' The Bridge ' Part IV

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POV: Duncan;

Second Tower, The Guest Keep, Isle of Pyke.

About two minutes after the second gate was lowered...

The iron shoulder straps, leggings, and ruff didn't fit very well over my camouflaged studded armour, and the helmet was a little too big a size for my head, but at least it concealed my white hair well. I was a little ashamed to wear hairpins and a protective bathing cap to keep some tufts from popping out. The square iron-studded and oak shield with the gold Kraken at least was manageable... even if it smelled like fish and wet wood. The 'soldier/hub' style of the Iron Islands didn't suit me particularly well.

'Well... At least my uncle's eyes are far from this... I'll have to remember to groom every Tallhart man in this group well... mmm... yes, Blades of Frost included.' But now was not the time to think of such nonsense. Leobald Tallhart's pranks and evil jokes were a side issue now. I didn't have Red Rain with me. Many personal weapons were not replaced, except for my ancestral sword of Valyria... It was already an eye-opening anomaly to see a boy of eleven/twelve wielding a bastard sword... I couldn't take the chance. Ser Jaime only needed to cover the golden lion-shaped pommel by always keeping his left hand on the hilt. In any case, I had no qualms about carrying a short sword and two long daggers made of Damascus steel. Soon the world would know about the new products launched on the market by Casa Bolton. I might as well get started on the hype...

The battle in the second Tower was to be just beginning. The initial group had split into two as planned. We moved away without arousing suspicion before Ser Barristan managed to lower the drawbridge. I and about seventy of my companions had just walked over three hundred feet of side corridors, stairs, and short stretches of crowded halls. We were forced to perpetually shush an old servant who must have been in the service of House Greyjoy for who knows how long. There was no other choice...

This was the most delicate and risky part of the plan. Now that the trick of the gates being opened as if by magic had been shown twice, soon commanders with a pinch of brains would have deduced that there might be traitors or infiltrated enemies inside the fortresses. We had to take advantage of the wave of chaos caused by the panic, screams and fury of battle to execute the third and final act.

Most of the armed ironmen were mobilizing in the direction of the South Gate, where at least a hundred of Lord Jorah's men should have been able to pass through and begin the second fierce battle to conquer Pyke. The eyes of the enemy were still to be kept on the south of The Guest Keep...

The first bridge, connecting The Great Keep to The Guest Keep, was made of solid stone. There was no risk that the enemy could bring it down in a short period. However, it was a maximum of fifteen feet wide. No more than three men at a time could cross it. Archers and crossbowmen, if well arranged, could create a slaughterhouse, and slaughter our Northmen like sheep to the slaughter. We had to aim for a massive attack in that moment of surprise when the second gate had come down. Panic, confusion, and surprise were powerful weapons when used at the right time.

Ser Barristan and those couple dozen Heroes in his retinue had to hold out in a hyper-defensive position in the hall on the second floor of the levers to keep that bridge down for as long as possible. I was very confident that they could accomplish that feat... The enemy was well outnumbered, but they would have to face those more than capable swords in a narrow field with only two points of entry.

Henry had with him a short golden heart bow and a quiver with thirty arrows. The 'Legolas of House Tallhart' wasn't going to miss any targets. And the lucky ones who made it through those gates would have to contend with the best sword in Westeros and his worthy companions.

We had almost reached the gates to the last bridge. But then a voice accompanied by dozens of footsteps stopped us...

"Come on, move it!" Roared a captain as he led about fifty men armed with pikes and axes. We continued walking at a steady pace trying to attract as little attention as possible.

"Hey, you! Where fuck do you think you're going?! The battle is on the other side... Will you run away, you filthy fucking cowards?!" I recognized the man who held a pike to the throat of Blade[24], the pretend captain of our garrison. His huge gash across his mouth and the multitude of gold, silver, and bronze rings studded with precious stones that adorned his hands were enough to identify him. That had to be the infamous Dagmer Clefjaw, one of the most loyal and fierce ironmen in the service of House Greyjoy...

'Level 8 Class: King' I instantly assessed within myself sharing Jaime's same thought with a glance.

Dagmer was the captain of the Foamdrinker, one of the most famous and feared longships of the Sunset Sea. I had requested much research and information about him. In the ASOIAF canon it was Dagmer who supported Theon Greyjoy during the conquest of Winterfell... and to make it happen 'Cleafjaw' conquered Torrhen's Square killing my brother Benfred...

Ser Jaime, Ser Lyle, and a dozen others were ready at any moment to draw their weapons. I made a hidden hand sign to stop impulsive actions.

'Blade [24], I'm counting on you... You absolutely must recognize that individual or it will come to a confrontation...' I thought urgently as I lowered my head like a respectful page to my 'captain'. I had chosen Blade [24] as the fictitious leader for this section of the road because he was the most knowledgeable on 'Iron Islands' matters. The Blades of Frost were the 007s of Torrhen's Square. The license to kill was just one of the skills needed for that role.

We were outnumbered... but the battle still wouldn't go unnoticed.

"Dagmer... The only cowards here are the monsters that came out of your salt whore mother's ass! You dare to call me 'Coward' again and I'll rip out what's left of your mouth with my bare hands... We're just following Commander Warryn's orders. He wants reinforcements at the bridge gates. The enemy has succeeded in breaking through the second gate, if you fail to repel him, we'll be the ones to save your hairy ass in the event of a retreat!" Blade's[24] mannerisms and slang were a bit too rough in my opinion... but it seemed effective.

"Argh! Ahahah! You've got a mouth stingier than a crab claw little boy... If we weren't short of men, I'd have given you a smile as good as mine by now! Ahahah!" Despite the laughter, Dagmer did not lower his weapon, and continued, "We just received a request for reinforcements... It seems that the enemy has managed to cross the bridge and enter this tower... And you are moving away from the danger. Why should I withdraw my charge in your opinion?" Dagmer.

"We're not the ones with clean, pristine weapons here. While you piss-poor 'Heroes' stood safe here in the second tower, I and my men spilt gallons of blood for the Drowned God and the King in Great Keep." Replicated Blade[24]. Dagmer took a general look at the group. He seemed unable to debate that earlier statement.e

"I don't know you people... Who are you? More importantly, who the fuck are you?" Dagmer.

"Captain of the Lover of Leviathan, Wullen Pyke. Natural son of Lord Egner Cliff. Half of them are part of my crew and the other half... Well, I have no idea. We're in the middle of a fucking battle. I don't have time for introductions." Blade[24] replied in a proud tone. Unlike most of the Seven Kingdoms, the name bastard wasn't as defamatory in the Iron Islands. Every true ironman had the opportunity to gain a place among the ranks of those lands by paying the 'price of iron'. Every Captain was considered a King in his ship.

"Are you one of Egner's many bastards?... I'm not surprised... Even that whale hunter father of your spits shit out of his big mouth all the time. Defending the bridge, you say? You all look nice and sturdy and ready to fight... Would Warryn have deprived himself of all these axes right after asking for reinforcements from the King?" Tension was running high. A couple of Dagmer's men approached their captain's side clutching their axes in a very defiant manner.

And then a second unexpected help arrived...

"Hey, you! You little bastard! I recognize you! You're the guy who last night ran out of the hall before paying!!! You owe me four pieces of silver, rat!!! Don't you dare go and die before you pay what you owe!" A knight errant from the group stepped forward pointing an accusing finger in the direction of a sixteen or so year old boy from Dagmer's group.

First, the accused looked around to see if the man really had it in for him. The poor boy was totally taken aback by the false accusation he had just made.

"I don't owe you anything! I don't even know who you are!" He replied, taking a half step back.

"Thief and liar then! Don't play dumb. Your ugly pockmarked face I won't forget...Aye, you had run away after the double one came out! You should have thought twice before rolling the dice, boy! I'll get what's due me...and if I have to pay for it with the Iron Price, THAT'S IT!!!" The Knight unsheathed his steel, taking three steps forward.

"LIAR! He's lying I've never seen that man before!!! Captain, you have to believe me! It's the truth I swear!" All the men present armed themselves by lining up ready to assault the first target in range.

Attention dragged on that second incident. Blade[24] seized the opportunity on the fly. "Freeze! Drop your weapons you!... Well? What are we going to do, Captain Dagmer? Do we gut each other for four silver coins and leave the enemy an easy victory, or do we fight to defend this tower and the King's life?" The screams and clamours of the background steel of the fighting in the tower reached over there. Dagmer turned his head towards the most urgent direction at the moment. Then he said:

"Lower your weapons! We have another battle to fight... Move! To the southbridge!" The bomb was defused... Dagmer and his group walked away simply throwing only a few glares instead of sharp axes.

"Good job, Captain. I couldn't have done better." I complimented Blade's [24] excellent performance.

"Congratulations, Captain." Peter also joined in.

"Thank you, my lords, but the credit was not mine alone." Blade [24] quickly eyed the knight who put on the little show. The man simply bowed his head with a slightly amused smile.

"All of you, let's move. We managed to avoid this fight, but next time we won't be so lucky." I commanded refocusing everyone's attention on the mission.

We finished going through the entire great hall and finally reached the main corridor just past the North Bridge. The last passage and bulwark for the strenuous defence of the Greyjoy Rebellion. On the way, I approached that unknown knight, one of the volunteer Knights-errant recommended by Barristan and Peter. A more than worthwhile [Level 7 Class: Lord] floated on his head. It wasn't such an easy level to obtain... The man certainly didn't lack experience in the field. He looked to be in his early thirties, just over six feet tall, with strong shoulders and arms with a sharp and resolute gaze.

"A very good find indeed, Ser..."

"Ser Ron Storm, milord. Natural son of Lord Ronald Connington." The Knight introduced himself as we continued walking.

"Ah... the Lord of Griffin's Roost. Well, we all owe you our lives, Ser. Without that accusation of the poor pockmarked man we probably would have made it to the fight." I praised with sincerity. 'House Connington suffered a severe blow after Robert's Rebellion... Jon Connigton sided with Rhaegar instead of following his Lord Protector... mmm...

A Knight seeking honour to restore the name of his House perhaps?' was my first thought.

'I do not deserve such a compliment, milord. It was a bold move...merely mere experience gained from tavern brawls." Humbly replied the man.

'Humble and sincere.' I noted with celerity sensing no deception in the tone of his voice.

I would have liked to ask more questions the goal was in sight...

"Stay close, sword at the ready and nerves steady, Ser Ron. The bridge is near."

End POV.

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POV: Ser Jaime Lannister;

A few steps from the start of the swaying walkway of wood and hemp rope.

About a minute after a fortuitous and successful narrow escape from a fight...

A small part of Jaime was disappointed at the escaped confrontation.

His sword hand quivered and he couldn't wait to get into action.

Jaime hadn't felt this alive and excited since that day eight years ago when he was invested with the title of knight by Ser Arthur Dayne after his first real battle against the brotherhood of King's Wood.

The sparks from the blades produced by that magical sword sparring he exchanged with that boy the night before was the catalyst that ignited the dust. That fluid, precise, unique, and peculiar movements gave the best swordsman in the West countless hints of improvement in the art of the sword. Jaime thought he had reached an insurmountable limit... He trained for hours in the art of swordsmanship trying to match his idol and Hero, The Sword of the Morning.

He had succeeded... Even if only for a few minutes, Bloody Snow had managed to reach that level. He was certain of it. The Tallhart boy explained to him that those abnormal movements were not replicable without painful and gruelling training, but that the possibility of replicating a variation for Jaime's constitution and style existed. After a good hour of practice with the training blades, The Kingslayer and Bloody Snow stayed talking late into the night exchanging ideas and improvements in the art of swordsmanship. For Jaime, those hours slipped by like a summer breeze on his skin. He could have gone an entire day without drinking, eating, or sleeping without even realizing it.

Duncan even promised him a brief meeting with his master if the opportunity arose during the celebrations in Barrowton... Jaime couldn't wait to meet the genius master-at-arms who had created those movements... or rather those works of art. The Hero of the North, in addition to offering help in the matter of 'How to unlock my Paladin powers', even offered Jaime a gift. A new longsword custom made for him, with higher performance than the forged steel of the best forges in Lannisport second only to the steel of Valyria in his opinion...

Jaime did not refuse the gesture, but he tried to pay the right price for such work not wanting to take on a debt that perhaps he would not be able to repay.

[A Lannister always repays his debts.] His family's second motto was engrained to the core.

Despite all of Cersei's constant negative remarks about the heir to House Tallhart, Jaime could not help but begin to forge a bond of friendship with this individual. A bridge, though still fragile, began to build between the two. The only true friend he had was his younger brother Tyrion.

'Cersei rarely changes her mind about anyone. She'll hate Duncan Tallhart until the day he dies...but Tyrion...he'd like that boy, that's for sure.' Jaime thought cheerfully as he recalled the countless distressing jokes thrown by the boy the night before. Some had managed to penetrate the solid guarding armour Jaime had forged to protect himself from the constant flattery, ass-kissing, and courtesies he received in the past just for being the son and heir of the powerful and feared Lord Tywin Lannister.

It wasn't just a common feeling of sympathy or trivial common traits that made him comfortable in the presence of that individual... Now that he was marching to his side Jaime realized.

It was a feeling he had felt before. A feeling he had felt in the past when at the age of twelve he pointed his gaze at the majestic and charismatic figure of Rhaegar with three legendary white cloaks in his wake. It was still as immature as a sprout, but it was there and growing like a plant...

'The will to follow him... My hand, my feet, my sword... They instinctively want to follow that boy and protect him.' Realized Jaime with extreme disbelief. He looked around for the gaze of those he recognized as sworn men in the service of House Tallhart... Their eyes did not lie. He recognized it instantly. Those gazes... were similar if not identical to those of Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy when they were in the proximity and protection of Prince Rheagar 'The Last Dragon'. The look in the eyes of those who were ready to follow and protect their leader...

Jaime's survival instincts woke him from his stupor. A loud lion's roar inside him warned him that danger was imminent.

Less than a hundred feet away from them. The bridge doors opened, and a line of men-at-arms stepped out and began to line up to protect the door. They didn't seem to be alarmed by their group... They hadn't been discovered yet, but they certainly weren't going to talk them out of moving from there.

'There must be about forty of them... thirty pikes and axes and a dozen crossbowmen...' Jaime analyzed within seconds.

After small signals and whispered orders, Bloody Snow positioned himself at the head of the group while the men arranged themselves in a concealed manner in battle formation and were ready to act. Jaime lined up in the front row to Ser Balon's right flank and the mighty Ser Lyle Crakehall to his left.

"Halt! You cannot pass! By order of King Balon, no one may cross the bridge from now on." Said the commander of that group of guards. The two-panelled oak door, ten feet high at most and eight feet wide, was closed and sealed with a studded log of wood as thick and thick as a man's leg.

The crossbowmen had their darts set but the crossbows were not anchored facing them.

The two groups were now within fifteen feet of each other.

'Many levels [4], a few levels [5] and only one level [6]... Easy prey...' Estimated Jaime with a closer eye estimating the quality of the enemy.

"By order of the King, we must pass through the gates and protect the bridge, Commander." This time it was Bloody Snow who spoke.

"... Kid, come back when you've built up your muscles after a few years as an oarsman on some fishing boat or raided your first mermaid and seen her pussy hair. Who's in charge here? Why are you allowing this brat to speak on your behalf? No one comes in or out of this door. I received my orders directly from the King a few minutes ago! Do I make myself clear?" Replicated the ironborn in a wry and derogatory manner while sneering. A small laugh erupted among the ranks of his men as well.

"You are already speaking with their commander, Ser... And we come here in the name of King Robert." A small jerk forward, an instant draw followed by a single fluid, well-placed slash accompanied the last word of the sentence...

A series of throwing daggers, javelins, and crossbow darts accompanied the first attack a moment later.

Jaime lashed out at a crossbowman late in his reaction. The first swift slash disarmed the man from his weapon, the second slashed across his belly, slicing cleanly through leather, wool, and flesh. Ser Lyle had just smashed the skull of his companion at his side with a mighty blow from his mace.

A screaming man armed with a pike aimed at Jaime's throat, but the enemy miscalculated his blow, there was not enough time and space for that kind of manoeuvre. Jaime dodged to the side deflecting the pike downwards with a parry and stabbed the man in the throat with his stiletto just drawn with his left hand.

The Kingslayer didn't stop the charge. He rotated his torso and plunged his blade into the exposed belly of his third victim just behind the previous one.

It was a one-sided massacre. The enemy was cornered, without a commander to give them orders and unprepared for the fight. Seeing the disparity of the fight, a handful of ironborn tried to reopen the doors to escape from that slaughterhouse. They barely managed to slip through the reinforcing beam but then dozens of blades descended on them.

No prisoners, no mercy...

None of them was down. Few were slightly wounded and just one Stark soldier named Jory had the misfortune to receive a dart stuck in his left shoulder. Bloody Snow and Tallhart men surrounded the most seriously wounded. The wound was treated swiftly with a treatment 'hidden' from outside eyes.

Jaime knew what was going on... the night before he had received similar treatment for bruises, scrapes and minor contusions caused by intense sparring. A very useful Paladin skill that he too was eager to learn.

"Quick help me move these bodies! Let's pile them behind that wall!" Jaime attracted the attention of many curious eyes.

After two minutes...

Jory Cassel was standing again with a makeshift bandage on his shoulder. His face looked surprised, relieved and not so sore, and Jaime knew why...

"Peter, Jory, Ser Wex and you twelve, take care of the upper floor and neutralize the archers and lookouts. There should be no more than ten men guarding that side. If possible, try not to alert the Sea Tower. As soon as the task is accomplished return to reinforce here." Bloody Snow.

"At your orders, my lord General." Deputy General Peter.

"Ser Balon, Ser Ron, and you twenty with me. We will defend the far side.

Ser Jaime..." The boy sought the knight's gaze. Jaime answered the call.

"I leave command on this site to you. Ser Barristan and Lord Jorah's forces should be arriving soon in reinforcement... We are counting on you, Ser. If the Greyjoy soldiers manage to cross that bridge, it will be the end for us... They must not pass." Said the boy earnestly but with a look that brimmed with confidence, hope and expectation...

Jaime had almost two-thirds of his strength with him. Those just under fifty swords would face a daunting task: to prevent the enemy from tearing down the wooden and hemp rope walkway and to cut off The Guest Keep's forces during their retreat. In that way in enemy would be crushed between the anvil and the hammer, but only if they managed to look like a real insurmountable anvil... Less than fifty men had to look like more than two hundred.

But all that wasn't the most crucial point-that boy was betting his life on Jaime. If even a handful of Greyjoy warriors reached the backs of Bloody Snow and his meagre group focused on pushing back the Sea Tower garrison, it would be the end for them...

Time slowed down. Countless images and thoughts swept through Young Lion. Cersei's words redounded first...

[The brat Tallhart is a threat to our family and children, Jaime... Too much power and influence in the hands of a Northern barbarian. He is overshadowing the future glory of our little Joffrey. I hope he participates in the invasion, fights and dies with valour on the front lines. Talk to our father, Jaime... We must stop him].

More different voices and unpleasant memories followed:

[The Kingslayer! A man without honour... You have broken your oath!

The Kingsguard who stabbed his King in the back! Ahahah!] Robert's fat, vulgar laughter irritated him more than any other voice.

He knew the pig enjoyed making fun of him and his family.

The most roaring and piercing voice remained his father's...

A phrase Tywin repeated every night to all his children.

[What we do, what needs to be done, will always and only be for the sake of the Lannister name.]

'It's not just Cersei... Even my father would rather eliminate this threat... For the future of House Lannister...

Why are you trusting me, you fool?! Why are you leaving your life in the hands of a rival House!' He wished he could shout those last thoughts out loud... but his lips were sealed, and his throat parched.

And then, at the height of those dark and dreary thoughts... another image came.

A memory of the day she left Harrenhal...

[We leave Princess Elia, the Queen, and the princes in your hands... Watch over them until we return, Brother Jaime.] Those were the last words he heard spoken by the greatest knight in Westeros... The voice was different, but the tone, conviction, and confidence conveyed were identical.

A bridge... a bridge made of faint light materialized, slowly making its way in the middle of that sea of darkness. And beyond it, a young squire with golden hair was waiting for him, wielding a training sword that was very familiar to him... A hope, a chance to walk a path, a path he had dreamed of since he was a child but was lost years ago, it was materializing in front of him.

Time started to flow again. For a moment Jaime thought he had been standing still and silent like an idiot scarecrow, but, only a few seconds had passed...

However, seventy-one warriors were still waiting for an answer.

Jaime looked around him. They were all good, capable men-at-arms. And the glance... the glance in each of those brave men's eyes was fierce and more determined than ever.

Only a few words managed to be spoken by the 'Knight in search of his lost honour'.

"They will not pass."