Blackheart (GoT, Witcher, DC)

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***

Damian Rivers.

Being a bastard was certainly a disadvantage, but a small one.

It was that I had little money or influence. There's no big reward for a captured Frey bastard: there are plenty of Freys, but they have less money. Damian remembered that a couple of decades ago, Frey Senior had spared ten thousand dragons to ransom his son from his second marriage, I think, or from his third... he wasn't particularly interested in the matter. There was no mention of such a thing in the series, nor in the book. In the end, my brother was killed. So there's no one to pay for me.

But on the other hand, as Jon Snow used to say, "Sometimes even bastards have good days, and because of them their fathers' legitimate children may envy the bastards who are not so well looked after." That phrase sounded about right, if I'm not mistaken.

Damian wasn't sent to be looked after by anyone, he was pretty much forgotten. So I didn't have to step into his role much. The things I'd done in the six months since waking up in my new body had been pretty ungodly.

It all started when I left Gemini for the south of the Riverlands. After stopping by a couple of castles of medium size and importance, I sold my unwanted chain mail and bought some throwing knives, which were much more useful. In fact, that chain mail brought me thirty silver stags and gave me the opportunity not only to replenish my supplies and arsenal, but even to put something aside for a rainy day. After that, I went to collect rumours and news from the lands, and only then I started the "enriching the bastard" phase.

That is, natural robbery of the common people. At first, I not very skilfully, but effectively cut a couple of purses, killing one careless knight from the southern lands. I ended up with three gold dragons and twelve silver dragons, plus four dozen coppers.

One of the taverns tried to rob me, but when I saw the stupid and mean face of the owner of the place, I was already waiting for the night guests. And my instincts did not fail me. Three thieves, one of whom was armed with a dagger, just in case, broke in and tried to rob me. I quickly dealt with them without killing anyone. Among them was the nephew of the fat landlord, who had begged me to leave him and his nephew alone when I came to him with the trespassing complaint. I managed to get some money, a couple of horses, and even a good sword they'd stolen or bought. Then I ducked out of there just in case. What if he had someone else as a "roof"? Besides, I'm here without any support or help. So I don't want to take any unnecessary risks. I thought it would be a good idea to kill all four of them, but the tavern owner wasn't seen by the town's authorities as "lawless", so they'll turn all the dogs on me.

After my adventures in the towns and castles of the local lords, I moved for a while to villages and hamlets, if I may say so. There, gaining the trust of the villagers, I robbed and killed them one fine night. In large villages I was a little more cunning: I stayed for a few days, cautiously entered some houses, stole jewellery or something valuable, then penetrated into other houses and left the goods there.

In the morning there would be noise and proceedings. The headman would conduct searches and find the stolen goods in one of the houses. Then there was a trial, where I was the judge - because in the Riverlands the institution of chivalry was honoured, and I, despite my origins, was considered a "noble man". Who, by the way, changed his hair colour from blond to red and from red back to black every time he travelled between villages. Therefore, I was an "umpire" who, for a small sum of money, acquitted some "criminals" or commuted their sentence. In a couple of villages I managed to get two squires (sons of my convict) and one blacksmith's assistant, who wished to become a warrior, like his father, he did not want to stand at the hearth for smelting nails and horseshoes, but to swing a sword, which he forged for himself, would be just great.

The squires' names were Glen and Ben, twins thirteen years old, russet-haired, brown-eyed and thin, though tall for their age. They would have been indistinguishable if it weren't for one distinctive feature on Ben's face, a scar on his right cheek from hunting with his father in the woods.

The blacksmith's apprentice was called Marik the Leatherman - he wore a leather armour he'd inherited from his father and had modified a bit to suit him. With his sword, he practised with me the basics I knew for the weapon. I also taught him hand-to-hand combat and how to handle a knife.

In training these three brats, I combined the local traditions Damian knew with what I had learnt at the academy of the last world. It was slow going. I wasn't as good a mentor as I thought I was. Soldiers from the past world were much easier to teach the order of the military.

After acquiring this trio into my little retinue, I stopped looking for profit and future soldiers of a small, but small, unit that obeyed me and honoured only me. I set out for Riverrun. There were some good blacksmiths there who could fulfil orders for me and my boys. I didn't want much for myself, just a hidden defence for my doublet. Namely, a doublet with a chainmail sewn into it, which would serve as additional armour, invisible to the enemy. I also needed a shield, a comfortable helmet, a cuirass, and groin and thigh protection. For the twins I ordered two crossbows with several quivers of bolts, light armour and short swords. We'd spent a good bit of money then: after all the shopping and a holiday in a brothel in the Riverlands capital, we only had twelve stags with us.

Just as we were about to leave Riverrun, I heard someone calling for help. The caller was clearly a man, though his voice gave a "rooster" sound.

I steered my horse closer to the wall, dismounted, and handed the bridle to Ben.

In the alleyway I was presented with a somewhat unpleasant picture: three armed men trying to undress a fourth man, the man yelling and begging them not to do it.

"Here come the faggots!" - went through my head.

I didn't like them much in my previous life, and here a trio of them were trying to rape the fourth man - clearly straight, judging by the way he was protesting. I couldn't pass it up purely out of a "sense of beauty," so I pulled out a couple of knives and threw them at the two freaks closest to him.

The third one watched dumbfounded as his two friends collapsed and choked on their blood, and only after they let out death groans did he draw his sword and lunge at me. Or rather, tried to, but the male victim quickly grabbed his axe and fractured the skull of the rogue rapist.

Walking over and picking up my knives, I turned to the hapless man:

- "What's your name, victim of liberalisation?

- What? I'm sorry, sire, but I didn't understand the last word you said....

- Forget it," I waved him away. - I said, what's your name?

- I am Tom of the Seven Creeks. A minstrel who travels and shares great stories and songs with the fair folk," he looked at the corpses and grimaced. - But not everyone appreciates it at face value. These men were sent by Edmar Tully, who had forbidden me to come here once before, but I didn't listen, and the result was that he sent these three pigs after me to strip me naked and throw me outside the walls of Riverrun.

I took a closer look at my unwitting acquaintance. Tom was short, in his late forties or early fifties. Big-horned, pointy-nosed, with sparse brown hair. He was dressed in a burned-out dark green cloth with old leather patches, a bunch of throwing knives on his belt, and a woodcutter's axe behind his back, with which he killed his "undresser".

- I see I've got the political one," I muttered tiredly. - I'll have to get out of here fast if I don't want Tully to strip me naked or something worse. So long, Tom. I've got to go," I turned and walked back to my horse.

- Wait, sire. Please, let me come with you.

- Why the hell should you come with us when I've already saved you from disgrace? - I turned to him.

- I am a minstrel! - he said excitedly. - And I know how to fight. You're going to join someone's service, aren't you? I can tell you where the lords pay better, and I have all sorts of information, including rumours, that might be of use to you, sire....

- Damian Rivers, Walder Frey's bastard," I answered his mute question.

- ...Ser Damian. Believe me, I can be of use to you. I'm tired of travelling alone, and I've been thinking for some time about joining a group of travellers.

Come to think of it, I need someone to learn useful information for me anyway, and a minstrel in my troop will help me achieve that. And he seems to be pretty good with his axe, and the knives aren't for beauty, though it's not clear why he didn't use them while undressing...

All right, I'll take him, and then I'll figure it out.

- Come with me. But I warn you in advance: I do not tolerate disobedience to my orders, for this I punish severely. If I tell you to run, you run, if I tell you to jump, you jump, and if I tell you to die, you die!

- Yes, yes, yes, Ser Damian. I agree.

- Come with me.

The five of us were able to leave the city quickly and unhindered. Then we camped, where I interrogated our new comrade, where he'd been, what he'd seen, and what he thought of the situation in the Seven Kingdoms. Tom willingly answered my questions and shared information. When we started to eat, I thought about the information I had received and how I could use it.

I also regretted once again that I could not bring firearms and gunpowder into this world. There are many reasons for this, the main one is the lack of material base, workers and real knowledge I have to produce, for example, the same muskets and gunpowder. And I don't need it yet. After all, in this world there is magic, dragons and Wild Fire, which covers most of these innovations. Also, if I start making gunpowder, sooner or later someone will steal the recipe from me (the Lannisters, for example) and do it on a large scale. And that's a huge disadvantage for me. You need to be either a powerful lord or a very rich and influential person to be able to produce it.

Besides, I didn't have the necessary ingredients at my fingertips - they can only be found in Essos. Or, alternatively, in Dorne, but that's far away.

The other issue was Molotov Cocktail, which I realised was a severely weakened version of Wildfire. And that's a mix I could reproduce. That's a fat plus, but that's where my progression ended and I had to think how to reinforce myself and my squad....

Technologies and innovations are not for me - I am not a scientist and I was not a diligent student. But it's a pity: sometimes it's not enough what we were taught at school.

I've spent six months in this world, and the only results are constant training to keep me from getting lazy, and four chumps as a squad. Not much.

The five of us went to the north-west of the Riverlands in search of adventure, or rather, we went to a small tournament in Sigard, the fiefdom of the Mallisters. The main prize there is a hundred gold dragons for winning a horse fight, fifty gold for winning a general fight, and another thirty for winning an archery contest. Not much if you take the Tournament of the Hand as an example, but it's standard for common lords, I suppose. But for landless knights and archers, it's quite a substantial sum.

So, we were going to participate in this small tournament where at least a third of the lords and landless knights of the Riverlands would come together. We were about three days into our leisurely journey to Sigard when, at one of our stops, Ben went to get some kindling and came running back just a few minutes later, all sweaty and excited.

I calmed him down by drawing my sword and signalled the others to get ready just in case. Only then did he speak:

- Ser Damian! There are bandits, I have spotted them... thirty bandits armed with bows, hammers and swords. They're taking prisoners. There are many children and women among them.

- Where are they? Can you show me where you saw them? - I asked him.

- Yes, sire.

- Lead the way! - I nodded and turned to Glen. - You stay in the camp. Stay alert. Tom!

- Yes, sire!

- You'll probably stay with Glen, too. Marik, you come with us.

After about five minutes of quiet walking, so as not to make too much noise, we arrived at the spot where Ben had seen the bandits. They were quite skilful at covering their tracks, but I was able to track them. After half an hour's pursuit we came upon their camp, partly concealed in a cave. The forest craftsmen had made a good dungeon out of the cave. The brigands themselves had already occupied themselves with some of the pretty captives, raping them. I counted all the likely opponents, and in the end there were forty-eight of them. Almost five dozen men unencumbered by morals and laws. The kind of men who'd kill for a nickel.

Why did I decide to help the prisoners?

For the simplest of reasons - real experience of fighting, smoothing out the sharp edges of my squad, a chance to make a profit at the expense of the brigands, and the possibility that among the captives there were noble men or those for whose release I would be rewarded.

Pretty prosaic motives that might be worth the risk. But not now. They're going to celebrate a successful raid, and the festivities will last until morning. That's when we can attack them, and in the best case scenario - even cut as many of them as we can quietly, and then use the two Molotov cocktails I made just yesterday. It's a pity I can't make any more today, I'll have to make do with what I have.

Leaving Marik to watch over this haggle and ordering him strictly not to interfere, no matter what happened, Ben and I returned to our car park. Having collected everything necessary, taking Tom and Glen with us, explaining in passing what would be required of them, we went to the place of future actions.

The twins were begging for permission to rush into battle right now, while the brigands were raping women. But a couple of punches to the teeth and backhanding, and then Tom's slap on the wrist did a good job of getting the "pink stuff" out of their heads. I, though a former military man who had been through more than one battle, clearly understood that even I could not cope with this gang alone in an open and fair fight. Tom and Marik also realised this and were on my side from the start.

We waited until it got dark and got into action. Firstly, we started to infiltrate the outskirts of their camp with Marik and pick off some of the unlucky drunks one by one. They went to take a piss, and we would wring their necks or give them a "second smile" from ear to ear, dragging the bodies away into the woods. No one noticed their absence from the general festivities.

And secondly, using crushed mushrooms and some herbs, I created a mixture that I put into the wine that the gang was to drink. In the end, it was indeed taken and drunk by our opponents, unfortunately, not all of them. Only a dozen, as I found out later, but that wasn't bad - the mixture knocked them out for about twenty-four hours.

Then we waited until dawn - by that time almost all the bandits had calmed down and gone to sleep. Even those who had been on watch were either still drinking or had fallen asleep.

Now it was our turn to act.

Carefully, but still quickly, we took down the sentries with Marik, and then we went through the tents, killing the bandits - those who were dead drunk and those who had drunk my drink. When I had cut out the third tent in the count, the youngest of the bandits, a lad of about sixteen, came running in. And immediately shrieked:

- "Enemies! - and then choked on blood from my dagger.

Shit! We're running out of time.

It was a good thing I'd put Tom and the twins in the places I'd specified in advance, so they'd be able to fire bows and crossbows if things got out of hand.

And so it was: the remaining half dozen ran out in their trousers and shirts with clubs and knives in the direction of the noise. Some of them were immediately bolted in the chest. Marik fought with a couple of thinner than he was, who were in a drunken rage and came at him with their bare hands, which may have saved his life. After all, he was a little closer to the gang that ran at us, and the first to get to the enemy. He'd forgotten about the throwing knives.

But I didn't forget them. I threw a couple, then took out a cocktail, lit a "wick" in the fire, which was a rag soaked in alcohol, and threw it into the thicket of the enemy.

The flames flared up quite quickly and took six or seven men with them. Next I had to go into close combat.

The first big guy came at me with a mace, but I quickly deflected his blow and stabbed him in the throat with my blade, swiping at him with my sword and parrying the blow of the third guy who was coming at me. I had to fend off several blows from these two before I caught one of them and drove my sword between his ribs, ripping it out with a chunk of bone and flesh and fending off the last one.

But just as I killed him, another man came at me, knocking me to the ground. I had my knives with me, and snatched one of them and drove it into my enemy's head.

The last bandit ran at me, but he was caught by an arrow fired by Glenn, who was the only archer.

The fight was over. Only Marik was wounded, and that was a slight cut, which I immediately disinfected with wine and bandaged, and a dislocation of the left shoulder, which was instantly fixed. And I think I have one bruise. That's about it.

Tom and I ran round the camp counting the bodies. We'd killed all but one of them - the gang leader, as it turned out. After tying him up tight and letting Ben keep an eye on him, Tom, Glenn, and I went to the prisoners.

It turned out that the cave was quite large, with room for a hundred and fifty people. Most of them were women and children. But there were some rather interesting characters.

Among them were the knight Brandon Stone, a bastard of fifty years old that reminded me of the serial Baristan Selmy, and his squire, who had been captured with his mentor during a forest battle. Then there was a merchant from Dorne, the only survivor of the attack on his caravan. Then there was another man Damian already knew from the past, someone neither he nor I expected to meet again in our lifetimes. He was Varick Falcon, a skilled archer who had served the Freys before the skirmish with Black Walder. The two had had a trifling conflict after they had shared a maw. Varick had left the Twins as it was dangerous for him to remain there. Although old Frey respected him for his skills and dexterity, his son would not tolerate the presence of a rival in the person of Varick. He, by the way, looked like the actor who played Aramis in the American version of "The Three Musketeers", only his hair was longer and his eyes were more predatory. He was happy to see me and hugged me tightly. But I put off talking to him for later.

The first thing I did was to check the rest of the captives for good bloodlines. Unfortunately, there were mostly peasant women, some burghers and so on. None of the nobility.

Tom, who was examining the trophies, was apparently immersed in them for a long time, because there was a lot of work to be done, and I had to decide what to do with the prisoners. I couldn't just leave them like that because I was greedy. We fought for their release, and at first glance there's nothing to gain from it. We need to think.

The captured knight came to me again - he wanted to talk to me about something. But Maric, who had been contracted, oddly enough, by Ben, came running.

- Ser Damian, I apologise for interrupting your conversation, but the gang leader has something very important to tell you.

- Come on," I said with a chuckle, "let's go listen to him. Ser Brandon, would you mind joining us in "conversation" with Ser Bandit?

- It would be my pleasure," the old knight smiled, and the three of us walked towards the prisoner.