Lomas
Lomas sat by the fire, watching the meat slowly roast on a makeshift spit. He had waited all day to eat, insisting that the army must travel as far and fast as possible while the sun was in the sky. Just before the sun was finished setting, Robin Horpe had led a hunting party which brought back a brace of fowl and two deer. As befitting Lomas' rank, he was given the choicest portion of one of the deer, to be shared with Ser Quentyn Ball. Normund, his squire, slowly turned the spit with both hands.
At present, the knight known as Fireball sat across from him, looking discontented. He was just as hungry as Lomas, and far less patient with the slow cooking process.
"Turn it faster, boy," Quentyn demanded of Normund, "That whole side is still pink!"
"Let the meat cook," Lomas countered. "It will only take longer if you fiddle with it."
"You missed your calling, Ser," Fireball snapped. "You should have become the king's food taster."
Lomas glared. Normund kept his head down, but Lomas could sense that the lad was terrified of Fireball. Lomas himself had always had a quick temper, admittedly, but even he was astonished by how little it took to coax anger from Ser Quentyn.
He sought to distract the knight from the meat by speaking of other things. "Let us discuss our plans."
It was six days since the Battle of the False Godswood, as the men were calling it, and two days since they'd left the village of Brindlewood along the Kingsroad.
Already the news had spread about the battle, and the deaths of two Kingsguard knights. Brindlewood had quickly hailed the Black Dragon when the army had occupied it, though Lomas was unsure whether their loyalty was true or feigned. Quentyn had seized the highest ranked officials, demanded all the ravens which the villagers possessed, and left with the officials as hostages to safeguard their departure. After half a day of travel, they'd released the hostages to walk home.
From there, the army had captured a guard post along the Goldroad and camped around it while the commanders made a decision on their next course as the moon hung high in the sky.
"Our plan is to meet up with the king," Quentyn answered. "We ride for Harrenhal. Or walk, if that be our fate," he added sourly as he glanced at the large carthorses grazing in the nearby field. He had swapped several of Daemon's worst mounts for better ones in the village, promising compensation from Daemon Blackfyre once he became king.
"We do not know if that is where he is," Lomas objected. "The king might have gone elsewhere for any number of reasons. And besides, we cannot ride to Harrenhal with only these numbers. If we are attacked by the riverlords, we will be cut to ribbons."
Quentyn waved his hand dismissively. "We have shown our strength already!"
"Those men did not come to a fight," Lomas countered as calmly as he could manage. "And we will not always choose the battlefields on which we fight."
Quentyn scowled, but he had no retort for Lomas. Although he was past thirty, he lived up to his moniker; his spirit and energy rivalled that of men who were ten years younger than he.
Lomas did not wish to argue again; he was growing very irritated with Quentyn, but he knew that quarreling would be the end of them both, as well as the men under their command.
Restraining his anger, the aged knight opened up his palms in a gesture of peace. "You have proved your valour, Ser, no man will deny that, least of all Daemon Blackfyre. Will you deny my experience fighting the Dornish? Will you deny my role in this first victory? Will you deny Daemon's trust in me as he trusts you?"
Quentyn frowned, but he shook his head. "Nay, I shan't do that."
"Then listen to my advice now. Take it or leave it, but will you not consider it first?"
Quentyn gave a long sigh. "Very well, very well. What do you suggest?"
Lomas took out the map which they'd taken from the Aegonfort. He laid it out beside the fire and pointed to an area which he knew very well. "We must go southwards and unite Daemon's strongest supporters."
Quentyn's expression softened. "Go on."
"Lord Strickland's lands lie here, on the Roseroad. His brother confirmed to me that the banners were called and assembled after that Skagos business was announced. They did not ride out, and my guess is that they are still present, waiting for news. We should join their forces with our own, then go south." Lomas' finger slowly followed the route which his words were outlining.
Quentyn examined the route, watching Lomas' finger travel southwards across the western Reach. "You mean to link our army with the marcher lords?"
"The marchers are Daemon's strongest allies," Lomas insisted proudly, "We have kept our lands by might alone. For thousands of years, the marchers have claimed their territory against all who would try to dislodge us. They have always opposed the false king's policies, and they are among the best warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. Stormlanders and Reachmen alike," Lomas added.
Fireball nodded slowly. "Aye, that's true enough. And if we get them, we can move towards the Hightower lands and have them join us too." His face suddenly fell as he studied the map. "The loyalists will rally, if they haven't already begun to rally. And Lord Leo Tyrell is a very worthy man. One of the best knights in all the realm." It was no small praise coming from Quentyn Ball.
"True enough," Lomas answered ruefully. "Our strategy must be that we keep the false king's supporters divided."
"How do we do that if we ourselves are striving to rally?" Quentyn wondered.
Before Lomas could even think of an answer, a loud voice rang out in the cool night air.
"Ser Quentyn!"
Lomas looked up as he heard Gideon Farring's voice calling for the Fireball. Both he and Quentyn arose as Gideon approached them. Behind him strode Karnac Thorne and Agramore Jayn. Between them were two women. Their arms were bound, and their clothing was threadbare.
"Milords!" One of the woman, older and harder-looking, cried out to the two commanders. "Have mercy!"
Lomas' attention went from the older woman to the younger. She was duskier than her companion, with a complexion that reminded Lomas of the salty Dornish look. Her black hair was unkempt and her face was unwashed.
"Who are you?" Lomas demanded.
"My name is Imma," the older woman answered, "and this is Jenny." Her head jerked to indicate her companion, who had looked away from Lomas when he'd spoken.
"We found them on the edge of our camp," Gideon declared.
"We were looking for the Goldroad!" Imma protested.
"At night?" Lomas snorted. "Either you were born with cat's eyes, or you have some reason to travel without light."
Several men were standing around them curiously. At Lomas' remark, they gave low chuckles. Jenny was squirming against her bonds whilst the other was trembling. There was something about them which Lomas did not like or trust.
He folded his arms as he regarded them suspiciously. "Whence come you?"
"Oldtown, Ser," Imma answered respectfully.
"A likely story!" Robin Horpe gave a hollow laugh. "That's a Dornishwoman if ever I saw one." He pointed at Jenny, who flinched at his gesture.
"And she's an Ironborn," a young knight from Lannisport interjected. "I've heard enough of her ilk to recognise that accent."
"Oldtown is big enough for all," Imma protested, "I came there when I was a girl."
"Mayhaps you should have stayed there," Lomas retorted. He was growing angry with these two.
"And as for you," he added, turning to the younger woman, "how do I know that you aren't a spy for our enemies?"
"Which enemies might those be, milord?" She answered.
When she spoke, Lomas sensed that she was speaking as though she were a cheap actor on a makeshift stage. She is trying to play stupid. Just like Titus…
"And now you mock us?" Lomas drew his sword. The older woman gave a cry of horror.
"Mercy!" The Ironborn woman seemed to be on the verge of tears. "We are no spies, I swear it!"
"I will not suffer spies to live!" Lomas raged. "Treachery flows in Dornish veins instead of blood!"
A large hand grabbed his shoulder, "Not so hasty, Ser."
Lomas turned and stared incredulously at Quentyn. Much to his surprise, the burly man was smiling at the women.
"Hasty?" Lomas lowered his sword and faced the Fireball. "We are at war! What other business would bring a Dornishwoman and an Ironborn here at the hour of the bat?"
"We are whores," the younger woman answered. She was not putting on any front this time; her eyes were teary, and her lip was trembling.
Quentyn turned to her again and nodded, as if he had expected that answer. Then his grin widened. "Prove it."
Lomas restrained the urge to curse, but other men sniggered at the Fireball's challenge.
As for the two women, they exchanged a glance which Lomas could not read, even as a smirking Ser Agramore untied their hands.
"We have no time for this," Lomas attempted to dissuade the younger knight.
"Speak for yourself," Fireball replied, even as he strode forward and took Jenny by the hand. He led her away into the darkness whilst Ser Gideon Farring loudly claimed Imma for himself, insisting that he found her. Others shouted their intent to take her next.
Lomas noticed that Clifford Straw stood nearby, looking at the proceedings with distaste. When Gretchel was disrobed, and Gideon began to claim her before several jeering knights, Clifford turned and walked away.
Lomas did the same, going back to the meat which Normund still attended dutifully. "I think it might be ready, Ser," he offered quietly.
The meat certainly smelled good, and when Lomas cut off a piece of it, the meat looked to be well done. He bit into it, sighing to himself. Remembering his squire, he looked up at him and gave a curt nod.
"Shall I inform Ser Quentyn?"
Lomas swallowed his mouthful of venison and shook his head, "He is preoccupied. Leave him to his own affairs."
"*"*"* "*" "*"*"* "*"* "*"* "* "*"* "*"*
Lomas slept soon after he'd eaten his fill, and he did not know whether Quentyn had returned to eat his own share. The Fireball made no mention of the venison when he arose the following morning. The whore known as Jenny was lying beside him, naked but for Quentyn's cloak. He gave her the cloak to keep, but not without a sharp cuff about the head, along with a growled warning her not to make use of his clothing in such a manner again.
It was decided to keep the women in camp, for whether they were spies or no, it would not do for them to leave and inform others where this army was. As they travelled southwards, Jenny and Imma were questioned on whether they could do aught else besides fuck. Imma proved useful at sewing, cooking, and other tasks which was beneath the knights in their army. Jenny sometimes assisted her, but oftentimes she was propositioned by men who enjoyed her unusual looks.
Quentyn in particular seemed interested in her. Lomas might have expected Fireball to fall prey to women's charms; ever since he'd forced his wife to join the silent sisters, Quentyn was tireless in his pursuit of women. He was a familiar face on the Street of Silk, two of whom had allegedly birthed his bastards. As the army had travelled, Lomas worried that he might give in to jealousy, and kept Quentyn preoccupied with other matters.
Quentyn did at least take Lomas' advice on strategy, for they immediately moved south towards the marches. On the way, they arrived at Penmore, where Lord Strickland greeted them by flying the black dragon from his castle walls.
Lord Hugo Strickland proved loyal and true. Not only did he provide a store of all the supplies they needed, but he also led four fifths of his bannermen whilst the rest stayed behind with Hugo's youngest brother to guard Penmore.
The army did not linger in Penmore; they embarked south-west upon the Roseroad within the same day of their arrival, determined to stay ahead of any Targaryen loyalists which might be pursuing them. But now their concerns had ebbed; Lord Strickland's forces had more than tripled their fighting strength, and they had enough food to eat well until they reached Horn Hill. In addition, they were also reinforced by Lord Tommax Cafferen of Fawnton, along with his own bannermen, shortly before they'd left Penmore.
Tommax also brought news from the Stormlands. All of the lords loyal to Daemon Blackfyre had only sent the least amount of troops towards the second contingent, which meant that they were stronger than the houses loyal to House Targaryen. All the same, the loyalists were martialling what forces they had left. House Baratheon had called their banners, sending a portion of them westwards to pursue Fireball and Lomas' forces.
"They will be on my heels any day now," Tommax Cafferen warned.
"Just as well," Quentyn had declared. "Daemon will rally his troops whilst we take this fight for ourselves!" Many men had cheered at these words.
Lords Cafferen and Strickland joined in the war council, along with a handful of lesser lords and powerful landed knights, though it was clear that they all chafed somewhat at being outranked by two mere knights. Neither of them were willing to risk Daemon's wroth, however, and neither of them had Lomas' experience or Quentyn's skill at arms.
Trouble began in earnest when the army was just a day's ride from Bitterbridge, where the Roseroad crossed the Mander. Ser Eustace Osgrey was in charge of the outriders, and he rode back with dreadful news.
"They're waiting for us," Eustace proclaimed angrily. "The bridge has been fortified!"
"Did you see how many await us there?" Quentyn mused. "Mayhaps we can fight them and take the bridge for ourselves."
"I doubt it," Eustace answered reluctantly. "House Caswell does not stand alone. I saw the banners of Conklyn, Varner, Willum, They have a large camp on the other side of the Mander."
"Let them come to us," Lord Tommax suggested. "Mayhaps we can lure them out by sacking Bitterbridge!"
"Nay," Lomas objected, "It will only waste time. They will know that we must needs cross the Mander, and all they have to do is hold firm until we are surrounded by other armies. Armies such as the one following you, my lord." He added the last as he glanced towards Lord Cafferen.
"Then what do we do?" Tommax countered, glaring at the aged knight.
Lomas paused, examined their map of the Reach, then looked at Quentyn. "Do we know if the Merryweathers are with us?"
The Mander was a mighty river in the Reach, starting north-east of Tumbleton and flowing all the way down to the Sunset Sea. House Merryweather of Longtable controlled the territory south of Bitterbridge. Their castle was located at the spot where the Mander and the Blue Byrn met.
"We heard no word of their support," Lord Strickland grunted.
"Then we are trapped if we try going west," Lord Tommax despaired. "We must abandon this foolish plan and go east." He glared at Lomas. "What more could we expect from an old greybeard?"
"Foolish it might seem," Quentyn objected, his face darkening with anger, "but I will not have you speak that way to Ser Lomas Tarly. He's stood beside the king far longer than you have!"
Lord Tommax had flushed, but he was unwilling to provoke one of the most dangerous knights in the realm. Still, disorder and dissension might have broken out amongst the Blackfyre ranks if Lomas had not spoken up again.
"Ser Eustace, did you see House Merryweather amongst the banners?"
The tall knight pondered for a moment, then shook his head, "I did not."
"What of the other banners?" Lomas insisted, "Name them all."
When Eustace had done so, Lomas turned to Quentyn, "That sums up most of the houses in this area, no? All except Merryweather?"
"Aye, more or less," Quentyn confirmed, a smile growing on his face. "That means Lord Merryweather is guarding his crossings alone."
"Why wouldn't he?" Hugo Strickland remarked with a shrug, "House Merryweather is one of the richest houses in the Reach! And none of those bridges will be like to that which House Caswell holds."
"Aye," Lomas answered, "which means that they will not be expecting us to attack them, much less more than one. Mayhaps we can secure those crossings and hold them against the others when they pursue us."
"We cannot rely on force alone," Hugo warned, "Merryweather will hold all the advantages against us."
"Mayhaps we can make use of guile," Lomas replied. He turned to Ser Eustace. "In the meantime, we need you to scout those Merryweather crossings. Go swiftly, but do not let them see you."
Ser Eustace saluted and made off for his horse, calling his young son Addam to his side.
Lomas noticed Eustace's second son, Harrold, preparing to follow his father, as well as Ser Clifford Straw. The sight of them suddenly struck Lomas with an idea, and he strode forward, calling Clifford and Harrold's names.
When they turned, he called them to join him and the other members of the war council.
"We are forming our next strategy," Lomas explained, "and we have need of you both to carry it out."