Argella
Her father's host split at the Rainwood by the light of a golden dawn, uncoiling from behind the log palisades they had set up to guard their camps at night like a long, steel serpent emerging from its nest.
Her father's knights rode out in plate and mail, dinted and scarred by the battles they had fought, but still bright enough to glitter when they caught the rising sun. Faded and stained, sodden with wet, their banners and surcoats still made a riot of colors amidst the Rainwood-azure and orange, red and green, purple and blue and gold, glimmering amongst green moss covered trunks, grey-green pines and sentinels, the fallen autumn leaves. Each knight had his squires, servants, and men-at-arms. Behind them came armorers, cooks, grooms; ranks of spearmen, axemen, archers; grizzled veterans of a hundred battles and green boys off to fight their first. Before them marched the great Lords of the Stormlands; lords and champions astride armoured destriers, their valiant fighters trotting beside them, clad in shining armours and boiled leather and old mail. Back of the main column the baggage train followed: smaller than the one which stayed with the camp under the command of her uncle. Her father had brought only a little of provisions to hasten up his march. The great part of the mules, horses, oxen, a mile of wayns and carts laden with food, fodder, tents, and other provisions were left with uncle Stannis who led the largest part of the army. Lastly came the rear guard-more knights in plate and mail, with a screening of outriders following half-hidden to make certain no foe could steal up on them unawares.
The huge host of the Stormlanders split into three. Her father led the huge part of the cavalry with the mounted knights off to the west to the Howling Hill. The bulk of the army, with five thousand cavalry and four times as much infantry was led by her uncle Stannis. Uncle Renly rode North with Lords Fell, Errol and Buckler and they were riding forth straight for the reach army who would fight them soon. Her father had given them command to harass the reachmen and to subtly push them towards the Howling Hill where the Baratheon brothers had planned to meet them in battle. All three contingents of the army held a great duty on their shoulders and her father had made the risky gamble of splitting his host into three seperate parties to meet the huge host of the Reach which outnumbered his massed army.
Argella Baratheon rode in the host led by her father, dressed in her black armoured leather jerkin, black pants attached with knee and shin guards and finished the attire with fine black boots. She topped off the Baratheon black that day and it fit well with her dark hair which she had styled in a simple braid over one shoulder.
Her mother had been so against her marching for battle but Argella had no choice but to go and help her father with her knowledge about underground caverns she'd found. Joffrey had been chosen first to lead the way but then her brother had spoiled everything by hiding behind mother and muttering stupidly that he had somehow forgotten the way. Not that Argella minded marching with the army, rather she loved it very much and she had always wanted to do that. For that she ought to thank her brother over everyone. If it was not for Joff, she would have been forced to stay back with mother in the camp.
Trumpets saw the column on its way. Spearpoints shone in the light of the rising sun, and all along the verges the grass glistened with the morning dew. Between their camp and the Howling Hill lay some twenty leagues of forest. Her uncle Stannis would march straight for the southern hill to meet the reachmen. "Three days," the knights told each other.
It would not be the same for Ella and the host she was supposed to lead.
"Tarly will not fight on our terms," Uncle Stannis had advised her father the night the battle plans were drawn in her father's pavilion. Her father had once suffered a minor defeat at the hands of Randyll Tarly at Ashford before she had born. "He will not come deep into the woods knowing that we'll know the woods better than his own men."
"Neither will we on his terms," declared her father. "We'll move by the cover of the forest away from him, luring him here." He pointed to the Howling Hill painted on the map which was set before him. "This is where you came across the Tarly foragers?" He asked Joff.
Joffrey seemed unsure and still shaken from the near dead experience he had come across at the end of their adventure. "I don't know father," he admitted, lips trembling.
Robert Baratheon regarded his youngest son with cold blue eyes. "Damn it, boy," he said. "Don't you even know the lands you walk upon?"
Even uncle Stannis grinded his teeth in disapproval. Mother tried to shield Joff as always. "Stop it, Robert," she said. "We don't need him to remember every single tree or cave in these lands."
"Seven hells, woman," Lord Robert said banging his fist against the table. "It is your guarding that keeps on spoiling him."
Joff was in the verge of crying Argella could see. Before he let the tears fall and make a fool out of himself before the proud Stormlords, Argella let herself be known to save her little brother from further mockery. "Yes, we saw them there father," she told him. "They were telling that they were not so far away from Lord Tarly and the Princess upon her dragon."
"Right," her father told her. "And do you remember the way there?"
"I do," she said.
"Good." Her father eyed her brother and then back to her. Joff looked at her as if she had caused all that.
"So we will push the reachmen here and fight them at the Hill." Her father pointed to the small painted arrowheads on the map which indicated the Howling Hill.
Uncle Stannis looked at the map. "This might work," he said after a moment. "If we could push Tarly to the Hill, his huge numbers would almost be useless. And with the help of the caverns. . ."
And so the plan had been approved by her lord father. Here they were now, the huge host splitting into three.
Argella rode with the lady Brienne of Tarth who was the only woman besides her in the army. Despite her attempts to get to know more about the lady warrior, Brienne stayed strangely silent. Ella should not have been surprised. The homely young woman had kept to herself all through their journey, spending most of her time with her father or the horses, brushing out their coats and pulling stones from their shoes. Any task her liege or her father asked her to turn her hand to, Brienne had performed deftly and without complaint, and when she was spoken to she answered politely, but she never chattered, nor wept, nor laughed. She had ridden with them every day and slept among them every night without ever truly becoming one of them.
Gendry only had good things to say about her. Her brother told her about Lady Brienne's valour at Griffin's Roost when he had led his men over the walls to open the gates for father and his army.
Ella hummed a tune as she rode to keep her company. The Rains of Castamere caught her fancy that morning as a half-Lannister.
"There was always a singer at Evenfall Hall when I was a girl," Brienne said quietly when she heard her tune. "I learned all the songs by heart."
"My septa pushed that I do the same, though I never found any interest in songs." It was song of steel she preferred over courtly songs and the comfort of her bow and arrow to the needle.
Brienne said, "I remember a woman . . . she came from some place across the narrow sea. I could not even say what language she sang in, but her voice was as lovely as she was. She had eyes the color of plums and her waist was so tiny my father could put his hands around it. His hands were almost as big as mine." She closed her long, thick fingers, around the reins of the horse.
"Did you sing for your father?" Ella asked.
Brienne shook her head, staring down at groud as if to find some answer in the mud and moss.
"For Uncle Renly?"
The girl reddened. "Never, I, didn't, and I . . . "
She had known that Lady Brienne was madly in love with her uncle Renly. She could see it written all over her, in her eyes or the way she felt uncomfortable in the presence of Renly. Argella smiled lightly. "Don't worry, Lady Brienne, your secret is safe with me."
Brienne looked at her with her big blue eyes full of sincere. "Thank you, my lady."
"Please call me Argella."
"I can't, my lady," Brienne said. "It would be proper. . ."
"Do you see me care about propriety?" Ella said. "I call my father as father before his Lords, call my brothers by their names rather than their titles. I prefer my name over that of the Lady before it."
"If you insist then, I'll address you thusly, my la- Argella."
Argella smiled. "You ought to teach me some of the songs you know."
"I . . . please, I have no gift." Brienne looked down nervously.
"Well, I was not so gifted at learning songs as well," Ella admitted. "Perhaps you could teach me how to fight. Gendry tells me that you are so good at that."
"My Lord is so gracious," Brienne said. "I only did as much as any man would do."
"More so than any man as I'd heard of it," Ella said.
"It was hardly a heroic deed, my lady," Brienne said. "Your brother did most of that. He was very much like Lord Robert in that."
Ah, yes, the good old comparison of her father and her brother. She has heard that ever since she could understand her letters and words. Gendry this, Gendry that, a great warrior, notorious and deadly like her father. All the while, she had been compared to her mother, soft and sweet in silks, the fairest maid of the realm. Even when she had preferred leather to silks and a bow to harp, the similarities with her mother kept coming, mostly from the singers who sought to win gifts from her father and the young knights who sought to win her favour. She could be more like her father too, given the chance. She had won knighthood from her father, the first woman to ever do so. But those actions never captured the hearts of men as much as her beauty did.
"He is," Argella admitted. "Did your father teach you to fight as well?"
"Ser Goodwin taught me what I know," Brienne said. "He was the master-at-arms at Evenfall Hall. He was a good man."
"Your father must really love you to let you practice swordplay," Argella told her. "My father is the same as well. He knighted me, you see. Perhaps I could ask him to knight you as well. You deserve it and so do your father for raising such a fine woman."
"He does," Brienne said.
"Do you have any brothers?" Ella asked her companion.
"No," Brienne's blue eyes filled with grief. Argella could see her pain in her eyes and the sudden slack of her strong shoulders. "He deserves that. A strong and gallant son to bring honor to his name. A daughter too, who could sing to him and grace his hall and bear him grandsons. My brother Galladon drowned when I was four and he was eight, though, and Alysanne and Arianne died still in the cradle. I am the only child the gods let him keep. The freakish one, not fit to be a son or daughter."
"That's not true," Argella declared at once. She was angry beyond reason. Why would anyone call a person freak just because they were not easy in the eye. She hated it. She knew people called her uncle Tyrion ugly and mean names. It enraged her beyond any reason. "You are the pride of your father else he wouldn't have brought you here in the midst of these great lords. You should not bother with the people who would think less of you." Suddenly she remembered what uncle Tyrion had once told her about a lesson he'd learned in life. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."
A little bit of light had returned to Brienne's eyes. "Thank you, my lady," she said. "You're so kind. No one has shown any kindness towards me. Thank you for caring."
"Its Ella. My name's Argella."
The army covered twenty-two miles the first day, by the reckoning of the guides who lived in the Rainwood, trackers and hunters sworn to Storm's End, Felwood and Amberly with clan names like Rain and Woods, Moss and Hale. The second day the host made twenty-four and reached the caves she had founded. As their vanguard passed through the caves into the caverns of the Children of the Forest, Argella rode at the head of them along with her father and brother at the head of the vanguard. She called Lady Brienne to ride with her. The lady warrior was unsure of it but Ella insisted and finally got Brienne to ride with her.
When she had brought them halfway to the other side, the army stopped to rest in the vast hall from where she had heard the voices of the Tyrell outriders when she had come here before with her brother. The horses were watered from the underground streams and pools and they supped on the supplies they had brought with them. Argella brought Brienne to her father's camp for supper. Brienne was the only daughter of Lord Selwyn and his heir, and it was only right to sit her on Lord Robert's own table, where he supped with his captains and commanders.
No pavilion was erected in the cave as they were safe from the rain. Her father sat on the ground with his men around a fire, talking with them and laughing. He seemed to be at home there, sitting there sharing jokes. There was no hard lines creasing his forehead when he would hold court and settle disputes. A huge leg of an aurochs was suspended over the nightfire, spitting and cracking and the dark cavern was washed alight with swirls of flame.
A dozen men were sitting with her father when she came with Brienne. High Lords and champions of the Stormlands. They were sharing some war stories as she let herself be known.
". . . Lord Robert smashed Ser Quentin Tyrell and the first line but was then repelled by Tarly," Lord Cafferan was saying. "Tarly killed my Lord father that day. I burn to avenge my father. I will challenge Lord Tarly to single combat. Mace or axe or longsword, makes no matter. I will avenge my father."
"Aye," the men roared.
That was then her father found her. "Argella, my dear daughter, come join us."
The lords all bowed their heads. "Father," she said. "I've brought a friend."
"Lady Brienne," her father said. "Any child of Lord Selwyn is welcome in my heart and hearth."
Some of the knights eyed Brienne in her armour queerly but when they saw the stormy blue eyes of Argella they were quick to avert their gaze with a quick smile. They supped that night on meat and a thick venison stew. Each man got a heel of bread and a chunk of black sausage with the meat and stew as well.
The stories and talks continued late into the night. "We shall repay Tarly in kind for what happened in Ashford. He is in our lands now," said Lord Guyard Morrigan.
"Aye," the Stormlords said in unison.
"With the way shown us by the Lady Storm we will march for victory." Lord Hugh Grandison raised his cup.
"For victory!" The others took up his toast and raised their own cups and tankards. "For Victory."
She could not help but feel astonished at the trust they all had placed in her. The weight of her duty hung hard on her shoulders. Like her father and brother and uncles, she too had a important job now in leading these men to either victory or to doom. to went to one knee before him. And for Argella Baratheon bringing these men out of the treacherous caverns seemed to be a more important duty than marrying the Dragonslayer.
Somewhere ahead Lord Tarly awaited them in the lands around Howling Hill, but he did not have to wait so long as the descendants of the Sea God and the Goddess of the Wind were coming for him.
Davos
It was still a long way from the Misty Wood to Howling Hill. A couple of days or more. "Would that we were ravens," Lord Ian Mertyns said on the fourth day of the march, the day the rain began to fall. Only a small drizzle at first. Cold and wet, but nothing they could not push through easily.
But it rained again the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. The bright banners of the Stormlords of Stannis Baratheon hung limply in the pikes, sodden with wet. Before long the ground ahead of the column was muddied, making the march slow and twice as long. The wet muddy road concealed stones and twisted roots and deadfalls, turning every step into an adventure. The wind picked up as well, driving the rain to the north.
Lord Stannis' host welcomed the rain, thinking it as a token of victory from the Sea God of the legends in Stormlands. To Davos the smuggler it was just the start of something big. He had spent a great deal of his time in the seas to make out a storm when he saw one. While the drizzle could never be called a storm or even a strong wind, but he knew that those winds and storm were not so far.
On the sixth day of the march, the Baratheon host began to come apart. Whilst the Stormlords and their knights pushed forth in the lands they hail from, the long baggage train with all the mules and horses and wagons and wayns struggled in the muddy road. While the palfreys and destriers led by the men were sure-footed and deft, and the men who rode them were at home in the rain, the mules and garrons in the rear felt it hard with the mud and rain.
The vanguard under Ser Gawen Wylde soon began to outdistance the rest of the host. The knights in the main column under Ser Andrew Estermont was the next to leave the rear. And meanwhile, the wayns and wagons of the baggage train were falling farther and farther behind, so much so that the men of the rear guard under Ser Harrold Rogers constantly chivvying them to keep up a faster pace.
On the seventh day of the march to Howling Hill, the baggage train crossed a five feet wide stream in the Misty Wood with the mud brown water concealing the true depth of the river. When the middle of the baggage train which consisted of the heavy loads of salted beef, pulled forth by mules entered the river, the wheel broke beneath the weight of the wagons as it rolled over the uneven ground of rock, four mules and a couple of teamsters were swallowed up by the water, along with two of the guardsmen sworn to Lord Staedmon who tried to rescue them. Another horse broke his ankle as he slipped in a net of roots hidden in the mud and they had to leave another wagon of supplies since it couldn't get into a narrow road. Stannis ordered for the essentials to be packed onto the other smaller wagons still half of the supplies were left alone in the deserted wagon.
That was the day that Davos first heard the argument boiling in Stannis Baratheon's host about the march.
"We ought to settle until the roads are clear and fit for riding," Ser Corliss Penny said.
"Too late," insisted Ser Richard Horpe, the lean tall knight who was the second-in-command of the center. "Lord Renly has been harassing and pushing Tarly to take a strong position in the Howling Hill to save himself from further ambushes. We ought to make a quick march to Howling Hill and take a vantage position before Randyll Tarly does that."
"The Sea God and the Goddess of the Wind is angry with us," said pious Ser Bonifer Hasty. "Only the Seven can help us win this battle now."
Stannis said nothing. But he heard. Davos was certain of that. He sat atop his horse, listening calmly. When the argument only worsened Lord Stannis had to intervene to get them back in line. He raked them all with a look. "You chatter like magpies, and with less sense. I will have quiet." His eyes fell on Davos. "Ser. Ride with me." He spurred his horse away from his followers.
Davos saw the looks that passed between the lordlings as he rode past them to join the king. These were no up jumped smugglers or onion knights, but proud men from houses whose names were old in honor. Somehow he knew that Robert or Renly would have never chided them in such a fashion. The second born Baratheon had sadly lacked the gift for easy courtesy that both his brothers had.
He eased back to a slow trot when his horse came up beside his lord's. "My lord." Seen at close hand, Stannis looked worse than Davos had realized from afar. His face had grown haggard, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He could see the weight of his duty hanging upon him like a heavy armour.
"A smuggler must be a fair judge of lands and weather," Stannis said. "What do you make of this rain and wind?"
"A gust compared to the storms you and this land has seen," said Davos carefully.
"A gust of disobedience and doubt, I call it. Those knights would have me turn back on my duty in favour of their comforts." He snorted in derision.
"More like they are desperate. Perhaps we ought to maintain a stable march now with the roads hidden and forgotten."
"I would have none of it. Robert has given me orders and it is my duty to obey him. Same as it is the duty of my men to obey me." Stannis brooded on that for a moment. Under the steady clop-clop of hooves, Davos could hear the faint sound of his lord grinding his teeth. "Renly sends word that he's been bleeding Tarly and the advance elements of his host as they made their way through the Misty Wood. Along with Lords Fell, Errol and Buckler, he's ambushed the reachmen enough at different points of the wood cutting down more than a thousand men. He tells me that Tarly is moving north and east towards the Howling Hill as we had planned to keep off further ambushes. Robert will be on his way with that daughter of his and will have no big trouble in doing so. I'll not have it said that I lost the battle for my brother's by failing to do my duty. Great or small we must all do our duty."
"You know these lands better than I do, my lord," Davos said. "You are of this land and so are these lords who are sworn to you. If your men are troubled by this storm then no doubt those reachmen must be troubled more so than you do."
"My lords believe that it will only get worse."
It was. It was going to get worse. Davos could feel it in his bones. But the Onion knight had vowed always to tell his lord the truth and serve him. "I think the weather is a fickle thing, my lord. Even if it turns harsher, I think it is nothing compared to those others the Stormlands has seen."
"Davos, I have missed you sorely," Stannis Baratheon said. "Aye, I have a huge duty to bear on my shoulders. My brother has ordered me to do it for the honour of our House and our very lives. As my men they have the fair share of fulfilling my duty as well. If only they were willing to follow me as you are, we would be there in time to smash Lord Tarly from the slopes of Howling Hill."
"You reproach yourself, my lord. These great Lords still follow you despite the desperate times."
"Aye, it seems like they are." Stannis smiled grimly. "But none as strongly as you do." His lord and master left him alone with just the words and rode on.
When the shout came down the line to make camp for the night, it was no easy thing to warm yourself. The tents were damp and heavy, hard to raise and harder to take down. Stannis Baratheon's host was creeping through the heart of the largest forest in the south, yet dry wood became difficult to find. It was always wet in the Rainwood but now though things were much worse. Every camp saw fewer fires burning, and those that were lit threw off more smoke than heat.
Peasebury, Selmy, Tarnt, and other lords urged the king to make camp until the storm had passed. Stannis would have none of that.
By the ninth day of the continuous rainfall, the outriders of Ser Gawen Wylde finally came into the Lord's pavilion to let Stannis know that they had come upon the Howling Hill only to see the reachmen who had already made their camps in the hill.
"Prepare the battle formations," Stannis said. And it was done. The main cavalry was split into two large divisions to protect their flanks. The left side was given under the command of Ser Andrew Estermont and the right was given to Ser Richard Horpe.
The infantry men were massed behind the cavalry ranks. Armed with spears and pikes and swords and mace and shields, they formed the bulk of the host of Stannis Baratheon. As always Lord Stannis took command of the rear, with a combined force five thousand strong, half mounted knights and half infantry men.
Unlike his lords and knights, Stannis Baratheon did not wear any fancy armour flashing to the eyes. He dressed for battle rather plainly in a mailshirt reinforced with plates on the chest linked over the chain mail. The steel plates on the mailshirt were attached together with large chainmail rings. On the torso the big breastplate extended from his chest to lower waist to protect his chest and abdomen while smaller plates ran down either side from the shoulders to his thighs. The crowned stage of House Baratheon was inlaid on the grey plate over his chest. A plain black leather belt encircled Stannis's waist from which hang his sword and dagger.
A steady rain had started to fall again that morning as the Baratheon men arrayed for battle. They had finally arrived in sight of the Howling Hill, by mid day. Lord Renly had joined his strength with Ser Gawen's vanguard and was waiting for them. They had been slow enough, the rains slowing the march down to a crawl at some days. Now they had finally come only to see the banners of the reachmen flying off from the slopes of the Howling Hill, the red dragon and the golden rose of the Tyrell were the most prominent of them. There were others as well, the huntsman of Tarly and the goldentree of Rowan. Lord Randyll had taken the strong position on the Howling Hill and dug in there on the high ground waiting for the Stormlanders. He sat in a commanding position for several leagues around the hill.
Davos looked up at the sky and land alike, searching for the dragon. The black beast was no where to be found. Though he could not be relieved at that. Could it be a trap? Has Lord Tarly set up for an ambush of his own. His hands reached for the leather pouch where he had kept his luck along with his fingerbones. By then the steady rainfall had turned into a howling gale. And as he had feared, the storm which had been threatening for days finally struck the Stormlands.
"My lord," Lord Brus Wensington said with a uncertain look at his face. "It's wise if we delay our attack to the next day. The storm and rain might subside. And we don't know if Lord Robert has arrived yet."
Stannis paid him no mind. "Our battles are well drawn up. Our armies are massed into formations. Why wait for tomorrow?" he said. "The rain is blowing from the South into the faces of the Targaryen men on their hills. They will be half blind by the rain. Sound the advance."
Stannis donned his glove and mounted his horse. Trumpents blared and warhorns boomed but they were soon drowned out by the howling winds. Davos followed his lord and stayed by his side in the reserves.
As the host of Stannis Baratheon moved steadily towards the hill in perfect formation despite the raging storm, the reachmen on the slopes were struggling in the blinding rain.
When his vanguard under his brother Renly and Ser Gawen Wylde crept close to the slopes of the hill, Stannis gave his command to attack. Lord Wensington sounded his trumpets. The three wings of heavily armoured knights charged in unison and maintained line as the rode uphil agains the Tarly host. The heavy rain and storm made the enemy archers useless and the knights of Stannis found less opposition as they charged against the ranks of the enemy.
Despite being taken unawares, the reachmen held their lines. Lord Tarly ordered his pikemen to create a indestructible shield wall. Lord Renly and his knights found their opposition against them and fared less than the infantry men. Their charge broke upon the Tarly shields.
Davos could see them turning back to the base of the hill. Lord Renly led them. Once he reached the even ground, he wheeled the knights around and led them back up the slopes for the second charge. The Baratheons didn't have much luck the second time as well. The
slopes of the Howling Hill were steep and the rains had turned the ground soft and muddy, so the warhorses struggled and foundered, and the charges lost all
cohesion and momentum.
Thirce more Renly Baratheon and his knights tried to break the ranks of the Tarly men and they were repelled every time. The knights had taken some losses trying to break the shieldwall as well. The cavalry attempt to break the shieldwall was failing. Stannis saw that as well.
"Get them to retreat," he said to Lord Wensington. "Signal Lord Selmy to take our own infantry men for close combat."
Lord Wensington signalled with his trumpets and some of his men sounded their own trumpets as well. From the Hill and the base the trumpets of the fellow Stormlords answered them.
When the sounds had settled, Lord Renly, Ser Andrew and Ser Richard brought their knights back down to the base of the Hill to form up behind the infantry unit which had started to move up the hill.
The pikemen of Stannis Baratheon under the command of Lord Arstan Selmy fared better than the cavalry. The spearmen and the common men-at-arms climbed up the hills without sounding the warhorns or the booming of the drums to announce their arrival. Blinded by the rain, the invaders could not see them climbing until it was too late. Lord Arstan fought in the front lines valiantly with his men but the Tarlys held the lines despite everything they threw at them. The entire shield wall seemed immovable.
That fighting lasted long and Stannis let the infantry men engage while his armoured knights gathered his strength. Stannis Baratheon himself never rested as he watched intently for a opportunity to break through. Davos stood by his side, watching the battle with his lord.
Soon the men from the Stormlands started to push the reachmen back. Blinded by the rain and unused to fighting in such a raging storm, the Tarlys started to give ground. Davos could see the stormlanders advance on certain positions of the hill. Stannis must have seen them as well.
"Rally the knights," he shouted over the storm, drawing his sword. "We ride in one more charge, the last charge. Follow me."
He waited for no one as he kicked his horse to a gallop and charged, sword in hand. Davos followed his lord as ever, his own sword in his left hand. He grabbed the pouch with his fingerbones for luck and followed his liege. The entire cavalry followed behind, Lord Renly racing forth in his shining green armour, Ser Andrew in his jeweled breastplate and Ser Richard Horpe with his moth's head shield. All the knights and warriors under their command followed with a thundering shout as well.
Warhorns souded and trumpets blared and the ranks of the Stormlands infantry split in time to make way for the armoured might of the knights to pass. Lord Stannis had picked the right spot for his charge, as he slammed his warhorse against a half locked shield in the ranks of reachmen the shield wall broke. And in the sixth and final charge of the Lord Stannis and his knights broke through the Tarly center.
No longer did they break through the ranks of men, they soon met with the heavy cavalry of the reach, a sea of armoured horses and knights. Davos found himself in the thick of the battle. He saw Stannis dismounting knights as he rode past them. He made a way for him through the sea of horses with his sword. He was holding two knights at bay when a third one emerged behind him. Davos rode hard to protect his lord. He thought of nothing but to stop the man and he did. Before he could strike down Lord Stannis, he cut off the man's arm sword and all. Before he could gather his mind back from the kill another man slashed at him from the ground. Davos rode him down and turned only to see another knight wearing a golden rings crossed on his armour coming for him. Davos ducked under his sword and slashed at his mount and sent him tumbling down.
The struggling in the Howling Hill didn't give way to either armies. The Stormlords never backed down the slopes and Lord Tarly never gave any ground. Both armies were completely engaged in the battle that when the warhorns sounded from the top of the Hill echoed by rumbling thunder the men stopped the fighting at once to look up at the peak.
There in the peak Davos could see a man holding a sodden golden banner flapping in the wind. As the lightning flashed again and lightened up the whole hill the black stag of House Baratheon could be seen even from far down.
When he saw the antlered god amidst the lightning lit sky, Davos muttered a quiet thanks to the Seven grabbing his pouch of fingerbones. When the thunder rumbled again, Lord Robert rode down with his men heralded by thunder and storms.
"Robert! Robert! Robert!" the roar of the name filled the air and the storm which had fallen to the Targaryens in the Last Storm centuries before had finally arisen.
Robert
In the distance Robert heard another great crash of the thunder. Above the hill, the darkening sky was awash with sheets of blue and violet light. How long has Stannis been fighting? Thankfully his daughter had brought them right in time.
Looking at the battle raging down in the slopes, Robert could only think of one thing. This is what I was made for, he thought. This is for Ned. "Are you ready?" Robert asked his son beside him.
"As ready as I could ever be," Gendry replied. His son put up his polished helm and drew his hammer.
Robert had never been more proud of the boy than he was at the moment. He turned back to see his men pouring out of the caverns. They had stayed hidden in a cavernous hall near the top of the hill to stay away from the eyes of any scouts who might come swooping over the hill making sure that no army's been waiting to ambush them. Robert had placed several groups of men throughout the peak hidden in caves and grottos to alert him once the battle started. He had not thought the storm to leave him stranded and blind from the battle happening down in the slopes. He thanked the gods and the sharp eyed archers from the marches who notified him of the battle happening down.
"Let your magic fly, sweetling," he told his daughter.
Argella had taken command of the band of archers of the marcher lords, Bryce Caron and Gulian Swann. From the safety of the cave they let loose their arrows in the downwind bloodying the men fighting beneath. Twice more Argella and her archers let their arrows loose right with the downwind. The screams of men and horses followed.
When the reachmen had been bloodied enough with the arrows, Robert gave the command. "Form up!" he shouted, wheeling. "Spearhead!" he roared. "Form wedge, we ride. Down the south face for the foes!"
Their charge started in a trot. "Ours is the Fury!" Robert roared and a thunder echoed his words. Roaring and screaming his men followed him downhill.
They were at the gallop by the time they reached halfway to their foes. When a low stone ridge thrust up before him, he kicked his horse and the destrier took him over graceful like a streaming silk. There were riders to his right and left now, his son beside him. They plunged down the hillside at a run, through the falling rain drops and howling winds and the swords of foes. Horses stumbled and rolled, men were swept from their saddles, torches spun through the air, axes and swords hacked at men and beasts alike. Next to him a rider came crashing down in a tangle of steel and leather and screaming horseflesh.
He was in the middle of the flying spearhead with his knights on either side. The Tarlys stood their ground and were ridden down and trampled underhoof. They swept aside the Targaryen spearmen and shattered their ranks. Then there were men all about them, and the battle raged once more.
He vaulted over the horse, landing on the ground below with his golden cloak billowing behind him. It would be difficult to fight on a horse in the slopes of the steep hill. The Tarlys drew back, as men always did at the sight of Robert Baratheon armed and armoured, his face hidden behind his great antlered helm. They were clutching swords and spears and axes, but nine of every ten wore no armor, and the tenth had only a mail shirt or a coat of plates.
"Targaryen!" one man shouted. "For Rhaegar!"
Robert smashed his chest with his hammer, breaking every ribs he had.
From all sides the men converged, men of House Tarly, Rowan, Targaryen and dozen other houses from the Reach and King's Landing. Left and right Robert laid about, knocking out the first man, shattering the temple of the second, breaking the arm at the elbow of the third one and driving the spike if his warhammer through the heart of the last. Another man swung his sword at his head, Robert blocked the grey steel with the handle of his hammer and slammed his boot into man's belly and sent him rolling off the hill. He swung his hammer at the ribcage of the next man and sent him flying. From behind a spear jabbed him between the shoulder blades. Robert was quick enough to move out of harm's way. He spun and slammed his hammer down onto the spearman's head, feeling the impact in his arm as the steel went crunching through helm and hair and skull.
By then his men had overwhelmed their foes. He glimpsed Gendry in his night black armour fighting side by side with Ser Balon Swann and Lord Guyard Morrigen. He saw the lady Brienne cutting down a Targaryen knight. Robert slew another man, and another.
He searched for Tarly, to end this long lasting struggle once and for all and he didn't have to wait long. Randyll Tarly was fighting off a couple of guardsmen of House Musgood. His red surcoat was further darkened with blood and gore. Robert walked to him and Tarly had already dealt with those two guardsmen.
Robert rushed toward him with his hammer. Tarly leapt to meet him with the two handed valyrian steel sword of House Tarly. The greatsword was so sharp and Randyll Tarly knew how to wield it. His first cut was low, and Robert deflected it off the head of his hammer. Tarly swung his sword at his head and Robert moved back and swung his own hammer with a sidearm blow to Tarly's ribs. Randyll Tarly blocked it just in time. Before he could get back from the shock of the blow though, Robert leaned forward and hammered at his armoured thigh. The blow of steel against steel was sweet as a song. Randyll Tarly stumbled to one knee. Robert raised his hammer and put all his weight behind his blow, to smash the Lord of Horn Hill, but the reachman was quick. He spun and swiped at Robert's legs. He leapt back and away from the sharp valyrian steel.
Lord Randyll used that moment to get back up but Robert could see that he was limping. He moved around Lord Tarly, letting him press the attack while deflecting the valyrian steel away from him deftly. He saw the openings in Tarly's attacks as he grew tired and the discomfort Robert had forced upon his leg was slowly wearing him out. He caught the overhead slashed of Lord Tarly with the handle of his hammer and jabbed Tarly's elbow with the head of the hammer. The blow must have hurt Lord Randyll beyond anything he'd experienced in the battle as he dropped his sword and gave up the fight.
By then the loyalists were falling back from the Howling Hill knowing that the battle was lost. The storm which had risen up at the start of the battle finally quieted with their victory. A large number of prisoners were taken from the field, chief among them were both commanders of the Targaryen host, Lord Randyll Tarly and Lord Mathis Rowan.
Robert was glad that he had finally secured his lands from any immediate invasions. Good, he thought as his men were taking the prisoners away from the battlefield, now off to the North to meet Ned's son.