Of White Trees and Blue Roses
I own nothing. This all belongs to GRRM, and I'm just playing with the story he gave us.
~X~
Chapter Forty Four – Summerhall (Part 2)
The light was fading by the time Robert mounted up for the third time. Torn between the rush of battle and his body's screaming need for rest, he found himself less haunted by the faces of those who had fallen under his hammer earlier in the day, hoping that his newfound experience would help end the next battle swiftly and allow him to get the sleep that he so sorely needed.
Had Lord Fell scouted ahead? What would he make of the flaming arrow that flew into the air from the tree cover, announcing his impending arrival? Lords Cafferen and Grandison had been caught completely unawares and that had been Robert's advantage...
The beat of a drum started unseen, giving the army waiting in formation around the ruin of Summerhall their answer as to the element of surprise.
Lord Grandison brought his horse closer and leaned over. "We were expecting him to bring the greater number of infantry, but your horse will outnumber his three to one."
Lord Cafferen, hearing that his counterpart had Robert's ear made sure his opinion was heard too. "He will see that, but he will also see that the men here have already fought more than one battle today. The wisest course would be to negotiate and avoid more bloodshed. We will need his men for the battles ahead."
"Fell is a proud man, and very much for the Targaryens. I don't think he will lay down his weapons and join your cause, my lord."
More voices joined in, giving advice and spouting rhetoric, and in the end Robb lifted his hand for silence, noticing the blood stains and grime covering his gauntlet.
The first sight of his new opponent emerged from the trees, infantrymen arranging themselves in lines ahead of their mounted lords. Grandison was right—while the ever increasing number of infantry gave concern, there were few knights on horseback.
He pointed at Lords Fell and Grandison. "With me. We'll ride out and talk, and see what Lord Fell has to say." Remembering that earlier this morning his new found allies were very much for the Targaryens too, he pointed at another man, his armour even more bloodied and dirtied than Robert's own, the bastard son of a minor lord who had been newly knighted earlier today through his bravery. Fell and Grandison were old men, wise, ambitious, and it seemed, very much enjoyed hearing their own voices. If there was a plot in place, then the elder two men would be no competition for Robert and Ser Warren Storm, as imposing warriors with the power of youth to their advantage, and as smart as they were they would recognise that fact.
With Robert's colours, the black stag on gold, in Ser Warren's hand, the four rode across the churned up mud and grass expanse between the two forces, and three armoured riders, one carrying the Fell banner of a crescent on sable over green, also started forward. As they made their way through a gap in the Fell infantry, Robert noticed one of his heroes—recognisable by the shining axe fastened to his saddle. "Silveraxe" Fell, Lord Fell's son and heir, was a renowned tourney champion. A number of years older than Robert himself, as a small boy he'd followed Silveraxe's wins and losses in the melee, impressed by his choice of weapon, a silver battleaxe.
Once Robert was old enough to show his own prowess and fight in tourneys himself, he'd not had the opportunity to face his idol. Silveraxe looked every part as glorious as Robert remembered, his face mysterious and hidden behind his visor.
And finally the two groups met in the middle. It was Lord Fell that spoke first.
"Lord Robert Baratheon of Storms End, you are charged with treason, of rising up against your king—"
"Treason? Is that what they call it when the Targaryens think they can take what they want—steal noble women from their families to slake their own lust? Murder good lords for daring to speak out?"
"I am hereby charged to execute this warrant to bring Lord Robert Baratheon, alive to face the King's Justice, or his head to King's Landing, in the name of King Aerys Targaryen, the second of his name."
Robert spat on the ground. "I will bring my justice to the Mad King and his son."
Lord Cafferen's horse stepped forward. "My lord, I know your warrant. I set off this morning on the same errand for the king, but Lord Robert's cause is just. And the Warrior has seen fit to show favour on his side. Please listen to reason. Join your forces with our own."
Lord Fell's old, stern face was unmoved. "And no doubt you think it will further your ambitions to switch sides as you might change your jerkin, Cafferen. Instead of the Baratheon land you were willing to fight for in the king's name, you now fancy yourself a portion of mine. There can be no victory against the Targaryens, you old treacherous fool. Do you think you have a chance against the royal armies, you and this little rebellion you've joined? Right, honour, and the gods are on the king's side."
Robert felt his blood beginning to boil. "The Targaryens have no honour, and I won't rest until I see Rhaegar Targaryen dead for what he has done to my bride. I have fought here, on this field, twice today and won twice. It seems to me that the gods think my cause is right." Robert pointed over to the charred ruin over his shoulder. "The Targaryens are as mortal and subject to the whims of the gods as the rest of us. Kings and their heirs died over there. It's fitting that my rebellion begins here."
Lord Fell glared. "And what do you intend to do with this rebellion, young lord? Do you think you can fight your way to King's Landing with this rabble? Storm the Red Keep and kill the prince in single combat, take the throne, and then what? Sit Rhaegar Targaryen's son on it? His younger brother? You'd allow the country to be ruled by a babe?"
"Anyone is better than a madman or a rapist. I don't care who sits on the throne, so long as it's not a Targaryen. I'd sooner see Ser Warren here rule over us all."
"So you intend to overthrow the king, with no plan as to who will sit in his place. All over a woman. You'd pit yourself and your men against the entire country—the Lannisters, the Riverlands, the Tyrells, and everyone else—just to make yourself feel better about the fact that the good lady preferred a prince."
Robert resisted the overwhelming urge to reach for his hammer and quieten Lord Fell for good. Instead he spoke through gritted teeth. "I don't intend on doing it on my own. I have your countrymen here, now my men, who have remembered that I am your liege lord. And the armies of the North—for the Starks want to see justice as much as I do—and Lord Arryn."
"Still too few. You, my little upstart, have more fire in your belly than you have sense in your head. Today will be a footnote in history, of the fall of the great house of Baratheon, and the traitorous Lords Cafferen and Grandison, and the rise of my own family."
After a pause, Lord Fell and his companions turned and rode away at a gallop, and with a roar of frustration, Lord Robert did the same. Once back with his cavalry, Lords Cafferen and Grandison had his ear again.
"He well send his infantry forward first."
"We should soften them with our archers as soon as they come into range."
"They have little in the way of mounted knights. Infantry would never stand up to a charge of horse."
Robert listened as best as he could through the red mist that whistled and screamed in his ears. All he could muster were a few nods of agreement to the plan, and "Smash them," as he climbed on his own horse. Pulling down his visor, he saw the arrows fly into the men on foot, trudging through the earth already trodden and bled upon by the battles he'd won earlier in the day.
When he cried out "Storm's End" and spurred his horse forward, his blood swam with fire, the reassuring weight of his hammer in his hand as he cut a path through Fell infantrymen, leaving a trail of cracked skulls behind him. Barely allowing himself to be delayed, especially not by the clank of arrows on his plate, he found himself break through the last line of men on foot, and galloping across the field to where the few knights gathered around Lord Fell himself.
Carried on by the echoes of Lord Fell's words, he charged, aware of Ser Warren and a number of others making the journey with him as Fell knights rode out to meet them. When they clashed, Robert swung, only being halted temporarily as he single-mindedly made his way towards the man whose offences burned a hole in his mind.
Feeling his horse buckle beneath him as one of Lord Fell's guards met him, Robert managed to slide off ungainly before his mount hit the ground, and before the guard could deliver a follow up blow, Lord Cafferen rode past and engaged him.
Seeing Lord Fell draw his own sword, Robert gripped his hammer tighter, as the mounted old man's weapon tangled with his own. Lord Fell's horse turned and Robert swung again, this time the full force of the blow catching an armoured leg, and with a cry, Lord Fell lost his seat.
Hearing a yell more animal than human, Robb turned to see Silveraxe heading his way on horseback, but Ser Warren was there, engaging the celebrated warrior before he could get too close.
Robert turned to find an awkward and limping Lord Fell raising his sword, but he was little match as Robert swung his hammer again and caught him square on his side, and Lord Fell collapsed in a heap. Robert drew nearer, as Lord Fell rolled onto his back and lifted his visor. Expecting another exchange of words, Robb felt deflated as the only retort the previously proud lord managed was a splutter of blood and then a sudden staring stillness.
Hearing the clank of approaching armour, Robert turned, and managed to stumble out of the way as an axe cut the air only inches away from his chest. Silveraxe swung again and Robert lifted his hammer to meet the weapon that gave his hero his name.
Robert's hammer clashed against the silver battleaxe again, the force of the blunt weapon deflecting the sharp cutting edge of the other. For a moment, the rest of the men on the field didn't exist. It was just a young boy, only taller and stronger, facing his idol made flesh and blood. It was a battle Robb had dreamed about often, only taking place on a tourney field, not as opposing warriors in a real battle, exhausted and fighting to the death, the prize for winning being victory and to live to see another day.
Silveraxe was every bit as skilled as Robb had known down the years, but gods, Robert realised just how strong he was himself, and the flush coursing through his weary body fired him on, blow after blow, until finally, Roberts hammer caught the axe and wrenched it from its owner's grip. Silveraxe danced away from a blow, the hammer only just catching his shoulder and knocking him to the floor.
The defeated knight's helm rolled away, as he landed with a sharp intake of breath and a grimace of pain.
Robb raised his hammer for a killer blow and looked down on his face. "Yield?" And when there was no reply he repeated his question.
Silveraxe nodded, and after a while awkwardly looked over to where his father had fallen.
"Go to him," Robb croaked, relieved that he wouldn't have to kill the knight he thought so highly of, and remembering only too well what it was like to lose a father.
Finding a Grandison knight and instructing him to give the new Lord Fell a few moments with his dead sire before taking him prisoner, Robb turned back to the field of battle. A battered Lord Cafferen rode up, and after a few brief words that Robb was too dazed to register, began the cry that the field was won. Black and gold stag banners appeared amongst the bodies and mud revealed by torch and moonlight, as darkness had now truly fallen.
Robb briefly paused by the remains of Ser Warren Storm, killed by an ugly axe wound that had opened him from left ear to right collarbone. Again, the aroma of shit that hung over the dead assaulted his nostrils.
It didn't matter how bravely you fought, or whether you were on the winning side or not, fortunes could be won or lost in a day, and as Lord Cafferen had said, everyone went out the same way in the end.
But you could be remembered for what you did in life, and Robert knew what he wanted to be remembered for—for being the one that separated Rhaegar Targaryen's head from his shoulders and rescuing the woman he loved, for he'd take Lyanna Stark in whatever condition the dishonourable prince had left her. And if there was the chance, he'd take down the king and see every other Targaryen living and breathing on this earth into a grave, too.
And it was that warming thought that saw him across the field and into his tent, collapsing into a sleep of total exhaustion.