Chapter Five: The Battle of Blackwater Rush
Blackwater (Jon Baratheon)
The Blackwater Rush, a significant river of Westeros, flowing out of the hills and valleys of the Westerlands and proceeding eastwards for several hundred miles before flowing into Blackwater Bay. It was here where this great battle was fought. The armies of the westerland marched passed the hills and valleys, totally unaware of the great host that awaited them on the other side of the bank, they were hoping to bypass Riverrun and march north towards God's Eye to take the small garrison at Harrenhal by surprise. But Jon Baratheon was no fool. He had sent riders and scouts during the night, men from the mountain clans of the north that could trek an army without being seen, those scouts returned with the news that the westerland army was marching along the banks of the Blackwater. Jon urged his men to ride with haste to meet them in combat. He rode in the midst of the leading company, his household-men and sworn swords about him. Robb's vanguard came next; and young Ryon had rode further back until he was riding in rear of the knights of Dragonstone
"It's like Lord Tywin said, Your Grace." Stannis said. "Thirty thousand men all fully armed. But all seem unaware of our our presence. We have the element of surprise."
"Aye, and how many of their men must die for the foolishness of one man." Jon replied. He turned to the men of his household and sworn swords who were near, and he spoke now in a clear voice so that many also of the northern vanguard heard him. "The time has come, the hour is now upon us, sons of Westeros! Our foes are before you, and your homes far behind. Yet, though you fight upon alien field, the glory that you reap here shall be your own forever. They will sing songs of this day! Songs that will be remembered for generations to come!" Men clashed swords and spears upon shields.
"Robb, my friend! You will lead the cavalry," Jon said. "and it shall go behind the king's standard in the center. Ser Loras, lead your knights to the right when the battle is joined. Stannis, uncle! You shall lead the knights of our House towards the left. The others shall firmly press down in the center. Strike wherever the enemy gathers. The valley is steep and our foes cannot turn back the way they came. We will crush this army here. Forth now, and fear neither pain nor darkness!"
The leading company rode off as swiftly as they could. It was no more than a league to where the enemy's vanguard had marched. Wild cries broke out as lances lowered and swords were drawn, and there was some clash of arms, but it was brief. The vanguard of the westerland marching at the forefront were few and amazed, that they were quickly slain and cut down to the last man. Then came the war cries from the enemy's main force. Jon spurred his horse around and sprang straight into the fray, behind him his banner blew in the wind, the black stag and gray direwolf upon a field of ice-white, but he outpaced it. After him thundered the knights of his house and sworn swords, his Kingsguard followed slightly behind with the might of the Trident and Reach in tow.
The battle was joined when the two sides clashed into each other. Men raged all around, trying to better the other upon the banks of the Blackwater. Arrows swirled overhead into the ranks on both sides, fired by the archers and longbowmen in the reserve ranks, hundreds of poorly equipped knights and men-at-arms were peppered with arrows that their blood flowed into the river. Robb had rode down the center as planned and his massive northern cavalry crashed into the flanks of the unsuspecting Marbrand ranks, with Ice aloft he led his brave northsmen into the fray. Ser Loras took to the right before smashing his great host against Rolph Spicer's outriders, the Knight of Flowers went straight in for the kill. With a loud war cry erupting from his throat, Stannis led five thousand of his household-men and knights from all across the crownlands into the exposed left flank of the enemy. And in the midst of the battlefield, two direwolves pounced, gnawed and ripped off the throats of westermen, blood dripped from their coats as they went for one after another.
"Jon!" Cried Ser Raynald with a finger pointed towards the center of the enemy's main force. "Look over the horizon! It's Ser Amory Lorch! That craven behind the raids on the villages in the riverlands, apart from the Mountain of course. I heard he slaughtered the children as well!"
"That arrogant bastard! I'll take his head!" Demanded Lord Tytos as he rode to their side, his armor bloodied and sword fresh with crimson blood. "You don't know Amory as much as I do. Let me handle him, Jon." Jon gave him a sharp look despite the battle raging all around. "I'm not askin' for your permission. I'm just telling you what I intend to do."
Jon laughed as he decapitated a knight from House Payne. "Don't act too rashly out here Tytos. We wouldn't want to mourn your loss before the night is over." Tytos snorted and ordered his men forward.
Raynald sighed as he slashed right. "I hope-" He killed one man. "-that you have a good idea-" He dodged a pike that narrowly missed his eye before stabbing his attacker through the mouth that his blade emerged from the other side of the skull. "-about taking out those fucking archers!" He cried just as an arrow lodged right between his shoulder. "Argh! Fuckin' cunts..."
"Raynald!" Jon yelled, placing a hand to support his friend from falling off the saddle.
"Don't mind me! Take out the archers!" Raynald growled, grasping his wound tightly. "Ser Rodrik! Ser Garlan! Protect the king!" He ordered the other two knights fighting nearby. The knights from the north and reach swooped in to defend Jon's flank. "Push forward Jon! We'll be slaughtered by their archers if we continue to stay here! I'll retreat to the rear lines, just keep pushing!"
"I'll find you there then." Jon said with gritted teeth. "With me now! With me!" He roared to his sworn swords and household-men.
Cutting their way through the ranks of westermen, the moderate group of nearly a hundred men broke out of the clash and rode eastwards into the shadows of the trees. The enemy archers were unaware of this recent movement. As quiet as the night with Ghost at his side and sword tightly grasped in his hand, the young king gave a loud surprising war cry as he and his followers sprang out from the woods. The enemy, garbed in red linen clothing and leather armor were taken completely off guard by the bold Baratheon charge towards their flanks. His blade rippled in the glistening sun as it separated a man totally in half, he reveled in the fear and anguish in the eyes of his enemies when they started to falter. His direwolf pounced and ripped the throats and legs of unsuspecting men. Ser Rodrik came first, his mighty northern steed trampling down those that stood against him, his blade draining the life of those foolish enough to face him. Not far behind the Forrester knight was Eddard Karstark of Karhold. And behind them were forty five men from all across the stormlands.
When the last enemy archer had fallen, Jon ordered his banner to be flown as high as the eye could see.
Then he heard rumble through the trees, he watched in horror as trumpets sounded before three thousand enemy mounted knights rode out from the trees and smashed into the rear and flanks of the exposed knights from Dragonstone. Even from his position he could see the frightened look in the eyes of young Ryon, the poor lad was trembling in fear but still held onto the king's banner high in the air for all to see. He had to act or his great host of nearly a forty thousand men will start to break. He had to show his lord bannermen that he was still in the fight. Thus, he summoned his riders and sworn swords to his side in battle formation.
He's going to take the fight straight to the center.
"Reform a line! Reform a line!" Jon cried to his one hundred men. His sworn swords moved to his side with weapons at the ready. "Sound the charge." A trumpet was blown. "CHARGE!"
And the small group of a hundred knights galloped into the thick of the battle once more.
Blackwater (Robb Stark)
Blood. Death. Screams. And cries of pain. Those were the few experiences that Robb Stark faced and endured as he fought his longest battle as of late, his family ancestral sword, Ice, had claimed the lives of nearly sixty three men by the time the enemy lines broke. Grey Wind had remained at his side throughout the duration of the battle, attacking any who dared came close to the Lord of Winterfell, already a hundred men alone had fallen to the jaws of the direwolf. His horse had been cut down by a stray arrow and his left arm was grazed by an enemy sword, yet despite the pain from his fresh wound, he carried on fighting. He had forgotten how many times he had parried the blows from the enemy, dodged spears, ducked from arrows, narrowly getting his head chopped off.
"My lord, look!" Cried Smalljon Umber of Last Hearth. "His Grace has wiped out the enemy archers!"
"Aye, he has." Robb managed to smile despite the pain. "We might have victory by noon...but what is that rumbling noise? Seven hells..." His eyes widened as he mouth fell agape and his smile faded all of a sudden. For another force emerged from the trees taking Ser Loras' rearguard by surprise. "Seven hells! It's an ambush!" He whirled his head right and saw another force of knights from House Payne crashing into undefended flanks of Stannis' household-men. "It's a trap...they knew we were coming..." He could hardly believe his eyes as he watched, traumatized as men fell after men, struck from the back by the additional westerland force.
"By the Old Gods..." Lord Gregor said, horrified at the onslaught behind them. "...they're like locusts!"
Hearing the waning and faltering voices of his lord bannermen, Robb quickly took charge and held Ice tightly in his hands. "Do not falter men! We are men of the North. And northsmen do not run from a fight." He heard the rumble of approval. "With me now! Let's cut down those westron knights and sent them to meet the Stranger that they so believe in!" The men in his vicinity roared, clanging their shields and swords as they followed his charge. "FOR WINTERFELL!" they cried with one voice loud and frightening, and gathering speed like a great tide the northsmen swept across the banks of the Blackwater to meet the mounted westermen in brutal combat.
"Lord Stark...thank the gods you arrived on time..." Stannis spat as he leaned against the pommel of his sword after killing Ser Cedric Payne. "They took us completely by surprise...how did we not anticipate this kind of treachery?!" He growled.
"They must have marched their main force into the center to draw our attention, and once we're engaged they made it look like we're about to win before springing their trap. We had no idea of their plans..." Robb answered, parrying a blow and slashing right to left and right again. His eyes darted downwards until he spotted the crimson patch around the Lord of Dragonstone's leg. "My lord...you're injured. Smalljon, escort Lord Stannis to the rear just in case-!"
"Belay that order!" Stannis barked just as the son of the Greatjon approached. "When Robert raised our banners against the Mad King, I was given the order to hold Storm's End against the Targaryen loyalists. I held the castle as required, and I fulfilled my duty, but Robert gave Storm's End to Renly. I did my duty and received nothing in return but a pathetic post of Master of Ships." He reminisced out loud, ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg. "Now, my own nephew and the true heir is also fighting for the crown...and he gave me command of our household-men, all seven thousand and five hundred of them. And he has promised me lordship over any castles of my choosing. He promised and given me this much despite the war not being won." He sighed before his face turned to fierce but grim determination. "I cannot fail him. I will not fail him. They say you Starks are hard to kill, and I am inclined to believe them. Your father was an honorable man."
"Aye, he was." Robb replied.
"Prove them wrong Lord Stark, lead my men against our enemies. Show them the true might of the north and south combined. Show them what it means to stand with traitors." Stannis said, as he lifted his sword to the level of his eye.
"Together then?" Robb stated, lifting Ice. Stannis gave a firm nod.
With the combined might of both the stormlands and northsmen, the knights of House Payne were easily cut down and killed to the last man. Robb had never relished in this kind of slaughter, but those were his enemies, men who raided the riverlands and stood against the true king. It was his duty as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell to deliver swift justice to the brigands and traitors that seek to serve the false king. He heard the loud cheers from the soldiers fighting at the left flank and saw the faltering banners of House Marbrand and the flying banners of the Tyrells. His lips twitched upwards as a smile grazed his face. The ambush had been thwarted, but at the highest of costs.
The cost of blood.
Riverrun (Myrcella Baratheon)
Family. Duty. Honor. Those were the words of House Tully, and the very words that her brother had taken to heart despite not being born in the halls of Riverrun. It was one of the few traits that made Jon different from other knights and lords she had met throughout her life. Most of the knights she had met during tourneys often boast about the honor and glory they could receive on the field of battle, and some rare cases of duties to their overlord first over everything else. But she had never ever met a knight or a lord that puts family before all else. Jon was the first. Not even the late Lord Eddard could rival that. He was honorable, yes. But honor was what had him killed. It had been four days since the might of the army had left to seek out those that had betrayed her lord grandfather and exterminate them once and for all. Yet, a handful of her household-men still remained at Riverrun to provide extra defense for the riverlords that had went off to fight. Lord Edmure remained as well with firm orders to hold the riverlands and attack only if the enemy threatens the borders. And now the duty of meeting an emissary of the Iron Throne falls to her.
"Who is this emissary that the Queen regent has sent our way?" She inquired from the high chair of House Tully. Arrayed to her left and right was Lord Edmure and Arya respectively. Lady Catelyn sat beside her brother with a stoic expression. Standing at either sides of the tables were various commanders from the stormlands and riverlands. And a small minority present were from the north. The rest are off fighting with Jon.
"Ser Cleos Frey. The eldest son of Emmon Frey and Genna Lannister." The guardsman replied.
"After Lord Walder's death, Lord Stevron pledged Lord Stark his support and that of House Frey. Many of his cousins and uncles rode with us to break the siege of Riverrun, but he chose to fight beneath the lion banner. That makes him a Lannister, not a Frey." Rebuked Robett Glover of Deepwood Motte.
"He arrived under the banner of peace," Myrcella stated firmly in a voice that showed no argument, Robett gave a short bow and resumed his position. She tapped her finger on the table as all eyes turned to her for judgment. She sighed. "Guard. Allow him to enter. Only him. No weapons. His retainers will stay outside. Slay them should they try anything funny." The guard from previously gave a stiff nod. She tilted her head to one of her household-men standing behind her chair. "Double the guards in the dungeons. Kill anyone that comes within range of the Kingslayer." She spat the last word out with much distaste.
The doors to the great hall opened to reveal a man with a thin face with a weak chin, and stringy brown hair. He wore covered from body down in mail with a surcoat bearing his personal coat-of-arms; the twin towers of Frey and the golden lion of Lannister, quartered. Behind him stood two members of the Riverrun guard, their hands tightened around the pole-arms of their halberds. He was rumored to be cowardly and not very bright which Myrcella can use to her advantage. The knight came to a halt before the high seat and dipped his head out of respect for the Lord of Riverrun.
"I am sent here on behalf of King Joffrey, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms." Cleos announced to the jeers and pointed glares from the men surrounding him on both sides of the tables. He gulped nervously and pulled out a scroll. "These are the demands from His Grace." Again there were more mumblings and growls, even Myrcella herself looked ready to run the knight through with her sword. "You are to enter King's Landing unarmed in five days. You are to denounce your claims to the Iron Throne and confess before the sight of gods and men that King Joffrey is the rightful heir, and the one true king. You must also swear fealty to the Iron Throne from this time until the end of time. If you choose to disregard this demand, you will be all named traitors and will die a traitor's death." He finished and cringed when he saw the fierce piercing green eyes staring right back at him, it was as if his soul was taken by the Stranger at this very moment.
Leaning forward, Myrcella continued burning holes into Cleos' head before speaking. "You can take that scroll back to the Red Keep and shove it up Joffrey's arse, and make sure you push it hard, so hard that he screams and flies to the roof." Arya bit her bottom lip to hold back her laughter. Edmure fared much better and managed to remain stoic but the side of his lips twitched upwards a little. There were a few chuckles and nods of approval from the various people present. "Enough of games Ser Cleos. I know you weren't sent here as an envoy of my pathetic excuse of a brother. No. You are here on behalf of the Queen regent. My mother." Cleos' mouth parted in shock. "So you'd best spill what is your true meaning of this visit or I'll have you carted back to King's Landing atop your shield."
"The...the Queen regent wants peace..." Cleos managed to squeak out. "She..wants a stop to this bloody war...she's willing to hear your terms for peace..." He rambled on.
"I'd sooner bent my knee to Daenerys Targaryen." Myrcella spat at the response from the knight. She banged her head on the table before sitting straight up. "Alright. Fine. She wants to hear our terms. I'll give her our terms. Arya, pass me that parchment." She gave everyone a look that literally told them to shut the hell up and let her speak or risk waking up her inner lion as Jon liked to call it. "First, the Lady Sansa must be released and returned to us in return, I'll order the release of Willem and Martyn Lannister. Second, the remains of all those that died in the service of Lord Eddard must be returned, their families then can honor them with proper funerals. Third, the heads of those that betrayed Lord Eddard must be presented to us. Here. At Riverrun. Lastly, Joffrey and the Queen regent must step aside and renounce all claims to the Iron Throne, they will then pledge fealty to the rightful heir of the Iron Throne. My brother, Jon Baratheon, the King of the North, the Trident, the Stormlands, and the Reach. The true heir as dictated by the late King Robert."
"The White Wolf!" Arya roared, her fist in the air as other voices took up the cry. "Jon, Jon, King of Westeros!"
Myrcella tossed the rolled parchment at the knight's feet. "These are the terms. More like our demands. If that oaf of a brother and my mother meets them, I'll give them peace, and their lives. If not," She rose to her feet with her palms pressed on the edge of the table, her eyes blazing with determination. "I'll see their heads on spikes when we take King's Landing." She snarled as roars of approval came from the various men in the hall, Arya included. Catelyn was more reserved but she couldn't agree more.
Ser Cleos had gone pale. "The...the queen shall hear your message, my-Your Highness."
"See that she does," Myrcella said. "You're to ride immediately. No delays." Cleos bowed hastily as he was escorted out. "Then we are done." The assembled knights and commanders bent their knees as she turned to leave. Arya at her heels. Her household-men scrambled ahead to open the door. Edmure followed them out, his sister at his side.
"With all due respect, Your Highness. Cersei Lannister will never consent to trade my daughter for a pair of cousins. It's her brother she'll want, and you know it." Catelyn stated firmly.
"I can't release the Kingslayer, and I never will." Myrcella replied sharply. "Jon would never abide it."
"He will understand."
"We are at war, Lady Stark." Myrcella stated firmly. "Many proud sons of the north and riverlands were killed by the Kingslayer alone during the siege of Riverrun. Lord Tytos' own father was slain by the Kingslayer. I doubt the lord bannermen would see kindly to his release."
"Please mother...put your worries aside for now." Arya begged as she gazed into her mother's blue eyes. "We will free Sansa. I promise you."
"I'll do all I can to ensure the safety of Lady Sansa, Lady Stark." Myrcella said, with a sigh. "If my mother has any sense which I doubt she has, she'll accept the terms. If not, we'll just have to wait until King's Landing fall to our hands. It's only a matter of time. We have three times their number. Four! If the Knights of the Vale bestir themselves and march south." She took Catelyn's hands in hers and gazed up into the blue Tully eyes. "I swear to you. We will return your daughter back into your arms, safe and unharmed. But putting that matter aside...Are you certain you will not consent to go back to Winterfell? Your younger sons would be needing the warmth of their mother." It wasn't a question. It was a direct command. Not that she wanted the Stark matriarch gone, but Catelyn had been nothing but a hindrance to Jon's claim to the Iron Throne. And thus the war effort.
"With all due respect, Your Highness. My lord father's health is declining... As his daughter, I am needed here." Catelyn said softly. Myrcella nodded in understanding. "I will return once my lord father's health returns to a stable condition. I have other things to do, Your Highness. I bid you a good night." And with that, the Stark matriarch walked briskly away from the trio.
"I apologize for the actions of my sister, Your Highness." Edmure said with an apologetic look. "She has not been herself ever since Lord Eddard returned dead, and my niece remained a captive. And not to add that our lord father has been confined to his bed ever since the war began. Only the gods know how long he has left in this world before he leaves us for the other side. Fate...has not been kind with our family lately. I pray to the gods that you understand our plight, Your Highness." He added with a bowed head.
"No apologies needed, my lord. I would be too if Jon returned to me dead and Tommen held a captive against his own will and I can't do anything but wait." She swiftly replied before sighing. "Keep an eye on her movements...I hope that she is in a right state of mind. The way she spoke about releasing the Kingslayer...It would be an act of treason against the king. For the love and friendship that we had with the late Lord Eddard, I urge you to look out for her. If she releases the Kingslayer..." She need not say anymore, both Edmure and Arya understood it clearly.
"-all seven hells would break lose." Arya muttered out.
"Aye, we can't let that happen." Edmure agreed wholeheartedly.
The air in the dungeons were cold and dirty. It wasn't as dark as the Black Cells back in the capital city but it was still dark nonetheless, two guardsmen flanked her sides with one holding a torch to light their path towards the only isolated cell, and the only cell that was guarded by nearly fifteen men. Arya walked at her side, her eyes hard and narrowed as they came to a halt. The first guard unlocked the iron doors leading to the cell before stepping aside for Myrcella and Arya to enter, he then followed them in but stayed near the entrance with his hand resting on his blade. Jamie Lannister was at the edge, hands shackled together with strong iron, chains were attached from the shackles to the wall. No man nor beast could escape in this condition. The Kingslayer lifted his head and stared at his visitors with a glum expression.
"You honor me with your presence, my niece." He greeted, before inclining his head to the other girl present as well. "And you, Stark. Or is it Baratheon now." The guard holding the torch growled as he stepped forward in a threatening manner.
"You are speaking to the rightful Queen of Westeros, Kingslayer, you will address her as 'Your Grace'."
"I am flattered, Ser Davos. Truly." Arya said with a tinge of red upon her cheeks. "But I am merely here as an observer for Princess Myrcella. And I am not inclined to mix my word with the likes of him."
"Smart girl." Jaime said, before he noticed the frown on Arya's face. "What's wrong? Don't like being called girl?" He made a face. "Insulted?"
"You insult yourself, Kingslayer." Myrcella spoke as she approached within ten feet of her biological father. "You're chained before a girl. Held captive by a girl's family. Perhaps, you'll be killed by a girl as well." Jaime's smug expression faded to be replaced with absolute fear when Arya grinned wickedly. She stood to her full height as she regarded her father. "Stannis Baratheon sent ravens to all the high lords of Westeros. King Joffrey Baratheon is neither a true king nor a true Baratheon. He's your bastard son." She narrowed her eyes as she clenched her fists. "Along with Tommen and I. Don't look so surprised father, I knew all about your nightly activities with mother." She looked to the guards. "Leave us."
Ser Davos hesitated for a brief moment before nodding his head. "We'll be outside, milady."
Arya frowned. "What are you going to do?" She asked as Myrcella unsheathed her sword. "You..you aren't going to kill him, are you? You said it yourself that he was a valuable hostage against the queen."
Myrcella ignored her friend as she showed her inner lion. "The boy, Bran. How did he come to fall from that tower?" She questioned, the edge of her blade pressed firmly against Jaime's neck. "Robb Stark informed me that Bran was an excellent climber, he has never fallen or lose his footing in his entire life of scaling Winterfell's walls." Her eyes turned cold as she pressed the blade until a trickle of blood appeared on the neck. "Unless he was pushed. And he wouldn't be pushed unless he saw something that he shouldn't have seen. Like you and mother."
"H...how did you know?" Jaime inquired, his heart beating faster and faster with the blade at his throat.
"The lock of gold hair was helpful as was the assassin that Baelish sent." Myrcella replied.
"How..." Was all the Kingslayer could mutter.
"I was fostered in Casterly Rock. Trained by Lord Tywin, your own father, in this foolish game that all lords play. I grew up with knights. Not handmaidens. I trained with a sword. Not knitting and making snide remarks to those lowborn. The Spider has his own network of spies. And I have a network of my own." Myrcella gaped for a moment before turning her head sharply towards Arya. "Not a word to Jon or I'll tan your hide." Arya nodded and held her breath. "I know you pushed Bran out of the tower. But I want to know why. Why did you do it? He was just a boy."
"I...I hoped the fall would kill him." Jaime admitted, bowing his head in shame.
"I should break your legs by ordering the men to hurl you down the great steps of Riverrun. But I'm no monster. Unlike you." Myrcella said snidely before removing her blade from his neck. "I urge you to pray, Kingslayer. Who knows what Lord Stark would have in mind when he learns of the truth. The truth behind his little brother's broken form. The truth that his brother's dream of joining the Kingsguard is shattered by the very man that he captured." She added before stalking towards the exit.
"Look to your sins, father. For the man who passes the sentence must swing the sword."
Arya gave one last look at the Kingslayer before following suit as the door slammed shut behind her.
Blackwater (Jon Baratheon)
Blood was everywhere as Jon fought his way into the center of the enemy army, hundreds if not thousands of westermen had fallen to his blade alone. His sworn swords had all fanned out in different directions that it became hard for him to track them down, his household-men had fought valiantly but many had been cut down before breaking the enemy's rearguard. Ghost growled and snarled at his side, killing any who dared raise a sword against his master. Many familiar faces could be seen lying in the dirt or floating in the Blackwater, faces that Jon recalled laughing and singing merrily in the timber halls of Riverrun. There was a knight from his household whom had journeyed with him on his hunting trip, from Storm's End to Harrenhal and to Riverrun, the knight had been there at his side. And yet, that very same knight was lying in a pool of his own blood with nearly sixteen westermen around him, dead. He had seen the decapitated head of Rolph Spicer, and the stricken face of Addam Marbrand as he was cut down by Tyrell lances. He had watched as Stannis finish off the head of House Payne despite being wounded by a spear earlier. He had heard the rallying cries of the northsmen.
The ambush was a surprise. But they had survived the full burnt of the surprise attack and the enemy line was staggering if not breaking by the time the last of the ambushers fled the field with their tails beneath their legs. He had rode hard and traded blows against Ser Amory Lorch, both whom were saddled atop their horses and it made fighting a little harder than usual but thankfully Ghost was there and frightened Amory's horse until the knight crashed to the ground. Jon was about to finish him off when a spear flew right past him and struck Amory through the mouth, he gazed up and saw Tytos riding forward with nearly a hundred men from Hornvale at his side. The two shared a brief nod of understanding before turning their attention to their remaining enemies.
It was almost an even fight about now. The might of the Reach was still at Storm's End as were many of the men from the stormlands sworn to Renly, those that had journeyed with him were those from the crownlands and Stannis' personal knights from Dragonstone. He had brought with him nearly half of his forces to aid the riverlords in ousting the Kingslayer from harassing them, and to put an end to the Mountain's reign of terror and recapture the ancient castle of Harrenhal. All three had been fulfilled, the first being accomplished by his northern allies. Robb had sliced off Jaime Lannister's sword hand from the wrist. Literally. He feared how his grandfather would react to that. But after piecing several pieces together, not forgetting how his grandfather was betrayed by his own bannermen, he knew the Old Lion of the Rock wouldn't have cared about a small maiming. After all, it was just a hand and not a head - in fact - they should be grateful that Robb did not just end Jaime's life there and then. He struck down a billman aiming for his horse and smiled grimly when he heard the call for retreat from the enemy.
Between the stream and the land, there now cowered the proud host of the westerlands, in terror of the king and in terror of the raging water. Vainly they crawled and clambered about the sand, seeking to escape the call of death. There suddenly upon a ridge appeared a rider, clad in steel, shining in the rising sun. Over the low hills the horns were sounding. Behind him, hastening out of the trees, were a thousand men on mounts; their swords and spears were in their hands. Amid them rode a man tall and strong. In his hand flew the banner of the Vale of Arryn. More rallied to his side, carrying different banners of the other knightly houses of the Vale. The horns silenced the clashing of steel below. Both forces halted in their fight to glance towards the horizon where the knightly order of horsemen gathered. And it was at that very moment that the westermen felt fear as they were trapped between two opposing forces, and if they were to run - it would only be death at the hands of nature.
"Behold the knights of the Vale!" Stannis cried. "Fortune smiles upon us!"
Sword aloft, Jon bellowed out. "Give a cry. Cry out for victory!"
"VICTORY!" The men chorused, banging their swords on their shields. The wounded and weak managed to crack a smile despite the pain.
Across the banks charged the king's main forces, battle-hardened and weary but still they ran. Down from the hills leaped Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone. Out from the trees galloped the Valemen. The Vale of Arryn was upon them, and the terror of their coming filled the enemy with madness. The westermen fell on their faces before the combined strength, the survivors reeled and screamed and cast aside both sword and spear. Like a red tide they fled towards the water only to be rushed down by the fast stream, many drowned with their heavy armor, those that survived fled to King's Landing traumatized - and it was reported that the news of their defeat left the Queen mother in a state of shock that she became ill and has been bedridden ever since. King Joffrey faired better and had the survivors executed for high treason - sowing both discord and hate amongst the ranks of his own bannermen.
So it was that in the light of a fair morning Jon Baratheon and Yohn Royce met upon the green grass beside the Blackwater Rush. There was also Robb son of Eddard, and Stannis Baratheon, and Ser Loras Tyrell of Highgarden, and the lords of the north, stormlands and crownlands. Around them gathered the king's household-men and sworn swords, the Kingsguard were present as well; wonder overcame their joy in victory, and their eyes were turned towards the carnage across the river bank. The bulk of the surviving forces joined ranks with the knights of the Vale, speaking with each other, embracing like brothers while many others cheered in their victory. They had taken the liberty of several hours to carry out the grim task of identifying friend from foe and having the bodies buried before they could become a feast for crows and looters alike. Stannis had suggested that the bodies of their enemy be left strewn across the field as a sign of warning but Jon would have none of it - instead, he ordered the cremation of all enemy troops as a sign of respect for their loyalty to the Iron Throne. A small feat of respect some might say but when word got around, many men from the westerlands would find themselves marching in the name of the one true king.
"You could have come at a better timing, my lord." Jon said, his eyes stern but none can miss his joy at seeing the Vale banners flying proudly beside his own. "The Lady Lysa was firm in her letter to me that the Vale of Arryn would not participate in this petty civil war between two brothers. What changed?"
"Treason, Your Grace. Alas! Treason." Yohn Royce answered with a dip of his head. "We have strong evidence to believe that Lady Lysa poisoned her own husband upon the orders of Littlefinger. They've been collaborating ever since our lord took ill, Lady Lysa wanted to make Baelish the Lord of the Vale to rule in her son's stead until he comes of age."
"Baelish is dead." Ser Garlan spoke, his hair disheveled while a long scar ran across the left side of his cheek. "I stabbed him myself at the Sept of Baelor in King's Landing. I would have reached for somebody else but he was just standing there...he was fairly...surprised when I ran him through."
Amidst the cheers of the victorious men, Jon looked forlorn at the sight of his fallen. "I sent ten thousand men to their graves today." He muttered, loud enough for those near him to hear.
"The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice." Ser Loras commented.
"Aye..." Robb agreed. "...but the dead won't hear 'em."
Jon spurred his horse forward to meet the eyes of his men. "While we celebrate, ten thousand of our brothers lie beneath us. Dying for what they believe in. Dying for a cause worth fighting for." The cheers had died down by now as all eyes focused their attention on him. "We must ensure that their deaths are not in vain. Long have we waited in the shadows of the riverlands while Lady Sansa is held captive by my treacherous brother. I had hoped that he would have surrendered when he learn of how many numbers I have on my side, but alas, he's not one to give up the throne so easily." He turned serious as all leaned forward in anticipation. "The time has come for us to storm the capital city by force. To take back what is rightfully ours!" The men cheered. "Once we bury our slain, we will ride for Sow's Horn and sent word to the riverlords and our other forces still at Riverrun, and to the armies of the Reach at Storm's End. Together as one, we will storm King's Landing and we will not stop until the Red Keep falls!"
"WHITE WOLF!" The Greatjon bellowed at the top of his lungs as other men took up the cheer.
"White Wolf! White Wolf! The King of Westeros!"
Beyond the Wall (Gendry)
The wind was strong. Stronger than ever before. Stronger than any breeze he had ever seen south of the Wall. How did it come to this. They were fortified and well equipped, nearly three hundred swords strong, the full force of the Night's Watch ever assembled since the time of old. Death. He recalled. It smelt like death he had said only for it to fall on death ears by the others apart from a few of his friends and when the wights attacked...they began to panic and all seven hells broke lose. Sam had fled to the east and was lost in the blizzard. Grenn was swinging his sword like a wild beast. Edd was mumbling to himself that he was still asleep in his home at the Vale. And Gendry...he was trying his best to stay alive the best way he knows how. By using torches and fire. The other brothers after witnessing the wights falling to the ground at the bright light from the flames, started to rally behind him and followed his example.
"Where's the Lord Commander?!" He yelled, gazing around for the Old Bear.
"The Old Bear has fallen!" Cried one of the brothers. "You're his steward! You know his plans!"
"I'm just a bloody steward..." He retorted. "I'm a bastard."
"Nay, you're not!" Edd roared, making his way over to him. "You're our brother! And Lord Commander Mormont chose you for a reason. He intends to make you Lord Commander. He said so himself!"
"What are your orders?!" Grenn hissed through the thick blizzard.
"Use fire to fight against the wights if they come as we slowly make our way south." Gendry spoke in a clear and determined voice. "We need to get back to the Wall. It's a long march. We have to make it. Have to warn 'em before winter's done. Or everyone we ever know will be dead." He lifted a torch and began his first step forward. "We stick together! We'll move slowly."
"Aye!"
"SAM!" Edd suddenly recalled the Tarly boy he befriended atop the Wall. "Where's he? SAM!"
"He can't be too far out." Grenn said. "Shall we look for him?"
"As a group." Gendry replied. "I last saw him running eastwards. Everyone! With me!"
Together, the remaining brothers of the three hundred that Jeor Mormont brought with him on the largest ranging expedition slowly marched towards the east in search for their missing brother whom was lost in the storm. Fortunately, Sam did not run that far ahead as he was being chased back by a wight that nearly took his life if it weren't for the swift intervention of Grenn. As the acting Lord Commander, it was Gendry's job to ensure everyone makes it back to Castle Black safely. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't have cursed someone to die but he did nothing to hide the twitch on his lips when he spotted the decapitated head of Karl lying in the snow with eyes wide. He hated that man ever since he first joined the Watch. Inside he was glad that such a monster was dead but he had hoped that he would have been the one to do the job - no man should die at the hands of these abominations. The blizzard ended once they marched for what seemed like an eternity, Gendry counted their numbers and was saddened to learn that only fifty of the three hundred survived the fight at the Fist of the First Men.
"You saw what is coming." Gendry stated the obvious reason to the surviving brothers. "We need to stop fighting with the wildlings and focus on the true enemy. The White Walkers. The Long Night is coming and the dead comes with it. And no one can stop them. The southron kings can't stop them. But only together, it might not be enough but at least we'll give the fuckers a fight to remember. The wildlings we fought spoke of the greatest army ever assembled by a man named Mance Rayder, if we can somehow get to him and force him into a parley. Get him to stand on our side. Not as our enemies but as allies." He watched as each men regarded his words before Edd stood to his feet.
"We're with you, Lord Commander." Edd declared, his fist over his heart as the others followed.
"Aye, you have our support." Grenn confirmed before he frowned. "But what of those at Castle Black. Like Ser Alliser and Slynt? They won't take kindly to us parleying with the wildlings."
"The real war is between the living and the dead." One of the brothers spoke up. "And make no mistake...the dead are coming. Ser Alliser doesn't have that much of a choice. The Watch is filled with eighty brothers at the moment not counting those we lost at the Fist. There are fifty of us here. We can vouch for your ability to lead." He gestured his hand to the others. "You can challenge Ser Alliser's command if you have to. You have twice his number."
"I'll gut his mouth if you want me to!" Yelled another brother.
"The Others take Ser Alliser!" Cried another.
Edd had to grin at that. "Well lad, what are your orders?"
"My orders stand. We must return to Castle Black." Gendry said firmly.
"You heard him! Move your arses!" Grenn roared.
A/N:
I sincerely apologize for not updating sooner. A year has nearly passed since the last update and I deeply ask for forgiveness from those that followed this story for the long wait. I've been busy with real life issues considering family, work and school. I had actually written way past this chapter and onto the climax of the Siege of King's Landing when my CPU went dark. I had to change my whole rig and unfortunately - all the stories that I had written were gone from my hard disk. Therefore I had to rely on my imagination once again to aid in my writing of this story. BUT rest assured - I am currently rewriting what I can for the next chapter for the Siege of King's Landing, and Jon will definitely take the city but with a catch.