[Chapter Size: 3400 Words.]
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Third Person POV
Bear Island, 300 AC.
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The first charge ca out of the forest advancing with a thunderous sound of 500 horseshoes crashing against the ground while the camp was in complete chaos, with the ironborn running to their weapons or seeking shelter without having any defense against them, those n did not know how to stop a charge of 500 horses advancing like a wave of death, while their 1200 n there would be dood.
"Archers! Quickly, formation!" Tristifer shouted to his n, his voice clearly showing nervousness.
The first line tried to form, but they had no way to create defenses against a heavy charge coming straight at them, after all, they were 500 armored n to the point that their own horses had a layer of Eldental to protect their vital points and prevent them from falling easily.
"Shields! Form shields!" Other orders rose from other leaders, but everyone already knew it was too late.
The charge of horses was already upon them at that mont, there was nothing more to be done, the armored warriors of Arctic all wearing helts advanced without rcy.
The coat of arms of the kingdom beyond the wall seed to shine before the earth rising with the horses' hooves, their first real battle in the seven kingdoms as conquerors.
The banners held by the standard-bearers fluttered, their enemies only saw the enormous wave approaching.
They even tried, though uncoordinated, they loosed their arrows placing them as fast as possible on the strings of their bows before aiming forward, firing into that line of horses, but their arrows either missed or struck against the armor without damaging it.
Their expressions of fear were seen, twisting even more as the horses drew closer.
Until...
The impact of the charge exploded over the n who were simply thrown backward by the force of the horses.
The first line simply ceased to exist.
Shields were crushed against chests, spears shattered, n were hurled into the air like dolls. The impact of the first of the 500 mounted horses was the first wave of death for the ironborn.
The sound was horrendous.
The crack of bones.
The crushing of flesh beneath hooves.
tal cutting through light armor as if it were wet leather.
Lancelot was at the vanguard.
His sword ca down diagonally, opening a man from shoulder to hip before the body even touched the ground. His horse tore through two locked shields, knocking down everything in front of him.
"Do not stop!" He roared, cutting through the camp.
His gaze fell upon Barristan Selmy who was there, at the side among the other royal guards, not falling behind.
That man seed to have rejuvenated so 40 years, returning to his pri, with the potions he began taking since he entered the royal guard transforming the old man who was already known as a bull into a deadly weapon, just as any mber of the royal guard should be.
This was because, even taking the potions, the training was done by Lancelot himself, every day before returning to the march through the region beyond the wall and intensified training when they arrived at the city built to create the fleet, while they awaited the king.
"Go! Go! Go!" Lancelot shouted at the top of his lungs amid all that chaos.
The 500 knights did not slow their pace, cutting through the center of the camp in a spear formation, thrown by a giant.
Tents were crushed.
Campfires scattered embers.
Cages toppled over.
Their enemies tried to stop them however they could. So tried to grab the reins, they lost their hands or were dragged. Others tried to throw themselves aside, they were trampled.
The ground turned into red mud in seconds.
After completely crossing the camp, Lancelot raised his clenched fist.
"TURN!"
Like the training of many years in the northern fields of the kingdom, they acted as a single creature, the knights opened space and began to circle along the flanks, forming a wide arc, they advanced directly toward where the greatest number of ironborn were concentrating at that mont.
After all, as the charge of horses crushed their soldiers with ease, the easiest decision was to get out of the way, unable to resist the enemy and all began to run to the sides to stay out of reach of the enemy cavalry.
What they did not expect was that the Arctican army might have trained to deal with the dead most of the ti, but training to kill other n as a single army had never been neglected. And they had multiple military maneuvers to use on the battlefield, as the commander needed to execute them.
Moreover, at the front, there were the cages with the captured won, advancing further would have hurt civilians as well.
In any case, the ironborn panicked for the second ti as the groups concentrated on the flanks of the camp fleeing from the first charge.
The sound of ironborn continued as the two lines kept exterminating them with the screams continuing from Arctic's enemies who could not even handle the advance of the cavalry without almost losing a single knight on horseback.
Tristifer Botley did not understand what was happening until he was knocked to the ground. He was not hit directly while shouting for his n to create any formation against that massacre.
His head was screaming as if so kind of whistle was inside it, he could not even see anything properly, only blurred images of n shouting and shadows moving around him.
The screams and exclamations of n, the neighing of horses, and even the sound of the impacts of death were nothing but muffled noises. He did not even rember what happened before he fell there.
All that ca to his mind was only the wind of the impact of a horse passing inches away, and it was enough to throw him onto his back into the red mud mixed with the other bodies, while more and more horses passed by there.
For a second, he only saw sky. Gray.
More screams and muffled sounds.
The sounds slowly returned as he began to rise, even without air in his lungs, starting to recover.
He pushed himself up, leaning on his elbow. Then the sound returned.
Clearer screams.
Clearer horses.
Clearer sounds of impacts and fighting.
The entire camp was covered in dust, he could see nothing but shadows running in every direction, bodies on the ground, no enemies, only the n he led.
"Asha would mock at this mont..." He did not fail to mutter those words.
A man ca out of the cloud of dust at that mont, running as fast as he could as if sothing were chasing him from within it, he saw him and ran toward his commander.
"Lord Tristifer! Help !" The man shouted and before Tristifer could say anything, a horse burst from the haze coming diagonally, Tristifer saw his man being skewered by a spear piercing through his neck as he fell to the ground and the armored rider disappeared into the haze again.
Tristifer saw his man there, on the ground agonizing with his throat pierced, his eyes reflecting only terror.
"Damn... where did these n co from..." He said in the tone of soone who had given up, his camp was finished, all he could expect there was death, correct?
He noticed the shadows with the sound of hooves advancing from the side, as they turned, coordinating a new movent even there, he heard an enemy trumpet.
They were turning.
Tristifer had to admit, that was not a disorganized charge, it was not a wild attack.
They are preparing to kill the rest of us...
Tristifer looked at his sword on the ground and picked it up, he had to fight. "Form a line!" his voice was hoarse.
"Form a line!" He repeated, searching for any ally in the haze.
"Form a line!!"
Finally soone appeared, two n in fact running toward him, but with no will to fight in their eyes, what they wanted was... to flee.
"They do not stop! They are coming!!!"
Tristifer grabbed the man by the arm. "Stand firm, damn you! We are ironborn!"
"You do not understand! It is no longer the horses! They are coming!" The man broke free from him and kept running away.
Tristifer wanted to kill that man, but he escaped before he could do anything, he was not in condition for that at the mont, but sothing caught his attention.
His gaze fell forward, leaving the two soldiers who did not stay with him but ran in the opposite direction, Tristifer kept his eyes fixed into the haze knowing that sothing was happening there.
Sothing was coming. He could hear the sound.
His thought was that the cavalry was returning, sohow disciplined to attack.
Then the shadows erged, but they were not on horseback, and they were not his n, with that expression.
The enemy had an infantry charge advancing on foot behind the cavalry, it made sense now to Tristifer.
The first appeared, armor like the riders, all bearing the symbol of the kingdom beyond the wall.
Through the visors of their helts, Tristifer noticed there was no hesitation. He had fought n from the North before. He had faced knights from the Riverlands, the Westerlands.
He had seen the face of many enemies. But that… That was different.
They did not shout words like:
'What is dead may never die!'
'For the King!'
'For the North!'
There were no war cries or euphoria, all advanced in a silence that Tristifer could not imagine on a battlefield. Those n were there for only one thing, execution.
The first wave of death had co by horse, now the infantry was there to execute everything left by the cavalry, it was ironic, but efficient, Tristifer had to admit.
The n ran toward him, while one of them simply raised his sword to execute Tristifer in slow motion.
Tristifer knew he was going to die, but would he stand there waiting for death? He opened his mouth, shouting as he raised his sword, if this was his end, so be it, he would at least take one of those damned Arcticans with him.
However, before he could do anything, his neck was cut like hay against that Valyrian steel blade, he simply died there. And his body was crushed right afterward by hundreds of armored n running, as if the armor weighed as much as a feather.
The soldiers continued advancing while massacring everything they saw ahead, while helping any Arctican soldier who had fallen from his horse, even if that number was small.
Lancelot was mounted killing so n near the hostages while they ran toward them, most of the Arctican cavalry was stationed searching for anyone who ran out of the haze of dust.
They ford a wall, killing anyone who ca out of it fleeing from the infantry that had just entered.
n ran, so dismbered, others begging for rcy. But Jon had been clear, there was no rcy, not for those damned ironborn after what happened on this island.
Jon had declared them an evil people who had to make an extre decision, they had to be exterminated once and for all!
Even Barristan Selmy looked at this swallowing hard, sowhere among the horses, as the cavalry slaughtered survivors.
"You seem shaken, knight of the south." Another royal guard, always calling him that, said, looking at the knight.
"You should know this is our way when the king decides to exterminate soone, these n killed children and husbands in front of won, before raping them for moons." He added.
"I know, I am just not used to this..." Barristan Selmy admitted, under the command of the forces of Westeros, they would certainly begin to accept the surrender of the enemies there.
However, the Arcticans massacred them like cornered animals. They executed every ironborn running in desperation and begging for their lives in a cruel and indifferent manner.
"They are animals, we deal with animals as they are." The soldier finally said.
Barristan Selmy simply nodded, while he heard within all the dust, which was beginning to settle, the infantry advancing killing everything within the dust raised by the horses that were not the hostages.
Lancelot waited until the dust settled, while the other 500 mbers of the infantry were there, now visible, finishing off the last ironborn hiding in the destroyed camp.
"Good, now let's clean up this ss and take care of the hostages." He gave the order, as the soldiers began to move to organize the camp.
Already at the center of the island, the other Arctic charge, led by the king himself with a thousand horses, advanced against the enemy ahead.
The arrival was announced to Victarion Greyjoy, who was already organizing himself, having had more ti to prepare his forces since he learned of the fifty ships that had appeared on the northern beach.
More than 3000 ironborn were preparing in the center of the island.
His gaze fell to the North as he rode to the front of the camp on horseback, seeing the forest stirring before him.
The Arcticans had wasted no ti in attacking them after everything... He knew that the lack of information from the scouts Rodolf had left ant one thing, that they were all dead.
His eyes returned to the worried n, especially those in groups, moving the catapults, trying to point them to the North.
They had been doing this for many minutes, but had not even managed halfway, after they had remained pointed at Mormont Keep for weeks, sinking sowhat with the passing days of rain and fixing themselves into the ground. The wheels were buried. The hostages they were also trying to gather to make a shield of flesh were not ready, as they were still gathering them to place them, even if they were won, it would be a good incentive for the enemies to hesitate to attack...
"Faster! Push, you useless fools!" His n shouted to those trying to turn the catapults.
The sound of the horses grew louder... At first it was low, now it was clear and impossible to ignore, even the castle filled its walls and highest points with curious heads looking north.
The sound of 1000 horseshoes.
They were coming.
"Forget the catapults, forget the hostages! Drop that shit and get into position!" Victarion shouted to the n, who began to leave the catapults and the hostages, as they ran to grab their weapons and shields.
"FORM A LINE!" Victarion shouted with all the strength of his lungs. "Shields in front! Spears forward! Hold position!"
The n began to organize themselves.
First row knelt.
Shields locked.
Second row raised spears over the shoulders of the first.
Archers behind were already positioning arrows.
From the tree line, they finally erged, a thousand fully armored riders, like a living wall advancing to crush them.
They kept forming their formation, even at 400 ters of distance.
Jon was the tip of the spear of death, silver armor, and with Blackfyre in his hand.
From atop Mormont Keep, everyone watched the scene unfolding before them.
n on the walls.
Won holding children.
Wounded leaning against the battlents.
Lyanna was in the main tower, eyes wide along with her maester and the castle's master-at-arms, all sharing the strange feeling of seeing their enemy, who had terrorized them for moons, being attacked by such a force of knights.
It almost seed like a dream to the people of that island.
"They are..." Lyanna murmured.
However, sothing surprised them even more when a sound coming from above the tower drew their attention, making them turn in fright as they saw an enormous bird landing on the roof of the tower above them.
The tiles cracked slightly as Caraxes landed, looking forward with his eyes scanning the enemies and ignoring the astonishnt of the Mormonts below the bird who, in the opinion of anyone who was not Arctican, should not exist.
He searched for his target... He found him in the middle of the formation of Jon's enemies, his master.
It was finally the mont for him to fight for the man who had taken him from that log when he was on the brink of death, left to die after a snake found his nest. He no longer had his mother, he was alone, injured and cold.
Jon of 8 nadays had found him and cared for him, turning him into a kind of eagle unlike any other.
He had never had his true chance to help Jon since he made his kingdom, but this was his opportunity. His feet pressed hard against the tiles and he took off, lifting his wings as he descended toward where the enemies were.
His eyes were fixed on the one who continued shouting words in the human tongue, who had no idea of the danger advancing toward him.
No one noticed the sound of wings advancing over the ironborn, as they were more concerned with the cavalry advancing. Caraxes was closer, the man seed nervous and determined, but he ignored the shadow being cast over him.
His n then saw it. But it was too late.
As they pointed behind Victarion, he even looked back at the last mont, interrupting his final orders to keep his n in formation, knowing that discipline and morale were what they needed if they wanted to survive that enemy charge.
He only saw the giant wings spread wide as a massive eagle stretched its legs toward him.
He could do nothing. He only felt the impact. The very claws of the monster-eagle the size of a horse circled both of the man's shoulders, seizing him perfectly before tightening and piercing his skin with sharp talons, while his leather armor offered no resistance against sothing that could cut a man in half with ease.
The n around him heard the commotion as they saw the eagle shoving their commander forward, who began to scream before letting out a roar. The eagle beat its wings with force and began to fly, lifting Victarion from his horse, imdiately terrifying everyone around them.
The brother of their king scread in the sky as the n watched the scene in shock. Not even the archers had ti to react; the eagle was already moving beyond their range, carrying Victarion away, his screams still echoing in the air.
In the castle, Lyanna and the others were equally stunned by the turn of events.
For the ironborn... They had just lost their commander.
That was the first blow to the morale of Arctic's enemies, and it would not be the last.
The sound of sothing cutting through the air ca from within the forest, rising into the sky as it continued flying toward them, slicing through the heavens. The objects began to fall on the flanks of the first defensive line.
The n recoiled when they saw the enormous harpoons burying themselves into the ground, barely missing anyone, but there was sothing strange about them, as small fuses were burning, with a liquid hanging from the base of the harpoon in a cylinder.
There were at least so 20 of those harpoons scattered around. Their n could not even understand what that was, until the fire of the fuse finally reached the liquid, which took no more than a few seconds after they fell into the camp, having been launched at the mont when the fla could no longer be extinguished.
In the next mont, two explosions ca, one on each side of the enemy formation, tearing man after man apart, giving those nearby no ti even to scream as green flas engulfed them entirely.
Those who were not caught, but close enough to burn as if their skin were being lted like rubber, scread like animals. The entire ground began to tremble as the ironborn cried out in terror.
The Mormont n stared in shock at the explosions.
The Arcticans did not stop advancing as they saw two sides of the enemy formation catching fire, no, on the contrary... it only drove them to charge at full speed, with Jon already upon the first defensive line, crushing it while they were still trying to understand what was happening.
"Kill them all!" Jon shouted, his horse crushing the first enemy as if he were nothing.
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