Hello everyone! Sorry for the long wait. I could not for the life of me figure out what to put in this chapter! I took some inspiration from the Siege of Astapor and the Battle of the Camps from the books to try help this battle along. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Author's Note: Blood, gore, and profanity ahead.
Feathery cirrus clouds decorated the bright blue sky as the sun closed in on its zenith. Down below in the forests that covered House Tarly's demesne, the Green host led by Prince Lydus Targaryen was reaching the destination of their march: House Tarly's seat of Horn Hill, which was less than a league away. Too bad the clouds were too high up, otherwise Lydus would have flown Seasmoke up into them and then dived down on Horn Hill and bathed the castle and its garrison in dragonfire like the Black Dread did to Harrenhal. As amazing as that would be, Lydus had no intention of wiping out the Tarly's; not only that, but the riderless Macetail was at the castle too, and Lydus was keen on securing that dragon for his cousin the king.
Horn Hill's towers were visible from Lydus's point-of-view, and the sight of them made the prince's heart beat quicker. "Warrior, guide my hand. Smith, lend me your strength...," Lydus intoned quietly to himself. He held his hand over his heart where, beneath his cuirass and chainmail, dangled the tiny clay effigy of a warrior holding a sword and shield on a length of twine. This crude piece of jewelry had been handmade by Lydus's mother, and he had been wearing it since his boyhood.
This necklace was very dear to Lydus, and its presence was more comforting than any prayer made to the Seven. He could remember Alys telling him how she had worked strands of their hair into the clay figure so that her dear Lydus would always have a part of his mother with him wherever he went and so that the "spirits would protect him from all harm." Lydus could almost feel his mother's love radiating from that effigy more so than from any god or spirit, her love calming him and boosting his self-confidence. The prince took a deep breath and sighed, enjoying the flicker of self-assurance that was burning inside him. Hearing the strong and steady flapping of Seasmoke's wings further strengthened Lydus's emotional aegis, and he moved his hand from his heart to Seasmoke's back.
Seasmoke's pale silvery-grey scales were clean and gleamed like a polished suit of armor under the soon-to-be midday sun. Dragon scales have a comforting, uniform texture like that of a mosaic if one wishes to rub a naked hand over one, but while mosaics are cool to the touch, a dragon's scales are warm. Lydus could feel the warmth of Seasmoke's body even through his gloved hand. It was moments like this that made Lydus feel so blessed and proud to be a Targaryen. Only those with the blood of Old Valyria flowing through their veins could tame and ride a dragon, and Lydus, though born on the wrong side of the sheets, was one of those lucky few who could.
"Ready for our first battle, Seasmoke?" Lydus asked as he rubbed his dragon's scales, a question that Seasmoke answered with a grunt. Lydus smiled and chuckled at Seasmoke's reply. "Good boy," said the prince proudly. He patted Seasmoke's scales and retracted his hand only for the dragon to grunt again and buck his head up, expressing nonverbally that he wanted Lydus to keep rubbing him.
Lydus's laughter over his dragon's antics was interrupted by the distant roar of a dragon. Macetail had sensed Seasmoke's approach. Even from a distance, Lydus could pick up signs of movement on Horn Hill's walls. His jolliness subsided as the seriousness of the upcoming confrontation took over. While Lydus's eyes were fixed on the castle, there were multiple pairs of eyes fixed on the encroaching host, but they were not from Horn Hill's garrison. Those myriad pairs of eyes were coming from the forest that lined the road.
As the host marched up the road, huntsmen dressed in green and brown rose slowly and silently like seedlings from the forest floor or peeked around trees. Hidden by shrubbery and tree trunks, the huntsmen fixed their determined gazes on the enemy host as if they were a large herd of deer. They controlled their breathing even though the clangor of metal, the rumbling of horse hooves and booted feet, and the growling of Seasmoke made whatever noise the huntsmen would have made undetectable. The experienced hunters steadily reached for their arrows and armed their bows, waiting for the signal to initiate the ambush. The signal would be made by the head huntsman, who would open the ambush by striking down a standard-bearer.
The head huntsman, whose green tunic was lined with red, took aim at the Tyrell standard-bearer who was marching behind the Lord of Highgarden. Once the standard-bearer was within range, the head huntsman released his bowstring. The arrow sailed through the air at the speed and deadliness of a bird of prey, and it hit its mark, piercing the standard-bearer through his left eye. The man dropped dead to the ground, his flag falling with him. Amidst the confusion, the other huntsmen opened fire on the host.
Men yelled "Ambush!" as arrows flew at them from the trees in both directions. Lord Lyonel Tyrell and anyone else who was wearing plate armor quickly pulled down their visors, held up their shields, and swatted at the arrows coming from the right with their swords. Lydus heard the shouts from his perch, and he looked down to see what was going on. He was surprised to see that some of the men and horses had fallen, and that some of the soldiers and knights who were still standing were heading towards the trees to attack their ambushers. These assailants needed to be flushed out of their element, and Lydus knew he was the man to do it.
The prince grabbed hold of Seasmoke's reins and steered him to fly around the forest canopy. "Dracarys!" Lydus commanded, and Seasmoke unleashed a great gout of dragonfire onto the treetops as he made a circuit around the area, creating a parenthesis of silver and pale blue flame. Frightened huntsmen along with their attackers came sprinting out from the forest to escape the fire as it spread and burned only for the former to be cut down with a vengeance with blades and spears. The huntsmen who were further ahead of the host either gunned it for Horn Hill or took a position to fire at Seasmoke as he flew overhead. The huntsmen soon learned that it would have been wiser to save their arrows as they saw their projectiles bounce harmlessly off Seasmoke's scales without so much as nicking him.
Lord Alan Tarly and his retinue observed this scene from Horn Hill's battlements, his retinue consisting of his Uncle Medgar, cousins Steffan and Ryman, and Ser Percival Wylde. "We need to release Macetail now," Alan stated as he watched the chaotic scene with a hard look. His kinsmen and Percival exchanged concerned glances behind his back. It had been two weeks since Prince Aelyx Targaryen was killed in the Assault on Harte's Watch, and no one at Horn Hill had mustered up the courage to try and claim him as their own, not even Percival, who was more familiar to the beast. Even if the non-Valyrian Percival were to work a miracle and claim Macetail as his mount, he wouldn't know how to control the beast in the Common Tongue let alone in Old Valyrian, the only word of that language that Percival knew being 'dracarys.' But still, a dragon was a dragon, and the Tarly's needed all the firepower they could use against the Greens and whatever dragon they were sending at them.
Alan turned to Percival. "Release Macetail, Ser Wylde, then mount your horse as soon as he takes flight and join my uncle and Steffan at the gate for the first sortie. Hector the enemy as much as you can and then return here to regroup for the second sortie that I will lead with my uncle and cousins. Does everyone understand what they have do?"
All the gathered men nodded.
"Very good," said a pleased Alan with as he nodded. "May the Warrior give strength to our sword-arms today."
The men parted ways and walked briskly to where they had to be. Percival rushed down from the battlements to Macetail's corner in Horn Hill's courtyard. Ser Wylde had to maneuver around knights and infantrymen, pageboys and squires, horses and, funnily enough, the odd poultry bird who got separated from its flock, as the men of the castle prepared for battle. Lit cauldrons full of boiling oil and primed and ready catapults stood in strategic positions throughout the courtyard waiting to wreak havoc upon Horn Hill's besiegers. The air was electrified with tension and anticipation and resounded with shouting, neighing, and fire crackling against a backdrop of blue sky, grey stone, and a surging sea of black, brown, green, red, and white livery.
This chaos was the culminative fruit of all of House Tarly's preparations for this day. Horn Hill's battlements were lined with archers and crossbowmen, and the castle's sept and cellars were crowded with non-combatants. Crowded as the courtyard was, all the men and boys walked around the circumference of Macetail's nest as if they were water flowing around a rock, the only other things to fill that space other than Macetail himself being animal bones and dragon dung. The circumference of the dragon's personal space had widened as he paced about to the full length of his chain in agitation, growling and hissing all the while. Percival paused for a moment to take in the sight.
It was only a fortnight ago when a similar scene played out on the Day of Blood, except Prince Aelyx was still alive. "Something big is afoot, boy," Aelyx had said to his dragon, who was calm and curious at the time. "The Greens want to make war against us. We need to ready ourselves for battle. Are you ready to give fire and blood to our enemies just like we did at Highgarden?"
That recollection stung Percival, who balled his hands into fists and tried to suppress his guilt. If only the prince was still here. But now was not the time to ruminate on if only, but of action.
"Macetail," Percival called out but went unheeded as the dragon hissed loudly towards the sky. "Macetail," Percival repeated as he carefully approached the creature's left wing and gingerly touched it. Macetail immediately faced Percival and screeched at him, sending forth a hot wave of breath that stunk of burnt flesh and other foulness. "It's alright, boy," Percival said reassuringly, holding his hands up in front of him, and doing his best to not to gag at the smell of Macetail's breath.
"I'm going to take your collar off. We need your help. Please don't bite me."
Macetail considered Ser Wylde's words, intelligence coming back to his red eyes, which had looked primal just moments before. "Amazing...," Percival thought to himself as he looked Macetail in the face, marveling at the creature that stood before him. The Targaryen's truly were a different breed of men; who else could boast having mastery over dragons? Percival threw caution to the wind and held out his hand, his shield-hand being the sacrificial lamb. "Let me help you, Macetail," he said as he stepped towards the dragon.
Macetail's demeanor softened as his late rider's sworn shield approached him, which greatly relieved Percival. The knight removed the pin that held the collar in place and carefully removed it from Macetail's neck. The collar fell to the ground with a loud clamor, and Macetail shook his neck to stretch his relieved muscles. Percival backed away as Macetail sauntered forward seeking room to spread his wings. Macetail looked skyward as some of the soldiers in the courtyard eyed him nervously.
Macetail made liftoff as Percival readied himself to mount his horse. The dragon flew over Horn Hill's walls and headed straight for the Green host. Seasmoke, who was standing in the middle of the road with the head huntsman clamped between his jaws, looked over his shoulder at Macetail. "Fuck!" Lydus hissed under his breath when he saw the riderless black dragon flying towards his host. Seasmoke, however, was not Macetail's focus for long.
Macetail caught sight of the orange and black banners of House Peake, colors that roused an anger inside him that was as red as his eyes and was fueled by his memories of the Assault on Harte's Watch. So angry was Macetail that he flew over Seasmoke while he was still grounded and unleashed a furious torrent of black, red and white dragonfire on the Peake soldiers. Ser Rickard Peake, the new lord of his house, made a mad dash on horseback for the trees along with his fellow lords to avoid Macetail's fiery wrath to save both himself and his bloodline. Rickard's life was spared, but a good deal of his men were burned alive. Macetail took to the sky to dive down on the host again only to see that Seasmoke was now flying towards him.
The two dragons were unevenly matched. Macetail was nine years old and the size of an elephant, whereas Seasmoke was fifty-three and as big as a war galley. It was like a minnow staring down at a charging shark. Lord Tarly knew that Macetail was outmatched by Seasmoke, but he was desperate for anything that could help protect his house from another dragon. Not only that, but the Tarly's host needed a distraction for their sorties. Alan and Ryman saw the incoming clash between Macetail and Seasmoke, and the latter ran over to the other side of the battlement he was standing on to share this news with his father and brother.
"Father! Steffan! Seasmoke and Macetail are about to clash in midair! The enemy is in disarray!"
Lord Alan, without taking his eyes off the battling dragons, shouted out a single command. "Open the gate!" As Horn Hill's gate opened, the riderless Macetail ducked under Seasmoke as he charged towards him with a gaping maw. Small as Macetail was, he was quicker than his opponent, and he ducked under the charging Seasmoke. As soon as he was under Seasmoke's tail, the scrappy dragon flew up and chomped down on his opponent's tail near the tip.
Seasmoke growled and swiped his tail hard from side to side to throw off Macetail. Macetail sank his teeth into Seasmoke's tail and tore out a chunk from it. Seasmoke let out a pained roar and craned his neck around to snap at his attacker, who evaded him yet again by flying upwards. Unbelievably, Macetail, instead of flying up into the sky, made a downward trajectory and landed right on top of Seasmoke's back. The young black dragon sank his claws into Seasmoke's back, and he grinned menacingly at the horrified Lydus when he looked over his shoulder.
An incomprehensible stream of curses flooded out of Lydus's mouth and, without having to give the order, Seasmoke began flying erratically to try and shake Macetail off. As the larger dragon tried to throw his opponent off his back, the first Tarly sortie advanced on the Greens down below. Chaotic as it was prior to the clash, Lyonel was able to command some of his men to form a shield wall to resist the incoming Tarly attack with their spears. Medgar, Steffan, Percival, and the mounted Tarly and Targaryen knights halted their charge but commanded their own infantrymen to press forward. Lord Tyrell commanded his men to thrust their spears forward and skewer as many enemies as they could, but those who evaded skewering maneuvered between the wooden shafts to attack the spearmen.
Lyonel and his knights charged forward to attack the Tarly, Hunt, and Targaryen soldiers, unintentionally opening their own shield wall from behind. Medgar went after Lord Tyrell while his son and Ser Wylde went for his lordship's kinsmen. The confrontation below went completely unheeded by Lydus as he and Seasmoke tried to shake Macetail off his back. Macetail climbed up Seasmoke's back inch by inch, digging his dewclaws and the claws on his feet into his opponent's back scales, a rictus grin still present on his face. He had opened his maw every now and then to try and breathe dragonfire on Lydus, but Seasmoke's erratic movements shook the smaller dragon and prevented him from getting a clean shot at his target.
"Get the hell off! Get the hell off!" Lydus shouted frantically. Desperate and scared out of his wits, Lydus looked down at the trees below and an idea came to him. He snapped Seasmoke's reins and commanded the great beast to fly down to the burning treetops. Wind and smoke buffeted the faces of both dragons and Lydus as the three flew down, who was gritting his teeth and hoping and praying that his plan would work.
Macetail gritted his teeth too, and he took advantage of gravity by climbing further up Seasmoke's back and opening his mouth, fire building up in the back of his throat. Macetail's mouth was completely open when Lydus snapped Seasmoke's reins again when they were just above the burning forest canopy. "Roll, Seasmoke! Roll!" A jet of dragonfire shot down Seasmoke's back, but Prince Lydus had ducked down as low as he could go as Seasmoke rolled over in midair.
Macetail's back bumped into treetops until his right shoulder collided with the trunk of a tall flaming pine hard enough for his claws to slip out of Seasmoke's back and to break off the top of the tree. Seasmoke groaned with relief and spun around to right himself in the air as his opponent crashed into the burning forest floor below. Lydus rose in his saddle and looked over his shoulder to see to his immense relief that Macetail was gone and that his plan had worked. As Lydus whooped with excitement, Macetail rose from his bed of splinters, pine needles and pinecones amidst a backdrop of raging silver and pale blue flames. His shoulder was sore from the impact with the pine tree, but Macetail's fury and determination deadened whatever pain he was feeling.
Even through the roaring flames Macetail heard the clamor of battle. Looking over his left shoulder, Macetail could see glints of sunshine flashing off armor and swords from between the trees, and he could hear the shouts of men and smell their blood and sweat. And just beyond the sights, sounds, and scents of battle, Macetail spied the orange and black colors of House Peake amongst the Tyrell green and gold and the Hightower grey, white, and fire-orange. A snarling Macetail swiped his tail through the burning trees, cutting them down with one strike, turning around as he did so, and rushed through the forest towards the road.
Lydus was flying over the forest when he saw Macetail advance through the forest from his crash site to the road. "Oh, come on!" roared Lydus as he witnessed the sight. His horror grew when he saw Macetail's dragonfire reach the Green army from the forest. The black, red and white flames were spotted by the watchmen at Horn Hill, and Ryman ran over to inform his cousin of this development. Lord Herbert Hunter voiced what was on Alan's mind at that very moment.
"Sod the regrouping, my lord. Now is the best time to lead the second sortie. The Greens' advance has been halted by the black dragon."
Lord Alan Tarly nodded in affirmation, and he looked up and issued the same command as before. "Open the gate!" Brandishing Heartsbane above his head, Lord Tarly led his men out of Horn Hill on foot towards the Greens, who were positively getting hammered at both ends by the Blacks at the front and by Macetail down the line. Lyonel found a worthy opponent in Alan's uncle, who was still an adept swordsman despite his age. Percival had slain one of Lyonel's cousins while Steffan was fending off another cousin and a Vyrwel knight at the same time.
Medgar made the fatal mistake of looking over his shoulder when he heard the battle cries of the second sortie led by his nephew, and Medgar received a heavy blow to his covered head by a morning star swung by a knight from House Pommingham. "Uncle Medgar!" Alan screamed as he ran. The Lord of Horn Hill soon found an outlet for his grief and vengefulness by swinging Heartsbane left and right at the Green soldiers who were confronting the new sortie. As if things couldn't have gotten any worse for the Greens, Macetail emerged from the burning wood.
It was like a demon emerging through a portal from one of the Seven Hells. Macetail's grinning snout was the first thing that appeared amidst the flames, then his red eyes became visible, followed by his horns and gradually the rest of his body. Chaos spread across the invading army when Macetail made himself known, and dozens of soldiers threw down their weapons and shields to flee. Macetail unleashed another stream of fire on the army, but Seasmoke's foot landing on his back cut off that stream abruptly. The cracking of bones could be distinguished even amidst the crackling of the inferno, and Macetail hissed loudly from pain, a mist of dark red blood spraying forth from his mouth instead of dragonfire.
The left and right toes on Seasmoke's left foot pinned down Macetail's wings, and the claw of his middle toe dug into the smaller dragon's spine. But not even being crushed underfoot and hemorrhaging from within could abate Macetail's fury nor encourage his submission. He snapped at Seasmoke's toes and whipped his tail at the bigger dragon's calf and heel. Lydus, his face contorted with disappointment, knew that there would be no claiming of Macetail for the Greens. "Seasmoke, kill him...," uttered Lydus, whose heart was heavy with the burden of having to euthanize a dragon.
Seasmoke lunged at Macetail's neck with jaws wide and clamped down hard. One bite was enough to break the smaller dragon's neck and kill him, but this didn't satisfy Seasmoke. Applying more pressure, Seasmoke tugged violently to his right, a movement that detached Macetail's head from his body. Seasmoke's eyes met those of Lord Tarly and his men after beheading Macetail. The smaller dragon's death created an uneasy "peace" between the Blacks and Greens, and men from both sides gaped in awed horror at the sight.
An eerie quiet had also descended upon the defenders at Horn Hill as well as news of Macetail's death spread throughout the castle. Lydus stared forlornly at the gruesome "trophy" that Seasmoke held between his jaws, until, as if drawn by the oppressive quiet that had fallen over the battlefield, gazed over the shellshocked soldiers and knights who filled the road. Dragonfire and two sorties had devastated Lydus's contingent, and he no longer had enough men to perpetuate siege warfare against House Tarly. But at least he still had Seasmoke. Not only that, but now with Macetail gone, no siege had to take place.
It was time to end this battle. Lydus urged Seasmoke on, and the great beast, without breaking eye contact with Alan Tarly, released Macetail's severed head from his jaws. Soldiers quickly parted to make a path for Seasmoke as he advanced upon the Blacks. The dragon's approach snapped the Blacks out of their shock, and they turned on their heels and ran for Horn Hill including Lord Tarly and his cousin. Ser Wylde was the only one who held his ground, but most of his men abandoned him for the castle, and it did not take long for Percival to be captured by the enemy.
Lydus had no interest in capturing anyone just yet. "Seasmoke, dracarys." Silver and pale blue flames flooded out of Seasmoke's mouth towards the retreating Blacks. Half of the retreating sortie was consumed in fire, leaving a writhing mass of burning and screaming men on the road, Alan and Steffan being amongst their number. The dragon flapped his wings and took to the air again. Ryman Tarly knew what was coming as he watched Seasmoke head for Horn Hill.
"Everybody run!" shouted Ryman to the castle's defenders, who all fled to find shelter. Seasmoke's shadow washed over what was left of the running sortie as he approached Horn Hill. He made an upward trajectory from the gate, climbing high up into the sky before descending again. Lydus squinted against the current that seeped through his visor as Seasmoke flew down at an increasing momentum. Dragon and rider were right above Horn Hill's courtyard when Lydus gave Seasmoke the command of dracarys.
The catapults caught fire almost immediately, and the oil in the cauldrons were set aflame as their iron encasements melted around them. Waves of burning oil spilled out into the yard, setting fire to every burnable object the fiery liquid came across, be it piled weapons, wood, straw, or living creatures both animal and human. With the Tarly's siege weapons destroyed, there was one last thing to do. Open Horn Hill's gate. Whoever was manning the gatehouse was probably too scared to do anything with the chaos going on, or was arguing over what to do next, and so the gate remained shut.
Flying over the courtyard and turning around in midair, Seasmoke landed on the battlement that was left to the gate from the yard. Lydus unfastened his chain harness as soon as Seasmoke had landed on the wall, and he quickly but carefully descended from his dragon onto the stone floor below. Seasmoke's body blocked off the stairwell to their side of the wall so that defenders couldn't ascend the steps to go after Lydus. Burning oil in the yard was occupying most of the defenders, but there were still men manning the gatehouse. And of course, there were the archers and crossbowmen who still manning the walls.
Inhaling deeply to steel himself for what was to come, Lydus kissed his mother's amulet and unsheathed his sword. Seasmoke unleashed a gout of dragonfire towards the defenders on the opposite wall as his rider dealt with the men on their wall. Archers and crossbowmen do not wear a lot of armor, mostly cloth, leather, and chainmail, and they soon fell prey to Lydus, whose skill with swordplay was nearly if not equal to his father's. As Lydus cut his way to the gatehouse, what was left of the Green army reached Horn Hill and were battling the remnants of the Tarly's two sorties at the closed gate. Sequestered away inside Horn Hill's sept and cellars, the non-combatants trembled and prayed, hoping for a miracle and for this nightmare to finally be over.
And a miracle would come, but not in favor of the Tarly's. Lydus, whose armor was splattered with blood and was dripping with sweat beneath it, was all but staggering towards the gatehouse's entrance when he heard the telltale noise of a gate opening. Lydus stopped in his tracks to listen to see if what he was hearing was true. Cheers of joyous victory rose from outside Horn Hill's walls, and a tired smile of relief waxed on the prince's moist, sanguine face. The wood and iron door of the gatehouse opened and an all but rabid Ser Ryman Tarly was led out by two turncloaks.
"Bastards! Traitors! I'll have your heads for this!"
"Yours will roll first before ours, milord," quipped the soldier on Ryman's left. The turncloaks grinned, but they became more serious once they acknowledged Prince Lydus Targaryen. Lydus did not share the men's glibness. He was tired and wanted this battle to be over with.
Lydus pointed his sword at Ryman and asked for his name. "Lord Ryman," began Lydus after acquiring his captive's name, "bend the knee in the name of my cousin, King Jaehaerys Targaryen the Second of His Name, and you will be spared." Glancing briefly at the still burning courtyard, Lydus added, "If you do not bend the knee, I will give you the choice of either being thrown into the fire here or feed you to Seasmoke. Your choice. Choose wisely."
Ryman's eyes glanced from the flames that were consuming Horn Hill's courtyard to Seasmoke, who was glaring at him, giving the impression that he would not mind taking another life today. Whatever defiance was left inside the man was clearly evaporating, and Lydus saw how Ryman's eyes were becoming glassy with tears. Ryman closed his eyes tightly, teardrops dripping from between his lids. But Ryman did not bend the knee. He looked back up at Lydus, his eyes wet but burning with a new flame that was just as fierce as the fires that were burning in the forest and the castle.
"Fuck you and your false king, traitor," growled Ryman. "May you, your cousin, your father, and all your damn kinsmen burn in the Seven Hells! The only sovereign my house and I will ever bend the knee to is Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen the First of Her Name. The Dragon Queen. Your lady aunt."
Lydus narrowed his purple eyes at the defiant Ryman. He pressed the tip of his sword against the apple in Ryman's throat. Skewering Ser Tarly's throat danced in Lydus's mind. "Throw him into the fire," Lydus commanded Ryman's captors without breaking eye contact with him. "There's plenty of better fare around here for Seasmoke to gorge himself on besides this stubborn piece of gristle."
Ryman's expression did not change even as he was hoisted up onto his feet by the two turncloaks. Neither did Lydus's face change as he watched his captive be picked up and thrown like a sack of dry goods into a nearby conflagration. Ryman screamed and writhed of course when he was enrobed in flames, and another pall of silence befell Horn Hill after the young man finally expired. The Greens and their Black captives watched the fires from the safety of the gate, enthralled by the size, power, and beauty of silver, pale blue, red and orange flames as they danced over stone, wood, and corpses.
Seasmoke hissed and growled, drawing his rider's attention to a septon who was standing in front of the keep's entrance. Lydus, along with Lyonel Tyrell and Rickard Peake, met the septon in the middle of the courtyard. The septon was the confessor of Alan's widow, Allison. The confessor had brought word that her ladyship wished to meet with Prince Lydus Targaryen in Horn Hill's sept to negotiate House Tarly's surrender. Lydus agreed, and he followed the confessor into the castle with Lyonel and Rickard.
Allison Beesbury, who now bore the title of Lady Regent of Horn Hill, was standing before the sept's altar when Lydus arrived with her oldest son, a boy of only seven years who was now the new Lord of Horn Hill, standing by her side. The victors quietly made their way towards Allison as the wide eyes of the solemn, frightened members of House Tarly and their household looked on. Allison was pale, her amber eyes dark and mournful, but her outward demeanor was impressively composed and calm. Dowager Lady Jeyne Rowan watched her daughter-in-law from one of the front pews with tears in her eyes and her arms around her grandchildren.
The three men removed their helms in respect to the widowed Lady Allison. Prince Lydus broke the ice by speaking gently to the widow. "House Tarly fought bravely and well, my lady. Lord Alan and his men were a sight to behold."
Allison bit her lip, her eyes glimmering. "I know they did, my prince," she said clearly even though there was a tremor in her voice. "One does not expect anything less from a Tarly or any of the Marcher Lords." Allison glanced at Lord Rickard Peake, who averted his gaze out of shame. Lady Beesbury returned her gaze to Lydus, biting her lip and tapping into her courage to carry on with the negotiations.
House Tarly's surrender went ahead without any issues, and Lydus, Lyonel, and Rickard were cordial and respectful to Allison. The Greens promised to be merciful to the Tarly's, but being the victors, they were certainly going to take liberties with the vanquished enemy. First things first, Lydus (gently) demanded the release of his cousins, his Uncle Daeron's two sons and granddaughter: Valerion, Aeryn, and Daena, as well as Daena's wet nurse. Secondly, House Tarly had to surrender hostages to Oldtown. Thirdly, finally, and most importantly, the Tarly's had to bend the knee to King Jaehaerys II Targaryen.
Allison complied with all that was requested of her, subduing whatever pain she was feeling, in the name of her young son. Jeyne Rowan and all her grandchildren by Alan save for his oldest boy were going to be taken hostage by the Greens. With separation looming over the nascent Lord of Horn Hill's head, his liege lord and Prince Lydus were reunited with their captive relatives. Lyonel took his infant daughter from her wet nurse's arms to spin her around, kiss her, and soothe her. Lydus embraced Valerion and Aeryn and offered his condolences to them over the death of their little brother Valarr at Honeyholt.
Later that night, as the Greens recuperated from the battle at Horn Hill (Lyonel was "recuperating" with Daena's wet nurse somewhere in the castle), Lydus presented the new Lord Tarly with Heartsbane. The sword had been retrieved from the pile of ashes that had once been Alan and his men. Rickard Peake had suggested to Lydus that he should keep Heartsbane as a prize of war, but the prince refused. Lydus's explanation for his refusal was thus:
"No. Tempting as that would be, Rickard, I will not claim Heartsbane as my own. House Tarly has lost enough today. I will let the late Lord Tarly's son keep his sword."
Horrific as House Tarly's losses were from the Battle of Horn Hill, their losses were small in comparison to what the Greens had lost that day. The ambush by the huntsmen, the two sorties, and the dragonfire breathed by both Seasmoke and Macetail had reaped thousands of Green deaths whereas the Blacks' casualty list was in the hundreds. Worser still, more death was going to be sown up in Lord Tyrell's demesne that would reduce the size of the False King's army even more...
Next up, the Battle of Highgarden! I hope Seasmoke rolling in midair was not too unrealistic or anything (ironic given that this involves dragons). Stay tuned. Thank you for reading. :)