*Dickon Tarly*

The massive wave of horsemen pounded across the field between the shrunken lines of the Lannister soldiers. The western line had opened up for them, and had run to reinforce the northern and southern lines. Seven hundred knights, swords drawn and spears lowered. Dickon could feel the pounding of the hooves like thunder, only the thunder was rolling through his entire body.

He was sweating, his eyes wide. He clenched the hilt of his sword with a death grip and he really felt like shitting. He had only ever heard about the great deeds of warriors on the field. Never had any mentioned the fear that turned his bowls to liquid or the strong stench of the battlefield. He had not realized that men shit themselves at death, but now he knew, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Dickon found himself not thinking about the glory of war. Only the stench and blood.

Now here he was, riding hard at the head of the massive charge of knights. There was Ser Lawren the Buck-toothed from Cider Hall with his personal sigil of a massive letter S of red on a yellow field, a massive morningstar hanging from his side. Ser Pul the Red of Goldengrove, in his completely blood-red painted armor and a massive broadsword he carried in both hands, using knees to steer his horse. Ser Gallan of Bandallon along the coast, wielding two single-handed axes that he twirled in his hands as they road.

These were all great men with great deeds to support their knight hoods. They had earned feats of valor on the field of battle, such as Ser Stephen the Eunuch, who bested the twelve hedge knights that had been molesting Three Towers at the mouth of the Whispering Sound. Ser Jandice had traveled throughout the Seven Kingdoms, defeating robbers and bandits near every city and village.

What did Dickon have to bolster his own knighthood? Simply a name? He had fought well at the Prince's Pass, that was true. But not nearly what he believed all the great warriors could do. Was it not Ser Barren Gel of Longtable that had fell three giants beyond the Wall? There he was, Ser Barren carrying his Valyrian steel sword Giants Foe.

These thoughts he pushed from his mind as he checked his horse, guiding it around the wagons that had been pulled into a wide circle. He ran past massive scorpions that had crews cheering them. Yet more than one kept their eyes fixed on the sky. What were they watching for? Massive eagles?

No, he chided himself. Dragons.

Around the wagons they rode and on the other side they formed up, a long line of heavily armored knights. And on the other side of the pre-organized field of contest was their foe. A long line of sable shields and spears aimed straight at them.

"Hold together!" he shouted. He had been given command of the knights by his father. Dickon felt that this was meant to bolster his own confidence. "Archers loose arrows when you are in range."

A few of the knights had also mastered archery and very soon, about a dozen knights were firing arrows as they rode, skillfully striking the shields and flesh of the Unsullied. Yet the men held firm, sidestepping over every fallen comrade and standing on them as if they were nothing more than rocks that was on the field.

Dickon screamed as they slammed hard into the Unsullied line. The hit caused the spearmen to take three steps back, but they braced, thrusting with their own spears even as knights swung down with weapons or pushed onwards, using the massive bulks of their armored horses to bull past the mercenaries.

Dickon slashed downwards, parrying a spear thrust and stabbed at the helmet. The blade was turned by the sword hit, but his face turned enough that he hurried swept up and over, cutting through the back of the man's neck and dropping him.

Shouts and curses and horses screamed. A few horses fell, pinning rider to the ground. The Unsullied would not advance to finish off a pinned foe, instead holding the line. Dickon was impressed by their discipline, not even breaking ranks to kill fallen foes to keep the line solid and firm. Yet the discipline only held them in place for so long, and at a command, the Unsullied advanced backwards step by step.

Dickon held up his sword and shouted, "Hold and rally!"

The Unsullied and the knights broke contact and the sable clad warriors continued to retreat, facing the knights, never looking away. Even as Dickon watched the Unsullied were joined by a fresh new rank of Unsullied. Now, they began advancing towards the knights, spears extended.

"Ser Jandice," he asked the knight next to him. "Ride to the end of the line, and take a hundred knights. When the enemy comes close enough, try to get around their rear and hit them from the back."

Ser Jandice scanned the line and his head viewed the entire battlefield before them. "There won't be much room between the enemy flank and the Lannister's rear," he commented.

"Make it work, Ser," Dickon commanded. He didn't need to argue the plan, he needed it carried out. Jandice nodded and rode hard along the front of the line. Dickon was rounding up his shoulders, waiting for the right moment.

Then it came. The back line of the southern line turned and charged into the flank and rear of the Unsullied's left flank. The Unsullied line, hit by the unexpected assault, bent their flank to refuse it. But the confusion of the new assault was just what Dickon was looking for.

"Charge!" he shouted and forward they roared again and hit the enemy. Reinforced, the Unsullied held more firmly, and a dozen more knights fell to thrust of blades and a little more number of horses fell. The knights that had been pinned earlier were up of their feet now, advancing as best as they could, swords and axes raised.

One Unsullied lost his arm with a clean stroke of the blade but Dickon was surprised when instead of falling, the Unsullied tried to bash his horse with his shield. Pulling on the reins, his horse reared on its hindlegs and with a scream of fury, it brought it hooves down and dropped shield and man to the ground.

Then, the flanking force hit the rear of the Unsullied forces and organization began to collapse. The knights broke the Unsullied into two parts, and caught between Reach knights and Lannister footmen, the Unsullied were cut down in rapid order. Many Lannisters and more knights fell, but eventually the Unsullied were turning and running from the field, swinging their shields behind their heads to protect themselves as they retreated.

Dickon pushed onwards, cutting down any stranglers that did not keep up with the main body. Soon, the entire army had been stabilized and the breach had been plugged. The sword hung heavily in his hand as he called a halt at the breach itself, the numbers of corpses and dead and dying simply staggering to him. The entire front part of the army shooting out toward the forest was a carpet of dead and dying horses and men and arrows were in such great abundance he almost imagined they were a field of white daisies.

Everywhere he looked, he saw the Targaryens retreating towards the smoldering Kingswood. Unsullied on foot and Dothraki on horses. Behind them marched the fifty thousand men of the Reach, singing songs of war.

How many had he killed? Dickon wasn't sure, but it had been at least six. He looked at his knights and saw they were fewer in number. Looking back, he could see almost a hundred knights and an equal number of horses lying on the ground. Even as he looked back, he saw his father riding his grey warhorse toward him, Ser Jaime Lannister riding at his side.

"Well done, my son!" Randyll praised his youngest son. "Now, we shall pursue them into the woods."

"Is that wise?" Jaime asked. "In the forest, anything can happen to you. If they should rally…."

"That is why we must push on, Ser Jaime," Randyll replied, not looking at the other man. He was already focused on the task at hand and the goal he foresaw. "Besides, you shouldn't worry Ser Jaime. We have come to rescue you. Just let your men rest and the Reach will show you how fighting is done."

Dickon saw the Queen's brother biting off a scorching remark but let it rest. Yet, Ser Jaime had made a valid point. In those woods, horses would do little good. It would be best for men on foot, men who could easily move among the foliage.

"My knights will do little good in there," he replied, "What would you like me to do?"

"Stay here," Randyll said. "You are correct about your knights. They fought well as did you, and you let your old father do the rest."

Randyll held out his hand and Dickon did as well, grabbing each other by the forearm. "Follow me in an hour," he said and with that, he set off, riding at the head of his forces. Dickon sidestepped his horse as did all his knights to allow the foot soldiers to pass by. The line was almost two thousand men abreast, each rank three men deep. Twenty-five lines, marching at a good pace, each rank separated by thirty-five yards, enough to react to any situation while keeping in close support of another rank. Once in the Kingswood, the foothills stopped shortly within, so the lines could be stretched.

"Your father is a cunt," Ser Bronn said from behind him.

Dickon turned on him, his eyes narrowed. "My father is a great man!" he began heat rising as he defended his father, "He defeated Robert Baratheon at Ashford. He…."

"Aye," Bronn agreed, "He is a great man, but he is still a cunt. It comes with the territory of being a great man."

"Well, let's get our army organized in some semblance and begin clearing the dead," Ser Jaime said. His piercing blue eye fixed on Dickon. "Come ride with me, young Rickon."

"Dickon," he corrected to which Bronn started laughing. Dickon rolled his eyes. For fuck sake! Can't people just get over his name?

"Stand down," he turned to the knights, "Ser Lawren, you have command until I return."

The knight nodded once and the men began to dismount and allow their horses to grass in the field. Dickon guided his horse to follow Jaime, as Bronn followed at a close distance. Dickon wasn't sure what Ser Bronn was doing, always so close to Ser Jaime, yet he didn't feel like asking.

Maesters rooved over the field with Silent Sisters that followed the army, tending to the wounded. The maesters and other healers would look a man over and his wounds, deciding what man could survive and what man was destined to die. His eyes focused on a maester that was tending to an Unsullied that had his leg chopped off. The man seemed to understand what was being done and allowed the maester to proceed.

"Tell me," Jaime asked, guiding his horse towards a group of archers that were standing around, or dropping to the ground and falling asleep on the spot. "This is your second battle?"

"Yes," Dickon replied.

"How have you found it?" Jaime asked.

"What?" Dickon asked, not understanding the question.

"How have you found battle?" Jaime clarified. Dickon found the salmon pink robe he had falling over his back, spotted with blood splatters, rather odd for a knight. Was that flowers embroidered? "Has it cracked up to everything the tales have told you?"

"Oh yes!" he said, trying to sound ass convincing and brave as he possible could. "Dornishman and Unsullied are both worthy fighters, but the honor I gained in their deaths means that these battles will be written in the annuals of my family's history."

"What a load of a shit," Ser Bronn interrupted his monologue. "You father isn't here and you don't have to impress him. Neither of us will think any less of a man whose name is supposed to be thrust into a woman."

Dickon flushed at the jab at his name and he saw the Lord Lannister roll his eyes in annoyance. He must have gotten use to the man's crudeness. Or perhaps Ser Jaime understood what was meant by this. Nothing mean spirited or harsh.

"I…" he struggled to find the right words. "It's….well….different."

"Different, how so?" Jaime asked. He stopped himself to call to a few weary soldiers to gather around a certain lord that Dickon didn't know.

"Well," he shrugged uncomfortably. "No one ever talks about the smell."

"The smell?" Bronn asked, raising an eyebrow. "You mean the shit? Didn't you know that men shit themselves when they die? Didn't they teach you that in fancy lad school?"

Dickon shook his head and Bronn shrugged both shoulders himself. "I knew it when I was five," he replied.

The sound of combat rose from the woods and Dickon turned back. He stared at the woods, half the army already passed into the smoldering borders, enclosed by the trees. He felt ill at ease, despite the victory he was certain was already to be gained.

"Your father will be just fine," Ser Jaime assured him, "He's an ornery man, and I am sure his crabbiness will cause blades to break."

"People will foul dispositions general have that ability," Bronn agreed.

"Oh, it's not that," Dickon said. His eyes flicked to the sky. "I'm more of surprised that the Mother of Dragons hasn't shown up yet. I was expecting 'Fire and Blood'. That's the Targaryen words, after-all."

"Just be grateful you haven't seen a dragon," Ser Jaime said, his voice deadly serious. "Dragons in the hands of Targaryens is no laughing matter. Her father was obsessed with wildfire and burning people alive. Just imagine the wrath of a single dragon."

"I'd rather not," Dickon said. "I saw the destruction the dragons wrought on our wagon train of food. It was…."

"Wait," Ser Jaime said, his one good hand reaching out and grabbing him. Dickon handed realized that Jaime had ended up on his right side. "All the food is gone? Are you sure that it was dragons?"

"Yes," Dickon said. He described to them the devastation he saw. The massive columns of smoke that rose high in the air. He even told him about the man he had found melted into the collapsed wall of the wagon. The sheer size the fire had burned and the bodies that had dissolved as they had marched past. "That's why we got here so quickly," he concluded. "We doubled the pace so we could get here as fast as we could. To get revenge on Daenerys Targaryen."

"Why would she burn the food?" Bronn asked.

"Do you think she thought it was the gold?" Jaime asked, "Or did she know, and she wanted to starve the people?"

"That's a fucking sick thing to do!" the sell-sword turned knight said, his face twisting into a scowl.

"Which begs the question again," Dickon said, "If she was willing to burn the food, why not the people here? She could have destroyed you by yourself than come crashing down on us on the road. I mean, looking at the forest it looks like what we saw along the train."

Jaime said nothing, turning to face the Kingswood. He stood there for a long minute, and Dickon wondered what thoughts were going through the Kingslayers' mind. What thoughts darkened his mind? He stood there like a statue that was of a bygone age of glory.

"Bronn," Jaime turned to him, "Ride off to the scorpions. Tell them to keep their eyes fixed on the sky towards the forest."

"Alright," Bronn said and rode off at a gallop towards them.

"What is it?" Dickon asked, "What do you think?"

Jaime turned to him, and his eyes were filled with dread. Dread that made every high feeling of victory and joyful moment at staying alive seem pitiful. The moments seemed to turn to ash in Dickon's mouth and Ser Jaime hadn't even said anything!

"Return to your knights," Jaime told him, "And prepare to ride like hell."