Garlan
Garlan Tyrell woke up in darkness to the blare of trumpets. His squire was already stirring up in his bed, clutching for any arms to be had.
Hastily, he sat up and threw back the blanket. The horns called through the dawn, wild and urgent, a cry that said hurry hurry hurry. He heard shouts, the clatter of spears, the whicker of horses, though nothing yet that spoke to him of fighting. "The watch guard's trumpets," he told his squire in general. "Run out, Josh. Get the Lords for battle assembly. Lord Hoster has finally found the time to fight us."
His squire looked at him with wide white eyes. After a moment though the boy ran out of the tent putting on his tunic and boots.
Groaning, Garlan lurched to his feet and pushed his way to the basin and splashed the water over his face. Wisps of pale fog drifted through the morning light, long white fingers off the river. Outside men and horses blundered through the chill of dawn; saddles were being cinched, wagons loaded, fires extinguished. The trumpets blew again: hurry hurry hurry. Knights vaulted onto snorting coursers while men-at-arms buckled their sword belts as they ran.
When his squire came back, the boy was panting heavily. "Did you tell the lords?" he asked. The boy nodded hastily. Garlan gave him a smile and a light pat on his shoulder. "Good lad. Now get my armor," he said, "and be quick about it." Ser Tanton Fossoway was the first one to come trotting out of the mists, already armored and ahorse, shield in hand. His shield bore the red apple of House Fossoway of Cider Hall, and his yellow cloak was fastened with gold and garnets in the shape of an apple. "Do you know what's happened?" Garlan asked him.
"Lord Hoster stole a march on us," Ser Tanton said. "He crept down by the Red Fork in the night, and now his host is less than a mile north of here, forming up in battle array."
Hurry, the trumpets called, hurry hurry hurry.
"Get Edgerran and Arys. Parmen Crane and the others as well. See that the our knights are ready to form." He ducked back inside his tent. He rummaged through his chests and took out his padded green doublet with the rose of Tyrell stitched upon the front. Garlan pulled on his leather breeches boots as well.
By the time he was dressed, his squire had laid out his armor. A fine suit of heavy plate, expertly crafted and gilded gold as the golden rose of Highgarden. His greatcloak was sewn from green samite and was held in place by a matched pair of roses made of soft yellow gold nestled in a bed of delicate green jade leaves. His green cloak sported the twin roses as well. The green enameled lobstered greaves and gauntlets and bracers went on next, all ornate with gold vines filled with thorns and roses. The buckles and fastenings were all gilded as well.
Josh made a quick job with the buckles and clasps. "Get my sword and ready yourself as well," Garlan told his squire. The boy ran away to collect his sword.
He lowered his greathelm down over his head, and Josh fastened it to his gorget. Garlan buckled on his belt, heavy with the weight of longsword and dirk. By then his groom had brought up his mount, a formidable brown courser armored as heavily as he was and draped with a white cloth patterned with roses. Garlan leapt onto the horse with a certain ease. Josh handed him up his shield, a massive slab of heavy oakwood painted green with a pair of golden roses. Garlan swung up the shield in his saddle.
"Get your things and go meet Lord Buckler," Garlan told his squire. "He is to command the reserves." He unsheathed the sword, wheeled his horse about, and trotted off. Better the boy stay in the rear, Garlan thought. Should the battle turn sour for them he would have a greater chance of living in the rear than he had at the front lines. More chance for survival but less chance for glory as every young men aspired to win. No singers sang songs of men guarding the rear or defending the baggage train despite those actions were as important as those actions of a man who fights in the vanguard. A valiant deed unsung is no less valiant.
Behind, his servants hurriedly began to strike his tent. Pale crimson fingers fanned out to the east as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon. The western sky was a deep purple, speckled with stars.
A warhorn sounded in the far distance, a deep mournful note that chilled the soul. His men all climbed onto their garrons and coursers alike, shouting curses and other stuff. The rising sun was burning off the drifting tendrils of fog as Garlan led them off. What grass the horses had left was heavy with dew, as if some passing god had scattered a bag of diamonds over the earth. The mounted cavalry of Highgarden fell in behind him, for every knight there were ten men at arms.
In the dawn light, the army of Ser Garlan Tyrell unfolded like an iron rose, thorns gleaming.
His fellow lords were already shouting orders to the people around. Lord Edgerran Oakheart the Oakenshield, Lord of Old Oak was there with his youngest son Ser Arys by his side. The Fossoways had already come as well, Ser Tanton, Ser Edwyd and Ser Bryan from the red and Ser Jon from the green. Ser Parmen Crane and the Ambroses, Arthur and Edmund. Lord Warryn Beesbury, Lord of Honeyholt, Ser Hugh Beesbury Ser Leo Blackbar and dozen others.
"Has the men been readied for battle?" he asked them.
"Yes, Ser," Lord Edgerran said, a big and strong man, able and skilled with a sword. His once light brown hair had turned grey. It was well known throughout the Seven Kingdoms that it was Lord Randall Tarly and Lord Edgerran Oakheart who held a last stand against King Eddard Stark's northmen during the Battle of Wolfswood which had brought the precious time for King Rhaegar's army to safely retreat back and saved thousands of lives from being butchered that day. He was called the Oakenshield by the men ever since.
"Good," Garlan told him. "No time to go through the battle plans once again but the plans remain the same as we discussed last night. I will lead the van from the center. Lord Edgerran commands our right and Ser Taton our left."
"Aye, Ser." The lords all said at once.
Garlan thanked the gods that he had called for a war council last night. Elsewise they would have been in deep trouble right now. He had divided his host in three huge parts. Garlan would lead the center with some of the mounted knights and heavy cavalry forming up his vanguard. He had raised his standards in a good solid spot beside the red fork of the Trident. Quivers hanging from their belts, the foot archers arrayed themselves into three long lines, to east of their position in a high vantage point, and stood calmly stringing their bows. The pikemen formed squares in his centre; behind were rank on rank of men-at-arms with spear and sword and axe. Half a thousand heavy horse surrounded Garlan and some of the lords and knights Beesbury, Crane, and Blackbar with all their sworn retainers.
The right wing was all cavalry, some four thousand men, heavy with the weight of their armor. More than three quarters of the knights in his army were there, massed together like a great steel fist. Lord Edgerran Oakheart had the command. Garlan saw his banner unfurl as his standardbearer shook it out; three green oak leaves on gold. Behind him flew Lord Arthur Ambrose's red ants, the bull skull of Bulwer, the bountiful golden horn of House Merryweather, and more.
Beside the river were another mass of cavalry, light horses which were suitable to ride in the soft muddy banks of the river. Ser Tanton Fossoway had the command of it. Around him, the left wing had formed; a huge force, half mounted and half foot, five thousand strong. The reserves stayed behind where they had camped under the command of Lord Bulwer, another five thousand strong to help them should the battle turn sour.
Even from afar, his army would look strong and resplendent, he knew. The knights in all their flashing armors and their horses draped in different colors. There were plenty of banners fluttering about in the wind, the golden Rose of Tyrell most of them.
Garlan could hear the rumble of the foemen's drums now. He remembered the Battle at Tumbler's Falls, the first battle of this war Lord Stark had started. Garlan had won a great victory that day, smashing the Lords Vance and Piper and the host they had brought with them. He remembered how the crows had feasted on the victors and the vanquished alike after the war. He had also won other victories from the riverlords who had come to defend their lands. Of all the battles he had fought this would be the hardest. His scouts had informed him that Lord Hoster had corrected the mistakes of his son by calling back the riverlords Ser Edmure had sent away to defend their lands and people, to mass under the walls of Riverrun. He was only a days march away from meeting them beneath the walls of Riverrun but Lord Hoster had a better mind for war than his son it seems as he took advantage of the night march to fight them unawares.
The rivermen would be exhausted after their long sleepless march. Garlan wondered if Lord Hoster had thought to take them unawares while they slept? Small chance of that. He was no fool to set up camp without watchers and scouts.
The van was massing on the left between the left wing and the center bulk to fend off the enemy cavalry from exploiting the vulnerable position between the left wing and the block of pikemen. He saw the golden rose of House Tyrell flowing from a huge spear and his own his standard of twin roses next to it. Garlan lowered his visor and moved to the front followed by his knights and riders.
Garlan leaned over his horse. "Make it clear to the archers to loose as many shafts as they can before our army engages with theirs," he told the Beesbury knight beside him.
"Yes, Ser," the man replied.
He pointed to the high slopes to the east where the archers were massing. "We have the vantage. Bleed their front lines when they charge, once they come to blows with our own men target the footmen next and then the reserves if they can."
The knight left nodding; his dull grey armor passing through the mists and taking his orders back to the archers. Garlan used his blade to point men into their position. His sword a gleaming silver steel, castle-forged and sharpened to the edge which had served him well. "Ser Tanton," he shouted from his position to Fossoway on the left by the riverbank. "Hold the left lines at all costs."
To turn their flank, the Tullys would need horses that could run on water. The red fork seemed deep and swift to Garlan but he could not be sure. The Riverlords knew their river better than his own reachmen knew them.
Tanton Fossoway led his massed men toward the riverbank. He was pointing the river to his men with his sword. A blanket of pale mist still clung to the surface of the water, the murky green current swirling past underneath. The shallows were muddy and choked with reeds.
Garlan wheeled his own horse to meet his men once more before the battle. "Men of the reach," he called them. "Three moons ago we got a call from our king to come forth and defend his lands against a terrible rebel and outlaw in the North. When the call came it is us who came first in defence of our realm. Words fail me to express the admiration I have for you all and I am proud to be called as the Commander of such brave men. Every man here with me, from lords and knights to the grooms, all offered their own service in these trying times. I thank you for that and I have no other option but to ask you for more. Not everyone of us will go on to be marked in the pages of history or to be sung and praised in the songs, but know that a valiant deed unsung is no less valiant. Now I ask you to do some valiant deeds, not so you could go down in the pages of history or so you could be sung and praised as heros. I ask you to show the valor for your family, for your loved ones, so that they may sleep safe in bed knowing that you are there to protect them and defend their lands. Let the people of the Reach know that their men are there to save them no matter who the foes are. The descendants of Garth Greenhand were the first to come in this land and let it be known that we are the last ones to leave it."
A huge cry was taken up by his entire army and the entire Riverlands was seemed to be filled with it. Swords were being waved in the air and the pikemen thumped their pikes against shields making a bang. "Tyrell!" someone shouted. Others picked up the cry, and the archers on the far right and the Fossoway men on the left as well. His men rattled their swords and spears. "Tyrell! Highgarden! Garlan!"
Garlan turned his courser in a circle to look over the field. The ground was rolling and uneven here; soft and muddy near the river, rising in a gentle slope toward the east. A few trees spotted the eastern line, but most of the land had been cleared and planted. His heart pounded in his chest in time to the drums, and under his layers of leather and steel his brow was cold with sweat. He watched as the vanguard formed into their battle formation behind him.
Lances were being handed to the knights, their steel tips glinting in sunlight. Garlan took his place in the center of the front lines. He drew his sword and stayed there waiting.
The drums were so near that the beat crept under his skin and set his hands to twitching. And suddenly the enemy was there before them, boiling over the tops of the hills, advancing with measured tread behind a wall of shields and pikes. The cavalry line massed to the west by the river.
He looked at them, a great host of twenty five thousand, no less than that. Their captains led them on armored warhorses, standard-bearers riding alongside with their banners. The cavalry was massed to their left. Looking at them Garlan wondered if they were bigger than his own left wing which was made of light horses rather than the heavy ones. The light cavalry was good to maneuver and move in the soft muddy ground of the river but it was no match to the strength of a massed iron fist of heavy cavalry. He glimpsed the Blackwood banners of dead wierwood on a blackshield surrounded by ravens on scarlet field, the dancing maiden of the Pipers, the green weeping willow of House Ryger, Lord Bracken's red stallion, the black bats of Whent and others. The blue and mud red of House Tully was everywhere, the silver trout seeming to leap as the banners swirled and streamed from the high staffs. Where is Lord Hoster? Garlan wondered. He didn't know if he was with the cavalry or the footmen.
A warhorn blew. Haroooooooooooooooooooooooo, it cried, its voice as long and low and chilling as a cold wind from the north. His own trumpets answered, pa-PA pa-PA da-PAAAAAAAAA, brazen and defiant.
As the horns died away, a hissing filled the air; a vast flight of arrows arched up from his right, where the archers stood upon the eastern slopes. The rivermen broke into a run, shouting as they came, but the Tyrell arrows fell on them like hail, hundreds of arrows, thousands, and shouts turned to screams as men stumbled and went down. By then a second flight was in the air, and the archers were fitting a third arrow to their bowstrings.
The trumpets blared again, pa-PAAA pa-PAAA pa-PA pa-PA pa-PAAAAAAA. Garlan waved his sword above his head. "Lances at ready," he shouted. "For Highgarden!" Thousand other voices screamed back at him. He put his spurs to his horse and the van surged forward with him. "Tyrell! Highgarden!" he could hear people shout as they raced forward. The cavalry of the Tullys was not in their sight. He could not see them. He wondered if they were waiting for his cavalry to engage in the war in order to harry the bulk formation of pikemen at the center of his army in its flanks. He had massed his men, left both heavy cavalry and light cavalry on both sides of the phalanx, to protect the formation from any charge at their flanks. He could see that the footmen made the large part of the Tully army. If his van could smash the shield wall in the front lines, his own vanguard could rout them apart in no time leaving the iron fist under Ser Edgerran and the left wing under Ser Tanton to deal with the heavy cavalry of Riverrun. He was leading in the front when they broke a canter, his men following close behind him, lances now lowered at the enemy.
A crescent of enemy spearmen had formed ahead, a double hedgehog bristling with steel, waiting behind tall oaken shields marked with the silver trout of Tully. Garlan was the first to reach them, leading a wedge of his armored veterans. Half the horses shied at the last second, breaking their charge before the row of spears. The others died, sharp steel points ripping through their chests. Garlan saw a dozen men go down. His own courser reared, lashing out with iron-shod hooves as a barbed spearhead raked across his neck. Garlan controlled the beast with one arm, his sword at the other. He directed the horse to the spot where his knights had clashed against the wall and lunged the courser over the enemy ranks. Spears thrust at him from every side. Garlan used his sword to keep them away and cut down a couple of spearmen at the process. He got past the shield wall using the space the corpses he'd made provided. The rivermen stumbled away as he broke through their ranks.
Ser Parmen Crane came bursting through the gap before the shields could close, in his purple cloak and armor. The other knights soon followed behind him. Garlan shouted, "Follow me!" and his knights replied with a battle cry. He cut down a man who was trying to strike his horse down with a spear and knocked another rider down with a smack across his armor covered face. He could see a horse impaled on a Tully spear come crashing down with the knight on top of it. Garlan rode down a couple of footmen and then traded blows with a knight in the livery of House Bracken before slaying him by shoving his sword through the visor. A flight of arrows descended on them; where they came from he could not say, but they fell on Tully and Tyrell alike, rattling off armor or finding flesh. Garlan supposed it might have been Tully arrows as he had given strict orders not to engage once his men had met theirs in fear of slaying their own.
The hedgehog was crumbling, the northerners reeling back under the impact of the mounted assault. Garlan caught a spearman full in the chest as he came on at a run. His sword sheared through mail and leather and muscle and lungs. The man was dead in no time. He swung his sword hardly to knock an axe out of a men at arms' hands and cut him down.
By then another enemy was on him, and Garlan's sword leapt just in time to block the blade to his head. The knight was quick to continue his attacks, slashing at his head and chest and the horse alike. Garlan parried all his blows waiting for the right time and he did not have to wait for long. His sword caught the knight right on his helm and sent his reeling off his horse. A man-at-arms thrust at his chest and his sword lashed out, knocking the spear aside. The man raised his shield over his head. Garlan circled around him, raining blows down on the wood. Chips of oak went flying, until the man lost his feet and slipped, failing flat on his back with his shield on top of him. He was below the reach of Garlan's sword, so he left him there and rode after another man, taking him from behind with a sweeping downcut that sent a jolt of impact up his arm. That won him a moment of respite. Reining up, he looked for the river. Behind he could see the left wing having a hard fighting with the Tully cavalry. The Tullys had used their knowledge to ford the Red fork where it ran shallow to engage with the left wing. He hoped that Ser Tanton could hold them off lest they could be taken in the flanks and the rear. Oakenshield could not hope to leave his position in the right without leaving the west side vulnerable.
A Tyrell rider rode past, slumped against his horse. A spear had entered his belly and come out through his back. He was past any help.
Another man at arms met him sword in hand. He was tall and spare, wearing a long chainmail hauberk and gauntlets of lobstered steel, but he'd lost his helm and blood ran down into his eyes from a gash across his forehead. Garlan aimed a swipe at his face, but the tall man swept it aside. He turned in a circle as Garlan rode around him, hacking at his head and shoulders. Steel rang on steel. The knight grunted, chopping at him savagely. Garlan parried his sword away. He could see that this man was skilled with a sword. He let the swordsman come in close for the kill and knocked him hard against his unprotected head and put him down. "Well fought, Ser," he told quietly.
As he wrenched the blade free, he heard a shout. 'Tully!" a voice rang out. "For Tully and Riverrun!" The knight came thundering down on him, swinging the spiked ball of a morningstar around his head. Their warhorses slammed together. Garlan stopped the spikes with his shield. The spikes punched through the wood so hard that it chipped wood. The morningstar was circling again, catching right across the horse's face. The courser reared and dropped down, dying. Garlan got up from the ground uninjured and missing his shield. The knight who had felled him rode around him, swinging his morningstar around his head for a killing blow. Garlan followed him with his eyes. When the horse came close in front of him he quickly stepped aside, parried the swinging morningstar away and slashed at the beast's front legs as he brought his sword back.
His blade raked against the beast's chest and front legs and brought it down along with its rider. The horse fell away from him, crushing its rider beneath his its mass. The knight's leg was trapped.
"Do you yield?" Garlan asked him, his sword pointed at him.
"Yield," the knight replied. Fumbling at his belt with his good hand, he drew a sword and flung it at Garlan's feet. "I yield, my lord."
Garlan nodded and lifted up the blade. Pain hammered through his elbow when he moved his arm. The battle seemed to have moved beyond him. No one remained on his part of the field save a large number of corpses, both men he killed and his men killed by the Tullys. Ravens were already circling and landing to feed. He saw that the center had reached safely in support of the van; his huge mass of pikemen had pushed the rivermen back against the way they had come. They were struggling on the slopes, pikes thrusting against another wall of shields, these oval and reinforced with iron studs. As he watched, the air filled with arrows again, and the men behind the oak wall crumbled beneath the murderous fire. Lord Edgerran had reached with his mounted riders at the right time as well, sweeping over the surviving footmen and the remaining Tully riders who were fighting his vanguard.
Behind him the struggling at the riverbank was still happening at full force. A good force of riverland knights were still fighting with his vanguard. Only the Tully footmen were being pushed away but the battle was still raging. Garlan did not wait to find a horse but ran straight to where the fighting was still thick between both riders of Tyrell and Tully.
He cut down down the first men who came for him with a swing at his chest. Two more followed the first one as Garlan thrust his sword through the joint between the gorget and his breastplate and cleaved the face of the other. "Tyrell," told a knight in the red and blue armor of House Tully. A silver leaping trout was at the crest of his helmet. Lord Hoster, Garlan thought. The battle had somehow brought them together.
Garlan brought down his sword at Lord Tully's head. The Lord of Riverrun blocked his sword with his own already stained in blood. Garlan thought to overwhelm the Lord Paramount of Riverlands with the speed and strength of youth, raining blows upon blows against Lord Hoster's shield. He was fighting without a shield now and so leapt back quickly and gracefully to defence whenever Lord Tully's blade jumped up close to him. Garlan kept almost all his slashes at bay and landed quick hits to Lord Hoster's shoulder, arms and waist. The armor kept his sword at bay. He moved for the joints after that, pushing Tully back with a flurry of attacks and driving his sword right through the armpit. The sword missed thrusting right through the man but it drew blood and forced Lord Tully to lower his guard. Before he could deal with a killing blow though, two of Riverrun's guardsmen came to the defense of their lord, blocking Garlan's path to their Lord. Garlan cut down one and then the other and before he could reach Lord Tully again a knight with the weeping willow surcoat stopped him. Garlan tried his best to get past him, pressing on his attack but the knight blocked them all and held him off.
Around them Lord Edgerran Oakheart's iron fist had overwhelmed the Tully riders and sending them off from the field. When the Ryger knight saw his liege Lord was safe and away he took the reigns of the fleeing horse and left along with his fellow rivermen leaving off their duel with a murderous glare.
Oakenshield thundered across the field, the gold cloak of his streaming from his shoulders. Five hundred knights surrounded him, sunlight flashing off the points of their swords. The remnants of the Tully lines shattered like glass beneath the hammer of their charge.
"Get me a horse," Garlan shouted and some man at arms with the green cloak of the Tyrells brought him one. He ought to chase them and capture them before they could get back inside Riverrun. Before he could start the chase though, another warhorn sounded from the South. Ser Tanton, he knew at once, fighting by the river behind them. He risked letting his men die by giving the chase to the Tullys. If he went back to protect his men, the rivermen would be back safe behind their walls. The gods only knew how long it would be before he could starve them out with a siege. He looked at the fleeing men and then back at his own fighting to save their lives. Cursing, Garlan turned his horse around.
"Back to the river," he shouted and rallied his men around.
When they rode hard and joined the fight with Tanton Fossoway and the reserves under Lord Bulwer, the remaining of the Tully cavalry broke and ran. As the Tullys broke away and ran from the field a great cry split the air and Garlan Tyrell knew that the day was theirs.