Chapter 47; The turn of the tide, Part 2;

Characters of the chapter

Alexander de Rozien, Chevalier of Orlais, Marshall of the Grand Army of Orlais, supreme commander of the Orlesian invasion of Westeros

Daenerys Targaryen, The Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, Queen of the of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men of the South, Queen of the South Kingdom of the Twin kingdoms and Protector of the Realm

Deniel Fabre, Master Engineer of the Orlesian military, head of the field engineering corps assigned to the Grand Army of Orlais

Edmond Brahms, Knight of Nevarra, Military advisor to the court of King Jon

Ernest, Captain in the Imperial army of Orlais

Hannah of Starkhaven, Ambassador on behalf of the College of Magi

Jon Snow, also known as Aegon Targaryen and Jon Stark, King of the North Kingdom of the Twin Kingdoms

Kieran, Agent of the Inquisition, mage advisor to the court of King Jon

Michel de Chevin, Chevalier of Orlais

Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and the Eyrie, Wardeness of the North

Cursive/Bold text is in Orlesian

On the fields outside Winterfell chaos reigned. The forces of the Empire had been caught completely unawares, not expecting a second army. Most of them had been resting from earlier assaults, while a portion of their force had been continuing the attack against Winterfell itself. All their attention had been focused on the castle. Thinking the Queen's army to be contained below the Neck and all other Westerosi armies capable of being a serious threat to them already defeated, they had sent no scouts and set no sentries beyond the perimeter of their camp. No responder battalions had been ready to intercept an approaching enemy. Now they were scrambling from the camp in almost a panicked state, trying to form into at least some semblance of a battle line to face down the Royal Army bearing down on them. Daenerys for her part was not making that easy on them. The dragon strafed the Orlesian positions over and over, carving trenches of fire among them as the Queen's army drew ever nearer. Entire units were set ablaze just as they managed to negotiate through the flames and reform themselves, killing most and scattering the rest. Archers were firing on the dragon, trying to bring it down, but arrows were merely bouncing off of the dragon's tough hide. An enemy such as this was out of their class.

Just as it had been with all the other enemies that had tried to shoot down Drogon in the past…

The mages accompanying the army had the most success in engaging the dragon, while others among them were raising up barriers of arcane energies to deflect the flames, saving clusters of troops from being burned to death. While most of their attacks missed their marks as well, their accuracy was far greater than any other ranged weapon in the Orlesian army, often passing only a hairs breadth from their target. Some of their arcane abilities even had the ability to home in on their target, chasing after the dragon across the skies. Now and then a hit was scored. Directed by the Queen Drogon twisted and dodged and turned in the air, managing to avoid more serious hits, leaving only the weaker but more rapidly launched attacks against him. Nonetheless Daenerys knew she could not overstay her welcome. The longer she remained within range of the mages the more likely it was that one of them would manage to land a direct hit with a more powerful attack. Even if that did not happen, overtime smaller hits would start adding up, leading to more serious injuries for Drogon. Eventually she decided enough was enough and directed Drogon into an ascent, seeking cover amongst the gathering clouds, to cheers from the Orlesians.

"Let them cheer." Daenerys thought as her dragon rose higher and higher. "I am not fleeing. You have gained a brief respite from me, no more. I'll be back."

The Orlesians took advantage from the reprieve from dragon attacks to begin forming up their battle lines in earnest. Just in time for them as well, for the army of the South Kigdom drew near.

On one section of the Orlesian line Ernest's unit managed to get through the flames and join with their fellows. The colonel of his regiment had had the misfortune of being caught in one of the Dragon's attacks, so for now Ernest was in charge.

"Hurry! Hurry! Form up, form up, form up!" He shouted, shoving the slowest of his soldiers into position as they passed the corner of his eye he could see a large force of enemy light cavalry fast approaching, ululating as they came. May of the enemy sported long braids and carried bows and strange sickle shaped swords. He had been briefed about the Dothraki warriors that rode with the Dragon Queen's army, so he had a notion who these riders were. What surprised him was the lamellar armor worn by the enemy, for he had heard that Dothraki warriors rode into battle wearing little to no armor at all. Apparently these ones had learned different lessons from their peers and ancestors. In any event if the reputation of these so called Bloodriders of Queen Daenerys were remotely true, his people were in for a rough fight. But on the other hand men on horseback were what pikemen had been designed to defeat.

"Quickly! Prepare to repel cavalry! Deploy pikes! Crossbows, half-step right! Skirmishers to the flanks!" He shouted in a rapid procession. The first rank of pikemen knelt, placing their pikes upwards in a forty five degree angle from the ground, while the ranks behind them raised their weapons to the height of their shoulders. In this formation the horses charging their line would stop and get pushed into their pikes by the ones following behind. Or they would try to jump over the first line of pikes and catch a speartip in the belly, or horse and rider would be impaled by the rear ranks. Hearing the sound of hooves from his right Ernest turned his head and saw a large unit of chevaliers arriving, having also managed to negotiate the burning fields.

"Good." He thought. That meant that their right flank was adequately protected. Their left was protected by other friendly units and the flames the dragon had left behind.

As the Dothraki grew nearer the crossbowmen began firing on them while the rest of the Orlesians braced for the crash of cavalry against their line. It never came. Instead at the last second every Dothraki soldier made a disciplined turn to their right like a flock of bird or a school of fish, riding along the Orlesian line and unleashing a volley of arrows at point blank range that slew many imperial soldiers. The Orlesian crossbowmen fired back, and the mages unleashed their arcane powers in support. Several dothraki fell, but not enough. Then a horn sounded and the chevaliers moved forward, riding along the pikemen line and charged at the bloodriders. The dothraki promptly turned around and moved in the opposite direction, their lighter armor allowing them to stay just out of reach of the imperial riders. The chevaliers gave pursuit, so close their lances danced amongst the tail hairs of the dothraki horses. Suddenly the bloodriders turned in the saddle, continuing to ride on and unleashing a storm of arrows at the chevaliers. The dothraki bows were small, but very powerful, and at this range they easily penetrated even the plate armor of the chevaliers. Those that survived the volley nevertheless stubbornly continued to pursue the dothraki. The chevaliers weathered the first three volleys fired at them. The fourth made them hesitate, the fifth sent them into retreat and the sixth turned the retreat into a rout.

The pikemen watched the scene is shock. The chevaliers were the best troops in the Empire. And they had just been massacred by a far more lightly armed cavalry, one that by rights should have been smashed asunder in the Chevalier charge. Ernest gritted his teeth as he realized that the right flank was now exposed. The dothraki immediately resumed their attack on the infantry line. Some circled around the now exposed flank and started to cut down the skirmishers and crossbowmen, while others pursued the fleeing Chevaliers, firing arrows after them. The rest rode up and down along the line of pikemen, exchanging fire with the imperials. Both sides were sustaining a steadily rising number of casualties, with no clear advantage for either side. Suddenly the dothraki disengaged and rode away, continuing to fire arrows as they withdrew. For a second Ernest thought they had actually managed to defeat them, but then he noticed the royalist infantry coming into view from behind the parting cavalry. The dothraki cavalry had been screening the infantry's advance, and were now moving aside to let them engage.

"Adjust formation! Prepare to repel infantry!" Ernest shouted and the first rank stood up and levelled their pikes. Moments later the enemy infantry crashed against their line. The dothraki continued on to other imperial units on their way to reinforce the main line. Westerosi knights and other cavalry were joining with them, adding to the general mayhem at the rear of the pikemen.

Ernest put his pike through the shield of one opponent, then pushed the said shield down, allowing the soldier behind him to put his pike through the throat or their enemy. The enemy was fighting well, particularly the one's holding their center, troops differing in appearance from the other royalist soldiers. The fought with considerable discipline, seeming to be able to shrug off all pain. Ernest even spied one with his eye dangling out of his socket, continuing to fight as if nothing had happened. These had to be the Unsullied had heard spoken about.

For all the enemy's effort the Orlesians had the advantage for the moment. Their pikes were longer than even the spears of the Unsullied, so they were keeping the royalists at bay, while the crossbowmen behind them were continuously barraging the foe with bolts, thinning their ranks. Meanwhile other Orlesian units were moving in to join the battle. If their line held, if the enemy didn't get to attack them from behind, they would be fine.

Ernest's confidence was washed away when, without warning, the dragon reappeared, descending from the clouds. The sight of it frightened many of his soldiers into breaking ranks and fleeing at once. The beast breathed fire upon them, travelling down the line of pikemen, aiming the attack with care so no royalist troops were caught in the inferno.

"Ooooh shiiit…." Ernest breathed before he too was caught in the flames, burned to ash like the rest.

While the Queen's forces were battling the Grand Army on the field, things inside Winterfell were still looking grim. The attackers had overrun the outer areas of the castle and were now seeking to break inside the keep itself. They had detached the body of the ram from its frame and had brought it to batter down the inner gate leading to the castle's interior. On the other side a small number of defenders were trying to brace the gate with their bodies while bringing up whatever debris they could to help keep the doors closed. Other defenders were spread around at the the keep's windows, firing on the enemy, or else were waiting further away with weapons drawn in case the enemy managed to break through.

Jon had just added a chair to the effort when the middle of the gate suddenly shattered, the head of the ram coming through leaving behind a hole just wide enough for a person to fit themselves through. Jon had just enough time to draw his blade when the ram withdrew from the hole and a pike took its place, nearly running him through. The only way he was able to stop that was to drop Longclaw and grab hold of the pike's shaft with both hands, stopping the blade inches away from piercing his chest. He resisted, his arms shaking from the effort, as the person on the other end of the pike tried to push the weapon into him.

"Move to the side Your Grace!" Someone behind him shouted. Jon did as he was bid and moved aside while holding onto the pike, the shaft bending as it was pressed against the splintered wood of the gate. An arrow flew past him, resulting in a thud and a gurgle, and Jon felt the push on the pike suddenly slacken. Acting quickly Jon pulled the pike inside to deprive the enemy of a weapon. He was about to retrieve his sword when an Orlesian forced his way through the opening giving a sharp shove to his shoulder, turning him around, then wrapping an arm around his throat from behind. Jon struggled in the soldier's grip but could not get himself free. The other northerners tried to interfere but were having a hard time of it with their king between them and their enemy. Even as the northerners were trying to free Jon from his grasp, the Orlesian soldier muttered curses in his own language in the king's ear. Jon felt a sword tip scraping against his back as the soldier tried to align his sword to run him through with it. Suddenly a spear tip appeared and punctured the mask of the Orlesian soldier, pinning his head against the gate. Freed from the Orlesian's grasp Jon stumbled away as other defenders took his place in fighting the enemy, stabbing through the hole furiously. He retrieved his sword and looked up to see who had saved his life. To his considerable surprise he saw Sansa holding the pike he had pulled inside, looking spooked and proud of herself at the same time.

"Sansa? What are you doing here?" Jon asked, walking to her.

"Came to see if there are wounded." She said, motioning to a few mage healers that had arrived with her. "And when I saw you needed help…" She added, lowering the pike to the ground.

"You need to go back. It's…" Jon said.

Before he could finish there was a sound of breaking glass, a hiss of gas and pained shouts. Jon turned and saw his soldiers falling over or backing away as an Orlesian soldier stepped through, readying another vial from his vest.

"Bag-head! Bag-head!" Jon shouted a warning. That was all he had time to do before the next vial shattered on the floor. Jon grabbed his sister and moved both of them away from the gas, shielding Sansa with his body. As he did he felt a stinging pain his right arm. Ignoring the pain he then then he charged at the bag-head, beheading him just as he was reaching for another vial. Another Orlesian was just coming through the hole when he was suddenly cut in half by a curtain of blue light appearing from nowhere. That curtain blocked the hole, preventing more of the enemy from entering. Turning his head, Jon saw Kieran lowering his staff.

"How… didn't the wards stop you?" Jon asked him as the mage healers moved to start evacuating those that had been affected by the gas.

"Burned out from this area some time ago. Haven't had the time to redraw them. Worked for the best though. The barrier will hold them off unless they can bring in a mage of their own to dispel it." Kieran explained.

Jon nodded.

"Sansa, thanks for saving my life, but you need to go back, it's far too dangerous for you to…" He said to Sansa turning to her, only to stop mid-sentence, staring at her in horror.

The left side of her face and neck had turned to an alarming shade of slowly deepening red while smoking holes had been burned into her dress.

"J-Jon?" She asked, confused, before she collapsed.

"Sansa! No!" Jon shouted, catching her just before she hit the ground.

"Help! Help! Healers, come quickly!" He shouted, with her on his arms. Sansa whimpered, obviously in a great deal of pain, and tried to say something to him, but could not form the words.

"Help her!" Jon pleaded when one of the Healers came running over.

"Oh crap!" The healer cursed, having Jon lower Sansa, who had now fallen unconscious, to the ground. "Move over." He said then, unceremoniously pushing the King aside and starting to rub fistfuls of the counteragent to her face. Jon sat where he had been pushed, staring at Sansa, wringing his hands with concern. He was dimly aware of the burning sensation across his sword arm, but such was his concern over his sister that he paid it no mind.

The healer was just about finished when he glanced up from his work and his eyes widened.

"Your Grace, your arm." He warned. Jon looked down and suppressed a gasp. The sleeve of his coat had burned off save for a few scraps, and large patches of his skin underneath were looking raw, weeping blood.

Apparently he had gotten his share of the enemy's weapon as well.

With Sansa's condition steady for the moment the healer quickly moved on to the King to apply the counteragent to his arm as well. Meanwhile Kieran, who had divided his attention between observing the scene and keeping an eye on the Orlesians suddenly noticed the Imperials stop trying to get through the barrier and disappear from view.

"What on earth?" Kieran muttered, cautiously moving to the barrier and peering through the hole in the gate. He could not see any sign of the enemy, but he thought he could make out faint sounds of battle coming from somewhere beyond.

Just then a northern soldier ran into the hall. "Your Grace! Allied forces have made it inside the castle, engaging the Orlesians here!"

Kieran smiled. Help was here. They had done it! "Your Grace, I suggest we sally forth, help our allies drive the enemy off, then join the battle on the field with everything we have left." He said to Jon.

"I'm afraid the King won't be going anywhere for awhile. His injury requires immediate treatment." The healer said.

Kieran nodded. "Understood. Then you should make him a priority. We need him ready to lead the attack as soon as possible."

"But what of Sansa?" Jon said.

"She's in good hands. There's nothing more you can do for her right now, and this issue is more pressing." Kieran said.

"… I can't. She's my family. I need to be with her." Jon said.

"Your Grace… I understand how you feel." Kieran said. "But she will be fine, and you will be needed here. Someone must lead…"

"I'll do it." Edmond said, walking to the scene.

"Edmond? Are you sure?" Jon asked.

"Kieran is right. Someone must lead the attack, but that does not necessarily mean you Your Grace. Right now I think you'd be too distracted to concentrate on this, so I'll handle it. Take care of her, and yourself." Edmond said.

"Very well. And thank you." Jon said after a moment of consideration.

"Good. Ser Brahms, I'll join the assault as well, if you don't mind." Kieran said.

"Of course. You'll be a great asset." Edmond said.

As Sansa was carried in the direction of the infirmary with Jon in tow, Kieran and Edmond went to gather up the soldiers. Once they were assembled Kieran dispelled the barrier and the defenders charged out, adding all their remaining might to that of their allies. The enemy, already busy with the troops of the South Kingdom, was swiftly cleansed from Winterfell and the defenders moved on the battle ongoing on the fields outside.

On the battlefield things were getting progressively worse for the Imperials. The dragon's attacks had left the field crisscrossed with lines of fire, making it impossible for anyone to form orderly battle lines anymore. Instead the battlefield was a series of clashes between smaller units maneuvering around the plains. Daenerys was flying overhead, destroying targets of opportunity with short breaths of flame. She was interrupted when a ballista bolt flew past. As soon as the dragon had appeared the Orlesians had gone to work to angle their bolt throwers to fire at him. Now the first were ready to start shooting. Fortunately the weapons had been initially been prepared for an attack against Winter fell, which meant they were arranged in a single long line. Daenerys directed Drogon to fly sideways from the ballistae, low and fast, swinging around towards the end their line.

"Come on, come on! Bring it down!" De Rozien, shouted, pointing at the dragon. The eyes of Lord Kronos, who was also nearby, were fixed on where the Marshall was pointing, his face having gone quite pale. Urged on by their Marshal and Master Engineer Deniel the siege crews were doing whatever they could, sending bolt after bolt against the dragon. Many of their bolt throwers were built so they could fire in rapid succession, far faster than your average ballistae. But that made no difference. Their machines were designed to fire on fortifications and large groups of soldiers. This creature was moving extremely fast and in a way that they had to try and lead their target, which was difficult given the size of their weapons. So hitting this thing was proving just about impossible. With each shots that missed the crews became more and more frantic, fumbling as they sought to reload. First Enchanter Hannah sent a blast of energy toward the dragon but also missed. Then the dragon was upon them, breathing fire from one end of the line to the other. Seeing what was coming many of the crew abandoned their posts and sought to flee. For most of them it was already too late. In a handful of seconds the Orlesian weapons of war were transformed into flaming pyres along with their users. Trebuchets and ballistae alike were consumed in the conflagration. Deniel watched this destruction in utter horror, so transfixed that he was only spared from annihilation when one of his fellow engineers pushed him out of the way just in time. The flames struck too soon for Hannah to escape them, but the veteran spellcaster had other means to protect herself. By surrounding herself with a sphere of energy which the flames could not touch she saved herself and a handful of archers and crewmen that were closest to her, buying enough time for them to get away from the fire.

The horses of De Rozien and Lord Kronos panicked at the flames and the presence of the Dragon. De Rozien managed to bring his horse back under control, but Andharr's horse reared, threw him off and fled the scene. The Lord of House Kronos didn't even have time to stand up before the dragon landed before him, the ground shaking as the creature touched down.

Seeing the dragon land near the Marshal and Lord Kronos, Hannah mustered her courage and took off running towards the creature. Following her example the Orlesian soldiers that she had rescued chased after her.

Lord Kronos remained frozen where he lay on the ground, too frightened to move, staring into the flame colored eyes of the dragon as the creature growled at him. Atop the beast the Dragon Queen glared at the traitorous Lord, her expression fierce. Here was the man who had instigated the betrayal of the Upstart Houses. The one who had aided this invader in getting this far. Now was the time to bring him to justice for his crimes thought she.

After a small eternity of silence Andharr snapped out of his trance. Perhaps he realized that he was already dead. With both his own men and his Orlesian allies burning, fleeing or fighting on the field far away from him, there were none who could come to his aid. The Marshal was still there, but he was but a man. And what could one man do against a creature as mighty as the one the Queen was in command of?

With a shout that was as much fear as it was defiance Andharr's hand went to his sword. The dragon's head darted forward immediately, closing around the Upstart Lord. With a single bite he came apart like a twig, Lord Kronos's armor providing no protection whatsoever against the dragon's jaws. Drogon spat out a bloody piece of the Upstart Lord, then turned his eyes to the Orlesian leader. Alexander felt color drain from his face as the dragon's jaws opened and a glow of flame began climbing out from deep inside his throat.

Then, just as Drogon was about to kill the Marshal as well Hannah was there, a swirl of blue erupting from her staff, disappearing down the dragon's throat, dousing the flames it had been calling up.

The dragon stopped moving, looking… surprised. He burped, a cloud of black smoke emanating from his mouth. The dragon began trashing about, tossing his head from side and would have thrown his rider had she not been strapped to the dragon's saddle. More black smoke poured from his mouth as the dragon made a hacking sound which the Marshal realized was the dragon coughing. Then the flames reappeared, spewing uncontrollably in all directions, and Hannah, the Marshal and the others had to hastily retreat away to avoid being burned or trampled. Then the dragon spread its wings and took to the sky. The Orlesian archers fired on the dragon as it fled the scene, actually managing to get a few arrows to stick on his skin as they hit between scales. As the dragon escaped Alexander could have sworn the dragons teeth were coated in ice, looking like icicles.

"No wonder the dragon fled then. I imagine something like that would be painful." De Rozien thought. He turned his eyes to Hannah and gave her a nod of gratitude, a nod which the mage returned.

With the dragon now fleeing the scene Hannah went to Deniel, who was lying on the ground, sobbing.

"Master Engineer, are you alright?" She asked as she knelt beside him checking him for injuries. His clothes and beard had been singed but other than that he appeared to be alright. Physically at least…

"My crew, my friends. They….they…" He sobbed. Then he turned his eyes to the dragon.

"Damn her to the void. She'll pay. One day she'll pay for what she did. She and that damned lizard of hers. I swear it!" He said bitterly.

"Hush now. The creature is gone. I drove it away." Hannah tried to comfort him.

Alexander meanwhile was busy calming himself and getting a grip of the strategic situation. It went without saying that things were bad. The dragon had been driven away before it could kill him, sure enough. But it recovered its composure quickly, and now it returned to attacking his troops. It was becoming increasingly clear his army was having difficulty fighting the beast. The mages were doing what they could of course but they also had the enemy troops to think about, and the help that Gagnon had promised had not arrived yet. And even without the Dragons help the Royal Army was being very efficient in carving their way through the disordered ranks of the imperial forces, the Queen having wiped out the best chance Orlesians had had in forming an orderly battle line. Few as they were, the defenders of Winterfell were now streaming through the gate of the castle, adding another complication to the battle.

Despite all this De Rozien was trying to wring his mind for some solution to the problem. But then a horn sounded in the north and a third force joined the battle, swooping down on the imperial camp. To his astonishment her recognized banners of the northern houses, a red anvil on a black surface at their head. No… he had thought these remnant forces of the North had been dealt with, that they were so depleted they would not dare to challenge the Grand Army. But clearly the presence of their allies from the South Kingdom had emboldened them to attack as well. With them involved his army was now under attack from three sides, while the northerners were setting fire to every part of the camp not already burning because of the dragon.

Alexander bowed his head and motioned for a soldier with a signaling horn.

"Sound a general retreat." Alexander told the soldier.

"My Lord?" The soldier asked uncertainly.

"Do it lad. There is no victory here. Not under this sun." The Marshall said. Slowly the soldier raised the horn to his lips and blew the appropriate notes. Shortly after other horns began echoing the same notes, spreading the word. As the signal spread the Imperial forces to their dismay realized that they had lost this battle.

"Come on! Forward!" Edmond shouted, and charged toward the Orlesian forces. He still felt his exhaustion and sickness slowing him down, but he did his part to ignore that, just like all the rest of the people he was leading into battle. He would not have to hold on for very long after all. The enemy was in disarray, particularly as a third allied force had just unexpectedly entered the battle. They would break soon, he was sure of it. Any second now the enemy would signal the retreat, and then this nightmare would finally be over for the defenders of Winterfell.

Just a little bit longer…

An enemy soldier saw him charging toward her and tried to spear him with her pike. But as she was out of formation she was not much of a threat. Edmond knocked the pike aside with the rim of his shield and closed the distance between them, hiding his sword behind his shield. The soldier realized the danger and brought a hand to her sword, but it was already too late. Edmond brought his sword out from behind his shield and pierced her with it, just under where her breastplate ended. Blood flowed, but perhaps for the first time in his life it didn't bother him overmuch. Today, on the cusp of victory after a desperate struggle, the substance he had feared for all his life held no power over him. Nor was he going to allow it to.

As his opponent died Edmond turned his eyes to seek out new opponents. Then he spotted an Orlesian Chevalier, cutting down a Royal Army soldier as he rode on. The Chevalier had lost his helmet somewhere in the fight, so Edmond was able to see his face and recognize it, as it was a rather famous one as far as faces went: Michel de Chevin.

As soon as he recognized him Michel also spotted Edmond and turned his horse to gallop towards the Nevarran knight full tilt. Briefly Edmond considered using the dead soldier's pike to his advantage. But there was no way to wield the weapon effectively with a shield on his hand. So instead he simply raised the said shield and waited. At the last moment he stepped out of the horse's, path blocked Michel's strike with his shield, and as the horse rode past him he struck it in the leg, the only part of the animal not encased in any armor. The blow was enough to detach the leg from the horse's body and send it tumbling. Michel to his credit was able to jump off the horse even as it fell and land on his feet. The Chevalier turned to face the Nevarran knight, sword at the ready. While battle continued to range all around them the two circled around each other warily.

Michel was the first to attack. From the first moment it was obvious that the Orlesian was far superior to Edmond it terms of skill. Had Edmond been wielding only his sword he would have been cut to pieces in short order. As it was his shield granted him an edge, allowing him to hold on, barely. Michel still managed to land a number of glancing blows against his armor, but not in a way that would've injured him. Finally Edmond decided that he had had enough of trying to beat the Chevalier through subtlety and rammed into him shield first. Michel was too close to get out of the way and fell to the ground.

"I did it. I beat Michel de Chevin." Edmond thought proudly as he raised his word to run the Chevalier through.

Above the dragon attacked, annihilating a small cluster of house Kronos soldiers. The flames struck close. Too close. Edmond was briefly distracted by them, cowering behind his shield, turning his face aside and closing his eyes to protect himself from the heat. That distraction was all that was needed. When he recovered his focus he had just enough time to see that Michel was back on his feet. Then he felt the Orlesian's blade pierce his throat. As the blade was withdrawn he began to gurgle as blood began to pour down his throat, starting to fill his lungs. Feeling all strength leave him, Edmond collapsed first to his knees, then to his side on the ground. Michel was about to finish him off, give the Nevarran a clean death, but then an Orlesian horn sounded. Michel looked at Edmond, then where the horn sounded, then right back at Edmond. Then he spat out a quiet curse, leaving Edmond where he lay. A riderless horse rode past, so Michel deftly jumped in the saddle and went away with the rest of his surviving countrymen. That was the last thing Edmond ever saw as he drowned there in his own blood.

With the signal to retreat given the battle came to its end. The final action of the Orlesians, organized by nearby commanders, was to evacuate as much food and other supplies as they were able before their camp was completely overrun. The line of fire Daenerys had carved through the Orlesian encampment had an unintended side-effect. Together with camp's fortifications it forced the northern forces led by House Redforge to circle around, which in turn permitted the imperial delaying action to buy enough time for the Orlesian forces remaining in the camp to disengage and retreat with as much food as they could carry.

Daenerys continued to pursue the retreating Imperials for a time, but with nightfall approaching and a storm brewing she eventually abandoned the hunt and directed Drogon back to Winterfell.