Erich

Nightsong was an ancient and strong castle, standing atop a hill with steep and rocky sides. The ancestral home of House Caron was protected by thick outer walls, on its southern and northern sides standing sturdy watchtowers known as the Singing Towers, watching over the vast plains and moors to the north and the imposing mountains looming in the south. At the shadow of the castle to its east was a small pond, and around it a little village.

Near the village a war camp had been erected by the Caron men-at-arms, an army more than a thousand men strong if Erich had to estimate. Now they would be joined by the twelve thousand men strong host led by Prince Baldric Dondarrion. The Durrandon forces had split in Blackhaven, King Ormund leading the larger host of fifteen thousand men to the Boneway, with him the troops of houses Swann, Staedmon, Cole, Lonmouth, Dondarrion, Herston, Mertyns, Bolling, Wagstaff, Morrigen, Musgood, Swygert, Wensington and Connington. With Prince Baldric on the other hand would march the troops of houses Caron, Selmy, Trant, Toyne, Peasebury, Grandison, Cafferen and Horpe. Meanwhile the Stormlander fleet that would attack Dorne from the east had been assembled by houses Tarth, Estermont, Penrose, Rogers, Wylde, Kellington, Gower, Whitehead and Tudbury.

As the troops and camp followers began to erect the camp, Erich rode up the winding pathway to Nightsong's gatehouse with Prince Baldric and his small convoy of noblemen, including Lord Gregor Cafferen, Ser Raymont Horpe, Ser Ralph Horpe, Lord Larys Grandison, Ser Herbert Grandison, Ser Emerick Trant, Ser Arys Selmy, Lord Eddison Peasebury and Ser Samwell Toyne. In the courtyard they were welcomed by Lord Prestan Caron, his wife Lady Anya, and their two sons and two daughters, youngest of them a boy of five and the oldest of them a girl of fourteen. Erich knew that just two years ago there had been one more, a boy who would've by now been a young man of seventeen. The Caron family kneeled and bowed their heads humbly before Prince Baldric. "Nightsong is yours, my prince," Lord Prestan spoke with a solemn tone.

"Rise, Lord Caron," the young prince commanded calmly, clearly doing his best to emulate the majesty and authority his grandfather had carried himself with. Baldric was not Arlan, not yet, but Erich thought he nonetheless did fine. Getting up on his feet again the Caron lord towered most other men around him, standing nearly seven feet tall. He was a man on his late thirties, but his bushy red beard streaked with grey made him look a decade older. "You have my sword, and the swords of every man under my command," Prestan Caron promised, in his green eyes a fervent and determined look. "I have long awaited this day."

Lord Prestan Caron had lost more to the Dornishmen than most, even among those who lived in the marches. His eldest son Ronnal had died two years ago on the road to Blackhaven, ambushed by a band of Dornish raiders. Four years before that Erich had seen with his own eyes Prestan's younger brother Ronard Caron fall in battle when they were defeated by the Dornishmen on the Boneway. Long before even that, when Erich had been just a young bastard boy in Griffin's Roost and Dorne was yet to be united by Princess Nymeria, Prestan's sister Kortney Caron had also died in Dorne. Of that story Erich had heard many versions, some in which King Albin the Mad of House Manwoody had tortured Kortney to death in the dungeons of Kingsgrave, others in which she had been captured and killed by some band of outlaws, and some even claimed she hadn't died at all but joined these outlaws never to be seen again. Erich had worked for Lord Prestan a few times in the past, but he had never dared to ask him about his sister.

That night Lord Caron held a feast for the noble lords and anointed knights of the host, or at least for as many of them as could fit the great hall of Nightsong. Prince Baldric sat on the high table together with the Caron family and lords Cafferen, Grandison and Peasebury. Erich on the other hand had to settle for a seat at the lower tables. He was still a bastard after all, and the prince didn't need a bodyguard while feasting. Erich didn't mind of course, he was used to dining in much lowlier places and company than this, and in truth he preferred his current company to those seated at the high table. To his left sat his old friend Ser Trystane Cole, and to his right Ser Merlon Storm, a young and boisterous bastard knight from Gallowsgrey. Directly opposed to them sat the Horpe brothers Raymont and Ralph, as well as the gallant and handsome Ser Arys Selmy.

"So, how many Dornishmen has each of you good sers killed?" Marlon Storm asked with a grin on his broad and stubbly face, clearly already drunk from the wine.

"Not enough," Trystane grunted with a thin smile, to which Marlon howled with laughter. "And what about you, bastard of Griffin's Roost?" he then asked from Erich.

"I haven't counted," Erich responded nonchalantly.

"Come on, give me a rough number," Marlon demanded with a dumb grin on his face. "More than a hundred? Two hundred?"

Erich took a long sip from his cup, looking Marlon to his brown eyes with a deadpan expression. However, before he could give his answer Ralph Horpe spoke up. "The bastard is half Dornish himself," the younger and uglier Horpe brother stated coarsely, the thinnest of mocking smirks under his unkempt brown beard as he stared intensely at Erich. For a moment tense silence took over the table, even Marlon's drunken grin vanishing.

"Aye, I am a bastard son of a Stormlander princess and a Dornish prince. Perhaps you should call me Prince Erich, ser," Erich said unashamedly and forced a brazen smirk on his face. He raised his cup for Ralph and gulped down the rest of his wine without breaking eye contact with the man. Raymont Horpe chuckled lightly at his words, which seemed to immediately relieve the tension around the table. "Apologies for my brother's forwardness, ser. I'm sure he meant no disrespect."

"A man has no say in who sires them, only in what they make of themselves with their own actions," Arys Selmy chimed in with a calm and collected tone. "And Ser Erich has certainly proven himself a true Stormlander with his actions."

"Aye, I'll drink to that!" Marlon roared cheerfully and raised his cup once again. The conversation then shifted to other matters, but throughout the feast Erich noticed Ralph glaring at him.

As the evening was coming to an end, Lord Prestan Caron stood up to hold a speech for them. Baldric is the one who should speak, Erich thought but held his tongue. He couldn't blame the young prince for trusting a more experienced man with the task of rallying the men, but it was still a missed opportunity to establish his authority as their commander.

"Knights of the Marches, knights of the Storm King," Prestan Caron greeted them, just a hint of drunkenness in his words. "It has been an honor to host all of you here in Nightstong tonight, and it will be an even greater honor to once more march to war by your side, this time behind our young and bright Prince Baldric!" The crowd cheered, Erich among them. "I know there are many in this hall who have fought the Dornishmen before, many who have lost something to them. Well, now it is time to take back, to make them pay for all they've taken. I've lost a son, a brother and a sister to the Dornishmen, and more friends than I care to count. Long ago, when I was young and naïve, I allowed myself to hope that perhaps a Dorne united under Princess Nymeria would be more civil, less violent towards its neighbors. However, if anything the protection of that Rhoynar bitch has only made them more arrogant, more audacious in the atrocities they commit against us. After all, what does Nymeria care if her bannermen pillage our lands, murder our people and rape our women? Nothing. So long as these Dornish lords don't oppose her she allows them to act like savages and thieves. Well, now we'll make her care. We won't bring just swords, spears and fire to her precious principality, WE WILL BRING THE FURY OF THE STORM!"

The hundreds of knights in the hall all stood up from their seats and erupted into loud cheers, unsheathing their swords and pointing them towards the ceiling. "Ours is the Fury! Ours is the Fury!" they chanted in the night.

The next day they began their march south to the Prince's Pass, and Erich rode beside Prince Baldric once again. The weather was searing hot during their first day of marching, as the Dornish sun was blazing mercilessly from a clear blue sky. Summer was to end soon, and days like this almost made Erich wish for the long night of the legends. Baldric didn't have much to say, and though he tried to veil it with a steely expression Erich could tell the boy was nervous. This was his first war after all, and he was in charge of some thirteen thousand men. The prince had been well trained and tutored in Storm's End, Erich had no doubt about that, but even that couldn't fully prepare you for war.

"Scouts just returned, so far no sight of the Dornishmen," Prestan Caron came to inform them a couple hours after noon.

"Thank you, Lord Caron," Baldric spoke stiffly, and with a respectful nod Prestan took his leave.

"Nervous, my prince?" Erich asked quietly. Baldric took in a deep breath, before turning to look at him. "Slightly," he admitted, forcing a thin smile on his face.

"You have the best men that Stormlands has to offer around you," Erich calmly reminded the young prince, who bridled at his words. "It's not that I fear for my life," he argued, a tense look in his blue eyes as he stared into the distance. "It's precisely those good men around me, each of them has more experience than I. Yet somehow, I'm the one in charge here. I'm the one whose fault it will be if the fighting turns against us."

Erich nodded sympathetically to Baldric's words. He couldn't claim to have ever had such an enormous responsibility on his own shoulders, not to mention at such a young age. "Well, you've done well so far," he encouraged the boy, who let out a nervous chuckle. "Thanks," he said dryly. "But it's not the courtesies and feasts that I'm nervous about. It's the first battle, and I know it must be drawing near."

"Aye, the Dornish will have noticed us by now, and might attempt to fortify the Prince's Pass," Erich admitted calmly. "However, they'll have to assemble in haste, and the Yronwoods and Wyls will be preoccupied with your father's host in the Boneway. I'd be surprised if the Dornish manage to muster an army even third the size of ours here."

"But there will be more," Baldric stated sharply.

"Indeed," Erich agreed, not seeing any benefit in cushioning it for the young prince. Dorne was a hard land to conquer, and Baldric shouldn't expect no less. "The Daynes will march up the Torrentine and join with the Blackmonts, and Princess Nymeria will lead thousands more from the deserts, coasts and the Greenblood. However, perhaps our fleet will prove itself useful in keeping the Martells busy in the east."

"Do you think it was a good idea?" Baldric asked tensely. "Sending the fleet, I mean."

"Aye," Erich responded with a raised eyebrow. "I'm a bit worried for the men on those ships, sure, but it should definitely buy us more time to seize control over the Red Mountains."

"It was my idea," the prince said, just a hint of pride in his words. "I was the one who suggested it to Ormund."

Erich chuckled softly. "See, you're already proving yourself a cunning commander, my prince."

The following days were no less harsh for the advancing Stormlander army, as the sun kept shining on them with a scorching heat. Erich could only imagine what it was like down on the deserts of Dorne right now. Last embers of a long summer, autumn will be here soon, he told himself as he once again swept a thick layer of sweat from his forehead.

Towards the end of their fourth day of marching the scouts finally returned with news of enemy forces having been spotted, and shortly after the noon of the fifth day they saw the enemy. The Dornishmen had chosen their position smartly – where in most places the Prince's Pass was at least a mile wide, the defenders had fortified a place where stony ridges from both west and east pushed deep into the pass, leaving a gap of merely hundred yards wide. There stood a line of spearmen, their round shields painted in the colors of houses Fowler and Manwoody, and in front of them a line of archers. A scout climbed atop one of the ridges to see how big of a force was behind those first lines of defend, and returned to report there was no more than four-thousand Dornishmen there in total, perhaps three hundred of them mounted.

"We outnumber them three to one," Lord Prestan Caron stated confidently as they began their war council. "They have chosen a good position, sure, but they cannot withhold our cavalry charging against their lines for long."

"Charging head on against a line of spearmen seems ill-advised," said Lord Larys Grandison, a concerned frown on his fleshy face, burned red by the sun.

"And what would be your suggestion, Lord Grandison?" the Caron lord asked frustratedly. "There is no flanking them, any attempt to climb over those ridges will end in catastrophe."

"I say we send our own infantry against them," Raymont Horpe calmly joined the conversation. "We have more men, and more men means more strength. We can push them back from their position."

"You'll be pushing until winter," Prestan dismissed the idea harshly. "We must break through them fast, before more reinforcements arrive from south."

"And what if we charge against them with our cavalry and they refuse to break?" Ralph Horpe asked sharply. "With every failed charge more men and horses will die, and every failed charge will leave those that remain more weakened and fearful. If their line won't break within the first few charges, you will have doomed us."

"It will break," Prestan insisted, now turning towards Prince Baldric. "My prince, this is the action we must take. Give the command, and I will lead the charge myself."

"Give me a moment to think on it," Baldric said with a subtle gulp, glancing at the lords and knights around him. "Go, I'll call you back soon," he commanded. With murmurs they walked away, and Baldric grabbed Erich from his arm before he could go. "I have an idea," he said nervously. "But I want to hear your opinion first."

"Sure, let's hear it," Erich said. Baldric took in a deep breath before speaking up. "I was thinking that… perhaps we could send our infantry against them, as Ser Raymont suggests. However, instead of trying to push through, what if our men would slowly cede ground for the Dornish?"

"What do you mean?" Erich asked with a confused frown, and now a thin smirk formed on the young prince's face. "If our men will slowly back down against their pushing, the Dornishmen will move out of their gap without even noticing, leaving them vulnerable for cavalry charges from the flanks."

For a moment Erich said nothing, just studying the young prince's face with his eyes. He has been well tutored indeed. "For this to work, the Dornish will have to fall for your trap," Erich pointed out calmly. "There is no guarantee they will, my prince."

"I know," Baldric admitted with a sigh. "This is why I wanted to ask you."

Erich scratched the stubble on his chin, considering the prince's plan. Much would depend on how eager the Dornishmen would be to pursue the Stormlanders. "You should instruct the infantrymen to insult the Dornish defenders as they engage with them. Tell them to yell obscenities about this land, their women, their princess," Erich advised. "It will make them more emotional, more likely to make a mistake," he explained with a grin as he saw the confused look on the prince's face. "Also, make sure they back down slowly. Too fast and the defenders will see what's going on and cease to pursue, and there won't be a second try with this trick."

"But if they are too slow, wouldn't that also give the defenders time to realize what is happening?" Baldric asked sharply, to which Erich shrugged. "I suppose it's about finding the sweet spot between too fast and too slow," he said with a chuckle. Baldric however looked more concerned than amused. "Are you sure we should do this?" he asked quietly.

"That is your decision to make, as the commander of this army," Erich gently reminded the boy, but also gave him an approving nod.

The war council was called back together, and Prince Baldric explained the plan for the lords and knights. Some of them looked impressed by it, others skeptical. None objected however, and so the plan was put to motion.

Two thousand infantrymen led by Ser Ralph Horpe marched towards the defenders, protecting themselves from the volleys of arrows by forming phalanxes. Behind them a thousand Stormlander archers formed two lines, loosing their arrows on the Dornish. As the infantrymen led by Ralph got closer to the defenders, the Dornish archers retreated behind the spearmen. And so, the two infantry forces engaged, and the pushing began.

Erich watched this all from a horseback some three hundred yards away from the fighting. Together with Prince Baldric, Ser Raymont Horpe and Ser Arys Selmy he led the left wing of the cavalry, which was some thousand men strong. On the other side the right wing of the cavalry was of similar size, led by Lord Prestan Caron, Ser Herbert Grandison, Ser Emerick Trant and Ser Samwell Toyne. Between them stood the three thousand infantry reinforcements led by Lord Larys Grandison. The rest five thousand troops acted as a rearguard, led by Lord Eddison Peasebury and Lord Gregor Cafferen.

Sweating inside his helmet, Erich watched wordlessly as the two armies clashed, and listened to the screams and sounds of steel echo in the pass. He held tightly to his lance, his whole body feeling tense and the mount beneath him moving restlessly. It had been six years since he had been in a battle of this size, and those old memories did little to make him feel less nervous now. He glanced at Prince Baldric to his left, seeing a steely and focused expression on the young man's face. My first duty is to protect him, to give my life to save his if needs be, Erich reminded himself.

The Stormlander infantry had at first pushed the defenders back a bit, but now they had begun to slowly cede ground. Yard by yard, the Dornishmen pushed towards their own doom. However, they hadn't come far enough yet to spring the trap.

Erich heard someone say something behind him, he couldn't make out the words, but they were followed with nervous laughter. He saw the prince muttering something to himself, perhaps praying. And all the while the defenders kept pushing further and further from their safe gap. Finally, after what felt like almost an hour, the horn was blown, and the Stormlander infantry began their retreat. Some of them received spears to their backs as they tried to run away, but they had done their job nonetheless – the Dornish defenders were about to be squished between a pincer of steel. Some of them tried to hastily form ranks against the approaching riders, while others tried to retreat to the gap.

"STORM'S END!" Erich heard the young prince screaming beside him as they charged into the disorganized mass of spearmen. Clouds of dust, screams of pain and sounds of breaking bones filled the world for a few seconds, until they had charged through the men and turned around to face them again. The ground was littered with corpses and dying men, most of them wearing Dornish colors. Some had pursued after the retreating Stormlander infantry and were now being crushed by the reinforcements led by Lord Grandison. However, more had made their way back to the gap, and were now hastily trying to reassemble the defensive line with reinforcements of their own.

"CHARGE!" Baldric commanded, pointing his lance towards the gap, and it seemed Lord Caron had the same idea. And so, the two cavalry wings joined into one massive charge, and crushed through the haphazard line on Dornish spearmen. What reinforcements were still left behind them quickly began to retreat towards south, as did their small cavalry.

"Shall we pursue them, my prince?" Lord Caron rushed to ask, but Baldric shook his head. "No need to take the risk," he said with a winded tone. "We have won a great victory here today!"

"BALDRIC THE BOLD!" Yelled some knight, and soon they all began to chant it. "BALDRIC THE BOLD! BALDRIC THE BOLD!" Erich joined them as well, and he saw a wide grin forming on the young prince's face.