Chapter 87: The battle of Pinkmaiden
28 AF
Robb
When he looked over the banners of the Leffords and Paynes opposing him, he was taken back in time to former battlefields at Riverrun, Atranta and the God's Eye. The sigil of House Footly brought him his mind to Atranta and Acorn Hall. Flashes of men and horses dying around him filled his mind's eye, disappearing as quick as they came.
The other banners opposing him just gave him a sour taste in his mouth. The Pipers, Perryns and Keaths had formerly fought under him, as had the dozens of smaller knightly houses that had joined them. Especially conflicting were the smaller banners of Houses Bracken, Vance of Wayfarer's, Shawney, Smallwood and Grell. None of those houses' lords had joined the conflict against House Stark, instead, opposing him were secondary members of their families, with only parts of their families' levies. Nevertheless, it didn't feel right.
Above all, two banners could be seen. The first one was the Seven-Pointed-Star. The Starry Sept in Oldtown had send thirty-five hundred men against him under the leadership of its military commander, Ser Simon Leygood. Ser Simon was a scion of the powerful House Leygood from the Reach, which showed their importance in the kingdom. Seven of the Most Devout had accompanied Ser Simon, and it were those men that had the ability to anoint people into the Stars and Swords. Almost a thousand men from the Riverlands and Westerlands had already done so, it seemed.
The second banner was that of Elmar. Its sigil was identical to that of his ancestors, with one small difference. A golden crown hovering over the Tully trout's head.
He knew from his scouts that his enemies slightly outnumbered him, but some ten thousand of their troops were composed of zealous armed peasants. They had received weapons and rudimentary training, yet they would often lack the discipline and officers necessary to fight in a huge battle. On top of that, they were all foot soldiers. In contrast, his Northern forces were largely horsemen. The northernmost houses hadn't had time to gather all their infantry, but most of their elite cavalry had been able to march. This made his cavalry significantly outnumber the enemy's.
To his surprise, he identified the banner of House Lolliston as well, until he remembered that one of Lord Lolliston's nephews had escaped with a few dozen riders during his son's battle.
He took a deep breath and analyzed the enemy lines. His enemy had opted for a very classic formation with three blocks of infantry and a group of cavalry on each flank.
The Seven-Pointed-Star towered above the center infantry block, which judging by its banners was made up mostly of their troops from the Riverlands and the Faith Militant. The latter would be the fanatical troops that would not break. Elmar's left was composed of the troops from the Westerlands and on his right the troops from the Reach waited for the battle to begin. His armed peasants seemed to be distributed evenly among the groups on both flanks. The left cavalry seemed to be a mishmash of troops from all backgrounds, with the right being those from the Reach. A relatively large cavalry reserve could be seen behind the infantry carrying Elmar's personal standard.
He had answered with a similar formation. Three infantry blocks of each five thousand men were positioned on the field. The left consisted of Rivermen under the command of Lord Hoster Tully, with Lords Blackwood and Goodwood as his seconds-in-command.
The center consisted solely of Northmen under the command of the Smalljon, with Lord Timotty Flint and Ser Wyman Manderly as his seconds-in-command.
His right, opposing the soldiers from the Reach, consisted of a combination of Northmen, Riverlands and men from Cracklaw Point under the leadership of his son and heir Rickard. He had positioned some of his most elite Winterfell soldiers around his son, which might help to break the enemy. His seconds-in command were Lords Cley Cerwyn, Lyman Darry and Rupert Brune. Experienced lords of the respected factions, two of whom had seen action in the wars for independence.
His left cavalry, four thousand strong was made up of men from the Riverlands and Cracklaw-Point under Sers Halmon Paege and Patrek Mallister. His right cavalry, of equal size, was commanded by Lord Domeric Bolton.
His twenty-five hundred archers in front were commanded by Lord Deddings, which left him four thousand five hundred reserves. Three thousand infantry split in two groups under his brothers Jon and Rickon. The third group of reserves was under his personal command, consisting of fifteen hundred heavy horse from the North.
Eight direwolves were also present. The impact of that could not be overstated. He only had the help of his trusted Grey Wind, with the others scattered throughout the lines. The other reserve groups each had two, as his son Jon served as the second-in-command for the uncle who he was named after. His nephew Bryn held the same position under Rickon.
On the right of the army, Ash loyally accompanied Rickard, but Nymeria could also be found there with Medgar Cerwyn. He wouldn't be surprised if Arya would be present in the direwolf's body during the entirety of the battle. Secretly, he hoped that would be the case as Medgar couldn't hope to control the direwolf as those with warging capabilities could.
Lastly, Lady accompanied Belthasar Bolton amidst the right cavalry. Sansa had sent the best-mannered of the direwolves with her only son. Both the boy and the direwolf had successfully seen battle at Lolliston Grove, and the direwolf could be a great boon against the enemy horses.
He took a few silent breaths, taking in the silence before the storm. The enemy slowly advanced further upon the plain, until they had taken their positions. Three riders suddenly emerged from the army, riding into the no man's land between the two armies.
The two riders on the sides carried banners with the Seven-Pointed-Star and the man in the middle wore the robes of the Most Devout above his mail. He stopped his horse and started shouting.
"TODAY IS THE DAY OF YOUR IMPENDING DOOM!" The man began. "THE ARMY OF THE SEVEN WHO ARE ONE IS IN FRONT OF YOU AND THROUGH HIS FIRE YOU WILL BE CLEANSED. MAY YOU FIND HIS LIGHT AT THE EDGE OF OUR SWORDS."
The rider looked over the army. "THE TIME OF TALKING TO HEATHENS IS OVER! NOW COMES THE TIME OF YOUR RECKONING!" The man screamed, suddenly throwing a severed head upon the grassy plain in between them.
To his shock, Robb realized that it was the head of the messenger he had sent to Elmar the evening before. Evidently, he hadn't been the only one to figure this out. Screams and shouts rose up from the Dustin contingent, as the messenger's family and friends rose up in rage. He saw how his army was becoming unruly, some from the North wanting to charge at the Septon and others from the Riverlands unsure if he indeed spoke in name of their shared gods.
He told his second-in-command, Edrick Karstark, to take command and wait here with the men and pushed his spurs in the flank of his horse. He, Grey Wind and his two Kingsguard, Torr and Ser Edmyn Grey, rode to the front of their force.
"MEN!" He shouted, as he mostly addressed the men from the Southern parts of his kingdom. "IN FRONT OF YOU STANDS NOTHING MORE THAN A PUPPET OF THE KING OF THE REACH! WHEN THEY ATTACKED THE PARRELS AND THE MENNINGS THEY EXECUTED THEM AND BRUTALISED THEIR FAMILIES. BOTH LORDS HAD BEEN PIOUS FOLLOWERS OF THE SEVEN AND THEY AND THEIR PEOPLE WERE MASSACRED AND THEIR CHILDREN CARRIED OFF. THIS WAR HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH RELIGION AND EVERYTHING WITH GREED AND BARBARITY!"
He bellowed above the septon, who had continued preaching. "THESE MEN HAVE DISGUISED THEMSELVES IN SEPTON'S ROBES, BUT DON'T BE MISTAKEN! THEY HAVE COME FOR YOUR WIVES, YOUR GOLD AND YOUR LAND. THEY WILL STOP AT NOTHING TO STEAL THOSE FROM YOU! NOT UNLESS YOU STOP THEM HERE TODAY, ON THIS FIELD!
He looked above the faces of his men, as he rode across the line. "NOW I HAVE ONE QUESTION FOR YOU! WILL YOU LET THEM TAKE IT?"
His men screamed back from the top of their lungs. "NO!" The sound echoing across the plain.
"WILL YOU LET THEM TAKE IT?" He asked again. Even louder this time, his soldiers replied. "NO!"
"WE WILL TEACH THESE FANATICS AND USURPERS WHAT THEIR PURPOSE IS IN LIFE! TO SERVE AS FOOD FOR THE CROWS. THEY WANT TO TAKE OUR LANDS AND WOMEN? INSTEAD, WE WILL TAKE THEIR COIN AND FUCK THEIR CORPSES!" He yelled, which was met with roaring approval from his army.
"FOR HOUSE STARK!" The Smalljon and his sons bellowed from the center of the line. "FOR THE NORTH!" His Northmen responded.
"FOR RIVERRUN!" Many of the Riverlords replied. "FOR RAVENTREE!", "FOR BARROWTON!" and many other places in his kingdom were heard, as the shouts rolled over his lines.
"FOR KING ROBB!" Osric and Mors Umber shouted in response, a chant that was soon taken over by his whole army.
He let them chant for a while, before he again took hold of the thousands of stirred up men. "NOW MEN, GO FORTH! KILL YOUR ENEMIES! SHOW THEM NO MERCY, AS THEY WON'T SHOW YOU ANY EITHER! THEY THINK YOU SAVAGES OR TRAITORS TO THEIR CAUSE. GO SHOW THEM JUST HOW SAVAGE WE CAN ACTUALLY BE!"
Thousands of men roared their approval, and on the Umbers instance the men-at-arms started clashing their weapons on their shield in a slow but hypnotizing rhythm. Soon, the roars of his forces followed the rhythm. "ARCHERS FIRE! GET RID OF THAT ROBED CHARLATAN!" He screamed as he rode behind their orderly lines.
Seconds later, a volley of arrows flew towards the three men. One of the banner carriers got hit almost instantly, as the other's banner was torn to shreds and dropped to the ground. The septon's horse was hit by multiple arrows and he seemed to be hit in the leg, as he hopelessly crawled back towards his line, his two companions having already died.
"ARCHERS! CEASE!" He shouted, and many voiced their approval. His whole army taunted the wounded septon, who was desperately crawling to survive.
He rode up to Lord Deddings' stand. "Give the order to march your archers forward!" He called out to him. With the sound of the horns resonating across the plain, he turned around and rode back to his reserves.
All men that he passed, shouted things like "FOR THE KING!", "FOR HOUSE STARK!", or "KING ROBB!". One even shouted, "FOR THE LAST DRAGONSLAYER!". He knew of the almost mythical status that he had achieved among his men all those years ago. Today, he had needed to use this to discipline his soldiers.
Once he was back in position upon the small hill that overlooked the battlefield, he was greeted back by the Karstark heir. He nodded towards him, before turning and looking at the course of the battle.
His archers had walked forward, and so had the enemy's. They were exchanging missile fire, as the infantry lines threw insults and taunts at one another. Suddenly, war trumpets were heard from the enemy line and hundreds of light horse rode through the enemy ranks and charged at his archers.
Lord Damwell Deddings was well prepared, and his archers retreated quickly behind the infantry line at the first sight of enemy horsemen. Only a handful of the slowest archers were caught by the enemy riders, and immediately his infantry marched forward to catch them.
The enemy infantry answered in kind, and soon thousands of soldiers marched upon each other. Most of the enemy riders escaped to the flanks quickly enough, before the infantry neared them. Here too, some stragglers were quickly cut down.
A distant roar could be heard, and soon his Northern infantry center charged the enemy. In response, the right under his son followed suit. The Riverlander left remained calmer, but they also marched upon the enemy.
The clash could be heard from the rear. The soft spring morning was suddenly filled with the sounds of metal hitting metal, wood splintering and men screeching in mortal pain.
He tried to avoid thinking of his eldest son, who was in the middle of all of that. Instead, he looked stoically upon the battle unfolding before his eyes. The enemy cavalry on both flanks suddenly came into action and charged towards their counterparts. Without having need of a signal, both of his own cavalry flanks rode out to meet them. A strange move, as without any help his flanks would certainly defeat the enemy's in time because of their numerical advantage.
A fierce battle ensued on the flanks, and both sides seemed balanced enough for now. He felt the Karstark heir next to him tense up. "Shouldn't we ride out to help the line?" Edrick asked him.
He shook his head. "Not yet. It is far too early. If we do that now, their reserve can encircle our troops." His wife's nephew backed down respectfully, although he kept tensely looking at the lines in front of him. Edrick's brother was in the middle of the fray commanding the Karstark infantry, and it was for his younger brother that the Karstark heir worried.
He didn't know how much time passed, as the balanced sides kept hacking at each other. Yet, out of nowhere the battle changed in an instant. The enemy reserve, carrying their royal standard, shot into action and around two thousand fresh horsemen barreled into his left cavalry. It was clear that this would tip the scales there in favor of the enemy, but it also gave him the opening he had craved. He had counted on the young Elmar making a premature move with his cavalry.
He turned around to a messenger. "Tell my brother Rickon to reinforce our left flank. The infantry line must hold, even if the enemy cavalry charges into it." The rider nodded, before riding away.
Another messenger he told. "Tell Lord Whitefyre to keep back. He can charge into the left as he sees fit but tell him to wait until the time gets dire." This rider also sped off.
He turned around in the saddle towards the men in his reserve. This were some of the most elite heavy cavalry in Westeros. They weren't as shiny or famed as the knights from the Vale or the Reach, but he would pick them over those flowery fucks every day.
"WE CHARGE AROUND THE ENEMY MEN! WE HIT THEIR ARCHERS AND THEIR REAR. SHOW NO MERCY. THEY DESERVE NONE." He called out, and the men roared in response.
They charged down the hill and circled around the right side of the battlefield. They passed the infantry melee and even the cavalry engagement, until they had circled around the enemy. It had almost gone too easily.
A small infantry regiment of a few hundred men that had been left in reserve tried to foolishly stop their advance head on. He roared and his men charged into them. The clash was brutal and some of his riders fell, yet their horses barreled over the enemy. He felled one with his lance, as Grey Wind swathed a handful of enemy footmen away like they were flies.
He pulled out his sword, but he didn't need it. The force behind their stampede destroyed the enemy formation, and the rest of the small regiment was overrun. The hooves of his men's horses breaking through steel, leather and bone as they trampled the flattened enemy.
Without stopping their charge, they rode on right into their archers. The chaos was complete, and this time he could use his sword at his pleasure. The first soldier tried to stop his downward swing with his bow, but his steel cut right through it towards the man's neck.
The second archer ducked under his swing but was trampled under the horse of Ser Edmyn behind him. The third was the most foolish of all, as he tried to run away. He caught up to him immediately and left his head ringing from the sword slash that had hit the man's iron helmet. The archer collapsed, and his body disappeared under the hooves of his men.
Those archers that weren't caught, scattered to all possible directions. Some of his men rode away from the formation to pursue them, but he rallied the vast majority of his riders around him. They reformed quickly, flaunting their discipline to the world to see.
Once reformed, he overlooked the situation on the field before making too hasty a decision. He found himself at the rear of the enemy, with the enemy baggage train to his back. If he turned around, he could easily sack it. This would make him a fortune, and most likely destroy the funds necessary for the army to pay their mercenaries. Either way, the army would dissolve.
His other option was to strike the enemy and deal it a decisive blow. On his army's left, his cavalry seemed to be retreating. Parts of the enemy horse already charging into his flank. Even with Rickon's reinforcements, that wouldn't hold much longer.
In the center, the most vicious fighting could be seen with his Northern heavy infantry locked in a horrific brawl with the Faith Militant and enemy Riverlander levy. On the right side, more disciplined fighting happened with both lines pushing and slashing each other in formation.
It was there that his impact would be greatest. It was there that he would charge. The enemy had positioned a thin line of pikemen at the back of their force with the aim of dissuading him to attack him. It wouldn't stop him.
"Anyone who still has a lance to the front of the line!" He called out. "Throw it at the enemy pikes just before contact!"
He called for his men to charge, and together they stormed at the back of the enemy. Dozens of lances were thrown last minute into the exposed pikemen, negating big parts of the benefits of their formation. He had it even easier. Grey Wind simply lunged for the pikemen in front of him and worked them to the ground. Their horses did the rest.
The pike line had only been one man deep, and after crossing a few yards of open terrain they crashed into the back of the enemy infantry line. All along its line horsemen barreled into the soldiers from the Westerlands from behind. In a manner of minutes, most of the enemy resolve was broken.
The men from the West ran away but were mercilessly hunted down by his men. "CAPTURE THE NOBLES!" He screamed. "KILL THE REST!"
Chaos erupted as nobles surrendered left and right, with ordinary footmen being trampled or hit in the back while running away. After a while, most of the enemy had either died, surrendered or scattered. He shouted at one of his riders, a man hailing from the lands of House Tallhart by the look of his bloodied tabard.
"Get word to my son! Tell him to turn his flank around and envelop the enemy center!" He ordered him. "You can count on me, Your Grace." The soldier replied, before speeding off.
He ordered for the remainder of his cavalry to reform. "Those that have lost their mounts join my son's contingent." He called out loudly, as he saw half a dozen men close to him finishing their lame horses. "The others, ride with me!"
He now had an important decision to make. He could either aid his left flank or take the baggage train and destroy all their hopes of raising a new army. He stood upon his stirrups, and to his shock he saw the lent flank buckling under the charges of Elmar's horse.
He cursed. "To me! Our brethren are in danger! We ride to their rescue!"! He shouted, his voice straining to rise above the din. His riders rallied around him, and he spurred his horse on. Ser Edmyn and Torr still rode beside him, as Grey ran with his tongue out of his maw seemingly enjoying the carnage all around him.
Their men rode all around the enemy line, ignoring the enemy center. Their timing couldn't have been better. Just as they arrived, the enemy charged once more at the side of his infantry. The line buckled even more and he saw many of his soldiers fall, but it didn't break as he heard the horns announce Jon's reinforcements at the last minute.
He shouted for his riders to charge and together they slammed into the side of the enemy cavalry with a devastating charge. The enemy horsemen outnumbered them greatly, but with their infantry pushing back at them from the front this advantage was neutralized.
After cutting down a rider from House Keath, he exchanged a blow with a knight in red. Before he could turn and hit the knight again, Ser Edmyn Grey hit him on the back of the head with his mace. The knight of his Wolfsguard immediately engaged another enemy on his right, while Torr stopped a knight from the Reach from charging him.
He himself saw five more enemies charging at him, but they hadn't been keeping track on Grey Wind. His direwolf lunched and smashed two men from their horses with enough force to knock them out of the fight. His direwolf rolled in the dirt, before getting up and biting the throat of another's horse open. While his companion took care of its fallen rider, he charged the two remaining riders with three men from his retinue.
He clashed his steel against that of the first knight, which was enough for one of his soldiers to swing his war hammer at him with great force. The knight had shifted his weight towards him to block his sword on the first attack. Because of this he got unhorsed by the powerful swing, even though he caught the hammer blow upon his shield. He rolled in the dirt, and the Northman with the war hammer leaned halfway off his horse to deliver a skull crashing hit on his helmet as the knight tried to get back up.
The other knight, wearing the colors of the Warrior's Sons, was engaged by the two remaining Winterfell warriors. He rode on behind him and hit the fanatic in the elbow from the back. The knight screamed, dropping his war axe in the process. The two Northern warriors pounced upon him then. After a few blows that he managed to block with his armor or shield, one's sword stabbed him under the armpit and blood spat out of the wound and the man's visor, as he fell to the ground.
Another enemy rider approached him, and he caught his blow from the left on his shield. He pulled the reins, ordering his horse to sharply turn and managed a blow upon the back of the rider's helmet. It wasn't hard enough to kill him but dazed his enemy rode away.
He caught his breath, as he held his reins. Friendly riders from behind him charged past him right into the fray with the enemy. He inhaled sharply through his nose. The air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat, and the clamor of the battle was deafening. He could barely hear his own thoughts over the clash of steel and the cries of the dying all around him.
The Southern heat was almost unbearable, his armor a furnace, but there was no time to dwell on his discomfort. He rode back into the fray, Grey Wind staying close to him to protect his flanks.
A knight in enemy colors charged at him, a lance aimed at his chest. He pulled his reins, making his horse jump to the side. The enemy lance glanced off his shield and he brought his sword down on his enemy's arm. The knight screamed, and the lance fell from his grasp as he almost toppled from his horse.
"Keep pushing the enemy back!" He bellowed, his throat feeling raw and dry. Around him, his men were fighting with everything they have, their faces grim beneath their helms. Spears thrust forward, axes cleaved through the air, and the ground beneath them turned slick with blood.
Suddenly, a group of elite enemy knights burst through the melee. They all wore the Seven-Pointed-Star upon their bloodied tabards. A group of his soldiers rode out to meet them but soon one of his men was clutching at his neck, blood pouring through the man's fingers at the sword that pierced his throat. Rage surged through him, and he charged forward towards the fanatics. Grey Wind charged alongside, howling nature's war cry in the process.
One of the enemy soldiers saw him coming and raised his sword in challenge. Their swords clashed with a force that sent a shockwave through his arms. His opponent was skilled, their swords meeting in a deadly dance of thrust and parry. Their horses circled around each other in an almost choreographed dance.
Time seemed to slow, every movement precise and deliberate. He didn't even notice his other warriors smashing into the other knights after him, all he noticed was the enemy and his sword that kept flashing towards him. Suddenly, he saw an opening and drove his sword in the back of the man's knee. The knight roared, eyes wide with shock and filled with tears.
Their swords met each other another three times, but the fight had been decided. It was a matter of time before his opponent's guard faltered and when it did, he didn't hesitate. He found the man's neck exposed and his swords cut through flesh, muscle and veins. Red liquid flowed out of the man's neck and mouth, as he fell from his horse. His last words smothered in his own blood.
"Forward!" He shouted, lifting his bloodied sword high. "Stark!" His men roared defiantly, and they pressed on. Suddenly, the enemy started retreating. What had happened?
He stood up in his stirrups and looked over the battlefield, as he breathed heavily. He saw how the enemy center was surrounded, while their cavalry on both flanks seemed to be fleeing.
"Don't let them escape men! We have them, don't let them get away!" He shouted and all around him infantry and cavalry men charged towards the desperate enemy. Those that had lost their horses were abandoned by their comrades, while many fleeing riders were hit in the back by swords, axes and lances.
He himself caught his breath. He wanted to get ahold of the situation. After a short while, another direwolf ran up to Grey. They greeted each other happily, even though both their furs were drenched in dried up blood. Still, he recognized his youngest son's direwolf and it brought him joy. Fang would never be this happy if something had happened to his master.
Not much later, his son reached him. He dismounted and embraced him quickly. "What happened? Where is everyone? Is your uncle well?"
He fired off his questions. "Aye, Uncle Jon is well. Uncle Rickon and Shaggydog caught Elmar, after the latter tried to kill Bryn. Oldjon is with them now."
His eyes went wide, even ignoring his use of the idiotic name that the Karstarks had given his brother. "Elmar did what?! Is your cousin all right?"
"He will be. He has a serious wound on his arm and might have broken a few ribs, but Uncle Rickon says that he is not in any real danger." Jon replied, and he let that sink in.
"Rickon captured him? Afterwards, the enemy fled?" He asked, his son confirmed that.
"Go back to your uncles and your cousin." He ordered his son. "Make sure they are well and secure Elmar. The Faith Militant is still fighting in the center. After they are finished, I will come and look for you."
His son nodded and turned to leave, but he grabbed his arm. "I am very proud of you, my son. You did well." He told him and his youngest son smiled at him, before leaving the way he came.
He remounted his horse, shouting for his soldiers to reform. A few hundred horsemen reformed, others still pursuing the enemy. However, thousands of infantry men also reformed, as the enemy infantry flank had routed at the news of Elmar's capture. Most of his soldiers were too tired to pursue the enemy.
He looked over the men from both the North and the Riverlands. "The day is almost won men! Join me so we can finish the job we started! When the Faith Militant falls, glory and ale will be yours!"
His men roared one more time, before he led them around to the back of the Faith Militant. Surrounded on all sides and with fresh reinforcements for their opponents, even the order faltered.
The Warrior's Sons attacked his troops in a desperate push to find a fighting way out, but to no avail. The Northmen in their back moved up as well, killing all who turned their backs to them.
He kept himself away from the fighting this time, choosing to command his footmen from atop his horse. After a few minutes, his calm fully returned to him, and he started to feel the bruises his enemies had delivered to him. It seemed that his armor had taken more hits than he had expected, although none had pierced the sturdy Northern metal.
He felt pain in his upper arm, thigh, shoulder and side, but soldiered on. He kept shouting his men on, and after a while the seven enemy banners started falling one by one. In the end, the enemy was worn out. Their swords were broken, their shields were splintered, and their tabards cut to pieces. Many lost their spirit and fell to their knees. Some were taken as prisoners by his men, while others were finished off quickly.
As the last ones were dealt with a voice could be faintly heard above the battlefield. "Victory!" Osric Umber screamed, and it was soon taken over by thousands of men. He ordered the prisoners to be taken to the side, as his footmen started looting the enemy corpses.
Tired, he and his Wolfsguard members rode on to the center where the enemy banners had gone down. He saw Osric Umber there, together with Lord Timotty Flint, Lady Dacey Mormont and Rickon Karstark. He was glad to see that all of them had survived.
All greeted him, and from the top of his horse he asked Osric where his father was. The Umber heir's arms was bleeding, but he didn't seem to mind.
"He's with my brother. He got a mace against his helmet and lost consciousness for a while, but he will be all right. He is already awake." The heir to Last Hearth told him.
"Thank you, Osric. Tell your father and the other commanders that a meeting will be held to discuss the battle in two hours. That should give him more than enough time to take care of your brother." He replied, nodding to his other nobles.
"I will, Your Grace." Umber bowed. He turned his horse around. He, and his guard, rode back to the left side of the battlefield and soon he found his brothers, nephew and son there together with his rebellious cousin.
As he dismounted, he threw one look at Elmar, who was sitting on his knees with his head towards the ground in defeat. He seemed bound by his hands and feet. He looked over his shoulder to Ser Edmyn Grey.
"Edmyn, could you escort my young cousin to the camp? Lock him in one of the prison carriages and take as many men as needed with you. However, let only men hailing from Winterfell guard him."
The Riverlander knight nodded, before snapping his fingers at two Winterfell guards to pick the rebel leader up and to drag him away towards the camp.
He walked up to Bryn, who was being treated by a healer. His arm had already been put in a swing, and a large bandage was being rolled across his upper arm and shoulder.
Not wanting to disturb the healer's work, he looked to his brothers for answers instead. Rickon stepped forward. "He will be well, brother. The wound has already been closed with a hot iron. In a few weeks, he will be as good as new."
"Very well. How did all of this happen?" He asked.
"We reinforced the left, in preparation for the cavalry charges that would come, as you ordered. Not much later, the Riverlander cavalry was forced back and retreated. This left us open to attack and we were cycle charged by Elmar and his cavalry. The presence of our direwolves, as well as the timely reinforcements of Jon and your cavalry allowed us to hold the line." His youngest brother explained.
"When Elmar saw Shadow, he charged Bryn. Possibly thinking him to be Jon or Rickard and wanting to hurt one of your sons. Perhaps he simply wanted to kill a Stark, as he felt the battle slipping away from him." Rickon shrugged. The anger boiled up inside him. His cousin had fallen so low as to be freely willing to become a kinslayer. Nevertheless, he kept quiet.
"He charged Bryn with two dozen of his best knights. Ser Benedict, Alyn and a few soldiers stopped some of them in their tracks, but they were too many. Elmar and half a dozen knights advanced on Bryn. His direwolf Shadow managed to distract most of them, but Elmar and a Footly knight attacked him in a two versus one situation. Bryn fought valiantly but was overwhelmed and severely wounded at the shoulder."
"By then, I had realized what was happening and was on my way to him. I arrived just in time to save him, setting Shaggy upon the Footly knight. Those seem to be his mauled remains." Rickon voiced, while pointing out a mutilated torso and some scattered limbs to his left. He counted the parts quickly and noticed a thigh missing.
"Where's his right thigh?" He asked curiously.
"Shaggy was hungry." Rickon shrugged. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing. The man had tried to kill his nephew. Shaggy could eat the rest of his remains too for all he cared.
"I managed to unhorse Elmar and engaged him in combat." Rickon scoffed. "Elmar should have spent the time he had been scheming exercising his swordsmanship instead. He is a lousy swordsman at best and was no match for me. Not willing to become a kinslayer for that spoiled little shit, I disarmed and captured him. I put my sword against his neck and shouted for the remaining riders to surrender, while Barclay protected my back."
He looked at the warrior of the Wolfsguard, who nodded to confirm this version of events. "Afterwards, a lot of them surrendered, while others started to flee.
He let the story sink in. "What happened to Alan and Ser Benedict?"
Barclay stepped forward. "My sworn brother perished in the fighting, Your Grace. The enemy were too many, but he took three knights from the Faith Militant with him. He died honorably. He has kept his oath and lifelong promise."
He nodded sadly. "May the Gods grant him rest now." He replied, and all present Wolfsguard members recited the words that released their sworn brother from his vow.
"His body will be transferred to Winterfell and will be laid to rest there. Tonight, the kingdom will drink in honor of his valiant service. He was an honorable man, and a phenomenal warrior. He will be remembered as such." This seemed to please his guardsmen.
Rickon sighed. "Alyn died too. They were simply too many. Shaggy got two of them afterwards as revenge. I couldn't get the rest before they escaped.
He put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Thank you, Rickon. Without you, Bran's son would have died. You did well. This will not go unrewarded back home."
"Ha!" His brother smiled. "What will you give me? A wife from a good family?"
He raised his eyebrow. "Do you want one?"
"No, not at all." Rickon burst out laughing, and he had to join him. The stress of the battle finally leaving his body.
He walked over to Bryn and promised him that he would receive the best care possible. The young man just nodded thankfully, clearly exhausted from the shock and blood loss.
"I will take care of him, until he is safely inside the camp." Rickon told him. "Go look for Ricky and take care of the lords." He nodded. "Oh, and take both Jons with you, will you? Their worried expressions are disturbing Bryn's healing." His brother added.
He rolled his eyes but asked for his son and brother to join him either way. They made their way through the host, asking where his heir might be. He found his grandson and squire Galbart, who he had forced to stay out of the fighting, and he told him that he had seen Ricky, although they wouldn't know to locate him. At least, that proved he was alive.
In the end, they just rode back to the camp. When he dismounted and walked to his tent, he immediately threw off his armor outside and walked in bare-chested. To his surprise, he found his heir there.
Ricky was sitting in his chair, drinking a glass of one of his most expensive wines. His left leg was raised up on another chair and it was clear that the healers had passed through here. The remains of bandage pieces and a half-empty bowl of sour wine were scattered across the table. His son's left upper leg was bandaged, as well as his right forearm. He sported a cut on his forehead, but it seemed to have been cleaned already. It didn't look that deep.
"Ahn, father! I was wondering when you would arrive!" His son proclaimed happily. He then greeted his brother, uncle and the Wolfsguard members, Ser Edmyn Grey, Ser Jeremy Bigglestone and his other uncle Torrhen, who had come with him.
Those three also greeted their brother Ser Dickon Brune, who for once wasn't standing guard over the Crown Prince. He sat next to him in a chair with his own bandages wrapped around his forearm and shoulder. He ignored it, as he walked over to his son.
"Where is Cerwyn?" Torr asked Brune in the meantime.
"He experienced a bad fall after a hit on his leg. He is resting in the prince's tent. The healers told us he will recover completely, but he won't be able to walk the next few weeks." Ser Dickon told the Lord Commander.
"Blackwood died protecting Prince Brynden. The prince was wounded but survived due to his actions and those of Prince Rickon." His goodbrother told Brune grimly.
Brune seemed a little shaken from the news but nodded.
"Ser Benedict died? Bryn is wounded?" Rickard asked in shock. In response, he told them all he knew about the subject. His son listened intently, and calmed down when he was ensured that his cousin wasn't in any mortal danger.
"Now tell me about these wounds. How did those happen?" He asked his eldest son, as he took a seat next to him. His brother Jon brought him, his younger son and his guardsmen a glass of wine to refresh.
He pointed to the cut on his forehead. "Some man-at-arms had thrown me on the ground which caused me to lose my helmet. Some swordsman from the Westerlands later gave me a cut. He paid for that deed with his life." Ricky replied.
"However, it often bled, and I temporarily lost sight out of my right eye due to the blood. I didn't see some enemy coming quickly enough because of it and he slashed me on my forearm. He had it worse, when Ash was finished with him he had become unrecognizable."
"The leg happened at the end in the center. Some knights of the Faith Militant recognized my banner and charged my retinue. Only two of them managed to break through the line. Ash took care of one of them, while I fought the other. He managed to wound me on my thigh, but as I went down, I managed a cut at the man's ankle. Afterwards, hand to hand combat in the mud followed and I managed to stick my dagger into the fanatic's eye." Rickard explained, clearly drunk on his victory.
He let him be. He had deserved as much. "Where was your Kingsguard in this?" He asked, as looked sternly at Ser Dickon.
In an ironic twist of fate, Rickard came to the rescue of his protector. "By that time, Cerwyn had been incapacitated. Ser Dickon managed to hold off three other knights of the Faith that had been charging at me."
"It's true, Your Grace." His son's sworn sword replied. "One of them gave me this." He continued, as he pointed to his bandaged shoulder.
In the end, he accepted the matter. He allowed himself to rest for half an hour as healers checked his bruises, before preparing for the subsequent arrival of his war council.
All lords packed into his large command tent. Rickard remained seated with his leg raised, while all others stood.
He looked over his men with pride. "Today, we have achieved a very important victory." He started the meeting, to the loud approval of his lords.
"Elmar is captured, and his force largely destroyed. The rebels' presence in the Riverlands has been irrecoverably damaged. Lord Lewys Piper has been captured, while his two sons both died in the fighting. Lord Keath and all three of his sons were captured. Lord Perryn and his only son died, while his fourteen-year-old nephew and heir was captured." He started reading from the list that had been prepared before the council.
"Lucon Bracken was captured by Lord Flint, while Ser Jeremy Grell was captured by Denys Dustin. Ser Jeremy's elder brother died. The same fate befell Sers Ronnel Vance, Simon Shawney, Luthor Lolliston and Hugo Smallwood. On top of that, thirty-five landed knights were killed, another two-dozen captured. Over a hundred of their kinsmen died as well." He announced, and his nobles roared. Especially those from the North, who had fought against the Riverlander foot.
"Their foreign support has also felt our wrath. The Lefford heir was captured, while the third son died in the fighting. Ser Tybolt Payne was also captured, while two of his cousins perished. Many of their sworn knights died, others were captured." His commanders slammed their mugs on the table in support.
"From the Reach, we captured two dozen of the knightly claimants on the lands along the Goldroad. Twice that amount won't claim anything ever again. We captured one of Lord Footly's sons, while his heir and a bunch of his nephews and cousins died in the fighting on the left flank. One of his nephews was even mauled to death by my brother Rickon's direwolf." Grunts of approval were the response.
"The Faith's Militant foot has been obliterated, while its cavalry has been decimated. From the four thousand five hundred men they brought into the field, only a few hundred riders managed to retreat. In the end, we captured fifty of their knights and four hundred of their soldiers with three thousand five hundred of them falling to our swords." This was met a roar of approval from all. The Faith Militant was too dangerous to leave alive.
"We captured one of the Most Devout, while five others died in the fighting. Some of those knights we captured also hold prestigious names such as Oakheart, Norridge and Peake. In addition to that, we also captured a Tyrell. After King Willas came to power, he married his three times widowed sister Margaery to his second cousin Luthor, who was the closest Tyrell claimant of their generation. He gave Margeary and Luthor the Lordship of Brightwater Keep, the former Florent lands. Now, we captured Ser Moryn Tyrell, their third son and cousin to King Garlan." He finished reading from his list.
This last information left most of their men in thought. "What will happen with those captives from the Faith Militant like Tyrell?" Ser Ellery Morass asked him, who had become the new head of his house after the death of his father Ser Hugo.
"The law is clear. They will be beheaded. When they took their vows with the Warrior's Sons, they swore to forego their titles and names. As such, I will not distinguish between any of them. Anyone from the Faith Militant, be it highborn or lowborn will lose their head. The Faith Militant must end." He answered, which pleased Ser Ellery as his father had died fighting one of the Faith's knights.
"Is that wise, Your Grace?" Ser Lymond Bracken asked aloud. "It will anger the Tyrells and the Reach."
"The Tyrells can be angered all they want. They sent their fanatic warriors and border lords to our lands to plunder our villages and kill our people. They claim parts of our lands and deny the last peace treaty. I will not spare someone who deserves to die for people like that. Soon, the rebellion will be over, and the neutral lords will fall in line. Afterwards, some eighteen thousand Northmen will join us. Let the Tyrells come if they want to. I am sick and tired of them meddling in my kingdom." He retorted, which pleased much of his Northmen as well as the Blackwood clan. Other Riverlanders looked less sure.
"Nevertheless, there is also less pleasant news. Of the thirty-two thousand men the enemy had, around ten thousand got away. Fifteen hundred cavalry under Lord Footly retreated in orderly fashion after Elmar's capture. He managed to save parts of the baggage train, as well as his daughter who is Elmar's wife. Lord Footly will probably manage to reform a few thousand of those that fled south of here, others will scatter and mercilessly be hunted down in the Riverlands." This time his commanders stayed silent.
If Elmar's wife was pregnant, another claimant could be raised with the aim of challenging Riverrun in the future. That was something everyone wanted to avoid. The fact that Lord Footly could realistically have a force of some five or six thousand men around him still was also something nobody looked forward too.
"On top of that, we also lost some important men from amongst our midst. We will honor their losses tonight. Some brothers, cousins and nephews from families all across the North and Riverlands. We will especially mourn Ser Halmon Paege, Ser Hugo Morass, Ser Franklin Frey, Ser Alyn Blackwood, Lord Rupert Brune, Lord MylesMooton, Lord Artos Ironshield, Denys Dustin and Donnor Shield."
He looked over the family members of the deceased nodding to them each individually to show his support. The price had been heavy, especially among his supporters in the Riverlands, but it was not insurmountable. Ser Halmon Paege and LordMylesMooton had adult heirs that would be able to quickly grow into the role.
Lord Rupert Brune had been his unofficial warden of Cracklaw Point. He had been capable, had held sway with the other houses from the peninsula and had served him on his council. A big loss for his kingdom, no doubt, but he would groom another to take his place.
For the north, the greatest tragedy was the death of Donnor Shield. Donnor was the first ever heir to House Shield and had been groomed for that role for over twenty-five years. Luckily, he had a younger brother who remained safely in the North. Nonetheless, his death could weaken the future rule of his son, if the brother wasn't up to the task of ruling Stony Shore.
Alyn Blackwood was a tragedy. Firstly, for his nephew Bryn, especially in combination with his wound. The boy lost the uncle who had always been closest to him. Secondly, for the Blackwood/Goodwood clan, as they lost their brother. Thirdly, for his brother Bran and the North. He had been a good man, a loyal subject and a bridge between the North and the Riverlands. Sadly, not many of those existed and he would be hard to replace.
"Nevertheless, they didn't die for nothing. The organized rebellion is all but over. All that rests us now will be to break their last scattered pockets of resistance. In a matter of days, we will start to invest Pinkmaiden. Afterwards, we will force the raiders out of the lands of House Goodwood and take back Stoney Sept. We will also take revenge on House Rollingford. We still owe them a response for Sow's Horn."
The latter was received with bitter grunts and aggressive shouts from his Northmen. House Rollingford would feel their wrath, and deservedly so.
"For now, we celebrate!" He voiced loudly. "He picked up a mug of Northern ale. This victory is dedicated to you, my lords, my ever-victorious army. Barrels of wine and ale will be delivered to the men by the Crown. None of you will lack for drink, I can assure you."
Now his lords shouted happily, as mugs were clashed against each other. Ale and wine flying throughout his tent. "As we managed to capture many of the enemies' camp followers, none will lack women either." He heard his eldest son laughingly shout to his friends.
He didn't like this, but he wouldn't say anything. He had to keep morale high, even if it meant allowing acts like this. This campaign was not yet over. The Tyrells and Lannisters were raising armies, and he didn't know their intentions. Especially the Reach bothered him.
Tomorrow, he would write letters to his foreign allies of Houses Baratheon, Arryn, Royce and Harlaw. He would have never asked them for help in a civil war in his lands, as it would have made him look weak. Besides, he didn't know how the Vale and Stormlands would react on having to fight the Most Devout.
However, if the Tyrells marched against them, their alliance would trigger. If King Garlan wanted a war, he would get one. Not the one he envisioned, but a total conflict on all sides. He had let the Reach live last time, and it might have been a mistake.
If this Garlan wanted to go to war with him, he would let him, but the Tyrells would not get out of it with the loss of some lands and a few shipments of food this time. He would need money and food to once again rebuild the Riverlands. Both things the Reach had aplenty. If they invaded his lands, he would go gather it himself on the shores of the Mander, and he would bring his army.
This is it for this chapter.
The long awaited Battle of Pinkmaiden unfolds. Elmar is beaten and his army destroyed and largely scattered. Many of his most important followers have died, the notable exception being Lord Footly. Elmar himself is captured.
Nonetheless, this came at a cost. Robb sacrificed the Riverlander cavalry and large parts of its infantry, in combination with some of his elite Northern foot, to achieve this result. These regiments suffered significant losses, but overall his army came out much better than that of Elmar's. Bryn is severely hurt, and Bran's "clan" loses more important members with Alyn Blackwood and Benedict Blackwood. The latter's death also creates a vacancy among the Wolfsguard.
Thank you all for your support. Special thank to RoseLockHall for her recent contributions to this story, which have helped to elevate the story to a new level.
Fannic.
Reviews:
- RomanOrtega: There will be a Tyrell POV in a few chapters. I won't spoil much more.
- Rebfan90: Thanks!
- Scifiromance: Thank you! Yes, I think that quarrel is inevitable within the command structure and the (now) large royal family. This needed to be shown during this campaign. Glad that you like my approach.
- George Christian810: Robb definitely made some mistakes, but it is not all on him. What you propose can never happen. All neutral houses would erupt in a second rebellion and some of Robb's allies like the Deddings, Mootons, Cracklaw Point houses, ... would join them out of fear of his tyranny. They would ask the help of the Arryns, Tyrells and Lannisters and Robb, no matter how brilliant a commander he is, would be either defeated or killed.
Instead, Robb will need to make a showing. He will need to outstretch his hand to most, while showing his ruthlessness on the houses that actually rebelled. All lords of the Riverlands and allies outside of it need to think that risking his ire means destruction, while coming (back) to the fold means the accumulation of wealth and power. He needs to be shown as benevolent and forgiving for those who support him or make minor offenses, and ruthless to those who directly oppose him.
- The Three Stoogies: What did you think of it?
- Poly19hum: Thank you so much for your continued support.
- Force Smuggler: Thanks!
- Supremus85: That's what Carl Von Clausewitz said, and I agree. I also agree with your comment, but I would like to add nuance. They need to emerge stronger relative to their opponents. In every war, House Stark will get hurt. They need to make sure their opponents hurt more and that they can rebuild faster and better. Rickard is politically very smart, albeit a bit harsh sometimes, and Robb supports him well. Thank you. I will explore their relationship and differences more in the future.