The Call of Duty

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Barristan Selmy pov:

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I found myself on a battlefield, surrounded by the deafening roar of war. The acrid scent of blood and sweat filled the air, a grim reminder of the chaos that enveloped the once beautiful landscape.

In the midst of this brutal fray, I stood alone, my armor gleaming like a beacon of defiance. Three adversaries encircled me, their eyes filled with determination and malice. They closed in, swords raised, ready to strike.

The clash of steel upon steel echoed through the battlefield as I engaged all three foes simultaneously. Each swing of my blade was precise, a testament to years of training and experience. The sun's fierce rays bore down upon us, casting long shadows that danced with every strike.

The first opponent lunged, a deadly gleam in his eye. I parried his attack with a swift counterstrike, my blade finding its mark. He fell, a look of disbelief in his eyes as he crumpled to the ground.

The remaining two assailants pressed their advantage, their attacks relentless. I blocked and countered with practiced grace, every movement an intricate dance of life and death. The battlefield seemed to blur around us, my focus solely on the deadly contest at hand.

My heart pounded in my chest as the duel raged on, the clash of weaponry and the cries of war merging into a cacophonous symphony of battle. The weight of my armor bore down upon me, but I pushed through the fatigue, determined to emerge victorious.

With a final, sweeping strike, I dispatched the second adversary, his sword falling from his grasp. He joined his fallen comrade on the blood-soaked ground, defeated.

Only one foe remained, a look of desperation in his eyes as he faced the inevitable. Our blades clashed one last time, the clash reverberating through the battlefield. With a swift and decisive strike, I bested him, and he joined the others in the grim aftermath of battle.

As the dust settled and the cries of war began to wane, I stood victorious, my armor stained with the blood of my fallen adversaries. The battlefield lay silent around me, a testament to the valor and skill that had led me to triumph.

But even in victory, a sense of foreboding lingered un, leaving me with a haunting sense of unfinished business, as if a greater challenge lay ahead, lurking in the shadows of the unknown.

I suddenly felt a sudden tingle up my spine, a warning from my instincts. In the blink of an eye, I swung my sword, blocking a strike from my blind spot. The clash of steel filled the air as I thwarted the ambush.

Turning swiftly to confront this new threat, my eyes widened in alarm. Five assailants had closed in on me, each armed with a different deadly weapon. There was a man with a spear, another wielding two swords, a bowman preparing to fire, and two agile foes brandishing daggers.

My heart raced as I braced myself for the imminent battle, my senses razor-sharp, my blade poised to face this formidable challenge.

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I fought with an unwavering resolve, my every movement a dance of survival. The spearman and the man with two swords pressed me relentlessly, creating an onslaught that forced me to block, dodge, and parry with all my might.

I blocked a strike from the man with two swords, my sword clashing with his with a deafening ring. At the same moment, I sidestepped a thrust from the spearman, the weapon grazing my armor. 

Seizing an opportunity, I swung my blade low, blocking the advance of one of the assailants wielding daggers, the weapon clashing against my shield. With a swift counterstrike, I pierced the assailant's chest, his lifeless body crumpling to the ground.

In the midst of this chaos, an arrow found its mark, striking me in the shoulder. Pain surged through me, but I couldn't afford to falter. I continued to fight, using my shield to deflect the incoming arrows as I danced through the melee.

The man with the spear capitalized on my distraction, thrusting forward with his weapon. I felt searing pain as the spear tip pierced my leg. Gritting my teeth, I mustered every ounce of strength, launching a feint that caught the man with two swords off guard.

With a sudden flourish, I swung my blade and beheaded the swordsman. The gruesome spectacle sent a shockwave through the remaining assailants, who momentarily hesitated in their attack.

But I didn't relent. Like a raging beast, I lunged at the remaining man with daggers, slashing him down with a furious flurry of strikes. Arrows continued to rain down upon me, striking me multiple times, each hit a reminder of the toll this battle was taking.

The spearman, though wounded, fought on, slowly gaining the upper hand. I knew I couldn't hold out much longer. In an act of sheer desperation, I allowed myself to be impaled through the abdomen by the spear, ignoring the searing agony that coursed through me.

Summoning every last ounce of my strength, I closed the distance between us and buried my sword in the spearman's chest. His lifeless body fell, and with my remaining energy, I hurled my sword, taking down the archer who had been firing those deadly arrows.

Left alone in the midst of the battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of my fallen enemies, I gave a last, defiant laugh to the sky. My strength waned, and with a final breath, I fell to the ground, a testament to the indomitable spirit of a warrior who had fought to his very last breath....

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...And then I was woken up from my beautiful dream...

I groggily awoke to the sensation of a dog's wet tongue on my face. Blinking sleep from my eyes, I reached out and affectionately petted the dog on the head. It took me a moment to remember why there was a dog sitting on my bed. It was Ser Joy, the Dog Knight, Joffrey's personal canine companion. 

For some reason, the king had entrusted the care of this loyal dog to me, though the reasons behind this assignment remained a mystery.

As I lay in my bed, I couldn't help but mull over the confusion of being responsible for Sir Joy's well-being while the king attended to his royal duties. It was a peculiar task for a knight such as myself..but I had sworn an oath to serve faithfully.

Pushing the covers aside, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and took in the room that served as my bedchamber in the Red Keep of King's Landing. The space was large but minimalist, bearing the hallmark of a man who valued simplicity.

A few books were neatly arranged on a wooden shelf, their spines well-worn from years of study. In one corner, a selection of swords leaned against the wall, their hilts polished and blades gleaming. A small wardrobe held a modest assortment of spare clothing and armor.

I selected one of the swords from the pile, its weight familiar in my grip, and began my morning routine. Swinging my sword with each hand, I counted each stroke, aiming for a thousand repetitions.

The first few moves were deliberate and precise, a series of strikes and parries as I warmed up my muscles. Then, as the rhythm of the practice took hold, my mind began to wander, and I found myself wrestling with a mix of emotions.

Confusion swirled within me as I contemplated the uncertain future of the realm. The current state of affairs left me torn, and as I continued my practice, I began to dissect these conflicting feelings one by one.

Sorrow weighed heavily on my heart, a relentless ache that I couldn't shake. The death of Robert Baratheon, the man I had served for seventeen long years, filled me with grief. He may have been a flawed and oftentimes drunken king, but he had been a kind one, and I owed my life to him.

I vividly remembered the day when Robert, after defeating the mad King Aerys, had chosen to spare my life and entrusted me with the role of Captain of the Royal Kingsguard. It was a debt I could never fully repay, and I had served him with unwavering loyalty.

The suddenness of his death left me bewildered and plagued by questions. I couldn't fathom why such a strong and boisterous man would fall so swiftly. My heart ached for his loss, and it was compounded by the anger I felt, not just at the circumstances of his death, but at my own perceived failure to protect my king.

Alongside the sorrow, a sense of disbelief gnawed at my thoughts. It was the revelation that the gods, in their enigmatic ways, truly existed. I had not always been a religious man, but witnessing a villainous soul struck down by the heavens themselves had a way of making even the staunchest of atheists question their beliefs.

Despite this newfound awareness of divine intervention, I knew I would continue to do what I had always done: serve my king faithfully. Whether the gods watched over me or not, my loyalty remained unwavering, for my duty transcended the realm of the divine.

But beneath the layers of sorrow, anger, and disbelief, there was an undeniable undercurrent of excitement that surged through my being. It was the exhilaration born from the knowledge that Joffrey, the boy I had trained and mentored in the art of swordsmanship, now sat upon the Iron Throne as king.

His qualities as a ruler, his honesty, humility, and wisdom, only deepened my sense of joy. I couldn't help but be hopeful, pondering the great things that this young king might achieve in his reign.

I recalled a moment when Joffrey had prayed to the gods to turn the Iron Throne into a statue of his father, and a wistful smile touched my lips. The depth of love the boy must have felt for his father, for his plea to touch the very hearts of the gods, was a testament to his character. It was moments like these that filled me with pride and hope for the future of the realm.

*Bark*

*BARK*

'...But why was I given the task to look after this dog? Wouldn't a maid have sufficed?...' I asked myself once again as I continued my routine, ignoring the puppy that was wagging his tail excitedly.

As I continued my practice, lost in thought, a voice suddenly cut through the stillness from right behind me. "Now that's some dedication right there," it said calmly.

Years of ingrained instincts from countless battles took over, and I instinctively swung my sword towards the source of the voice. My blade stopped abruptly, mere inches away from the neck of the young man who had spoken.

He had dark hair and a sunken face, as if he hadn't eaten in a long time, but his eyes shone with a bright yellow hue. Scars on his face hinted at a past filled with hardships, and his presence left me both startled and intrigued.

"How in the blazes did you get here?" I demanded, a mixture of aggression and confusion coloring my words. It had been just moments ago that I was certain my room was empty, and the sudden appearance of this stranger seemed like he had materialized out of the void itself.

My mind raced with possible explanations. Perhaps he was an assassin sent to kill me, but I couldn't fathom the reason why someone would target an old man like myself.

Without answering, the man before me simply smiled, a maddening grin that sent shivers down my spine. To my astonishment, he effortlessly punched the blade of my sword away, drawing his own weapon with a fluid motion.

Realizing that this encounter had taken a dangerous turn, I launched into a series of attacks, each strike executed with precision. However, the man's unorthodox fighting style left me on the defensive. He blocked my strikes in peculiar ways, as if he were wielding an axe, a spear, or some other unconventional weapon.

The narrow confines of the room limited my ability to showcase my usual footwork, and I found myself increasingly on the back foot, struggling to gain an advantage in this bizarre duel.

I lunged forward with a swift thrust aimed for his chest,but he sidestepped gracefully, using his sword to redirect my blade with a flick of his wrist.

As the dance continued, I followed with a powerful overhead strike, attempting to bring my sword down upon him. However, he shifted to the side and, with surprising agility, twisted his blade to parry mine, countering with a quick jab that forced me to backpedal.

Frustration welled up within me, and I executed a deceptive feint, hoping to catch him off guard. But he remained unfazed, blocking my feint with a deft twist of his weapon before dodging the follow-up slash with an agile step to the side.

Seizing the opportunity, I attempted a low sweep aimed at his legs, hoping to disrupt his balance. To my amazement, he hopped over my blade, spinning gracefully in mid-air and landing behind me.

My opponent capitalized on his newfound position, stepping backward with a dancer's grace. He deflected my rapid strikes with fluid movements, his sword seemingly an extension of his own body, never once compromising his own balance.

The fight flowed like a beautifully choreographed dance, a mesmerizing sequence of attacks and blocks, and I found myself increasingly challenged by the unpredictable nature of my opponent's fighting style.

As the duel raged on, I couldn't help but admire the skill of my mysterious opponent. All thoughts of his sudden appearance and the reasons behind it faded into the background. It was clear that this man was good, but I hadn't earned the title "Barristan of the Bold" without reason.

I pushed my old bones to the limit, determined to break through my opponent's guard with thundering strikes. My goal was to maintain the initiative, striking from unexpected angles and forcing him to defend himself. I aimed to push him backward, driving him closer to the room's wall, preventing any escape.

Despite my relentless assault, my opponent remained seemingly unbothered, blocking my strikes with uncanny ease. It was a testament to his skill and composure, and the fight showed no signs of slowing down.

But just as suddenly as it started, the fight screeched to a sudden halt as I heard a slow, deliberate clapping sound coming from behind me. 

Concern blossomed inside my mind as the thought of facing two such skilled opponents instead of one filled me with apprehension. I knew I couldn't hold my own for long under such circumstances.

But then, I shook off these useless thoughts, determination welling up within me. I would shout for help if I needed to, but I was not willing to give up the fight. As I turned my head to glance at the resumed second assailant, I froze once again, but this time in surprise.

There, sitting on my bed with a warm smile on his face, was none other than King Joffrey himself. He had Ser Joy in his lap, gently petting the dog . The unexpected sight left me momentarily speechless, a mix of relief and astonishment washing over me.

'BUT WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP APPEARING IN MY ROOM? ' A small voice in my head shouted, but I quickly ignored it in exchange for moving backwards towards my King, all the while my sword pointed threateningly towards the unknown man. 

I knew that Joffrey was blessed by the gods themselves and wouldn't need any protection at all, but I had my duty, and I would fulfill it no matter what...but why did the unknown swordsman seem so relaxed while facing the Blessed King himself?

'Is he mayhaps...not afraid of death? No matter, his minutes are numbered. With both me and Joffrey, he stands no chance...wait...why was the King clapping just now? Don't tell me...'

"Your Majesty, what is the meaning of this?" I asked , my voice filed with annoyance.

'If this is another one of his dumb jokes...was it not enough making me take care of that menace of a dog?'

"Come on, Barristan, don't be mad. This was, um, only something I did just for you to get to know your future partner," Joffrey said with a sheepish smile.

"...Your Majesty, with all due respect...did I maybe hit your head too hard back in the Winterfell tournament?" I asked jokingly as I slowly sheathed my sword ,all the while still watching the man I was fighting against not too long ago.

I didn't understand what the king was saying, something that was becoming a reccuring occurance as of late , but one thing was sure. The malnourished man (because he was clearly malnourished now that he looked at him closely) had no ill will towards him and everything seemed to be...some kind of test?

"Hahaha, Bold of you to talk to me like that" Joffrey said with an even wider grin on his face.

"𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗲𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗷𝗼𝗸𝗲𝘀" The King spoke once again , all amusement draining from his features , leaving behind an expressionless visage. I found myself kneeling in front of my king , head lowered towards the ground, waiting for him to give me my commands. From the fact that he came personality to my chambers, and didn't ask for my presence in the throne room, was telling enough. What he was about to ask me...was of paramount importance and couldn't be disclosed to prying eyes and ears...

"I have decided to make what is called a pro gamer move..." The king started speaking gibberish, but I knew that it was probably his connection to the divine that was affecting him.

"And send you and my friend over there..." He continued while waving his hand towards the mysterious swordsman that only smiled at me as I looked in his direction.

"To the neighboring continent to make sure the Targaryen heiress stays alive and returns to Westeros as soon as possible" The king finished his speech by saying something so outrageous I almost gave in to my inner desire to gape like a fish. 

Why would he desire the return of someone who should be , by all means , his greatest enemy?

I couldn't understand his thoughts at all , and this made me want to demand an explanation for why I should just forsake the role I fulfilled for so many years without fail. An explanation for why I should just accept such an unreasonable order, and risk my life going on such an arduous journey.

And then, slowly, I composed myself, gathered my resolve once again, remembered the vows I had made so long ago and spoke...with unbreakable conviction. 

"𝗜𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗲 , 𝗺𝘆 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴"

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A.N :

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"Please understand.

Failing doesn't make you weak,

it's getting back up from those failings

that makes you strong"

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I will put the updated stat sheet in the auxiliary volume tomorrow because I am very tired right now .

Hope you like the chapter. Starting now , Negary will be in both Essos and Westeros at the same time. His horcrux possessed a random hobo with a weak soul , because to keep the body alive he needed to shatter the soul and take it's place which is hard to do.

Also , some of you might have noticed that Daenerys is in Vaes Dothrak, and has the whole city on its knees. This is the result of some butterfly effects that will be explained in the next few chapters. 

Also , how do you like the fight scenes?