By The Thunderous Hammer 2 (Patreon)

By the Thunderous Hammer 2 - or ‘In a world of uncertainty, the Hammer of Justice strikes Thunderously' (GoT/ASoIaF BaratheonBastard!SI)

The Greyjoy Rebellion is one of those ‘major interbellum events’ in this series that is not as expanded as I feel it truly was now.

The attack on Lannisport, the raid on Seagard… those were ‘relevant attacks’. The Greyjoy Navy was massive enough to commit some rapid ‘hit-n-run’ assaults which looted many of the minor ports that reached even the House Stark’s domain.

A case of retaliation of the most severe kind was just a mercy at this point as it was clear Eddard Stark didn’t like to go to war unless pushed into it. Especially when he now had a family to take care of. Maybe it was the promise of finding Robert- to see how he was doing and… maybe reconnect.

The North may have been his home, but good friends were scarce nowadays.

The mustering of the banners was quite fast, but I was sure that was the case for the army rallying in Winterfell by those subjects that lived within this main fief of House Stark.

After the full army was accounted for, a march was issued with Lord Eddard and other relevant military leaders in charge as the rally point for all troops was given to the less cold areas of the North back near the Trident.

It was weeks of moving, of hunting, of making acquaintances and… it was refreshing. One may think that a war would leave generations scarred, but the way this one was set up was perhaps the reason why many of the veterans from this conflict would have no issue in brawling things with the Southerners.

It was the Greyjoy against us all. Sure, they had a mighty fleet, but it mattered little as the Royal Navy was ready to smash them all with Lord Stannis in charge of it. The propaganda was rudimentary, but it was effective.

Plus, the Northern Discipline made us all somewhat stoic to the chance of death. There was no illusion of this being a fancy party in some distant islands- there may be idiots thinking this would grant them glory, knighthoods and even gold.

The truth was far more commonly-known to the rest. This was war, but it was a righteous war.

It was during this first stage of the conflict, the ‘major rally’, that I got the epithet of ‘Orys the Hunter’. Many wouldn’t find it that odd, if not for the fact I had been responsible for the capture, the killing and the preparation of many animals that were given in sacrifice to the troops’ bellies.

It was a growing phenomenon, one I hadn’t expected to see spreading like wildfire, but the prospect couldn’t be stopped even for a moment as I found myself becoming a mini-celebrity.

No one seemed to suspect a thing about my age and I was lucky enough Lord Stark didn’t play with the news of someone being rather helpful in regards to supplies. I was just doing my part… elevated to a fair bit compared to what a liege would expect a subject to do but it was still a duty to me.

During this time, I ended up making the acquaintance of someone that stood out from the rest like me. He wasn’t as active as I was, but he would jump to help me around whenever possible. He would ask early on, but soon he started to ‘impose’ himself on the chore of assisting me.

Dunk, or whatever his real name was, could be seen as a very lanky man. Roughly in his thirties and yet appearing much taller and ‘thinner’ than most ‘old’ men. He was… good at helping, and terrible at leading.

“I really don’t know why, I just like to follow orders.”

An odd mindset for sure, but he was a reliable hand when needed. I trusted him, and he trusted me back. In fact, he spotted early on that I was not as old as I told others to be, but he thought it was because I was ‘older’ rather than younger.

Oh yes, he may be sharp on simple works, but mind games he was a complete idiot about.

I decided to tell him as much- I found his company amusing and entertaining. We would train, tell stories, and he would mention his old grandmother back at Winterfell as she was the one that took care of him for most of his life. He had a wife too, but she was now busy with their close-to-adulthood son that he named Walder.

I wasn’t sure why, but something about the name rang a bell. I ignored for the time being, more delighted by the lessons Dunk had to offer me. He told me that his father had given him basic lessons of swordsmanship and told him that his grandfather had been a sharp knight with both mind and sword.

The former was debatable for the rest of the family, the latter was… intensely proven.

Dunk was ruthless. I wouldn’t say he tried to kill me, but live iron sure made things frenetic from time to time. He would pause from going through deadly attacks and then give me advice on what was wrong with my stance. The footwork, the posture, the actions and…

I was mesmerized by it all. I listened and corrected each mistake with what he offered me to try out. For a time, I felt like I was ‘really’ a child, hearing from their parents how to handle something as important as ‘surviving’. I would look at this event with fondness. It wasn’t a perfect change all the time, but we would work to get it right as the hammer I was given was quite unpleasant to use.

The handle was fine, but the weight was off by a bit. I wasn’t going to keep this one, but it had been a better choice to the rudimentary one I made with the wood and stone wrapped up with thin ropes.

The experience was useful. I couldn’t waste too much time learning the basics of… killing men. I knew how to handle mindless beasts, but men were worse. The culture of a warrior invited to fight to the bitter end within a degree of unpredictable will and loyalty that could easily turn a battle from one side to another.

Hence why I needed to know what I had to do as a means to an end- which was to ultimately claim fate and kill Balon. If I did this much, then Pyke was going to be hurled into anarchy for longer and prevent issues in that regard during the events of Game of Thrones.

Eventually we did arrive at our destination and ships were already there to have us carried to Pyke. The Royal Fleet had clashed with the Iron Fleet and tore it apart in a single battle. It was enough to scatter what was left and provide a large opening to storm the Iron Islands for good.

Manning the ships and then sailing for those was another trip or half. We took less time to reach the place, but it was an ‘experience’ alright. People vomiting by the windows and edges of the ship- it was an atrocious sight, and a constant torment for anyone trying to keep their meals in check. I literally had to lessen how much food I could help making on board because the noises made me gag.

I was lucky enough to have picked a spot with Dunk in the ‘living quarters’ that was as far away from the vomit brigade as possible. Luckily for us, the journey lasted just a few days.

With Pyke on sight, the vomiting lessened to nothing and we were all ready to be part of the second wave of invaders. Despite how much time the inhabitants had to prepare defenses, the first wave had made some legitimate progress through most of the more serious defenses. Our arrival granted them the numerical advantage to further push through and ultimately start occupying land.

At some point, Dunk shifted somewhere else. It was between the first three to four melees we took part in. Everything got blurry, but I remember moving mechanically through it all.

Most of the exchanges I would be spared from seeing blood, but it was impossible for that to be a common occurrence. Blood was being spilled, and I had to push forward or risk being grinded apart either by my fellow warriors or the enemies we were meant to fight.

I was horrified at first, then it became a dull and unpleasant feeling. I still pushed through, but it didn’t normalize at all. The bitterness of lives being claimed made the experience disgusting.

Yet, I had to push through. I couldn’t allow myself to break apart for this and… ultimately, my wish was granted. The moment when the siege machine tore an opening into the walls of the main castle was where I rushed forth. I was the one that was in front of all as I was putting strength in my leg to claim this right off of anyone else.

I jumped through and I was greeted by people that were not prepared to face a hammer-user. One thing that I have to appreciate about this uneven hammer was the sheer momentum it carried with each strike. It was like a fleeting moment of wind… that carried through until a loud crack or two broke the targets it collided with.

Other soldiers tagged along- hell, I saw someone mustering a sword on fire as everyone made quick work of the first few lines. Once the castle was invaded, everyone moved fast to mow down the other defenders. Most of the troops we were facing had been killed off, with just a few left.

Finally, we managed to catch up to Balon. The King of the Iron Islands was not willing to stand down without a fight. I remember something about him being brought in chains to swear his fealty to Robert and lose any sense of dignity left.

This time around, it was his life that was going down the drowning sink of a kraken’s asshole he called a god. He was not rabid about it, with his stance surprisingly lucid as he managed to put me on the defensive for a while. Balon had fought a hammer user before, and he was trying to capitalize with what he could remember from those experiences.

Sadly for him, he missed something as his troops were distracted and couldn’t see electricity play over my shoulders where his blade came close to strike. Like a brief zap, his posture was stunned in position, with his eyes wide open as the electricity had paralyzed him briefly… just enough for my hammer to come careening for his chest.

Differently from before, where the hammer would be swinging around and hitting enemies left and right with horizontal strikes, this time it came forth with a single strong thrust forward, the impact easily crushing the barely-armored chest of his as I crushed his ribcage and his organs in a single stroke.

His shock was evident and gore erupted as blood was sprouted out of his mouth. The rain of red slammed softly on my helmet, staining it crimson as I found myself over the dead body of a dangerous monster.

The sight of their liege’s death was enough to cease the battle within the throne room. The victor had been seen and conceded to and the war was… over.

But while many were ready to celebrate the feast coming at this glorious victory, I found myself wandering back to the main camp held by the troops under Lord Stark. I found a rock where to sit and some water to wash the stained helmet. It was the first time it was so lurid, but I got rid of the taint with ease.

…

I was still alone.

Dunk had died. I didn’t need a corpse to know, I just could tell- he would have come back. Maybe… he was just talking with others. Maybe he would show up later on but… I knew he should have come to me. He meant it when he cared for me as a son.

These thoughts darkly demotivated any interest for a party. This was no grand deed, it was just business to me. Business to start pruning what shit this timeline would hurl all around.

Sorry George, I am about to ruin this game of yours.

But while I sat on that rock, pondering as a solitary fool the extent of damnation that waited for me, a well-armored knight came looking for me. I wasn’t aware of this until he started to call for my name.

“I am looking for someone named Orys! Where is the warrior called Orys.”

I stood up from the rock and turned to the knight.

“That would be me, ser. Why are you looking for me?”

The next words left me grimacing behind my helmet.

“The king seeks to see you as the one that is claimed to have slain Balon Greyjoy. It’s urgent.”

…Fuck. What now?

—------d-d-d-d—----

AN

So close and yet so far. Bobby B meets his son Orys B.