Myles

Weary, Myles set his mount on forward. Weary of the battle, weary of the defeat. I can't go on like this, I can't. But his hands and feet spurred his horse on. Little by little the remainder of his once great host was moving south to join Prince Aegon's host at Stoney Sept. They were all tired he could see, but that didn't stop them from moving. There's no other choice for them. It's either this or be left behind for anyone who might be pursuing them.

When he looked behind he could see no one behind him. The air was heavy and the sky cloudy and grey. Rain was pouring down on them heavily, so unlike the perfect clear day when he had crept upon the Stark army at the Crossroads. He looked down as he remembered the day and the battle.

It would not stop, the rain. The downpour has been continuous from last night, so much so that his boots were covered in mud. His horse was well lathered, riding hard to get away from the knights of the Vale. His men were dragging behind him. The disarrayed army which followed behind him looked like some migrating commonfolk in search for safety.

Every fourth or fifth foot Myles would turn back in his saddle, reaching down and tugging up his swordbelt and watch intently for any army that could come chasing after them. At least he had not lost the sword on the fight, giving a chance to fight still.

Richard was riding close beside him. Their men were all stumbling around them, swords and spears in hand, ready to fend off anyone. They rarely stopped to rest, gathering beside rocks and roots of trees to spend the night. Most of his men had survived, a good part of it, only because they had broke and ran before the chivalry of the Vale.

Tired, Myles led his men forth as quick as he could. They were good and safe linking up with Prince Aegon's and his dragon. Pursuing the Stark or Arryn army from the Crossroads was a bad notion, especially with the men he now had with him. Richard had agreed as much. Let the Arrys hold the Trident for now, it would turn around for them when they come back with a dragon.

The journey to Stoney Sept felt longer than the one they had done while marching North for the Crossroads. The rain made it even worse, making the roads muddy and slippery and soaking everything that they had, clothes and food and fire.

He had made it clear for his men that anyone who straggled behind will be left behind. He could not risk to lose the rest of his men in order to get a good night's sleep. All his men knew that, the thousands who were left. They had been no less than a good eight thousand when they fled the Crossroads, maybe more, but some had wandered off in the night, a few wounded had bled to death and others straggled behind unable to keep up with the army. Often, Myles put his wounded men on horse back unwilling to leave the men who'd fought for him in the hands of fate, more like in the hands of wolves and crows. He took garrons from the healthy men and gave them to the wounded, organized the walkers, and set the mounted knights to guard their flanks and rear. He would have marched hard if his horses and men were stronger. They could be behind us. Nothing encourages an army better than the sight of a foe running broken before them.

His clothes under the fine armor was soaked riding through the rain. The rain had managed to drench the hose, the thick quilted coat that padded him against the cold steel of his armor, the fine surcoat with the red salmon of House Mooton upon the chest and even the layers of smallclothes beneath. His cloak did little to keep the cold away as it too was soaked in the rain, the triple-layered cloak with a salmon pin made of ruby that fastened tight under his chins. Its hood flopped forward over his forehead. The blood which had covered his armor and wool-and-leather gloves had been completely washed off by the rain.

The rain dropped down around him. Sometimes it fell as a soft drizzle from a clear white sky, and sometimes from a black, but that was all that remained of day and night. His shoulders were in agony from the weight of the armor and tiredness. He ought to take it off, but the thought of any oncoming men made him think twice of it. He ought to be careful and cautious at least until he reached his allies. Bold and comfort would not serve any of them now.

If only the Arryns were late for a day or two he might have held the Trident for King Rhaegar now. . . except it wasn't, though, and it was no good wishing. Lord Jon had come, swift and strong, and in mighty numbers. It seemed as if the entire chivalry of the Vale was with him. He still remembered the way their banners had fluttered in the light of the Dawn. There was the bronze banner which displayed the black iron studs bordered with the runes of the First Men of House Royce, the six silver bells of Belmore, the broken black wheel, on a green field of House Waynwood, the five silver arrows of House Hunter fanned on a brown field, the red castle of the Redforts, the three black ravens of House Corbray, all three in flight, holding three red hearts, on a white field, the nine black stars of Templeton on a gold saltire, on a black field, the cresting sea-green wave of House Upcliff, on a black field, even the yellow tower of House Grafton, burning, on a black pile, on a flame-red field who had once fought for the Targaryens when Lord Arryn refused to obey King Aerys' orders to kill his wards, instead choosing to defend them and rose in rebellion against the king. And there were dozen other banners known to him with them. For every banner he knew there were half a dozen of which he never knew. His army was so focused on the surrounded Starks that they were never ready to meet the great charge of the Knights of the Vale. It would've been a bloody massacre had he not retreated.

The hooves of his horse made a sucking sound as they passed through the mud. The print of it's leg left back on the mud where the horse set his feet. Off to the left and right, his men were spread through the glade of trees, swords and spears in hand, trying to shield them from the rainfall. When he turned his head he could see them, slipping silent through the wood, cursing the rains. He had positioned his men into a ringed mass of spears, with the strong, able ones forming the outside while the wounded and the swordsmen were positioned inside the strong, steel ring. The knights on their horses accompanied him in groups positioned on the front, rear and flanks, ready to fend off anyone who might come for them in any direction.

Yesterday Myles had sent a good company of outriders on swift and strong horses to Prince Aegon telling him of the course of their journey. They were only a few days' ride away from Stoney Sept but looking at their slow pace it wouldn't surprise him if it takes a whole week for them to reach there. He intended to take their rest this night and then continue on their march, full-bellied, the next day.

He had thought to return to Maidenpool after the retreat, to gather their strength there and then once well rested they could march forth to Riverrun to meet the rebels there. When word from Prince Aegon's host nearing Stoney Sept by way of the Goldroad the plans had changed into linking up with his army at Stoney Sept.

It was a sound plan, holding up at Stoney Sept. The position gave them a central land to move against any army which would try to go for King's Landing. Though Myles doubted that would happen anytime soon. Ser Garlan Tyrell was bleeding the Riverlands as much as he could and both the Born King and Lord Jon Arryn would be busy trying to help Riverrun before they might move for King's Landing. Lord Robert and his Stormlords were blocked in the Stormlands with Lord Randyll Tarly and Princess Daenerys to their front. He cannot see a way where an army might make for King's Landing amongst all this.

Unless Lord Tywin makes a move. So far the Lion of Casterly Rock has not yet declared for anyone, not to the rebels or the crown. He hoped that it ought to be the case for the rest of the war or better if he answered his grace's call for help against these rebels.

If not, then he could not say which was the worst, either the fact that they would have another whole kingdom for them to deal with or the fact that it meant more battles and more deaths. Already there's been thousands died in this war, barely begun yet bloody. Thousands had died on the Crossroads, men from his side and the other alike. They had died all around him, and certainly more must have died after. He'd seen some of them dying in his remaining party. They had no choice but to leave them behind. He stared upward at the pale white sky as raindrops drifted down upon his face and his chest and his head. Should I find the same fate as any of them, I'll do so gladly and if they speak of me they'll have to say I died a loyal man to my king and I did my duty. There is naught a better death than that for a knight.

Now though, his thoughts were more on his men than some glorious death. They had all been his responsibility. He had failed them in the Crossroads but he had no notion to do so again any time soon. He had wanted to go and fight for his friend and king more than anything. Go and fight, he did and cost the lives of thousands. He could still remember the men he'd killed that day. All of that had led to nothing. The Crossroads was lost.

They had come very close to capturing it in the King's name. When word of the northern army in the Crossroads were brought to him by his scouts, Myles had thought to take it before the Arrys could arrive. That would have given them a huge strategic advantage in keeping the rebel armies away from one another while Prince Aegon put an end to the legend of the Born King.

They'd rode hard and fast up the Kingsroad and waited for the night to launch their attack upon the northmen when they'd least expected it. The camp was well arranged that there were archers up in high towers to alert their camp. Myles was forced to stay away and wait until night fell upon to cover them in the cloak of darkness. When dusk finally arrived, the archer towers were the first ones to fall neutralizing any hope of alarms for the northmen. He'd given the command to Richard to take down the sentries and archers and his friend had done that flawlessly. With the element of surprise they had overwhelmed the resting camp in no time.

Thousands had died at the Crossroads that day, good men and true, if it wasn't for Lord Jon and his knights there would have been more as the men of the north were too stubborn to yield. He needs only to think of the old man, covered in blood and injured still came for him all the while surrounded by his army, to know that they wouldn't have yielded. The battle was almost done and the day was theirs, almost. His men were only a moment away from capturing the Crossroads in Rhaegar's name.

When the horns blew Myles had been preparing to deliver the final blow to the northmen. He thought he was dreaming them at first, but when he looked east towards the Highroad he saw them. Dawn was arriving from the east and so had the Knights of the Vale. All around him his men had turned their heads off to the east watching for the sounds of worhorns. The warhorn had fallen silent by then, and the Crossroads rang with shouted commands and the clatter of steel.

For a moment he had stunned to see them there, right at the time. His men were more focused in scattering the northmen around that they were not ready to hold against a cavalry charge of armoured knights as fine as the Knights of the Vale. The rising sun was against their eyes almost making them blind with all the shimmering steel armours before them. His command had come late but not too late, ordering his pikemen to get back in lines and make a shield wall first to defend against the cavalry charge. But once he saw the scattered northern riders rallying in the rear he knew that the battle was good as lost.

There was nothing to do there but retreat, else his men would've been butchered in cold blood. Their time was done there, and so they were forced to retreat. It had taken a good deal of time for his scattered men to regroup together. Most of them joined them all along the way but some were entirely lost to the lands.

"Feeling sleepy," a voice asked from beside.

"No, I'm not asleep," Myles told Richard. "I was just remembering."

"You shouldn't take it hard on yourself, Myles," his friend said. "If you want we can rest for some time."

"We cannot risk it," Myles looked at him. Richard rode beside him, his armour and clothes wet with rain. "There's no resting in the middle of nowhere."

"Night is falling, Myles," Richard said and looked over to the west sky. "The men are tired. Even you look like you could get some rest."

"I'm alright, Richard." Myles tugged his cloak close to him. He looked around and saw that night was finally setting about and they were out in the open. That wouldn't do. He must find a good place before setting camp. "We'll call it in for the night when we find a good spot."

The night before they had left for the battle, Myles and Richard had spent a good time like the old times, Myles remembered smiling. For a moment they were not the commanders of the Royal forces of King Rhaegar but just a couple of squires who dreamed of knighthood and glory. They had always been the closest of friends, winning their knighthood from Rhaegar together when their time came. For a moment he missed those good old days and found himself wanting them back.

"My lords," Watt interrupted them. "We have found a flat ground by the woods around God's Eye to make camp." Myles had sent the tall man with a company to find a perfect place for them to make camp.

"Very well then," Myles said to Watt. "Get the men ready to set up camp."

"At once, my lord," Watt replied.

The man moved on, towards the men shouting commands. Richard looked at the wound at his upper arm. "That's seems a serious injury," he said touching the cloth covered wound. "You should get it cleaned and dressed, Myles."

Myles nodded. "Do you think Prince Aegon is already at Stoney Sept?"

Richard shrugged in his saddle. "If it's just the prince and his dragon, he would've been there in no time, but with a huge host behind him, I don't think they would reach there before us."

"Did you get any ravens from King's Landing," he heard Richard ask.

"No," Myles admitted. "Though I think there will be one."

Richard nodded as he trotted his horse forward slowly. "Rhaegar will not like it," he said. "Not even a single bit."

"I know," Myles said. "What are we supposed to do? The Arryns were too much for us to deal with not to mention the northmen."

"He will not be ready to hear our reasoning, Myles," Richard said.

"Probably," said Myles. "He is a changed man, not the one we knew."

"Those bits of prophecies and parchments pushed him to the path of the red priest too much for my liking," his friend said.

"Mmm," Myles admitted. "Did Ned's son really write a letter to Rhaegar?"

"Aye," Richard chuckled. "You should have read it. Rhaegar has ordered for the letter to be sewn into a banner and hung it behind his throne. He has vowed to bring it down only when Stark is felled. The boy has got some balls, I'll grant him that."

"I heard of it in Maidenpool," Myles said. "I could scarcely believe it. The smallfolk claimed that Rhaegar pissed himself reading the letter alone."

"That's just a fishwife's tale," Richard said. "But Stark was bold with his words claiming the king to be a criminal and to deal with him as such."

"He did what?" Myles asked, shocked.

"You heard me," his friend said. "He did say that Rhaegar was a criminal."

"I never knew he was that bold," Myles said.

"Well, he is Arthur's nephew after all."

"That he is." They arrived to the flat ground where his men were already working hard to put up the tents and set up the camp for their garrison.

It was a fine place, well set and surrounded by trees which would give them enough cover to defend it from foragers and foes alike. To one side the God's Eye provided a natural barrier and the woods around them made a ringwall giving them a best spot to defend.

So when the camps were finally set, Myles went inside his tent to sleep with the night still fairly young. He had been awake for too long and tired beyond anything. Sleep came easily and the night passed in peace.

The next morning they wasted no time. They rode in the predawn chill with the rain drizzling around them. Yet even as they were riding forth in the rain, Myles was being careful about the way they passed.

They set out through the rain at a hard gallop. Only when they were safely away from the sight of God's Eye, he slowed them to a trot. It was a miserable slow journey after that with the muddy ground making it hard for the horses and men alike to rush past it. The rain still soaked through his clothes and made it cling to his body.

The rain had finally stopped by next morning as dawn light was seeping through from the eastern sky. And once again Myles set his men for hard riding. They stopped only as long as it took to feed and water the horses, and then they were off again. This time he was spared to look behind his back continuously wary of any pursuit. After the third night he no longer rushed his men and mostly continued in a stable pace as they were nearing the town of Stoney Sept.

The morning they reached Stoney Sept, they were clustered around a stream a short ways down the hills encircling the town. The horses had drunk their fill of the cold water, and were grazing on fresh blades of green grass that grew around the stream. Set Boros Blount and a guardsmam wearing House Blount's colours huddled close, talking to Richard. Watt stood with Richard, leaning on his spear with the Targaryen banner swaying from the tip. Nearby, Ser Elwood Harte sat oiling his longsword, running the whetstone by the edges at times to sharpen it.

Stoney Sept was the biggest town in the riverlands and it too was touched by this war. More recent battles had been fought here as well, Myles thought from the look of the place. The town gates were made of raw new wood; outside the walls a pile of charred planks remained to tell what had happened to the old ones.

The town was closed up tight. Myles could see the captain of the gate eying them warily. "Open the doors in the King's name," He shouted to him.

"You'll find nothing but peaceful folk living here, my lords," he said from the gatehouse. "We are hiding no army here."

"That is for us to see, old man," Richard said. "If you're hiding no one there, you'd have no trouble in opening the gates and letting us in."

"I've told you, there's no one here." The captain did not wait for an answer. "Let the folk live in peace. They don't need your war."

"Same as we don't want to trouble them in any way," said Myles. "I am Ser Myles Mooton, brother of Lord William of Maidenpool. All we need from you is safe beds for some nights. We will give you no trouble. You have my word for it."

The captain eyed them for a long moment and then disappeared. A few heartbeats later the gates of Stoney Sept opened before them.

Myles rode between Richard and Watt as his men moved down the streets in their horses and with their steels sheathed. He could see the sept on its hill, from which the town took it's name, and below it a stout strong holdfast of grey stone that looked much too small for such a big town. But almost all houses seemed deserted, and he saw no people. "Are all the townfolk dead?" He asked the captain.

"Only shy." Richard pointed out two bowmen on a roof, and some boys with sooty faces crouched in the rubble of an alehouse. Farther on, a baker threw open a shuttered window and shouted down to the captain. The sound of his voice brought more people out of hiding, and Stoney Sept slowly seemed to come to life around them.

In the market square at the town's heart stood a fountain in the shape of a leaping trout, spouting water into a shallow pool. Women were filling pails and flagons there. The only sound in the market square was the splash of falling water and the buzzing of flies.

On the east side of the market square stood a modest inn with whitewashed walls and broken windows. Half its roof had burnt off recently, but the hole had been patched over. Above the door hung a wooden shingle painted as a peach, with a big bite taken out of it. They dismounted at the stables sitting catty-corner, and the captain bellowed for grooms.

When the horses were tended and taken care of, the captain took them to the holdfast by the sept. There Myles, Richard and the others took residence for the time being till Prince Aegon arrived with his might host.

They still had their supply lines left so when they dined Myles called for the townfolk to join them. These are the people of his own land, he could not just let them starve. "How well are you fixed for food?" Myles asked the captain as they ate together.

"Not so bad as we were. Our Huntsman brought in a flock o' sheep, and there's been some grains left in our stores. The harvest wasn't burned south o' the river. Course, there's plenty want to take what we got. Reachmen one day, westermen the next."

"Westermen?" Myles frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty much. Seemed like westermen along with a group of sellswords. They come off to fight the reachmen when they are here and run away once they are chased off."

"Did you see any banners-" Myles was asking as a blow of a warhorn broke him off. Not again, he thought as he reached for his sword.

"Riders!"

The shriek came from outside the common room of the holdfast. One of his men at the gates rushed through the doors inside to inform them of the riders.

In a quick second, everyone of his men in the room were reaching for swords and spears and armours and chainmail. Myles Mooton was the first to be done. "Ring the bells of the town," he shouted. "Tell the townfolk to bar their doors and not come out until the bells are quieted."

He sprang to his feet and rushed outside. Richard joined him on the way and so did the others.

"I hear them!" Richard called out. Myles turned his head to listen, and there it was: hoofbeats, a legion of horses, coming nearer. Suddenly everyone was moving, reaching for weapons, running to their mounts.

Ser Balman Byrch at the gate came springing back to them. He stopped breathless in front of Myles and the others. "An army of men, my lord," he said, breathless. "Hundreds of horses and as much as men."

"Did they bear any banners?"

"They do, my lord," he said. "But it's hard to say with the distance. All looks red."

Red, no it can't be. At least it isn't the Arryns. "Richard get the cavalry around here," he told his friend. "We face them in this street. Get the archers on the roofs of buildings either side. Men at arms hold the buildings and use them for your advantage. Watt take the foot with you. Riders with me." Myles unsheathed his longsword and raised it in his hand. Around them his men were all climbing over the buildings to get on high vantage points. They are well staying up there as the narrow streets of the town were filling in with his mounted riders.

The hoofbeats were louder now. He could hear the battering ram pounding against the gates of Stoney Sept. All around them the bells rang, alerting the smallfolk of the upcoming battle and so they would know to lock their doors.

His mounted knights and riders formed up in ranks behind him and Richard.

The creak of the wood was so clear now, splintering and splitting. It would give out soon enough, Myles thought. A heartbeat later, the gates broke and the riders were on them.

The men came filling inside the town like a rushing torrent. He could see the red banners, bearing the golden lion of House Lannister. At their head was a huge man, the biggest man that Myles Mooton had ever seen. He need to take only one look to know that it was Lord Tywin's Mad dog who led them. The Mountain That Rides dwarfed all the knights around him. He was well over seven feet tall, closer to eight, with massive shoulders and arms thick as the trunks of small trees. His destrier seemed a pony in between his armored legs, and the great two handed sword he carried was as big as a man.

Myles could hear the twang of bowstrings as his archers let fly from both sides of the street through where the Lannister riders came. Almost all of them found their targets and had a number of rushing riders fall. But none of it stopped Gregor Clegane. The man was knighted by Rhaegar himself, he should be ashamed to take steel against him.

Despite all the men his archers felled, the Lannister riders came thundering, lean brave men in fine armor, faces hidden behind barred halfhelms. In gloved hands were clutched all manner of weapons: longswords and lances and maces and spiked morningstars. Another knight, a stout man with a manticore on his shield, and gilded scrollwork crawling across his steel breastplate led the foot men behind the mounted riders.

Myles shouted and rode to meet the Mountain, with Richard and the others beside him, screaming some wordless battle cry.

He heard the screams of frightened horses and the crash of metal on metal. Richard's sword raked across the naked face of a rider, and Myles plunged through the Lannister riders like a whirlwind, cutting down foes right and left. He could see Gregor Clegane hammering at his men, swinging his monstrous greatsword with one hand and directing his horse with the other. Myles soon came against a knight in a spiked helm on his way to the Mountain. He fought him as well, their horses dancing round each other as they traded blow for blow. When the knight lost his reins to control his horse, Myles shoved his sword through the visor of his helm. When he pulled his sword out, it was drenched with blood to the hilt and the lifeless body of the knight sagged off the saddle to be overrun by dozen of raging hooves. He saw an arrow find a guardsman rushing for him, striking right at the throat of the man. When he opened his mouth to scream, only blood came out. By the time he fell, Myles moved to fight again someone else.

He moved off from the swing of a morningstar and turned his horse back. As the rider turned to come back at him, swinging his morningstar, Myles swung his sword while ducking down low against the neck of his garron. His blade caught the charging horse in the throat with a meaty thunk, angling upward, and Myles almost lost his grip as the animal screamed and collapsed. He managed to wrench the sword free and hold his seat in the saddle. The other rider was less fortunate. Horse and rider crashed to the ground in a tangle. Myles trotted back to the fallen knight and lowered his sword. "Yield," the fallen knight cried. "Mercy."

And just like that he went in search for another foe. All around him the battle was raging. Men were fighting in the streets and alleys, even on the rooftops. The septons were still ringing the bells, letting the townfolk know that the battle was not done yet. He saw Richard unhorsed, fighting the manticore knight on the roof of the Peach and kicked him roughly off the roof with a loud thud. When the manticore knight landed upon the ground, the sound could be heard even over the loud chaos of battle.

After that, things ran together. The dusk was full of shouts and screams and heavy with the scent of blood, and the world had turned to chaos. Arrows hissed past his ear and clattered off the armours and stone alike. Myles moved on to the center of the battlefield where the fighting was thick and intense, sliding his horse smoothly in between the rush of riders and darting out his sword to hew at the arms and heads of passing enemies.

More men were mounting up every moment. And others were being unhorsed. There was only one way to decide this battle. He could still see the Mountain clear in the sea of men. He looked a giant among children, fighting his men.

Soon enough Myles came against the Mountain that Rides. His longsword was no match for the monstrosity Clegane held. Each of Gregor Clegane's strikes were hammering against his sword and it sent vibrations down right to his bones. It was all he could do to not lose the grip on his sword. If he did, he was done for good. He danced around the Mountain for a while, of how long he couldn't say for sure. The Mountain had it hard to swing his enormous sword with just one hand and his control on his mount was waning as well. Myles has his sword hit Clegane more than once but Gregor was totally covered in steel that his hits meant nothing to him. He was still fighting him when a ground shaking roar split the evening air.

A shadow rippled across his face.

The tumult and the shouting died. Twelve thousand voices stilled. Every eye turned skyward. A warm wind brushed Myles' cheeks, and above the beating of his heart he heard the sound of wings. The men fighting around him dashed for shelter. Even Ser Gregor Clegane froze where he stood.

Above them all the dragon turned, dark against the sun. His scales were green, his eyes and horns and spinal plates polished bronze. Upon its back sat Prince Aegon steering his dragon. The green dragon flapped his wings once as he swept back above the sands, and the sound was like a clap of thunder. The men raised their heads, watching in terror and wonder alike... and flame engulfed them, green fire shot with bronze. Myles felt the wash of heat thirty feet away. The dying scream of men sounded so harsh in his ears. He must have burned some of my men as well, Myles thought bitterly.

Everywhere men sought to get away from the dragon and not all of them did. The green dragon was as deadly with its teeth and claws as it was with its fire. It was quick on the ground as well, making short work of anyone who had hopes of escaping out the gates of the town.

Soon the dragonfire started to burn the buildings of the town as well. Hundreds of the Mountains riders died in a single stroke and Ser Gregor Clegane ran, broke before Aegon Targaryen and his green dragon.