Land of the King
Chapter 14: Goldenhand
Garth Gardener
He looked out the window to see the encampment of soldiers before him. Tents cluttered around the walls of Highgarden, stretching the camp a great distance outward. Men trained in the fields before the castle, readying for war. Smiths were hard at work preparing weapons and armour, swords and axes, hauberks and helms. The banners of his house, a green hand on a field of white, fluttered in the cool morning breeze, above banners of green, gold, and red, amongst others. Nearby, the Mander flowed gently, peacefully. The Reach was beautiful. Yet he was now forced to mar her beauty with the decadence of war.
'Goldenhand' they called him. Seventh of His Name, King of the Reach. When he had been only a boy of twelve, he had turned back an invasion by a Dornish king, Ferris Fowler.
Yet it had never been war that he had truly loved, but rather peace. His ambition, his greatest desire, had always been to secure the borders of the Reach and ensure her people could be safe and prosperous. It was these ambitions that had seen him come into conflict with Earendur, High King of Arnor.
There was not a soul in all Westeros that knew not of Arnor. As a child, Garth had heard stories of the famed Kingdom of Arnor. Where gold was as plentiful as water and its lords lived for centuries.
The Arnorians were perhaps the most advanced civilisation in Westeros. They were possessed of knowledge that the First Men couldn't even comprehend. It was from Arnor that the knowledge of ironworking and the taming of horses had slowly spread all over the continent, slowly, but surely. The Arnorians had given such knowledge freely, in friendship.
Yet as an adult, Garth had learned to fear Arnor. War had erupted between the Reach and Arnor when both kingdoms had attempted to invade the Misty Islands.
Centuries earlier, Tarondor Hirgaer, an Arnorian king had conquered the Grey Islands and annexed them to Arnor. All in Westeros had cheered upon hearing the news, that the raiding Greyborn scum had been defeated. Everywhere that they had once ruled, the remaining Greyborn were destroyed and their ill-gotten lands reclaimed. Everywhere that is, save the Misty Islands, which became one last haven for the Greyborn people and their culture. And yet, despite their joy, the kingdoms neighbouring Arnor had begun to fear her power, afraid that Arnor would turn its gaze upon them next.
He could remember it even now, the way the dreaded steelbows of Arnor had rained down upon his host, slaughtering the entirety of his vanguard.
Garth had made peace with Earendur, knowing that the Reach had not the strength to seize the islands from Arnor.
But Garth had known that that would never be the end of it. Earendur's ambitions were too great, and Garth had feared that he would seek to take more lands. And so he had prepared. The mouth of the Mander River had been fortified, a great port built there to defend the Reach from the Arnorian-controlled Misty Islands. The borders with Arnor had been strengthened, the castles expanded, and the men trained. They would be ready when war came again.
Two years ago, word had come to Highgarden of a great muster of soldiers in both the Stormlands and Arnor. Garth had known then that the time had come. The banners of the Reach had been called, Oakheart, Osgrey, Rowan, Tarly, Ball, Peake, Florent and Manderly amongst the many houses of the Reach. They had all come, knowing what was at stake. In the south, the Kingdoms of the High Tower and the Arbor, enemies whom Garth had turned into allies, promised aid as well and had begun mustering their own armies.
Garth turned around to greet his lords. All had been summoned to Highgarden for perhaps the most important meeting of their lives. This meeting would determine their war plans, and perhaps, the fate of the Reach itself.
During the war council, it had been decided that the greater part of the Reach's army would pre-emptively strike at the Stormlands and overrun them. Arnor was judged to be the greater threat so the aim was to wipe out the Stormlander army before bringing the full might of the Reach against the Arnorians.
That had been almost eighteen months ago already. Garth had moved swiftly to crush the Storm King and had forced him out of the war prematurely. With the Stormlands defeated, he had swiftly turned the strength of the Reach to the Northmarch. House Osgrey, the Marshalls of the Northmarch had been holding out against Arnor for some time, but the full might of Arnor had been too much for them alone to bear. For the past six months, almost all the castles in the Northmarch had been under siege. Garth had swiftly marched his army westward and relieved the castles.
Word had reached him then, that Arnor was planning to counterattack. A massive Arnorian army had been seen marching from Minas Ithil, straight for Goldengrove. The seat of House Rowan guarded a strategic ford over the Gold River, one of the tributaries of the Mander. If Goldengrove fell, Arnor would have free reign to move over the entire northern Reach.
Garth had moved immediately to reinforce Goldengrove. His army had been so large that there had not been room to house all within the walls, so majority had camped without. The fords had been fortified, Caltrops and spikes planted, and catapults arrayed all along the banks and atop the castle walls. He would bleed Arnor dry as they attempted to cross.
'So you're here, Earendur' Garth thought. Across the river he could see them. The armies of Arnor were not like those of the Reach. Arnor's army was professional and almost all served the crown, not individual lords. Garth had once thought of doing the same for the Reach before he had realised the immense cost and difficulty of doing so. Still, as he beheld the Arnorians marching in perfect formations, regimented and disciplined, he knew the money they had spent had been well worth it. And at the peak of their column, Garth could see the banners of the House of Elendil, a white tree, crowned, with seven stars.
The forces of Arnor were like a sea of silver and steel. A deadly and dangerous force. Attempting to charge them across the river would be suicide. No, Garth had learned from his defeat in the Misty Islands. He would let Earendur come to him.
That night, Arnor had attacked the first time. Garth had refused to sleep, and had ordered his army to remain alert. Like a rain blown by an eastward wind, volley after volley had come. The black-tipped arrows falling upon their lines. The Arnorian siege artillery had begun firing as well, massive boulders flung from both catapult and giant alike, wreaking havoc in his camp. Finally, after hours of bombardments and volleys, the famous Swan Knights of Dol Amroth had led a charge across the river. They had almost succeeded in breaking their lines, but the men of the Reach had proven their valour and prevailed.
Battlefields were always chaos. There would be arrows in eyes, swords in hearts, spears in chests, axes in skulls. Corpses would pile up, some without limbs and others headless. It was a terrible fate, to trip over the body parts of a deceased comrade and promptly follow them into death. And in the thick of battle, it was often hard to tell friend from foe. Many a time, soldiers would end up killing their own allies rather than the enemy. Yet Garth could not help but feel that the previous night's carnage had been especially brutal. Two armies, encamped on either side of the river, neither able to dislodge the other, it was only natural for the ensuing battle to be bloody.
Arnor had attacked again and again after that. For two days after the first assault, there had been a constant barrage of arrows and artillery from both armies. Occasionally there would be an attempt by Arnor to charge their lines, yet all of them had failed. Arnor was being repelled, yet Garth could not help but feel morbidly depressed, seeing the Arnorian army remain as numerous and uncountable as they had been at the start, whilst his own army was dwindling.
It was on the third day that everything changed. Garth had woken that morning and had left the castle to enter the encampment. Nearby, the constant battle at the river fords was ongoing. Garth had won the love and loyalty of his men in previous wars by fighting and suffering alongside them and they had all been grateful to him for speaking with them and inquiring after their wellbeing. Now more than ever it was critical that the army's morale was high. Desertion would cripple his defense.
'It is unnaturally quiet today,' Garth thought. The Arnorians were attacking yes, but it felt wrong somehow, almost as if they were not putting their full effort into it.
Is it possible that the Arnorians are also feeling the fatigue of battle?
Garth hoped so. If they could hold out long enough, Earendur may give up and return to Arnor. He had no doubt he would attack again eventually but the delay would give him ample time to fortify his borders once again and further consolidate his gains in the Stormlands.
Garth could not have known then, that that brief lapse in the Arnorian attack had been merely the deep breath before the plunge.
The earth began rumbling. Looking north, Garth saw doom. A massive charge of Arnorian cavalry was descending upon the encampment, and quick on their tails were beasts almost out of fairytales. Mammoths.
The north!
How could he have been so stupid? Amon Sul was north of Goldengrove along the Gold River, yet Garth had never anticipated an Arnorian army to descend from the north. Sentries had of course been posted, to guard against any flanking movements by the enemy, yet as the battles at the fords had prolonged, men had been shifted from the north flank of the encampment.
"Men of the Reach! Rally to your KING! TO ARMS!" He shouted with a large cry. Some came, but not enough.
"Your Grace, we must get you to safety!" His guards implored and he conceded. Across the river, the Arnorians renewed their assault, rains of arrows descending upon the camp even as the Arnorian cavalry cut down his men and the mammoths trampled them underfoot.
Their only chance now was to withdraw within the walls of Goldengrove. Shouting the orders for withdrawal, Garth fled back to the walls as swiftly as he could. Death awaited those that could not reach the castle walls in time.
Pain filled his world. Collapsing on the ground, Garth turned to see his leg. It had been flattened into a bloody paste of flesh and bone. Looking around desperately for help, Garth saw many of his guards trampled, their entire bodies resembling the remains of his leg. The few still alive desperately tried to defend him. In front of him, an Arnorian war mammoth stood, huge and imposing. Atop its back, a small squad of Arnorian soldiers sat, bows in their hands.
His royal guard didn't stand a chance. Within moments, they were all either trampled by the mammoth's feet or peppered with arrows.
Garth himself was in too much pain to think clearly. Unable to walk, he dragged himself forward desperately. A part of him desperately wanted to live, to see his family again, but another, more animalistic and instinctive part only wished for the pain to stop, by any means necessary.
Noticing his screams of pain, the Arnorian archers took pity on him and put him out of his misery. And so passed Garth Goldenhand, son of Garse, King of the Reach.
In 1154 E.L, Earendur Falastur crushed Garth Goldenhand at the Battle of Goldengrove. For two days, the Reachmen held the river against the assaults of the Arnorian army. On the third they were overrun when a force of war mammoths and cavalry, dispatched from Amon Sul to the north, descended on their encampment. Goldengrove fell shortly after. King Garth himself was found dead shortly after the battle.
Author's Note: RIP Garth Goldenhand. You did not deserve to die in such a brutal way. Do note that the map of reference for this battle is the Interactive Game of Thrones Map. Amon Sul=Silverhill, and Minas Ithil=Red Lake.
Do note that some events were shifted back from the dates originally given in Annals of Kings, as I realised Earendur wouldn't wait until he was over 350 to wage a war. Consequently, Amlaith died in 1162 instead of 1202.
Kudos to FieryMatter for helping me come up with the battle plans for Goldengrove.
