Chapter 97: ‘ Overcome One's Limits ' Part I

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POV: Barristan Selmy;

The Guest Keep, Fortress of Pyke.

A few minutes after a Knight answered...

Barristan cleaved the last blow ending the unnecessary suffering of his opponent, the last remaining ironborn of that enemy garrison.

None of those fanatical marauders of the sea chose to surrender... Every man fell clutching his weapon in his hand, even though the enemy was surrounded and had no way out. The last clangors and pained screams came from the corridor at the end. The reinforcements sent by Lord Jorah had been arriving for over three minutes now...

Almost ten minutes of relentless fighting since the wooden doors were knocked down by the enemy.

A time that seemed interminable... but, the twenty-eight warriors defending the bridge's control levers did not yield an inch of ground to the enemy.

A smear cut on their left arm, a semi bruised rib, and perhaps a fractured finger on their hand. The adrenaline in Barristan's body continued to significantly ease the burning and aching from those small wounds sustained in the fierce battle he had just faced.

Yet not even the adrenaline could mask the 51-year-old's true pains. His back was on fire, his arms heavy, his breath short and his left knee rusty. The aches and pains of age were becoming a real thorn in his side. Selmy was trying as hard as he could to mask those weaknesses. Experience and technique continued to make up for the lack of stamina and endurance, but that gap was getting wider year after year.

However... Barristan had just proven to the world, but more importantly to himself, that the flame was not yet extinguished, indeed, it shone and danced as furiously as in glory days past. More than sixty enemy bodies lay on the ground. Walls of ironborn bodies began to form near the only two entrances to the hall, making the passage almost inaccessible. One of them belonged to Captain Warryn, the former commander in charge of The Guest Keep's gate. The iron man had come himself to attempt to take down the infiltrating enemies who had taken control of the bridge's levers. It was Barristan's blade that brought him down by ripping through his belly. Warryn and at least fifteen other Ironborn had perished at his hands...

They had emerged victorious from their arduous task. Stark and Dustin's forces had come to reinforce them, surrounding the enemy garrison from behind...

"My Lords... The bridge is ours." He affirmed with satisfaction as he looked over his comrades in arms behind him.

"Uarrggh!", "Yeargh!" Exulted with elation and force a dozen combative voices. The future Lord of Pyke, Amon Fury, immediately prepared to help one of his comrades slumped by the wall with an axe wound in his side, Ser Phil Heart. The wound did not appear to be too serious, but it was almost certain that he would not be able to continue the fight.

Twenty-seven valiant men followed the knight in that epic feat, nineteen of them were still standing, five were on the ground wounded but still alive and three of them had died fighting to their last breath. One of them was a Tallhart soldier named Jyck whom Barristan himself had seen continue to brandish his sword for nearly a minute with a crossbow bolt planted across his throat.

The remaining two fallen: a man-at-arms from House Baratheon and a Knight-errant from the Westlands, whose name Barristan, to his shame, did not even know. Unfortunately, an axe blow had completely disfigured the poor boy's face from the Stormlands, making his face almost unrecognizable.

'I will discover your names and remember them until the end of my days. Your sacrifice and valour will not be forgotten.' The Knight promised himself, foreshadowing the future quest for information if he made it out of there in one piece.

Only now that the skirmish had ceased did Barristan notice that nearly twenty enemies, dead or still dying, had been felled by a single arrow. Eye, neck, or heart, all from the same bow...

The Knight turned around and noticed Henry, the archer in service to House Tallhart, in the corner of the room, unharmed and still watching with a ready arrow stuck in his short bow in Golden hearth. During the struggle, Henry slipped and rolled from wall to wall striking spitting a volley of deadly arrows... Barristan wasn't sure he could rank the boy as the best archer on the continent, but he would gladly put a penny on his bursting ability.

'May the Seven have mercy on the future enemies of that boy and his bow...' Thought the knight, thanking 'the Warrior' internally that he was not among them... not now anyway. Barristan's attention was recaptured at the entrance.

A man in his forties, clad in leather with the symbols of House Tallhart, carrying a compact leather bag, walked swiftly into the room with his hands turned upward in a sign of peace.

"Anyone here in need of urgent care?" was a healer in the service of House Tallhart.

"Here, quickly! Ser Phil is losing blood! Don't move." Lord Fury replied.

"No, milord! I can do this... Vex... Vex and Edward still need us. I... Urg... I can still fight..." Two pairs of hands were preventing Ser Phil Heart from getting up. The healer promptly walked over to the more serious case.

"Don't be an arrogant prick, Phil. Edward and Bloody Snow are at that pompous man's side right now...Vex will be fine." Ser Ruben Iron tried to reassure his companion.

"It will be me and Ruben who will back up Vex and Edward... You will remain here. This is an order from your Lord, Ser Phil." Concluded Lord Amon Fury, managing to make the wounded knight desist from his mad attempts.

'So much for 'The Bold'... They should nickname me Barristan 'The Shrinker'!... Lord Duncan!... Tom's son! Everyone else must be facing the pains of the seven hells right now!' Barristan chided himself inwardly as he witnessed the scene.

'They only have seventy swords with them... And the Kingslayer to watch their backs!' Barristan no longer had an ounce of confidence for his former squire and sworn brother. He was aware of Queen Cersei's dislike for the boy, and now his twin would be in charge of the main forces that would prevent the enemy forces from striking Bloody Snow from the south... No... He would not let those greedy Lions have a chance to strike The Hero of the North from behind. Such dishonor would not happen in his presence.

The real battle was being fought right now less than three hundred feet away. The bulk of their group was under an overwhelming numerical disadvantage surrounded on both sides!

Now that the tension of the moment descended, the hormone levels in the no longer young knight's body dropped.

Lassitude...aches...twinges all over the joints and burning flared up like a fire pervading Barristan's entire body.

[The tokens of age that old knights must pay, Ser.] ... A quote heard from the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Gerold Hightower, the White Bull. At last, Selmy knew what the old sworn brother was referring to seven years ago.

The Knight's mental strength was hardened and well-honed. Thousands of hours spent constantly at attention and on guard had paid off after all. But the physical stress accumulated in that last half hour... it was too much for those bones and muscles that were shrivelling up day by day. Ten years earlier maybe he would have been able to withstand the strain of a fight even an hour or maybe more... but now...

'No!!! Not yet, Barristan! Stand your ground, old man! Show your King and those boys that you're still worth something! They're counting on you!' The voice roared inside Ser Barristan Selmy's head, grinding his teeth hard as he silently endured the extreme physical and mental pain. It was as if a thousand tones inside his head were ordering him to sit down and rest. Barristan had to fight and silence those alarm bells.

The knight, with an extreme effort of will, gathered all the fighting spirit he could find and silenced those voices...

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A small wave of relief slowly spread from his head to his arms, until it slowly reached the tip of his feet. That sensation... seemed to remind him of something... It was as if an egg had been cracked and its contents slowly leaked all over his body, cooling the burns on the critical points. A winter breeze in the middle of a scorching desert.

Strength had resumed flowing through Barristan's calloused fingers and with it the fighting spirit.

At least a good dozen of those warriors could still fight, and the healer seemed to know what he was doing...

Barristan noticed that Thoros of Myr was pouring some of his liquor over the wounds and cuts of the wounded. The red priest had given good evidence of his melee skill, despite not having the opportunity to ignite his sword.

Clutching the leather handle of his sword the Lord Commander thundered, "Thoros, Lord Beric, Ser Justin... You three remain here to guard the wounded. Anyone who still has the ability and will to wield a weapon, with me! We'll take the wall route around the main hall. We must reach the second bridge and reinforce our comrades as soon as possible! " Sixteen men responded promptly to their commander's call.

"We'll take care of running alcohol and sewing thread on them, Ser. Don't worry." He reassured Thoros with the mutual assent of Beric and the knight of the Seaguard lands. Seventeen men quickly exited the room heading for the stairwell that led to the walls...

An old and valiant Knight was unaware that a few seconds before a line was crossed, and a thick barrier, long an obstacle to the growth of a skilled swordsman, was broken.

Only two individuals on that island could witness and identify that phenomenon.

A brighter, impetuous, and fiery flame flared from a Legend... one that bore the name of Ser Barristan Selmy 'The Bold'.

End POV.

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POV: Vice Commander William.

Main corridor of the halls of The Guest Keep, Fortress of Pyke.

As a Level [11] rose within the walls of Pyke...

The battle raged on, a storm of clangors, screams, blood, and death continued to accompany the two rival factions with no holds barred...

The fight had moved to the great hall of the fortress, halfway to the second bridge. The place where his Lord General at this moment urgently awaited reinforcements...

William had delegated command of the Winter Guardians to his second in command, Deputy Division Commander Broom. A fine officer and a fine sword. It was Broom himself who wielded Red Rain at this moment. Lord Duncan instructed him to lend it to the most valuable Winter Guardians swordsman and so he did.

By now, all members of the Winter Guardians had been properly bloodied. The current elite Tallhart forces, except for William, had remained to guard Torrhen's Square during the Battle of Bear Island. Those boys, too, wanted their share of experience and glory. And there was plenty of experience. William had to admit that the moral of those boys was through the roof... Their performance on the field during the first assault on The Great Keep was textbook, so much so that less than a dozen of them came out of that fierce encounter wounded. There had been no casualties so far, only one seriously wounded man, Norren. Half the point of a pike managed to get into his belly, but he had already been treated urgently, and Krux, the healer of the third squadron of the same squadron, had assured him that he would certainly make it through the night.

The Lord General would have him back on his feet in no time as soon as he could reach Lieutenant Norren.

At last, the Guardians could retreat from the dangerous enemy front lines and catch their breath in the rear. King Robert and the main forces had recently come to their aid, replacing the vanguard with fresh troops. Both the King and Lord Stark had entered the fray surrounded by their bannermen and sworn shields. Supreme General Helman was a few steps away from Eddard Stark along with his trusty Blades of Frost. Blade [3] was among them.

Balon Greyjoy must have moved the main forces here... William estimated at least a thousand enemy armedmen. At this point in the battle, half of them were left... This meant that there were about three hundred warriors left in the last enemy fortress...

This was not a bad move. If Balon Greyjoy had chosen to take down the last bridge, he would have had to have a few mouths to feed as possible to hold out longer. If that bridge of ropes and wood had fallen, the only winning tactic would have been a starvation siege, and it would have lasted months at the very least, years if the enemy had been well prepared. That or burying the enemy entirely in stone by destroying it entirely with catapults... Duncan Tallhart wasn't going to go along with either sceneries. He didn't want to grant Balon bargaining power or carry out an unnecessary massacre by tearing down a thousand-year-old fortress. A choice William respected and appreciated...

'There were not only ironborn raiders in that castle but also innocent people with honest jobs.

'Lord Jorah is safe now.' William assessed, scanning the area around. A wall of eight experienced crossbowmen Guardians, a healer ready for anything, and a wall of shields Tallhart, Dustin, and Stark were protecting the Lord with sword and armour still pristine...

Even Ser Haymitch had returned to Lord Stark's side just seconds before delegating the task to Jorah Mormont's army of sworn shields. And William would not be outdone...

'I need to get to General Duncan!" the Vice Commander charged forward, slipping through the lines of allies. The main corridor was packed with fierce ironmen ready for anything.

Robert's forces had to force the enemy to retreat if they were to break their moral for good and force them to surrender.

Less than a minute later, William made it to the front of the line.

He managed to catch a glimpse of Robert's mighty hammer in action less than fifteen paces away from him. The King roared and laughed like a madman during each blow with the two white cloaks protecting his flanks. Eddard Stark was in command of the left-wing just a few paces from the King.

William focused all the concentration, and he could muster on the target in front of him. He activated to the maximum the breathing technique taught to him by his Lord and entered the fray...

The grips on his two long curved Damascus knives were as firm as ever. The footwork taught to him, and the forms of attack taught to him by Ramas routed the first two victims within range.

William leapt from side-to-side dodging slashes and lunges left and right. An interpretable flow in the chaos of the fray began to take shape to the Northern warrior's trained eye. The combat experience gained on Bear Island was paying off. The style of battle and individual fighting was similar.

Swinging the blade...parrying...counterattacking...dodging, an effective battle pattern developed, but it wasn't enough...William wanted to be faster, more precise, and more fluid in his movements. Too many unnecessary movements polluted the attack and defence forms. He could do so much better than that... he sensed.

The seconds passed as slowly as molasses and William's victims fell one after the other without respite. The boy was so absorbed in the fight and his goal that he perceived nothing but the range of his combat area.

Enemy commanders shouting, "Stop him!!!", King Robert ordering "Attack the breach!!! Follow that man!!!"... nothing entered William's bubble, only the enemies to be shot down that stood in his way existed.

'Pike from the right... bare belly. Slash from above...left leg...' William didn't even keep track of the trail of death left behind. Every neuron and synapse were working just to fight.

An epiphany of inspiration grew more and more after each swing or dodge.

A new height was about to be reached...

End Part I

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