Lord Harrold Osgrey
War was once more upon them, the Golden Company had invaded Westeros this time not going for the Stormlands, but for the Reach. A smart move Harrold thought, after all most of the Black Dragon's support had come from the Reach during the first Blackfyre war, and there were those who were still angry with the Tyrells for the numerous foolish acts they had committed over the years. Harrold himself saw the invasion as a chance to get revenge for his father. Lord Addam Osgrey had perished fighting in the Stormlands, fighting alongside the Golden Company against the Targaryens, and had been cut down by some bastard Stormlords, leaving Harrold's mother heartbroken and in the pits of despair. Revenge was something his father had warned him off of, saying that such a thing or feeling could drive a man mad, and Harrold thought he understood now, ever since his father's death he had been consumed with revenge, plotting and planning.
Thank the gods his goodbrother had had the sense to join him in his act of rebellion against Highgarden. Lord Devros Rowan was a smart man if not a warrior, and knew how to play his cards right, he'd proven that when he wed his sister Delena off to Harrold sealing their alliance in blood. And now the might of House Rowan was behind Harrold, as well as the might of Coldmoat and Standfast, and that of Tumbleton, Bitterbridge, Longtable and the Grassy Vale had joined them either voluntarily or by force and conquest. Other houses had joined them; the Florents most notably were marching up from Brightwater Keep to harass the Tyrell host in the rear. Houses Ambrose and Ashford had joined them after a fierce battle, which had seen many men die, Lord Torrance Ambrose was now lord of both castles and as such had pledged his remaining strength to the rebel cause.
A smart move and clever, for they had received word from the north that Daeron Stark was heading quickly for King's Landing with the might of the north and the strength of the Riverlands behind him. They also had learnt that Lord Arryn had assembled a host and was marching close towards them. But for now that was not important, Harrold found his thoughts moving back to his own family. He had wed Delena at the age of twenty and one, fairly old but she had been but a maid of fourteen when they had wed, she was twenty three now, and so far had borne him two sons and two daughters. The eldest of who was named Edwyn and was serving as Harrold's brother Ormund's squire. His wife was a good woman, a smart lady with a knack for politics, particularly the politics of the Reach. It had been she who had suggested that he wait for the Golden Company to make the first few strikes before marching to aid them.
As it turned out, her thoughts had proven correct Aegor Rivers had brought, Longtable and Bitterbridge to their cause, and then when they had combined hosts Tumbleton and Grassy Vale fell before them. His mother though, she had gone into her shell when he had gone to tell her he was marching to war. His mother who had always lived in fear of the day that Harrold's father would die, had become not mad but more concerned and paranoid, not the same strong woman she had been from Harrold's youth. It saddened him but also made him more determined to make sure he emerged victorious or at least in a much better position that at the start of the war.
The Golden Company was chaired by Aegor Rivers, an angry man if Harrold had ever met one, as well as commanded by Haegon, Monterys and Maegon Blackfyre. All three Blackfyre siblings looked like their father was supposed to have looked but only Haegon had the same brash confidence and cockiness that his father was said to have had. Harrold found that he did not truly like the man, he seemed to be all talk and very little action, though a skilled warrior he was. Some of his suggestions seemed too extravagant and out there for Harrold's taste. He worried about what would happen when Bittersteel did eventually die and who would take over the company, for Bittersteel's oldest son was just twenty not yet old enough to lead a company of Blackfyres and exiles.
Prince Aerion Targaryen perhaps might make a good leader Harrold thought. He was no longer the mad man of his youth, and instead was calm and level headed, though of course still a bit shaken by the attempt on his family's life which was rumoured to have been caused by his own father. Harrold was not sure what to make of that, but what he had seen of Prince Aerion both in battle and in their meetings so far had impressed him. Should things go south with this war, Harrold would not mind bowing and bending the knee to Prince Aerion. Whether the man wanted the crown or not was something, Harrold was sure not even the prince knew.
Still Harrold pushed those thoughts from his head, and looked down at the map once more. They were currently camped at Ashford, and had been for the past two weeks, the Tyrells had been slow to gather their swords to Highgarden, what with most of their lords joining the Black Dragon's banner once more. Still they had sent the ravens out and their scouts reported men marching from Old Oaks, Horn Hill and Honeyholt. Lord Garse Tyrell had even marched forth from Highgarden himself some four days past according to what Ormund had told Harrold. It appeared as if the roses meant to fight, so be it it was likely the Florents might even break through some of the defensive lines and lay siege to Highgarden which would force Tyrell back, or he would risk losing his seat something that would be considered nigh embarrassing. There had been no word on what the Hightowers were doing, nor was what the Lords of the Shield Islands were doing either, but that to be expected both were probably waiting to see what would happen in this upcoming conflict before marching one way or another.
"My lord, "he heard his squire say. "Ser Aegor Rivers requests your presence in the command tent."
Harrold sighed and stood up, folding the map and taking it with him, he walked out of his tent and towards the command tent, where upon entering he found Ser Aegor Rivers, Haegon, Monterys and Maegon Blackfyre, Aerion Targaryen, Ser Desmon Strickland, Ser Gormon Flowers, Ser Tristan Hill and Ser Balorch Sand already seated. Harrold nodded at them all and took his seat next to Prince Aerion. Once he was seated, Bittersteel spoke, his voice deep and harsh sounding as always. "Our scouts have more news for us sers. It would appear that The Florents have been destroyed, the Hightowers have stirred from Oldtown."
Ser Tristan Hill was the first to speak and break the silence that followed. "How do we know this to be true though my lord?"
Instead of speaking Bittersteel bent down and threw a head across the table, when the head stopped rolling, he spoke his tone grim. "There, is that proof enough for you Hill? The head of a former envoy that one of those bloody Hightowers gave our scout before they killed the rest."
Haegon Blackfyre spoke then. "So the Tyrells now have extra 9,000 swords with them. They will surely march now and we do not have the ample ground to defend ourselves let alone beat them here in Ashford. We must move."
"Where would we go though Ser?" Ser Desmon Strickland asked. "We have walls and a ditch here to protect us, if we move from here what's to say we do not get ambushed by Ashford men?"
Haegon Blackfyre snorted then. "I had forgotten what a craven you were Strickland. No if we stay in Ashford we leave ourselves open to the chance of being laid siege to, and a siege could drag on for moons, or a year. We have neither the time nor the supplies to manage such a thing. We must strike out and we must do so now."
"At what cost though Ser? If we stay we might starve that is true, but Tyrell will march north in the end if he wishes to keep his head. His own men will push for a quick siege or battle. But we might lose more men than they, for a lack of experience and the fact that after all we are sellswords." Ser Tristan Hill said.
"Haegon has the right of it." Bittersteel said speaking clearly to prevent any arguments breaking out. "If we remain here, we leave ourselves open to a siege, and I have not the patience for the consequences that would bring. No, if we are to meet Tyrell and his men, let it be on the field of battle. We shall march from here tomorrow at dawn."
Monterys Blackfyre spoke then. "Who shall have the command my lord?"
Bittersteel was silent for a moment before replying. "I will not deign to give orders for the command of Lord Osgrey's host that is for him to decide. As to us, I shall lead the reserve, Haegon the van, Ser Tristan the left, the right shall be Ser Desmon, and Ser Balorch of course shall man the archers. Monterys you shall be in charge of the elephants. I want them used sparingly, if at all."
With that the meeting was ended, and Harrold retired to his own tent, but before he could get some rest he called a meeting of his own lords. His goodbrother and brother, Lord Merryweather Lord Caswell and Lord Ambrose were present in his tent when he told them the news he had heard before finally giving out instructions for command of the host. "Ormund shall lead the van, Ambrose you shall lead the left, Caswell you shall lead the right and I shall lead the reserve. We attack in pincer and we kill all we get our hands on."
The lords were dismissed and day turned into night and then day again, as the first rays of sunlight peeked through his tent, Harrold was up and ready, armoured in dark green armour with the chequy lion of his house on his breastplate, and the lion helm atop his head he mounted his horse and rode out to take command of his men. They rode forth from the gates of Ashford Castle, and the minute they came across the banners of House Tyrell, the horns were sounded and battle began.
The battle was chaos pure and simple. Men were thrown together in a sea of armour, swords and steel. Harrold swung his sword left, right and centre, cutting through those who got in his way with some effort, he continued swinging, and more and more men began falling to his sword. He sliced through one man, and then sliced another's arm off in the same movement, and then onwards he went, swinging, hacking and slashing where necessary. Men were falling like flies, their screams resounded and echoed through his helm, but on he fought. Hacking, and slashing, trying to ignore the river of blood that was opening up near the hooves of his horse.
He swung his sword, again and again until his arm hurt from the effort and the strain. His body was littered with bruises, his armour covered with dents, blood was slightly seeping through some of the dents, but on he fought. He cut down man after man until no more came, it did not take long to see why. He lifted the visor of his helm and saw that the Tyrell men were fleeing with some great haste, and a minute later he heard the trumpeting and the bellowing of the Golden Company's elephants. The day was theirs it seemed. Later as they camped at the ridge, they were told of the victory, and capturing of Lord Garse Tyrell who would be given as a prisoner to Goldengrove where he would spend the rest of the war. Their march north began some three days after the battle of Cockleden, the same day the Dornish forces appeared in the Reach.
Ser Borros Hill
There were some advantages to being a bastard he had found. For one he did not have to deal with half of the tension and pressure his true born siblings most likely had to endure. Of course Borros had never really met his half siblings, his father had died before he had been born during the second Blackfyre War, and his father's wife had wanted nothing to do with him. Borros had not even known he was the son of a Reyne until his grandfather had one day shown up at his mother's home and taken him with him to Castamere, from that day he had been his grandfather's shadow. Wherever Robb Reyne went you would find Borros at least that was the case until he turned nine and his grandfather was sent to the Black cells for some crime or the other.
Then Borros's uncle the former Lord Damon Reyne had taken him on as a squire, but the man had died during the third Blackfyre war, and Borros had been sent away from Castamere by pressure of his half siblings mother. He had returned when his step mother had died, and had been knighted by his other uncle Ser Terrence Reyne, the castellan of Castamere whilst his cousin Lord Beron Reyne was held hostage to the throne. His cousin would be dead now, for his actions. Strangely enough he did not really feel any sort of regret, he was a bastard after all and he had been told from birth that people like him were traitorous by nature, why fight it if it was expected of him?
His other cousins had either died or were being held prisoner in Castamere until the war was over. Borros sincerely hoped that Aegon Blackfyre gave him a legitimization once this was all said and done, after all Castamere would go to the dogs if it was given to his cousin Domeric, the boy was dumb as a septon and had no common sense whatsoever, let alone martial prowess. He supposed that was why these lords he saw before him had joined him, they followed strength in the Westerlands, and the chaos at the Rock had made them consider another viable alternative, and now here was Borros the Red Lion embodied and they were willing to fight for him.
He'd done some fighting before the lords had actually agreed to come to his side, Lords Vikary and Lydden had proven stubborn, but Borros had brought them to heel. Their holdfasts were now smoking ruins, and they would give him their troops or they would die. Marbrand had been a problem, but Borros had seen to it that he was slain at Pembroke, and his heir had not tried to put up anymore resistance, their numbers had swelled after that. Lord Lefford had been amiable to joining him as well, it seemed the man bore a grudge against his step mother for apparently swindling gold and other riches from the tooth, he wanted recompense for that, and seemed to think Borros would be apt for that. He did not mind, not truly, for with Lefford came gold, supplies, women and of course Plumm and Greenfield.
He knew Lannister had won a victory against the Ironborn at sea, and whilst the Ironborn's defeat and the death of Rodrick Greyjoy was a sad thing and a pain, it would not hinder Borros' plans, he would win this battle that was coming up and he would destroy the Lannisters once and for all. Remove the stain upon the Westerlands that the golden lions had become, with their petty squabbles and weak lords. Tion Lannister was a fool, strong as an ox, but not smart at all, as he thought about that, perhaps it might be best if he killed Tion but let his weakling brother Tytos live, after all such a man could be manipulated if need be.
He knew what his lords would say, Crakehall would boom and jest and tell him to kill all the lions, all the while forgetting Borros was one, Lydden would simper and agree with Borros no matter what he said, Vikary would growl and scowl, Lefford would say to do what was best for the Westerlands, only Tarbeck would give him a clear opinion as he had done when the suggestion of marching straight for the Rock had been brought up. "DO that," Tarbeck had said. "And we shall be broken and die against the walls of the Rock. Lord Tion's host will be the hammer and the Rock the anvil. No doing something like that would be suicide. We must draw Lannister out to face us on terrain that suits us."
And so they had, they had moved from Ashemark where there were walls penning them in, to Pendric Hills where there were hills and cover for their men. The scouts Lannister had sent out where captured and tortured for information, and then killed or sent back with false leads. A few men were sent out towards Lannister's host giving them a good run for their money, all the while they moved on from the hills towards the Lion's claw, a steep path that would give them all the possible benefits and nothing to Lannister. It had been a month since Lannister had landed, two months since his defeat of the Ironborn.
A game of cat and mouse they were playing, and a game it was worth. Lannister was by all means not a patient man, as likely to smash his own host to bloody pieces trying to catch Borros and his men, than go in for the quick kill and see the game for what it truly was. Borros knew how to wait, he had waited his whole life for this moment, to slay a Lannister and fuck another. He had his eyes on the prize, Cerenna Lannister, the sister of Tion Lannister, a beauty and she would be his, she was his already, he had caught her at Ashemark and she had become his whore, and now he meant to marry her should all go well.
A horn blew, he drew his sword. The battle had begun. He spurred his horse on and they two hosts met in a clash of steel, the sound echoing down the valley. Drawing his greatsword with two hands he swung and swung and swung, men were hacked down as they came, crying out and bleeding before him staining his armour, but he rode on cutting down more and more Lannister, Banefort, whoever they were it mattered not if they came in the way of his sword and his path they died.
On it went, hacking, slashing, cutting, ducking, and dodging. More men fell to his sword than he could count, his armour was growing stained with blood and gore and mud, his arms feeling heavy and still he rode on. Cutting down men more experienced than him, all were eager to kill the rebel leader, but their confidence was their downfall. Swings they would normally block cut them and killed them, and their swings lacked strength or purpose grazing where they should have cut, and so it went.
More men were dying by the second he could hear their cries through his helm and the din of battle, or were they the din of battle it was hard to know. Soon enough it mattered not, for there before him dressed in red armour was Tion Lannister, both men roared at each other and then the lions danced. Steel on hammer, the sparks flew, strength against strength, both men struck the other, denting, cutting, bleeding only to pull away and begin again.
Adrenaline coursed through Borros's skin as he fought Lannister, swinging his sword, ducking the hammer, nicking the man's armour, having his own dented. He did his best to avoid the full swings and was largely successful, tire the man out he thought and then he would win. He danced round the fringes drawing Lannister away from his safety net, and from his comfort zone, his frustration began to show as his swings became more erratic.
There it was the opening, Borros spurred his horse on swung, cut and then backed off again. Swung, cut, back off, and swung cut, back off. One he went doing it again and again until they were both tired and bleeding. Then with one final push Lannister swung the hammer, Borros got his sword up in time and sparks flew as they both pushed against one another, both men felt their arms weaken their resolve weakening, their men fighting around them, and then Lannister's hammer fell away pushed by sheer strength and will. Borros used all his might to bring his sword up and thrust it through Lannister's throat.
He pulled his sword out and Lannister fell to the ground, Borros dismounted, killed a man who came to close, and then got his squire to hold the body whilst he hacked the head off. He sheathed his sword, gave the head to his squire before mounting his horse, he then took the head from his squire and rode on holding the head of Tion Lannister up high when he came to the top of the valley, he stopped took his helm off and bellowed. "Your lord is dead!" His squire took up the call and then thousands more did as well, soon the fighting stopped as all turned to look at him. He held Lannister's head up high and roared."Tion Lannister is dead, the Lannisters are done. Give up now and you shall be spared. Continue fighting and you shall be slaughtered."
One by one the men began throwing down their weapons, and soon enough one of his own men threw Tytos Lannister at his feet clamped in chains. "We found this one trying to escape Ser. We thought you might wish to speak with him."
Ser Borros nodded and then dismissed the men who had brought him. "Ser Tytos, or should I call you Lord Tytos? I suppose, but of course you shall remain a prisoner now, and you shall order your men to join us or you shall die and House Lannister will end."
The man did as he was bid, and then was sent to the Tooth in chains where he would rot. The next day with the wreckage of the battle still plain to see Borros called a meeting of his lords, all of them attended, Crakehall, Brax, Banefort, Lydden, Westerling, Vikary, Tarbeck on and on the list went. "My lords, we have won an impressive victory here. But that is just the beginning if we want more rewards we must help the true king. Now what news do we have from the east Lord Lefford?"
"A rider came from the tooth this morning, my daughter writes that it appears as though Riverrun is in ruins or near enough. There was a fierce battle there between the riverlords who are fighting for the Targaryens and the northmen, the northmen won and Riverrun is being pulled down brick by brick as we speak. The riverlords fighting for the black dragon are marching for Harrenhal according to what my daughter has heard."
"Then it is simple what we must do." Lord Crakehall said in his booming voice. "We march for Riverrun and we join the Winter Dragon, and we give them our 10,000 swords and we win."
"Aye and we shall show the Dragons that we are not to be taken lightly. For too long have they looked down on us and treated us as scum. It is time we showed them why the Westerlands were so feared in ages past." Lord Lydden said.
"So we are in agreement then?" Borros asked. "Very well, we march for Riverrun in two days time. And this time the Black Dragon shall win."
And so it was that on the sixth day of the eleventh month of the 232nd year after Aegon's Landing that the Westerlands formally declared allegiance to the Black Dragon and marched for Riverrun. It seems at present as if all the stars were aligning, could this be it? The day when the Black Dragon won? Fate will tell, only fate and the gods.