in Tumbleton for more than three days. The town's Maester simply refused to let him go. Perhaps he would have still pressed on in different conditions, but…



It was an absolute fact that the milk of the poppy could dull the senses of any man. No sooner had he taken it than he wanted to take the longest nap in his life. Perhaps the Maester had given him too much of it? He would not put it past him. The Maesters all looked old enough to be incredibly senile.



When he was finally allowed to leave, he shook off any thoughts of sightseeing in the town. Tumbleton was lovely, but he had places to be. He did question an innkeeper about the situation in the Riverlands, to avoid any nasty surprise but all he received as an answer was more questions.



He mulled over the man's words as he rode out of Tumbleton, snacking on dried meat he had bought at the market. He had been told that the Great House Tully was in open war with a number of its vassals, but not that many anymore. The war had started some years ago, when Edmure Tully inherited the title of Lord Paramount from his father. The Great Lord had been too young and was never known to be all that lordly anyway.




In general, the vassals of a Great House would not dare to rebel simply because their new liege proved to be incompetent. It had happened countless times throughout history and had not often been followed by consequences. More often than not, the bannermen would simply keep their heads low and hope that their lord would see sense or soon be replaced. Even Aerys the Mad had only faced a rebellion after his own son went too far, not before that. He had certainly been hated and some regrettable events happened, but nothing on the scale of what House Tully was facing.




With the time he had spent in Essos, he could not remember the little bit of history he had learned from his parents. Of course, they only taught him the basics, not much of that he could use to understand the situation. He would ask for more information in Rosby or in the Riverlands directly. Someone was bound to know more than that innkeeper in Tumbleton did. The lords certainly would but he could not exactly question them freely.



He was not their equal, yet.




Rosby was….not as great as Tumbleton. He had seen the greatest cities of western Essos, as far as he was aware, and Oldtown, so nothing could really impress him anymore. Yet he had to admit, he had expected a lot more than a shoddy looking keep and a decently sized village next to it. At least, it had a tavern. Not a single inn in sight, but he had intended to quickly go back on the road to the Riverlands once he had more information anyway.



He could have gone elsewhere, but Rosby was just about the only place near the Riverlands that was not the Antlers or Duskendale. The Antlers was an even better place to get information but the problem was how close it was to the Riverlands. He wanted to get unbiased information if he could. There was bound to be resentment for one side or the other from a town that would be impacted by the war. It was not the seat of a House of riverlanders, but they had to feel the economical consequences of the war.



Lord Tyrell had often taken care to explain to him how war worked and what its consequences were. Personally, he was convinced the man had simply been trying to cull his ambitions.



Once he opened the door to Rosby's only tavern, he was immediately hit with the sound of rough singing. A couple of drunkards, arms around each others' shoulders, kept bobbing left and right as they sang something ridiculous. He ignored both the drunkards and their song and immediately approached the woman behind the counter. She looked just about as inhospitable as a woman could possibly be. Then again she was somewhat old. Perhaps all old women were meant to become bitter. He had little experience with them but Lady Olenna Tyrell had been more than enough to put the idea in his mind.




Of course, it was only then that he noticed how many eyes were upon him. He was not hiding. Most were drunk enough not to have really been stunned by his reveal, yet some regarded with barely disguised distrust. He would gladly take that over being directly confronted because he was ' an affront to the Gods'. That had happened once and he still had nightmares about it.




" A good day to you my lady, I am in search of information and I was hoping you could part with some knowledge." He told her. He was sudden, rude even. But he had been a peasant before and he at least remembered that back then most people around him barely gave courtesies a thought. On top of that, he did not want to lose any more time than he already had. Who knew what was happening in this conflict. It could be over by the time he arrived there!




He was being far too impatient and he knew it, but he could not help it. This would be the chance to kickstart his new life. Though it would not happen this easily, he realized, as the redhead gave him a blank stare. Even the 'patron' she had just served looked quite confused.



"Again? Well, I gotta say you lots are a hassle! I'll tell ya like I told the last one, the Tullys' been at war, we only hear about House Vance as their enemy and that's it. I don't know more than that, mi'lord, "she added sarcastically. He probably shouldn't have called her ' My lady', only highborns and merchants do that.



" Are you certain? I am certain you must have heard more than that. The war has been raging for quite some time now" He pressed on. He fetched a silver coin and threw it on the counter. At that, she gave him an ugly smile. Not that she herself was ugly, he simply could feel the greed emanating from the woman. How hypocritical of him to think like that though.




" Well, this one's good more sense than the tall fella, don't he?" She quickly grabbed the coin, as if someone else would take it from her. The burly man beside Gideon laughed in his mug.



" Well, here's the information mi'lord." She was not half as sarcastic this time. Money bought some manner of respect as he had long since learned.



" House Tully got in a bit of a pickle after the old Lord Tully croaked. The new one's apparently a bit of a….well, a Gods' damn idiot. That's what many say at least. House Vance and another powerful House, can't remember which, constantly went against the little lord's decisions. At some point the little angry was so angry he said a few things he was not supposed to. Ya know how the Lords get about their honour or whatnot. " She sniffed and he nodded. He indeed knew; all too well at that.





" So a war starts. But get that. Lord Tully thinks he is a big man. Thinks he can win all on his own. So what does he do? He refuses the Starks' help!" She laughs at that and so do a few drunkards who've heard her. He had to admit it sounded ridiculous.



" Gets even better I tell ya! He hires sellswords to help him, but he's so bad at managing coin, other Houses get fed up with him and join the rebels. The Riverlands end up divided and between us…" She inches closer. So does he, getting the hint that she wanted discretion.



" I heard some whispers, can't say I really trust them, but some say…the Lannisters have been giving coins to some of those rebels." She told him with raised eyebrows. He shifted on his stool as he pondered over the words.



It already sounded unbelievable enough that such a vassal war could occur, but if the Lannisters were behind in some way? This was far bigger than he had anticipated. He could not solely go off of the words of some random woman in an inn, however. Though a question made him scratch his head.





" What is the King even doing? Isn't he supposed to intervene in such matters? Hell the other Great Lords ought to act too. Such a war sets a precedent. Once it happens once, it can happen again. Well except in the Westerlands of course…as long as Tywin Lannister lives." At that, she nodded whilst she went to serve another mug of ale.




" Ain't that the truth! But I don't know what goes in the big Lords' heads. Who fucking does, aye? I tell you what, though, you'd probably get a lot more from the people who actually live in the Riverlands. Hell even those at the Antlers would know better!"




Certainly. It seemed he could not really avoid the bias that would surely accompany such informations. With some luck the people would be crossed with both sides and just remain somewhat factual.




" You know, Snowhair, you leave now you'd probably catch up with that fella, the sellsword fella!" The man who had been drinking beside him talked. He had been drinking heavily, yet he seemed sobe compared to the assortment of drunkards in the inn. He did have an awfully red nose though. Gideon ignored the insult but recognized it for what it was. The man looked at him like he was a particularly amusing beast.




" Sellsword? Whom are you speaking of?" Gideon asked. It was the woman that answered him as she wiped sweat off of her brows. They were just as colourful as her red hair. It oddly reminded him of a girl he once knew in his once peaceful little village. How vexing. He hid his frown as he listened to her.





" Yeah that fella I talked 'bout. Tall fella, pretty thin for a sellsword. Was here some two hours before you. Tried to get information, but he had no coin. Tried to act all scary too! Ah! He had a sword, sure, but you don't hurt the one who pours the drink! Least he didn't have your eyes, or your skin…or your hair. Ahah! Would've probably shat meself." She answered him. As crass and rude and she was, he ignored it once more. He nodded and left without another word. He could have drank something but…They had removed his thirst for now.




Even after all this time…




He got on his horse and left the dingy village. His grip over the reins was painfully tight but he ignored it and focused on the path forward. It would be good to catch this sellsword. The man was bound to know about the options an…aspiring young man could choose to shape his future with this war. It was a foregone conclusion that serving one side or the other as a sellsword was one of the best paths to go about this quest. The only other choice he really had was to join a House as a mere soldier but…he would not.




Sellswords earned far more glory and coins than soldiers whilst doing basically the same thing, right? That's what he knew about them, and that was enough to tempt him. He brushed his fingers over the sheath at his hip. The thought of training crossed his mind. He actually had to survive to finish the quest and certainly do well to earn all the possible rewards. Couldn't do that with skills as shoddy as his.




No matter, he would find a way.




He spent two more days on the road. By now he was growing sick of the lands. Pretty sights all around, certainly, but they seemed to stretch on forever. He could not count how many trees he had passed by. Why was Westeros so green?




He had to admit the disappearing sun on the horizon, its last rays of light passing through the leaves as his horse trotted forward, was a calming sight. What would it feel like to gaze upon such a sight, whilst being the lord of the lands around him? He could only imagine how those people felt whenever they drank in their lands.




He arrived during the early morning, in a village even more destitute than Rosby, though that was mostly because there was no castle in sight. He approached a man who immediately appeared wary. Was it the war or just his looks? He certainly hoped the war had more of an impact than just how 'freaky' he was.




" My good man, would you have time to spare? I come from the Reach and I would like to know more about the war in the Riverlands. What is this village named?" He called out. The man let out a sigh, but not of relief.




" First that cunt and now you? I am a farmer, what do ya expect me to know!?" The irate man exclaimed. " Go ask that tall fella with the sword! Had lots of questions too, just talk to each other and leave us alone!"




And he left. Just like that. Gideon knew he did not look like a lord, because obviously if there was a lord with his….physical abnormalities, all would have at least heard of him, just like most in the Seven Kingdoms knew of the Mountain. Even he did and not alone had he never been in the Westerlands, he had only come back to Westeros a few years prior and had not known of the man back as a child. Still, one could not just assume. He certainly talked like a lord, he had a horse, a sword and somewhat decent clothes.




A lord would have had the man's head for such disrespect. Did war really make the good people of Westeros reckless enough to be that rude to complete strangers? Well an internal war such as this one was bound to be even worse for the people since the consequences of it fell only on them. No rewards no matter who won and just a miserable time in general whilst it still raged on.



Again, he was glad to have been a slave. And again, the thought was vexing. Westeros often viewed Essos as a land of savages, but the Westerosi, his people, did not truly have better lives than their eastern brethren.




He snorted and started to search for the ' tall fella with the sword'. It was probably that sellsword, but then again there could be as many tall fuckers with swords as there were trees.




Luckily for him, he found a tall and lanky man arguing with a farmer and his wife a little further down the road.




" These are copper stars we are talking about, three copper stars. War or not, that is not the price of a single loaf of bread!" The Sellsword, it had to be him, shouted in the farmer's face. The wife's face darkened but she remained silent.



" What do you even know!? The prices keep going up every week. We barely have enough coin to feed our children and you expect good prices? This isn't a market, I don't haggle! It's three stars for a loaf of bread and two stars for a head of cabbage." The farmer stated with his arms crossed.



To his surprise he saw the sellsword's fingers twitch around the pommel of his weapon. His eyes widened and he quickly approached them.



" My good man, would you happen to be the sellsword that came to Rosby two days back? " He asked.



The sellsword turned around, a hand over his sheath. Now that he could see him from up close, his brows furrowed in confusion. The man looked more like a knight than a sellsword, especially one who was apparently prone to using violence on the smallfolk. He was younger than Gideon had expected to be, though in a way it made sense for most sellswords to be young. It was not a profession he expected many to survive for a long time. He had shoulder-length raven black hair and…blue or green eyes? They were certainly colourful and bright but Gideon could not see that well from a distance.




He was indeed a tall fellow, standing at maybe five and eight feet tall, perhaps more. Again, his sight was horrendous whilst the sun was still out. In an hour he would see better. This was bound to become a problem in the future.



Most surprising of all when he beheld this sellsword, was his equipment. The sword sheath appeared to be quite fine and so was the sword probably. The leather armour he wore? Certainly far better than anything Gideon had ever worn. The man was probably experienced if he had fine equipment. Fine for a sellsword of course.




" What pit of hell did you even crawl out of?" The man instinctually said. He could tell the answer had come before the sellsword could even properly think his words through. The farmers took one look at him and walked back to their home as fast as their feet could carry them.




A vein popped on his forehead but Gideon kept his easy-going smile.



" Gideon, an aspiring sellsword. Probably. The good people of Rosby told me about you. I figured you would have answers to my questions."



" Beryn Hardy, sellsword as you already knew. I might have answers, but they come at a price. " The aforementioned Beryn narrowed his eyes as he approached.



" Hardy? You belong to a house?" He asked and Beryn clicked his tongue.



" Any man is entitled to have a family, no? S'not only the highborn who get to have a name for their family. But that ain't too important. What's important is what you seek, boy. Gods you look young. You want to be a sellsword?" Beryn asked as a mocking smile drew itself upon his face.



" I want to be far more if I can. Being a sellsword might take me to interesting places…and interesting opportunities. " Gideon answered half-heartedly.




Beryn's whole demeanour changed in a second. A wide and genuine smile split his face and he spread his arms wide.



" Well, well, a kindred fucking spirit then! You've come for the war between the Tullys and their bannermen? Ah what am I even asking? 'Course you are. Otherwise an 'aspiring sellsword' like you would be in Essos instead! I say we're both lucky to have met each other. "




" Why is that?" Gideon asked, a hint of wariness in his tone. The man had switched a bit too suddenly. The feeling became even worse once Beryn stood before him and put a palm against his horse's neck. There was a hunger in those eyes, that he had only expected from himself.




" There's a King ransom in coins to be gotten in these lands. The war isn't about to end anytime soon, no matter what the small minded farmers tell ya. The Tullys are back on top and whoever is funding the rebels, because I am telling you someone is….well the naughty bastard won't take this lying down!" He exclaimed.




" So you are here for the same reason as I? You seek fortune and opportunities from this war? This might indeed be luck then."



Beryn playfully punched his leg before taking the horse's reins in one hand.



" I've got an idea on where to go, who to join, boy. You strike me as a child who left without a plan and is trying to make things up as he goes. Ain't I right?" He offered no reaction." Of course I'm right! Thing is, I've got the knowledge and you….Well, you might not know it, but you have a whole lot already with this freak body."



He fixed him a harsh glare but found himself flat-footed when he noticed that Beryn did not seem to be mocking him in the slightest.



" W-What? What are you saying exactly?" He asked harshly.



" Boy, sellswords are not unlike mere foot soldiers. They're not much. Poor sods running after gold. But unlike soldiers, you see, they create legends. They become legends! Of course they have to survive and not suck with a blade to even have their names uttered, but that is an advantage they…well, WE, hold over the common soldiery of the Houses."



" Your point being?" Gideon questioned him. He could not quite sense where the man was going with this. That nasty smile of pure greed and envy did not fill him with confidence.




" I am far better with a sword than I look, boy. I know I will rise through the ranks of whichever company I join. This is not arrogance but an absolute fact. And you…well I would not assume your skills…and you seem a bit on the thin side, even more so than this handsome sellsword here" He pointed at himself. " But you look fucking terrific! I would shiver in me boots if I saw you at night boy! Just got to get you decent with a blade, and there's your path to a purse full of coin and empty balls!"




Gideon blushed despite himself. He stammered over his words but Beryn shushed him.




" Don't worry, boy. Let this here experienced and accomplished sellsword guide you to success!" We's just got to reach a town and find where the Boar Company is. Met them twice and they seemed decent enough to join. You in with me boy?"




Gideon looked at the extended hand wity wide eyes. This had been far too swift. And this was about the shadiest sellsword he seen in his entire life. He, who had lived in Essos and seen all manners of sellsword companies. But he recognized greed and ambition. He recognized the fire that burned in Beryn's soul. The same had been lit in his a decade ago.




He shook the hand. He would have to get to know Beryn better before truly deciding himself, but this was a start.




And this was how his new life started, with a most lucky encounter. Though years later, he still wouldn't know who had been the most unfortunate here.

Beryn had been in the process of acquiring supplies. The man had apparently underprepared himself and had nearly ran out of food. Of course one could hunt or pick berries and fruits, however that would have simply slowed him down. Not unlike Gideon, the man had not wanted to risk losing time. Who knew how the war would evolve?



Contrarily to Gideon, however, he had wished to avoid this because he had a plan, a specific company to join. The Boar Company it was called.




" See, it's not like these boys are the most dangerous. The company isn't even the largest that's been recruited for this war. But the Boars, I know them. A lot of sellsword companies make you think they have a…flexible hierarchy so to speak." Beryn spoke as they left yet another farm. He had finally bought all that he wanted. Apparently he was not all that confident in being able to join the Boar Company quickly. They could be anywhere in the whole Riverlands after all.



But he was certain this village was one of the few that still had somewhat acceptable prices. Best to buy supplies here than risk having to run after the sellswords all over the Riverlands. Then they would have to buy food again, but this time by villages far more affected by the war.


The man had also bought a horse. Not a strong or even particularly healthy looking one. Simply a steed to be used as transport until they reached the Boars. He had proven himself a good enough negotiator too. Gideon remembered buying horses under Lord Tyrell's order. He had to part with a lot more coins and now that he made the comparison in his mind…he had not even bought horses that looked any better than the one Beryn now rode on.



" That's a big fat lie if I ever heard one. See, whoever's in charge does not want to lose their position, it's a fairly basic idea isn't it? In that, sellsword companies do not differ much from being in a regular army. 'Cept you don't have to be led around like a dog by some prissy lord that could not even fight a pauper from King's landing." The man spat before continuing his explanation. He was both more intelligent and far more articulate than Gideon had expected from a sellsword.




" You join a company, if you're good enough you climb a bit, but here's the thing. There's an obstacle in your path, " Beryn put a hand over his chest as if to stop him. " Ya don't get to go further. A little bit of recognition, but not too much. Only a few companies, like the Boars, really work by achievements. If you're good, you climb and you continue to climb until you're eventually the leader of that sorry lot."



That was certainly a bit of knowledge that could help. He would have felt fairly foolish had he chosen to join a company that would have inevitably prevented his rise to its command. Those Boards sounded exactly like the kind of sellswords he wished to join.




" I don't know about you, but I'd like to be recognized for my fucking efforts. So the Boars is where I go. Where WE, are going." That seemed to have reminded the man of some unwanted memories. He scowled briefly before wiping the anger off of his face.




" Good plan, right?" Beryn asked him. He nodded without really thinking about it. He'd had no definitive plan before coming here, so this was better than nothing. Of course the plan could change if the Boars proved less desirable than what Beryn had made them out to be. The great advantage when it came to sellswords, was that he, probably, would not be forced into joining. There was no lord involved and he was no peasant constrained by the laws of his lands to fight for a rich cunt he had never seen.




" We'll have a problem, though, boy. You look scary, I already told ya. But you'll have to rely on more than just your looks to become someone amongst the Boars. And ya don't seem to me like….well like you could really fight as a sellsword does." Beryn said. Immediately he turned his head to level a look at the man, but he had to admit. He did not seem all that impressive. Even with what little Prowess he already had, he did not appear as a warrior, even to his own eyes.




But he had found, in that forest, and with that woman whose throat he had pierced…that he could fight. He could survive. He was not good yet, but he would be damned if he allowed his ability to be questioned that easily.




" I am passable enough. I can fight, I can kill. I do not think much more than that will be asked of me. "



Beryn chuckled, as though he had just shared a jape with him.



" You laugh, but I am no child no matter how much you insist on calling me, boy. Besides, all armies need thinkers. You don't win solely by relying on muscles and experience in the art of killing." Gideon added. Beryn ceased to smile. His eyes gained some steel as he got off his horse.



" I will be the judge of that. At least that will help me see whether I or not I'll need to protect yer pretty face if we ever come across some unsavoury fucks in the woods." Beryn spoke as his face hardened. He drew his sword and Gideon could confirm that it indeed seemed to be of good quality. He would say it was probably equal to his, maybe a smidge worse.



" Wait…Pretty face? What are you talking about?" Gideon asked. He was genuinely confused by the remark. He had heard a lot over the years but the last time he had been called pretty….well that had to be when he had visited the pleasure houses in Lys that one time.



Beryn looked just as lost as he was.



" What's there to be surprised by? You look like a prince, you numbskull. A valyrian prince too."



" I…don't. I look like a freak. I think by now it has been made quite clear to me. " Gideon retorted. He could not believe he was the one saying this for once. By this point he had also unmounted his horse and wondered how he was even supposed to show Beryn his skill. The man was so much taller than he was, it was unfair really. He knew he was not exactly a giant for his age, but still.




" The hair's white. That's pretty. Ladies used to swoon at the sight of Targaryen hair, you know? Your eyes and skin are the bad part. You look both sick and like a demon. I say it's the novelty of it. Give me a few days and I won't even notice your eyes every time I look at you. Of course some cunts might associate your…unique looks with some creatures spoken about in hushed tones by old ladies and children alike. But as far as your face is concerned? I've seen highborns that would look like toads if compared to you. That is good, too. Might come in handy with those willing to overlook the pink eyes. The skin we can probably do something about. "



He…He was stunned into silence. Seriously? He was pretty? Not even Lord's Tyrell family had said that to him….that was probably his own fault. He hated to receive compliments, always felt like they were sent his way to make him feel better. Like he was a whining puppy and those nice words were meant to shut him up. Would they have also said as such had he not made his hatred of compliments known?



Beryn was most likely exaggerating.




" I-I assure you, nothing can be done about my skin. I have bathed in the Sun, days after day, whilst in Essos. The hue has never changed. But no matter!" He drew his own sword. " Let us go back to our duel!" He exclaimed.



Beryn stared at him with a mocking glint in his eyes.



" I am testing you, Gideon. This is no duel. If it was…"



*Whoosh*



He moved faster than Gideon even thought possible for a man of his size, thin as he was. His blade shot out like a wild beast, aiming for his throat, he parried it but he found a boot stuck firmly in his stomach the next second.



" Ack!"


He was left heaving on the ground, spit flying out of his mouth as he clutched his belly.



" I would dispose of you before you could even comprehend my movements." Beryn bragged. He was fast certainly, but the man spoke as though he was the Kingslayer himself. How arrogant.



Gideon quickly shot back up and braced through the pain. This was nothing. He could and would fight still. The system popped before him.



[ The champion has received a new quest!]


Objective: Impress the Sellsword Beryn Hardy.


Reward: Access to the Sellsword Menu, +1 Prowess, +50 silver stags



Huh…that reminded that he hadn't even looked at the ressource after unlocking it. He had to get rid of this habit to overfocus on a singular goal and forget everything else. Especially in battle, this could cost him his life. Just as looking at the system instead of his enemy could.



He barely dodged a downward thrust and jumped away to gain some distance. He gained nothing. Beryn was immediately upon him the next second. He ducked under a swing but Beryn grabbed his head and smashed it against the ground with what felt like all the strength he had. He had turned his head around before he reached the dirt, so his nose was not broken but he still felt the damage.



He tried to quickly back up in order to headbutt the sellsword in his rise, but he hit nothing. Beryn was beside him; and his sword?



" Argh!" He howled in pain, clutching his left cheek as the blood seeped through his fingers. It stinged. He hated stinging pain, it was lasting and constant. What he hated even more so was Beryn's cocky smile.



He took a step forward and swung his blade forward. Beryn sidestepped it and his arm lashed out. Gideon's sword clashed with the Sellsword's and to his surprise, he was able to push the blade away. He planned to follow with an attack of his own but quickly understood why it had been so easy when Beryn roughly stepped on his right foot.


He grit his teeth and tried to drive his sword's pommel in the side of the man's face but Beryn seized the stretched arm under his, then he–


*Schlick*


Beryn's sword cut through both fabric and flesh as it nicked his side. He could tell it was on purpose as he could have easily sliced far deeper. He was shoved away right as he sent forward and hit nothing but air. Again, the cocky smile attracted his eyes. The little arrogant fuck.



He saw red and charged recklessly. That did surprise the man, who probably hadn't expected him to get angry that quickly. He felt an elbow hit his back and winced but trudged on. He wrapped his arms around Beryn's legs and swept him off his feet.


*Thump*



No sooner had the man hit the ground than Gideon was already trying to pierce through his right eye with his blade. His head moved right in time and in one swift motion, Gideon was the one with his back against the ground. A fist his face and he had stars in his vision. Another collided against his jaw…and then another one.



He took at least four or five punches before he gathered his wits back. He found the sword he had briefly lost in the struggle and thrust at one of Beryn's hand as it came down. The man recoiled before he could lose a finger or get his hand skewered. He smiled and opened his mouth to speak but found it full of hair as Gideon's skull met his jaw.



" Fuck!"



Beryn got off of him and the pale young man stood with great difficulty. The Sellsword saw beneath the leather vest that was coming undone and right above the collar of his linen shirt, one of the wounds he had sustained a few days prior.



" Met with some troubles before this handsome sellsword, aye? Did you win, boy?"



Blood had entered his vision but Gideon still smiled. It must have made for quite an ugly sight with how badly Beryn had fucked up his face.



" I did, naturally…with some help" He answered. Couldn't take the accomplishment as his own, really. He would have died rather pathetically without the Crownmen's help.



Beryn lowered his sword and sighed.



" Well, not this time. It is your loss, Gideon. You'll be too weak to travel safely if we go further. And clearly, you lack the basic skills to cut it as a warrior. I don't know what you expect exactly, but it's a war we're heading to join. A war, boy." Beryn spoke harshly in a chiding tone. He reminded him of Lord Tyrell whenever the man would repeat the words of his forever unimpressed mother, Lady Olenna Tyrell.




He wanted to refute the loss, but he had been handled like a child. Couldn't even be angry at being called a boy repeatedly. He was one.




" I know what war is. I have experienced, if only as a child trying to run from it. As a babe being taken from his parents to be sold as a slave too. Must have been right before the war started here." He spoke with some difficulty. Beryn's face did not soften at his words. Most would often show pity for him, well except those who despised him for his nature of course.




" Well, even if you have, it is different to live through it as nothing more than a meat shield holding a sword. That's what we will be once we join the Boars. When I too was a boy, I participated in a war when I knew next to nothing about it. I survived, and for nearly five years afterwards…I cried myself to sleep." Beryn told him.



The surprise must have shown on his face as Beryn laughed. The man watched him sit down before he continued.




" I cannot claim I ever had nightmares about the first lives I claimed. Some do…most, from what I have heard. I was ready to do so before I even set out. I should have readied myself to see my own lifeless body and wake up in cold sweat during the night. " Beryn's seemed almost nostalgic as he reminisced.




" I always took to war better than most. But when that fear of death hits you, boy…You just never get used to it I think. I don't at least, that's for certain. I'd wager most lords don't either…but that's only because these cunts take less risks than us poor sods, eh?"




Gideon wanted to speak, but he knew not what to say. Could he even claim that he would be alright? A part of him assured him that he could brave all dangers for his ambitions. That his heart was so set on the prize he could not ignore his fears.



That was merely a lie and the other part knew it. Beryn spoke in his stead.



" I'll try to part with some wisdom on the road, to get you prepared and all. S'not my fault if you die during the very first battle though boy. So don't come haunting me afterwards if it happens." The sellsword joked and that did force a smile to bloom on his bruised face.



" Might as well train you a bit too while I'm at it. " Beryn added as some sort of mockery, but he did not sound genuine.



" Why? We might be joining the same group, but you owe me nothing." Gideon questioned him. How many had taken advantage of him with promises like this one?



" Why?" Beryn pondered, a finger over his mouth as he did so. Words flashed in Gideon's vision.



[ The champion has failed the quest!]


[ The quest 'Impress the Sellsword' does not possess a time limit or a failure condition. It will reappear when the champion meets the requirements again. ]



[ The rewards for completing a quest that was already failed will not change unless the quest specifically presents such a condition ]




How kind of the Gods.




" Well, I don't got to answer to you, now do I? But if you had to know, sellsword-to-be. I'd say I am looking for someone I can somewhat trust. Once inside the Boars, we'll meet all kinds of bastards. Can't say I trust most sellswords. Wouldn't even trust myself truth be told. But you?" He looked at him, for a painfully long time.




" Yeah I think I could trust you. Because, and I speak from my heart here…You don't strike me as the kind to even be capable of betrayal."




How wrong that was. But Gideon could read eyes well, so long as they weren't enough for his sucky vision to become a problem. He could tell right here and then. Beryn Hardy was the kind of man to state that he was speaking from his heart…



And just outright lie as easily as one would breath.

He felt somewhat foolish for having forgotten to look at the Ressource Menu, but his shame disappeared shortly after he did open it. It was not what he had expected. Just about every resource the menu showed was greyed out and had interrogation numbers replacing their values. Only two resources had values and were not all greyed out and inaccessible: Coin and Prestige.



[ Gideon ]

Coin: 160 Silver Stags ( 3 Gold Dragons )

Prestige: 50 Points, 8.0/100 To next rank.

Piety: ???, ?/??? To next rank.

Renown: ???, ?/??? To next rank.

Materials: ???

Workforce: ???

Food Stocks: ???

Military Power: ???




Whilst his eye immediately went to the ' Next rank' he saw beside his current amount of Prestige, he did get briefly confused by the rest of the resources. The first four were sound to him, but the rest? They were all resources that did not pertain directly to his own person. What military power did one man represent? The same with workforce really. They could be applied to him, certainly, but to him, it was clear that something was amiss. He would ask the Gods about the resource menu as soon as he had access to Queries.



Of course, what caught his attention the most was this 'next rank' value. Only Prestige, Piety and Renown showed this. It could not be an issue with the other resources being greyed out since Renown itself was not unavailable to him yet, and he could still see it. How strange. It suggested that these values could evolve, but what would that mean in practice? Again, another question for the Gods.



He had to admit he could not quite understand how he had already acquired some Prestige since no quest or achievement had rewarded him with any points. The system had mixed in the coins he already had on his person with those he had gained from the quests, so perhaps this was simply the Prestige he had earned outside of the system?



Contrary to Coin, Prestige did not appear to be something physical, that was to be expected. Whenever he earned coins he sensed that he could make said coins appear. They had not immediately appeared in his pouch as he earned them and he was thankful for it. Who knew what would happen if he gained a large amount of money from a quest, only for it to appear on his person immediately afterwards. That was a good way for the truth to be known, and he had no desire for that to happen.




This did, however, beg a question: How could he make those coins appear?



He tested this when Beryn went to speak with yet another couple of villagers. Thus far their questioning had gone poorly, but at least the man had a basic amount of information that would allow them to locate the Boar Company at one point. Still, the sellsword continued to interrogate the villagers after Gideon had pointed out that the villagers were possibly hiding information. They seemed sufficiently crossed due to the whole situation, it was not hard to imagine they would act mute on the topic. Peasants– he knew this from the time he still lived with his family– would often avoid speaking of discomforting matters, some believed it caused bad luck.



So while Beryn spoke, some distance away from him, Gideon tried to make the coins appear atop his horse. A crackle of lightning filled his eyes, but no sound followed. The beast neighed and tapped a hoof on the soil a few times. A couple of silver stars had appeared in his hand.



It had been both more discreet and yet more visible than he had expected. The light from the act would be a problem, he would have to do it away from prying eyes. But the fact that it made no sound and was instantaneous was an advantage. An idea entered his mind and he smiled giddily.



Could he do the opposite and put the coin he physically had into the system? This time, however, he did not get some instinctual idea of how to do it. No one was whispering the possibility into his ears.



Could he just not do it? He did not believe so. If he could pull it out, he could put it back in at least. Yet he had no idea how to do it. Perhaps this was something to be unlocked later? Evidently, the system still held a lot of surprises for him. It constantly offered him new menus. With time, perhaps he would naturally unlock all the possibilities that it could offer, and using it as a bank could be one.



He would wait. Until then he decided to only use this ability whenever he truly needed the money acquired through the system. He would certainly not lose coins just by pulling them into reality, but he did not feel safe with the idea of carrying his entire wealth around. This was indeed a great boon the system had given him. Only an actual bank would allow one to safe keep their wealth. Well, that and locking it behind your own personal vault if you had one.



" Gideon! Still no luck, boy. I am starting to think I was right in my assumption. This lot knows nothing of the war." Beryn came up to him atop his own steed.



" So what then? There are still houses we have not knocked on. We could also just leave as you suggested, but honestly, I am not all that confident running around the Riverlands madly searching for the Boars. War breeds bandits of all kinds, does it not?" He asked the older man who tilted his head in agreement.



" Quite right, bandits and deserters get fat and happy in Wars, so long as they actually survive that is. But what is the risk you prefer to take, eh? Is it better to risk missing some great battle or a turning point in the war because we took too long, or is it better to risk getting ambushed because we were wandering without information?"



Truthfully speaking, he was not the most careful of man whenever he found himself in such situations. Beryn was dangling the prize before his eyes. But really, would he be mulling over the idea of missing a great battle? A great battle meant looting for the company if it was allowed by the party that had hired them, and a good amount of glory. It also meant death. Certain death in his case.



The uncertainty must have been obvious on his face since Beryn laughed as he slapped his thigh.



" Boy, you worry over nothing! You are trying to be a sellsword! You are set on the path, ain't ya?" He asked and Gideon nodded faster than he could think. " Well, then, it is simple. Rush, and think later if you're still alive by this point. Great battle or not, you risk death. With every move in a sellsword company you risk death, truth be told. So think only of the rewards. The bad consequences will be the same no matter what anyway." He finished and flashed him a toothy grin.



It was not reassuring in the slightest, but he was never going to abandon just because of the mere possibility of death. It had to stare him right in the soul for him to potentially abandon; even then, he was not certain he had the mental ability to even think of stopping.



" Ser Sellsword! Ser Sellsword!"


They both turned around to see a young brown-haired man, another peasant probably given his clothes.



" Surprised the lad knows I'm a Sellsword. Most in the crownlands were calling me a Freerider. The gall." Beryn said as he sniffed.



" Freerider? Isn't that another term for Sellsword? Same thing isn't it?" Gideon asked.



" Pffft" Beryn chuckled as the young man neared them. " Absolutely fucking not. We are professionals, mostly, and they are rats. Most of them don't even fight. Usually, they're scouts or used to patrol areas. They are not that well trained and unlike us, they don't get a salary. They don't sign contracts with employers. They just get told they can serve a House and get fed and some plunder whenever there's actually a fight."



The young peasant finally reached them. He was out of breath and sweating quite heavily. He looked as though he had run through the whole village to get to them.



" You…Ah…yer the Sellsword who's been asking 'bout the Boars, are ye Ser?" The man asked them.



" The one and only, in this shitty village at least," Beryn answered and Gideon fixed him a glare. The villagers already didn't like them, and this was not helping.



" Ah, I know where they are Ser! Heard from some of House Vance's men that the rebels are near Harrenhal. They're preparing to siege it! They also said House Tully was gathering an army near Acorn Hall, and the Boars would be there, Ser!" The youth who was probably just a nameday or two younger than him, told them.




" Oh, is that right? Acorn Hall, eh? Means we go left of the God's Eye. Can't say I'm unhappy, wasn't looking forward to Harrenhal." Beryn told him before turning back to the young man.



" Well thank ye for the information, lad. But why have you been running like a dog to deliver it to us?" Beryn asked, pointing at the both of them. Gideon saw the young man briefly glance at him before his head turned back in a hurry. He was afraid of him.



" U-uhm well, I was hoping you could take this letter to me cousin, Berrick. He is fighting for House Buckwell, Ser. He has not been home in a year so no one got to tell him…his Ma's dead, coughed herself to the grave. She's the only one he had left ye see." The young man shifted on his feet. Gideon saw Beryn's jaw clench.



It was a sobering thought to him. This was once his reality too. The smallfolk suffered without reprieve, and barely a soul felt for them. Not that he had a problem with it. Even his father had told him that this was the way of the world and that only it could truly function. Then again his father had not been all-knowing.




" Give me the letter. And your name." Beryn ordered. The youth stammered but quickly fished out the letter and gave it to him.



" Me name's Roderyn, Ser."



Beryn opened the letter and quickly skimmed through it.



" Had a maester write it, eh? It's well written. But tell me, Roderyn. Why haven't you been called to bear arms? Surely with the war, you should have been serving like Berrick by now. " He questioned as he pushed the letter inside his leather vest. Gideon narrowed his eyes as he pondered over it. True, Roderyn should have been serving in the infantry by now. Probably under the same House as Berrick.



" I, uh…" Roderyn retreated onto himself. Beryn sighed and turned his horse around.



" Take care of whoever is depending on you, young Roderyn. Never be too ashamed of what you are! If you did it for others, you are their Hero. If you did it for yourself, yer just smart."



Beryn left and Gideon quickly followed after him. He watched Roderyn from the corner of his eyes but the brunette did not move an inch. He then shook his head and ran back to wherever he had come from.



" I think I've missed something here," Gideon commented.



" The boy hid from whoever came to round the able-bodied men. I'd wager he is not the only one who's done so in this village. They don't strike me as fiercely loyal or all that concerned with the matters of the realm." Beryn explained. He whistled as they went off the road to ride around the God's eye. If he remembered his map correctly, it would be a somewhat long trip to Acorn Hall. Hopefully, the Boars would still be there. Gathering an army took an awful amount of time anyway. If the Gods were with him they would still be there….




And obviously, the Gods very much favoured him.




" It is not a war of invasion. Both attackers and defenders are brethren. I don't think we can fault him for not feeling particularly brave." Gideon spoke after a long beat of silence.




Beryn seemed oddly amused but did not chuckle. He smiled but his eyes were creased.




" Where we are going, and with the war raging on, kid….I think you'll find this sort of people insufferable. When you are the one fighting for your life. When you are the one stepping over corpses to make a fresh new one or join them yourself….you'll call the rest of the world cowards, just like that. Just 'cause you're bitter."




" You did sound like you were supportive of his actions, though. Were you lying to him?" Gideon asked, his eyes narrowed once more. Beryn was careful to meet them as he stared ahead.



" Not particularly so. "




The two remained in comfortable silence for the better part of the journey, only speaking during the different stops they made to rest. This side of the Riverlands did not seem wartorn as one would have expected. But Beryn did tell him around the fire, that neither side would want to damage their own lands. Only madmen did so….madmen and Tywin Lannister.




Gideon wondered how the man would have handled such a rebellion. Would they have made yet another song, a successor to the Rains of Castamere? If the rumours of the Lannisters' involvement in this conflict were true, he imagined the Lord Paramount found a certain irony in supporting the rebels.




" Am I seeing things? Beryn, that's an army isn't it?"



They found a large encampment in the plain. The light had disappeared only a few hours prior and they saw the torches in the distance. They were some miles away from Acorn Hall still.



" Roderyn told us the Tullys and the Boars would be gathering at Acorn Hall. Given where Riverrun is, this can't be them. They wouldn't have come from this way. Perhaps it's the bannermen?" Beryn spoke in a low voice.




" Could it not be the rebels?" Gideon said. Beryn turned to him with a raised eyebrow, not due to what he had said but how he had said it. He saw those bright pink eyes glinting in the moonlight. He could sense the fear.




" Last I heard two armies clashed near the Ruby Ford two months ago. The Rebels won but not by much. Can't say I heard much more than that. They shouldn't be gathering here if they are already planning to take Harrenhal." Beryn answered him.



He couldn't help, he audibly swallowed and cursed softly.



" No…this is them. This is a fucking rebel army!" The certainty of the words took Beryn by surprise. His demeanour shifted in a second.



" How would you know that, boy?"




" I….I know it is. Just call it, a freak's instinct." Gideon said as he glanced above his head. Beryn couldn't follow his eyes in the darkness, and even then he would not have seen the same thing the boy did.




[ The champion has received a Side quest! ]

Quest: Turmoil for the Fish.


Side quest: Battle near Acorn Hall


Objective: Choose a side and participate in the Battle near Acorn Hall.


Reward: +2 Prowess, +1 Martial, +20 prestige. +10 Relation with House Tully OR +10 Relation with the Rebels.



The Champion can earn additional rewards by distinguishing himself during the battle.

" Ya don't say….Well we definitely need to leave then, and fast at that. Don't want the scouts to notice us." Beryn spoke and then turned his steed around. Gideon could tell how tense the man was, so it appeared he had believed him or at least was cautious enough to avoid the army without trying to verify which faction they belonged to.




" Scouts? I don't see anything near us. Wouldn't they be sending scouts towards the Acorn Hall anyway?" Gideon asked.



" They are scouts, you are not one. I would be surprised if someone as inexperienced as you could spot them. Scouts are supposed to see without being seen themselves. Otherwise it defeats the purpose. As for your second question, it is somewhat standard to remain on your guard scout all around your position, not just forward."



" Uh…If you say so. I do wonder…why are we moving so slowly? I don't fancy being caught even if we are not their enemies yet. They would be suspicious of us regardless." Gideon asked, matching Beryn's hushed tone.




The man nervously looked over his shoulder and shook his head.



" They would spot us easily if we passed by them at full speed. We circumvent them slowly and then make for Acorn Hall as quickly as we can. If it is the rebel army, the Tullys will want to know, if their own scouts have not already notified them."




Gideon nodded, trusting Beryn's decision over his own instinct. He would have preferred to get away as hastily as one could. But the man was obviously far more experienced.




They maneuvered their horses around the camp slowly and made their way towards a small forest beside the camp. It would cover their presence.




" Something's strange though, I heard that the rebel army was some fourteen thousand men strong, give or take. The camp isn't nearly large enough for that. " Beryn said as he licked his lips.




" Either they split their forces or you were given false information." Gideon added. It would not surprise him if the latter was true. He had heard that the number of men in armies was often severely inflated or inversely the reports minimized the real number. They were rarely correct.




" The information had to be at least close to the real count. The two Houses Vance, House Blackwood and House Frey represent the main forces and on their own they should already be able to field close to that amount. They must have split indeed….but why?"




That question remained on their minds as they rode through the forest. It was oddly silent and for once, Gideon did not quite appreciate such stillness. He felt like he would probably jump in fright if he heard anything at all.



" I think we will see our first battle in this war sooner than anticipated, Gideon. Those forces will inevitably clash with the loyalist army gathering at Acorn Hall. Gods I hope the main bulk's already there or it's going to be a slaughter."




Gideon remained silent as they left the forests and changed to a faster gait. They arrived at Acorn Hall a few hours later and finally they could stop holding their breaths. That had been somewhat nerve-wracking but they had mostly panicked for nothing. It was a quiet ride with no accident or ambush. He had been in more trouble simply trying to get to Rosby.



Whatever he had expected to find at Acorn Hall, was not at all what appeared before him. This was no true castle truth be told. Whilst the walls were nothing to scoff at, the keep itself was made out of wood and was rather small. Of course he could not just compare Acorn Hall to say, Highgarden, as this was clearly unfair…but even so.




" I don't foresee this 'castle' being all that easy to defend. " He said as they approached. They had reduced their pace to avoid alerting the Loyalist forces and make a good first impression. Then again would two lone riders really make anyone anxious?




The answer was apparently yes.



" Halt! State your purpose, riders!" An armoured man bellowed after spotting them. He was probably a knight given his armour and the fact that the Lords would be in the keep at night and not out with their men.



" Ah, hello Ser, we are two sellswords looking to join the Boar Company, which I am told is currently employed by the Great House Tully!" Beryn spoke for them. Probably for the better. It was a bit too late by this point, but Gideon realized that he should have wrapped his face.




As dark as it was, they were about to enter the camp outside the castle and of course everyone would see him clearly then. That did make him think of just how many soldiers there were in said camp. It was not as large as the Rebel's but there were thousands of soldiers still. The camp itself easily surrounded the entire castle.



" Sellswords? Just the two of you?" The man seemed perplexed. Surely it was not that rare for small groups of sellswords to seek employers? Perhaps he was more so confused by the time of their arrival.




" That's right. We came from the Crownlands, passed right under the God's Eye and rode for the Acorn Hall. We…uh…we might have important information to deliver to whoever's in charge." Beryn said as he stood tall. Gideon doubted it was meant to look intimidating.



" Information? I'll take you to the Boars, they can decide what to do with you two. You try anything, you'll end up with your heads on our pikes." The knight warned them before turning around briskly. A couple of soldiers were watching them, having heard the conversation. As far as Gideon could tell, they seemed fairly neutral to their presence. They would have certainly been relieved if instead it had been an entire company that had arrived to help them.




The knight led them deeper into the camp, until they reached a large black tent. The few soldiers outside of said tent wore boiled leather armours as opposed to the scale armours he saw all around the camp. They also mostly seemed to be wielding axes and polearms strangely enough. Infantrymen and pikemen or cavalry then. As he had heard, Sellswords preferred axes to swords as they were less expensive. Given that Sellsword companies were professional armies, they had constant expenses and often could not afford to properly equip most of their troops. That problem would also be true for the Lords who wouldn't be able to magically afford to equip their levies, but he did note that the Riverlanders seemed to have better weapons at the least.



" These two apparently want to join you a lot. I leave them with you and I will notify Lord Torren Blanetree of this. Feel free to kill them yourselves if they try anything." The knight left with that. Strange. Wasn't it customary for soldiers to salute? Maybe it was different in Westeros.



The small group of Sellswords looked them up and down before chuckling and ushering them inside the tent. He heard them whisper behind their backs but they did not have a strong reaction to his appearance. Given how tired everyone in the camp seemed to be, he would not be surprised if that changed after a good night's sleep.




The tent's interior was quite destitute. A large table with a detailed map of the Riverlands. A few mugs of….well, he could not tell what they contained but it was probably mead. Only two men were present in the tent, a large and burly man with an eyepatch and another who was….incredibly terrifying.



The large man hovered over the table and observed the map on which small wooden figurines were placed. He was well built with large arms and legs. His small brown eyes glanced at them shortly before he returned to the map. He had slick brown hair and seemed like a soldier himself, but evidently he had to at least be an officer of the company. Did they even have officers? The chain of command in Sellsword companies was not a topic he had researched.




The other man, however. The mere sight of him gave Gideon goosebumps. If not for the presence he had, it would have to be due to his appearance as hypocritical as it sounded. He was far taller than the first man, and big too, but not as well built. His skin was fairly pale but nothing Gideon himself would balk at obviously. Beside his plate armour which had immediately caught Beryn's eyes the minute they had walked into the tent, the man cut an imposing figure due to his steely grey eyes and his strange hair.



One side of his head was close-shaven whilst the other was covered in a wild mane of black hair. To add to the image, a long scar ran from his throat to the left corner of his mouth. Gideon could only wonder how a man could survive a wound to the throat, especially one as impressive.



Finally, Gideon noticed something past the messy hair, a burn scar on his forehead. It was easy to guess that these two had seen their fair share of combat, or at least shitty circumstances.



" New recruits, is it? Why have you come seeking the Boar Company? You are an oddly matched pair, I must say." To their muted shock, it was the man too busy peering at the map to look at them that spoke. The creepy one leaned on a chest and silently glared at them.



" T-That is right, Ser. We have heard of the war in the Riverlands and wished to…well, you know better than most why one joins a war as a hired sword. I met this one on the road and we decided to travel together. Felt safer." Beryn answered for them, not that Gideon was able to speak at the moment. The creepy one seemed to have taken a specific interest in him and was openly glaring only at him, ignoring Beryn entirely.




" Gold, glory or both. Perhaps even women, but I must warn you the Boars condemn ill-conduct. War or not ya don't get to act like a cunt." The burly man told them. He had quite the booming voice.



" Eh, naturally, of course…We, uh, we have information you might want to hear, Ser…." Beryn said, waiting for the man to speak his name.




" Slade Brock, 1st Commander of the Boar Company. The brooding guy is Oswyn, Second Commander of the Boar Company. What manner of information do you possess? Is it something we should know before we decide whether you can join or not?" The commander spoke.




' First and Second commanders? Isn't there supposed to only be one commander?' Gideon thought to himself.




" Yes, it's pretty important. We…we might have spotted a rebel army's campement some miles away from the Acorn Hall. They probably marched under the God's Eye given where the campement is."



As soon as those words left Beryn's lips, both he and Gideon noticed a subtle shift in the two commanders' demeanor. A slight smirk hanged on Oswyn's lips whilst Slade's passive frown deepened.




The two exchanged looks before Oswyn approached the table.



" So they did not go for Harrenhal after all. Probably heard we were gathering here and decided to chase after us. We lost substantial forces near the Ruby Ford. But…do you think they know?" Slade questioned Oswyn who immediately shook his head.



" Improbable unless we have spies amongst our ranks. By now all the Lords have chosen their side and we sifted through the men several times after Lord Piper's failure at the Twins. Don't think it's likely. Either way we should see with the Fish." Oswyn answered. Gods the man's voice grated on the ears. It sounded so…lifeless.




Slade nodded and Oswyn left the tent curtly. Finally, the burly commander did turn to face them.




" If that information ends up being true, we might be quite indebted to you. We did tell the Fish to send scouts towards the Southwestern parts of the Riverlands but apparently the rebels could not possibly be there. Most were convinced they would be besieging Harrenhal so that is not all that surprising…still" The commander's annoyance did seem to match with what Gideon had heard of Edmure Tully on the way to the Riverlands. He had been too young, at least mentally speaking, when he had inherited the title of Lord Paramount. He was too emotional a man and too reckless a leader.



He already distrusted the man without having ever met him.




" No matter, I will ask you a series of questions and based on your answers I will induct you into the Boar Company or reject you. However, you must understand….that even if rejected, we cannot allow you to leave just yet. You might have wandered into the camp to feed us false information."




Beryn almost instinctively put a hand over his swords' pommel but held himself. The words were threatening but Slade made no motion and only regarded them with a cold gaze. Gideon could understand the man's logic anyway. He gathered his courage and opened his mouth, hoping he would not stutter.




" Well, ask away then, Ser Commander ."




___________


No more than a dozen minutes later, they received a tap on the shoulder and were formally inducted into the Boar Company. It had been less solemn than Gideon had expected but then again he was joining a Sellsword Company, not the Kingsguard. Some of the questions had been fairly strange, however.



They were directed to a tent by an officer, a gruff looking fella, and were told that they would be assigned to a unit on the morrow, at which point they would begin training.



Gideon did not expect to fight alongside Beryn given that the man was already a skilled warrior. He would probably be placed in the vanguard and not see a lick of the man during battles.



Battles….It was hard to imagine he would probably take part in one soon. With that army only a few miles away, it would certainly come before he could receive even the most basic of training. In the few days he had spent with Beryn had given him advice but they had not truly trained, instead preferring to spend as much time as possible on the road.



But soon he would fight. He mulled over the idea as he paced outside of the tent he was supposed to be sleeping in.



He had opted to speak to the rare sellswords who were still awake at this hour, instead of going to sleep immediately like Beryn had done.



He found out that the Boar Company functioned with two commanders who both lead the company, with neither obeying the other. Slade Brock was often in charge of the Cavalry whilst Oswyn preferred the infantry. They also seemed to take as much in the fight as their men did, Oswyn more so than Slade who did have to issue the initial orders for formations and movements. The next in command would then take over whilst Oswyn and Slade fought. This was not their own wish but rather a usual occurrence for many Sellsword Companies even if it wasn't a widely adopted rule.





One must lead through Might and Valor. The concept did please him, enough so that an idea bloomed in his mind.




He still was not certain what fate held for him, and whilst he knew he longed for power, he had to decide which path he would take to finally reach said power.




Forming his own Sellsword Company sounded like the perfect idea. If he could do well enough amongst the Boars at least.










____________

Hey y'all, I would really appreciate comments or reviews as they allow me to see where the fic stands at any given point and if it is going in the right direction. It's also an incentive for me as a writer.

So don't hesitate to share your opinion or ask any questions you may have.

Soldiers woke up as early as possible. That was something he learned rather painfully when officers yelled at every tent they'd passed by, throwing just about every insult they could think at the drowsy troops.



A mere two dozen minutes later, he found himself joining the recent recruits of the Loyalist army in basic training. He could not train with the Sellswords who were far more experienced than the common smallfolk he stood shoulder to shoulder with. He saw a myriad of faces from the assortment of men, both old and young, that stood before and around him.



A majority seemed excited; those were the young men, with most of them not appearing that much older than himself. The older recruits were apprehensive, fearful even. With how long the war had been going on he was surprised there still were old men to conscript. He noted the discreet looks they were sending his way. Now, standing under the sunlight, all could fully see him.



He ignored them easily.



They were taught how to handle both the 'sword' and the spear though there was a clear emphasis on the sword. And by sword, he meant whatever shoddy equipment the men had which counted as short-reach weapons and not spears. Only a handful had swords, but apparently,, they would be joined by knights and some of the Sellswords due to the position they were to take in the infantry's formation. The army seemed predominantly made out of spearmen, however.




His guess was that the newer recruits were trained to become 'swordsmen' as the army clearly lacked those. He had heard that the Loyalist forces, more often than not, employed a shield wall formation where the majority of troops were spearmen. The shield wall would open up at various places within the formation to allow the opposing troops to pour in, whereupon they would then find the wall closing off behind them and would face the swordsmen positioned right behind the spearmen.



At least they would have more heavily equipped men around them, or otherwise, the strategy would probably fail given the current state of the 'swordsmen'.



That was apparently not a tactic the Riverlanders were familiar with, but rather one that the Boars had introduced. It had proven rather risky but could, during certain battles where the opposition would easily pour in the gaps, incur drastic losses for the Rebels. He did not understand the intricacies of such a tactic, whether that be its weaknesses or strengths but he did make a note to remember it. If he did at any point create his own company, he would naturally copy what he had already seen instead of blindly trying to come up with his own tactics.




He could not hide his disappointment when he heard he would be placed in the vanguard. He did have a horse but it could not be used for the cavalry as it was not a war horse or even a particularly sturdy steed in any case. The officer who had told him where he would be placed mockingly told him he should be happy to even have a sword.



He had also learned that the rebels relied heavily on archers and had taken heavy losses due to that over-reliance during the battle near the Ruby Ford. The Heavy Cavalry of the Loyalists had flanked the archers and destroyed their ranks. The battle was only lost because the enemy commander had effectively countered this shield wall gap strategy by use of the Sellsword cavalry. They had disappeared from sight, completely circled around the infantry and charged from the rear while the Loyalists' own Cavalry was still trying to flank. They had arrived before the Loyalist cavalry and broke the shield wall formation, forcing the cavalry to pull back and come to the infantry's aid. The remaining archers pelted the retreating army and the battle was won, but only barely.




Thankfully, that commander had been speared through the eye during the battle and had died amongst his men. Gideon had not been looking forward to meeting him on the battlefield when he had first heard of him.



During that rather long training, Gideon could sense a certain difference between his current endurance and the one he'd possessed a few months before receiving the system. It was noticeable if he truly sought to draw a comparison. His body in itself had not gained all that much muscle. The mere fact that Prowess could enhance his physique without him having to train was already extraordinary enough so he would not complain about the small changes.




For some reason, it also seemed that amid action, his senses were also slightly better now. It had been a surprise to realize that this was solely reserved for whenever he was fighting. So Prowess could help outside of battle but some of the benefits simply ceased to exist whenever he left a fight. He would have to remember that unless he wanted to find himself in very awkward situations.




An officer had actually complimented his reflexes as the training session continued. That was perhaps the only advantage he held over the rest of the recruits and it was enough to put him ahead. He was weaker than some, slower even since there were a few young lads a head or so shorter than him.




But he could dodge blows better than even some of the Sellswords, or so the officer had claimed. Gideon could tell part of those nice words came from pure spite directed at the Sellswords. That did not include him strangely enough. He did not really have anything on his person that identified him as a sellsword so the man probably hadn't known he was one himself.




As the training neared its end, Gideon felt deeply grateful for his greater endurance. This was just basic training, nothing all that fancy and yet he just knew, the Gideon from a year before this would have been breathing heavily an hour ago at least.




When the commanding officers ended the training and allowed the recruits to finally breathe. This had been brutal for most of them but they still seemed driven. How nice. Gideon held just a sliver of jealousy for that determination. When he had similarly found himself in difficult times, he had not proven himself that strong of character. But Essos was Essos, and he was different now.



After the training session had finished, he saw Beryn approaching. But his eyes were on something different.



[ The Champion has participated in his first military training! ]



[ Achievement Reward: +1 Prowess ]




A smile tugged at his lips before he froze.




[ The Champion has reached a threshold in Prowess! ]



The Champion's body will shift accordingly.




….What?



That was his first time reading about 'thresholds', and he still hadn't unlocked Queries so he probably would not get an explanation. The strangest part was that his body did not seem to 'shift' in any kind of way. All that really struck him was a sudden feeling.



He felt…emboldened.



" Well, well, you seem ready to skewer some fucking rebels, eh?" Beryn exclaimed as soon as he reached him.




"...Guess so. I, uh…I think I need to lay down for a bit." Gideon answered weakly. Something was definitely strange with him.



" Not so fast, Giddy. I heard that all the commanders are gathering in the keep to plan out the army's next move. Apparently, there's another damn army marching from Harrenhal. Some scouts confirmed what we reported during the night and then another group spotted the approaching army. It's got the nobles sweating, I tell ya that. The cunts meant to attack from both sides." Beryn swore and spat on the fresh grass.




" Giddy, seriously?" Gideon raised his eyebrows and fixed the man with a nonplussed look.




" Your name sounds far too serious. You shall be Gideon when you become a man. I reckon that should be in a day or two at most now, perhaps even less." Beryn joked. Before he could say more, a Knight stepped before them.




" You are the two who arrived yesterday and reported the rebel army, yes?" He asked. They nodded but shared a look of confusion.




" Your commanders have sent to fetch you. You are to recount every detail you can remember about the army. Follow me." He turned in one swift motion and stormed away. He sounded quite pissed off for some reason.




" Huh….I sure hope it does not start raining during the battle. It's fucking tragic how messy it gets when the water pours on the battlefield." Beryn commented as he looked at the sky. In the time since they had woken up, it had started to get considerably greyer.




They followed after the Knight, careful to remain close to him, and entered the castle soon after. The Knight greeted a few lords, none of whom either he or Beryn recognized, and then they finally stood before the door to the keep's hall. The two guards on either side of the doors slightly bowed before the knight and then opened them.




Only now did it hit Gideon. He was about to meet the Loyalist lords and Lord Edmure Tully. He still reeked of sweat and felt all woozy from that 'Threshold' thing.



In a second, a good portion of the lords within the hall glanced at them. Most of them seemed taken aback, probably due to his appearance. They did seem more intrigued than disgusted, however. He could freely admit that calmed him down a bit.




The lords quickly returned to their heated conversations whilst they approached with measured steps.




" So you have found our unlikely scouts. Thank you, Ser Morray." A rotund lord greeted them.



" Lord Smallwood." The Knight replied shortly. He bowed slightly, perhaps even less than was expected of him, and then quickly left them.



' Ah, so this would be the reason he was angry. Does he just dislike the lord or did he get angry over being sent to fetch some random sellswords?' Gideon wondered.




" Lord Smallwood, it is a pleasure to meet you. We…ah, we have been told we were called to provide information." Beryn said, clearly as stressed as Gideon was. From what he knew of the man, it was most likely because he heavily disliked interacting with Lords.



Lord Smallwood was a tall and somewhat fat man. He had a thin beard and short brown hair. He looked quite unremarkable for a lord. But then again not every lord had the Kingslayer's looks.




" Correct," The man drawled. " Come, the war council awaits the details you are to provide before a course of action can be decided."




Lord Smallwood ushered them towards a long table surrounded by a majority of the lords, as well as the two Boar Commanders. The clearly extenuated man who sat to their left matched what Gideon had heard of Edmure Tully. He certainly had the correct auburn hair and a clean red beard.



" My lord, the sellsword recruits who sighted the rebel army." Lord Smallwood drawled again, bowing deeply before the man who could only be Edmure Tully. The fat lord received a slight nod as Beryn and Gideon bowed before the assembly of lords.




" Our scouts have confirmed the position of the encampment you described, but they were not able to get close enough for fear of being detected. We would not want the rebels to understand that we are aware of their plan. What more can you tell us, have you seen the banners of the camp?" Lord Tully spoke to them.



Gideon's first impression was…not all that great. The words sounded rehearsed, like he had been pondering over what he would say whilst Ser Morray was sent to fetch them. A lord usually spoke with more ease than that. This was probably because of the shoes he was trying to fit in. Hoster Tully could not easily be replaced, and Edmure Tully showed, with the bags under his eyes, how greatly the war had been affecting him.




To his left, a grey-haired lord clad in scale armour smiled softly. It was almost imperceivable but it had happened right as Gideon noticed the man. He quickly returned to his deep scowl, however.




" A-ah yes, so…It was quite dark out there, my lord, but I think I saw the banner of one House Vance. Uh, the one with the two towers, my lord." Beryn answered.



At this point, it had become a habit for him to talk for the both of them. Gideon was thankful for it. Though in a way it felt a bit scummy to let the man speak. Gideon could only be more experienced with speaking with lords, given the years he had spent with Aster Tyrell. All the same, he still left Beryn get all the attention drawn to him.




Best not to draw eyes on the pale freak with pink eyes. Although that was sadly already the case. One particular Lord, a young man with raven black hair and blue eyes was staring at him with great interest.



" The House Vance of Atranta? The two Houses Vance have been part of the same army since the battle near the Ruby Ford, my lord." One lord spoke as he rubbed his thick beard.



" That could be a good opportunity to deal the Houses Vance a definite blow. If we could capture Lord Carl Vance…" The lord beside Lord Tully spoke.



" It is as you say, uncle…." Lord Tully observed the lords before him as he pondered over something. " What else can you recall?" He spoke to Beryn, decidedly ignoring Gideon altogether. However, it appeared that the man's uncle, Lord Brynden Tully, if Gideon recalled correctly, did catch the young sellswords exchanging looks with a Lord sitting at the right end of the table. The very same young lord who would not stop staring at Gideon.




" Well….I think I may have seen the banners of House Mooton and House Bigglestone. Can't say for sure I'm afraid." Beryn answered.




Lord Brynden Tully smiled rather viciously at that. One of those Houses rang a bell in his mind.



' Mooton?'



Now that he heard the name…that reminded him of something. He used to live on the lands of a House Mooton.



He remembered only a select few memories from his early childhood but….was he actually a Riverlander?





__________

A.N: Hey y'all, I would really appreciate comments or reviews as they allow me to see where the fic stands at any given point and if it is going in the right direction. It's also an incentive for me as a writer.

So don't hesitate to share your opinion or ask any questions you may have.

" If House Mooton is there as well, this would mean that House Blackwood would be in charge of the second army. They would not put all the main houses in the same army and the Freys remain at the Twins. The Boars did report that House Frey was training the missing forces from the main army and fresh men as well. This army then, should not be led by a particularly capable commander." The Blackfish pointed out, which seemed to please the lords.




" I would also believe so. But then again whilst Brandon Mooton is dead, he was a surprisingly good commander. Such knowledge eluded us before the battle at the Ruby Ford. We are not safe from another commander sprouting out of nowhere." Commander Slade countered the point. Lord Brynden acquiesced easily.




Back to square one, it was then.




" The possibility does exist; hence, should we not meet them on the field and crush them before they can regroup with the rebels approaching from Harrenhal? Even if our forces have not finished gathering here, we still outnumber them slightly." Lord Tully asked.



Gideon could swear he saw a few of the lords' eyes gain a cold glint. Apparently, Lord Tully was indeed not appreciated as a commander. No matter their annoyance, by now they had chosen their side and would live or die by their choice.




" Nephew, do you not see the risks? The army approaching from the north-east is not that far, the army you propose we attack could stage a careful retreat and lead us to the rest of their forces. Even if we avoid this and even if they do not attempt to draw us in, we still hold the advantage as defenders. Acorn Hall is not exactly Harrenhal, but we could avoid losses by fighting from this position. If they are impatient enough they will besiege us before the second army can pincer us. Then we just chew them out." Lord Brynden chastised his nephew who nodded numbly.





"Hmm, young Lyonel," Lord Brynden started suddenly, catching the raven-haired young lord by surprise. So that was his name.



" Is there an issue with our pale friend here? You have stopped paying attention to this war council since you caught sight of him."



" Uncle!" Edmure whispered harshly but the Blackfish ignored him. There was potentially a story there. Lord Brynden did seem quite cold as he called out the young lord.




Lord Lyonel stammered over his words briefly.




" Ah, my deepest apologies, my lords. I was just…surprised. I know this man. I met him near the Westerlands some…three years ago, maybe." Lord Lyonel answered.




These were not the words the lords had wished to hear. Their curious eyes turned impossibly cold.




" Fuck…." Brynden cursed under his breath.




" The Westerlands? Might you perhaps be from there, boy?" The Blackfish spoke.




' Wait…Is this about the Lannisters? Do they think I'm a fucking Lannister spy!?' Gideon panicked.




" I can a-assure you, my lords, that I am no westerlander!" Gideon squawked. " I was born a riverlander, living on the lands of House Mooton. For…certain reasons I have spent most of my life in Essos and only returned to Westeros in recent years. I have only ever been near the Westerlands once or twice…for, eh….mercantile affairs." He explained.



That seemed to placate absolutely none of the lords who remained suspicious of him. He loudly gulped despite himself.




" Yes, that is how I have met him. He was younger then and served as an assistant to Lord Aster Tyrell." Lord Lyonel said. This, however, was enough to calm the spirits a bit. But the Blackfish raised an eyebrow.




" The Tyrell none ever mention, eh? He was a wealthy merchant if memory serves me well. We received words of his death a mere fortnight prior to this council. You have moved on quite rapidly, boy." The man said, his voice dripping with distrust.




Gideon felt like a deer standing amidst a pack of wolves, but he resented the unspoken accusation.




" I would not dare presume the thoughts of the good lords assembled on this day, but I have no ties to House Lannister! My master, Lord Tyrell knew of my deepest wishes and released me before he died. I notified his family and left to build myself a new life. I was not even aware of House Lannister's potential funding of the Rebels before I had the idea to take part in this war." Gideon defended himself.




" So you claim…" The Blackfish spoke as he raised a hand to silence the lords. " Yet we have not fought for years now, only to take such risks without a healthy amount of suspicion. Lord Lyonel Mallister!" Lord Brynden exclaimed and Lord Lyonel stood upright immediately.




" What exactly about this boy captured your interest? I can hardly imagine you would remain so fixated on some assistant you randomly met one day… I also wonder what made you approach the Westerlands in a time of war? I was not aware the lands of your house had experienced such an incredible recovery that you could afford to just wander around." The Blackfish spoke. His words had the effect of a flash of thunder on the lords who all turned to Lyonel Mallister.




It became readily apparent that these were no mere rumours. The lords of the Riverlands were absolutely paranoid when it came to House Lannister.




It also appeared no other members of House Mallister were here to speak in Lord Lyonel's stead. The anxious young man was left to fend for himself.




" I…." The raven-haired youth took a deep breath. " I was merely acting on my father's orders. Or rather a comment of his. He had mentioned something in passing, an idea to seek support from the Reach. In recent years the Tyrells have had numerous spats with the Lannisters…" He gave the lords a disarming smile.




The Blackfish was ready to retort but Lyonel Mallister cut him off.




" As for this sellsword, I must admit it was mostly his…unique appearance that caught my attention. When I met him, I briefly conversed with Lord Aster, and he shared that he had once believed his young assistant to be of Valyrian descent…perhaps even a Targaryen bastard. That is all, my lords. The thought resurfaced when he caught my eye." He placated them with his hands before sitting back down.




The lords looked at each other, exchanged whispers and more than a few strange looks were directed at Gideon. He knew the words 'Valyrian' and 'Targaryen' were to be blamed for this. But, it was quite bizarre.




This Lyonel Mallister…his smile was off-putting as he observed the conversing lords. The remark sounded deliberate and not an actual thought of his as he had claimed. He certainly did not remember Lord Tyrell ever sharing with him that he believed him to be of Valyrian descent.





" Order, order my lords!" The Blackfish said after he'd slammed his fist against the table.




Lord Tully cleared his throat, and despite his uncle's clearly telling him not to speak with a quick glare, he did so anyway.




" We should focus on the upcoming battle, yes? What is to be our course of action? We need to make a decision now, especially since the other half of the army does not yet know of our predicament."




Strangely enough, the lords agreed with Lord Tully but did so quite begrudgingly. He really had an abysmal reputation. Then again, the war had been going on for so long, and the side that should have swept up the Rebels rapidly had yet to truly push them back. They had never capitalized on any of their decisive victories.




" Lord Tully is quite right, the army led by Lord Roote still operates under past and now obsolete orders." An older lord clad in plate armour spoke up.




" Should we then not call for them to regroup with us? We would defend the castle until the rest of our forces appear and engage with the Rebels. We could easily turn the tides on the rebels if, by this point, they had already committed to the siege." Lord Tully nervously added.




The Blackfish and numerous other lords mulled over these words. The same old lord raised his voice once more.




" We know by now that the filthy little cunts don't commit. They always go for easier and juicier targets. If they learn that the rest of our forces are coming to our aid, they will lay traps all around the castle and then leave to intercept our men with their greater forces. Lord Roote will never arrive in time. "




Both the Boar Commanders nodded their heads.



" I find myself agreeing with Lord Bracken. A certain avenue opens to us, my lords. We could wait until the rebels reach the castle and trigger our own traps. Whilst their advance is momentarily stopped, we will sally out of Acorn Hall and meet them whilst the rest of our archers engage from their position on the walls." Commander Slade proposed.




" They will probably have their second army attack from a different point, so we will not meet the entire force at once. Of course, they will be able to regroup before we can do significant damage to the first army, but their morale will be down by then." The Blackfish agreed with the plan.





But other lords voiced their concerns, and the council soon devolved into a shouting match. Gideon and Beryn left when they figured that no decision would be taken at least for the next hour. They had no place amongst the lords and it was not like they could share their own ideas. Not that Gideon had any. The plan proposed by the Boars seemed sound if somewhat risky.




That seemed to be usual for the company. Just about every idea of theirs held significant risks.




The two found themselves walking back to the camp to recuperate from training. It would not be before three additional hours that riders were sent to give the army led by Lord Roote their newest order.




The Loyalists would go with the Boars' plan, not wanting to risk seeing the rebels go after Lord Roote. That force was mostly made up of cavalry, meaning that they had far fewer options to defend themselves out in the open than with lines of infantry. It would be unacceptable to allow the Rebels to go after them.




None of this was ideal, but the ideal situation had been the Loyalists following their initial plan instead of being pincered by the two armies.




And so the battle was upon them. Now, they would simply wait for the Rebels and strike at the best possible time.




The men were ushered within the castle. Of course, the entire army could not fit within the caste walls, and so a large part of the cavalry, as well as a portion of the archers and infantrymen, left the camp to position themselves behind a nearby hill.





None of the approaching armies would come from this angle so they would not notice this hidden force. Right before the men inside the castle would sally out, this force would unleash a volley of arrows whilst flanking the rebel army. With the Rebels bracing for the cavalry, the forces inside the castle would then pour out.





Gideon was certain the plan was bound to change should the Rebels actually attack without waiting for their second army or even defy the expectations and attack from only one side of the castle with their entire force. He certainly hoped they would not do anything absurdly intelligent or absurdly stupid. Both sounded horrible. A smart adversary would be hard to outmanoeuvre, whilst a foolish one would be bound to act irrationally.




He was part of the infantry that would leave the safety of the stone walls to sally out. He could only hope the secondary force behind the hill would follow the plan perfectly, otherwise they would not be able to drag the Rebels' morale down as they hoped to do.



He kept thinking about all that could go wrong as he waited, one-foot soldier amongst many, standing in line. If not for his hair, he would be drowned in the sea of men around him but he guessed he could still be easily sighted.




Gods he hoped no one decided to specifically target him just because he made for a shiny target.



Something landed on the wooden shield coated with metal he had been given. It glistened off of its surface. A droplet of water.




He raised his head and let out a disbelieving laugh.



It started raining. And quite heavily so in fact. In mere minutes a heavy rain was falling on their heads. The men stood tall still and did their best to ignore the water.




' This has got to be a fucking joke….The cavalry will have a hard time charging the Rebels on mud.'




He complained in his mind, if only because he had nothing else to do. Besides wondering where Beryn was at the moment, that is. He had told him he was to be part of the cavalry, but he did not know if he, too, had remained behind the walls or not.




It mattered not. He would try to find the man after he'd survived…if he did.




His heart beat faster and faster as time went on. Then, he heard some agitation on the walls. The archers raised their bows and took an arrow each in their free hand. He heard orders being barked in every direction and straightened himself. His hands were shaking.




[ The Champion has confirmed his chosen side in the Quest. ]



[ The Champion's body has finished shifting. ]




His ears were ringing and he felt hot. That woozy feeling had disappeared, replaced was something he could not quite describe.
He heard shouting from the walls.






The rebels were upon them.








__________

A.N: Hey y'all, I would really appreciate comments or reviews as they allow me to see where the fic stands at any given point and if it is going in the right direction. It's also an incentive for me as a writer.

So don't hesitate to share your opinion or ask any questions you may have.

He heard the sounds of neighing horses, their hooves stomping on the ground as they tried to dodge the traps. The Boars had dug countless holes near the Castle's entrance. He was quite glad he and Beryn had not arrived from another angle, or they would have probably fallen into one of those.




The Rebels were panicking, but this would do no more than slow down their advance. It broke their momentum, however, and allowed the archers to pelt them with arrows. He saw the men on the walls move with all the speed they could muster, to take out as many targets as they could. The rain was probably messing with their aim, but few made mistakes. Their lives depended on this. So did his.




" Men! The forces behind the hills are moving! PREPARE YOURSELVES!" The Blackfish screamed at the top of his lungs, positioned behind them with the small force of cavalrymen that had remained.




With their heads held high, their teeth gnashing against one another in anticipation and their hands tightly gripping their spears, the first in line stood ready to run out at a moment's notice.




Gideon looked around him, at the rather wild mix of unlikely warriors and sellswords on whose shoulders the hope of the Loyalists rested, and he found himself smiling.




He would have liked to claim that smile, to say that it was born out of his desire to become great, that in this moment he was simply ready. But even he did not understand it. He could easily guess it had to do with the system, however.




He looked up and saw, with great difficulty and amidst the torrential rain, a great number of arrows flying through the air. The rebels' panicked shouts reached a new height as the flanking cavalry collided with their ranks.




The large doors before him opened.




" NOW!"




The Blackfish's bellow still hadn't left his throat the spearmen were already halfway through the doors. Gideon followed suit and beheld the battlefield.




The rebels sought to remain in formation as the infantry from behind the hills was nearly in spearing distance. He saw their first lines stumble backwards in fright as the loyalists poured out of the castle.




The flanking cavalry was already leaving, probably to run around the formation and strike from the rear this time, but the rebels' own horses did not give chase, instead choosing to clash with the secondary infantry forces.



The two walls of shields crashed against one another as the men around him gave their best war cries.




" FOR THE TULLYS!"




" FOR THE RIVERLANDS!"




He found he much preferred the latter.




It quickly became evident that the rebels possessed higher numbers than they did, but so long as the strategy was applied well, it would not be a problem.



Lines in the loyalists' shield wall opened and to just about everyone's surprise….




The rebels did not engulf themselves inside. They remained in formation and tried to encircle the smaller force.




" The cavalry will fuck up their square! Hold men, open up again when the cavalry hits!" The Blackfish yelled as he and his force of knights rode behind the lines of infantry.





They were riding directly towards the rebels' archers whilst their own kept firing. If they could be the only ones firing arrows, they would find themselves with an incredible advantage.




" THEY'RE FALLING BACK!" An officer yelled.



Gideon's eyes widened when he noticed that the rebels were indeed trying to distance themselves. By now, the second army should have arrived, but it was nowhere to be seen. Something was definitely fishy there.




The rebels' backwards steps ceased when they found the loyalist cavalry smashing their rear.




" Holes in the wall, now!"




The gaps in the formation opened once more. Gideon braced himself when he saw the rebels stepping inside as they found themselves pushed forward by those behind them.



A spray of blood hit his right eye as a young lad took an axe to the skull beside him.



*Clink*



He raised his shield just in time and blocked a longsword. He nearly lost his balance when another man crashed against the shield and pushed him back.




" GIVE 'EM HELL LADS!" Some random old man screamed and immediately found an arrow buried in his right eye.




Gideon bashed his shield against the first man and thrust his sword towards the second's throat. He deflected the blade but was kicked in his side by another loyalist.




This gave the pale sellsword enough time to push forward and slash downward. The blade bit in the man's chest, through the poor quality leather. He screamed in both pain and terror but Gideon quickly ignored him. Two other rebels took the man's place and he fell back into position, his shield preventing him from losing an eye himself.




The wall had closed behind the rebels and they found themselves assailed on all sides. They pushed each other in the direction of the myriads of swords, axes and farming tools waiting for them, none so ready to throw their lives away now that they were cut from their army.





He was falling into a rhythm he noticed as he threw his shield arm forward and blocked a blow before it could even fall upon him. The rebel's own arm snapped backward and he could only cry in terror as Gideon hacked at his neck. He died choking on his own blood as he fell back.




In the time it took to kill one man, a dozen more fell in the various death circles created all along the shield wall. But the rebel army was still walking back. Their own cavalry was chasing after the loyalists' horses.



From afar, Gideon could make out the archers on the hill slowly advancing forward as they shot. Three steps, an arrow notched, then three steps more, and so on and so forth.



He raised his shield a little high this time as he tried to deflect a spear and another shot forward. He bit into his lower lips as the tip pierced his shoulder.




Another Boar seized the spear and pulled it back. Pain coursed through the pale sellsword's body, but he ignored it as best as he could. The very same Boar sellswords kept ahold of the spear and pulled on it, forcing the soldier holding it to stumble in between two other rebels.




He had not even gotten back to his knees when he had found Gideon's sword pushing into his skull and coming out below his jaw. But it took too long to take the sword out and another spear nicked him on his left arm.




His muscles were starting to ache by now and he was the only one who was tired of hacking and slashing endlessly. They had not even noticed that the shield wall kept opening and closing repeatedly and nearly believed the rebels kept coming back to life to fight. But the corpses they stepped over were real and they were numerous.




The enemy commander had obviously met the Stranger by now since the rebels had lost their composure and kept pouring into the deliberate cracks. The fools.




He trembled when thunder crackled above their heads. The rain was not leaving anytime soon. At this point, he wondered if the knights had abandoned their horses, preferring to fight on foot than remain on the beasts trudging through the mud.




But something clicked in his mind as the 'swordsmen' around him retook their positions, waiting for new rebels to get eaten up by their unusual tactic.




The rebel army was leading them somewhere. They had already walked some distance away from the castle and the archers on the wall were finding it difficult to effectively hit their targets and not their allies.




Due to his accursed skin, he could not get any paler, but the shock got to him all the same as it clicked in his mind. They were leading them towards the second army. They had not yet seen it and the only possible explanation for it was that…




" T-they're taking us to a fucking tr-"




" BOARS! THESE DOGS ARE LEADING US TO A TRAP! WITH ME!"



He winced from the booming voice and turned to his right, only to find a bloodied Oswyn standing there, his hand high in the air holding a gorgeous steel longsword. The man spared him a glance and he swore he saw the creepy swordsman appraising him with his eyes. Then he started running parallel to the shield wall.




Most of the Boars immediately followed after him whilst the other 'swordsmen' meant to fight in the gaps tried to form coherent groups with the loss of hundreds of men.




Gideon quickly shook off the surprise and ran after his commander. He found out before the question could form in his mind that Oswyn meant to stop the rebels dead in their tracks by simply having infantry pushing on both sides now that the cavalry was busy. To that effort, the Boars ran alongside the rebels' flank and circled around them.





Of course, it did not take them all too long to understand what was coming their way and they hastily tried to form a second shield wall in their rearguard. Gideon could not believe his eyes as he found two knights fighting side by side with the infantry. They cut an imposing sight, hacking away at the sellswords with relative ease.




This time, there were spearmen to absorb the force of the clash; Gideon found himself in the first line and ducked his head under his shield. With the sudden movement, a lock of drenched hair entered his hair and he cursed.




" ARGH! NOT NOW, FUCK!"




He shook his head desperately and found the hair leaving his teary eye just as a massive blade cleaved through the air. It split the upper part of his shield and cut into his torso.




" ARGHHH!" He screamed pathetically as he fell to one knee.




Lifting his head, he expected to see the bastard sword coming back for his head this time but he saw something else. Something unexpected.




At that moment, time almost seemed to have stopped. The rebels had started to get desperate with the realization that their careful retreat was hampered. He saw contorted faces, tears fading with the heavy rain and puddles of blood covering part of the overturned mud.




And directly before him, a helmet flew. Not just a helmet but also the head within, severed so cleanly it had seemed to have never been attached to anything prior. Oswyn appeared almost graceful, with his sword a mere extension of his already long arm, as the arc he drew in the air finished.




Time had resumed around him when Gideon's eyes caught not one but three bodies collapsing onto the mud. The man had taken three heads with a swing, the helmeted one belonging to one of the two knights.




The second one released an awkward sound, halfway between a strangled scream and a warcry, and charged forward, pushing through the rebels' raised shields.




Peering through his drenched hair with great difficulty, Gideon could swear he saw sparks flying when Oswyn's longsword clashed with the Knight's halberd.




As much as he wanted to witness this veritable duel, he had more pressing matters to handle, namely the two cunts who had bashed his head with their shields after he had plunged his sword cleanly through their friend's heart.




He felt dizzy for all but two seconds after the blow and almost thought he was imagining the text floating above the two's heads.




[ The Champion has surpassed his total kill count in one battle! ]



The reward will be calculated based on the champion's prior kill count.



Achievement Reward: +10 Prestige, +1 Prowess.





A cruel smile bloomed on his face as they gawked at him. He realized it was probably because of his fuming body and his sizzling wound. He felt so damn hot, it had gotten worse now. But his fatigue had disappeared somewhat. He was rejuvenated in a way, though the word was perhaps too strong.





He threw his shield at one of the idiots' faces and grabbed a new one swiftly before they could take advantage of his defenselessness. It happened anyway despite his relative speed of execution, an arrow burrowing itself in his armour, with its head piercing into his torso. His eyes twitched madly at the pain and he openly glared at the rebels.




He took a step forward and countless horses filled his vision. The wind carried by their charge threw his hair forward as he gasped.




The loyalist cavalry had neutralized the rebels'.





From the corner of his eye, he saw Oswyn cut clean through a man's entire midsection and trembled as he beheld his expression of pure bliss.




The rebels found themselves trampled under hundreds of horses and finally, their entire formation collapsed.




" RUN! GET TO THE BLACKWOODS!" One rebel lord yelled before Commander Slade's spear entered his mouth and came out of the back of his skull, splattering blood and some bits of brain on the young lad directly behind him.




The rebels broke into full sprints as they tried to flee. Some did not quite seem to understand that this was not a full-on retreat as they ran the wrong way, but a majority ran in a strange direction. They were running towards the forest he and Beryn had taken to circumvent the rebel camp the night before.




The second army had come from Harrenhal, they would not have passed right by the first army, ignored them and then entered the forest. It would make no sense.




" The fucking bastards!" Commander Oswyn cursed before he grabbed a fleeing spearman and lifted him by the throat. Whilst he choked the life out of the man, Commander Slade beckoned a nearby loyalist knight.




" Inform the Blackfish, we were right. The first army lost part of their number and they did not just disappear. Out of our sight, these cunts joined their second army and went to the forest to ambush us once we ran after them!" He told the knight before taking a deep breath.




"DO NOT PURSUE! THEY ARE LURING US INTO ANOTHER TRAP!"




Another one? He had to give it to them, even when disadvantaged, they knew how to play their cards.




" What should we do then, Commander?" He asked. He surprised even himself with his confidence. Was this the rush soldiers often described? The one that made you ignore fear and pain as you battled? No…this was the system. His prowess had augmented again, and with that augmentation came more than just strength.




Commander Slade seemed genuinely lost for a second as he looked at him before he cleared his throat. The man had clearly not expected to see him again.




" The cavalry will regroup, as will the infantry. You will march towards the forest and stop before entering it! We'll force them out with a charge and they will crash upon your spears! BE PREPARED, MEN; WE STILL HAVE ANOTHER HALF AND THEN SOME TO FACE!"








____________



A.N: Hey y'all, I would really appreciate comments or reviews as they allow me to see where the fic stands at any given point and if it is going in the right direction. It's also an incentive for me as a writer.

So don't hesitate to share your opinion or ask any questions you may have.

( Beryn Hardy )



They rode as one, a veritable wall of warhorses and knights in bloodied scale armours. He felt somewhat awkward riding at the front amongst the lords, but they were moving to strike, they were not simply taking the scenic route throughout the woods.




He did feel a smidge of awe as they galloped past the enormous trees. The Crownlands certainly lacked luscious forests like these. A shame they were about to splatter red upon all those green leaves and bushes.




He was holding his spear with his right hand now, not the one he favoured but his left arm had been broken during the initial charge. It was almost pitiful how closely he'd brushed with death during a charge the Rebels could barely even react to. But a charge was a strenuous thing. Your spear would strike at a shield, and all the power gathered in that attack, mostly by the horse itself, would shoot right back into your arm.





Worse than that, even, some cunt had penetrated his thigh with some flimsy dagger. It hurt more than he would like to admit, but he would ruin his chance to impress his superiors. He had not joined this company to crawl in the lower ranks indefinitely. And with that awfully pale kid, he certainly couldn't afford to be a slouch. He had a nasty little feeling that had nagged at him since the battle had started. The kid would somehow find a way to shine even though he was still shit as a warrior.




He couldn't quite explain it. And he would not attempt to do so now. They had put enough distance between themselves and the rebels now, and the poor fucks were probably shitting themselves. They had heard the thunderous march of thousands of warhorses but the other shoe hadn't yet fallen, and they were waiting. The wait itself would do wonders to chip down their morale.




Their gambit to draw them into the initial trap near the Acorn Hall had seen their numbers greatly diminished, and he could imagine that they only had one wish now.




To return home. The only thing that would, would be word of their crushing defeat.




The rain had turned the dirt beneath them into muddy terrain but they would still manage a charge. It would be enough to push the rebel forces out of the forests and right into the waiting pikes.




He almost pitied, right up until he imagined the nice little salary the Boars would receive after such a battle.




" Do not let them see that the charge is false! Let them see the Stranger eye to eye!" The Blackfish ordered.




The Rebels had proven surprisingly adaptable so it was probably best to commit to the charge until the last second, lest they guess the plan and stand their ground instead of fleeing into open grounds.




A myriad of shouts all along the line of cavalry resounded amongst the silent woods, and as one they charged. He probably should have allowed a few other knights to pass him by so he would not be first in line to face the infantry, but he hardly thought at that moment. He heard his heart hammer in his ears and he released a warcry.




Several branches collapsed against his chest as the wind chilled his entire body. He was drenched and could hardly see, but he did not have a good sight to just charge forward mindlessly.




In the distance, he saw the Rebels finally pinpoint where the horsemen were. They screamed, they hastily formed a shield wall and a few arrows flew by him. One whistled past his right ear and before he could brace himself for the impact, they were already upon a line of terrified men who had made their bed.



They shook, and not entirely just because of the rain, yet they pushed against their shields with nerves popping on their faces. Most were indeed to meet the Stranger. He would help them with that.




A part of the cavalry galloped away to prepare yet another charge whilst the rest drew their swords and hacked at the men beneath them.




He split a man's face in two and kicked the body away to free his blade. The entire block of infantrymen was already moving towards the plains, so it appeared their strategy would work. They only needed to push harder.




Beside him, a Boar Sellsword clad in strange armour swung a poleaxe and dug in a man's neck like one would cut up a tree to make it fall. He was quite a lithe figure, wearing something halfway between Lannister and Kingsguard armour, a sleek lamellar armour with a fucking cape of all things. He proudly wore the Boar's emblem and easily distinguished himself amongst the countless other knights and mounted sellswords in this chaotic fight.




He was neither Slade nor Oswyn, probably someone else high up in the hierarchy…which meant he should put all his efforts into shining near the unknown sellsword.




He smiled widely and brought his sword down on a helmet, crashing the steel blade against it so harshly the soldier it belonged to fell on his ass, blood pouring down his skull.




They were near their infantry now and the Rebels could make out the spearmen's silhouettes through the thick wall of leaves. Those at the rear cursed and banged their fists against their friends' backs, but nothing could stop the wave of horses.




A good amount of knights had dismounted as the beast struggled in the mud and they pushed against the shields with a fury unmatched.




The Blackfish gave the command for the spearmen to commence to attack the rear anyway, seeing as they had momentum anyway. And the shield wall moved with far less discipline than they had an hour prior. They ran like a pack of hungry dogs, launching themselves at the cornered Rebels who now faced cavalry from both the front and the flanks and were about to get a hundred spears shoved in their rear.




To his surprise– and his delight though he found himself puzzled at the emotion– he could easily make out the little fucker in the mass of bodies that now pressed themselves against the enemy forces. His white hair was partially dyed red, and he had this crazy look in his eyes, as though he was both lost yet ready to bite the first fool who bared their neck at him.


And bite he did. Beryn could hardly believe it as he saw the boy who, by all rights, should have been exhausted, cleave through some poor sod's torso diagonally. Having no true armour upon oneself certainly did not help.




The Rebels fought like the surrounded rats they were and he caught himself briefly counting the loyalists' troops left. Momentum was a hell of a drug because they had certainly lost a lot more than he had believed. The Rebels' cavalry sending their own into some silly chase had certainly dealt them a heavy blow and the whole shield wall gaps strategy, whilst brilliant in itself, had been terribly executed at times.




Apparently Gideon's side of the infantry had not failed so spectacularly as the rest if the boy was still so fit. On the other hand, he very much wasn't.



He swung an aching arm around, his other practically useless, and he was certain he would have to crawl on the ground like a gripple if he was dismounted now.




Of course, right as he thought of that, a slab of iron he refused to call a sword sliced into his mount's head and he found himself in the air and parallel to the ground before he could blink.




He threw himself off of the horse at the last second and thankfully did not end up underneath it. He rolled on his back and hit his head against a Loyalist's knight shield. The man grunted and lifted him off his feet like he was a petulant child.




He expected to see the fucker who had dismounted him, ready to take his head next, but his sight was filled with nothing but an arrow as he lifted his head. He turned in reflex but it sliced into the flesh and opened a gash in his forehead.



Blood pooled into his left eye and he stood on his only good leg at the moment. That cloaked Boar had the dismounting cunt in his arms. In one fell swoop, he turned so as to put his back to the man, pulled on one of the man's arms and lifted him off the ground.



He flew gracefully for all but a second before he crashed against the mud. The man coughed out blood and tried to fight back but that Sellsword….held his poleaxe high in the air and then–



*Thunk*




He brought down the poleaxe's hammerhead with his entire might. Bones shattered as the man's ceased to make any sound instantly. Beryn almost winced when the hammerhead parted with the flesh, some bits attached to it.




" RETREAT!"




The guttural scream entered his ears but he barely reacted to it, his eyes still focused on the cloaked sellsword.




" Now would be the time to give chase instead of gawking at me, eh?" The man's muffled voice came out. It sounded….about the same as Gideon sounded. Like a child imitating a man's voice.





" DON'T CHASE AFTER THEM! LORD ROOTE AND HIS MEN WILL DO SO! ROUND UP THE WOUNDED!" The Blackfish yelled at the top of his lungs with a raspy voice. He looked….well he looked like a fucking wildling, caked in both blood and mud.




He remembered a time when things had been different. When he would fight for cowardly pigs who would not even set foot in this weather, much less fight.



He had to admit he could understand now, why the Blackfish was held in such high esteem.


__________

( Gideon )




He couldn't deny that a bath sounded quite fantastic right about now. A bath and a nice bed.



Truthfully, even a shitty one would do, so long as he could finally rest. If all battles were supposed to be like this, he almost regretted his choice to embark on this path.




With the Rebels on the run, as they were, he nearly allowed himself to fall on his back and rest right there in the mud. All around him, he saw a few faces that told the same tale, but something quickly shot those plans down.




The cavalry had regrouped with them and the lords were discussing with the Blackfish. Lord Tully was actually present. He had expected the man to be the sort of liege lord who was reliant on delegation, but he could at least respect this. And he had seen some fighting by the looks of it too.




Then, he heard words that forced a groan out of his mouth.




" Lord Tully, Ser Brynden, should we not cut those dogs down? I understand the logic of letting Lord Roote chase them down….it is sound, given the composition of his forces but…" Lord Bracken spoke before a coughing fit overtook him. He was clutching his chest and Gideon could see a rather large dent in the plate armour. That had to have been a nasty hit.




" I would rather we let the men breathe and recuperate so we can go back to our initial plans. The faster we get to siege Wayfarer's Resr, the better. There are different ways to press one's advantage, my lords." Lord Brynden answered.




Certainly, it did sound good to him. Mostly because the Blackfish was the one proposing that they get some rest. He heard more than a few grunts of agreement from the men.



He wasn't in top form, and so his mind was a bit diminished, but he agreed that the siege would be a better idea, especially given that the second army was mostly made up of cavalry and would prove far more useful to run the retreating army down whilst the main force besieged the castle. They would also run down the many who had not followed the two organized retreats and had just run away in random directions.




He genuinely hoped the army he was a part of would at least take some time to replenish the army and train some new archers, as he could hardly imagine how the siege would go without them.




Whilst the lords debated, he slicked his hair back and took a deep, long breath. The rain was calming down now. Whilst in the past he may have simply smiled and kept it at that, now he narrowed his eyes at the sky.




' So…this rain was probably not natural, huh? Was this all for me? Some test maybe?'




If the Gods actually intervened in his life, even more directly than they did through the system…things could be horrendous in a short amount of time.



He would have to watch out for strangely convenient timing in the future. It had not really hit him when it began but its ending right as the battle did was highly suspicious.




Though of course, the battle had not truly ended. For the system had not yet given him his hard-earned rewards…and the lords had sadly convinced the Blackfish, who now turned to address the men.




" PROUD RIVERLANDERS! TODAY, WE HAVE BEATEN DOWN THESE REBEL DOGS! BUT NOW THEY RUN, THEY RUN BACK GO THEIR KENNELS TO LICK THEIR WOUNDS! SHOULD WE NOT BE MERCIFUL AND FINISH THEM!?"




He had actually not expected the thunderous response the Blackfish received. Of course, he lacked the passive the loyalists had with the rebels. They were his enemies….but only out of circumstances.




Alas, they would not receive a shred of mercy from him. The Blackfish spoke, and so the men moved. Naturally, the cavalry would get there first, but there would still be some last rats to put down by the time the infantry caught up.



The knights went back to their horses, and off they went, further south down the same path he and Beryn had used to get to Acorn Hall.



If their timing had been slightly off, they would have actually encountered the rebel army still marching. They had been extremely lucky, and the realization did not sit right with him.



He followed the others' pace as they trotted in the mud. A few of them fell, partly due to said mud but also due to the battle euphoria wearing off. The fatigue and pain had made themselves known. Yet they ran still, for a good dozen minutes or so. And then




Something else made itself known: Arrows. A lot of them….



An actual shit ton of them!




*Clink*





He'd lifted the shield he had taken from a corpse and had ducked under it. Thank the Gods he had reacted on time because an ungodly rain of arrows had just hit them just when the actual rain had stopped. Curse their fucking luck. They littered the ground and a good hundred men or so had been caught defenseless.



But that begged a question–




" SHIELD WALL YOU DAFT FUCKS! THE CUNTS HAVE A THOUSAND ARCHERS!" He heard in the distance.




" ANOTHER FUCKING TRAP!? HOW LAYERED WAS THEIR GODS DAMNED PLAN!?" Commander Slade, who had apparently remained with them, yelled in frustration.

He peaked from the right side of his shield as the others gathered up in formation to protect themselves and before them….




The cavalry was running back as though a dragon was chasing. The sunlight was dimmed and he looked up, without even really knowing why.





He did not see a beautiful sky as the previous clouds parted. No.





He saw nothing but arrows.







____________


A.N: Hey y'all, I would really appreciate comments or reviews as they allow me to see where the fic stands at any given point and if it is going in the right direction. It's also an incentive for me as a writer.

So don't hesitate to share your opinion or ask any questions you may have.

His shield shook under the veritable barrage of arrows. None beside him fared any better and whilst he could not peak over his shield without risking immediate death, he could guess that the cavalry was sustaining heavy casualties.




How was this even possible? A third trap? Had they truly planned for an entire force of archers to rain hell upon them in the possible scenario where they would be forced to retreat, and thus, the loyalists would give chase?



It seemed far more logical for this to have been a moving force, just like that second army that had marched from Harrenhal. Then, this would only be a mere timely coincidence. Yet, did it feel like a coincidence?




Not in the slightest. As the men around him began carefully walking backwards with their shields raised, he saw the horses pass by them, he saw the lords' hardened faces as they fled. Clearly, this was not a force they could face without Lord Roote's army. A shame they had not arrived on time.




It took an entire mile of this careful retreat before the arrows stopped falling and they could finally breathe. When he ducked his head out of his shield, he gasped in horror. Their losses were….unacceptable. They had been winning! In a single act, those dogs had overturned the result of the entire battle?




He could understand why the Rebels kept pushing back their upcoming loss. They could not sustain themselves the way the Loyalists could and probably only survived due to the Lannisters…but with tactics like those. They would have undeniably won if even just another large Riverlands House had joined them.




The cavalry had kept itself near the infantry, but just far enough to avoid the arrows. Now that the onslaught had ceased, they reformed the army. From afar, he saw most of the main commanders he had met had survived. However, it did appear that a few of them had been unlucky enough for arrows to find weak spots in their armours, well-crafted as they were.




The Boar Commanders came forward and inspected their troops. At this point, he had completely forgotten he had been mostly surrounded by sellswords. The levies that remained were solely spearmen. Their group of 'swordsmen' had been depleted of a majority of its recent recruits.




But he had survived. The rest would feed the maggots and flowers would bloom amidst their carcasses…but he stood proudly over his comrades' lifeless bodies.




[ The Champion has completed a quest! ]


Quest: Battle Near Acorn Hall.


Rewards: +2 Prowess, +1 Martial, +20 prestige. +10 Relation with House Tully




Additional Rewards: +400 Silver Stags, +50 Prestige, +1 Martial, +1 Artisan.





He did not feel incredible effects from the gain in Prowess, but it now appeared that the overall process of enhancement was a bit slower than he had first thought. He could be disappointed as points gained during an intense situation would not immediately change anything and thus wouldn't save him, but in one way he considered it fortuitous that he wouldn't build up muscles and gain in height in front of everyone. That would be fairly noticeable.




His Masteries looked rather nice at the moment. With Martial at three and Prowess at eight, things were coming along nicely. Whilst he still could not know what exactly each did and what benefits he received from gaining points, he could easily guess that hoarding these points would only help him in the long term.




He had also gained a rather substantial amount of coins and Prestige. He now stood at eleven Gold coins and 120 Prestige points. Strangely enough, he had made more progress towards the next rank in Prestige, than he would have thought.




[ Gideon ]

Coin: 460 Silver Stags ( 11 Gold Dragons )

Prestige: 120 Points, 18.5/100 To next rank.

Piety: ???, ?/??? To next rank.

Renown: ???, ?/??? To next rank.

Materials: ???

Workforce: ???

Food Stocks: ???

Military Power: ???





Given that he had slightly more than doubled his Prestige, he had expected it to be sitting at sixteen and a half, or seventeen at most. Perhaps the number of points he gained at once mattered too? That would certainly explain it, and it was about the only thing he could think of.




" Hey, kid! Fancy seeing you still kicking!" A voice called out to him. He raised his head and looked around in confusion. He quickly spotted Beryn waving at him as he approached, a cloaked Knight followed closely after him. He was still atop his horse as the army had not yet returned to Acorn Hall.





" I could say the same thing about you, Beryn. Found the battle to your tastes?" He asked the man with a slight smirk. He felt a certain lightness of heart now that the battle had finished. Well, the lords surrounding the Blackfish did not seem all that convinced that it was indeed over, given how tense they looked. But the system had given him his rewards, so he knew better than they did. That could prove to be an excellent way to determine the end of future battles, he thought. However, he would do his best to relax only when the rest of the army did in the future. Lest they start to suspect something.





" Eh, can't say I did. Bastards fucked me up something fierce. Cosied up with someone high up the chain, so it wasn't the worst battle I ever fought. But, those were some clever traps." Beryn admitted with a groan. The cloaked knight stopped his horse right before Gideon and grabbed his helmet.




" I can understand Beryn's words now. You are indeed pretty recognizable, even all dirtied up as you are, boy." A rather high-pitched voice entered their ears, but they were too busy gasping with their eyes wide open.




" What?" The knight looked at the two of them and then at his armour as though he believed that was where the problem lay. " Oh, seriously? This cannot keep happening." He started pouting.





" I…uh, excuse me for this reaction, Ser, but you look…." Beryn could hardly finish his sentence. Gideon did feel that it was a bit hypocritical for him to be that shocked at the knight's appearance so he quickly gathered himself.




" Yes, yes, I know. I look like a girl, I look like a prince….and blah and blah!" The Knight made exaggerated speaking motions with his gloved hands. " I say, when in front of this pale child here, one should not be that shocked at the sight of my features, fair as they are. And no, I do not belong to any Lordly House. I am also not a Ser. Sellswords do not quite work like that, ya silly goose."




It was true that his looks were not as strikingly bizarre as Gideon's own. But one would not expect this when faced with some sellsword in clearly high-end armour. Frankly, he had expected some as intimidating as Commander Slade, at least, perhaps even Commander Oswyn.




Instead what greeted them was a youthful and smug, pretty face. Not pretty in the sense that this sellsword looked like a lady, but in the sense that he did look like a noble, or even a prince as he'd said. The structure of his face certainly gave that impression, especially mixed with his freckles and pale blue eyes.





" You do talk like a lord, though. Can't say I don't understand why some cunts might assume a thing or two about ya. Now that I think about it, you did not tell me what your rank is. With that fancy armour you's got to be some officer, eh?" Beryn asked with a coy smile. The sellsword tilted his pretty head, his shoulder-length black hair moving as he did, covering his left eye.




" Well, I am Lieutenant Constantine of the Boar Company. And do not listen to any dickhead trying to tell you that my name is anything but that! I try to be friendly with these fucks and then they invent some weird nicknames for me behind my back." He shook his head playfully. " I swear being kind is not as rewarding as people claim. But uh…do not start bowing to me because of my rank. We don't do that in this company. Some uptight sellswords do, but fuck 'em."





" That will take some time getting used to…I'm rather used to lords and their attachments to titles and ranks." Gideon admitted. Constantine smacked his thigh as he laughed.




" Oh, don't you worry about that; most officers in the company could not care less about their ranks being dutifully respected by the men. Well, save for some cunts." He wrinkled his nose at that. " You might find yourself saddled with a promotion soon if you continue like that, kid. You look scary enough in battle to warrant a promotion on that fact alone. Commander Oswyn's constantly rambling about the power of fear and all thaaa-"




They heard someone clearing their throat. Three heads collectively turned as one and they all jumped in fright as they noticed Commander Oswyn levelling a flat stare at them.



" Ah, Commander, Ser, I….I was going to check on the wounded!" Constantine stuttered and willed his horse to love away.




" You go do that, yes." Commander Oswyn spoke only those few words, but they were enough for Constantine to offer a shaky smile and immediately trot away. The Commander's frigid face turned towards Gideon.





" You did good on the field, recruit. You as well, " He glanced at Beryn. " Your claims of experience were not mere boasts. You make for excellent recruits. Or you will if you manage to assure your continued survival."




"...Thank you, Commander?" Gideon spoke with uncertainty. Beryn followed his example but added a slight bow of his head.




" I, uh…I think I will go deliver that letter now, kid. I completely forgot to search for that Berrick fellow yesterday." Beryn said.



Oh right, Berrick. He had also completely forgotten they were supposed to deliver a letter. The battle had taken the both of them off guard.




Commander Oswyn watched with narrowed eyes as Beryn left. Only the two of them remained, as the men around them quickly rounded up all the captives and prepared to return to Acorn Hall. They had taken a great number of knights but only a handful of lords.




" Boy. Your name is Gideon, correct?" Commander Oswyn asked as he approached him. He started checking just about every part of his body for wounds and quickly found himself frowning. But Gideon could freely admit, he felt far less pain than he had anticipated. This had to be a result of his enhanced Prowess. If this continued, would he be able to just…shrug off wounds altogether? The possibility excited him greatly. He felt like a giddy child once more.





" Yes, Commander." He answered. A few questions appeared at the back of his mind, but he opted not to ask anything. He would not go by the assumption that every military officer around him would be laid back, especially as Commander Oswyn did not seem like that at all.




" Hmm…" The man observed him for a few seconds, before nodding to himself.




" What Lieutenant Constantine babbled about is quite true, Gideon. I have found over the years that fear is a power unlike any other." The man smiled at him and it shook him to his core. He felt such malice from the smile, and yet it appeared so normal…so natural.




" You fear me, yes?" The Commander asked him and he nodded before he could even think. He found it hard to swallow his own spit as his throat constricted.





Commander Oswyn coldly gazed at the other sellswords that littered the battlefield. " Many of them do. That is why even though Slade and I are meant to be equals, he is the real leader of this company. Most would not wish to work under me. But I serve my purpose. Not one of them would dare to cause trouble in our company. Fear loosens the grip on one's weapon. Fear closes mouths shut and sometimes, when wielded excellently, it can even dominate thoughts. "




He could tell this was meant to be a lesson, but he could not comprehend why the man felt the need to teach him specifically. He was only a recruit.




" Why this lesson, eh? What am I seeing in you that would explain this?" He spoke Gideon's thoughts as though he could read them. The pale sellsword found his heartbeat picking up pace.




Commander Oswyn grabbed a lock of his white hair and rubbed it between his fingers.




" Skin as pale as one of 'others' from the Northerners' myths and legends….freakish pink eyes and snow white hair. Your appearance is a curse….and a weapon that shows great promise, boy."




" A weapon, commander? Are…are you saying that I can use it against my enemies?" Gideon tried to make sense of the words. The Commander's wide smile now seemed to split his entire face in two.




" Yes. One could mistake you for a monster…a demon" He spoke those words as though they were desirable, as though he was envious of this. " Whilst many cultivate their fearsome figure, you could do it effortlessly. If they all want to see a demon, that is what you should show them."




By now, the army was ready to move back to the castle. Commander Slade seemed to be looking for his terrifying comrade.




" Turn it into a weapon and wield it to destroy your enemies' morale. You cannot even begin to imagine how important one's mind is in war. Become a nightmare, and they will avoid you. When nearly beaten, they will surrender far quicker than they otherwise would….for terror would claw its way at the forefront of their spirit and thoroughly crush it. In war, one must use every little advantage they can. More than that, you will surely become a warrior of note should you do as I say…."




Commander Oswyn moved to whisper in his ear.




" You strike me as a child who desires the entire world. Most would lose such ambitions with time, but if you have the sheer gall to push through….This can only help you move forward…or rather upward, boy."




With that, it was his turn to leave. Gideon quickly joined the rest of the infantry and marched with them, but the words echoed in his mind.




To wield fear as his weapon…what exactly was he supposed to do? What did the man really mean? He could not imagine how he would go about weaponizing his image, truth be told. Showing himself was already the furthest he had been willing to go. Would he need to act like a madman on the battlefield to wield that sort of power?





That was a thought for later. Perhaps he could ask Beryn?




Unbeknownst to him, he was the only one moving as though he had barely even fought. Whilst the rest panted and winced with every step, he was almost fully unbothered. Even with the wounds he did get during the battle, he felt light and his mood has certainly soared with the rewards he had gained, even with this frankly awkward discussion with the Commander.




He marched with the rest of the infantry, unaware that said man had not stopped looking at him through narrowed eyes.




In turn, another pair of eyes stared at Commander Oswyn and then turned to him with great interest.








______________

A.N: Hey y'all, I would really appreciate comments or reviews as they allow me to see where the fic stands at any given point and if it is going in the right direction. It's also an incentive for me as a writer.

So don't hesitate to share your opinion or ask any questions you may have.

The men were thoroughly exhausted. Whilst the few lords and knights who were still in good shape convened in the keep, the majority of the army went to get some well-deserved rest. Gideon couldn't deny he had slept like a babe, even more so since his wounds had healed with a swiftness that bordered on the supernatural.




He kept himself bandaged still to avoid suspicion. No man he knew of could heal that quickly, and it would certainly bring up nought but troubles to let it show.




At noon on the following day, Gideon walked around the camp with a limping Beryn. Of course, the man did not enjoy the same privileges Gideon now had and he could only heal like the common man. It was an empowering thought to realize just how great of an advantage he held over practically everyone else now.



It all remained to see whether this was a general benefit of a higher Prowess or if it would only occur whenever he gained points.



" Use fear as a weapon? Well, I did hear some of that back in Essos. The Dothraki do that…if I remember correctly at least." Beryn answered his question with some difficulty.




Commander Oswyn's words had jumped around in his mind all night and he couldn't help but seek Beryn's counsel. He was the only somewhat trustworthy person he knew here.



" I don't know if I can follow their example, though. I am no barbaric nomad from the Dothraki Sea or the Red Waste. And I am not even part of the cavalry anyway. I also thought of the Mountain, but…" Gideon trailed off as Beryn sighed.



" Best not to imitate that beast. You do not possess the height for it…nor the savagery required to impress a man like Tywin Lannister through cruelty and violence alone."




Gideon nodded absentmindedly. Perhaps he could not fully imitate the Mountain, but on the principle alone, that monstrosity was not feared simply because he was big. That was just one part of the myth around the man. The rest was all built upon a mound of terrorized victims.




" The Mountain generates fear by acting more like an obscenely cruel bear than a man…perhaps that is exactly what I need," He glanced at Beryn with a half-smile.




" Even if it's nothing but a mummer's show, I can build myself a reputation as a beast of extreme violence…as a demon." He could envision it. He had been the object of fear for a large part of his life, so the thought itself was nothing new to him. And even if a part of himself would be disgusted to play pretend at being a monster, so long as it served its purpose he could do it.



He would not let that smidge of morality stop him. He only needed to act, not to literally follow in Ser Gregor Clegane's path.




Beryn seemed pensive but not outright against the idea.



" It's not a horrible plan, that much I will say. I am simply uncertain if you can really do it. Take it as a compliment rather than an insult, for it certainly isn't a jape at your expense but…." He looked him in the eyes.




" I just don't see enough evil in all that pink, to think it will work. You can still try. In fact, I would personally do so if I was in your shoes. You have very little to lose. And if it works, you will shoot through the ranks just by existing and feeding the rumour mill. "




With these words, they parted ways, and Gideon found himself coming back to the tent he shared with a few other sellswords. At this time, it would be empty, and he could ponder over this new plan of his in relative tranquillity. He was a bit miffed that the system had not decided to give him a quest pertaining to this whole fearmongering idea, but then again he was probably asking for far too much.




Already with barely any impressive feat under his belt, he was gaining enough Prowess points to become a decent warrior and with time, these other Masteries would serve their purpose too. He could hardly wait to see what said purpose even was since, until now, only Prowess seemed to really do anything.




To his surprise, he was not alone in the tent as he entered it.




" Ah, it appears I was not led astray by this Lieutenant Constantine. Strange fellow, isn't he? Although I guess he would not register as such….to one of your ilk."




Lord Lyonel Mallister.




He had felt the man's gaze follow his every movement once the army had retreated back to Acorn Hall, but only now had the man decided to approach him. Well, man was perhaps too much for the lord. He did not seem that much older than he was.




" My lord." Gideon bowed, his entire body tense in anxiety. This visit could not possibly mean anything good. The last time he had found himself alone with a lord, had been four years ago and….he would rather forget the experience altogether.




Lyonel's eyes gleamed with unbridled curiosity. As though he was a Maester at the citadel, experimenting upon an oddity.




Wasn't he an oddity himself anyway? That was exactly why he had never so much as approached the citadel, even in the numerous times he had visited Oldtown.




" Some lords would take offence to this barely disguised distrust. Am I some common rogue, to be gazed upon with such hostility?" Lord Lyonel's mocking smile betrayed how unserious he was.



That did not reassure Gideon one bit. He walked to the side but did not take his eyes off of the lord for even a second. Lyonel Mallister walked to the opposite side and they found themselves circling one another.




" Like a mouse trapped by the lazy cat and wondering whether it should make a run for it or simply play dead. "





" Is there a point to this visit, your lordship?" Gideon asked as he reached for his belongings. He could not verify if anything had gone missing without appearing rude to the lord, but he would be sure to do it once the man left.



" You could say that. I did not come here solely to play with you, although I must say it is amusing." Lord Lyonel scoffed before positioning himself before the entrance to the tent.




He was blocking his path should he try to run away. Gideon's hand brushed against his sword but he did not immediately draw it.




" You see, I have a certain vested interest in the company you have joined. It was I who suggested they should be recruited. I was a boy at that point," A certain nostalgia seemed to take hold of him as the words left his mouth. He quickly gathered himself and his eyes narrowed.




" The continued success of the Boar Company greatly benefits House Mallister. No one has forgotten that we brought the company into the war, and no one will forget how greatly it has served the Loyalists. To that effect, I have convinced my father, Lord Mallister, that the commanders of your company must be…handsomely rewarded once we finally crush the Rebels." Lord Lyonel explained.




Gideon remained silent and still alert, but he sensed a certain friendliness to Lyonel's tone. The man genuinely did not seem to be threatening him in any capacity. He simply wished to be heard.




" As the company's success is my success…well, suffice to say, I have begun to take an active stance when it comes to supporting you sellswords. By now I believe your commanders are fully aware of my project for them…for all of you. And this is where you come in, my dear freak."




Gideon had never heard the word spoken so freely before. There was not even a hint of disgust or fear in the man's voice. As though that term was nothing more than a joke to him. He did not know if he should feel slighted or not by how lightly Lyonel treated this word. It had brought him pain his entire life.




" Me? I just joined the company. I do not see how I could possibly have anything to do with anyone's plans."




Lyonel chuckled as though he was a mere boy spouting nothing but vaguely amusing and endearing nonsense.




" That is certainly true, but I pride myself in being able to detect opportunities quite early. I am never late to the party so to speak. Should you continue to survive through the upcoming battles, I see a certain future ahead. You will be promoted. If only because sellswords greatly appreciate to have intimidating members. Legends grow quickly amongst sellsword companies because they feed them every chance they get."




Lord Lyonel approached him slowly, with an entirely too smug smile upon his face.




" So you want to…what, sponsor me to benefit from my rise? I am no knight, my lord." Gideon countered. This entire situation smelled like problems to him. Easily avoided problems, should he be able to silence his ambition and greed.




But the lord's words had their effect on him still.




" Oh, I am certainly not going to have you swear yourself to my House or start paying for your equipment. In fact, I will not do much, nor will I require sacrifices on your part. I simply wish to extend a hand…" He did so quite literally.




" And establish the beginning of a hopefully beneficial friendship."





That smile, those slightly slanted eyes and even the hand itself. Everything was screaming at him not to trust the lordling. Gideon knew, he knew that he could not afford to play to the lords tunes as they so often threw away their servants when they ceased to be of use…and yet.





He shook the offered hand with gritted teeth. To his shock, Lord Lyonel gripped it tightly and pulled him forward in one swift motion.



Gideon panicked and tried to take his sword out but the man merely whispered in his ear.




" I see that greed, my friend. I see those eyes twinkling with something ugly, something maesters and septons alike decry. But do trust me on this," He sounded more and more like a demon or a malignant spirit; there was a nastiness to his voice that Gideon almost winced at.




" Men like us ought to stand tall together. Until our ambitions clash, and I certainly hope they never do, we can only grow from this."




He moved away and remained as silent as Gideon was, both of them peering into the other's eyes. The snow-haired sellsword was half-satisfied with what he found in those orbs, but it was enough for him to offer a shaky nod.




Lyonel Mallister left the tent, and his smile disappeared as swiftly as it had come. All traces of his previous excitement were erased.




Gideon sat on his makeshift bed, his chest heaving as he regained his breath. He could hardly believe what had transpired. With Commander Oswyn's words and now this, clearly he was attracting attention faster than he had thought possible.




It only now became evident to him, that he was unable to see himself for what he had become. He had not yet come to terms with his changing reality but with those budding muscles, his new height…and his newfound proficiency in the art of killing that was coming from magical means rather than mere training and experience….




He had to face it. He had to move forward lest he be left behind by the world his ambitions had forced him to enter. He was a sellsword. He would wage war, he would kill, he would grow. The sooner he could adapt, the greater the height he would reach during this conflict.





He jumped to his feet and rummaged through his belongings to fetch all of his coins. He knew just what to do.




_________



He quickly found what he was looking for, a blacksmith with a stock. He could not really order a piece and wait for it to be done, as the army would surely move as soon as the men recovered from the previous battle. They would not wait any longer as the plan moving forward seemed to indeed be the siege of Pinkmaiden. The castle had been in the Rebels' hands for too long and apparently, House Tully would not suffer this slight any longer.




And if he was to participate in this siege, he might as well get himself something nice and sturdy to avoid dying before he could make a true name for himself. Now his current finances were far greater than what a sellsword of his rank should have, but he could easily explain it by citing his past. The lords were aware that he was once beside Lord Aster Tyrell and he could pass this small fortune as the Lord's passing gift to him.




It should not be too suspicious; at least, he hoped so. Regardless, he questioned the gruff old man on what he could and should buy with the coins he had in his possession.




" Yer sword don't look half bad, boy. Probably don't need no replacin' for now. I'd say get yerself some decent hauberk to put beneath the leather. Now that I look at that leather though…"




The old man looked him up and down, appraising his rather lacking armour. In his defence, it was still leagues above what the common soldier in the loyalist army wore.




" Yeah, you should probably get yerself some padded leather with that. Shouldn't even take all of yer coins. Let me get a look at my stock. " The man nodded to himself and went to look over the pieces he had already made.




Contrarily to the smithies he had visited in Oldtown and Highgarden, this one was fairly humble, but the smith himself had clearly made a great number of arms and armour in preparation for the coming army.




He returned a short time after, holding a black padded armour and a rather long hauberk. Whilst the padded gambeson was not much to look at, probably because the hauberk itself was eating too large a part of his budget for him to be able to afford anything else….the hauberk certainly looked impressive. At last, he would have some steel on his person.




And thankfully with his rapidly growing strength, he would not find himself strained too badly by the added weight.




He tried it on and after some bits of adjusting here and there, he was set. He paid and would forever deny he regarded his remaining coins with glistening eyes.





As he paraded through the camp like a prancing horse, showing off his newly acquired equipment even though many officers wore far better pieces, he noticed Lieutenant Constantine coming back from the castle with a stormy expression.




He did not intend to get on the man's nerves, but he found that his curiosity won against any instincts of self-preservation.




"Trouble heading our way, Lieutenant?" He called out.




Constantine's clicked his tongue in anger before he actually turned his head and noticed him, standing in the middle of the camp with his chest all puffed out.




"Well, at least now you probably won't die from the first actual stabbing you get. But you look stupid. " Constantine said.




Despite his rising indignation, Gideon simply smiled and approached the restless Lieutenant.




" And yes, we do have some troubles heading our way. Lord Roote's army is still nowhere to be seen even though they should have arrived at most directly after the battle. None of the scouts know where they may be and the lords….well, they have a most interesting theory." Constantine answered as he rubbed circles around his temples.





A theory? How strange. Without the words even being spoken out loud, Constantine saw the question on his lips and continued.





" As you might know, we faced a large part of the rebel's army yesterday. All that was really missing were the forces they had kept on the Blackwood and Frey's lands, and the sellswords….those fucking archers." Gideon felt just about the same amount of resentment. They had ruined an otherwise good battle.





" Amongst the lord, the most likely explanation for this situation is that the sellswords linked up with the reserve forces and have attracted Lord Roote's army towards a trap. Whilst he had orders to join us at the Acorn Hall, Lord Roote would absolutely chase after a diminished force if his scouts noticed it….And I find myself agreeing with them. These bastards just won't let go. They won't let our entire army merge."





That was probably amongst the few things Gideon absolutely did not wish to hear. Again, a new trap had been placed. Even if it was just a theory, Gideon knew how likely it was. With how many troops the rebels had lost, it would take them some time to replenish. If they could delay the link-up of the loyalist's armies by leading Lord Roote into a merry chase away from the Acorn Hall, it could only benefit them.




" Wait, but Lord Roote's forces are mainly made up of cavalry. They would catch up to those remaining troops easily, wouldn't they?" He asked.




And only after he had done so, did he realize why Constantine seemed so upset. He answered his own question.




" If this is indeed what's happening…they wouldn't lead Lord Roote's men on a chase. They would have their infantry lead them to a terrain where their sellsword archers would…."





" Tear them apart, in exactly the same way they tore us apart. But Commander Oswyn has another idea. Can't say I know which theory is more likely." Constantine sniffed as he looked at the sky, clearly exhausted. He probably hadn't seen a lick of sleep last night.





" Commander Oswyn says they are indeed laying a trap. However, it might just be a trap for us, and not for Lord Roote's forces. They would force us to go with the first theory, we would thus ride out to help our second army, and then our entire army would have lost precious time running after nothing but smoke. "




Gideon felt a droplet of sweat run along his forehead.




" That would be….a terrific plan."




" It would be a fucking disgrace on our part, that's what It would be."




__________

A.N: Hey y'all, I would really appreciate comments or reviews as they allow me to see where the fic stands at any given point and if it is going in the right direction. It's also an incentive for me as a writer.

So don't hesitate to share your opinion or ask any questions you may have.


A.N 2: Sorry for the delay, but I find myself with no computer to write on, and writing on a phone is a horrid experience. I should be able to go back to a normal release schedule once I get a new computer.

The Loyalist lords had decided to send riders to meet Lord Roote's forces and warn them of the potential trap ahead. They had opted to err on the side of caution instead of being led on a merry chase. The second army would be ordered to regroup with them at Acorn Hall no matter what and ignore the Rebels' attempts at drawing them away.




The siege of Pinkmaiden took precedence over everything else. They needed to take back this keep and control it with an iron fist. Through it all, Gideon saw what preoccupied the lords and even the Boar Commanders. They feared the Lion. The Lannisters could reveal their hand and attack the Riverlands, in which case all would be lost as the Loyalists could not withstand the might of the Westerlands and the Starks would not arrive in time even if warned at the earliest time possible.




Tywin Lannister could spin a likely tale to wash his hands of any crimes, that much all were certain of. At this point, no matter how much they would have wanted to deny it, the realm laughed at them. Whilst the Lion had dealt with the rebels on his own land in one swift motion and traumatised all of his bannermen into never having the gall to try it again, here they stood having failed to cull the upstarts for more than a decade.




Of course, Lord Tywin had not been fighting a rebellion supported in secret by another Great Lord, but none could silence the mockeries with such arguments.




Gideon could not say which he preferred. The siege or a potential chase across the northern parts of the Riverlands. From what he had heard of sieges, only the rapidly successful ones were somewhat bearable. So long as they stretched beyond even a month, they would always be a curse to live through.




Still, he trained. Day and night, he sought to master his sword. His Prowess had given him enough strength to work with at this point. With a certain degree of mastery– and not necessarily anything on the level of the Kingslayers of Ser Barristan– he would become a force to be reckoned with.




But would that matter in a siege? The archers and siege engines would do the most damage, really. He chased these thoughts away. He would see once the siege was upon them. For now, they awaited the rest of the army and he did his best to show his progress to his superiors.




With how often he caught Commander Oswyn and Lieutenant Constantine staring at him, he could guess the effort had not even been needed. He caught glances, both curious and fearful, without having to lift a finger.




Lieutenant Constantine seemed to have taken a liking to him as he sometimes observed him closely and would even spar with him occasionally. He had expected such attention to draw the jealousy of the other sellswords, but they all seemed to be strangely fine with it. It almost appeared to be a foregone conclusion to them, like he had been meant to stand in the light from the moment he had arrived.




Something in him bristled when he caught these reactions. For now, he could not quite point out what the feeling even was, but still,, he continued his routine.




The heightened reflexes his higher Prowess had given were a gift from the Seven, quite literally, too, if his assumptions were right, and he found himself falling into a sort of counter-offensive style of combat.




He could afford to dance around his enemies and analyze them, let them commit mistakes that he could take advantage of through said reflexes and his swiftness of action.






Alas, he found out that he still stood across a gap that separated him from the likes of the good Lieutenant.




" Your feet, Gideon. I keep telling you! Your little nods are not as welcome when they are meaningless. Do not simply hear my words, listen to them." The Lieutenant barked at him as he, for the sixth time just in this sparring lesson, trapped his foot underneath his own steel-clad greaves. Once more, a shattering blow to the side came and Gideon found himself gasping for air.




" You are no knight, boy. Neither will be a majority of the men you will face out there. They will absolutely use everything they can to their advantage. If only because you will freak them into taking you seriously! You will seldom have the benefit of the doubt, and no one will look down on you for your age. You look too much like some monstrous Targaryen for that," He gritted his teeth at the words but simply glared at the taller man. He was but a petulant child in that position, but he certainly wouldn't give him a reaction.





" Use your brain, leave as few openings as possible. Your looks will scare them, your footing and positioning will leave them with no choice but to analyze you and inevitably…" The Lieutenant's armoured leg came crashing down on the back of his own. He realized he was in the air for half a second before his head met the ground and the pain made him yelp.





" Their inaction will give you time to attack first. Or they will charge in, too afraid to even think straight anymore. That is also quite good." Constantine smirked at him but he only saw part of the man's face from his position, with his body twisted and his feet next to his face.




" Can you just stop tripping me? By now I've kissed the ground more often than I've ever kissed my own mother!" Gideon whined but only a mocking giggle entered his ears.



He sighed and pushed himself back into a less awkward position. He opened his mouth but closed it immediately as he noticed another officer of the Boars.




" Lieutenant Constantine, we have received word from Lord Roote. The Commanders have called for you. I would recommend moving with haste, they are in a foul mood." The man spoke with a hint of fear. Apparently, he had been on the receiving end of this foul mood.




Constantine narrowed his eyes but quickly nodded. He left with a promise to continue this at another time, but Gideon only half-listened. He was more so focused on the officer. He cleared his throat before the man could leave as well.




" Ah Ser, would it be possible….to…well, I find myself quite curious as to what Lord Roote reported. What could've happened to warrant this reaction?" He asked. He could easily guess the man had not wanted to deal with him, but even as an officer, he seemed like the type who did not take pleasure in throwing his weight around. A most rare case, especially amongst this company.



In the past days, he had been barked at like some street urchin trying to steal a loaf of bread in the crowded streets of Oldtown. And he had certainly not done anything to deserve such treatment.




The officer turned to him, words to deny this request already on his tongue, but he hesitated. He looked around, and when he confirmed that no one else would hear them, he relented.




" If you share this with the others, I will not take the blame for it. Do you hear me,, boy? And my words will outweigh yours quite heavily." Gideon swore on the Seven themselves that he would keep this a secret, but the man appeared as non-religious as they came. Still, he spoke in a hushed tone.




" Those fucks burned our supplies. They quickly noticed that Lord Roote was not falling for their bait, but instead of turning back and retreating to the Twins, they followed the cavalry and burned the supplies during the night. We've lost more than we can easily replace. This will push back the siege until we can replenish our stocks, s'why the Commanders have been yelling in their tent. No one's been brave enough to approach yet."




Ah. This would indeed explain the reaction.




" How did they even pull this off without being seen? I assume Lord Roote expected them to at least try an ambush or something. I have only been here for a short time and I already know these rat bastards do not give up easily." He questioned the officer who gulped. That reaction sounded some warning bells in his mind.




" They pulled a strategy they haven't used since the early years of the war. Apparently, they took some corpses with them when they retreated from that battle. They dressed up their men to fool our own in their camp and covered some tents and a good number of horses in some tree sap or something, don't know what this was all about really. Then…" Something in the officer's eyes told him that the description of the events Lord Roote had given must have been quite horrid.




" They left a trail of the sap behind them and set it on fire. By the time the camp turned into a fucking Dragon's wet dream they had crossed more than enough distance. No one saw it coming and none could chase after them. Lord Roote wrote that the fire was hellish to deal with and the sap just wouldn't come off."




That was worrying, to say the least. What kind of tactics were those? He could easily guess that none of the lords on the other side could have thought of that. No, this sounded like….



" You said this was something they already attempted earlier in the war? Did their sellswords come up with the idea?"




The very same who had already turned a supposedly decisive victory into something disgustingly bitter with the number of loyalist men they took with them during that hail of arrows.




The man nodded and he noticed how the fear turned into blazing hatred. Just the mention of those sellswords was enough to get the man's blood boiling.




" The Copper Brotherhood, these fucks….th-these fucking snakes! Always with the scheming, always with those dirty tactics!"




So, this was a recurrent adversary for the Boars. Perhaps even one they had crossed steel with outside of this war? Then again this specific officer did not seem old enough to have participated in any war before this one.




The man excused himself, still positively shaking in fury, and left Gideon alone with his thoughts.




Whilst the Rebels themselves were bound to have a few competent lords at the very least, it was disconcerting to hear that they had vicious sellswords on their side. With the rebel houses providing the manpower and this Copper Brotherhood coming up with this sort of tactic, it was no wonder the Loyalists could not easily crush the rebellion.




He would have to get more information on them whenever possible. It would have to wait until the tension came down, however. If the Commanders and this officer were of any indication, the whole camp would be bristling in anger by the time everyone became aware of what had transpired.




Their supplies, burned in the dead of the night by an already vanquished army. That had to sting. In fact….




He had been there for a short amount of time, and despite having been born a Riverlander he felt no deep love for this land….and yet.





" I couldn't get an easy victory as my first-ever conflict, eh? You damn rats will make a good sharpening tool at the very least…."





Something flashed atop him.




[ The Champion has received a Side Quest! ]


Quest: Turmoil for the Fish


Side Quest: The Siege of Pinkmaiden


Objective: Take over Pinkmaiden for the Loyalists.


Additional Objective n°1: Be instrumental to the siege's success.


Additional Objective n°2: Take Pinkmaiden before Rebel reinforcements can arrive.


Additional Objective n°3: Defeat ??? in single combat.



Reward: +2 Martial, +2 Artisan, +600 Silver Stags, +30 Reputation, +2 Prowess.



Additional Reward n°1: +30 Reputation, +20 Relation with House Tully, +400 Silver Stags.


Additional Reward n°2: ???


Additional Reward n°3: ???





Defeat…who?







_________________


A.N: Hey y'all, just wanted to say comments and reviews will be appreciated as like many authors, I function with interaction be it positive or negative. And it also helps me know what I'm doing right and what I'm completely messing up.



Anyway feel free to follow the fic or whatever, I will try to update whenever possible as the schedule will still be a bit random until I get a new PC.

A month had passed since the day the Loyalists received the most terrible news pertaining to their supplies. As expected, putting the stocks back to acceptable levels had been a long endeavour, but Gideon welcomed the respite.




It allowed him to train, to cross the gap that existed between him and those in the army who had received an actual martial education, or at least been given more lessons than he.




It quickly became apparent that he was horrid with any and all far-reaching weapons. For some reason, he kept trying to get closer to his adversaries, and nothing could quite knock the habit out of him, certainly not the countless beatings he received from his officers. All the same to him, it merely meant he would have to stick to swords and axes. His skill with the bow and crossbow also did not seem to grow as much as the rest did.




But in a month's time, he could tell he had truly become a warrior. Nothing to write home about for any other man, but his current Prowess put him above a large part of the army. He had expected to feel even a smidge of shame at that, but he had quickly found out how easy it was for him to completely smother any such thoughts.




Had he truly deserved this gift? Was he a true warrior if a major part of his ability to hack and slash came from the Gods and not from his own sweat and tears?




Yes. He very much believed so.





No one could tell him otherwise anyway, and that was a good thing.




But there were more pressing matters than these questions of merit. The siege was fast approaching. With each day the men grew more and more restless, none more so than the lords.




This continued defiance of their authority, this mockery of their ability as lords and commanders was grating on their nerves more than they would ever care to admit. For men who continuously played in the great game of nobles, they certainly lost their composure easily. But perhaps that was not fair, this war had raged on for far longer than any had expected.




During this month, he had often found himself invited to the keep. Whenever he walked across the hall and the corridors of cracked and aged stones, he heard whispers and sighs. And in every mouth, only one name kept being repeated, always with no small amount of exasperation.




The Lannisters.




By this point, and through no real proof of their actions but rather by way of sheer annoyance, every loyalist lord in the keep was convinced the Great House was secretly backing the rebels.




Of course, he never gave it much thought, mostly because of the very reason as to why he was invited to the keep. Lord Lyonel Mallister often called for him, and not once did he refuse. He simply pretended that he was not, in fact, shivering at the very mention of the man, and answered each of his calls.




To this day he could not truly point out what made him avoid the man's eyes as they spoke, nor what summoned the goosebumps on his skin whenever he would approach the lord. There was something deeply wrong with the man, but nothing directly threatening. That is to say, Gideon did not believe that the man could harm him directly, and he did not scare him as a great warrior standing across from him on the battlefield would.




No, in fact, he trembled at the sight of the unknown, for not once had he been able to peer into this man's soul. He could never seem to understand what was going on in the head of the only one beside Commander Oswyn who genuinely looked past his freakish nature with ease. And in a way, this casual dismissal filled him with far more fright than mirth.





The man never wanted more than innocent little discussions. But every time, he would lead the conversation into dangerous territories. Gideon easily realized that he was being tested. More than that, Lyonel Mallister seemed to be questioning the young sellsword's loyalty. With small comments on how resilient the Rebels had proven to be, and hidden backhanded compliments for the loyalist lords, he searched for any and all reaction he could find.




For four days now, he had not called for him. So perhaps he had found what he had been looking for. Gideon hoped not. But that did get him thinking. Despite himself, he listened intently to all that the lord had to say on both the Rebels and Loyalists alike.




That is why he sat in the fresh grass, caressing it with his calloused hand, as he watched Beryn train. When the man finally stopped, he finally noticed his young comrade and offered a small smile. They knew each other a tad more now, and both he and Lieutenant Constantine had considerably warmed up to the pink-eyed freak by now. Enough so to hand out corrections to whoever called him so behind his back.




"Enjoying the warmth before it inevitably rains again are we?" Beryn asked him as he sat down with a groan. Constantine had not gone easy on him.




" Can't say I prefer this weather to the arid wastes of Essos." Gideon shrugged. He glared at Beryn when the older man flicked him on the temple.




"It'll grow on ya kid. A friend of mine used to say 'Nothing like a good rain to wash your sins away'."




Gideon simply stared in silence, forcing Beryn to cough in his fist awkwardly.




" W-Well, you'll learn to appreciate such wisdom at some point…maybe. Anyway, what did you want from your exhausted pal, eh?"




Gideon did not answer immediately. He returned to his passive staring at the forest in the distance. Standing defiant in the slight winds that parted his snow-white hair with ease, they barely shook. They lost part of their splendour with the distance, but their sight alone made him scratch his cheek in remembrance.




" I was just wonderin'...if we chose the right side," Gideon said, keeping his voice low. Beryn froze as he was about to take a sip from his water pouch. He gave him a small glance before putting the pouch down.





Then, he started laughing. Gideon recoiled somewhat from the surprise but otherwise let the man laugh, and he did so for a good minute.




" What do you find so humorous?" Gideon questioned him, his tone carefully measured.




" Haha, I do not mean to mock you, Gideon, I assure you." He finally took his sip and wiped his mouth as he calmed down. " Eh, I'll tell you at some point what I found so funny. But I do find myself curious, boy. What exactly makes you question our allegiance? Especially a month after the battle?"



Gideon's frown was quite fierce but he did try his best to contain his emotions. Unbeknownst to him he had taken a handful of grass blades and had begun tearing them slowly.




" The Loyalists seemed the obvious choice. The choice of one who sides with the winners and does not revel in taking unnecessary risks….do they still seem so now?"




Beryn nodded his head without really looking at him.




" I can understand that the slow progress gives way to doubts. But truthfully, this war has not been raging on for more than a decade for some reason as simple as incompetence from our good loyalist lords. That would be too easy, wouldn't it?" He asked with some insufferably smug smile.




Gideon threw the grass away and sighed.




" So are we destined to trudge through the mud as though we are but farmers ploughing under the heavy rain with some hope that the Gods will shine their smiles on us?"





" Not quite. You fail to consider the obvious."




In his older colleague's place, Gideon imagined one of the many cavalrymen who were not quite as lucky and crumbled under the unending volleys.




" The obvious to me is what this first battle taught me. They are apt tricksters and devilish strategists." Beryn snorted and he couldn't help but punch the man in his side. " One also cannot deny that with the Rebels, we would stand to gain a lot more should we somehow defeat the ruling house."





"Would we not gain exactly as much as lowborn sellswords such as us could hope to, when the Loyalists do win and certain rebel Houses need to be…replaced?" Beryn countered. Gideon's head snapped in his direction with frightening speed. He pondered over those words in silence. He returned to his staring, this time towards the far horizon.




"And what about the Lannisters? Should we not worry that, at one point, they will reveal their hand and openly enter this war? Even if they do fear the Crown's intervention and merely remain hidden…I do fear they will prove to be too great of a backer in the shadows."




Beryn went up on his feet in one motion and stretched his back. Then, he put his head atop Gideon's head.





The younger man's eyes widened when he felt Beryn's long fingers further mess up his already wild hair. Still, he smiled without quite intending to.




" One would be right to fear the Lion. Whether masked by the shadows or standing proudly beneath the sun, it pounces with great effectiveness. But I do not quite believe that the proud lion will further embarrass itself with an unending war that is sure to be an unacceptable drain on the coffers."




Beryn started to walk away, but Gideon remained perplexed.




" The answer does not come to me as easily as I hoped it would." He shared his thoughts and Beryn merely laughed again.




" Unless you intend to run away before the siege, I reckon you will go through a dance with death again, and do not think you will be able to see yourself on the other side once that happens. You'll have bled too much by then to envision a change of heart." Beryn answered though he whispered something else beneath his breath. " You have not been toughened enough to withstand the weight of betrayal. For now, you will remain…"





Gideon watched Beryn lift his head to look at the clouds above. The rain was upon them once more. He idly wondered if this was an omen courtesy of the Gods themselves.





"Know what, kid?" Beryn turned back to smile at him one last time.





"If we do survive again, I think I'd like to test you once more. "




This time, he truly did leave.




Gideon decided to remain despite the rain, more so to wash off his fearful thoughts than his sins.



______________________


( Tyrion Lannister )



Not one glance, not even to sneer at him in poorly disguised disgust. Ever the unshakable and focused picture of what a lord ought to be, his father navigated through a seemingly endless pile of documents without even so much as entertaining the thought of partaking in the bottle of arbour gold beside him.




A shame to see such fine wine go ignored. Be it wine or women, Tyrion would never provide such cold shoulder treatment. He wondered why his father even bothered to let the wine remain on his desk, an overbearing temptation just a hair's breadth away.




Those steely green eyes caught on his interest and only then did the quill in his hand stop its constant movement. Tyrion held his breath but also held his gaze against his father's.




" Perhaps you have fooled yourself into believing I have called you to share a drink. Have your attempts to prove yourself a greater whoremongering oaf than our dearest King finally dulled your senses to such a point?"




He did not wince, not this time. And he did try to hold his head high, but what importance would it make? The head of a dwarf held high would look to his father as no more than a demon's arrogant provocation.




He poured himself a drink still.





" What I believe matters not, that much I do believe." He smirked despite his instincts screeching at him not to make such a mistake. He pointedly did not meet his father's eyes as he did so.




" You have been paying attention to matters that did not call for it, Tyrion. Will you make a habit of sticking this…nose of yours where it does not belong?" Tywin Lannister put down his quill and clasped his hands on the desk.




What fell power allowed his father to command the elements and turn the very air frigid? He would always wonder. And without an answer, he would simply continue to tremble slightly and hide such movement from the lion's gaze.




" I do have a habit of sticking my body parts where they do not belong. I find that I need to be told rather expressively when doing so is unacceptable." He joked. Immediately after, he gulped in fright when the lion narrowed his eyes.




This was no time for his japes. He never did like them, but in such moments he always felt like they could get him killed. His father certainly held no such great love for him as to spare him the punishment for a perceived slight. But was his sole existence not a slight anyway?




"What possessed you to ask these questions? I find myself curious as to how you could have possibly come to know of my projects, Tyrion. Does the rock we call a home happen to have one too many ears stuck in the walls?" He was starting to sweat despite the impossibly cold glare his father fixed him. He adjusted his collar beneath that stare and gulped the content of his glass in one go.




" Do we need to cut such ears? A Lion cannot suffer the scurrying rats in its own den."




He swallowed too quickly. He started to cough in his fist, rather violently at that. Under his father's somewhat amused stare, he fought to keep his composure, and thankfully enough, the coughing subsided before he could further make a fool of himself. Not that a dwarf wasn't a fool from birth. His father did always treat him as such.




" I-I believe not, father. And while I do apologize for my actions…I find myself curious still."



His father rolled his eyes and he found himself agreeing with the gesture. He was truly incorrigible. But the thoughts were nagging at him for months now.




The Lion left his seat and slowly walked around the desk, with measured and threatening steps. He towered over Tyrion, as he always did, and somehow found great pleasure in it.




He never understood where his father's love of feeling superior towards those who were subservient to him anyway came from. What a petty feeling. And he had the gall to call him a petty and vain creature. He took after the great lion in more ways than he would care to admit.




" That is exactly how you will find yourself on the other end of a blade one day, with no Lannister gold and equally gilded tongue to save you from this ultimate blunder. But I will at least humour you for your efforts."




He walked back to his chair and poured himself a drink as well. His glass was noticeably half-full. Tyrion ignored that smugness in his eyes and stared ahead.




It would never cease to amaze him how this man who seemed to find no pleasure in life nor any activity which he could call a passion, transformed into such a catty child when it came to pick on the dwarf. His favourite time of day one could claim.





" As you have undoubtedly guessed, for you at least possess a measure of wit, Lannister coins are flowing in the purses of the Riverland Rebels."



His father stared at him as he sipped on the wine. He nodded but held his tongue.




" The fish has proven itself unable to put down mere upstarts. And unlike what they seem to think, to justify their incompetence most likely, I was by no means connected to the Rebels when they first rose in defiance."





" But you peered through the cracks and pounced on a great opportunity. For what Lion would not do as such?" Tyrion continued for him.




His father paused before sitting back down.




" Quite so," Of course, he could not help himself and sneered. His father was quite fond of such gestures. " And perhaps I was too careless with the trail of coin leading back to our House. If you found out, it would not be a mere fantasy to imagine that others could as well. Although we shall soon be fixed on whether to hide our involvement…or push through for a final assault."




The words sent shivers down Tyrion's spine. There was a horrid hunger in his father's expression. The same terrible ambition that pushed him to horrible lengths and which he justified with his favourite word: Legacy.




" You believe that the war will soon see an end?" He asked.




His father picked up his quill and signed yet another letter.




" Beliefs matter little in the face of simple facts, Tyrion. And we shall soon find ourselves with said facts, the realities of this conflict once the Loyalists' latest plan comes to fruition and they besiege Pinkmaiden. They will continue to float with great uncertainty, or they will sink at the bottom of their lake."




Tyrion found that his thirst was missing for once, his lips oddly dry despite his prior sip of the godly liquid that occupied his days and nights.




" With a victory on their part, we reconsider our investment and take advantage of their current weakness in ways that could not be traced back to us. With a defeat…."




" The House of the Lion may stand to gain more from this one foolish conflict than it has in a decade. Perhaps even more than when I had convinced the oaf on his bladed throne to marry my daughter despite his attachment to…the she-wolf."




He remembered a time when he spoke of these two with far more vitriol. With time, disgust made way for mere condescension. Given enough time, he might come to believe himself superior to the Gods themselves.




Without even a parting word, Tyrion knew he was dismissed. This had been no more than an opportunity to gloat and to warn him not to prod any further.




Again, this would not be a lesson he would learn from. But he would keep this in a corner of his mind.




Depending on the actions of either side, this conflict could very well shape the future of the Seven Kingdoms as a whole.



And with all his heart, he prayed to the Seven despite their years of abuse. He could only hope this would not evolve into the opportunity Tywin Lannister had been waiting for.


_____________________


A.N: Hey y'all, just wanted to say comments and reviews will be appreciated as like many authors, I function with interaction be it positive or negative. And it also helps me know what I'm doing right and what I'm completely messing up.

( Eddard Stark )



He had never been one to shy away from the worship of the old gods. He was known to visit the godswood quite often, even more so nowadays than in his youth. But in the past year, he sought the wisdom and guidance of those who peered at mortals through the weirwood trees.



The trees wept constantly these days. He could not understand why, and neither did anyone that he had summoned to examine the issue. They wept throughout the nights as though the world was to end next morning, but nothing ever seemed to happen.



Was there a distant storm brewing in some obscure corner of the world? Was his old friend fraught with such sorrow that he would soon act on his morbid thoughts and plunge the Seven Kingdoms into chaos?




Ned believed himself a man of reason. But honor and dignity was not reason, it came from the heart more so than from a sane mind. He knew the ways of the heart, even more so after those ways robbed him of his sister and pushed a forbidden babe into his arms. For as long as Robert had sat on that throne, he had been worried sick that one day he would prove himself no more than the lesser evil that was chosen to replace the Mad King.



And it seemed to be so, when his best friend sat on that accursed throne and did not seem ready to even so much as scold his subjects as they waged war upon one another. But could he truly frown upon this inaction?




Was he any different, kneeling in supplication before the weeping trees, watching its leaves float almost lazily in the air before landing at his feet? He knew what had to be done, but certainly not if he could drag the north kicking and screaming, into a foolish conflict that seemed destined to drag on until the end of time.




" My lord husband…"




He stilled slightly when he heard Cat's voice. Ever so sweet, but with a stern undertone. The very same she took with their unruly boys. That was how she perceived him these days. Stubborn and full of contradictions, a boy who could not be made to see sense.




" Another letter from the Riverlands?" He asked softly. He remained in his position but opened his eyes to stare at the face carved in the tree. The eyes almost seemed to focus on him, to judge him. He wondered how the Gods viewed him, the wolf holding back a snarl for more than a year now.




" My uncle wrote to me this time. Most dire news…A bitter victory and stolen supplies. This war won't ever see an end if nothing is done…"




He turned his head slightly as he put more of his weight onto his sword, stabbed into the soft ground before the Gods.




" Your brother won't call for help. He refuses to believe in even the possibility of defeat, no matter the numerous setbacks. Cat…You know I have half a mind to ride to the Riverlands, even on my lonesome if that is required…."




He heard her quietly sob. His heart clenched at the sound. Catelyn was strong, unbelievably so. But war had raged in her family's ancestral lands for a decade now, she had left a brother behind, a foolish boy placing pawns on a board with as much thought as a drunkard put in managing his coin at the local tavern. She worried then, and now she was terrified.




The more this went on, the more she saw through the veil of confidence and bravado. Her house truly stood to lose more in this conflict than even during the rebellion against Aerys. Edmure barely ever wrote to her. Her constant berating of his intelligence and lack of caution had truly soured their once pure relation.



He went back on his feet without even realizing it. Glancing at his lady, he smiled to comfort her, as though this slight upturning of the lips could truly warm her heart amidst the frigid morning winds. Her auburn hair floated wildly around that exhausted face of hers. She had walked here hastily.




" The wildlings, Cat….With them raiding our villages, we cannot afford to join a war uninvited. You have known the Northern lords for long now. You know, as well as I do, that as much as joining this war would split our forces, it would also split the bannermen's hearts."




" They would listen to you, lord husband. They would ride for you, without needing much of a reason. You are Lord in the North, you have their swords and their souls."




He walked up to her and took her in his arms. That much would truly warm her, body and spirit alike. But he shook his head.




" Soon, we will rid our lands of the wildlings. I know not what commanded them to push into our lands with such ferocity, but they will leave once they realize their folly. Even beasts know fear as men do. Then, the North could join the Riverlands, even unbidden. But until this point, I cannot justify an intervention. If Edmure does not call upon our alliance, even my own desire on the matter will not change our current realities." He spoke. But even then he knew she could probably see through the facade. His clenched fists were enough of an indication.




His honor demanded that he march on these Rebels and put them down. His house was bound to House Tully, and he was a lord of the realm as much as he was Lord Paramount of the North. He could not suffer the chaos that the rebels brought with them and their insurrection never had much ground to stand upon, beyond a pathetic attempt to unseat House Tully due to their perceived weakness.




But the worrying accounts of Wildling raids kept coming to him. It had gotten to the point where he wondered if the North was not truly about to be fully invaded by the hordes that had, until then, remained safely on the other side of the Wall.




More than that, a certain rumour had reached his ears.




" You fear that the Lannisters are truly behind this, don't you Ned?" Cat asked as she buried herself in the fur of his coat. He narrowed his eyes as he saw a tuft of dark brown hair in the distance, poorly hidden behind a tree that could hardly conceal the figure.




Arya, most likely.




" I do fear for your brother, my lady. I worry for your house…"




" I worry for the Seven Kingdoms. Winter is coming, and I fear that the first sightings of snow may unexpectedly come from the South…"



___________________

( ??? )



Rain, nothing but dark omens upon dark omens. The Gods wept about as much as the lords whined in anticipation of the coming siege.



Apart from the pitter patter of the deluge, he heard nothing else. Neither the neighs of thousands of horses in the distance, nor the approaching clatter of armours and shields. They were not there yet. They still had time.




But beside him, men and boys alike shook like the Others of old were upon them. He would never blame them. He knew very little of war and had barely ever fought outside of duels. But he knew his own skills would suffice to keep him alive. What did they have to rely upon, but the cunning of a band of Sellswords and the empty promises of their lords, that they would see the sun shine on this downtrodden castle and roar in victory?




He giggled somewhat sardonically, but most ignored him. Their hearts pounded in their ears with the force of a dragon's flapping wings. He couldn't help himself really.




He always found humor in the absolute powerlessness of those who were often the first to be thrown in the jaws of war. Oh they could strike fear in the very souls of the peasants they trampled, but at their core, they were just as pathetically unimportant.




Faceless men in shoddy leather and plate, sneering at the cowering smallfolk whilst their own lords lounged in their keeps mocking them with delight. But what they did not know, could not possibly hurt them.




Assuredly, if he could speak to each and every one of them before their deaths, he would impart onto them the sad truth of their existence.




But he held himself. He reined his foul proclivities in. The rain struck his armour constantly. He almost felt detached from it, as though he was gazing at the torrent from behind a window, tucked in a bed and with a good hearth not far from him.




He reckoned, with the envious looks that had been sent his way when he'd arrived at Pinkmaiden, that the dark plate he wore, as well as his odd helm made him stand out quite fiercely. But it was highly protective, thank the gods. Though perhaps the visor fashioned as a bone white expressionless mask was a tad too much. His inner desire, or rather need, to unsettle had truly come out when he'd commissioned this.




But it served its purpose. He would be more than impressed if those loyalists did not sully themselves when they faced him. He would take a page right out of the Hound's book. Not that the man read books in any case, but that was beside the point.





But as he hummed to himself, immersed in the sound of the rain hitting his armor, he heard them. At first it was a sort of distant rumble. His eyes immediately shot in their direction, he was quite adept at detecting the origin of any sounds. He moved amidst the crowd of archers fumbling around nervously. His sudden steps alerted a few but most did not seem to have heard anything yet.





To his right he felt a pair of eyes, staring with a smouldering intensity. One of the lords, a minor one truth be told, but one of the rare nobles who seemed to have any idea as to how to behave in a war. With composure, and the will to defy the odds.




He nodded at him. His sharp senses were quite renown by now, he was a scout in all but name despite his best wishes.




The lordling notified others, but without raising his voice.




'Avoiding a panic, eh. With this lot this might the most sensible fucking thing a lord has done since the start of this war.'



He could only hope the fuckers on the other side were half as anxious. They were bound to have quite a few recruits amidst their rank anyway, what's with the losses the sellswords dealt them. That and the Mallisters. But he had not heard word of the Freys serving much of a purpose in the last couple of battles and skirmishes, how typical.




He left this high spot upon the walls. He was no archer. He would only come there if the loyalists somehow climbed the walls on their own. With the current disposition of rebel troops in Pinkmaiden, he would be greatly needed if they did so. Hopefully they'd first try to breach the gates.




He heard them roar, and the stone walls almost shook from the rage alone.




His lips curled up, at halfway between a mocking snarl and a genuine smile.




' Didn't quite like the Coppers and their arrows, I presume. S'about how I felt after the Ruby ford you fucks.'





The men moved before him, a colony of panicked ants scampering around to the sound of the barking officers and lords alike. None paid him much attention.



After the Ruby Ford, after Harrenhal…after everything, now they recognized him with but a subtle glance. Not a great knight, nor a peerless warrior. Not one possessed by the grace of the Red Viper nor the vigor and brutal strength of the boisterous boar they now called King.




He was but one Knight amongst many. But they all knew his versatility. They all knew his capacity to adapt. Above all else…





They knew Ser Derrick Frey had been forsaken by the Stranger himself.





Once more, despite the odds, he would not die.





________________

A.N: Hey y'all, just wanted to say comments and reviews will be appreciated as like many authors, I function with interaction be it positive or negative. And it also helps me know what I'm doing right and what I'm completely messing up.

Emboldened by the victory at Acorn Hall, and barely disheartened by the loss of supplies and the month-long wait, they marched on Pinkmaiden with soaring hearts.




Even his usually calm facade was broken by the sheer enthusiasm. He found himself swept by the emotion that permeated the entire army. At long last, Gideon truly understood how men could lose themselves in war. No matter the terrible cost, no matter the traumatism. It was something greater than him. And even without true allegiance to his cause, he roared alongside his comrades.




He saw Pinkmaiden castle, now no longer a mere dot in the distance. It stood tall. Not a true gargantuan castle like the wolf's den that was Winterfell or the oppressively tall Casterly Rock, still it had some presence. Sitting on a small hill, overlooking the Red Fork and with an impressive host of men defending it.




Even from afar, he could spot the sheer number with relative ease. The twin houses Vance had sent their men from Wayfarer's Rest and Atranta to keep their grasp on Pinkmaiden. They had failed to remain in control of their own keeps in any case, so they sought to at least remain near and keep a force that could, in the event of a definite loss for the Loyalists in the region, allow them to regain their castles and even push for more.




Both sides understood perfectly how vital this western keep was for the war. With the looming lions, neither could afford the other side controlling this specific keep. He reckoned House Piper probably hadn't been considered this important for ages. Still, even with the hundreds of men inside the castle, the loyalists had a force of tens of thousands of motivated soldiers.




And speaking of motivation, he remembered the speech Commander Slade had given to them. This siege could not be allowed to last. Even if they had to heavily damage the walls and the keep itself, it needed to be as swift as possible.




The Loyalists could not allow the Rebels any time to recuperate. And none could truly point out where their remaining forces even were. Reports were quite clear on the matter, the Copper Brotherhood was still out there, with a force large enough to be an actual problem should it have enough time to come to Pinkmaiden's rescue. And everything pointed towards them being able to make it in time.




The month lost due to the burnt supplies had killed the Loyalists' greatest advantage for this siege: speed.



However, there was still a slight chance. The Copper Brotherhood, even with quite a few rebel soldiers in their midst, held no true loyalty to the cause they served. They would not attack if they came to find an already lost battle. They would turn back and regroup with the recuperating forces.




So this was the plan. A thunder assault, swift enough to counter any reinforcements. The castle was no Riverrun, they had trebuchets and a sturdy battering ram. The army was quite obviously large enough to trample these dogs.




They could do it.




That is precisely what he told himself as they approached. Thankfully the clouds were starting to disperse. The rain would not last. He could not help but find a reassuring message in this. The system was turning him into quite the believer. Especially when it came to divine intervention; he was a living proof of it after all.




His ears rang with the sound of shouts and jeers on both sides. They hadn't even reached the castle and they could see the men on the walls already. As would probably become a usual occurrence for the rest of this conflict, he was placed in the vanguard. Surprisingly enough, he found both Constantine and Commander Oswyn with him. The former offered him a small smile when he glanced his way but Oswyn merely glared at him.




It was as though he was ordering him to focus on the coming assault. There was no need to do so. His every thought was concentrated on it. His muscles ached in advance and his teeth threatened to shatter due to the force with which he clenched his jaw.





Beryn had told him sieges were amongst the worst moments in a soldier's life. He could only hope this one would be as swift an affair as the lords had planned it to be.




" Arrows incoming! SHIELDS UP!" Commander Oswyn shouted as he brought his own metal door of a shield upward. Last time he had not wielded this absurdly large slab of metal. In fact, even Lieutenant Constantine had changed his armament somewhat, he now wielded an elegant longsword with a rather small heater shield.





Gideon had already placed his own shield in position, having seen the incoming arrows almost at the same time as the Commander. He missed the way the man's eyes narrowed at the sight.




They continued their march with some difficulty. Whilst they did, Gideon imagined that the secondary army was already reaching its planned position.




Before the siege, it had been decided that a cavalry force would be sitting some distance from the castle, on the northeastern flank of the hill, awaiting any potential sortie from the garrison or any reinforcement from the Coppers.




Beryn probably waited in anticipation with these men. He would miss out on the action, a shame truly. If there was a moment to shine in the hopes of a promotion, this was it.




The battering ram advanced, nestled in the middle of the Vanguard's ranks. Scores of infantrymen kept their shields positioned to protect the few men who pushed it forward. Whilst the ram in itself offered some protection, it only covered the top and not the sides. Skilled archers could easily stop its advance, especially when it would be sufficiently close to the walls. On the sides, several groups held tight on the large ladders prepared for the siege. They were quite sturdy as far as he'd seen, but it still remained to be seen if the walls could be scaled.





But the most important pieces of siege equipment remained the four large trebuchets that advanced almost lazily behind the lines. He could swear with a hand over his heart that he would probably just abandon the defence of the castle if he'd been the one seeing those come up in the distance.




And it appeared that the defenders had really nothing to destroy the trebuchets unless they could sally out and somehow reach them.




'Highly doubt they'd be able to make it that far. Unless the Coppers pull off another miracle, this should be an easy victory. Remains to be seen how costly it'll be.'





As they inevitably approached the walls, the arrows still raining upon them with no indication of ever stopping, Gideon felt…something.




Eyes upon his person. A piercing gaze regarding him coldly. He shivered but held strong as his own sickly pink orbs swept the walls. He couldn't really see anything that stood out. Apart from the numerous archers in a competition to see who could drop him the fastest, there was nothing.




How vexing.




But as always, the system provided. He almost wished it hadn't.





[ A Side Quest has been updated! ]


Side Quest: The Siege of Pinkmaiden



Side Objective n°3: Defeat The Forsaken Knight in single combat.





His eyebrows shot up fiercely.




'The fucking what!?'





That was one terrifying title for a Knight. Was he some sort of Heretical knight? Possibly, but then again, only a few places in Westeros were truly fanatically loyal to the faith of the Seven. He couldn't have received this title from such places as he would have been arrested for being 'Forsaken', whatever this meant. And the rest of Westeros wouldn't comment on his heretical views anyway, least of all the Riverlands or the North.





So he was supposed to defeat some renowned and possibly infamous Knight, in single combat no less. Well, that was one objective he would not be completing. So long as the siege succeeded, he would be fine. The others could handle this threat on their own. He had only begun his journey to become an actual warrior a month ago, this was entirely too early….




Right?




He shook away these thoughts. No sense in getting distracted during this crucial moment.




They'd reached the main gate. He dared to look back and what he saw made bile rise in his throat. Entirely too many corpses, a whole field of them. He supposed that was how sieges went. The main issue was really that they couldn't protect themselves effectively from the arrows from from varying directions all the whilst protecting the ladders, trebuchets and the battering ram.




Thus was the cost. But it felt like ashes smeared on pastry. Was this really going to become a habit, to look back on every inch gained and see just how many men they lost for it?



Again, the length of the war was justified in these moments, even with all the incompetence Edmure Tully was supposed to be capable of mustering.




These dogs…




He saw those around him, equally as afraid as they were pumped to slice into Rebel meat. And the men around the battering ram shook it with such power, he almost imagined those were a dozen Robert Baratheon manning it.




" The ladders! GET UP THIS DAMNED WALL!"




Commander Oswyn shouted not far from here. At the same time, the walls shook, and so did Gideon. The trebuchets had fired. He heard panicked shouts upon the walls. Finally, they'd realized just how utterly fucked they'd be if those trebuchets could continue their work unhampered.




Their own archers fought back, with far less accuracy given their lack of training for the most part, but they suppressed the Rebels quite fiercely. They could not just fire at them half as easily with a hail of arrows blotting out the sun.




He did wonder if this tactic was not a bit too risky, however. Surely with this shoddy accuracy and the fact that their troops were in the line of fire anyway, they would actually be shooting at their own men at the same time.





But he was no officer. He was here to heed orders and take lives. And that satisfied him. Responsibilities were the cemetery of dreams.




But he would not be able to take lives if this damn gate simply refused to cave in. And it would not. And whilst they constantly banged upon the heavy gates, arrows poured out of the murder holes and caught careless infantrymen, one after the other. The majority held strong and simply waited, with their shields in place and a chipped confidence in this whole plan.




Suddenly, he saw upon the walls the mass of archers and knights who had climbed up to meet the incoming Loyalists on the ladders. He saw this mass lose a rather significant portion. A large part of them ran away, but not quite in fright, and Lieutenant Constantine, seemed to immediately catch on to what was happening.




He ordered another soldier to hold onto the ladder, as he himself had been doing until now and began to climb rather aggressively. At the same time, he was shouting at Commander Oswyn to follow him. Gideon caught the words exchanged and froze instantly.




" For fuck's sake, I knew this would happen! They found the digging force! Commander, we need to take those damn walls quickly or they'll collapse the tunnels!"




He looked at the west flank of the castle, where the rest of the Rebels had gone running off to. A droplet of sweat ran down his forehead.




'We were supposed to dig a tunnel under the walls!?'





___________


A.N: Hey y'all, just wanted to say comments and reviews will be appreciated as like many authors, I function with interaction be it positive or negative. And it also helps me know what I'm doing right and what I'm completely

The battering ram would end up tearing down the damn gate. Eventually, it would. That much he knew. But he was never the most patient of men. More than that, everything had clicked in his mind the moment he'd heard Constantine's shout.




They had planned for a secret force to dig under the walls, probably on the opposite side of the battle. The aim was obvious in and of its own, though he did wonder just how many men they'd sent there, as this force needed some numbers for the surprise attack to even amount to anything.




However, this wasn't important at the moment. They wouldn't have sent just anyone there, and he could easily imagine that this battle ending as swiftly as planned, partly hinged on this specific tactic working. All in all…



The Rebels could not be allowed to ruin by either collapsing the tunnels or countering with their own. They had to create momentum and overwhelm them before they could start effectively picking their strategy apart.





That was why he decided, despite his own heart beating with reckless abandon in his chest, that he had to scale the wall as well. He followed after Constantine and Commander Oswyn like a man possessed.



He held back his gasp when a corpse fell down the ladder. He heard a sickening crunch on the soft soil below but he climbed anyway. Above, he saw Commander Oswyn pushing a great number of Rebels away with a roar to be able to set foot upon the walls.



The numbers of the Loyalist army were too great, and such could also be said for the number of ladders. They were spreading themselves thin to prevent the assault, but for as many ladders they successfully pushed off, enraged Loyalist levies would appear to meet them headfirst.




Once he arrived atop the walls, he could finally peer inside and saw a court filled with stone-faced knights. Some of them were running towards the stone stairs to reach the walls and reinforce the archers but a square of them remained, perfectly in position and ready to meet any who dared to step past the gates.




He also noticed a clear division in the archers and pikemen desperately trying to gut the Lieutenant and Commander. Those who fought with far more discipline than the sheer despair of cornered prey were quite obviously members of the Copper Brotherhood.




On the left wall, they were also the ones who continued to shoot arrows after arrows upon the forces waiting for the ram to breach in. The garrison was frantically trying to push away the ladder or pour what appeared to be boiling water on the heads of the climbing Loyalists.




He winced when he heard the shrieks of abject pain coming from those who were met with said water. Thank the gods this wall had been scaled quickly enough that he had not been subjected to this.




But he had observed his surroundings for a split second too long…




" Argh!" Came his own cry as a pike caught his shoulder. It did not pierce through but it snapped him back to reality.




" You fuckwit!" He swore as he seized the pike's handle with his shield hand. He tugged on it and dragged a boy his age with it, tears forming quickly as he realized what was coming his way.



Gideon's skull came crashing down on the pikeman's, the rage of a charging bull following it. A shame this specific pikeman had been sent to battle his own brethren without even a helm of any kind. But the snow-haired warrior would not shed any tears over it.



He felt the soldier that had climbed right after him trying to push past him and enter the fray. In the blink of an eye, an idea came up to him. He gazed at the assembled mass of archers and smirked.




'This is either sheer genius, or the Prowess made me far too arrogant and I'll be remembered as the single most idiotic sellsword of this era.'




He barely tried to gauge the drop behind the wall, before he put everything he had in his legs and…flung himself in the archers, who had expected anything but that.




In a moment frozen in time, as he barrelled towards the ground with the numerous Rebels he had taken with him, he saw Oswyn's eyes widen and heard Constantine's delighted laugh in passing.




He had jumped in the mass of archers and taken a whole chunk of them with him. The rest upon the wall were stunned for longer than they had any right to be. And his fellows capitalized on it.



He landed atop the stable's roof, as did a few Rebels whilst others simply collided with the outer court's bloodied mud.




"Ahahaha, you won't escape your image as a freak with such folly, Gideon!"




That was a voice he had not wanted to hear. So Lord Lyonel had followed them, huh?



He barely registered the words anyway, as he'd hit his head on the roof. Three small trails of blood ran down his head, but he hardly felt it.




He stood on slightly shaky legs and grasped his blade. The Rebels did so as well, though they had taken far more damage from the fall. As expected.



He could already envision a future of risky moves like this with his Prowess. He couldn't tell if this sudden arrogance replacing his usual fear was truly a boon, however. There was no real need to put himself in such danger.





Yet…one could not deny the flames that burned the brightest were the easiest to notice at sea. If he wanted to shine, if he wanted to climb up the ranks as he had the ladder, he needed to become a bit unreasonable.




He was no strategist yet, but he could stand taller than others through sheer balls alone.



He offered a toothy smile to those before him. They shook and exchanged panicked looks.



He took a step forward, they recoiled in answer.



Below, those who hadn't just fainted or died from the impact were already on their feet. Two arrows whistled past him, but he was already moving.




The only one upon the roof who seemed to have kept a sliver of bravado charged at him. The rest followed on instinct. Best to attack the beast all at once.



He ducked under the wild swing of an axe and tried to bury his sword in the valorous one's cranium, but another threw his shoulder forward. The force pushed Gideon just enough so that the blow from the third Rebel missed him entirely.



He crashed his knee in the stomach of the one who'd got the hit, and he cringed when the fool straight up just vomited on his boots.



He rattled his brain with a shield shot to the head. It threw the poor sod off the roof. The other two hacked at him at the same time. But they were too close to one another.




He sidestepped the blades and ran his alongside the second one's chest. Their shoddy leather armours could barely handle the steel's bite.



Whilst that one stupidly clutched the wound, Gideon jumped over him to reach the valorous one. The man prepared for a sword slash but received a kick to the throat that nearly sent him off the roof as well.




He took the time to reposition himself, but Gideon finished off his friend by sliding his sword into the man's neck with one clean thrust.



Then he jumped again. He took ahold of the last one's torso and threw the both of them off the roof. He forced himself to ignore the worrying sound he heard when they landed and convinced himself it came from his now unconscious adversary.




He raised himself up and was met with nearly a dozen Rebels. The square formation of Knights in the court was staring at him but made no indication of moving.




He took a certain sick pleasure in seeing how the utterly mad drop from the wall followed by the quick dismissal of their comrades on the stable's roof, had cracked the confidence of the remaining archers and pikemen.




Confident or not, they had no real choice but to fight. They made sure to let him know of that when they dragged their feet along the mud and assumed their position.




That was perhaps a bit too much at once for him….but why the hell not? They blocked the way to the stairs anyway, so he couldn't get back up.




At most, he could hope that he could survive long enough for the other Loyalists to come down. Though their goals were both to take control of the walls and run after the Rebels who'd been sent after the digging force. He did doubt they would come down for him.




Something collided with the stable's roof once more. He barely reacted, his eyes trained on the Rebel scum. His shield hand's fingers twitched in anticipation.



The first rays of sunlight had pierced through the dispersing clouds and were illuminating his figure on the castle grounds, shining bright light on his bloodied white hair.



But that was not the reason as to why the assembled Rebels narrowed their eyes in some measure of controlled fright.




He looked over his shoulder and saw another one of the Boars. This one he had not met yet. He certainly would've remembered the man.




His armour was simple enough, though it certainly struck him immediately. It was an Essosi armour. Silk cloth with crude plates over it. The headpiece, supposed to cover the head and prevent heat stroke, simply hung around the man's neck. He wielded two curved swords strangely enough. Not a great believer in the philosophy of survival it seemed. Or perhaps simply a suicidal man. Gideon would not judge.




He cut nearly as imposing a sight as himself, standing over the roof with his tanned skin glinting under the sun with no hint of sweat. Either he'd barely fought yet or he possessed a great deal of endurance.



His wild mane of blonde hair flowed without much sense to it. That could not be very practical for a soldier, but Gideon could hardly judge him for it. He did find himself slightly jealous of his piercing azure eyes, but the thought only lasted until the man opened his mouth, a mocking smile plastered on his face.




With a nasal voice and a slight accent, he drawled out, " I know the boy looks like he stepped out of a dusty book on the Dance of Dragons, but you all need to learn some manners, you dogs."




He took a mere step forward and dropped down the roof. His knees hardly even buckled from the fall.




" You fiends chose just the right side. Nero Draarys shall send you to meet your Gods. Pray for your comrades as you ascend."




______________


A.N: Hey y'all, just wanted to say comments and reviews will be appreciated as like many authors, I function with interaction be it positive or negative. And it also helps me know what I'm doing right and what I'm completely