7 A Mountain

Iron Islands,

Pyke,

Wet sand splashed under the hooves of horses, a charge of knights was a fearsome thing. A thing to behold as a thing one would hope to never be on the receiving end of her. With their polearms and swords, these masters of combat could kill many a men, bones would shatter, shields would be splintered, severed heads would fly and hearts would be crushed.

It didn't help much that they were veterans of war, a war that had taken place not six years ago. A bloody war which saw a new King sit atop the Iron Throne, a new King of the Seven Kingdoms.

In any other case, the ironborn would be in great trouble. A small regiment of knights was a threat, being outnumbered by a mixture of knights and soldiers was far worse.

...

But well, it was not all so lost, the ironborn that had heeded the call of Edric Blacktyde did not fear death, they were ready to embrace it with open arms and cheers.

"Shields down, spears up! When you get the chance, pile up the bodies of horses and men! Form a wall!"

Lord Blacktyde had also proven himself to be no stranger to warfare, coming up with new ways to dial down the onslaught as he stood up, having earlier been thrown to the ground by a veritable armoured giant.

Edric gripped his spear tightly, using it as support all the while staring into the eyes of his opponent. There was no flash of fear, no hint of caution and no madness. All this time, the ironborn lord had actually been moving with something in mind instead of blind charges.

Behind them, the tide rose and bodies floated.

The ironborn who had followed him now knew that it was not simply a series of coincidences, there was something more to the sea reacting and aiding their lord.... This however, did not serve to make them suspicious of him, instead, it only drove them into more of a frenzy.

The knights and lords found his strategies bizarre and disgusting, to pile up the bodies of man and beast just so they would not gallop over them was not honourable at all. Had he no respect for the dead at all?

"Kill anyone that comes over it!" Edric shouted loudly, now grinning widely as he spun the iron spear in his hands, turning to his unmoving opponent.

A moment of utter silence, even as the battle raged around them and then, contrary to what the mountain expected, Edric threw the spear at his face. The Clegane moved his head to the side, ever so slightly, avoiding what could have been death just in time for Edric to,

"RAHH!!"

The ironborn lord rammed him.

Smashing into his body like a hammer unto steel.

"Gregor Clegane. The rumours ain't just empty words." Edric's eyes were wide, a bit of blood trickling down his lips,... even though it went completely unnoticed. The man was by now covered with wounds from many weapons, it wasn't like he hadn't been hit or he wasn't in pain.

He was simply forging through.

Why?

Edric Blacktyde refused to go down.

Gregor Clegane, much to his own shock as well, stumbled back a few steps under the hit, the greatsword in his hands almost falling to the ground as his grip loosened....

Many others witnessed this and many more were taken aback.

They'd never in their dreams even thought to witness the mighty Mountain be pushed back.

Edric Blacktyde only wielded a sword now, a sword shorter than the standard one and somewhat thinner as well. Spinning it a bit, he sneered at the Mountain making the man roar in rage and rushed at him. Metal clanked under his heavy footsteps and clear marks were left on the ground, throwing caution to the wind, Gregor Clegane madly charged for Edric.

Of course, the Blacktyde had known his personality beforehand and was expecting this. His size wasn't smaller by much, but it was enough of a difference for him to make movements that allowed narrow dodges of the mountain's greatsword.

It would be folly to meet the man on equal grounds.

He was a monster of nature.

"Come now, that can't be all." Edric raised a hand, a clenched fist, perhaps ordering something, the ironborn near him reacting certainly seemed to imply so.

A knight from the north, seeing an opportunity brandished his lance and pulled on the reins of his massive horse. The beast howled in response, kicking away the man near it before charging straight ahead, a lance was lowered, aimed for Edric Blacktyde.

Only, it never would never reach it's destination, just a few metres away from the ironborn lord, a spear pierced through the horse's skull, followed by one puncturing it's legs, "Hahaha! Retards." The ironborn responsible for it laughed at the knight, the man had after all fallen facefirst into the sand.

-x-X-x-

Iron Islands,

Pyke,

At the seat of House Greyjoy, the ruling lords of the iron islands and all that inhabited them, the battle had taken a turn for the worse.

After the charge of Thoros of Myr, the forces of King Robert Baratheon, had taken to the bastion by storm. Breaching door after door, gate after gate, the ironborn stationed there had already been fearful after seeing the flaming sword wielded by the Priest and seeing men slaughtered like sheep did naught to help their morale.

All the while, Balon Greyjoy had hunkered in his throne room, the massive doors reinforced, the fiercest of the ironborn warriors (As Balon would have it at least) stationed all around the place, "Where the hell is the Blacktyde brat?!" He raged, throwing the cup in his hands to the cold hard ground.

The Greyjoy had a beard, long greying hair that reached his shoulders and a slight stutter in his step. Even then though, he did have the traditional armour on, a sword at his waist even if it may as well have been wasted upon him. Since his ascension to the throne, Balon had not seen much combat.

"My King, Lord Blacktyde, makes his stand at Orkmont." One of the soldiers near him reported dutifully, bowing with closed eyes, none dared to comment on how unsightly the King looked at the moment. They knew they'd lose their heads if they dared to after all.

"And why isn't he here?"

"He had a duty to his people.."

"He had a duty to his king!"

Balon Greyjoy was not pleased, he was not pleased at all. This would let the brat gather influence, whether the war was lost or won, it would be he who sat atop the throne. Someone like Edric was unneeded and unnecessary, he was far too fit as a leader. It didn't help the King's suspicions that the Ironborn didn't believe in hereditary rule.

The ironborn around him stood silent, not quite sure what they were to do in such a situation.

Balon grumbled, it appeared that not allowing him to lead the attacks on Lannisport and Seagard wouldn't be doing much in the way of stunting his growing influence.

Though, he didn't have much time to ponder upon these thoughts seeing as the massive doors to the throne room started quaking and shaking, as if something was striking them.

-x-X-x-

Iron Islands,

Pyke,

Edric Blacktyde.... was still fighting the Mountain.

The latter proved to be a fearsome adversary, "Fucking go down already you lug!" The Blacktyde shouted with a bloody grin, some part of his left forearm hung loosely, bone visible underneath the red flesh.

Gregor Clegane, hulked towards him, great difficult in his steps, blood flowed freely from his knees, the armour and mail over them nowhere in sight. It was more than obvious that he'd been struck there innumerable times. A steel dagger was stuck in his shoulder, just below the neck.

Both fought slowly, painfully yet ragefully, it was a grisly spectacle.

To the point where some around them had stopped fighting, only watching the battle with wide eyes. It would after all decide if Robert Baratheon was the victor here or not, if the Blacktyde died, the ironborn ranks would crumble.

...Though, the piles of corpses were proving to be a gruesome yet viable tactic. The horses could no longer gallop over them. Climbing over them on foot just got the men spears through their heads.

Balon Greyjoy was no commander, nor were any other ironborn lords, they fought with an each man for himself mentality so, Edric Blacktyde's actions had thrown them for a loop and disoriented their strategy which had previously just been to stampede over them.

Edric Blacktyde rushed at Gregor Clegane, the sword he'd been using previously had now been replaced by an axe. He stepped to the side, avoiding a mighty downwards slash and made a swing of his own, a horizontal one aiming for the Mountain's neck.

Though...

"You madman!" Edric laughed, backing away from his opponent.

The Mountain had used his own shoulder to block the hit going for his neck.

Except, it also appeared that the Blacktyde had made a miscalculation. Gregor had more than enough reach now and in a feat of insane strength, he swung the greatsword upwards.

Steel cut through flesh and blood sprayed.

Edric's chest had a gash going upwards and only a quick reaction prevented his skull from being parted.. It did however, leave a cut going from his chin up to his head, cutting through one of his eyes. The Blacktyde groaned in pain, wincing as he stumbled back.

Men around him grimaced, even some of the knights. That wasn't something that could be healed.

At the same time, a horn sounded and cry rang out,

"Balon Greyjoy has bent the knee! It's our victory!"

The shout fell upon the ears of men like thunder, moments passed in silence before the knights and soldiers started cheering, raising either fist or weapon to the sky, a testament to their victory and a way to celebrate.

"Motherfu-....?!"

Edric Blacktyde roared in rage... or he was about to at least, losing his balance, the Blacktyde Lord stumbled forward instead.

"Stop those two." Galbart Glover who had arrived some time ago, curious about the fight, ordered sternly and then turned to the ironborn, "Take your lord and sail back to Blacktyde. He may live yet."

His helmet in his hands, the northern lord's command surprised many... however, not the northerners. The war was over and they no longer had a reason to be enemies, the north also had a deep rooted hate for the Seven Gods. Edric had made a joke of them and was a fearsome commander, of course the smarter thing to do would be to put him to death.... But, honour dictated that they no longer could. It would be attacking an injured man.

...Well, Galbart's gaze was fixed on the ironborn, much to his displeasure, they listened to him. Grabbing the roaring and raging Edric Blacktyde, dragging him back to the ships without listening to his own protests.

"Tsk.."

If they'd not listened and kept fighting, he could have wiped them all out right here.

Lord Glover rode away with an unpleasant expression on his face, he had hoped they'd not heed his words and continue with their bloodshed... It surely would have been a glorious thing to fell the man who'd gravely injured the Mountain.

Gregor Clegane tried to run after Edric but fell facefirst to the ground.

His knees had been slashed apart and one of his arms wouldn't work again, the savage had cut one of the shoulder tendons.

The Mountain wouldn't be fighting again, he may have even been crippled for life.

But oh well, the Northern Lord didn't give two shits about that, "Fuck the Lannisters."

House Lannister didn't have the best of reputations among the Northmen.

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