The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

AN: I am so sorry this took so long but I swear it was hard to write and I loved doing it. I truly hope you enjoy reading this and please let me know what you think.

Chapter Thirteen

The Battle of Rosby

Radwen was sitting in her study, she refused to call it a solar like the Westerosi did, as Captain Howmer of the Royal Guard, wearing his purple uniform without the black armour the Royal Guard were famous for. He was holding a stack of papers which Radwen would look at, she had a lot of work to do and recently she had been letting it stack up.

'Next, Your Highness, is the request from the Smith's Guild for permission to manufacture muskets for the Constables. There's a memorandum from Colonel Donnah that we should refuse this for security reasons.'

'Agreed,' she answered as the paper was handed to her and she slammed the rubber stamp with the word "Refused" onto it, the red ink staining the paper with that one word and she put it on the large pile of "Refused" papers, much larger than the accepted paper.

'This one is from Farsos itself, a congratulations on your engagement to Lieutenant Snow from the Women's Suffrage Society.'

She looked at the paper and quickly wrote a reply.

Thank you for your kind words.

Yours Faithfully, Princess Radwen of Farsos.

She placed that on the pile of letters to be sent out.

'Isn't that reply brief?' Howmer asked her.

'It is and you know my policy towards the WSS.'

'Avoid them as if they were Stone Men?'

'Exactly.'

'In that case, we have one last document.'

'Damn.'

'I thought you'd be glad to be finished.'

'Normally I would but I just want to stay busy right now.'

'You could inspect my men if you want.'

'The last thing they'd want is to stand in the sun for an hour as I look at their rifles.'

'If you want, you could tell me what's been bothering you.'

'It's private.'

'No offence, but no matter concerning you or your family is a private matter.'

She looked at the man, he was an aristocrat, a younger son of a Serderian noble who chose a military career over the civil service which most Serderian nobility pursued, joining the Royal Guard. He had been assigned as the commander of her personal guard company soon after she was made heir to the throne when she was thirteen. She truly envied him in that moment, his freedom to do what he wanted, to be free.

'I had an argument with Mister Snow on the night of the party.'

'What sort of argument? Did he hurt you?'

'No,' she responded, annoyed at the suggestion. 'Mister Snow never laid a finger on me.'

His expression in response to that spoke of a witty comment he was trying to not let out.

'Well, he never tried to hurt me at least,' she clarified. 'Or dishonour me or insult me or cause me harm in anyway.'

'Then why are you so annoyed at him?'

'Because he's so bloody honourable.'

'Radwen,' he said, one of the rare times he used her first name, 'after all these years you know I can't stand that language.'

'I'm sorry Howmer. What he said to me, it made me so angry, that he could keep something from me,' she felt the tears building up behind her eyes, 'that he could lie to me and when he tells the truth he only did it so he wouldn't go to his grave with lies on his lips. He hurt me by trying to be good to me. How am I meant to deal with that?'

'I don't know,' Howmer said and walked towards Radwen, outing a comforting hand on her shoulder. 'Should I send for a cup of tea?'

She nodded her head as she wiped away the few tears which escaped her eyes. After he told one of the servants outside the door to bring up tea he returned and Radwen waited for him to speak.

'Well, Your Highness, I know you want him.'

'In what way?'

His response was certainly not what she was expecting.

'I know you want to marry him, and it wasn't just for his noble blood.'

'How do you know that I didn't propose to him because I just had to do it? I had to do my duty to the crown.'

'No. If you were just doing your job you'd have proposed to anyone else. You went for Jon because he's a young man who's actually handsome.'

'I'm a princess, my own preferences don't matter.'

'You're a seventeen year old girl.'

'Who happens to be the heir to the Emerald Throne.'

'And when you were declared heir and I was put in command of your personal guard, Queen Radina asked that I make sure you are actually allowed to live before you take the throne yourself. You saw a young man with a promising career, who was close to your age and has good enough looks who just matched with your fathers instructions to marry a Westerosi nobleman. Listen to a man who has been through love and lived to tell the tale, don't let this little argument ruin your future.'

'I must seem,' she said before stopping to think about her next words. 'I must seem to be terribly petty.'

'Not at all.'

'Don't lie to me Howmer. I've always been like this; even small problems are turned into disasters in my mind. Once I tore a beautiful petticoat I received for my seventh birthday and I was terrified what my mother would say when she found out. In the end she wasn't bothered at all by it.'

'No wonder you got so angry that Lieutenant Snow did whatever he did, if you panicked at tearing your underwear.'

'It's stupid of me to act like this.'

'No it isn't. You are you, Snow is Snow. He's a man who can keep himself stable, you have been raised to be a queen. You'll be fine together.'

'I hope you're right.'

Just then there was a knock at the door.

'This will be the tea,' Howmer said before looking towards the door. 'Enter.'

Instead of a servant with their drinks there was a private of the Royal Guard who bowed to them before speaking.

'Your Highness, Captain, we have received word from Brigadier Curn. He has engaged the Lannister army.'

Radwen looked at the man and then down at the floor, hoping that it would all turn out alright, that Jon would come back, just so their last words together wouldn't be those of spite.

…

Brigadier Curn sat on his horse, his field glasses held up to his eyes at the top of the hill as he watched the Lannister forces form up for battle. Through his powerful lenses he studied the enemy formations, the cavalry was divided into three forces, one on each flank and one in the rear, the rear one had the main Lannister banner marking the likely place Lord Tywin was positioned. The infantry were formed into numerous columns, each one numbering several thousand men but some had converged together to form a single wide column, likely their first wave.

The location he and Donnah, who was next to him on his own horse, chose to fight on was excellent for defence, a hill with two sides to steep to easily advance up and the north side gentle, forcing an attacker to move up that gentle slope. On the steep slopes Curn had positioned spiked obstacles which made it difficult for an infantry attack and impossible for cavalry.

'What do you think?' Curn asked Donnah, the old man dressed in his usual heavy black clothes and leather coat which should have made any normal man sweat.

'I think the Lannister's are sending in their only men with firearms in first to pin down our riflemen while their light infantry launch an attack on our breastworks followed by an overwhelming infantry assault on our front line.'

'Exactly what I was thinking. The best response will be cannister shot and volley fire.'

'What about their cavalry?'

'They would never be able to get past our breast works.'

'I hope you're right. Will we begin?'

'No, let Tywin Lannister think he still has control of the war, let him think we're a timid little force scared to move off a hill. Well, that and I never enjoyed being the first to dance at a ball.'

'Very well.'

'I'm glad my plan meets your approval, Colonel.'

'You should be,' was his response. 'My report to the High Inquisitor on your conduct of the war will depend on the result of this battle.'

'Why does Inquisitor Borsin want a report?'

'Because our armies should be marching on Highgarden, instead they're licking their wounds and digging trenches around some nowhere town called Watsend.'

'Your point, Colonel?'

'That unless we start getting results, there will be some job changes in the army.'

'We both know that we will soon have results. If you hadn't,' he stopped speaking as a Troop of Light Horse, lead by Lieutenant Snow and his wolf, rode past quickly towards their position. When they were out of earshot he continued. 'If you hadn't decided to bring Operation Shattered Crown up so early we'd have had enough men to properly conduct this war.'

'Perhaps. However, my own concerns are for the greater good of the kingdom, not just for the army. You are a trained officer, do your job and find a way of fighting even when the odds are against you. Now, I will recheck the Constables, if they're going to betray us, I have my men positioned right behind them with Hand Bombs.'

Donnah rode away then towards the Constables and Curn was truly glad he was alone now, alone except for the bugler and half a dozen mounted messengers just out of earshot of a whispered conversation. He didn't want to admit it but that man, and the Military Police in general, made him feel uneasy.

Suddenly a horn or a trumpet was blown from the Lannister side of the battlefield that unmistakable sound filled the air. Marching boots.

The battle had begun.

'Both guns will begin to fire cannister shot when the enemy is within range,' he stated and two riders rode off towards the guns. 'The infantry will fire at will when in range.'

Two more riders galloped towards the frontline with the orders to the officers. As he waited for the enemy to enter range he watched the enemy advance through his field glasses. As they came closer he saw that they had adopted an unusually loose formation for the Westerosi, in fact, a number of them didn't look to be Lannister soldiers, instead wearing furs and crude leathers with little armour. Others wore the Lannister red but only carried bucklers and wore almost no armour.

'They must have learned,' he said to himself, remembering what he heard about the Kingslayer escaping from Robb Stark and his army.

…

The guns had been firing for a few minutes by the time the rifles fired. Jon and the rest of the regiment were on their horses behind the regular infantry who were lined up three ranks deep along the breastworks. With them were also the Constables and Military Police, their weapons ready in case they had to be sent into the battle.

'They're getting closer,' Trooper Hensin muttered nearby.

'Easy Trooper,' Osoni reminded him.

Each rank of infantry ahead of them fired before they went to the back and the rank behind stepped up to the rampart and fired.

'Mark your targets before you fire!' he heard someone shout somewhere.

The cannons fired again and this time he could just hear screams coming from the enemy ranks. There he decided that the worst thing about not being on the front lines was that he couldn't see what was going on.

The riflemen kept up their volley fire but eventually more shots filled the air, this volley as random, without orders of a volley and Jon saw small clouds of soil being kicked up from the rampart and a few men staggered off of the front line, clutching at wounds.

'Here they come,' someone behind Jon murmured.

…

The shotgunners kept firing as they moved closer towards the Farosi ramparts, each man would unleash both barrels and reload as they advanced amongst the large formation of light infantry, their small shields and little armour allowing them to move much faster than the regular infantry who were forming up behind them. Tyrion, Bronn right behind him, and his Hill Tribes were at the front of the attack. He had an axe in hand which he pointed towards the enemy while his men pushed through the hailstorm of Farosi bullets.

'Charge!' he declared again and rushed as fast as he could on his small legs towards the enemy.

This was the third attack that day, the early ones had been successful, their loose formation rendering the enemy volleys much less effective, until the men had reached the rampart. The ditch in front of the Farosi earth wall turned a shoulder height barrier into one almost twice as tall as a normal man. Tyrion, Bronn and the hill tribes hadn't been in the first two attacks but after hearing what they were facing, Tyrion explained a new plan to his father. They sent men back to Rosby to get sacks which they filled with soil and, hopefully, they would have enough to fill some parts of the enemy ditch allowing them to fight the Farosi at an equal level. After explaining the idea to his father, the man agreed under the condition that Tyrion himself lead the attack. Jaime, of course, volunteered to lead it but their father declared that Jaime would remain on the right flank while Tyrion would lead the attack.

'Shotgunners!' he shouted over the din of battle. 'Keep their rifles pinned down!'

'Keep shooting the bastards!' Bronn shouted louder and the men understood it, a volley of shotgun rounds raking across the Farosi ramparts.

'Now,' Tyrion declared, looking at the men carrying no weapons but each of them carrying a large sack full of soil. 'Fill their trench!'

They did as he said and rushed towards the Farosi rampart, the men with sacks would try to fill the trench on the right and in the centre. Tyrion of course saw some of these men being gunned down but others following them took up the sacks and continued the charge until they at last reached the trench, threw in their sack and then ran away as quickly as they could but many of them were shot.

'Bowmen,' Tyrion said and Bronn repeated the command.

At his command three hundred archers at the bottom of the hill let loose a cloud of arrows which smashed into the rampart, forcing the Farosi to duck for cover, buying time for the men with sacks to fill the trench. The archers and shotgunners kept shooting but the Farosi retuned fire, Tyrion seeing many of his men falling dead. Another sack entered the trench and now it was almost full to ground level and about fifteen feet across near Tyrion, he was on the flank of the attack.

'It's time!' he declared. 'Any of you who wants to show these foreigners why they should never have come here, charge over that wall!'

At that the hill tribes roared with all their might and led the attack, racing towards the filled up trench just as the Farosi behind the wall came to stand and fired, the first three lines of the tribesmen were mown down but the men behind them raced over the bodies, onto the sacks and threw everything they had against the ramparts. From Tyrion's position it was hard to see what was going on but he saw swords and axes being raised and brought down, spurts of blood shot up above the fighting and then, suddenly there was a rush as the tribes warriors rushed forwards.

'The rampart must have collapsed,' said Bronn.

'Good,' Tyrion responded and grabbed a nearby Lannister soldier by the shoulder. 'Go and tell my father it's time for the main attack!'

'Yes milord,' he answered and rushed off as fast as he could.

Tyrion held up his axe and rushed towards the fighting, knowing it was expected to lead the attack. Getting over the sacks was easy and, as Bronn concluded, the rampart had collapsed under the weight of hundreds of men pushing against it. There was a great thunder suddenly and Tyrion dropped to the ground as the closest cannon fired into the gap in the rampart. Tyrion and Bronn had been lucky, they'd been able to drop in time, but the light infantry behind them hadn't been as lucky. Over his shoulder he saw a dozen men torn into shreds by the many iron balls fired in one go.

Tyrion pushed himself up, gripped a tight hold on his axe and rushed to the closest Farosi who were fighting hand to hand with the tribesmen and other light infantry. The dwarf swung his axe through the leg of one man and then brought the axe down into his chest, killing the Farosi soldier while Bronn sliced his sword across the throat of one man and then ran another one through. With his axe Tyrion knocked a bayonet out of the way, the offending soldier was then killed by a spear to the neck by a nearby tribesman.

Needing to know what was happening Tyrion clambered onto the rampart, climbing over a dead Farosi and looked down to the bottom of the hill where, thankfully, he saw a massive column of Lannister troops advancing up the hill. Further along the rampart he saw that the other section of the trench had been filled in but the wall itself hadn't collapsed, Lannister troops had climbed over it and were fighting hard against the Farosi. Another cannon shot roared through the air and he saw the front of the Lannister column fall as one as they were torn apart.

'Charge you idiots,' he growled. 'Charge.'

…

It looked like the Lannisters had managed to cross the trench and get over the breast works. On the left flank they had even taken the rampart down and it was a mass brawl but in the centre it was an even fight, though it looked like a few of the enemy were pushing through.

'Snow to the right!' ordered Lowhill and Jon led his Troop that way, galloping along the length of the rampart, all along it Farosi soldiers fired down onto what Jon knew was the oncoming horde of Lannister infantry.

Ahead of him he could see the fighting, the Lannister soldiers, armed with swords and bucklers, had climbed over the rampart and had pushed through the ranks, some of them even getting all the way through and reforming on the Farosi side of the line. Jon stopped the men with a gesture from his hand and drew his revolver.

'Fire at will!' he ordered as his men drew their carbines and fired off at the enemy, cutting them down as they pushed through the Farosi lines.

Jon aimed his revolver and fired again and again until his cylinder emptied and then reloaded before firing again.

Suddenly there was a howl and Jon saw a white blur as Ghost charged into the fight, clamping his jaws around the throat of an enemy soldier.

'Give the white wolf a cheer, boys!' declared Trooper Bonbin.

…

'Bastards,' Curn cursed as he saw the Lannister infantry, who had just before been advancing up the hill in thick columns, now break up into much smaller units as they continued their advance. 'Have the artillery keep firing on the Lannister infantry.'

He looked through his field glasses and watched as the enemy drew closer and closer at a good pace. It wouldn't be long until it was time to commit the rest of his men.

…

With another shot of his revolver Jon saw the last of the Lannisters who had broken through the lines fall dead. The infantry retook the rampart and held the enemy back with bayonet work but now he saw that more heavily armoured Lannister soldiers had reached the lines. Now Jon was worried, even with their new leather jerkins the Farosi soldiers were much more lightly armoured than their enemies.

Suddenly there was a bugle call, two quick blasts, for the Light Horse, followed by a single long blast, this was the signal to rally.

'Back to the centre,' Jon ordered and led his men, Ghost with him as well, back towards the centre where other troopers who had been sent to plug gaps had rallied.

When Jon and his men had arrived and brought their horses to a stop, they saw Colonel Relini, the commander of the regiment, sitting on his horse, next to him was Lowhill and the other Captains.

'The 21st will retire to the rear of the lines!' Relini barked.

Of course his men began to grumble at the command. They were the Light Horse, a fast force which struck hard and fast, the rear of the line wasn't a place for that.

…

'Hurry!' Tyrion shouted over the fighting, still standing on the rampart and pointing his axe towards the enemy.

Fortunately, after several shots from the enemy guns, the Lannister infantry began to form into smaller units and quickly advance up hill. In hot weather, and heavy armour, they were tired after the advance, but once they were through the breach they quickly punched through the Farosi lines and, from where he stood, it looked like the plan was working, they were forcing the Farosi off the rampart near the breach and some of the men had even been able to push parts of the rampart into the trench, bridging the gap and making more space for the rest of the men to go over. There, standing amongst them, was a man far taller than any Farosi and not armed with a rifle but with a large two handed sword and instead of a hat he wore a helmet, a dog head shaped helmet. The Hound was there, leading some of these Farosi.

Suddenly there was a roar of gunfire and Tyrion snapped his gaze towards the source of the noise where he saw many of his men fall dead, in front of them four ranks of men in Farosi uniforms but wearing different hats, the first rank kneeling and reloading their rifles while the second rank was aiming.

'DOWN!' he shouted and jumped off his spot of the rampart as bullets filled the air and men screamed as they were torn apart.

'We need to get them before they reload!' Bronn shouted as another crack of firepower tore through the air and dozens of Lannister soldiers were cut down. 'Fuck that! We need to go.'

'I have to lead the attack.'

Another volley cracked through the air and Tyrion saw more of his men fall dead.

'You can command from somewhere else. You die, I stop getting paid. Come on!'

…

Curn grinned at the sight of it. In the one area where the Lannister's had torn down the rampart he had moved in the Constables and they were delivering solid volley fire into the enemy as they came through, cutting them down easily. In the other part of the line where they had gotten over the trench the Lannister's and his own men were fighting hard but the defences were holding.

'Send word to the artillery,' Curn ordered them. 'Loose ten rounds of cannister shot into the breach.'

'Yes sir,' a messenger responded and rode away to deliver the order.

He didn't even need his field glasses to see this. Moments after he gave the order he heard a cannon roar and suddenly a red cloud occupied the spot once taken by the Lannister's at the breach. Yet, even before the cloud had dispersed, more enemy soldiers filled the breach and the other cannon fired, eviscerating the new group of soldiers as the Constables fired another volley. With some trepidation he raised his glasses and saw the next wave of Lannister's being cut down. It was not a pleasant sight as these men joined the dead on the blood-soaked ground. He was a good soldier, but he was glad that war was so horrible or else many people would enjoy it, enjoy taking lives.

He remembered when he was at the Academy one of his instructors, a grizzled soldier who had fought against the last of the Tiger Cultists and lost his eye in the process, told him that in a battle he had to watch out for one moment, the one moment when he knew it was time to press the advantage.

That time was now.

The Lannister infantry were starting to run, at first it was just the wounded who had been staggering away from the fight but the sight of them leaving was making some of the others run for it, although most of them were still fighting, they were wavering. Hence, he was hoping the artillery would break them and then he'd begin the next stage of the battle. If there was a plus to the Lannister's strategy it was that it would be easier to launch the counter attack. He commanded his horse forward and galloped towards the constables, drawing his sword as he went. Once he reached them he held his sword high and cleared his throat as the cannons fired their tenth cannister shot.

'Fix bayonets!' he ordered and along the line his command was echoed by the officers, Clegane who insisted on wearing that damned helmet, also roared the order and held his sword up. The men all stood up tall and locked their bayonets onto the ends of their rifles.

'Prepare to charge!' he shouted. 'Charge!'

At that Clegane let out a roar and all the Constables in that block, just over two thousand men let out a cheer and ran at full pace into the breach in the rampart. Curn remained behind the fighting and just watched, proud at these Westerosi who had chosen to fight for the King of Farsos.

…

Tyrion was running as fast as he could on his small legs, Bronn next to him, as they retreated from the Farosi onslaught. He had been lucky to not be killed by the cannons and by the volley fire, if Bronn hadn't pulled him behind a pile of dirt left over from the rampart being toppled which saved both of their lives. When the Farosi charged he was relieved for a moment, remembering what his brother had said, in hand to hand the advantage of guns would be taken away, but as soon as the enemy charged into his men, they broke and began to run. Tyrion knew enough of history that when men broke there was almost no chance of rallying them so of course, he ran as well. Bronn was now carrying a shotgun he had picked up off a corpse and used it to blast away two of the enemy before he also began to run. They kept running down the hill towards their own lines, many of the enemy still right behind them. Eventually he looked over his shoulder and saw the Farosi stop their attack and then then begin to return to their lines.

…

Back at his usual position on the hill, Curn looked to a bugler near him and gave the order.

'The Constables will retire!'

The bugle blasted through the air and quickly the men, their uniforms spattered with blood and dust, some of them missing their bowler hats and their bayonets were dripping with gore. Yet, in spite of that, they were eager, they had thrown back some of the most feared men in Westeros. A year ago most of the had been Gold Cloaks, working under corrupt scum they called officers and spent their days standing on street corners breaking up bar fights. Now they were soldiers of Farsos.

As he watched he saw the regular soldiers form a semi-circle around the inside of the breach in the wall, any Lannister soldier who tried to get through would face a solid wall of gunfire. The battle was far from over, he knew that, but this showed the enemy what awaited anyone who tried to fight Farsos. After seeing their largest attack of the day fail, he dreaded to think of what they would be feeling now.

…

After an hour of sitting around doing nothing, Jon was starting to feel even more frustrated with, well, sitting around and doing nothing while he could hear the gunfire from the front line. Next to him was Ghost, who was somehow impossibly calm.

'You alright sir?' asked Osoni.

'Of course not. I want to get out there and take on the Lannisters, not sit around doing nothing.'

'Neither do I sir but if you want some advice, don't look so restless, it isn't good for our boys.'

Jon looked at his troopers, all of them sitting near their horses, checking their carbines again and in some cases smoking from their clay pipes.

'I'm sorry, Sergeant. I don't know what this Troop would do without you.'

'Let's hope you don't have to find out.'

There was a sharp series of bugle blasts and everyone looked towards Colonel Relini, still on his horse.

'Mount up,' Jon ordered, knowing what that tune meant. It was time to fight.

Jon climbed onto his horse and rode to the head of his Troop, all the other Troops of the regiment, and they began to ride forwards, to the top of the hill and just behind the rampart where the Farosi infantry were forming up four deep, bayonets fixed and rifles loaded, the constables about twenty paces behind them. Jon pulled out his field glasses, as many of the infantry Lieutenants and other officers had, and looked down towards the Lannister's, not sure what to expect. They were certainly moving but away from them, back towards Rosby and then probably further away.

'They're retreating,' Jon said, a bit too loudly and he heard some of his men cheering, looking to his left he saw his men excitedly gripping the reins of their horses while their beasts, sensing the excitement of their riders, were barely able to hold themselves back.

'No,' Lowhill, who was close by, told Jon. 'Look at how they're positioned. Their infantry are pulling back but still keeping formation in the centre, same with their cavalry on the flanks.'

'They're trying to catch us,' Jon concluded. 'They want to lure us off the hill.'

'Exactly,' he replied and grinned. 'And we're going to do exactly what they want.'

'Sir?'

'Just watch,' he told him and Jon looked along the hill towards Brigadier Curn, next to a bugler.

Just as he watched him the bugler let out the call, first a general infantry signal and then the one for the advance.

'Forward march!' the infantry officers shouted at once and pointed their swords forwards as the cannons let loose a volley on the enemy.

The infantry still at the ramparts, as one, threw all their weight into the walls they had built and the earth fell back into the trench before them, allowing the infantry to begin the advance easily, a solid line of blue, a forest of bayonets, advancing in their line down the hill.

When the infantry reached the bottom of the hill they kept advancing for another twenty feet until they came to a stop.

'The Lannisters,' Jon said, 'they're turning around. The cavalry are going to attack our men's flanks.'

'Exaclty,' said Lowhill.

Jon thought for a moment his superior officer was mad and he looked through the glasses again, the Farosi had begun to use volley fire against the charging Lannister infantry but he cared more about the cavalry, lances lowered now, bearing down upon the flanks of the infantry.

There was a sudden shift in the infantry formation, the men on the flanks breaking formation, maybe three battalions on each flank broke off and then adopted a different formation, a hollow square, right in the path of the Lannister cavalry while the enemy infantry were being shredded by disciplined rifle fire.

'Perfect,' Jon said as he saw the Lannister's on their horses, unable to punch through the squares, haplessly ride around them, trying to skewer the infantry with their lances only to be shot down.

Jon saw some of them though bypassing the squares, forming up behind the main battle line, ready for a charge.

'Prepare to charge and fire!' Colonel Relini shouted, loud enough for the entire regiment to hear him.

'Attack formation!' Jon ordered his Troopers. 'Three ranks deep! Draw carbines, load!'

The standard charge formation of the Light Horse, three ranks deep, carbines out, sabres in their sheaths. Jon and Osoni were on the right, Jon had his revolver in hand, he saw his men were in position, all of them excited. Colonel Relini was at the front, right in the centre with his sword drawn. The Lannister cavalry, hundreds of them now behind the main line, now noticed them and were rushing into another formation.

'Charge!' Relini roared, one echoed by his men, and they charged at full speed down the hill, maintaining a rough line at the charge, bugles blowing, the regiments colours held aloft, the unicorn and the griffon, the blue and yellow and in its corner the number 21 sewn in bright gold, shining as the sun hit it.

At the right distance Jon gave the order, as did the other Lieutenants.

'FIRE!'

The first rank of horsemen, Jon saw Trooper Hensin amongst them, fired their carbines down into the Lannister cavalry, charging uphill towards them, most of them together but others streaming through without formation. The first rank slowed their horses for the other two ranks to overtake them and fire in turn until everyone had fired, carbines were shoved back into their sheaths and swords drawn, glinting in the light and Jon aimed his revolver, quickly firing off all six rounds, not even knowing if he hit any of them, tried to put the weapon in its holster but he missed and dropped the gun, growling in frustration he drew his own sabre and let out a yell as the Light Horse crashed into the Lannister knights.

Jon stabbed his sword through a knights arm pit, cutting him down instantly and then opened the throat of another who wasn't wearing a gorget with a swift slash. Blood splattered Jon's face, screams filled the air, gunshots were deafening and Still Jon kept fighting, swinging his sword and stabbing through gaps in armour. He saw Ghost, no more than a white blue, opening horses necks and then doing the same to their riders. At one point he saw Ghost leap up onto a rider and knock him off, quickly killing him in seconds before the wolf charged at another.

Suddenly his horse screeched in pain and Jon saw a broken lance head through the beasts neck. His beast staggered before falling dead, Jon jumping off at the last second, avoiding being crushed by it. Jon was soon on his feet and parried a blow from a dismounted Lannister knights before kicking him in the knee, knocking the man down and Jon slashed him across the neck. There was a shout behind him and Jon turned to face his new enemy but he saw an enemy falling dead, a fresh bullet hole where his left eye should have been. Jon looked and saw Lowhill on his horse, revolver in hand.

'Get another horse Jon!' he shouted but a white and gold blue rode past the captain, and with the flash of a sword, the Farosi officers neck was opened and he fell from his white horse who bolted away.

'Captain!' he shouted and crouched over his officer, holding him in his arms but it was no good, Lowhill was dead.

Jon looked in the direction the killer had ridden and he saw him, a white cloak and golden armour, who else could it be. He was looking at him, the Kingslayer on his horse, sword in hand, looking at him. Jon grabbed Lowhill's revolver, not sure how many bullets were left in it and marched towards the Kingslayer who began galloping towards Jon.

Jon aimed at the Kingslayer at first but at the last moment shifted his aim and fired three times, the bullets striking the horse in the head and sending the Kingslayer flying off the beast as it fell dead. Jon holstered the revolver, not caring if their were any bullets left and picked up his sword again, advancing towards Ser Jaime who pushed himself up and held his sword in a fighting stance.

'Kingslayer!' Jon shouted.

'Bastard!'

'Lat time I saw you, you were running from my men.'

'You'll be the one running this time, running right back into Princess Radwen's bed.'

'Not yet. I'll send your head to your son.'

Jon saw a glint of worry in his opponents' eyes, realising that he knew. The worry turned to a grim determination in less than a second and their swords clashed.

…

Far to the East, another group of Farosi prepared to kill. Ten men, all wearing long black coats, were waiting. They were near Pentos, sitting down amongst a clump of trees about a kilometre and a half from a road. All of them were waiting, all of them waiting for the group they knew would be coming up the road soon. All of them holding their rifles, specially made Donley&Sons Lever Action Rifles, fitted with longer barrels, designed to take a much larger bullet and a telescope instead of the normal sights. With these modifications the weapons could kill a man at almost two kilometres, and now they would be put to good use.

'The target is due to arrive any minute now,' said Hume, the leader of this group of the RES (Royal Enforcement Service) the most secretive branch of the Military Police. It was a nondescript name for their department, but it was one of the most effective branches of the organisation. 'Remember men, this is a quick operation, kill and then dispose. We will be out of Essos in three days' time.'

At that he looked at their other supplies, they had their horses tethered to the trees nearby, next to them were three large metal tubs, spades and metal barrels of acid covered by wooden ones as a disguise.

'Sir,' said Ronild, his second in command who was scanning the horizon with his field glasses. 'There's a party approaching.'

Hume reached into the leather satchel on his right side and pulled out his own glasses, looking in the same direction as Ronild.

'There they are,' he said, seeing the small group of figures riding on horses at an easy pace, maybe eight or so riders were there. 'To arms. Mark your targets and await the order to fire.'

At his command the men grabbed their rifles and took up their positions, their rifles resting on their bi pods and they waited for the order. Hume did the same and took up his target, a boy, around seventeen years old with silver blonde hair. According to the files on him he was called Young Griff, suspected to be a pretender to the Iron Throne. Next to the boy was an older man, apparently he was Jon Connington. Hume kept his gaze on the boy in the telescope and tightened his trigger, feeling just how much it resisted him, almost as a final reminder that if he used it, a life would be taken.

'Fire,' he ordered and the deafening volley of shots rang out.

While his rifle was a powerful and effective weapon, it was not pleasant to see the target die through a telescope. He saw the blood burst through the boys chest, tearing through his clothes, blood spurting from the wound as he fell from the horse which bolted in fear.

'All targets down,' said Ronild as he inspected the scene.

'Alright men. We've done our job. We dissolve the bodies and leave the area.'

…

Neither of them was able to gain an advantage. Without armour and with a thinner blade, Jon was faster than his opponent but Ser Jaime's armour was of the finest make, there were no gaps he could easily reach and he knew that all the Kingslayer needed was a single hit and he'd be gone. Jon parried another blow and struck the golden knight, creating a long scratch down his armour but not even harming the man underneath. In return, Ser Jaime swung his sword and Jon couldn't get out of the way in time, cutting through his leather jerkin and he hissed in pain at the wound in his chest as he felt blood rush across his skin and mix into his jacket. Jon took three steps away and touched the cut in his jerking, taking his hand away from the wound and saw it was covered in blood. Jon charged at the Kingslayer and smashed his enemies sword so hard it flew out of Ser Jaime's hand, Jon then dropped his own sword and tackled the man, spitting into his enemies eye, and then delivered a punch straight into Ser Jaime's nose, crunching his nose. Pain flared through Jon as Ser Jaime's knee was brought up into Jon's groin. He fell to the ground in agony as the Kingslayer stood over him, pulling a dagger from the back of his belt. Jon thought fast and saw a dead Trooper nearby, carbine in hand. Jon grabbed the carbine and pointed it at Ser Jaime, pulled the trigger and the gun made an audible click, empty.

In the blink of an eye Jon jabbed up with the gun, the barrel of it knocking his enemy between the eyes, delirious from the blow as he collapsed, next to a dead shotgunner. Jon ran towards the dead trooper and pulled a single bullet out of the pouch in the man's webbing before jumping behind the troopers also dead horse as a cloud of shotgun pellets tore open the beast's belly. Ser Jaime, unsteady on his feet from Jon's blow, fired the other barrel from his recovered shotgun, again striking the horse so he crouched over the shotgunner, pulling two shells out of the mans satchel while Jon loaded his carbine.

Both men loaded.

Both men aimed.

One man fired.

Both men looked at each other.

One fell dead.

One fell from exhaustion.

The two forms lay still, just two amongst thousands of others as the Battle of Rosby slowly ended.

Longest chapter of the story so far. So, I hope you guys enjoyed it and please review, let me know what you think. Have a great day guys. See you next time.

Lord Vilarreal of House Grand: Interesting idea, although I think that Dragon Glass might be too brittle to use in firearms, although if they are mixed with lead it could work. I'll think about it. Thanks for your review, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.