—The Reach—
Somewhere near Golden Grove and Cyder Hall…
"I understand your soldiers need supplies to feed your armies," Father Lucien stated, "but these poor souls are the ones who suffer the most. Without medicine, the sickness will claim them. And without food, many will starve. Please? I have appealed to Lord Tarly, but he turned me away."
"Captain," Edgar whispered, "if I may suggest we could lend out a few supplies we could get from us raiding the depot to the refugees. Two for one, right?"
Gawain looked at Edgar and nodded his head in agreement. "Good thinking, sergeant." He then turned his attention back to Lucien. "I understand you care for these people, and we will do what we can to help them. But for now, the best thing that can be done is to end this war and somehow you can help with that. If we can get them supplies, will you consent to return with us?"
"If you can guarantee their safety, then my congregation will follow," Father Lucien agreed. "But be wary. It is not just Lord Tarly that you must be cautious of. I heard rumors that one of His Grace's Kingsguard is nearby. Ser Connas Qarlstead."
"D-Did you say... Ser Connas Qarlstead?" Edgar gulped nervously. "The Butcher of the Bloodstones? Here?"
Regardless as one of the most dangerous in Argilac's Kingsguard, Ser Connas is known for his vicious brutality and tenacity. His infamous reputation surfaced as a young man during the War against the Band of Twelve when he slaughtered every pirate and mercenary on the Bloodstones - even those who surrendered were shown no mercy.
"That... that complicates things, captain," one of the privates said nervously.
It did not just complicate things, it made them damn near impossible. Tarly alone would have been difficult, but with Qarlstead in tow as well? It was enough to make even Gawain feel scared. The smart move would be to withdraw, reconfigure their plan, and return with more troops. But that would take a month at least to get back through the route they came. And then to return with troops, their large numbers would give away the element of surprise and force a drawn-out battle that could endanger not only his men but the lives of these refugees. Seeing the hopeless look on their faces and the lack of light in their eyes, especially in the small children, cut him deeper than any blade. "A strong man stands up for himself, but a stronger man stands up for others," Gawain murmured, partly to himself. He then reached into his uniform coat pocket and withdrew a small leather purse with a few coins and handed it to the clergyman, "We will do what we can for your people. Until then, buy whatever food and medicine you can with that."
"Wait," Father Lucien spoke up, "get down! Someone is coming!"
All immediately huddled out of sight, even the refugees. Royal troops patrolling the area had come to a halt, making way for one of the army's top military leaders to ride through. He was a lean and balding man with a short, bristly grey beard and wore mail and boiled leather with a breastplate of grey steel.
"Lord Jason Tarly," Edgar whispered.
Meeting him was a middle-aged man with greyish red hair and a wild, shaggy beard donning the golden armor and white cloak of the Kingsguard, Ser Connas Qarlstead.
"Th-that is him. The Butcher of the Bloodstones...!"
"All troops are accounted for," Jason reported. "Rations are being loaded onto the railway as we speak. Preparations for the march on Harrenhal are nearing completion."
"Good," Connas nodded. "His Grace will be most pleased. Harrenhal remains a strategic advantage for us. The rebels will soon realize their errors."
"Don't underestimate the capability of a united front, especially when morale runs high amongst their ranks. That mistake cost Colonel Loreon the Battle for Riverrun. Keep your wits about you."
"Yeah, yes... Whatever you say, General Tarly. Is Commander Herndon with you?"
"My son is on a mission of his own with some Connington boy. 'A sensitive diplomatic assignment', I am told. It is classified."
"For all the right reasons. Have you received the reports from Lord Gerion?"
"I have, yes. Talons?"
"Two of them. The best of the best. One of 'em I heard is supposed to be immortal. They are both right on the traitor prince's tail as we speak. We have learned he is going north to Winterfell. But that will not matter. He will be buried in the snow before he realizes what happened."
Gawain overhead the conversation in silence. Two Talons, the most dangerous, were already dispatched after Daemon and Rodrik Stark. They do not even know!
Then... One of the camps was suddenly engulfed in flames, accompanied by cannon fire.
"Enemy attack!" One of the soldiers exclaimed. "It's the Greyjoy fleet!"
"Two arms!" Jason ordered.
As the royalist forces began to mobilize, Edgar nudged Gawain.
"That's the signal," Edgar hurried. "We've got a mission to do and get out! They're stalling Tarly to buy us time."
Gawain nodded his head, "I will take care of the demolitions, gather up the rest of the men." He turned and looked at Lucien. "Father, gather up your people and get them moving. Edgar here and my men will help you." He rushed off towards the train depot, hoping that his men had been able to do their tasks without too much interference.
Father Lucien nodded, "Seven blessings on you, child," he replied.
Aided by those still standing, the refugees had slowly begun preparing to evacuate the area. Once they started, the heavy lifting was now officially underway while the Iron Fleet began bombarding the Reach shoreline.
The original plan had been to use barrels of gunpowder to destroy the tracks and main depot. However, Gawain had believed that moving and canceling such substantial amounts of powder would be too difficult. So instead, he decided to use a little trick he had learned from a friend in the artillery corps. Hollow wooden tube, filled with black powder, sealed with wax, and set with a cannon wick at the end. They could have been mistaken for candles. This made it easy for them to conceal and transport. But when bundled together and lit, the explosion they caused was as devastating as any artillery shell.
The small team had placed such bundles in key areas around the tracks and depot. All it would take now was one exceptionally large bundle in a specific spot, once it was lit and exploded it would cause the others to go off as well. A chain reaction would render the tracks and depot unusable. Gawain's orders had been specific on where to place the bundles; he told his men that once the explosive bundles had been placed that they were to regroup and then get out. He was going to be the one to set these things off, if things went south then he was the one who is either captured or killed, but his men and hopefully the refugees and the odd clergyman would survive. There were so many soldiers and officers running around that thankfully no one took notice of him. And since the train was not in the depot station, it was not guarded heavily, those who had been stationed there had run off to join the fray in repelling the rebel attackers. Sweat was running down Gawain's face, he removed his soldier pack and took out the explosive, seven sticks tied together with leather straps and with their wicks wrapped together. He estimated that once lit he would have about a minute or two to get clear.
"Come on, come on, come on!" one of Gawain's men hurried.
"Light it!"
A single swipe and the fuses started hissing, watching as the small flames crept up towards the dynamite pack.
"It's going to blow, captain!" a corporal called out.
"We've managed to grab as many rations as we could! Hurry and fall back to the safe zone!"
Gawain and his men hurried behind the designated safe zone and lowered their heads, readying themselves for the blast. After waiting two minutes, one by one the railway systems in key areas began blowing up... One by one, the night skies were filled with bright orange and crimson heat.
"What the hell?!" a royalist soldier exclaimed.
"Enemy attack from behind! They are here!"
"Search the area! Find the rats!"
One of the men sneaked over to Gawain. "There's too many of them! We must go! Now while we-"
A sudden gunshot pierced the air and blood was suddenly sprayed across Gawain's face. As he realized what was happening, Gawain saw one of his men was shot. Turning his head, he saw a smoking barrel 250 yards away and realized who had taken a shot at them.
It was Ser Connas Qarlstead.
"Well, well, so that's where you're hiding," Connas smirked. "All hands, converge on me!"
One, two, three... a gathering of estimated 2,300 men began swarming the area. In about an estimated five minutes, any escape routes would be cut off. But more cannon fire began to hit the area as a team of canoes beached near Gawain. The leading figure was another Velaryon, Daenar... eldest son of Lady Saenyra and heir to Driftmark.
"Hurry! Get to the boats!" Daenar called out to Gawain and his men.
"MOVE! GO, GO, GO!" Gawain shouted as he and his men were acting quick, making sure that the women and children got aboard first, followed by the elderly and infirm aboard the boats.
The royalist forces were charging at full speed, following the Kingsguard, who had bloodlust in his eyes.
"Kill the rebels!" Many of the royalists shouted in unison, some of them firing their weapons at the boats, most of them missing their marks by a wide range.
Gawain was shoving one of the boats into the water when he heard one of the woman refugees screaming, "My daughter?! Where is my daughter?!"
Father Lucien, in the same boat as the woman, pointed out "There!" he said, his voice filled with horror
Gawain spun around, his eyes looking about for the child when he spotted her. A little girl, little more than a toddler, just sitting in the middle of the shore, absently playing with the sand. "Get on the boats and start rowing now!" he shouted at Edgar as he ran back onto the shore, his wet boots pounding on the sandy dirt, his eyes focused on the child.
"Covering fire!" Edgar cried out. "Protect the captain!"
From the boats, anyone with a rifle or a pistol aimed at the charging horde of royalists, and fired a hail of bullets, though they had to aim as to not hit the child.
Gawain could hear his heart pounding like a drum in his ears as he ran, praying to every god that he thought was listening. Connas could see that the traitorous captain was racing towards the unsuspecting child. Smiling like a shark that had just sensed blood in the water, he drew his sword from its scabbard and doubled his pace. They were both on top of the girl, Gawain dropping and sliding to grab her with one hand as his other hand dropped to his side and pulled out his pistol. While Connas swung his sword upwards and was ready to bring it down in a great arc, Gawain fired his flintlock pistol; he had not been aiming anywhere specific, just at Connas. The lead ball found its mark though, in the form of the Butcher of Bloodstone's ear.
"Arrerrrgh!" Connas shouted like a wounded bear, dropping his sword to the ground as he reached up and tried to staunch the burst of blood from his wound. As he did, Gawain grabbed the child, turned, and ran. "KILL THAT BASTARD!" he roared.
Gunfire and even some arrows soared at the fleeing rebel captain, who clutched the now crying child to his chest. Blasts of sand and dirt went up into the air on the warmest side as bullets and arrows missed. One, though, grazed his shoulder and Gawain grunted in pain. The boats were pulling further out, the people on board shouting for him to hurry and run faster, as the royalist army troops were on him. Gawain reached the shore and started wading into the water. As soon as it was up to his chest, he continued to clutch the child with one hand as he used his other to try and swim. The royalist troops were now also at the shore, and they took aim with their rifles and prepared to fire.
"Hold your breath," Gawain told the child as both suddenly vanished beneath the surface.
"Captain?!" Edgar cried as he tried to locate his commanding officer in the dark water, with only the light of the moon and lanterns to guide him.
There was nothing for a few moments and then suddenly on the side of the ship, something burst up out of the water, Gawain, sputtering as he held a coughing and sobbing child. "Take her!" he ordered, and a dozen hands shot out to grab the child and then pulled Gawain on board as well.
From the shore the royalists were firing, some officers shouting at their soldiers to get into the water to swim after the escaping rebels and refugees.
"Row! Row for your lives!" Edgar ordered.
Seeing more enemy troops converging near their location, primarily towards the refugees, Edgar and several volunteers jumped overboard and started to return fire—catching the royalist officers' attention. While they had them distracted, it allowed Gawain and the others time to escape. Raining a barrage of gunfire and mortar fire, the shores had turned into a blazing inferno. Gawain's ears were ringing as the battle continued in the background; it felt like hours, but eventually, the sound had started to grow faint; distant.
Portions of a flotilla began sailing away, leaving the main host behind as it continued a barrage of cannon fire on the mainland and the local railway system to ensure none dared pursue them.
Once the sound of artillery and cannon fire died down in the distance, most sailors began passing around whatever first aid and food they managed to snatch. There should be more than enough for a while until someone decides to task them with another suicide mission.
"Here, child," Lucien offered water.
"Th-thank you, Father Lucien," a weary refugee prayed.
Gawain turned to see amongst the ironborn, there were Velaryon sailors as well.
"Ȳdragon. (Report)," Daenar commanded.
"Tōmagār morghe, lantagār ōdrio. (Five hundred dead, two hundred wounded.)"
"Se īlva lōgor? (And our ships?)"
"Lanta ampā ojūdan, tōma ōdres toliot giēñagon. (12 destroyed, five damaged beyond repair.)"
"Nyke ūndegon. (I see)," Daenar sighed. He turned Gawain. "Captain Gawain Thayne? Captain Daenar of House Velaryon. I am Prince Daemon's cousin. Our uncle Admiral Jacaerys thought you'd need a quick extraction."
Gawain wiped the water from his eyes and leaned against the side of the boat, heaving a huge sigh of relief. "Remind me, when we get back to the Vale, I owe you and your uncle a fucking keg of ale," he said. "But if you have ravens, you need to send one right away. Tarly's son has been sent on a diplomatic mission. If I had to guess, it can only be in Dorne."
"I know. Our latest intelligence reports suggest that someone in House Connington is heading Argilac's delegation to try to Princess Arianne Martell to side with them. If they succeed, then our southern campaign will stall. So... Lady Arryn, despite our protests, has volunteered to represent our cause. A group from the Brotherhood of Winged Knights will be escorting her. But we need a native from the Stormlands to go with her."
Gawain pulled himself up and stood at attention to the naval officer "I volunteer myself. If this member of House Connington is who it is, then I can assure you that there will be some plot or scheme involved on the part of the royalists."
"I agree. It would not be the first time House Connington tried anything. We will be docking at Seagard and from there, it is going to be a long march back to the Eyrie. I suggest you get some rest, captain... and try not to get seasick."
As Daenar headed towards the main deck, one of Gawain's men sadly approached him.
"Captain..." the youth bemoaned. "We... we've lost Sergeant Edgar, Corporal Reeves... and Privates Jonna, Stafford, and Tybalt."
The news stunned Gawain; sure, this was a suicide mission, but how come no one said anything until recently? The militiaman guided Gawain over to the side deck where a bunch of refugees had gathered around the five fallen.
There, he saw the full extent of the damage. Edgar was riddled with shrapnel on the right side of his body and his left leg was blown off below the knee, hence the pool of blood staining the wood; Reeves was shot six times, two hits in the torso and one headshot; Jonna was hit by a ricochet of gunfire; Stafford was stabbed to death; Tybalt's neck was brutally snapped to the point where the vertebrae were sticking out.
"They gave their lives to save us," one of the refugees said.
Father Lucien looked down at them and pulled out the Seven-Pointed Star medallion from his neck before lowering his head and closing his eyes. "Ashes we are, and ashes we become," he prayed. "May the Father judge these souls with fairness. May the Warrior give them the strength to make the journey to the beyond safely. May the Crone guide them on their new path. And may the Stranger curse the wicked. Seven blessings to these souls."
"Seven blessings to these souls," the refugees echoed.
Gawain said nothing, he simply knelt beside each body in turn, placing his hand upon their heads, his lips moving as he silently said his goodbyes to each of the men who had given their lives. Once he had finished, he rose and stood silently, his eyes wet and misty, though no one could tell if it was from tears or being in the water.
"They saved your lives, you know," Daenar came back. "While you were saving that little girl, they each jumped ship one by one to hold back Ser Connas long enough for you to get away." The heir to Driftmark glanced down at Gawain's fallen men. As the ships continued to sail through the Sunset Sea, they rode past the occupied-Lannisport and ventured northward to their destination at Seagard. "But they died seeing the mission is done. Do not blame yourself for their deaths. You know who killed your men. However, keep in mind that you are still not strong enough to face Ser Connas. You'll get your chance to avenge them, but not today."
"You are right, it was him who killed them, but they were still my men and my responsibility," Gawain replied. "We shed blood and chewed dirt together. It was my duty to get them back home… and I failed," he looked at the Velaryon naval captain. "As one officer to another, let me give you this advice, for every battle you survive, don't live each day for yourself, instead live it for those who did not." His words were solemn. After a moment he turned away. "I am going to check on the rest of my men and then… I have letters I must write to their families"
He walked away, refugees and sailors parting aside as he passed. Leaving Daenar to gaze out eastwards, staring at the waters and waiting for the light of the sun with the promise of tomorrow.
—King's Landing—
Red Keep – Royal Gardens…
"YOU. KEEP. FAILING!" Argilac roared as he swung his war hammer, shattering the bust of his mother into a thousand pieces. He and Gerion were in the courtyard as he was currently smashing statue busts of his royal predecessors. Servants would hastily remove the shattered remains from an iron pedestal and replace it with a new one before running for cover, at least they stand in between their king and his swing.
Gerion stood to the side, his face as stoic as ever and his voice controlled when he spoke. "We are hardly failing, Your Grace."
Argilac brought his hammer down and cracked the statue's head like it was an over-ripe melon. "Then what do you call losing all these battles?!" he angrily demanded.
"Setbacks, nothing more. All the rebels have cost us is time" Gerion answered as he flicked a stray piece of statue marble from his outfit. "We are still holding them in the Riverlands, Lannisport may be in their control for now, but they are unable to advance further inland and Casterly Rock whole battered remains standing and under our control."
"If they can get saboteurs so far south, then obviously our lines are not secure!" the king retorted, pointing the tip of his war hammer directly at his Hand. "Unless… you are calling Ser Connas a liar"
"Hardly. These rebels are nothing but vermin, and like vermin, a few always manage to slip past. The destruction of the depot was a disadvantage, I admit. However, we have other tracks at our disposal and rolling stocks as well. We will still be able to transport supplies and materials. It will simply take a little more time. I advise patience."
"Patience?! You demand me to be patient?! Do not you dare speak to me with patience!" Argilac snarled, slamming his war hammer down on the ground again. "I waited for my crown, I waited for you to put down parliament, and I waited even longer than I wanted to before finally trying to pluck that flower from the Eyrie. But my patience is running dangerously thin, Lannister! I should be planning conquests of Essos, the summer islands, and Sothoros! Instead, I am forced to deal with traitors in my kingdom!"
Gerion did not say how it was because Argilac had tried to rape Lady Sharra that this rebellion had started. Instead, he continued to speak calmly. "Far better to deal with the traitors now than later. Your dreams of bringing the world together under the Baratheon dynasty shall be fulfilled. I have already set several plans into motion."
"More plans, more talk, I am growing tired of your schemes. I want action! I need results!"
"I have dispatched two diplomatic teams. One is going to Dorne to remind Princess Arianne Martell of her duty to the throne and entice her with generous offers."
Argilac scoffed; he was a king. He should not have to ask for what he was already owed. "And the second?"
"Are being sent to Tyrosh. The Acheron there has a surplus of soldiers and I think would be willing to grant them to us as auxiliary forces, if the right offer is made."
Argilac did not seem impressed, he had little interest in diplomacy. Words were wind and the wind was weak. He wanted fire.
As if reading his King's mind, Gerion allowed himself a small smile, "I have also recently located an ingenious apothecarist, a former maester-in-training of the Citadel. Who is at this moment developing several weapons that your Grace is certain to be impressed with."
"What kind of weapons?"
"The kind that neither your brother nor his allies have ever seen before. I am sure a demonstration could be arranged once it is ready."
"Hmmm. Very well. Continue your work, Lannister. But remember success has rewards and failure has consequences."
Gerion showed no expression at the threat, he simply bowed and turned on his heel, and walked away. As he entered the corridor, his eyes immediately noticed the outline of the Master of Whisperers, standing in the shadows. "Spying as always I see," he said with disdain towards the foreigner.
Azleq mo Rhou merely trotted in. "I bring news, Your Grace," he said slyly. "The two Talon agents we just dispatched are said to be closing in on Rodrik Stark and your brother. They're nearing the swamps of the Neck."
Argilac smirked as a bust of his maternal grandfather King Ormund II was placed on the pedestal, with a single swing of his Warhammer, he reduced it to nothing but dust and pebbles. "Excellent. I might just drink wine from my dear little brother's skull while I fuck the Arryn bitch," his mind already conjuring the image which caused him to roar with laughter.
"There's more," Azleq continued. "My spies indicate that Prince Daemon is being led north... to Winterfell. And from what I have just learned, they plan to seek protection from your great-uncle, Lord Jon Stark."
The older brother of Queen Elesra Stark and brother-in-law to King Ormund II Baratheon, Jon was Argilac's and Daemon's maternal great-uncle. Another seasoned war veteran from the War against the Band of Twelve, Jon was regarded as the North's most ferocious warrior. But Argilac knew if either Rodrik or Daemon ventured far north to Winterfell, he would be at a severe disadvantage. The Northmen know every inch of the terrain... and a terrible blizzard was brewing.
"But here poses a question: why go north instead of marching south? Unless... there's something valuable that House Stark is hiding."
Gerion clenched his jaw slightly; he had distrusted Azleq from the moment he met him. He had long suspected that the foreign spymaster sought to replace him as the King's chief minister. Bringing this kind of information directly to the king after he had been providing excuses for the recent military setbacks was a perfect example.
Argilac, meanwhile, was scratching his chin as he thought about what his brother and his Stark relatives were plotting. He knew Daemon well enough that he did not do anything without reason. Pointing his hammer at Azleq, he issued a command. "Send a message northward. Let my brother and Rodrik get to Winterfell. Have the Talons and whatever little birds you have in the North watch them carefully and report back anything they see. Once we learn what is so special in that frozen wasteland, then the Talons can kill the whole lot of them, Daemon, and those mangy wolves as well."
"It will be done," Azleq acknowledged, "but it might be some time before we hear from them due to the weather."
Before he left, the foreign Master of Whisperers dropped a torn piece of paper with a handmade sketch of a raven with a third eye in the middle of its forehead.
Gerion was quick to pick up the piece of paper, thankfully the king did not notice it as he demolished another statue bust. After getting a fair distance away from Argilac, he examined the sketch. His instincts told him that there was an importance to it, but he did know what the meaning behind it was. However, he intended to find out.
Chapter End
Author's Note: And now we witness part two of the suicide mission deep into enemy territory, where we are introduced to powerful figures including Lord Jason Tarly and one of Argilac's Kingsguard, Ser Connas Qarlstead – the Butcher of the Bloodstones. It was a narrow escape, but our heroes managed to escape, but not without suffering a few casualties as well.
Also, after being introduced one time in chapter 5, Daenar Velaryon is back in action and is leading a naval force of his own. Do you think Daemon's cousin will play a role in the civil war? Let your thoughts be known.