From Westeros to Essos : The Crusader King

Life was never easy for a bastard and that was true for Osmund Hill. Despite his father being a knight in service of House Lannister, he, unfortunately, did not stain his honor by raising a bastard as his son.

Nevertheless, Osmund didn't blame the man, after all not many men were as honorable as Lord Stark to raise his bastard son amongst his family. Yet eight and ten years after he was born, his father came back for him.

The day he came for him, Osmund was probably the happiest lad alive, at least until he found the real reason why he had come for him. Lord Konrad Arryn, son of The Hand of King, a boy of eight name days in exile.

His father, following Lord Tywin's orders had brought him to meet the Old Lion. Only the Gods know just how scared Osmund was the day he met the Old Lion face to face.

Thankfully, unlike what he had thought would happen to a bastard like him, Lord Tywin had learned that one of his knights had a bastard old enough to become a knight. Rather than getting rid of that stain, his father had been instructed to explain to him that he had been "selected" to go to Essos and find Lord Konrad Arryn. But not just to find the young lord, but also to join his sellsword company.

A task easier said than done if the rumors surrounding the lad were true. However, Osmund did not complain at all about this. Ever since he was a wee lad, the only thing he ever wanted was to become a knight like his father, and this task… this task was his chance to fulfill his dream.

The day he arrived in Volantis, had been… an eye-opener to say the least. As someone born and raised in Lannisport, he had seen his fair share of Essosi but never had he seen slaves being used for anything, almost as if they had no regard for their lives.

At first, it was hard to adapt to this new world he was thrown into, but as the days passed, Osmund steadily got used to all the horrors that one could see until the day to joined the sellsword company of Lord Konrad Arryn came. It wasn't easy to approach them, but as someone who had been training for years with a sword, albeit a rusty one, it was pretty easy to get picked when most of the other men who wanted to join them had never held a weapon in their hands.

The knight who welcomed him in what Osmund later found out was a brotherhood of knights sworn directly to the young lord. Something that the young bastard had to admit was not a common occurrence in Westeros. Like many he had heard about Sworn Shields or Swords, but never had a man or in this case, a boy earns the loyalty of an entire brotherhood.

Then again as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into moons, Osmund befriended some of the knights and initiates as he and many others were being called by the knights, and doing so he started to learn more about the young lord they serve. Many a fool had called the young lord an abomination back home and yet compared to them, this "abomination" had done something no man had managed in years. From starting as a fugitive to becoming in a way one of the leaders of the biggest city in Essos was nothing short of a miracle if he had ever seen one, and yet, the lad didn't become like many an heir. He was not arrogant, but what made Osmund genuinely respect the young lord was his lack of care about a person's birth. Be it a slave, a knight, or even a lord of some fallen house, it didn't matter as long as you remained loyal.

Slowly, Osmund and the rest of the initiates had been introduced to what the oldest of the knights serving the brotherhood, a Braavosi ex-sellsword, calls the Holy Bible. Like many of the men and lads who joined the brotherhood, Osmund was unfortunate enough to not know how to write and read, something that he was ashamed of. And yet, none of the knights laugh about it, no instead the Braavosi knight then put them in groups of five and had each group being taught how to write and read, even if some might not join the brotherhood in the end.

By the time the Greyjoy Rebellion happened, Osmund learned how to write and read alongside many of his fellow initiates. Besides learning those useful skills, they had also been listening to the Bible learning and accepting what they had been told. That's when one of the initiates, some young lad from the Reach had been fond out sending letters to Highgarden.

The poor fool didn't even know what was happening to him until it was too late. In all honesty, Osmund thought that Lord Konrad would hang the spy but to his and everyone's surprise he did not. Instead, the pale lord let the spy return home with a clear message to Highgarden, one that Osmund knew would make the fat flower think twice before attempting such a poor excuse of gaining influence.

Not that Osmund was not in the same boat as the flower, but unlike him, he had started to realize that he might have a future here and make a name for himself rather than return home and be a simple sailor or fisherman like many others living in Lannisport. His report back home had gone from five a moon to barely one every two or so moons with little to no important information in them, after all the Stranger could take his father and Tywin Lannister. He was done being a pawn for men who didn't care about the lives of their people.

"Brother Osmund? Are you feeling all right?"

Osmund was brought back from his thoughts by one of his new "brothers".

"I am, brother. I was just thinking about the enemy. We know they are hiding somewhere close, but it has been, what, close to two or three moons since we had any proper fight against them? But by now, I fear that Ser Tyrek might have been right and what remained of those slavers have long run away from here."

Before any initiates could say anything, one of the knights leading this force made his presence known. "Enough idle chatting like some common wenches. We have to move before night befalls on us."

As they descended a slope to where they last lost contact with one of the tiger cloak patrols, Osmund and the other froze as they saw a small stronghold built in the side of a cave. The opening of the cave had been closed with logs but as Osmund looked to the left and right to see what he could only think were slavers and sellswords loading crossbows on the ramparts, he realized that whatever was left of the last loyal slavers were clearly lacking able bodies.

Whoever was in charge of this ragtag group of spares knew what he was doing as they had dug a ditch that ran along the entire length of the outer perimeter while the earth that had been dug from it was being used to raise the rampart. Thus, the height of the ditch equaled the height of the adjoining rampart, with a narrow, horizontal strip of ground left between the ditch and the rampart to prevent the latter from sliding into the former. The bottom of the ditch, from what Osmund could see was dry as there was no body of water nearby, meaning that chances are at the bottom of it there were spikes and spears places, waiting for fools to fall on them and die a painful death.

But it was the timber walls themselves that made Osmund somewhat reluctant to attack them, at least not without some siege engines to lower their losses. These walls were built around the superiority of the crossbow, which could be shot through loopholes in the parapet. In addition, the upper part of the wall had been built slightly forward, overhanging the lower part, to create a gap between the two parts. Through this gap could be shot crossbow bolts at any enemy soldiers who had reached the berm at the foot of the wall. Not to mention that the entire upper part of the wall had been covered by a ceiling of sorts to protect the archers and crossbowmen from weather and enemy fire raining down on them.

By now it was clear that they had been seen, and yet the slavers had not attempted to move out and face them, instead, they seemed to be content to stand behind their walls and watch loading their crossbows. After a while, the enemy began banging drums, the irksome din reverberating around the perimeter.

Standing there for what seemed like an eternity, Osmund decided to break the silence that had befallen his group.

"They are not going to attack."

"Perhaps they are waiting for reinforcements, brother Jaq."

Brother Jaq looked back at the initiated who said that with what Osmund could only describe as a thought-full look. "Perhaps. But there must be over a hundred of them in there so I suspect their strategy is to sit inside the walls rather than wait for someone to come to their help. The closest slave city is too far away for them to rely on them, not to mention that with both our fleet and the Braavosi one clearing any and all slaver's ships, there will be next to no chance of enemy troops disembarking anywhere close to Volantis."

"To what end?" Osmund decided to ask as it didn't make sense for the slavers to just wait.

Turning his head towards the Westerlands bastard, Jaq smiled sadistically. "If I were to siege this place then I would want to starve them out, of course. No point in wasting men when hunger can do their work for them."

 "But mayhaps as we let them starve, their allies will send a relief force long before that happens."

"Listen here initiate. Their allies are also besieged, or so we've heard. Our Lord and Grandmaster had asked his goodfather to create a blockade around the Bay of Slaves. "

"Then who will save them? Since waiting will undoubtedly kill them."

Jaq smiled back at Osmund and shrugged. "Who indeed?"

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