Chapter 17: Interlude - By This Vow
Maelys Blackfyre watched the slaughter unfold atop a palisade built by now dead men to keep him at bay. Well past dawn, the sun pressed warmly against his back and made the three golden prongs carving through gleam ever so bright . It was a shame that even the central thrust had stalled though.
"Sound the retreat," Maelys said.
"Your Grace?" said Captain Peake. "We might still do more harm if we commit our reserves."
Twenty-five hundred strong armed with pikes and aged like wine waited beyond the walls. If he sent them in, if they shattered this host , luxury killed Aerys Targaryen, there would be nothing left between him and the Iron Throne save a sickly old man and his wailing women.
Yet, much as he wanted to believe that, being born with two faces did not afford Maelys the luxury of self-deception.
This would be no quick victory, but a trial of wills. At a terrible cost of lives, the Lannisters and Tyrellls and Velaryons had checked his advance on all three fronts and more men made ready by the second behind their lines. Eventually the weight of numbers would press too heavily on the scales of war.
For a moment, a twinkling in time, he'd tasted sweetness. The stormlanders and crownlanders had been scattered and it looked as though no force could stop them from splitting the enemy host in two. Had it succeeded, total rout would surely have followed as his enemies saw nothing but gold and dead comrades all around them.
"What a curse, truly," Maelys said, licking his lips, "to have it so close in hand that you might nearly grasp it. To see what could have almost been."
Was this what Bittersteel felt all those years after the Battle of Redgrass Field?
"Sound the retreat," Maelys said again. "I will not repeat myself a third time."
"At once, Your Grace," Peake said. The bastard grandson of a Peake was a good officer, but he lacked vision.
A trumpet blared, its sound a deep baritone each man knew by heart. All along the elevated position, men nocked… then loosed their shafts at the orders of their captains. Arrows rained down on his men and enemies alike, but each man of the Golden Company knew not only of their use, but that of every other man. So when the arrowheads descended, the foot was well prepared to fall back with raised shields.
Just like that they broke off cleanly from any entanglements. If any host thought to pursue, like some fool Reacher footmen after his northern fork, they'd find themselves a subject of great interest to his longbowmen.
Maelys looked one more time at the fluttering Seahorse banner. Myr, Bloodstone, and now here—at every turn the Velaryons defied him, but he could respect their commander. How many men could have made the choice he had, to throw lives into a meat grinder in order to buy a few precious minutes? It was a hard choice, a simple choice, but the right choice.
The man had a spine, and that Maelys respected.
He descended from the palisade and mounted his waiting pale charger. The mounted men of the Golden Company and the Knightfall Company were already outside, and the first golden prong of fifteen hundred men was halfway through the gates.
Spotted Tom drew up beside him. "A great victory. They'll not sleep well for many moons after this."
"How many losses among the Cleavers?" Maelys asked.
"Five hundred men mayhaps," Spotted Tom said. "Those lions put up a fight."
They couldn't have lost more than eight hundred men altogether then. "We bloodied them, but this is the first of many battles," Maelys said.
As the second prong completed their withdrawal and stomped on yellow-gold grass that reached a man's waist, a serjeant ran up to them. "Your Grace, Captain Hill reports heavy cavalry massing outside the northern entrance."
"Ha! What bloody fools!" Tom said, rubbing his hands together.
"Inform the reserves that they're to expect a charge," Maelys replied, pausing for a moment. "Serjeant Rolan Rivers is to assist them with his bows."
"Only a hundred bows?" Tom asked as the serjeant ran off.
"A hundred of my best marksmen with weirwood bows," Maelys said. "If they can clear the palisade at night from four hundred yards, a mass of horses shouldn't be a problem."
Tom nodded. "A shame we couldn't get Old Mother to stop bothering the whores and bring her fleet around. She ought not toy with them and just storm the damn island."
It was not as simple as the Santagar bastard made it out to be. Old Mother didn't have the heavy infantry to take the island that way, nor the claim to hold such a gain through any means save force.
"She needs legitimacy," Maelys said.
"She's a pirate," Tom said.
"Exactly why she needs it. The Magisters of Lys must acclaim her, or she'd have uprisings on her hands the moment she departs." A lesson Spotted Tom would do well to learn if he hoped to keep the westerlands when they won. The lords of the west would not take kindly to a Dornishman as their overlord.
"Is Lashare still holed up in Myr?" Tom asked.
"He claims a Dothraki khalasar is passing through," Maelys said, "and dares not leave Myr too weakened less they sack it and the whole of the Disputed Lands."
Tom snorted. "Pigshit."
It took the knights of the Reach such an embarrassing length of time to form up that the Golden Company's withdrawal had been completed before they even posed a threat.
"A mass of knights unsupported?" Maelys said in disbelief, eyeing the thousand mounted men riding to their deaths. "Their commander can't be fool enough to think this will work?"
Tom grinned at him. "I forget sometimes that you spent your whole life with the Golden Company."
"Speak plainly."
"In Westeros," Tom said, "they see the foot as nothing but arrow fodder and to pin the enemy in place. None of that fancy maneuvering you're fond of. No one fights together like the Golden Company does."
As the Reach knights charged, their reserves turned into five hollows squares, a wall of tipped steel facing everywhere. As the Reach knights floundered before the pikes, their archers picked them off at their leisure inside the squares.
As the Reach knights ran, they died in droves.
-ZeroRequiem-
War was nothing like the stories. Aerys buried his face in his hands. "Ten thousand?" he repeated. Ten thousand lost… that was one in six men that'd followed them east, a fourth of their current host.
"Maybe half of those just grievously wounded," Lelouch said. *Not all of them will die."
"Yet, they'll not be able to fight again during this campaign," Tywin said.
The tent flap rustled and Aerys picked up his head.
Steffon had stepped inside, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. He paused for a moment, scowled, then plopped himself onto a seat by the far side of the table.
"Steffon," Aerys started, heart clenched with dread, "is your father—"
"He'll live," Steffon said.
"Thank the Seven," Aerys said, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Will he be able to attend the great war council later?" Lelouch asked.
Steffon nodded curtly.
"I'm glad," Tywin said. "We've lost many fine men today, Lord Darklyn among them. We cannot afford to be robbed of our principal commanders at this dire hour."
As the Reachmen botched their counterattack, the fighting came to an end and he'd pieced together what transpired from disjointed reports. The Golden Company has wiped out their sentries quietly and stormed the gates. Cavalry was sent in first to spread chaos and strangle any resistance in its cradle, buying time for three phalanxes to enter. They'd gone after the crownlanders, stormlanders, and Aerys himself, while sellswords and freeriders allied to Blackfyre menaced the Lannister and Tyrell contingents.
"I am in need of counsel," Aerys said.
"We ought attack once the last of our host arrives. We still hold the greater numbers, and it will tell once pitched battle is had," Steffon said. "We must wipe clean the shame of this defeat."
"We've not the means to press on with morale as it is. Another defeat like this would be the end of us," Tywin said. "Withdraw, leave behind contingents of men that will put to torch every farm from here to Myr until their victory tastes more bitter than defeat."
Aerys turned to Lelouch, and raised his brow.
"You must be knighted."
Aerys blinked. "What?"
"You must be knighted," Lelouch repeated, "by Ser Gerold perhaps."
Aerys shared a befuddled glance with Tywin. It would be a great honor to swear his vows before the White Bull, but it was an honor he had not earned.
"This is not the time for games," Steffon snarled.
"Peace, Cousin," Aerys said, raising a hand placatingly. "Explain yourself, Lelouch."
"Tywin is correct. The men need something to raise their spirits, and as things stand, I am not certain we could snatch victory from Maelys Blackfyre. We need something symbolic then, and what better a symbol then the crown prince receiving his spurs at long last?" Lelouch said. "We need a figure to rally the men. You're handsome and decent enough with the sword. All you need is the knighthood. Perhaps even a mass ceremony for the squires who distinguished themselves in combat."
It would go a long way to fix the fractured pride of the lords especially. "I will consider it," Aerys said. "But we've more pressing matters."
"There's nothing more pressing than men who've lost the will to fight," Lelouch said. "All our maneuvers will be for naught if they refuse to lift their swords. As for the army itself, I agree with Tywin. We'd best withdraw and solidify our hold over the Stepstones."
"You don't think we can win," Aerys said.
"If I may speak frankly?"
Aerys nodded.
"We cannot best them on the field. Maelys Blackfyre has proven himself competent, and the Golden Company are without peer. They'll best any army of equal numbers we send against them and do so with the slightest of losses."
"We have the numbers," Steffon said.
"The cold arithmetic of war dictates we'd lose in such a war of attrition even if the lords would consent to such senseless slaughter," Lelouch retorted. "As for a large host, it would be too cumbersome to force an engagement. They'd dance around us, starve us out."
This from the only man who could claim to have bested the Golden Company. Aerys frowned. "Could you beat them?"
"With ten thousand men and years to forge them into a proper force?" Lelouch asked. "I believe so. But we've not the men who'd consent to be ordered by some lordling from Driftmark, nor the time to spare. We must fight as the world is, not as what we wish it to be."
Tywin remained silent with that thoughtful look in his eyes.
"What do you propose then if it is truly so hopeless? Surrender?" Steffon said, face twisting into something bitter.
"Nothing so drastic," Lelouch said. "A winning strategy is born when strength is married to opportunity. What are our strengths? We've more men than Maelys Blackfyre could ever hope to muster. Each man we lose can be replaced. We can split our host into smaller ones without weakening how well each man can fight overly much. The Golden Company cannot say the same of either of those things."
"What are our opportunities?" he continued. "The Golden Company cannot be everywhere. Liomond Lashare did not take to the field, and I suspect he remains in Myr. Tyrosh, Lys, the Stepstones, and the Disputed Lands cannot all be defended by one force."
"You wish to divide the army," Tywin said.
"Precisely," Lelouch said. "Maelys Blackfyre has no legitimacy save what victory gives him. So I say we give him none. Deny him battle, and if he should send his allies away to deal with a threat, we pick them apart piecemeal. That is how I would fight this war."
"War is nothing like the stories," Aerys said softly.
Lelouch shrugged. "The stories remember only the glory, and none of the drudgery. It wouldn't be entertaining otherwise."
"I thank you, all of you, for your words. You've given me much to think about," Aerys said.
"Your Grace," the three said, dipping their heads before leaving him to his thoughts.
Knighthood would be a fine thing, Aerys mused.
He traced his fingers along his uncle Ormund's embroidered velvet map. After the war was won, prizes would have to be doled out for loyal service. The Stepstones would make for fine fiefs once the pirates were rooted out and stout keeps were raised. Control over it would be a boon to the Iron Throne's purse.
His own hand in marriage would be the greatest prize to many lords, and his sister's a close second.
There were other titles that could be doled out as well. No doubt a position or two in the kingsguard might become available with over half of them marching with the army. Lord Velaryon's own health was failing, though Lelouch would be gravely insulted if he was passed over for master of ships. He'd been a steadfast supporter of their cause, and his competence could not be questioned in matters of war.
"Mayhaps I'll keep some of the Disputed Lands for Westeros," Aerys murmured. The lands here were certainly fertile, and he fancied having a foothold on this side of the narrow sea.
He was brought out of his thoughts by another visitor.
"Your Grace," Uncle Ormund said. Strips of bandage ran along his left cheek and he walked like a man in pain.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" Aerys asked.
"There are matters we need to discuss before the great war council convenes," Uncle said, easing himself into a chair with a wince. "My duty to your father and you comes before all else."
"I think I'd prefer it if you lived to do your duty."
He laughed. "I'm a stormlander. A few cuts and bruises won't kill me."
"And the gash on your cheek?" Aerys asked.
"It'll scar with time, and make me look far more dashing in a rugged sort of way," Uncle said.
Aerys couldn't help his grin. "What need we speak of?"
"Fault," Uncle said sombrely. "The lords will clamor for someone to blame this disaster on. It must lay solely at my feet."
Aerys blinked. "You're hardly the only man to blame. The commanders of the sentries—"
Uncle cut him off with his hand. "They are all dead, and dead men will not soothe their anger. But above all else, this failure cannot be attributed to you or House Targaryen. That would be a dangerous development, and let treachery lurk in the minds of men. Your position must remain unassailable in the eyes of lords."
Few lords would ever willingly take on blame, nevermind when there was plenty of that to be shared. "You would do this for me?"
"You're my nephew," Uncle said with a kindly smile. "I would do anything, anything to protect your birthright."
"But… if you do this, you can no longer head the army," Aerys said.
"You are correct. Lord Commander Hightower will take my place. I've already spoken to him," Uncle said.
Aerys' eyes widened. "That cannot be easy for you to do. I know that you and he have not always seen eye to eye."
"We may not agree on all things, but I have never doubted his loyalty to your family or his skill at arms. I can think of few men I would entrust the burden of command," Uncle said. "There is also the matter of Lord Darklyn's passing. Someone must lead the crownland houses."
"I can lead them," Aerys would normally say, but it did not feel right, like it would be a failure of some test. Your position must remain unassailable in the eyes of men, Uncle said. "Lelouch Velaryon," he said at last.
Uncle nodded. "There is no one else. Tales of his valor have spread far and wide, and many of the crownland lords would themselves have died if not for his timely intervention. That he remains unknighted might soon become a source of contention." Uncle leaned forward. "More to the point, his remains the single largest force among the crownlands with the Duskendale levies decimated. By my count, just under a third of the surviving crownlanders are sworn to House Velaryon."
"Speaking of knighthood, Lelouch had a proposal," Aerys said. "A mass ceremony for the squires who acquitted themselves well in battle, and myself to be included among their ranks. To lift the men's spirits, he said."
"There's merit to his words. Of course, who ought to knight you is an honor you should not bestow lightly."
A pity Lelouch isn't a knight, Aerys thought. "Ser Gerold had been Lelouch's suggestion, but if he's to lead us into battle, the honor might be better given to someone else." The Lannisters fended off the attack well and suffered the fewest casualties… some fifteen hundred men dead or injured. "Tywin Lannister had no small part in saving us from total defeat. His cavalry broke the Golden Company's phalanx that would've split the camp in half."
"A fine choice," Uncle said.
It wouldn't do to leave Lelouch out of this, lest he be slighted. "I will be knighted first," Aerys said. "And once has come to pass, I shall knight Lelouch myself."
Uncle smiled. "You will make a good king one day. Now, help a wounded man stand? We've a council to attend to."
No tent could possibly have fit all the lords attending, and so four long trestle tables had been arranged in a broken square with a canopy to provide relief from the howling winds. Lelouch Velaryon was already seated on the western bench, surrounded by Lords Wendwater, Stokesworth, Rosby, and Bar Emmon.
That we name him their commander is but formality, Aerys realized. There is little doubt among the lords with whom power rested.
The stormlanders filtered in next, taking up the bench opposite the crownlanders. He spotted many second sons among them, and still great gaps appeared between the noble houses sworn to his uncle. They'd suffered two thousand losses, but it was different actually seeing it.
As for the Reach, one could hardly tell they'd suffered losses at all. Twenty-five hundred men, many of them knights and lords, had fallen, but still they remained the most numerous of all the hosts. Even the westerlands that began the campaign second to the Reach and suffered the least losses so far could not match their numbers.
The least contentious matters were covered first. Aerys announced that the squires would stand vigil tonight and the ceremony would take place the next morning to polite cheers. Lelouch Velaryon's ascension was met with some grumbling about overeager youths from the older Reach lords drowned out by loud cheering from the crownlands. Last was Uncle Ormund handing over the reins of the campaign to Ser Gerold.
"The Old Mother's fleet has been menacing the great trade lanes of Westeros," Ser Gerold said. "It has begun to bleed our realm dry. I intend to see this threat off immediately by occupying the whole of the Stepstones. Let there be no shelter given to pirates in service to Maelys Blackfyre!"
It was a roundabout means to speak of their withdrawal without mentioning the word. To speak of retreat as his first act would have men murmur of his cowardice even if it came about through no fault of his own.
Ser Gerold continued to speak for some length about matters of logistics and the order through which retreat would be conducted. The Iron Fleet and other ships sworn to Greyjoy were being recalled, more men were to begin muster back in Westeros, and provisions for the coming months arranged.
The council was convened, and Aerys returned to his tent to prepare for the vigil with a cleansing bath and a fast.
Nightfall saw a procession of squires headed for the makeshift sept where the septons would hear their confessions. It was no accident that Aerys and Lelouch were first in line, though his friend took far longer with his absolutions. Nearly a sixth squire had finished before Lelouch came to stand beside him.
"What does knighthood mean to you?" Aerys asked.
"Do you know the words we'll utter come morning? All of them?" Lelouch asked instead of answering.
"Be brave, be just, defend the young and innocent, protect all women," Aerys recited.
"That's only four out of seven," Lelouch said.
Aerys frowned. "There's more?"
"Be discerning in thought and deed, be obedient, and to hold true to your vows," Lelouch said. "Seven gods, seven vows. A lot of promises, isn't it?"
Aerys nodded.
"What's the point of it all if no one can keep all of them?" Lelouch asked.
"Are you saying there are no true knights?"
"I'm saying there are no perfect knights," Lelouch said. "If knighthood was about doing no wrong, we'd have no knights left to speak of. All men err eventually."
Surely he was mistaken. The stories… the stories were wrong about war, weren't they? What else were they wrong about.
"Knighthood," Lelouch continued, "is striving towards an ideal. We might never be perfect, but there is value in the journey towards perfection, in the struggle to do good in an imperfect world."
So Aerys listened as he spoke—about justice and rightness, about the ways the vows might contradict each other, about striving to be more. About striving to be better. And Aerys listened, because though the stories were wrong, Lelouch's stories were songs to him.
When dawn came, Tywin spoke the words and tapped his shoulders and he rose a knight.
"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave," Aerys said, resting his blade on Lelouch's right shoulder. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maiden I charge you to protect all women." His sword moved to the other shoulder with each uttered sentence.
"In the name of the Crone I charge you to be discerning in thought and deed. In the name of the Smith I charge you to be obedient. In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to hold true to your vows from this day to the end of your days." Aerys paused.
"I will hold to my vows," Lelouch said.
Aerys nodded, and struck him lightly. "Let this be the last blow you receive unanswered. Rise a knight, Ser Lelouch Velaryon."
-ZeroRequiem-
Alequo Adarys stopped walking, turning his eyes to the flow of men around the Daric Bank's towering marble columns which depicted famous scenes from Myrish history.
"Is something the matter?" Lashare asked.
"No," Alequo said. "I'm merely admiring the craftsmanship of your people. They don't make them like this anywhere else."
Lashare smiled. "Your words are sweet, but I'm sure an ex-officer for the Iron Bank has witnessed far finer things."
Flattery was a subtle art. The trick, which oh so many people missed, was to appear genuine. If you were caught in a lie, outright denial would only dig a deeper pit. But deflection? Deflection was another story. "You've done your research. I haven't worked for them in decades, and I grew my name only after I'd left," Alequo said.
"I did my due diligence," Lashare said, looking mighty pleased with himself.
"So the Daric Bank, or is it the Sailor's Bank of Myr now?"
"It was unseemly to keep it named after a traitor," Lashare said.
Magister Parazhar was no traitor to the city, Alequo thought. He'd done business with the man once or twice, and lacked the capacity. Too conservative a soul. It's why his family's bank could never rival the Iron Bank or even the Rogare Bank… though the latter had gone bankrupt and the Daric Bank remained in good standing, if under new management.
"Prudent of you," Alequo said. "Your evidence was quite compelling if the aftermath is anything to go by." Lashare had learned the lessons of the Iron Bank well: the first step of any venture, whether a market or military takeover, was to secure funding.
"How was your trip to Volantis?"
"Might we step away from the wind first? Even warm winters can cause a chill if you're not careful," Alequo said.
"Of course, follow me," Lashare said, leading them to a shaded side alley where the wind didn't reach. Their armed escorts moved to secure a perimeter and evict any eavesdroppers. "Was an agreement reached with the triarchs?"
Alequo nodded. "They're most displeased with Westeros and their Sacred Struggle. The tigers and elephants both see it as a threat, if you can believe it." The two parties often opposed each other on principle. "But I suppose it was to be expected once they heard of freed slaves. Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh are some of their largest markets in the slave trade, and the tigers see any encroachment save theirs as a danger."
"Should I expect to see Unsullied or lesser soldiery among Maelys' troops soon then?"
"Eventually, perhaps if the sunsetlanders see more success," Alequo said. "For now, they're wary, but content to watch. They will pledge their honors against the sunsetlanders instead. I suspect Braavos might respond once they hear of this." And they would, with how wide their webs were.
"Not with armed men," Lashare said.
"No, that would be an escalation, but they've other means of applying pressure should they wish to."
"If Volantis begins funding Maelys, your use to him is diminished."
"If you don't send him any aid, your use to him will be non-existent," Alequo retorted. Not that he could blame the man. He'd won his prize already, so why risk it when there was nothing more to be gained?
Lashare smiled. "Ah, but I've a Dothraki horde outside my walls! I couldn't possibly leave his flank unguarded."
That much, at least, was true. It was a lesser khalasar though, and could be quickly and cheaply paid off if Lashare wished it. "Do you not have the means to pay them off?"
"I do, but the tribute I had in mind is not in Myr at the moment. I've had to have the men brought here," Lashare said. "Some exotic new slaves… I'm sure Khal Yaggo will be pleased."
"You should know that Maelys is not pleased with how you delay," Alequo said.
"His feelings only matter if he remains alive to act on them," Lashare said. "It may take awhile, but he'll meet his end one way or another."
"You don't think he'll succeed."
"Do you?" Lashare asked instead of answering.
No, Alequo thought. The numbers simply didn't add up. How could ten thousand overcome five hundred thousand? Everything the Iron Bank taught him screamed this was a losing gamble.
"Your silence speaks volumes, Alequo. Once you are back on that island of yours, Maelys cannot threaten you."
But Maelys could. Not directly, but Tyrosh was dependent on its hinterland to feed its populace like any other Free City. Alequo remained quiet.
"Do you think the Westerosi will look kindly on you if you continue your support for their enemies?" Lashare asked. "He'll be the doom of all of us. Better he die sooner rather than later."
"He'll be the doom of you maybe," Alequo said finally. "Storms come and go. The sharks eat the fish and the tigers have their lambs. Tyrosh remains standing all the same. I've a boat to board."
"It's a shame we could not see eye to eye," Lashare said. "Safe travels."
I will survive you. I will survive all of you, no matter what.