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Game of Thrones: Azeroth? This Is Westeros!
Game of Thrones: Starborn Conqueror
Game of Thrones: My Pets Evolve Into Dragons
Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Ruthless Emperor
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"My Lord, wake up! There's a commotion outside!"
Garth Hightower frowned in his sleep, feeling the woman in his arms twisting restlessly.
Beneath the velvet covers, her skin was smooth as silk. Instinctively, he tightened his arms, pulling her closer.
"I think the commotion is coming from you," Garth mumbled incoherently, eyes still shut, his large, rough hand squeezing her waist.
"I was very satisfied with your service... now I want to sleep... I need you to be quiet." His voice was thick with drowsiness.
"Wake me again, and your payment turns from gold dragons to silver stags..."
However, his threat did not silence her.
The woman's body suddenly went rigid. Garth felt her fingers dig painfully into his arm, nails biting into his flesh.
"My Lord!" Her voice was panicked and urgent. "There are horns! And the sounds of fighting! And fire!"
Garth's eyes snapped open. Sleep vanished instantly. He sat up halfway, the silk sheet slipping down to reveal his broad chest.
Outside the tent, the deep, rapid blare of warhorns pierced the night, accompanied by the clash of steel and rising shouts.
The noise was getting louder, closer!
Worse, the canvas of the tent glowed with dancing orange light—the light of fire.
"Seven Hells..." Garth threw off the covers, shivering as the cold air hit his naked skin.
He jumped out of bed, bare feet landing on the fur rug, and scrambled to find his clothes.
Arthur's words echoed in his mind: Your cavalry cannot fly over walls. I have food for a year. I will hold Ring to the bitter end.
"Krog! Dir!" Rage at being deceived flooded his brain. Garth roared for his squires, his voice exploding in the tent.
The woman curled up on the bed, wrapping the sheet around herself, staring at him in terror.
Garth grabbed his linen tunic from the floor, the silk clinging to his skin.
As he bent to pull on his breeches, two bleary-eyed squires stumbled into the tent, one still rubbing his eyes.
"Wake up, you two fools!" Garth bellowed, kicking over a copper basin by the bed with a loud clang. "Enemy attack! Armor me!"
Krog and Dir woke up instantly. Sensing the chaos outside, their faces went pale.
They frantically grabbed chainmail and plate, the metal pieces clanking harshly in their panic.
Just as Garth pulled on his mail hauberk, the tent flap was thrown open.
Several fully armored knights rushed in, their armor smeared with soot, their expressions terrified.
"My Lord!" The lead knight's helmet was askew, his voice hoarse. "Dornish night raid! The camp is on fire everywhere!"
"Do not panic. Have the standard-bearer raise my banner." Garth grabbed his helm, the metal icy in his hands. "Order all cavalry to assemble at the picket lines!"
He tightened the chin strap, fury burning in his eyes. "Once the cavalry is assembled, a single charge will crush these cowardly bastards who only dare to sneak around in the dark!"
The knights bowed hurriedly and withdrew, armor clanking.
Garth turned to his squires. "Quick! Breastplate!"
Krog's trembling fingers could barely fasten the straps.
When Garth finally rushed out of the tent, fully armored, the sight before him made his blood run cold.
Warhorses that should have been at the picket lines were stampeding through the camp, knocking over fires and tents.
In the distance, wildling riders appeared and disappeared in the firelight, whooping as they tossed torches onto tents.
Burning canvas gave off a pungent smell, and thick black smoke rolled up to blot out the stars.
I should hang the master of horse! And the guards on watch! And Mark Mullendore and his monkey! Garth roared internally, his gauntleted fists creaking.
Fortunately, his own warhorse had been tied near his tent by his squires. It was pawing the ground nervously. Many other knights were in similar situations.
He vaulted into the saddle, his armor clanking heavily.
"Kill these cowards! Oldtown prevails!"
Garth drew his longsword, raised it high, and spurred his horse. With a whinny, the beast charged at the nearest wildling rider.
The wildling was leaning down to torch a tent. He looked up at the sound of hooves just as Garth's sword came down.
The sharp blade, forged by the master smiths of Oldtown, sliced easily through leather armor. The wildling screamed and toppled from his horse, blood spraying onto the burning tent.
Behind Garth, the standard-bearer raised the banner of the white stone tower on smoke-grey. Over fifty cavalrymen quickly rallied to him.
Shouting "Oldtown prevails!", they followed Garth into the chaotic fray.
Hoofbeats thundered, shaking the earth, as battle cries filled the camp.
When Garth struggled to pull his sword free from the shoulder blade of another wildling rider, thick blood dripped down the blade.
He looked around. By the light of burning tents, he saw the full scope of the battle. Starfall infantry had breached the outer defenses and were locked in melee with his soldiers.
Bodies of the wounded and dead littered the ground, blood turning the dirt dark red.
"Ahhh!" A scream rang out.
Garth turned to see Krog under his banner, his right arm severed at the shoulder by an axe, blood spurting like a fountain.
Dir lay in the mud, face pale as paper, trembling hands trying to push his spilling intestines back into his slashed belly.
The standard-bearer and guards stood back-to-back, forming a defensive circle, barely holding off the fierce enemy assault.
"We cannot let them break the formation! Don't let my banner fall!" Garth gritted his teeth, suppressing grief for his squires, and ordered a rally.
The trumpeter beside him blew the horn hanging around his neck. The deep notes cut through the noise of battle.
Scattered cavalrymen heard the call and flocked to him. Soon, over a hundred men had gathered.
"Charge!" Garth pointed his sword forward.
The heavy cavalry formed a wedge. Horses trampled over the wreckage of burning tents, charging like a torrent of steel into the enemy forces besieging the banner.
The force of the charge tore a hole in the enemy lines, stemming the momentum of the Starfall attack.
Routed soldiers from the perimeter began to gather under Garth's banner.
Garth lifted his visor. Sweat and blood ran down his face. He raised his bloody sword high, his voice ringing across the battlefield.
"Dornishmen only know tricks and sneak attacks! But victory belongs to the brave!"
His horse reared. He tightened the reins. "Soldiers! Follow my banner and fight your way out! Even ambushed by cowards, we can still win!"
Garth snapped his visor shut. His horse whinnied. "The Seven protect us! Oldtown prevails!"
"Long live Greysteel!" shouted the soldiers gathering under his banner.
More banners moved toward him—Ser Moryn Tyrell's rose, House Mullendore's butterflies... The routed troops began to recover from the shock and fear of the raid, regrouping.
Gradually, under the banner of the white tower and flame, a solid defensive line formed. In the firelight, Garth stood like the Warrior incarnate, bringing hope to his soldiers.
Just as the words of House Hightower promised: We Light the Way.