Sage: No need to end with the MC's death, you can continue with the consequences.
Sin: Doran waited too long, but this is a combined Dorne-GC failure.
dabra: Dragons couldn't fly with night+rain (see The Last Storm). In the day, in the rain, under atrocious visibility, the dragons would've been useless anyways.
kagne: Valyrian steel did change hands.
Guest: If you think this, you've missed the point of the story. Jon's arc is an anti-Jon wank. It pushes the dragonrider Jon narrative without making him OP whatsoever, having to deal with his own predicaments, honor, fights and alliances. The exchange with Edmure is a key point in this. And, yes, in my opinion, dragons are pointless if there isn't going to be a dragon on the other side, or solid opposition, because having a flying cheat code just roll over everything makes for bad storytelling.
Guest2: Dragons were used as fire support to cover the flanks and rear since they couldn't fly in these conditions.
Karychela: Tarly may be dangerous, but he's also had his own problems.
the only one: See above. The dragons were not able to fly due to adverse weather conditions, and Dany was not going to burn the entire Kingswood to flush out Tarly anyways (in canon she refuses to burn the slaver fleets blockading Meereen). Quentyn was protected by levies, which were dispersed because of the Reacher charge. And no, Oberyn didn't take a horse to the face, either.
Edric
Edric felt elation as he removed his helm.
Elation at the thought of having won the battle, but also elation at the fact that it was finally over.
He had been worried, charging into the night, under the rain, that they'd just run into a wall of Stormlander spears.
Instead, the Dayne and Connington charge completely dislocated the right wing of Tarly's device. They had completely massacred the infantry standing in their way, routed the cavalry, and managed to flank the Reachers from behind, forcing them to try to break out towards the pass in a desperate attempt to counter the encirclement.
But Dorne and the Golden Company had stood. They had not let Tarly pass, and preferred to stand their ground, even if it meant dying where they stood.
Edric himself had spotted the old commander, even though, in the heat of the battle, he did not know who he had been facing.
Sword in hand, he faced off against Lord Tarly, and slew him in personal combat, taking the prized Valyrian steel blade 'Heartsbane' as his own, as a war prize.
It is thus that Edric found himself in the middle of the ruins, making his way back to camp, looking around at the death and desolation on the battlefield.
If the Reachers suffered a catastrophic defeat here, it seems that the Dornish left and center were bled dry.
Slowly, the feeling of elation left Edric. They had won, yes, but at what cost?
The rain had stopped, but the grey skies looked as if they were bringing more in a few moments.
Edric felt like he had been soaked enough for today, and urged his horse forward, towards the Dornish quarters.
He had no difficulty in finding his tent, closely guarded by a few Dayne men who had been left behind to defend the camp in case of a flanking manoeuvre by the Reachers towards their rear, and it now became apparent just how badly the battle went for those who did not charge with him.
Stretchers littered the camp, with men moaning and crying in pain. Some did not speak anymore, their bodies taken by the Silent Sisters, or having a septon mumble the last rites over their cold bodies before moving on to the next.
A sinister spectacle, and one that completely erased Edric's victorious feeling as he descended from his horse.
He spared a look towards the Golden Company's camp, where, even in the dim light of the early morning, he could see the piles of golden plates and helms.
How many of the Company had died? Probably more than the Dornishmen.
If only they had the elephants ready!
But speed was key, and the slow-moving animals were left behind, not due to arrive for another five days, taking their time in these tortuous passes of the Marches. And the Marches did not have the wide, paved, roads of Dorne.
Edric entered his tent and breathed a sigh of relief, placing Heartsbane down alongside his own sword.
Had he made his family proud? Certainly.
But that did not bring him any joy.
His mind moving slowly, he removed his armor, and passed water on his face, removing the mud, blood and sweat that had stuck to it for so much of the night and morning.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he could see that he looked like absolute shit.
His blond hair was a mess, his eyes were heavy and yearned for rest, while his mouth was rugged with dead skin and blood.
Edric's muscles felt heavy, and he collapsed on his chair, doing his best not to close his eyes. There were still things to be done: rest would wait.
At least, I am unharmed.
That's what he told himself. Unharmed and still able to fight another day.
Although, after today, he wondered if he wished to fight at all.
Sighing, he took Heartsbane, strapped it to his back, with difficulty, and went outside. He had to find where Connington was.
After all, if they had triumphed today, it was also because of the Old Griffin's great leadership in holding the right flank as a coherent force, and tempering the ardor of the Dornish cavalry.
It wasn't hard to find the red-haired man, his red and white sigil being recognizable from afar.
Stepping towards him, Edric tried to regain his composure, and called him out.
"Lord Connington!"
"Lord Dayne," Connington acknowledged him without emotion.
"I wished to thank you for your leadership today. If the day was ours, it is thanks to you." Edric bowed.
The Old Griffin stared at him blankly for a moment, but nodded.
"Thank you for your compliments, Lord Dayne, you did not do so badly yourself, but there is something you must see."
Connington motioned him to follow in his footsteps, leading the way through the mess of horses, men, maesters and septons.
They reached a large, green tent. One reserved for the dead and wounded.
Connington led him to an area which was cluttered with men, their helms by their side, all watching in silence.
The Old Griffin dispersed them with a few words, and they approached two makeshift beds, made of nothing more than hastily drawn sheets.
Edric felt the color drain from his face as he recognized the two men lying there, the life drained from their body.
The first was Gerris.
Comely, loyal and dutiful Gerris, who had travelled half the world with him, now lay dead, his eyes fixed towards the sky, a gaping wound in his chest clearly showing how he had died.
The second was Prince Oberyn.
The Red Viper lay in a similar position, with his eyes fixed towards the sky. Though, unlike Gerris, he had suffered much more, his face having numerous cuts, and his body twice as many.
"I was late," Connington finally spoke, looking over the body of the Red Viper. "If my charge had broken through a few moments earlier, he would still be alive."
Edric said nothing, instead staring into the lifeless eyes of Prince Oberyn, a sudden realization gripping his soul.
"Prince Quentyn…" he finally made out, his voice pained with grief.
"Come," Connington told him, and so he followed, feeling like he was just moving behind a funerary procession.
"I was late for the Viper, but came at the right time for the young one, or at least, I thought as much."
Connington pointed to a bed where Edric immediately recognized Prince Quentyn, or, well enough, anyways.
At his side was Archibald, his eyes heavy with fatigue, watching over his friend.
Connington just left him there, and Edric felt pain grip his heart.
Should I have stayed with Quentyn instead of pursuing my own glory? After all, it was Quentyn who took him as his squire, made him discover the world and helped him become a Lord, a warrior and a friend, all the while helping House Dayne to soar to new heights.
Where had he been when he needed him, though? Chasing dreams of a glory that everyone will have forgotten in a few moons?
Edric did not dare move forward. He did not want to face the consequences of his arrogance. But yet, his feet commanded him to move, and so he did.
Quentyn's figure became clearer. He had been stripped of his top, bandages covering his entire body, as well as half of his face.
Red and black still covered some of the skin that appeared to him, his arms completely banded in white, such that Edric was worried he'd been amputated of both arms for a brief moment.
Archibald finally looked up at him, and sighed.
"Ned." He nodded. "Congratulations on your victory."
"What is a victory if I failed to protect my prince and my friend?" Edric asked in return.
"A sounding defeat." Arch turned his eyes towards Quentyn.
It is only now that Edric noticed that the prince's eyes were closed, as if he had gone into a peaceful slumber.
"Is…" Edric choked out, "is he…"
"Dead?" Archibald inquired. "No, not according to the maesters. But he has suffered numerous wounds, and lost a lot of blood. The maester tried to revive him, but to no avail."
"When will he wake up?"
"Days, moons, months, mayhaps never." Arch sighed. "The maester said that if he did not wake up after three days, then all hope might just be lost."
Edric restrained himself from crying."I'm sorry. I should've been there."
"I was, and it did not change much. They overwhelmed us, and only Connington's arrival saved mine life, else I'd have been struck down like Gerris and Prince Oberyn." Archibald gestured to the general direction of the two bodies.
"Cletus, Gulian…" Edric asked.
"Cletus, I have had no news. As for Gulian, he was wounded and is being treated in his own tent. He will live, but he will have difficulty walking for a few moons."
Edric nodded sombrely.
"I…I need some air." The lord of Starfall felt himself dizzy, to which Archibald just nodded.
He almost ran out of the tent, found a small wooded area, where no one was watching, and unsheathed Heartsbane.
Taking the legendary greatsword with both his hands, he roared out a cry, and began hacking at the tree in front of him, almost being crushed when the wood gave way and the tree fell in front of him,
"Did not have your fill of enemies today, Dayne, that you should try your luck against unarmed trees?"
The voice that came from behind startled him, and he froze. No. Not her. Not now.
He slowly turned around, hoping that he misheard.
He did not.
Nymeria Sand stood in front of him, in her silver armor, untarnished and unhurt.
"A nice prize you have there, Dayne, I did not expect to find you there, though."
"I needed…peace." Edric mumbled out.
"Well, I may need you to quit your foolery, lest you take a spliner that might tarnish your pretty face, Dayne, and lead me to Quentyn. I did not find him in his tent, and I have already scoured two tents for the injured, without success."
Edric cursed the Gods. Was this his punishment for having abandoned his friend? Was this the penance he had been instructed to fulfil?
"I know where to find him," Edric replied, sheathing Heartsbane. "Him and your father."
Nymeria's eyes lit up.
"Well, finally some good news, Dayne! Lead the way."
Edric tried to tell her then that her father was dead, and Quentyn was likely to be soon too, but the only words that left his mouth were just stupid. "How fared the battle, my lady?"
"Quite well, Dayne." Nymeria smiled. "Ser Barristan's skill with a blade certainly has not waned, and seeing a dragon spit its flame is certainly a terrifying sight. As for myself, I am happy that I bloodied mine own blade with our enemies' bodies once more."
Edric nodded, trying not to think about how close the large tent had now become. Did he hasten the pace just to be done quickly?
Yet, he entered it again, and this time, there were no words needed to disperse the small crowd in front of the two bodies.
And the Snake's smile fell in an instant.
She slowly walked towards the makeshift beds, and Edric swore he could see tears run down her face.
"No, no, no, no, no, father…" Nymeria was turning his back to him, but Edric knew she was crying, as she raised her father's head to her.
She stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, before snapping her head back to Edric, her eyes red. Wet streaks ran down her cheeks, but nothing came out of her eyes anymore.
"I'll kill them all." Nymeria growled in front of him, trying to shove him aside.
Edric blocked her way.
"Who?" he asked, gravely.
"Merryweather, Selmy, Oakheart, Cuy…"
"They're prisoners. It is war." Edric brought a hand towards his dagger, knowing raising Heartsbane in time was not going to be possible should the Snake try to force her way through.
"They killed him."
"Yes, and I killed Tarly, let's not have more blood spilled today, it's not what Quentyn would have wanted."
Something seemed to light up in her angry eyes, and she suddenly composed herself.
"Quentyn! Where is he?" she asked, her voice still raging.
Edric relaxed his hold on his dagger, and led her through the tent, towards Archibald.
Nymeria stood at roughly the same place Edric did, completely awestruck, tears once more welling in her eyes.
"Is…is he…" she almost sobbed out.
"No." Edric shook his head. "Not yet."
Nymeria approached Archibald, who made some space for her to kneel on Quentyn's bedside.
She fell down, and clutched his right hand with her own, bringing them to her lips.
"Please, don't leave me. Not now," she whispered, "I need you. Aliandra needs you. Dorne needs you."
Edric was about to approach too, when a man clad in his house's colors came up and called him out.
"My lord, your presence is required at the War Council."
Edric acknowledged him and sent him off. Before he made to turn away, Nymeria turned her eyes towards him and, with rage in her voice, addressed him."They'll want to divide the spoils before he has passed. But Quentyn is a fighter, and he will live, do you understand me, Dayne?" Her eyes pierced his heart like a thousand daggers, "Do not let them tear his legacy asunder, and do not let them pronounce him dead. Or I will find them and end their lives myself."
Edric nodded and made to leave, but not before instructing some guards to not let Nymeria even near any of the prisoner pens. It was better to be sure, especially if Quentyn were to pass away in the next hours.
His stomach turned a little at that, but it was for the best.
With a resigned look, he turned towards the central tent, flying the Targaryen banner, for a council that he did not look forward to, if only because of the bickering that would occur during it.
And his suspicions were proven right, as the instant he passed through the door, he could see Franklyn Fowler and Anders Yronwood, opposite each other, arguing under the disgruntled eye of King Aegon.
"You fool, you charged in too early, and in a swamp, no less! You disobeyed orders by continuing to charge even after we baited them in. You got soundly defeated, and you nearly caused our entire left flank to collapse!" Fowler raged.
"It is not my fault that that slimy bastard Vaith did not hold long enough for me to rally my troops! And try finding swamps in the dead of night!" Yronwood retorted.
"You sent outriders! We knew the battlefield, just as we knew the location of that swamp!" Edric Dayne saw Daeron Vaith, with a new eyepatch on, stand up, "We had orders to only feint, avoid contact, yet you ran into Merryweather head first and forced combat, thinking you could somehow pierce his line on your own. I made time for you to rally, but you just fled to the woods, and you dared to come back and muddy your hooves only at the last moment, when the battle was won!"
"My lords, please!" King Aegon finally had enough, and interrupted what would surely have turned out to be a complete brawl. "We have won, but we have bled. You are right, some people disobeyed orders, but it is not there that the matter lies.. What we need to do is heal our wounds, and then continue our march. Lord Fowler, how many men have we lost?"
The Old Hawk's answer was gruff and quick, "About eight thousand, dead or wounded, possibly more, Your Grace. About half of these losses affect the Golden Company."
"Our numbers have gone down by half." Edric turned to look at an officer in golden plating which he did not recognize. "Strickland, Byrne, Mandrake…we've lost many good men."
"Has the Golden Company selected a new leader?" Jon Connington asked.
"Aye, mine own brother, Ser William Cole," replied the sellsword, "he is being treated for a wound to the shoulder, but will live."
"What of the prisoners?" Edric Dayne found himself asking.
Daenerys Targaryen, until then silent, spoke while Edric tried his best to avoid looking in her eyes, "Tarly having fallen by your blade, Orton Merryweather and Arstan Selmy are the senior commanders of the army, they will be made public examples of our mercy, by being offered a chance to bend the knee. If they do so, they shall live. If they don't…they will be made examples in another way."
"Your Grace, they are prisoners, they cannot be executed!" Lord Fowler protested.
Aegon immediately whispered a few words in her ear, and Daenerys nodded.
"My apologies. Not executed…yet. But another punishment may yet be found."
There were murmurs around the table, but the matter was dropped quite quickly, and a few other matters were discussed, when Jon Connington made another suggestion.
"Your Grace, it would be wise…to replace your Master of Coin."
Edric's eyes suddenly shot up from the table, towards the Old Griffin.
"A sensible proposal, Your Grace, and I think we should resolve the matter of succession now, so as it does not impede the success of our campaign," Anders Yronwood puffed his chest.
If looks could kill, Yronwood would have dropped dead this instant.
"We must immediately send a raven to Sunspear, so that preparations can be made to install Trystane Martell as Prince of Dorne, and install a regency. The first motion of that regency should of course be to break the marriage pact with Myrcella Waters. As a senior and respected lord, I…"
"Shut up!" Edric found himself speaking.
The room turned silent and all eyes turned to him.
"What did you say, Lord Dayne?" Yronwood fixed him with his blue eyes.
"I said, shut up, Yronwood," Edric growled. "You think I don't see through your game? You think you're so discreet, do you? Thinking we would not notice the timing of your daughter Gwyneth arriving in Sunspear? That you wouldn't thrust her into Prince Trystane's arms like you did Quentyn's or mine?"
"These are baseless accusations!" Yronwood turned to face him fully, ready to duel.
"Careful, Yronwood, this is the man who defeated Randyll Tarly," Connington said with a serious tone.
"Dayne has the right of it, why suggest yourself as regent, Yronwood?" Fowler grinned. "You have no ties to Prince Trystane, and Prince Quentyn himself sidelined you for myself. Besides, Prince Quentyn has a daughter, does he not?"
"A bastard!" Yronwood spat out. "Prince Trystane is the rightful heir."
"I think the heir suits the person you have a candidate to get a marriage, Yronwood," Lord Jordayne snickered, "Aliandra Sand can just as well be legitimized by a royal decree and made heir."
"Or you can all shut up and ensure I'm actually dead before squabbling over my corpse before it's even cold."
The room went completely silent, everyone turning around to look for the all too familiar voice that had spoken.
There stood Prince Quentyn, his body covered in bandages, helped up by Nymeria Sand, with fire in her eyes, and Archibald Yronwood, who almost had to kneel to be able to support him. At least, they had given him a vest, which hid most of his horrendous state to his audience.
Coming behind the three of them was an old maester, almost out of breath, tools in hand, who was surprised while looking at the assembly, but kept his composure, instead just shaking his head and berating the prince for having left so quickly after waking up.
With difficulty, Quentyn managed to drag himself to a chair, where he slumped back in, still helped by both Nymeria and Archibald, the maester taking a seat beside him, looking for signs of gods knew what.
Edric could not stop smiling. Quentyn was not dead, and was…well if not in good health, at least alive and sane of mind.
"Prince Quentyn, we feared the worst!" King Aegon looked relieved. "But…your injuries…you must rest!"
"I'll not rest when I hear a war council is on the way, and where I hear such slander." Quentyn frowned, clutching his sides in pain.
"First of all, Prince Trystane is my heir until I take a wife and she bears me a son or daughter. That was my word on it a year ago, and it is still as such now."
Lord Jordayne and Lord Fowler acquiesced.
"Secondly, it is nice to see myself so greatly supported, Lord Yronwood. How kind of you to propose yourself for the regency. Notwithstanding the fact that you have of course tried to go behind my back at every turn, and proved yourself incapable of holding my trust, you would be an obvious choice." Quentyn spat. "Unfortunately, I do not see why I should trust you, and I shall tell you now. As long as I live, you will not step into Sunspear, nor will you get a whiff of power from me."
Yronwood made to speak, but Quentyn raised his bandaged hand in the air.
"Not a word. You also proved incapable of holding a flank without pursuing personal glory, in a blatant disregard of your orders, which were just to feint an attack and come back to your starting positions, baiting Tarly's left forward. Therefore, as commander of the Dornish forces, I revoke your command, and trust it to Lord Daeron Vaith."
The Lord of the Red Dunes grinned from ear to ear.
"You cannot!" Yronwood protested.
"I can, and I shall," Quentyn replied with fury in his eyes.
"Your Grace, I appeal to you!" Anders Yronwood turned to King Aegon, who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.
"I approve of Prince Quentyn's choice." Aegon nodded, "Lady Allyrion, what should be done with Lord Anders?"
A light of hope appeared in Yronwood's eyes, only to be snuffed out.
"Lord Yronwood disobeyed a direct command of both his King and his army commander, appointed by His Grace, Your Grace." Ynys smirked. "It could be treason."
Edric had never seen Yronwood so distraught. Everywhere he looked, everyone had turned against him.
"What punishment should be appropriate for Lord Yronwood?" Aegon asked Daenerys, who remained thoughtful for a moment.
"The penalty for treason is death…" she remained silent for a moment, "but Lord Anders did seem to mean well. However, I cannot allow him to keep fighting at our side."
"I agree." Aegon nodded. "Lord Anders Yronwood, you are removed from your duties, and, to spare your life, we will agree on you abdicating in favor of your son and heir, Cletus Yronwood. Does this sound amenable, my Queen?"
"It does. Of course, Lord Anders will be given the choice between exile and the Night's Watch. The blunder he made for personal glory almost cost us the battle, after all." Daenerys nodded.
"Of course, this is all acceptable," Aegon agreed. "Lord Connington, do make sure Lord Yronwood's ship is ready to sail from Sunspot in three days. For Essos or Eastwatch, the choice will be up to him, but it must be done before sunset today."
"It will be done, Your Grace." Connington bowed, trying hard to repress a smirk.
Everyone was trying hard to do the same, but Edric noticed clear smiles on the faces of Lord Fowler and Jordayne, at the very least.
"This is outrageous!" Yronwood tried to protest.
"You should have thought about it before going against me, my family, your orders, your King and your Queen." Quentyn's voice was like venom being spit from a viper. "We lost many good men today. My uncle, my friend, Ser Gerris. But many others, knights and footmen, noble and low-born, who will never see their wives, siblings, parents or loved ones again, because you decided to put your pride above all else. If it were up to me, you would be on the block to answer for their deaths."
"I think we've had enough." Daenerys finally sighed, exasperated. "Ser Rolly, Grey Worm, seize him, and keep him under close watch."
Yronwood tried to wrestle himself from his gaolers, but it was no use. He was forcefully dragged out, but dug in his heels while crossing Quentyn, Nymeria immediately drawing a dagger from her person.
"I made you," Anders Yronwood growled as he passed him, still escorted by Ser Rolly and the Unsullied, while Edric could have sworn Connington crack a smile.
"I made myself." Quentyn looked at him with contempt, his bandages still obscuring half of his face and right eye. "I considered you as a father once. It seems like I was wrong to do you such an honor. Get out of my sight."
Anders Yronwood did not have time to respond. He was forcefully dragged out of the room, while Quentyn slumped back in his chair, and uttered words that had everyone gritting their teeth.
"Now, let's talk about Daeron Targaryen."
