Ser Barristan the Bold

Ser Barristan stood facing the men and raised his sword to shoulder length as he yelled "Nock!" It had been years since he'd commanded an army, but he still knew the commands and motions. Not that it mattered. Even the most skilled captain would not be able to lead these men through this, he knew. Everything was falling to pieces right before his eyes. They had not even gotten past Harrenhal when Stark's men came down on them. Not all of them, he knew, but enough. He turned on one heel and faced the line of Stark's men in front of them as he lifted his sword straight above his head and yelled "Draw!" He could hear the strings being drawn as the men prepared to fire. "Loose!" he yelled as he swung his arm down in a quick arcing motion. A stream of arrows flew toward the line. Most of them landed just inside the front line. A few men fell and dropped to the ground. A couple more made quick shuddering movements and stopped coming forward but didn't fall. Most kept coming at them.

It was only then, as the front line of mounted knights was coming at them at full charge, that he noticed their own archers behind them. Too far, he thought, but then wondered. The northerners were skilled at long distances, with longbows fashioned from strong oak and weirwood that were hard to come by in the southern regions. This was all going through his mind as their first round of arrows took flight. That was when he knew, with certainty, that he was wrong.

There was as much distance between Stark's archers and the front of Stark's line as there was between Selmy's own archers and Stark's mounts, yet most of Stark's arrows were still on their way up as they passed the Stark men. "Down! Cover!" Selmy yelled as he turned and ducked to make himself small and cover himself as best as possible. Shooh-plink! Shooh-plink! The first row of arrows landed just short of them, with one exception. One arrow bounced harmlessly off the greatshield of a mounted knight. Shooh-PLONK! Selmy could see puzzlement in the man's eyes through the slotted visor of his helm. His men paused for a moment, confused, and Selmy turned. All of Stark's men were coming at them, including the archers. The next round will strike true, he realized.

They had to spread out or they would be torn down where they stood. "Flank!" he yelled, waving his arms up and away from him, indicating for some to go left and others to go right. Most of them understood and started moving. The next round of Stark's arrows landed right in the heart of their mounts. Shooh-plink! Shooh-plink! Shooh-CHICK! One landed in the chest of a horse with a sickening noise. Both man and mount went crashing to the ground, the horse screaming and whinnying in pain. Selmy turned his horse toward them and scooped the man up without missing a step. He yelled again and waved his arms for them all to spread out, then turned his head toward the men coming at them. The front of the van was close. They'd be here in minutes. There would be one more round of arrows though.

He didn't intend to be in the way when the next round hit. He put his head down and dug his heels into the horse's side. The horse did not hesitate. They sprinted several feet directly away from the archers before loping around and running directly crosswise to them, trying to stay just out of reach of the next flight. They were coming now. Shooh-plink! Shooh-CHICK! The man behind him on his horse lurched and made a gurgling noise and let go of Selmy's shoulder. Ser Barristan turned his head to see an arrow through the man's neck. The Gods certainly must have had it out for this one, he thought. Forgive me, good ser. He swung his elbow around behind him and knocked the soldier off the mount. The horse immediately recovered the speed it had lost from the weight of the additional man and they made their way west along the southern edge of the Trident.

It was then, when he looked around him, that he realized he'd been wrong again. That soldier had not been unlucky. Ser Barristan had just been very lucky. Of all of the knights that he'd just ordered to scatter, hoping to avoid the onslaught of arrows, barely half were still ahorse and still riding alongside him. Behind them his knights on foot were receiving the first of Stark's chargers. Without mounts, it would have been pointless for them to run, so they had stood firm even as they had been run down. Selmy didn't have to watch long to know that they were being slaughtered where they stood.

He turned again and glanced over his right shoulder at the chargers that had turned to come at them, and then realized they had hit a trap of sorts. The angle that his own knights had taken crosswise to the oncoming Stark created difficult angles for them to fend off attacks, and perfect angles for Stark's men, behind and to their sides. It made it nearly impossible for them to get their swords or shields in between themselves and the oncoming brigade. Several more men were struck down.

Selmy knew he had to turn and face the onslaught or they would take him from behind just as easily as the others. Now! He wheeled his horse around as the first mounted knights were on him. His horse danced back and forth a couple times, parleying attacks as Stark men rode up hard on him. All he could do was hold up his sword as his horse did its best to avoid any direct head on impacts. He managed to deflect several attacks and even got his sword back up and caught one man on the neck and chin that sent a burst of red splattering like a watermelon exploding. The next one came, then the next one. Selmy parleyed as best he could. He was about to regroup and try to move toward the side of the oncoming column when his horse was hit head on by an oncoming destrier. There was a sickening crunch as the horse's skulls crashed together and formed one big mass of red blood and white bone with two different shades of horse mane. He landed in the mud and, reacting without thinking, rolled out of the way of another oncoming destrier. He had to get to the side of this charge or he would have no chance.

He picked himself up and turned. One of Stark's knights near the edge of the column had slowed to hop around the mound of dead horse that had been his mount. This was his chance. The horse was just starting to gather speed as it passed him, and Selmy reached up with one hand and grabbed the horse's reins, pulling himself up and onto the horse's rear and wrapping his arm around the shoulders of the knight to right himself. He was fully up on the horse before the knight even noticed he was there. He used the last of the momentum that had carried him up onto the horse to pull the knight down to the left. The man hit the ground head first, and based on the way his body kept traveling downward when his head hit, Selmy was pretty sure his neck crumbled on impact. He grabbed the horn of the saddle and jerked himself up and into place on the horse, digging his heels and turning to again get to the side of the charge. The horse continued to pick up speed. When Selmy was reasonably out of the way of what remained of the charge, he tried to turn around and get his bearings again. All of a sudden his horse was hit with an arrow and he found himself crashing to the ground again.

This time that he hit the ground hurt significantly more than the first. His head was spinning but he picked himself up again, grabbed his sword and turned toward the charge again on foot. A mounted destrier hit him almost instantly, throwing him a hundred feet to a skidding stop in a large mulberry bush next to a grove of trees. There he lay. He knew immediately that his right arm and shoulder had shattered where the mount had hit him. The rest of his injury was not so obvious but became apparent when he tried to move. His other shoulder was certainly broken as well, and his hip possibly too, or his knee, maybe his thigh. He couldn't tell. He was starting to feel funny. He raised his bare hand – his glove was gone too, how did that happen – and touched his forehead. His hand was covered in blood. Was that there before? Is that my blood?

He tried to pick himself up but the pain in his shoulder was excruciating. Instead, he rolled onto his back. Above him, looking down at him was a white weirwood tree. He had become nestled in the bushes at the foot of the tree, mostly concealed by the mulberry bush's thick, scratchy branches and leaves. The weirwood was relatively small, only as big around as his waist. He looked at the face carved into it. It was staring right at him. He closed his eyes but he could still feel it looking down on him. This is one of their gods, he thought to himself in a cloudy haze. It will call out to them and tell them where I am. I will not be left alive. There's nothing I can do about it. He felt certain of this. He looked again up at the weirwood tree. Its eyes seem kind actually, he thought to himself.

That was the last thing he remembered thinking before he drifted off. At that moment, he was certain he would never wake again.