Horns, horns, horns.
Alexandrian horns, Alexandrian bugles, by Rick Grimes' side they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North and of the west sounding at the crack of dawn. Maidenpool was relieved at last.
"Gimme!" With his remaining left hand, Rick seized a bugle from Dwight and blew. A flurry of flourishes followed, then the sounding began to cease.
Rick sprang upright in his saddle. Aching pains from his bad leg faded away to a faint wobble. He was young again, as young as he was that New Year's party, when he first danced with Lori oh so long ago. There was no Judy then, no walker apocalypse, no Carl. And he still had two hands.
Finally the horns died down. Rick lifted his hatchet in the air as a king would lift a sword. He had practiced his speech many times on the way to Maidenpool, and it flowed out of his mouth in a voice of steel:
Rise, rise, Alexandrians!
Bringers of the dawn!
Our guns are loud, our swords are sharp,
Our foes break as the sun rises behind us!
With me, with me! Show them our way!
The Alexandrian horse sprang forth as one. The sun rose behind them, and their banner went before them, the stars-and-stripes that they brought with them over the lake. And before the banners rode Rick himself, bringing the dawn to a world of darkness. Morning had broken at last.
"Follow me!" Rick cried. Bullet after bullet flew from his pistol, gunfire erupting all around him. The men of the Reach failed before the Riverman's lines, soldier after soldier felled like wheat before a combine harvester. And then the Reach's foot broke, fleeing towards the water, for the rivermen were anchored southwards and westerwards of them, and the Alexandrians came from the east, and they were smashed by the hammer against the anvil. But the waters were no friend of theirs, and the North remained ever their foe. Men leapt into the river, seeking to escape the fell bullets of the Alexandrians and the wrathful spears of the Rivermen, but all that awaited them was a watery grave.
But the knights of the Reach had yet to forsake their valor. The huntsman on green still billowed in the breeze. Even in defeat, they rode forth into the wave of steel, towards the red, white and blue that heralded their doom, seeking to buy every minute they could with their lives so that the infantry could escape. But it was all for naught. The Reach's horse evaporated like dew under the rising sun. Thud after thud the knights heard, of falling horse and falling rider, but despite their fear they pressed on all the same, until steel darts broke against their steel armor and they fell into the abyss. The day was cruel, and they would never again see the Hightower of Oldtown, or smell the fragrant flowers along the Mander, or taste the sweet wine of the Arbor.
Finally the huntsman's banner fell. His bow stood in vain against the Alexandrian gun, and both lord and heir were no more, for even the Reach's finest armor could not withstand bullets beyond count. And before long the remaining Reachmen were slain, or perished in the depths of the waters, or held captive at the Rivermen's camps. Few fled south to bring the terrible tale of their defeat to King's Landing.
Though the red of the sunrise faded, but the day was redder all the same, for the red of the waters was matched only by the red on the field, a field of red roses where the river met the sea.
The lord of the Alexandrians came forth, his shadow looming over the dead. "What's this?" asked Rick. The blade next to the fallen Reachman rippled under the sunlight, and it was light, lighter than any sword from Alexandria's armories or the Rivermen's forges.
"Heartsbane," answered the Blackfish. "It's a Valyrian Steel sword. This here has to be Lord Randyll Tarly, and his son Dickon Tarly beside him."
"It's a good sword," said Rick. "The steel is ours, just as the prisoners are yours." He bent down to pick up the sword.
Suddenly the boy stirred. Blood trickled out of his mouth, and from his shattered arm, and from the holes in his breastplate, watering the hungry grass below. His one good arm stretched towards Heartsbane's hilt and gripped it as tightly as he could, but the boy's strength soon failed, and his head rolled back, bloodshot eyes wide open. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a strangled cry came out. Rick gently shook the boy. Yet the boy did not move again, and the pulse in his remaining arm was gone.
The Blackfish knelt and closed the boy's eyes. "We'll take the Tarlys to Maidenpool's sept. The Silent Sisters shall deal with them." Rick wondered if it was a blessing that the father died first. He knew he would not wish to live for much longer had it been Carl instead.
"But here! The Tarlys won't be needing Heartsbane any longer. And good Valyrian steel should not go to waste." said the Blackfish. He gave Rick the rippling sword, and it felt light to hold. Then Dwight took Heartsbane, sheathed it, and tied it to Rick's belt.
The gates of Maidenpool opened. The Mooton's red salmon banner still stood, in defiance of slain lion and trampled rose.
Together the Alexandrians and Rivermen marched into Maidenpool, and the townsfolk cheered, for the already thrice-sacked town was hard pressed to withstand yet another siege. At last Lord Mooton emerged from his tower, and welcomed the town's saviors with food and wine. But Maidenpool's stores ran low, and Rick and the Blackfish had to offer Maidenpool a share of the Tyrell spoils lest the town starve.
"March with us," said Rick as they dined. "This is the first Tyrell host we destroy, and not the last. We'll need every man we can get."
"But how do you propose to destroy the armies which march from King's Landing?" asked Lord Mooton. "They will have thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands. Mace Tyrell gathers more men every day, and the fall of Tarly's host is but another setback to him, grievous as it is. Surely you would not march on the Blackwater and stop him from bringing in yet more men?"
"No, let them come to us", said Rick. "Let the lions of Lannister smash themselves to pieces against the walls of Harrenhal. Then we will land an army behind their camp, north of where Whitewalls once stood, and cut off their supplies."
"They will be caught between the hammer and the anvil, just as they were today," said the Blackfish. "Even if they could hold out, it will do them little good, for the besiegers are now the besieged. They cannot hope to break through Harrenhal's walls, and only a fool would wish to be the first to go up against the wrath of the Alexandrians. And so they are trapped. The more men the Iron Throne sends, the faster they shall starve. Perhaps even the Kingslayer would be among them, or other great knights or lords."
But Lord Mooton remained at Maidenpool with his soldiers, nor did he consent to the removal of what remained of his people to Harrenhal, for King's Landing was near and Riverrun was far. Nor was he convinced that the Alexandrians shall gain the upper hand despite the strength of their arms, for the host which fell at Maidenpool today was but a tithe of what the Tyrells could muster.
The host of the Rivermen and Alexandrians spent another day at Maidenpool. The fallen Reachmen were so many, even the help of the few remaining townsfolk and the captives were not enough to dig enough graves in one day, and the field of withered roses was beginning to rot. For many years afterwards the bards of the Reach would sing, and the maidens weep, for the fathers, husbands, sons, friends, lord and smallfolk alike lying side by side, in pits by the sea far greater than those which were dug in Duskendale. But the Rivermen who fell were brought into the town, and laid to rest in the sept beneath the Stranger's feet.
The ghost of High Heart's words echoed in Rick's mind when they took leave of Lord Mooton the next morning. The field of roses had already withered under the trampling of Riverlander boots and Alexandrian hooves. And it would not be long until lions howled under the grey of gunpowder, buried under grey mists under the walls of Harrenhal.