Chapter 13

========== Chapter 13 ==========

The situation was shitty to say the least. The outer castle wall was almost completely overrun and the soldiers on it had been slaughtered. The Ironborn, along with the surviving mercenaries, had already managed to close the gates, making it difficult for the Glover Guards to get back into the castle. Jon counted about a hundred men in the enemy camp, with only a few more than a dozen riflemen. On the Northmen's side there were about thirty men who could be called warriors. That was if you counted Jon, Vel, Daisy, and Lyra.

Greyjoy's plan was not a good one, but it was hard to think of a better one in his situation. By diverting attention with a sabotage and arson, and sending some of his men there, he was able to get his way. The northerners had left the castle, leaving it almost defenseless. Maybe Lord Glover's thirst for glory, or his desire to protect his subjects, or maybe it was simple revenge against the thugs who had plundered his villages. It is hard to condemn him for this hasty decision, and one can only condemn him if one knows it was a trap. Snow didn't know about it until the last and doubts he wouldn't have done the same thing had he been in the lord's shoes.

The plan was probably to seize the castle and take the lord's family hostage. After that, an opportunity to sail safely off the mainland could be bargained away, maybe even just for a few people. Though Euron might have had something else in mind.

Civilians flocked to the castle hall and were pursued by the ironborn, waving their weapons. Not everyone escaped. Riflemen took aim at the attackers from the walls, but only four people were killed. In a moment a whole crowd of people ran through the gates, not allowing the guards to lock them, and in a few moments the enemies would run in after them, though only one at a time. In any case, the moment was lost.

The first pirate to run into the courtyard was killed by a crossbow bolt to the eye. The Mormont Guards were more calm and organized, but a shadow of fear was reflected on their faces. It was one of them who fired the shot.

- Spears! - shouted Dacey.

Eight Mormont guardsmen stepped forward and lined up close to the gate, bristling with spear weapons. Moments later, five more pirates ran into the courtyard. Two of them were almost immediately spearheaded by the guards, and the one in front was stabbed with three spears and died instantly. One of them missed a blow with a mace from Dacey right in the stomach, after which it seemed that his body never had a backbone: he was folded in half with absolute precision.

- Archers, take positions at the top of the wormhole and the tower! - John shouted this command.

They looked at him for a moment, expressing doubt and mute disagreement.

- Seventh scorcher, execute! - The six archers on the walls ran to take their positions.

- Lyra," John said.

- Yes?

- Run to my chambers and fetch my sword.

- But...

- Quickly! - John shouted, and the girl ran to fulfill the order.

- Wolfie, your sword is on your belt," Dacey remarked as soon as her sister ran into the dungeon.

- I know," Snow shifted his gaze to one of the Mormont soldiers. - As soon as the young Lady Mormont enters my chambers, lock her in there and don't let her out," the warrior nodded silently and ran to carry out the order.

- She will hate you for it. You understand, don't you?

- Well, at least she'll be alive for it," Snow bared his ebony blade and took a seat just behind the formation.

- We'll try to hold them off with a wall of shields, then retreat to the attic, buy the archers some time.

There were two dozen men, even a little more in the courtyard. The Mormont Guards were mingling with Glover guards and wildling spearmen. The narrow passage through the gate leveled the numerical superiority of the enemy, but only until the mercenaries and islanders realized that the battle could be won more quickly by attacking both the gate and the walls simultaneously. Most likely, they will all die today. A little over a minute had passed since the first enemy in the courtyard had died.

Snow sighed heavily and concentrated. The non-verbal enchantments of the school of change and illusions were given almost without problems. He successfully cast Inspiration on all the soldiers in the courtyard, followed by Iron Flesh on himself, Dacey, Vel, and the three Mormont soldiers, until he realized it was impractical. Casting charms on single targets would exhaust him too quickly and would not allow him to cast the spell on even half of the warriors. Bastard used a variation of this spell to cast on multiple people at once. This expended more magical energy and the defense imposed was not as high as for a single target, but it was better than using the single variation many times and completely depleting himself. One final touch:

- Mid-Vur! - Snow cast Fury of Combat on his companions. But now from two Words of Power.

The combination is old and has been practiced many times during the Skyrim Civil War. It's perfect for small, localized skirmishes involving less than three hundred people. No one but Dacey still paid any attention to Jon's manipulation. Snow shifted his gaze to his friend, who smiled kindly at him, but her eyes expressed sadness. Death was getting closer.

The ranks were ready for battle, shields closed, feet resting on the ground. From somewhere above came the shouts of readiness from the archers who had taken up position on the tower. A crowd of ironborn mixed with mercenaries rushes through the gate and into the courtyard of the castle. They are already waiting for them. There is the crunch of collision, screams of pain, and the distinctive squelch as spears are thrust into flesh. The three opponents that ran ahead of them all die almost instantly when they meet the line of spearmen, but they never make it to the ground. Their bodies continue to be pushed by the crowd running behind them, the pressure so intense that the defenders begin to give up their position.

- Hold the fucking line! - John shouts.

The situation is briefly remedied by the archers firing from the top of the tower and the soldiers on the flanks. The magical advantage makes it possible to avoid losses, but not for long. The first spearman falls to the ground with his chest pierced, followed by the second. The soldiers on the flanks still manage to chop with impunity the islanders who try to break the line of the lancers, they almost do not pay attention to these soldiers, for which they are paid.

The defenders maintain formation, the meat grinder continues. Jon stood on the right flank and sent one islander after another to the Unknowing. A stabbing blow pierced through two opponents at once without any trouble or resistance, and a chopping blow cut the enemy in half. The islanders continued to press, not counting their losses, and the ranks of the defenders were also melting before their eyes: already a dozen of them could not continue the fight.

But the incessant pressure of human bodies was hard to hold back, and a good half of the courtyard was given to the attackers. The Northerners were being pressed and were slowly retreating toward the halls, but if this continued, they would all be slaughtered here.

Snow breaks his opponent's sword in half with a single blow and thrusts his own into his neck, but misses a blow from the mercenary on his right arm. He quickly takes the sword in his left hand and continues the fight with a new opponent. The healing will waste precious seconds, and he may end up dead with a healthy arm. The opponent, who clearly did not expect the boy to be so quick and able to hold his sword in his left hand with the same efficiency, is distracted for a moment, but continues to charge at his opponent. An arrow stabs him in the chest, then another, but he continues to attack, fully immersed in the fight. Vel, who is nearby, stabs him in the leg with a spear, and then Jon chops his head off. Snow snaps out of his seat and runs to the right to take the most convenient position. He pushes one of Glover's soldiers away: he gets in the way and stands in Creek's way. In the thick of the battle a thunderous voice is heard:

- Fus-Ro-Dah!

Tu'um hits almost all of his opponents, knocking those farthest from Jon into the fortress wall and knocking down those closest to him. For a moment, the battle comes to a standstill. The disoriented Ironborn try to realize what has happened and get to their feet. The Northmen look at Jon in disbelief, but he only raises his sword above his head and shouts:

- Kill them! Kill them all!

The enraged Northmen scream with rage as they cut down the islanders and mercenaries lying on the ground, while the archers continue to shoot at those who remain standing. After three minutes of brutal bloodshed, the courtyard has been cleared, the surviving islanders escaping through the gates or swinging over the wall. John's quick estimate was that they had killed just over four dozen, losing one and a half on their side, both killed and wounded. Snow repeats a combination of spells (sans Shriek) on the survivors and heals his arm, this drained him almost dry.

Snow approaches Dacey to coordinate the continuation of the defense: it won't be a couple of minutes before they're attacked again, this time perhaps not just through the gate. The girl stands near the wounded, whom the survivors take to the entrance of the wormhole.

- On the wall, watch the fucking squid, the rest of you, retreat to the attic! - Jon orders the guardsmen, and they nod and move away.

- Six wounded," the girl says to him. - Is there anything we can do?

John leaned over the soldiers. Four of them can still be saved, the other two are no longer alive, no matter how much he treats them. Either way, it's a lost cause, since the magic reserve is almost at zero. Snow shifts his gaze to Dacey, but sees her eyes full of hope. An idea pops into his head. "I wish I had time to come up with something better," Snow's mind flashes through his thoughts.

The guy's hand performs magic passes, and his palm flashes red, he performs this procedure several times. Then he puts his hands to the bodies of the wounded, and half a minute later they rise again, ready to continue the fight. The soldiers look at John, but say nothing and hurry to take their places in the thinning formation. Snow is visibly pale, dark bags appear under his eyes and he begins to slump, but Daisy holds him back.

The School of Change has a wonderful spell. It's called Equilibrium. The simplest in execution and the easiest to master, it converts life energy into magical energy. It is considered conditionally dangerous and forbidden for young mages, as it can kill the mage who uses it. On the other hand, it is a very good and fast way to restore the magic charge. In any case, it is faster than waiting for it to replenish itself. That's exactly what John used.

- Wolfie, what's wrong? - asks a frightened Daisy.

- Lord Snow, the islanders are attacking again! - shouts the sentries from the wall.

- Retreat to the palace! - Jon commands, not noticing the moment he took command. - And get the archers down there too!

...

Euron Greyjoy cursed quietly and looked at the ranks of his soldiers through clenched teeth. "Aren't they idiots?" he thought. Everything was going according to plan: they had distracted the garrison and captured the outer wall without any problems, killing almost all the defenders, but their further attack had stalled. And because of whom? Because of the pathetic Northmen left in the castle, who were four times less than them. They were led by a girl or a child, and the soldiers were obeying with a marked zeal, from what he'd been told.

The Sons of the Iron Islands had retreated like lowly men from the green lands, having lost a third of all his soldiers dead in that battle, and the spearheads of the Northmen's spears soaked in their blood.

Unfortunately, he has no time to spare. As the sentries reported, Glover's Northmen had already turned around and would return to the castle in less than thirty minutes. In that time, he should be able to take Lord Glover's family hostage. Then he could bargain his salvation. Euron hoped the commander of the defenders wouldn't think of killing the Glovers himself to make his life more difficult. Time was running out, and Quellon Greyjoy's son had made his decision. He would lead the next and final attack himself. These cretins could not lose under his command.

With one last glance at the nave, Euron began to prepare his men for the attack. Once they were in formation, he raised his boarding axe above his head and shouted:

- What is dead cannot die!

- What is dead cannot die! - A rumble of voices supported him, the mercenaries shouting along with the islanders.

The courtyard was empty, which meant that the remaining enemies were in the attic. It took another fifteen minutes to kick down the door, but the deed was done. In the first hall, the spear-wielding Northmen were waiting for them. Euron ran at the head of the attack. Archers from among the Northmen fired the first shots, but none hit him, but four ironborn fell dead. "That's alright, casualties are inevitable. I still have almost four times as many men anyway."

The defenders were just under twenty, that's if you count the archers who won't participate in close combat. To win, it was enough to simply hit the center of the formation, splitting it in half. Spearmen are not so effective in such contact combat and will only get in the way. Especially indoors, they can only take a couple men with them at most.

- You can't stop me, you suckers! - shouted Euron.

- Stay here! - The Northmen shouted back.

The Northmen clashed with the Ironborn, the center of the formation was indeed broken under such a strong pressure, but the islanders died one by one under the blows of spears and axes. The numerical advantage was still in their favor, however. Euron struck the head of the nearest lanceman with his axe and was able to break through. The gap in the formation grew larger.

One more blow, the girl in skins and with a spear loses her arm, and the fight is over for her. With his left hand, Euron drew his dagger from his belt and threw it at the archer who had been aiming at him, who fell with a pierced eye socket, only the hilt now sticking out of his head. A little more and the battle is won.

Euron meets the pale boy's gaze. Almost childlike, he stares at him with piercing, chilling gray eyes that have seen hundreds of battles. There is no fear or rage in those eyes. Only the certainty of victory and cold calculation. Greyjoy turns his attention to him and strikes, but his opponent easily fends him off. Euron's axe now has a visible, large jagged edge, and his hand aches. How much does his sword weigh?

Suddenly, a new rumble echoes through the hall. With furious shouts, rushing out of the corridors, all the builders, servants, and peasants who had fled to the castle during the battle enter the fray. Commoners: men and women armed with whatever they can find, mostly knives. They crash into the attackers, striking indiscriminately wherever they can hit. A real frenzy begins in the hall, but the forces are equal in numbers.

A new blow, but the boy dodges it, showing incredible agility and speed. Euron only now notices the short sword in his left hand. "It's no use - you can't fight with it in the ranks." Suddenly, Euron feels a stabbing pain in his leg and begins to fall. A blonde-haired girl with a scythe slung over her shoulder pierces his knee.

- That's for Uru, motherfucker," she hisses.

Jon swings his sword for a final blow.

- Stop, I'm an honorable man! I should be taken hostage and tried! Or ransomed! - shouts Euron.

But the boy only snorted and delivered a single, surgically precise blow to the heart. Euron didn't seem to believe in his own death to the last, but a blow to such an important organ is something even he can't survive.

- You were condemned to die at the moment of the rebellion, you should have stayed on Pyke and sworn allegiance to the king," Jon said, but the corpse could no longer hear him.

Snow wrinkled his nose slightly. Once again the girl had helped him defeat another Greyjoy, though he could have handled both Maron and Euron himself, but if they wanted to "protect" him, he would not stand in their way. He would no longer be surprised if, upon his return to Winterfell, he was again insulted by Theon, for which he would be beaten by Arya.

The Northerners began to press their opponents sharply: they had lost all fervor after the death of their commander and were slowly giving up their positions, despite their qualitative advantage. They had already realized that their fate was sealed. Covered in blood, both his own and that of others, John watched with a smile as the Glover's soldiers rushed in. Three minutes later, the battle was over. The pissed off northerners had spared no one. "Well, at least I didn't have to cut them all up myself. The backup plan didn't come in handy," Jon thought to himself. He would be able to use the tu'um again in half a minute. "Time slowdown," and he'd have time to use two swords to single-handedly kill a good half of his opponents, or at least try to do so.

...

By the time of victory, twelve of the more than two dozen infantrymen and six archers who had taken the first battle had survived, including Jon, Vel, and Dacey. Along with them, the three Guardsmen that Jon had individually placed Iron Flesh on at the beginning of the battle survived the fight. Vel said she had missed the axe blow to her stomach, but it had left only a shallow bleeding scratch instead of killing her. The individual imposition was stronger and longer lasting than Snow had originally anticipated. Of the wildlings besides Vel, only one woman survived the fight, and that was considering they were in the second row. Three of the twelve would not live to see the dawn, dying of their wounds.

John and the survivors sat with their backs against the wall of the hall. All covered in blood almost from head to toe, warriors who had survived the battle. Tired, exhausted, beaten, in tattered clothes, but alive. Nearby, the castle maester was tending to their wounds, and the women, who could, were washing and dressing them.

Snow watched with a detached gaze as the bodies of the dead were slowly carried out of the corpse-covered hall, as the women wept, bent over the bodies of the dead, as the northern lords talked among themselves, occasionally glancing at the survivors. John didn't care what they were talking about, just as he didn't care about the joy of victory. Neither he nor the others had the strength to rejoice. Meanwhile the lords were no longer talking, but arguing, and they were getting louder and louder. Finally, they stopped and moved toward the survivors. Lord Glover led the procession, Lord Jorah and Lord Flint following close behind. Lord Stark and Lord Servin had gone home a couple days ago.

- Snow," they addressed him.

- My Lords?

- You saved my castle and my family, or rather, all of you," Glover stated, glancing around at the survivors.

- Well, I suppose I did.

- We all agreed that you are worthy to be called a knight, having accomplished this feat.

- Am I too young?

- Nonsense, the Kingslayer wasn't much older than you when he was knighted.

- There's no sept. A knight must observe the all-night vigil.

- Fuck the fucking traditions of the South! - shouted Lord Glover. - Your mentor was knighted for bravery in battle. You will repeat his success. Lord Jorah.

- Kneel, Jon," Mormont drew his sword.

As soon as Jon was down on one knee, the blade of the Long Claw came down on his shoulder.

- For bravery in battle, for resisting the enemy and protecting the weak, I knight you and name you Ser Jon Snow, Nightmare Wolf. Arise, knight!

- May the Old Gods bless you.

- And now you must be rewarded as well," Lord Glover said to the others.

- "Nightmare Wolf*?" - John whispered, turning to Dacey.

- Well, you certainly look like a nightmare," she giggled, then grimaced visibly in pain.

And so ended the long night. The night after which the illustrious Captain Euron Greyjoy died and the youngest knight in the Seven Kingdoms in a long time was born.

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