Nov 4, 2019
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#2,429
The captains of the west were still dressed in armor as they sat around a great table. What at first, they had thought to be an attack by the rivermen had at first been revealed to be nothing more than a late-night raid. A raid that had set Prince Norwin on edge as he had quickly set about to have the host form up for battle as the first signs of dawn neared.
"How many losses did we take?" the prince asked, watered wine in one hand and a frown on his face.
Lord Lefford shook his head unknowingly. "We don't know, my prince. We are still forming up for battle as you ordered, we haven't actually had time to count our losses. But taking into account that the eastern camp was all but destroyed..."
The prince frowned, setting his drink on the table. "How many men were there... about two hundred, three hundred?"
"Something like that." Ser Roger the Ready confirmed. "Though I doubt many of them fell in battle. Most likely they died in the stampede from the confusion of the initial attack and perhaps some took to disappearing into the night."
Four camps had been set up to siege the castle with the main camp located on a slight hill that overlooked the area from the road to the Golden Tooth. The other three camps had been positioned around the castle with the weakest of the camps being the eastern camp on the other side.
That camp had been the first to fall though Reginald did not know how it had fallen so quickly. He had heard little of it here and there but nothing concrete that could give a definite answer as to what had exactly happened earlier this night.
But the thought of cowards running off to hide with their tails tucked in-between their legs gnawed at him some and he had to let his opinion be held. There had to be a reason as to why he had been invited to this meeting was it not?
Reginald slapped the desk with a gauntleted hand. "Unfaithful cowards! The lot of them! Give me leave, my prince and I'll have men ride out and return them back to stand in battle or to meet the hangman's noose."
Prince Norwin took a moment to look at him and studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "No point. Let them be the problem for the rivermen, especially if they are now broken men. I'm more of a mind that we need all the men we can muster for the coming battle."
"The raid could simply be what it is, a raid." said Ser Tyler Marbrand. "Our scouts have yet to report on any host making its way here."
"Our scouts seem to be less and less of them returning each day." the prince remarked blithely as he shook his head. "We should have set more precautions, especially considering that if we took Wayfarer's Rest, we'd threaten the Tully's ancestral seat. That wouldn't be something that King Edmyn would not allow."
"My prince..." Ser Roger spoke up.
Prince Norwin held up his hand. "I understand that with his heresy, Edmyn has lost any right from the gods to be called such but the man still wears a crown, no?"
"An empty one that bears little meaning now without the favour of the god."
The prince smiled at the knight's words. "Something to debate for another time. For now, though, courses of action have to be decided. I'm off the mind we should retreat back to the Golden Tooth... I'm not particularly fond of facing an enemy that I do not know the numbers off or the disposition." he looked at Ser Roger. "How many men are in this... royal host that King Edmyn has been building?"
Ser Roger's face tightened some as he spoke. "On that, I do not know but from what we could learn, they last numbered around thirty thousand men armed and armoured in half-plate and polearms. Infantry all with no knights though." the knight's words brought gasps of shock from those that were in attendance and others into stunned silence.
Lord Lefford was the most vocal of the lot as he recoiled at the words. "Thirty thousand men!? That's a little more than double the numbers that we have now! We can't fight such a force!" It was nice to know that the lord had a nice firm grasp of his numbers, Reginald mused.
"Not here anyway." said the prince as he drummed his fingers. "Our position leaves us too open to be enveloped by their sheer weight of numbers and even this small hill would do little for our defences. Have the host prepare to march, we'll make our field of battle one more suited to our smaller numbers."
Ser Tyler Marbrand asked a question. "What would ensure that this host follows us on our retreat? They could easily turn south and march for the allied host." Reginald couldn't help but wonder if the god's had given this man goose for brains.
Surely the knight should know that if Edmyn ignored them, they could easily return to besieging the Vances once more? Even more, they could simply leave a token force behind and threaten his hosts rear.
The prince moved to say something but was stopped when a squire, red faced from running, burst into the tent. "My prince!" the boy wheezed, gasping for air. "Enemies! Sighted! They come from the east!"
"Bugger me!" the prince cursed as he quickly moved into action. He looked around and it was then Reginald realised that no commands had been given. Well, everybody knew that the prince was in command of the host with Lord Lefford second in command, but no actual commanders had been named. Only captains. Eventually, his eyes rested on Ser Roger. "This is not to be our battle, Ser Roger, I'll give the rear-guard to you. Cover our asses whilst we pull back to the mouth of the Golden Tooth!"
Ser Roger already on his feet, planted a fist to his chest and inclined his head. "I'll see to it, my prince."
"The rest of you, see to it that we begin to draw back, leave the baggage train, it'll slow us down. The washerwomen, whores, anybody that's not a fighting man should be left!"
Oh, that meant his sweet pet will have to be left to the tender mercies of the riverfolk. Oh well, it's not like it mattered. She knew something like this was going to happen when she had agreed to come with him on campaign.
At the very least, Reginald had figured that she would have been taken as a prize by some river knight or lord or other as a prize of war after besting him, in the unlikeliest of scenarios, in battle.
The captains and lieutenants quickly moved into action, filing out of the tent as they made to their commands. Roger had already ridden off, most likely to set up his rear guard. No doubt that it was going to be the Stars and Swords that he commanded that was to be the rear guard, finally to have a chance to get to grips with the heretics they had pledged any and all to fight.
For a moment, he thought of adding his own retinue to that of the Faith Militant.
There was honour and glory to be had in fighting in the rear guard but not the sort of honour and glory that came with fighting in a winning battle that was not covering the back of a retreating host. Reginald decided to leave this to his cousin and wished him all the best.
Orton was waiting for him outside with their horses at the ready. The little bastard was already making his way towards him. "Ser, what are we to do?" he asked, helping his ser mount his horse.
"We are retreating." Reginald answered, shifting his arse in the saddle to something a little more comfortable. "Prince's orders."
The boy looked confused for a moment as he was about to jump upon his palfrey. "B-but we are here to fight."
"Not today, Orton. Not today. We'll be fighting them later on for sure, but definitely not here." he looked in the direction of the east where the host had been spotted and he could already see them marching on the road that led past Wayfarer's Rest.
A quick charge surely would scatter their van before they had even got into formation...
"If so, I'll get the lady then, if that's alright ser."
The who? Reginald turned to look at his squire. "The bloody hell you talking about?"
"The lady, ser." Orton repeated once more. "Lady Rose."
Rose? Oh!
Was that her name? For such a pretty girl, she sure had a common name.
He shook his head. "Unfortunately, the prince ordered us to leave everything that is not a fighting man behind. And is Rose a fighting man?"
Orton was silent for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "No... no ser, she is not."
"Don't worry about it lad, I'm sure the chivalry of the riverlands would look to it that she's treated well." he didn't particularly feel like telling the boy that Rose was more than likely in for quite the raping. Orton might have seen some bloody business in his time as his squire but somethings were just to be learned naturally. "And she isn't a lady, Orton."
Titles were only for those who held such honours.
"Right, apologies, ser." the squire was silent for a moment before he said something. "Perhaps we can warn her? Give her a horse or some kind to send her safely back west?"
"On her own? She'll be raped and killed before she even reaches the mountains. It's safer for her to be with the other women. Safety in numbers, Orton, remember that." and he actually meant it. The more women Rose was with, the less likely the chances of her being raped because there would be other women to be raped. He kicked his spurs into the side of his horse and urged it on. "Come on, let's find the others, I doubt the prince wants us standing around here lollygagging."
They were trying to make some sort retreat.
Well, that was what Ser Patrek could make out anyway as he peered into the main camp of the westerland army through his Myrish eye. He didn't actually know what exactly to expect when his van had first arrived, maybe some sort of attack to throw them off, but them retreating? He hadn't expected that.
It was a good move though.
From what he could see, his van alone seemed to make up about half the enemy hosts numbers and the rest as right on their heels but by the looks of things, it didn't seem they would be here in time for some actual fighting to be done. And they had to fight, destroy this army, capture any noticeable highborn, before turning their attention to the greater threat in the south.
Letting them retreat would mean doing this dance all over again, especially if the commander was canny enough to realise that he stood no chance right here, right now.
And whoever was in command seemed to be that canny.
"Sound the advance." Ser Patrek ordered and no sooner than he had spoken, a long blast of a horn rang out. The drummers immediately began to change their tune as men jogged into formation as quickly as possible. He didn't need to fear tiring out the men, they did more than this during their training and everyday soldiering.
The advancing of the van seemed to have stirred something in the Westerland lines as they began more panicked from what he could see as they continued trying to retreat. The knights made a good go of it of bring some order to their retreat but some of the levies seemed to drop their weapons and make a run for it.
The only that did not, flew a rainbow sword on a black shield as their standard.
The Warrior's Sons.
It seemed it was to be them that would be their opponents today. Not that it bothered him a whole much.
Some of the soldiers in the three regiments that made the van had fought against cavalry before but that was in the Crackclaw campaign years back. Many of them had mustered out but the ones that had stayed on were valued veterans that shared their experiences with the younger recruits.
They knew their training and weapons would be enough to hold back a cavalry charge. They would have told the youngers one that. No doubt even now, they would be reassuring them as of now if they had clocked on as to who was going to be their opponent.
Now it was just a matter of seeing if the younger ones took the words of the veterans to heart.
Not long after the advance had been signalled, the men had formed into their lines of broad squares of ten by ten, pikes and halberds held aloft with an easiness that came with experience and the drummers drumming. All things considered, they looked ready, confident even as they marched the distance between them and the enemy camp.
The Warrior's Sons then had already formed up and by Patrek's count, they numbered about three thousand or so. Three thousand against his six thousand and his six thousand were still arriving with each passing minute. That did not seem to deter them as they began to ride towards their position in a surprising degree of coordination, spreading wide but wide enough that their line would still have quite the weight to their charge.
It was easy and simple enough to know that these men were highly trained and highly drilled that it reminded Ser Patrek of the Lancers but with far too much armour.
The ground began to rumble as the knights fully started getting into their charge, driving their steeds forward, their lances still held up. What they must have thought to seeing the line of infantry still advancing towards them without seemingly a care in the world was up in the air. Ser Patrek hoped that it would unnerve them.
Cavalry was the bane of infantry, especially knights on horseback were the bane of infantry, everyone knew that. Lines of infantry had been broken before knights even made contact. This was something new and new things always did bring a sense of trepidation and a burning question of 'I wonder...' in this case, 'I wonder why they are not running? Why are they not bracing? Why? Why? Why?'
The rumble grew louder and louder as three thousand pairs of hoofs pounded the ground, then suddenly the horses began to surge forward and knights let out battle cries and lances were couched. Whistles all along the infantry line blew out along with long blasts of the horn.
The blocks stopped and the hedgehogs bared their spines.
Last edited: Nov 4, 2019
Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.
Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]
ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]
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TryingToBeKuw
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TryingToBeKuw
TryingToBeKuw
I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.
Nov 8, 2019
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#2,563
"Huh," that was the only sound that could come out of Robin Darklyn's mouth as he looked at the mess that was heading in their direction.
And by everything that was good and holy, it was a damned right mess that he wouldn't even have thought of it as an army. Sure, there was some semblance of order to it that one would expect in a host, but this was the sort of order that seemed to be just hanging on by the thinnest of strings.
A string that could be cut right here, right now.
Problem is, the man that his unit had called the Darkrobin realised that despite the seeming mess that was the host marching in their direction right now, it was still in good order. That and the fact that he wasn't so much worried about the infantry but more about the knights that he could see.
Now, Robin Darklyn was a trained and ordained knight. In fact, he was a bloody good knight. One of the best in the land and by the words of many of his men, the best knight in the land even if they were taking into account the Mummer, Richard Roote and the Goode Brothers. He was still good and he would bet on himself every time when it came to a fight.
In fact, any other day he would have seen to it that they charge into that mess of humanity and scatter it to the four winds.
The problem was the knights.
The bloody knights.
Robin wasn't scared of them and he knew that his lads weren't scared of them, it was just that if they got into a scrap with them, his lancers wouldn't have the staying power to outlast them.
The king when he had built his royal host had known that he could call upon his own knights to serve as his cavalry when it came to battle so he had actually never bothered to employ a knightly unit professionally within the organization of the royal army. Knights costed a shit tonne of money to upkeep. Their squires, pages, valet and on and on.
Good Ol' Ed wasn't having any of that.
Instead, when it had become apparent that he needed sort of professional cavalry unit within his army, wont as Ed seemingly always did when it came with his ideas, he had apparently decided to take the best parts of knights and the best parts of freeriders and merge them together and see what happens. The Lancers were the result.
Robin's regiment was the first and only lancer regiment in the Royal Army of the Trident. Two thousand men strong outfitted in solid demi-armour, lance, buckler shield, sword and mace. They didn't have the armour of knights but they had more armour than the average freerider. They could manoeuvre better as well, move faster than knights but just not the entire staying power.
Not long after the first regiment had been inaugurated, they had soon found themselves of marching to war. A war that would have seen them prove their worth. They didn't have the respects of knights since they weren't technically knights despite the fact that about half the regiment had received knightly training. Sure, some of them had never been knighted and were still squires of a sort and the rest smallfolk that had been taught how to fight but didn't need to be taught how to ride a horse. The footmen of the army didn't like them much either since as far as they were concerned, the army should have been nothing but footmen, 'Glory-hounds' they called them.
Now the Darkrobin didn't really care about what people said about him, they could all go bugger themselves with prickliest pine corn as far as he was concerned but he had trained, ate and slept with many of the men in his regiment. And just like them, when they had received their regimental colours, he would admit quietly that his chest had swelled up in pride.
This war would have given them the chance to prove that they were indeed worthy to be a part of His Grace's Royal Army and this battle should have been the making of them. They had yet to record a single engagement in their regimental history unlike the others, instead, His Grace's strategy had seen them sent on a long flanking manoeuvre around Wayfarer's Rest and behind the camp of the Westerland host that besieged the castle.
A sound strategy to strike at the rear but instead, the colonel had taken to them to just the outskirts of the Golden Tooth. A silly idea had struck him then that they were to assault the famous pass itself but instead, they had just encamped in its surroundings out of sight and out of mind just with an eye on the road.
They didn't even bother cutting the occasional caravan of supplies that came through the pass.
He had been confused as to why they didn't weaken the enemy by cutting of their supplies but he never actually questioned the colonel. It was obvious enough that he was following some sort of stratagem and by the looks of it, perhaps it was now coming to fruition.
With one final look full of bale, he glared at the knights from his hidden position and slowly moved away, signalling at his unit to get ready to ride back to camp and hard. The colonel would need to know about this.
Hopefully, they weren't just going to let the Lannisters slink away back into their pass without something resembling a fight.
All things being taken into account, things were going rather well... as well as things going well when it seemed like nearly everybody in Westeros wanted me dead. The only people who didn't seem to want me dead where the northmen and the Dornish and that was only because the I doubt the north gave a damn about me and because everybody else seemed to dislike the Dornish.
It was actually rather nice to know that I now found myself in the hallowed place in Westerosi culture where it just seemed right about everybody disliked me as they disliked the Dornish. I mean, the ironborn were probably more hated than me but they probably already hated me.
If they weren't busy fighting amongst themselves, I'm sure they would have taken a moment to try and cut of my head much like I did old Harren. It was a good thing that they had been fighting amongst themselves for quite possibly a stupidly long time. Weren't they like the second least populated place in Westeros?
And then the Westerlands and the Reach decided to add to their troubles.
Honestly, apart from them including me in this little religious whatever of theirs, I was rooting for them the whole way through. Westeros had suffered for far too long underneath the wannabe Vikings and I don't think they actually brought anything good to Westerosi culture as a whole.
At least the Vikings taught the English the importance of bathing regularly; what have the ironborn done for Westeros comparable to that? Between jack and shit.
When all this was said and done, I was going to vigorously write a letter to King Loren to see to it that when everything was done and settled, he was to cover the entirety of those damnable islands with the Faith he so loves and as many settlers of... I can't believe I'm saying this, somewhat civilised people.
Axel was probably not going to like the fact that I was more than willing to let the islands fall to the Lannisters, giving them access to the Eagle's Bay. That was bad, I would admit, but something I was willing to concede if it meant the islands would stop producing the stupidity that was the ironborn.
Still, such letters would have to be written after I come out this unscathed and still very much alive.
Hm, I don't think optimism suited me.
"You should have seen it, sire, quite the spectacle!" Lord Robert Vance laughed as we stood on his castle walls, overlooking the sight that had previously been the main camp of the western host. The older man leaned on a merlon and directed my attention to the now abandoned camp. "The night raid sent them all panicking, couldn't let your men have all the fun though, so I sallied out with my knights and men-at-arms, gave them a good thrashing before sounding the retreat."
That sounds about right from the reports I had read. When one of the companies that had come to strike at the main camp, they had already found it in battle with the Vance forces. The lads had soon joined the fray as well after taking a moment to take into account the help that hadn't been completely unexpected.
When the weight of numbers of the main camp had started to turn the tide of the battle, they had wisely retreated, the Vances back into their castle and the units back in the direction of the approaching van. All in all, we had done some damage and just did enough to unsettle them that they had set themselves up ready for a fight just as dawn was beginning to creep up from the east.
And they had waited like that for a couple more hours before the van arrived properly.
Something that Lord Vance was more than willing to tell me of again, unaware that this had already been reported to me. I could have told him to stop but honestly? Lords were a prickly lot and even I would consider myself to be rather untouchable in terms of status and position, why bother making more people think about the joys of stabbing me in the back?
I'd wager I already had more than enough enemies in Westeros. Actually, more enemies than anybody in Westeros. Goddamn you, Westeros!
"...When the van arrived, that sent something right up them! Don't know what it was, but they quickly started getting the bloody hell out of there. Didn't even bother taking their tents, pavilions, the whole lot of it!" the lord finished. He shook his head before something resembling a sneer came across his lips. "They even left their wounded and women!"
"And pigs, goats, sheep, chickens..." I shook my head at the idea of taking actual live animals on campaign even though I understood. Hell, the washerwomen where a surprise that I had not been expecting. Unless I was mistaken about the anatomy of the people of the west, surely, they had their own two hands?
"I'm surprised there's any chickens left, sire, considering how they all scurried away so quickly."
I snorted in laughter, that was actually pretty funny. "If the gods are kind, we'll soon be taking the ones that left to roost." my eyes looking towards the direction of the Golden Tooth. Hopefully, the lancers had made it to their objective with little to no hustle, preferably no hustle.
Now, it was just a matter of having Ser Patrek catchup to them with the additional reinforcements that I sent him. I really hoped that the commander of the western host hadn't left some sort of guard at the mouth of the Tooth.
Robert Vance smiled silkily as he looked at me from the corner of his eyes. "Despite their apparent displeasure in you?"
"Give it a moment, they'll love me soon enough." I replied flippantly. Have to show and exude the confidence of a man who knew that he was going to win despite the fact I was chomping at the bit about my chance. My attention turned back to the camp and what to do with it. Ser Patrek had left a battalion behind to secure it but the women and some of the wounded had armed themselves, ready to defend themselves.
Apparently, some of the women had slit their own wrists, choosing death over what I suspect they thought was going to be quite the atrocities to be committed to them. Thankfully, none of the sort had come to pass as the commanding officer left in charge had stepped forth underneath a banner of truce to ask for their surrender, giving assurance.
A part of me wanted to give myself a pat on the back for instilling the whole 'An Officer and Gentleman' mentally into the officers and something resembling basic human decency when it comes to prisoners in the rank and file. The other part, the one I usually listened to in such cases was merely pointing out that with me arriving with the main battle, the officer wasn't going to risk having his men assault the camp and enjoy themselves if he was going to get a court-martial and execution for it afterwards.
There wasn't enough evidence to actually prove any of those suggestions wrong as they were both liable but I gravitated towards the latter.
I preferred to expect the worst so that when it does happen, I can be pleasantly surprised.
"They certainly didn't love those Warrior's Sons that charged into your men." said Lord Vance shaking his head. He sighed as he began to recall the details, my interest taken. I knew about the Warrior's Sons charged into the van to try and stall them but not the particulars apart that they tried and they failed. "Bastards charged your line, the ground trembling at thousands of hooves stamping into the ground. They let out a roar that shook the hearts of men, exaltations, prayers, songs, you name it, they seemed to be shouting it out then they hit the pikes."
"And?"
"Well... they just stopped. The horses stopped, some veered off to the side to avoid the hedgehogs but the momentum from the ones behind sent them forth, skewering onto the pikes. Like a river that had found a boulder suddenly dropped into its path, the charge flowed around them." he chuckled to himself for a moment. "Then they just stopped, unsure of what to do before an order was barked from somewhere, I guess that saw them ride around your line, the royal men still making a good go of imitating a hedgehog. The Warrior's Sons rode right round and then proceeded to ride in the direction of the Tooth."
"Really? That's it?"
"Oh no, when your men made to follow and started marching more, they reached the camp and made to move around it only for the knights to return from riding around the camp for a flanking manoeuvre. Your men did that hedgehog thing again but this time, the knights stopped before they reached your lines, stayed for a moment before your men moved to engage. They retreated at that, riding around the camp once more."
The lord's words made me frown as I took in what was being said.
Whoever was leading the Warrior's Sons was a quick learner. Tried charging head on? Doesn't work. So, he took the next best option in his delaying tactic, trying to attack from a flank but that didn't work and he stopped, and when we moved to engage, he disengaged and rode off.
The tactic was sound as it would slow us down in pursuing the main host as they stopped every moment in defence of when the knights made a false charge but that sort of tactic wouldn't last long. Destriers might be some of the finest horses in Westeros but even they had their limits and I was willing to bet that my infantry had a higher limit than the knight's horses.
It was standard training for the infantry man to exercise in full armour more often than not after all.
It was just a question of how long exactly would the delay last for? I didn't want to leave the lancers hanging, especially if the enemy had more knights with them other than the Warrior's Sons.
At a point like this, I would pray, but I doubted the gods liked me at all in the slightest.
The court was clearly excited with the news that Axel had delivered to them. The queen the most as she led the court into clapping and cheering in a regal manner. "Most excellent news indeed, my lord Interior! His Grace turns defeats one army that assails us and turns to face the other, the realm is surely within safe hands!"
Axel bowed as was customary, a hand to his middle. "Indeed, the realm is in the hands of the right man!" he hated these theatrics. He would have preferred to ride at his brother's side but he had to be here. Someone had to make sure people kept their heads on straight.
Old Jon Mooton, Prime Minister to the king smiled sagely as he quieted down the court. "I also bring more joyous news, our enemies had sort to band together and strike at us, but diplomacy is not the only weapon they can yield, news from the south, the spears of Dorne have joined that of ours!"
That brought even more clapping and cheering.
No doubt that the assembled nobility had their fears assuaged by the fact that they won't now be fighting against three kingdoms alone. Though he tried to keep the information under wrap, Axel was more than well aware that perhaps some people were already aware that the southern host led by the Reach had finally crossed the Rush and were now into realm land's proper.
Though from what he understood, they had yet to tale Tumbler's Falls only that they had left a force behind to keep its garrison penned inside.
The strategy was suspect to him but if it weakened the overall force that Edmyn had to fight when he met them in the field, that was something he was fine with. And anyway, Tumbler's Falls had done its job of holding up the enemy.
More than long enough in truth for them to strip the land bare. Axel nearly smiled at the idea of what King Mern would think of trying to feed his great, lumbering host on nothing for the Trident would not be hospitable to invaders if he had anything to say about it.
What worried him though was the east... they might have taken Wickenden and denied a landing port for the Knights of the Vale did not mean the Vale would try other ways. They might have found themselves penned for once in their own mountain paths, but they were canny enough to launch raids through the mountains into the eastern riverlands from mountain paths that they knew off.
Perhaps he should have also diverted resources into finding some sort of goat path in the eastern mountains instead of just the western ones. Why Edmyn had wanted him to find such a route was beyond him but he was sure his brother had his reasons.
The hour soon went late and the ball soon came to end as the guests started to leave to go to their own chambers. It had been a long day but even during times of war, the glimmer of Crown could not be diminished as far as the queen was concerned.
Axel gave her the right of it. As far as he was concerned, Tully supremacy was set in stone. His brother had several children, married or to be married into prominent families, bringing them into the fold and his brother's heir was to have an heir of his own. And if the worst was to ever happen to the main line, he had children of his own as well.
The Tullys were the most powerful within the realm, this he knew but it was up to him to make sure it remained heads and shoulders above their bannermen and what better way than to make sure that he was up-to-date with all the doings of said bannermen? The post of interior minister had surely been a blessing.
But his opposite, Lord Blackwood, minister of the exterior was just as important though his failing of seeing this alliance forming against them was a glaring dig at his capabilities in the post. Zhoe had not been amused in the slightest and the lord had been hard at work to get back the queen's confidence.
If it was not the current situation, he would have surely been dismissed from his post even if Edmyn would be against it. He sometimes worried far too much about causing offence to the lords that he ruled over.
"The knights of the Vale will definitely try to assault a fort so they can finally enter our lands proper." the lord said, leaning easily on his cane.
The queen wringed her fingers together. "Which fort? We have several amongst the mountain passes."
"The Bloody Gate?" the Prime Minister offered after a moment before shaking his head. "Too bloody obvious unless they make a feint of some kind."
"But it's the only one that can allow a sizeable army to pass through." pointed out Lord Blackwood. "There are other passes but they are either too narrow or too unsure to allow the quick marching of troops into the Trident."
"They already seem to have an ability to put troops into our realm. The raids they launch might be small cuts but cuts can still be bloody and fatal." the queen said, shaking her head. She took to her feet. "I'm surprised the hill tribes are allowing the knights of the vale to travel through their monsters with such impunity."
"They don't have the numbers or the means really." said Axel, thinking of the last remnants of the old First Men peoples of the Vale. "Ferocious? Yes, they are but ferocity can only take you so far when your weapons are made of bone and stone, even less for their armour."
Lord Blackwood's lips thinned some. "And Jonos Arryn has been making a sport out of it hunting them down before this entire fiasco had started. The man's a bloody lunatic from all accounts and the knights of the Vale love him all the more for it."
"Is there any way we can turn brother against brother?" Lord Mooton asked, though he did not show it, he was beginning to look far too old. "Or at the very least, any grievances amongst the supporters, damage their ability to work together and the likes."
"Not to my knowledge. The Vale is quite united in doing the gods work in trying to claim the head of our good king. Sure, they might not like the people who they are working with but whatever slights, grievances, grudges they have right now have been put to the side until this is done."
"If they do break through somewhere, we shall have to march on them." Lord Mooton said. "The banners will have to be called to face them wherever they appear."
Axel winced, Edmyn had not wanted to do that. He had wanted to handle this war with the royal army but the situation would turn rather unfavourably for them if the Vale broke through and they didn't have any army to see it turned back.
Even if it meant calling the banners of the lords.
Lord Blackwood stood up straight as much as his twisted leg would allow him. "I'll have my people reach out for any more details of where this attack is going to come from."
"Are we sure it's even coming, this attack?" the queen asked. "Perhaps it might be some part of an elaborate ruse of some kind."
The minister of the exterior shook his head. "Unlikely, your grace. Levies have been seen marching towards the mountains, so they are definitely amassing there for a strike. Wickenden is gone and Maidenpool and Clawton are too well defend to try to take by sea and risk a landing, especially after the beating they got the last time."
Zhoe's lips thinned for a moment before she nodded. "Very well, see to it then."
"By your leave then, your grace." Lord Blackwood bowed before he turned and left.
The queen also rose from her seat. "As for me, I have a daughter to tell that she is to be married to a Dornish prince. I'm sure Triss will be thrilled about that."
Lord Mooton chuckled. "The girl has always been partial to the sun, so perhaps she'll find Dorne to her liking."
"May haps father," Zhoe replied as she smoothed her skirts. "but she might just as well throw a tantrum, perhaps I should fob the job of to Ciri? That seems like a good course of action or maybe just send her on her way towards her father's camp and let him explain it."
Lord Mooton snorted in amusement and Axel cracked a smile. "I think morale of the soldiers would be quite hit by the sudden sight of their king shuddering in fear of his daughter."