Authors Note: Sneak Peak of my story: Conquest of the Blue Falcon.
The Green Fork, 298 AC
The stench of death was inescapable. Thousands of bodies littered the ground, their blood literally watering the battlefield. The agonizing moans of the wounded and dying echoed everywhere, a grim reminder that despite the victory there where still a prize to pay. But the worst sounds were those of the crows that flew above, the harsh caws that made the souls of even the most battle-hardened veteran cringe.
Even then many of the survivors were merry. They had beaten back the Lannister, for few casualties compared to what the Lions endured. A few grim smiles were seen here and there as they began to bury the dead, looting first to salvage any items of use. But it was enough, enough to raise the men's spirit one man at a time. Eventually they began to sing, and then feast, although wearily and with less alcohol then they would have liked.
One did not share in the festive however. He rode upon a charger, a fine beast of war that was as white, like a swan drifting elegantly atop a lake. On his back was a half-and-half sword, Valyrian and spell-forged, while wearing a fine set of blue plate armor. He rode through the field, seemingly dazed and followed by his sworn sword. Eventually he stopped on top of a hill and took of his helmet, exposing his blue hair to the elements.
"Are you alright milord?" asked Robar Royce, seemingly worried over the odd behavior of his friend.
He did not answer, nor nod, nor acknowledge him. Instead he stared of into the distance, deep into his own thoughts.
"Tell me," he asked out of the blue,"have you ever seen this much carnage, this much death?"
"No," he answered curtly. It was true. Death he has seen plenty, but not at this scale. Sometimes he wondered how his friend managed to keep his cool, even when he risked his life in order to win the battle.
While he refused to show it, Robar knew he was pleased by the outcome. He never expected to win, and the fact that not only did he hold his own against seasoned commanders, but he managed to best Tywin Lannister increased his prestige considerably. The demand of respect was always his fatal flaw.
"Tell me" he asked, "was the battle truly worth it? Or did I simply waste the lives of my men". He spoke with such weariness that for a moment Robar forgot that he was speaking to a man his own age and instead saw his friend's father speaking, old and venerable.
Robar sighed to himself. His friend was always the harshest critic of himself, an admirable trait in the long run.
"Maybe. Maybe not" he answered honestly, attempting to cheer up his friend while remaining true. "But you won, and destroyed the Lannister Heavy Horse. You have broken their hope for now, and given it to our men, in a moment they needed it the most".
For a few moments he smiled, before it was gone.
"Hm, Tywin Lannister was right," muttered Alexander Arryn loud enough for Robar to hear.
"This," he said motioning to the battlefield," is one of the happiest day of my life.