The White Knife
2000 BC
They had only been marching for two weeks, yet Alyn's legs hurt worse than he thought could be possible. He was seventeen years old, he had been on a dozen hunts yet not a single one compared to this marching. While the hunts would often last at most three or four days, they had been non-stop marching for fourteen days straight. They first marched towards Castle Cerwyn, collecting the levies and men at arms from the castle as well as its lord Robin Cerwyn, Then quickly continuing on following the river till it joined into the White Knife. Despite all this walking they had only now just reached White Knife. After camping for a day they were quickly joined by the Dustins, after that was the Reeds and half the Flint army, the rest having stayed to garrison Moat Cailin.
After camping for one more day, House Hornwood came, and with them came news that no one wanted to hear.
"The fuck do ya mean they ain't here yet." The imposing voice of his Uncle Bernard rang through the tent they were huddled in. Anyone who was anyone was cramped inside the enclosed piece of fabric. A wooden table, possibly the only one in the camp, sat square in the middle of the tent. A massive map of the north was placed over it, wineskins used to hold down each corner. The main powers in the army stood around said table, while captains and masterly houses stood behind.
"House flint sent word to Hornwood Prince Bernard. A rider met me not two days ago. They say due to House Woolfields regency there was no one to lead their levies. They are still four days behind us, as is House Flint." Domeric Hornwood was older than Prince Bernard. A man forty-four years of age yet he did not look a day over thirty. A well-trimmed brown beard and a brown set of hair helped him look younger, yet that being said signs of gray hair were seen if one looked close enough.
"The fuckers." Was all Alyn's uncle could initially proclaim. Before shaking his head and taking a single wooden soldier from the map. Signifying the loss of men to our cause. "We have to move on without them. We have waited long enough."
"From this point onwards it is nothing but flat plains. They have more than double our cavalry, so the last thing we want is to be stuck in an open field." Bernard announced, They had managed to discuss this the day beforehand. His uncle ran through the plan with Alyn multiple times, and it all made sense to Alyn if it worked. "From here we have a fast march over the plains. It should only take us two days, but we cannot afford to be caught off guard. Lord Reed, extend the scouting perimeter to half a day ahead of us. Only your best men." That did not warrant a response from Walton Reed, the man merely noted as he stood there, arms crossed in his fur coat. Despite being the height of summer it was windy on this particular day, making the air rather bitter.
"We march at first light. Lord Dustin, you have the vanguard. Lord Hornwood you take the baggage train. Everyone out except you." The brotherly prince declared, and without complaint, they listened. As they filed out, the captains and masterly houses first followed by the Lords, Lord Domeric Hornwood stayed rooted to where he was at the end of the table facing Alyn's uncle.
"I understand the baggage train seems like a job for a lesser Lord, but to understand the importance of it for this war." His uncle stated, and by his conviction, Alyn believed him.
"I Understand Prince Bernard." Was the simple, no-nonsense response the aging lord replied with, not clarifying further.
"No, My Lord I do not think you do, we have no more food coming. That baggage train if we supplement it with foraging will last us six moons. If we lose it we starve. Let Lord Dustin gloat about the vanguard, when we win this war it'll be because of that baggage train not him marching first." Bernard explained, yet it seemed Lord Hornwood knew that already as he simply nodded, leaving when Bernard waved his hand to dismiss him.
With only the two of them left in the tent, his uncle let out a sign. Yet his face remained the usually stoic image he always expressed. "Tell me again, why are each Lord placed where they are?" His uncle asked something he had been doing the entire march.
"The Reeds are poor infantrymen, they will say so themselves. They are better suited as a scout or skirmishing force. The Dustins make up the majority of our armies, and Lord Dustin is eager to prove himself so placing him in the vanguard keeps him happy. Lord Hornwood is experienced and mature, he won't do anything rash and will keep our supplies safe. House Cerwyn, is a small house, The lord is nearly forty and seems content doing nothing. He won't care about being placed in the middle with no duties." Alyn managed to answer instantly, it had already been asked of him every day for five days straight, and he knew it off by heart at this stage.
His uncle merely grunted, acknowledging the correct answer. After a moment's pause, he looked back at Alyn. "Some day, maybe soon, maybe not, you'll be leading your brothers' armies. As I have your fathers', you need to know these things, how to balance pleasing the lords with what is best for the army. As well as how to plan your wars." Alyn nodded in understanding.
Another few seconds of silence passed before Alyn asked what had been on his mind since they left Winterfell. "Is father wrong? Approaching war like this."
Whatever reaction Alyn was expecting, he certainly did not expect a chuckle from his uncle. "Aye, I'd think so. My initial suggestion was to do something similar to you, allowing the boltons to deal with the Andals. Alas, it was not to be, Your father was thinking about potential rebellions, and he thinks letting the Boltons claim glory on this one would spark something he does not want lit."
Alyn's mother was a Bolton, Margaret Stark nee Bolton was a kind woman. Nothing like the stories of the Red Kings were like, yet she was also distant from everyone, even her own sons. Bernard once said she had gone through a few failed pregnancies, which she never recovered from. Yet if that was the true reason Alyn was not so sure.
Despite being seventeen years old, Bernard still ruffled Alyn's hair like one would to a little kid, and gave him a genuine smile. "Stop overthinking. It is still a sound plan, We have the better archers and know the lands. This Bluestar knight needs a win, and soon. If he does not defeat us soon he will find himself outnumbered, which means as long as we get to a defensive position in time we will hold." Alyn nodded at that, he did not doubt it. He knew this plan could work, he was just unsure if it was the best plan in the first place.
"HOLD, HOLD," Alyn Yelled to the small contingency of 200 Stark men he had been given command of. Luck had not been on their side, not even a full day into their march scouts reported the Andal vanguard ahead. Knowing their cavalry would run rampant in these open fields, his uncle ordered the men to line up close to the river. The wet terrain would hopefully slow down any charge while the river would act as a natural defense protecting their flank. Despite this, the Andals charged with fierce might. The northern shield wall held strong under the initial charge, yet it was obvious to all that another charge of equal ferocity would destroy the Firstmens lines.
Due to this, Prince Bernard ordered the archers to thwart the opposition cavalry, thus leading to Alyn's current predicament. "Forward men, Send the Andals to their seven hells." He yelled at his men, swinging his axe at a poorly equipped greybeard, slicing the man's throat with nearly no effort. With no archers opposing them, The Andal bowmen rained hell onto the stark lines. While Alyn's men kept their shield high and huddled close, it meant the Andal footmen could march right up to the northerns face without fear of being attacked. Of course, with the lines so close together, All archers stopped firing near Alyn's men. Yet not having time to prepare for the Andal attack had forced his men on the back foot.
They had held well, although it quickly became clear the Andals before him were the lowest of the low, simple meat shields for the knights in their ranks. Taking a step back, allowing a small guardsman to step into the line, Alyn looked around him. He could see the Dustin forces start to push forward ever so slightly, and that is when he saw an issue arise. While the Dustin's inched forward, Lord Cerwyn beside him had taken a hit. Clearly limping away from the front lines, his men saw it also as they began to step backward. A gap, a small one at that moment but one ever-expanding was forming.
He wanted to yell at Lord Dustin and wanted to tell him to hold his line. Yet he did not. Instead, he turned to see the forces lined up against his little formation of men, and the same issue was occurring. His own men began pushing forward, But the men by the river were not. Instead, his men were tilting the line and very soon a gap would form.
"Hold you fuckers, not forward. HOOOLD!" He roared, moving to those closest and pulling them back in line. He would later realise he fucked up and told them to push earlier, yet for now it did not cross his mind.
Despite holding his own men in line, his worst fear came through as he looked around. The Dustin men continued pushing while the Cerwyn men fell back. The gap was wide enough that an Andal knight came charging through swinging like a man possessed. He took an arm from one of Lord Cerwyn's personal men at arms before bashing his shield into the face of a Dustin man who turned to face him. Alyn watched his uncle lead the reserves in to fill the gap, all the while, the young prince was stuck still. Unsure whether he should rush to defend his Uncle, or stay with his men. That moment of hesitation would be his biggest regret, for a moment after he watched his uncle, Prince Bernard, get struck in the collar by an arrow.
The Andals had called for a retreat, seeing their attack was quickly becoming costly. Yet Alyn did not care, instead rushing towards the reserves, unable to find his Uncle standing among them. As the northerners began howling and taunting the retreating foreigners, Alyn was screaming for a healer, his Uncle having been found with blood pouring from his wound, an arrow still embedded deep inside.
"GET A HEALER… Your Prince is hit, get a healer!" Was all Alyn could scream.
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Authors note
A chapter which really piles the issues on the north. Not only has their plans to get past the open plains onto more defensible ground failed, Prince Bernard has been hit and badly.
See the consequences of such in the next chapter. If you have enjoyed the story so far, please do follow it, like ir or even leaving a review it really helps push it to other readers and helps with my confidence.