Hey brothers, i'm back, after a lot time.

I have excluded many of my other histories, I only maintained this story and other, but i'm still working in another project to publish.

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The Bastard

Night was almost falling, the archers were all together in the camp, their commander was William Blackwood, a distant cousin of Lord Blackwood, considered the best archer in the Riverlands. He had enlisted in Seaguard when Lord Mallister asked for volunteers to face the approaching threat of Andals, as he was an experienced hunter he had decided to enlist to help his people, he was a lover of the ancient gods and despised the Andals for burning the Sacred Woods. He would not accept converting to that foreign culture, even if his life was lost.

Most of the volunteers who had enlisted shared their thoughts, although some were more motivated by the urge to fight a war and have the opportunity to gain prestige and perhaps a better position. He understood that that war would not be about prestige, especially if they lost, all that awaited them was the ax or giving up everything they believed in, thousands of innocent people would suffer if they were defeated, because the Andals did not come for peace, if they disagreed with them, they killed and destroyed everything on the way.

The king of the Riverlands was the legendary Tristifer IV Mudd, who had defeated the Andals so many times in battle that he was known as the Doom of the Andals. Years ago he had defeated the Arryn house in the failed invasion of theirs, as a warning beheaded their king at Oldstones, seeing the Arryn's disgrace the andals had joined together, for they saw that Tristifer was not a common enemy, because one attack after another had been beaten back. After so many defeats, they gathered countless lords with the sole objective of defeating the legendary king who inhabited the lands of the rivers, and at that moment Mudd needed to prove again that he was a living legend.

Serving under the Mudd flag sent a great wave of euphoria to the young people, as they had heard their parents tell stories and tales about the famous battles, and if one could say something, they also felt a little euphoric about that situation, which was swept away afterwards a week marching. Even with all that initial euphoria I could see that the men were afraid and frightened, especially when the news of the size of the Andal army reached the ears of the troops, it was necessary for the captains to do a hard job of avoiding mass desertions, fear of death. The men were always with weapon in their hands and no one had been able to rest properly waiting for the waves to arrive, and if it were to be true, he would not have closed his eyes to sleep even if for a few minutes, even if he was used to longing hours awake to hunt.

The rain had been constant and had intensified in the last few hours, the cold froze the bones and moisture got into the clothes making everyone shivers and pray for a hot meal as well as blankets to protect them from the punishing climate. When looking at the sky it was possible to see that a great storm was coming, even if the torrential rain fell, which seemed to make it even worse, which had been a very welcome gift at that moment to delay the waves and allow them to have some time to get organized. The storm in the clouds seemed to mock them, as did the ancient gods.

War horns sounded causing a great commotion in the camp, many started to scream and point to some point on the horizon it was necessary to squeeze their eyes very hard and concentrate to see what was happening, until he recognized the flags he saw, they were the drains. Not only countless flags, but line after line that advanced, a sea of enemies formed, it was a great beast armed and ready to kill everyone, easily outnumbered and overlapped on the battlefield in an almost unreal way, sending chills through your spine. The captains started shouting orders trying to put the forces into battle, but soon it stopped gradually, as the Andals were not taking combat positions. The rain had intensified a lot in the last minutes, the thunder fell around in a terrible symphony to be heard, slowly they could see the enemies were forming a camp, and understood that when the rain subsided they would fight against that wave that had twice as much effort of size.

The whispers increased and I could hear whispers as well as some talking openly about deserting, in other times they would agree, but at that moment they could not go back, even if on the horizon only the end of all could be seen, I would still fight and if necessary embrace death as a friend.

"By the gods, I never saw an army this big, we will be crushed, it's not even a bastard." — before the joking nickname launched, he turned to find Fool Ethan, another Seaguard volunteer, he was a bankrupt hunter, half blind in his left eye and without hair, usually a despicable man. In a war he had no way of choosing the comrades he fought with, regardless of how miserable they were.

"If I was so scared, I shouldn't have left that crap that you call home, cowards who hid under their beds are enough." — replied venomously not paying an ounce of respect to the man who also did not deserve a leaky coin.

"Listen to Bastard, he's right you stinky old man, it's better to be crushed than to run away like a sneaky worm." — fired Hobb One-Legged, a volunteer who had come from the mediation of Golden Tooth, he was a decent man, limp in one leg, he kept complaining about the serious wound. The lame was better company if you could ignore that he only knew how to talk about his daughters and how he had been hurt, but generally a good man.

"Worms live to live another day." — was Ethan's reply, although not very confident, and he seemed scared, the man gave the impression that he wanted to dig a hole to bury himself, the situation was aggravated when a big hand fell on his shoulder.

"So run away, Ethan, but I heard old William ordering some of his best archers to keep watch over the night to fix deserters, with that stink of yours, I bet Sam Light Finger drops you before you take three steps out of camp. Don't let me stop a coward from trying to save his own skin, I just expected more courage from those who live by saying that he is the best archer in Seaguard and the surrounding area. " — that great man was Bill Goodbrook, a very distant cousin of Lord Goodbrook who was a humble and honorable man. Of all the nobles who had known him, he was certainly the most decent and manageable, he was also quite respected among the rest, as he was certainly one of the great ones handling the bow, even though the users of the weapon were generally considered cowards and a part army disposable. Days ago Bill had been recognized by the king himself for his skill, which made the other archers proud.

"And who said I want to run? I just found out one fact. Did you see the size of that Andal army? We have no chance against them." — if all that was not pathetic I would agree with the man, but to be lamenting about defeat or the number of enemies would only worsen the moods already so affected.

"You are a man without faith. We are led by Tristifer Mudd, I have been under his command on other occasions such as in Saltpans where we were outnumbered by three to one, of course I took that arrow in the leg ..." — to stop the man I argue aloud.

"We have an advantage over them then. There are so many enemies that we cannot miss our arrows, we can shoot many of them before the infantry arrive." — it was a failed attempt to lift the spirits of those gathered nearby. Everyone understood that death was closer to them than to the thousands of camels who waited anxiously to kill them.

"Oh! The night is upon us. I'll go to the stores at the rear to get us some hot drink and some blankets. I imagine that we will not be able to sleep tonight, so that we have a worthy farewell to this world, my fellow countrymen." — Bill spoke as he stood up.

Bill soon returned with drinks and blankets so thin that the rain ran through them like a hot knife in butter, but it was better than nothing, the drink warmed the bodies that once shivered with cold. That night they talked about each other's lives and told stories and folk tales from the Riverlands, the more the night fell, the more archers joined the group exposing their tales too. They had even rehearsed a song that soon died when they heard a muffled scream in the distance, no one commented, but everyone knew it was someone who had tried to desert during the night.

At one point the men were leaning on each other, most of them with sleepy faces and yawning, but none could close their eyes to sleep even for a second for fear that the rain would stop and the waves would advance to slaughter each one in the way. There were no more conversations, no murmurs, just the rain and the silence of the night with the brightness of the moon almost killed by the torrent of falling water, but it was at that moment that a lamplight flashed to reveal the face of none other than William Blackwood. The commander of the archers, wearing the traditional cape made of raven feathers, as well as the rest of the black attire that accompanied him, his hair was a disheveled mix of black, white and gray, his beard was gray, and the small scar on his eye It gave the man a wild look.

"Men wake up. Prepare to march." — The words took everyone out of the trance, but most men were confused, it was Bill who recovered the ability to think first.

"Are we going to march on the Andals, my lord?" — the question was asked in a way that sent a murmur among the men who fully awoke with the possibility of a battle in the next few minutes, but the apprehension was cut by the commander of the archers.

"We will not march on the waves, we will retreat." — the word made men agitate and be confused because they were ordered to go back instead of moving forward.

"Don't argue. Pack your things and get ready, lamps will be lit to guide you along the way."

From there, the men quickly began to dismantle the camp and prepare to leave according to their king's order. While they were doing as they were told, they wondered why they would retreat, it didn't make any sense, turning their backs on enemies had no logic. It was dawn when the army began to move, slowly as all armed forces were, I could see that they were heading towards the river, mainly due to the fact that the terrain became more muddy and difficult to walk little by little. The men talked quietly among themselves, most were equally confused, as they expected their king to order the advance on the troops of the Andals, but instead of retreating away from the enemies, some wondered if Tristifer had lost his courage and strength before that wave.

It was only when the sun came up and the rain began to think that the order to stop was given, the forces were not arranged and battle formation, on the contrary the stake cart parked in front of the troops, several and several men were called to the bank of the army. No one could understand what was happening, especially when hoes and pitchers were placed at the feet of the men were even more confused, from the middle of the main body Tristifer Mudd himself appeared, mounted on a strong, bay stallion.

"You will be divided into groups for an important mission." — the mysterious tone of voice made men more uneasy.

"What mission, my king?" — came the questioning of men.

"To dig."

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