Oberyn Martell cursed as he rode through the mud and the fog, his desert red cloak stained with dirt. He had left Maidenpool with seven thousand Dornishmen, three of whom where mounted, hoping to join his nephew Aegon and his army southeast of the Gods Eye lake. Together, they planned to confront Tywin Lannister, the old lion who had ordered the murder of Oberyn's sister Elia and her children.
But the roads were treacherous, and the weather was foul. Oberyn had lost contact with Aegon's scouts, and had no idea where his nephew was. He only knew that Tywin was retreating from Harrenhal, and that they had to catch him before he reached a ford of Blackwater, near the Goldroad. He hoped to find a village or a holdfast where he could rest his men and horses, but all he saw were burned fields and corpses. The Lannisters had left a trail of devastation behind them, and Oberyn swore to make them pay.
Lannister have much to pay for, their beautiful crimson cloaks will show the blood, and their faces will lose the breath painted in blue. In life, Oberyn, only once was not in the right place when he had to. Every fight, every thrill, every person he took to bed, he never regretted, for every Dornishman has two spears and uses them both, unrestrained and free, living every pleasure one by one.
His fate, the terrible nightmare that drenches him in sweat in the cold desert nights, is that he cannot say he visited King's Landing twice in his life. And the first was so wonderful, for Elia felt wonderful, her big eyes with long lashes shone with joy, for Prince Rhaegar was so beautiful, gallant in armor, gorgeous in his black tunic with red rubies adorned on his chest. A dream for every woman in the realm, and a match worthy of Dorne, and yet the Dragon never subdued Dorne, we came, politically and literally, on our own terms, when we wanted.
Dorne lost its sun, on the day, when the lion choked the dragon. The mud-brick towns wept, the desert nomads screamed in pain, for their princess was lost, tortured and dishonored by dogs unworthy of her gaze. But the spear remains, swift and sharp, the time of creeping and whispering is over, the lions will burn before the blazing sun of Dorne. Seven thousand hearts beat with him, seven thousand spears thirst for the blood of the killers.
He was about to order a halt for the night, when a strong horn blew in the distance. Men tensed, and many reached for their spears. Hoping that is Aegon's signal, but feared it was not. Ordering his men to form a line, column rode ahead to scout.
A large force of men in red cloaks and lion banners, were marching in good order. The Lannisters, and they outnumbered him at least five to one. An anger and excitement, surged trough his body. For this moment, Oberyn had been waiting for years, to face the man who had killed his sister. Not caring about the odds, he only wanted revenge.
His black sand steed turned around, and Oberyn shouted to his men: "Brothers! We have found our prey! The Lannisters are here, and Tywin is with them! Lion thinks he can escape us, but he is wrong! We will make him pay for what he did to Elia and her daughter! The Old men will pay for every drop of Dornish blood he spilled! Pay with his life!"
His men cheered, and raised their spears. They were Dornishmen, fierce and proud. Dornish do not fear death, they dance with it, they sang to it, they make love to it. Memory of Princess was still clinging in every heart in Dorne.
Oberyn raised his spear and pointed it at the enemy.
"For Dorne! For Elia!"
He kicked his horse, and rushed forward, three thousand hoofbeats heartily followed him. A mighty charge, surrounded by twilight, his cavalry was unseen, as they crossed the forest-bound hill and entered the clearing.
The Lannisters saw them coming and formed a defensive line. Armed with crossbows and pikes, swords and shields. They were well-trained and well-armed, but Oberyn knew, they were also tired, hungry and demoralized. The two armies clashed with a thunderous noise. Spears broke, swords clashed, crossbows fired. Men screamed and died.
Oberyn fought like a demon, cutting through the Lannister ranks with his spear. Looking for Tywin, but he could not find him. On revange path, killing many men in red cloaks, but none of them were the old lion. One of his Dornishmen fall from his horse, pierced by a crossbow bolt. Another lost an arm to a sword stroke. Blood was everywhere. He did not care. He only wanted Tywin.
Finally seeing him, on his white horse, surrounded by guards. Oberyn smiled wickedly and spurred his horse towards him. Tywin Lannister watched from the rear, mounted on a white courser, soon he locked eyes with Oberyn, recognized his desert red cloak and snake-shaped helm, showing a plain cold chill look. Aware that Oberyn wanted to kill him personally, to make him suffer as he had made Elia suffer.
Old lion did not flinch, but he did not face him either. Circle of his guards protected him and were ready to kill Oberyn. Oberyn reached Tywin's position and threw his short spear at him with all his strength. It flew like an arrow towards Tywin's chest, but it never reached him. One of Tywin's guards intercepted it with his shield, saving his lord's life, but losing his own.
Oberyn cursed loudly and drew his saber. Leaping from his horse he attacked the guard who had blocked his path. The guard was no match for Oberyn's speed and skill, and he stabbed lion in the throat, then kicked him aside, as he looked at Tywin, who was staring at him with cold eyes.
Oberyn smiled and said, "Old man. Remember me?"
Tywin did not answer, but he did not need to. Oberyn knew he remembered. The lion watched him fight in the tournaments, he was aware of what Oberyn could and dared, of what he was ready for.
With blade, he lunged at Tywin, hoping to catch him off guard. But Tywin was well protected. Another man, at whom Oberyn looked with as much hatred, showed up. The Mountain. Two of Oberyn's men tried to help their commander, but one lost his head in a split second, while the other was cut in half.
The two men fought, blade against blade. Both experienced warriors, but different as the sun and the moon are.
Oberyn was quick and agile, using his saber to slash and stab. The Beast was incredibly strong and steady, with large sword to block and counter, but also too slow, which Oberyn used to his advantage. Poison was on his blade.
Dancing around, he finaly managed to cut the gargantuan knight's arm, drawing blood. It was only a matter of time before the poison took effect.
Taunting the Mountain by saying, "by the end of this day, Monster? "You will sing the song that I want to hear. You will confess, the truth that will take you to the deepest abyss of the cursed hell. Confess?", he rushed with fury at Tywin's dog, trying to get behind his back. His men were repelling the attacks of the other Lannisters, who were swarming like rats from all sides.
The Mountain wasn't like any knight. Even though the poison was already coursing through his veins and devouring his power from within, he remained standing on his feet. Oberyn should have put more poison on the blade, but he wanted the monster alive. His life was not enough, he had to confess. The Beast gathered his strength and swung sword at Oberyn's head.
Oberyn saw the blow coming and tried to dodge it. But he was too late. Clegane's sword hit Oberyn's helm, cracking it open. Oberyn fell to the ground, with incredible pain in his head. Almost losing consciousness, with his mind clouded by the stroke, he heard Mountain laughing, with the worst sound he ever heard.
"You...you can't...kill me...I am...the Mountain ...", and with that word, the masive knight crashed to the ground, with a thunderous clap.
Tywin, already at a safe distance, looked at the sight with contempt. Oberyn wanted to reach the Lion of Casterly Rock, but he didn't have any strength. He heard a shallow raspy breathing coming from a Mountain's helmet. The Monster was alive. He wanted, needed to finish him, but many hands were suddenly all over him.
"My prince, we must go," an unclear voice said.
A wave of dizziness washed over him, a numbness spreading through his body. A thought flashed... he was dying too.
He looked around him and through the fog saw the battle was not over. His men were still fighting, but they were losing ground. The Dornish cavalry had broken through the lines but were now pushed back by Lannister's own heavy-mounted knights.
Red Viper did not care. He had done his duty. Tywin's mad dog is dying. He closed his eyes and could only see Elia her beautiful smile and wait for death to claim him.
But death did not come.
Instead, he heard a horn blow in the distance. A loud and clear horn, a Dornish horn, a call for retreat...
...
Lions
Kevan had never been so frightened as in that moment, they were attacked suddenly, their lines were briefly broken and his brother's life was almost lost. Tywin's order and organization, as always, saved the day, the attack of the Dornish savages was successfully repelled. The stench enveloped the air on the muddy field, the corpses of horses and men marked the line of contact between the two armies, the red cloaks of the Lannisters and the lively colors of the Dornish warriors. Lannister men at arms were shortening the sufferings of the Dornishmen who did not have the luck to escape.
His brother turned to his commanders, who looked lost, many of them stared at the motionless body of Ser Gregor Clegane on the ground. Was the knight dead, Kevan did not know? However, there was no worry on Tywin Lannister's face, "Ser Forley and Ser Lyonel", Tywin turned to the Frey son of their sister Gemma, "take six thousand riders and follow the Dornish, do not let them escape or unite with the Targaryen pretender".
Forley Prester swallowed his words for a moment, but recovered, "My Lord, but they could have gone in several directions, take the road to Stony Sept, or Harrenhal or even east from where they presumably came?".
The impatient and green Ser Lyonel Frey did not share Ser Forley's justified doubt, "Ser Forley, they are not rabbits in holes but an army, we will find them on one road, just as they found us".
"Enough", said Tywin, "I do not tolerate excuses, go". The two knights left with bowed heads, but Kevan understood Ser Forley, if his host wandered too far from the main body, they would be of no use.
"The boy will either attack us or bar our way. This assault has cleared all doubts", Tywin continued, his voice calm and confident. "But it has also given us a great advantage, for we will now face only one army, and we will outnumber them greatly". Kevan had not expected to have to fight before reaching the Westerlands, but perhaps this was for the best. They would break one enemy, and then deal with the other.
He spurred his white horse towards Ser Gregor, who lay motionless on the ground, surrounded by several maesters and healers. Maester Talophil bowed to Tywin, then rasped, "Ser Gregor, he has but a scratch. We need to inspect him closely, before we know what ails him". Tywin was not pleased with the answer, Ser Gregor was one of his most potent weapons.
"If I may", a healer spoke to Tywin, in a low voice, clad in the robe of a maester, but without a chain and in color of black. Tywin gave him a nod. "It's manticore venom. Ser Gregor is poisoned, the venom is greatly watered down, so I reckon the aim was not to slay, but to cripple the victim. If you permit me... there are ways to preserve Ser Gregor".
Talophil looked with scorn at the words of the black healer, "This man is no expert",
"...but he discerned that Clegane is poisoned, without knowing that the assailant was Oberyn Martell, a perilous man, adept in arms and poison.", Tywin cut off the maester and eyed the black healer, "Do what you must. Name?"
"Qyburn" said the man, "but the treatment will be most grievous and painful for Ser Gregor".
"He is a large man, he will bear it", Tywin had no regard for Ser Gregor's feelings.
As he lay on the ground, Ser Gregor was barely a whisper, but hours later, his screams shook the camp. The knight's thunderous voice spat out incomprehensible words, which blended with his mumbling. Ser Gregor Clegane had never been a man of many words, but now he could not hold his tongue. And he was not alone, almost three hundred wounded men were howling in torment and it became evident that the Red Viper had not been the only one to poison his steel, almost all who had bled were dying. They lacked the Mountain's fortitude and their frail bodies gave up sooner and by the next dusk most of them were gone. Lord Sebaston Farman, of Fair Isle, met the Stranger at dawn, while old Tybolt Heatherspoon held on until nightfall. The mark of the foe who loathed them with a fiery passion was felt at every turn.
The corpses of the lords were embalmed and preserved, and left for burial in their domains, while the rest were burned. The following day's march was done in quietude, the pace of the march quickened when they trod on the Goldroad, there was a glimmer of hope that they would ford the Redwood Sept in tranquility, but fate had a trick in store for them. When they arrived at the plateau, where the road spanned over to two hills, in the distance they beheld thousands of blazing fires. The enemy had seized the hills that were the gateway to the Reach and the crossing where both branches of the Goldroad merged into the ford of Blackwater and into the one path. The Path of salvation.
...
Dragons
The smell of smoke and leather permeated the tent where Ser Jon Connington studied the map, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Just as he was lost in the intricate lines and symbols, the tent flap rustled, and Aegon barged in, with Harry Strickland by his side and a young Dornishmen.
Blood and sweat stained the Dornishman's face, Jon sensed trouble.
"Your Grace, Lord Connington, I come to you with tidings, three suns ago we met the enemy at Hilyard. Our charge was repelled"
A thousand storms take that damned Oberyn, Jon Connington's mind fumed, could he hope for a sense and reason from the Dornishmen. "They nicked them, it happens, the rest of the news is not so grim", Aegon grinned and did not appear to be troubled by the defeat of the Dornishmen.
"Ser Gulian Qorgyle assumed command, we retreated in a good order. Yet, the losses are not so trivial", the Dornishman went on. He was short of breath, a result of a long ride, "though our foot is unharmed for they took no part in the assault". The madman charged the enemy with only three thousand riders.
"And where is our wretched snake prince now?", Jon questioned the lad.
The lad glanced anxiously at the others in the tent, a fresh surge of sweat soaked his dusty face. The dust suits the dusky skin and black hair of a Dornishmen, Jon mused. "Prince Oberyn was wounded, he suffered a heavy blow to the head, but the maesters... the maesters say he will mend in a few suns".
Then Aegon gave Jon a sly wink, "and now the best part".
"The Lannisters sent their heavy cavalry after us, but we outran them and they took ser Gulian's ploy and are currently chasing our two hundred riders towards Stony Sept. Ser Gulian will bring our forces here, but he apologizes for the delay", the lad uttered his last words, than stood in silence. Lannisters will be here soon, sooner than Dornish.
Putting his hand on the lad's shoulder Aegon thanked him, "Doval, thank you, but you must return to deliver the message, that we make our stand here. Rest yourself, take provisions and a fresh mount, and ride back as fast as you can." The lad nodded firmly, bowed proudly and left the tent.
"We will be outnumbered by nearly two to one", Harry said gloomily, smoothing the bald spot on his head with his hand.
"I fear so, but we have no choice, if we risked joining with the Dornish, Tywin would easily slip through our fingers. He cannot go around us here.", Aegon said. Jon held his tongue, he recalled the old words, every battle plan goes awry after the first clash with the enemy.
"It will be a tough fight. The Lannisters are well armored and better trained and armed than any other host in Westeros", Harry added. In this, Homeless Harry was not mistaken.
"The delay of the Dornish is a small price, for we have stripped Tywin of his heavy horse", Aegon said, looking at the two hills with a sept marked on the map, the place where the Goldroad branched into two ways towards King's Landing. Yet Jon thought, Tywin did what any prudent commander would do, try to stop two enemy hosts from joining.
At Septa Lemore's plea, Aegon went to the Redwood sept to pray, but he returned weary and distant. Jon guessed the reason, but he held his words. For his ill mood, Aegon asked him to explain the plan to the officers. The bulk of their forces would be on the right wing, occupying lesser of two hills, under Ser Tristan Rivers' command. They would comprise of all the Westerosi forces, bolstered by two cohorts of the Golden Company and half of Balaq's archers, who would hold the sept and a few houses scattered around it. The left wing would be led by Ser Franklyn Flowers and they would guard the narrow passage on the left side of the large hill with only one cohort, while Aegon, Jon and Laswell Peake would be in the center with four cohorts. Harry would command the defense of the camp on the other side of the hills, preventing anyone from attacking them from behind, across the ford of the Blackwater. The Lannisters had allies and gold, and Aegon did not want to leave anything to the chance. Otreyes and his cavalry would form the reserve. They dug trenches at certain places, but most of the space was left open, because Aegon wanted the Lannisters to engage them in battle, not simply leave. The road led to a small hill, then crossed to a bigger one, but access to the big hill was also possible through an steep open field except for the left side which was overgrown with forest. Jon was worried about the rain that had been falling all night; if it continued in the coming days, it would cause them a lot of trouble, because a mud and elephants were not a good match and they could lose their main asset. First, the defeat of the Dornishmen, and now this; misfortune never comes alone.
...
Direwolf
"Lady Sansa, please stay in the confines of your tent", she heard Aegon's voice echoeing in her mind, and it pierced her heart like a dagger. His silence and cold looks hurt more than Joffrey's beatings. Since leaving Maidenpool, she had seen a different Aegon, who had donned his lordly mask and refused to take it off, even for Sansa. Aegon is not yours and he would never be. In the few weeks of marching, they had barely spoken a word, and later Sansa was forbidden to leave her tent.
Septa Lemore tried to comfort her, "In many ways, Aegon is still the boy I taught the first songs about the seven blessings. But now he tries to kill himself to become a king". Sansa did not want Aegon to kill himself, but she felt that he was doing it. She was once again a hostage, sending harsh messages to Robb, saying, bend the knee, for a sword hangs over your sister's neck. She wept at night, hiding her tears from Septa Lemore, but as after her father's death, her heart had withered and she lost the will to grieve. When the camp was on the move again, she rode far from Aegon, and her veil over her face was woven of sadness. The presence of Ser Barristan eased her woes, for although she did not know the man, she knew that her father had esteemed him greatly, and for Sansa that was enough.
"A terrible fate befell your father. Such a great man to be judged by a boy like Joffrey. The gods sometimes play cruelly with us," Ser Barristan said with a gentle voice, Sansa could tell he meant it, for he was one of the few who did. She had no words to reply but a grateful nod, for talking about her father's doom meant tearing open a wound that stubbornly refused to heal. Ser Barristan was one of those who knew the silent agony, rooted in bitter memories. "I was there when they seized him," he murmured and that was what Sansa wanted to hear.
"Please, Ser Barristan, go on," Sansa urged the knight to continue.
Nodding his head, and with a calm gaze and a smooth-fluenth voice, Ser Barristan resumed, "Your father brought the king's word, after Robert passed away. A parchment with the royal seal, naming him the Protector of the Realm, and thus regent. Cersei ripped it apart, and the men your father trusted turned against him. That thief Janos Slynt and… turncloak Littlefinger, held a blade to your father's neck. The other Starks were slain." Sansa saw the heads on spikes, the monster made her look, if only she could have pushed him over the edge, into the abyss. Bealish, the smooth-tongued Bealish, friend of her mother. Trust no one Sansa, she thought.
"Thank you kindly, Ser Barristan, you are truly a man of honor, as my father believed. What do you make of King Aegon?" Sansa inquired the knight, knowing that Ser Barristan was not one to sugarcoat his words with sweet lies. A man of his renown had no need to please or flatter anyone.
The knight regarded her pensively, in his eyes she saw that he was weighing the right words, "He has the look of a Targaryen, that none who beheld Aerys and Rhaegar, can deny. I spent a long while in his camp and he is a skilled commander. His camp is one that Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Arthur Dayne would not be ashamed of. Of his heart, I cannot judge for I have not seen the man up close. I have served three kings, witnessed five in my days, besides him. Good-hearted men are not always good kings, as those with wickedness and malice do not make poor rulers. King Aegon's army does not rape, burn homes, or slay, but he turned away thousands of starving folk on the Kingsroad while our camp was there. By that he is more Tywin Lannister than Rhaegar." She had seen it all, her heart ached watching the children with starved and yellow faces, after that she lost her appetite for days. This realm is hungry.
The mention of Rhaegar also stirred Sansa's curiosity. Ser Barristan had served then. "Were you there when Rhaegar took my aunt?" Sansa asked bluntly. Her words startled the knight and the sadness on his face became grief, for a moment he did not look at Sansa but at the past.
"No. I was never close to Rhaegar as Ser Arthur, Lord Connington or Myles Mooton were. But I knew enough of the prince to know that he was not one to hurt anyone for passion or vanity. I cannot speak of his reasons, nor of those who followed him. Three of my Kingsguard brothers were sent to fetch the prince back to the capital, after he vanished for nearly a year somewhere in the mountains of Dornish marches. None came back. Your father must have told you of that, for he crossed swords with Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold, the lord commander of the Kingsguard, and bested the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms." Except that her father never spoke of it, he seldom spoke of Aunt Lyanna and when he did, he said little. The finest knights in the seven kingdoms, why did they not go with Rhaegar to the north, they would surely have helped the prince at the Trident. Mayhaps it would save Rhaegar's life. Ser Arthur Dayne was the greatest knight of all time, even Sansa knew that. Those memories held so much pain, that men of that time found silence to be their lone friend.
They had marched for a week, then across the God's Eye river, and after several more days they came to a pair of hills where they pitched their tents. Sansa did not know if they had reached their destination, or if anyone would tell her. On the smaller hill, a sept had been carved out of the land, a plain red-roofed rectangle with a stumpy bell tower. The sept's spacious yard was walled all around, thirteen feet high. From atop the hill, she could see Blackwater on the other side, where the golden pavilions lined at the shore, spreading out from the river to hill side. Sansa spent her first days there finishing the needlework she had begun on the Kingsroad. She had embroidered a black handkerchief with a silver three-headed dragon, the sigil of House Targaryen, but she had altered one of the heads to look like a direwolf, the sigil of her own house and gave the dragons one tail a change as well, now it had sharp wolf's tail. She meant to give it to Aegon as a token of her affection, but she feared his reaction. Not knowing was better than being rejected, she thought.
Sansa decided to pray in the sept, but to her surprise Septa Lemore said she was not in the mood for prayer, so Sansa went with Ser Barristan as her escort. When the knight made sure the sept was empty, he stood by the door, while Sansa knelt before the statue of the Mother and lit a candle, half-burnt, and prayed for Aegon's safety in the battle to come, then for Robb and for a swift return home. Footsteps echoed in the empty sept and Sansa saw Aegon at the entrance. His face showed that he wanted to leave and Sansa turned her face to the candle, to hide a tear. The sound of metal and steps continued and Sansa saw in the polished statue of the Mother that Aegon had knelt before the statue of the Warrior. They were facing away from each other. Aegon laid his dark sword on the bedding before the Warrior and whispered something in a foreign tongue, but even his voice in strange words was soothing to her.
She mustered a grain of courage, and spoke to him in a raspy voice, "Your grace, I pray for your success in the battle to come". Silence followed and Sansa feared that Aegon would ignore her. Please, no more. The floodgates opened and she wept, her sob echoed melodiouslyon the modest arches of the sept's ceiling.
"I never thought I would be in this place again", Aegon whispered softly, but as if he was speaking more to himself than to her, "every tear of yours hurts, I… I don't know what to do" and for a brief moment she saw a tiny, almost imperceptible, tear, as it slid down his cheek. His tear stopped hers and Sansa with red eyes and a flushed face looked at him. He rose, lifted his head and bowed, "Lady Sansa, please, excuse me", then quickly left the sept. The quiet bell of his black armor rang in her ears.
Never in her life had Sansa Stark's heart pounded so fiercely, it felt like it would burst out of her breast. For a small eternity, his face became a mirror, in which she saw herself. That night Sansa was greeted by a blissful dream.
...
"There is something else, Cat," Edmure said cautiously, "the raven from Ser Cortnay Penrose was not the only one we received. A letter came from Maidenpool as well."
"Aye, the new Targaryen bids you and Robb to bend the knee to him. Renly had a letter just like it," Catelyn recalled how Renly had laughed at the letter, but everything made him laugh as he feasted and drank with a hundred thousand men at his back, bought with his goodfather's wealth. The shadow with Stannis's face still haunted her eyes.
"We had that one too. It seems my bumbling bannerman William Mooton has turned his cloak and gone over to this false dragon. But, Cat, a fortnight after we had another letter, one that they say was written by Sansa's own hand. It must be some Lannister ploy. I've heard whispers of battles near Maidenpool, but it's too far to know for certain," Catelyn paid no heed to the rest of Edmure's words, her heart only went out to Sansa.
"Show me," she raised her voice at her brother and almost commanded, caring not for his lordly airs at this moment. The ride to Riverrun had seemed endless, but when they arrived Cat made straight for Maester Vyman. She held a scrap of parchment in her hands and her heart almost stopped, the writing was Sansa's. Catelyn would know that flourish of some letters and dots shaped like little circles. Sansa had never been sparing with ink, no matter how much Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane chided her. "It is her," Cat said through tears. More her than in the letter that came by raven to Winterfell, which was more soaked with tears and written with someone else's words.
"But it makes no sense, Cat, why would the Lannisters play with the Kingslayer's life so lightly. It says here that Arya is not in their hands either," Edmure said confusedly. The part about Arya had frightened Catelyn to death, but at this moment she refused to give in to dark thoughts.
"Lord Edmure speaks truly, the lions would not risk Jaime's life with these tricks," said Ser Wendel Manderly. Beside her living father, Cat always felt uneasy hearing Edmure called lord.
"I can confirm that the raven indeed came from Maidenpool," Maester Vyman said quietly.
"I need a drink," Edmure stopped being a lord for a moment and became a boy again.
"Maester, please bring me paper and ink to my father's chamber... and prepare a raven for Maidenpool. The maester bowed and left with the clinking of his chain. Cat was home again, where the mighty sound of Trident was her silence.