Davos

Of the many blessings of the exploding pit Davos was most thankful not that it had ended the battle but rather that it provided a convenient mass grave for the slain. After only a day and a half the stench was beyond what he had ever smelled before. A foul odor that smothered the land for miles around. But even the pit could not hold all the dead so Stannis ordered that the dead be burned to stop their decay from spreading to the living. Those knights of noble status or lords who could still be recognized were granted the dignity of having their flesh stripped by the Maesters and Silent Sisters. Their bones were stored to be returned to their families once the war was done.

The rest of the thousands dead were stripped of their arms and armour, were burned in great bonfires, and had their remains dumped into the pit. It was the work of thousands of men to carry the bodies of horses and men into the fires and the pit. Crows and flies covered the dead like a great black blanket.

Even as thousands of men covered themselves in gore caring for the dead, their lords and knights swore themselves to King Stannis. Alester Florent was the first to swear fealty. The Lord of Brightwater Keep had, on the first day, come to kneel before the king and others had followed, Estermont, Errol, Varner, Farring, Meadows, Fossoway, and many more. Almost all the great lords of the Reach and Stormlands save for those the new Lord Dickon, son of the late Randyll Tarly, and Lord Merret Willum whose son Josua had died in the battle. All the others had bent the knee or else had fled to Bitterbridge with Lord Rowan. It took two days for all the oaths of fealty to be given all the while Davos and the other dragon captains stood at Stannis' side a constant reminder to the new lords of the power at King Stannis' command.

After the oaths of fealty came the rewards for service as many men had performed great acts in Renly's last charge and now they were justly honoured. The first to be rewarded was Aemon, Davos' sergeant, who was raised to knighthood for killing Renly, he was also granted command of his former hand-dragon company, the one Davos had commanded until now. Have I displeased the king somehow?

Ser Shadrich of the Shady Glen had fought and killed Ser Parmen Crane, one of Renly's Kingsguard, and was granted his choice of a White Cloak or a keep near Storm's End. He chose the keep.

Wensel Rogers, a five and ten years old squire, who served a sworn sword of House Bar Emmon, had saved his knight's life at the breach fighting four Tarly men to a standstill. Wensel was knighted for his troubles.

Ser Richard Horpe was granted a white cloak for leading a mounted charge that had captured Renly's camp and cut off most of Renly's host from fleeing with Mathis Rowan. Ser Richard smiled as the cloak was swept around Richard's shoulders, it one of the few time Davos could recall Horpe smiling.

Ser Rolland Storm also accepted a white cloak from King Stannis.

Ser Justin Massey was promised a strong keep once the war was done.

Ser Clayton Suggs was granted a small holdfast on Dragonstone.

Even those who had fought for Renly were not ignored. Ser Bonifer Hasty who had had five horses shot down under him and had been wounded in his right arm and both legs, but had fought on only to surrender with dignity at the end of the battle. Ser Bonifer was recognized as commander of the Holy Hundred and was granted a place in the vanguard in the coming battles in recognition of his valour.

When Davos' name was called his heart thundered in his chest as he knelt before the king in front of all his court.

"Ser Davos Seaworth," Stannis declared. "For your valour in battle and your long history of loyalty these past years I Stannis of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm do name you Lord of Rainwood Keep, and Lord Commander of Dragons."

A smattering of applause broke out from the assembled lords and knights as Davos rose a lord. Devan was beaming from his place beside the king and Davos shot him a wink.

Davos returned to his companies as Stannis moved from his granting honours to issuing commands.

Ser Erren Florent, King Stannis' goodbrother, was granted near two-thousand men and a company of dragonmen under Ser Justin Massey to take command of the foot Renly had left at Bitterbridge.

Ser Imry Florent was awarded command of the fleet as Lord High Captain, while his uncle Ser Axell was made Castellan of Dragonstone, and Lord Alester himself was named Hand of the King the first to be named to King Stannis' Small Council aside from Ser Richard Horpe as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Positions were granted in advance in the van, left, center, and rear. Duties were assigned for scouting, foraging, and other such ignoble but necessary tasks. After near an hour King Stannis at last commanded that Ser Guyard Morrigen be sent, under a banner of truce, to negotiate with Ser Cortnay Penrose who yet held Storm's End itself in the name of dead Renly.

The king, Davos, Sers Richard and Rolland, Lord Alester, and a guard of knights and dragonmen accompanied Ser Guyard. The party rode half-way up the slope to Storm's End before stopping and allowing Ser Guyard to continue with a pair of sworn swords riding towards the gate.

Not ten minutes had passed before Ser Guyard returned bearing his message from the besieged. "Your Grace, Ser Cortnay refuses to negotiate until he may see Lord Renly's body. Until then he holds hope that his liege lord yet lives."

King Stannis ground his teeth. "Send for my brother's body," he commanded.

It was Dragonstone men led by Ser Clayton who fetched the corpse. Even in death Renly looked handsome, every inch the image of the fallen, noble warrior. He was loaded into a cart and led back to Storm's End. Ser Guyard rode ahead of the small procession still in his brilliant green armour and the multi coloured cloak he had been granted as one of Renly's kingsguard, or rainbow guard as the younger Baratheon had called them.

Near half and hour passed before Ser Guyard returned sans a cart but with the bald and red-bearded Ser Cortnay with him.

Stannis addressed the Castellan of Storm's End. "Ser Cortnay."

Ser Cortnay was silent for some time before he offered a slight nod to Stannis. "My lord."

"It is customary to address a king as Your Grace," sneered Lord Alester.

"I see no king only a kinslayer."

Stannis ground his teeth. "My brother did not fall by my hand."

"But he did fall at your command," shot back Ser Cortnay.

Stannis ground his teeth harder yet. "Renly is dead. You have seen that yourself. I would have your surrender Ser."

"And the terms?"

"A full pardon for you and the garrison. Your place as castellan of Storm's End will continue. And lastly my brother's bastard Edric Storm must be given into my care."

It was at the last part that Ser Cortnay stiffened. "No. By the Seven no I will not give you Edric."

"See now Ser," spoke Lord Alester. "I beg that you see reason now, the boy is of a blood with the king and myself. What would he have to fear from our care? His Grace is a man of honour, as am-"

Ser Cortnay glared at the Lord of Brightwater Keep as he interrupted the Reachlords platitudes with a shout. "You are a man of ambition! And any man who consorts with sorcery." Ser Cortnay shook his hand at the dragonmen. "Is no man of honour. I will not surrender the boy to you my lord."

With that Ser Cortnay turned and rode to Storm's End.

Stannis sat his horse in silence grinding his teeth. Finally he said. "Lord Seaworth, bring up the dragons, Storm's End will fall."

Davos did as he was bid, his new subordinates laboriously pulled the great steel tubes up the hill, bringing the iron balls and barrels of black powder with them. They set up far outside of arrow range the twelve great dragons crouched low on the slope as they were slowly and steadily loaded and readied.

The great host gathered behind them, afoot and ahorse ready the charge with hastily made ladders.

Stannis let his horse be led away and stood near Davos, with Ser Guyard Morrigen nearby.

"Shoot the gates first," commanded the king.

"Yes Your Grace."

Davos relayed the commands to his captains, though to be true he felt somewhat purposeless, the dragonmen knew their business better than Davos did.

Finally all of the dragons were ready and their captains waited on Davos' command. He took a breath and turned to the captains of Balerion and Meraxes. "Fire."

The great roars of the two largest dragons filled his ears, while fire filled his vision, and then smoke smothered him.

When the smoke cleared it revealed that the gates of Storm's End no longer existed.

King Stannis turned to a visibly shaken Ser Guyard. "Ask Ser Cortnay if he would like to surrender. Offer him the same terms as before."

Near an hour passed before Ser Guyard returned, he rode to Stannis and happily announced. "The castle is yours Your Grace."

Davos discovered later that Ser Cortnay had desired to fight on, but the garrison, terrified of the dragons, mutinied and imprisoned Ser Cortnay and his few loyalists. They were delivered in chains before King Stannis.

Stannis now ensconced within the great hall of Storm's End addressed them. "Twice today I offered you a chance to surrender, and twice did you refuse me. Now I offer you a third chance to swear your fealty to me."

One by one all of them men save for Ser Cortnay himself knelt before the king.

"You would still refuse me Ser?"

"My loyalty cannot be shaken by threats."

"Then it is the sword for you. Take him."

As men took Ser Cortnay by the arms he spoke. "I would have one thing from you my lord."

"You have that right."

"Just as you took your Onion Knight's fingers yourself, I would have you take my head yourself."

Stannis was silent for several long moments. He turned to Devan. "Bring my sword."

Ser Cortnay was led out of the hall and made to kneel in the yard. To his credit Ser Cortnay went to his death in honourable silence as he bowed his head over the block.

Without a word Stannis raised his sword and brought it down.

Tyrion

Tyrion woke with a start as someone knocked on his door. The knocking wasn't very loud almost like the knocker wasn't sure how loud was too loud. That could only mean. "Pod," he called. "If this is not of the utmost importance then I'll have Bronn take you on a one way fishing trip in Blackwater Bay."

The door opened. "Ser. My lord. My hand. May I enter. I mean I already have entered, but may I enter more? Unless Ser. My lord doesn't wi-"

"You may enter," Tyrion interrupted his squire as he sat up in the bed. He turned towards the tonguetied youth. "Now what is this about?"

"Ser Meryn is here."

Tyrion waited for Pod to continue and when it became clear he would not. "Here about what?"

"The queen sent him."

"And what does my sweet sister want?"

"I. Umm. That is."

"You don't know do you?"

"No ser. My lord."

Tyrion sighed. "I suppose I needs must speak with Ser Meryn then. Help me dress."

Despite his slow tongue Pod was sure handed and dressed Tyrion with almost remarkable speed in a neat crimson doublet. Dressed and mostly awake Tyrion waddled out to meet his unwelcome visitor. Ser Meryn was armored in his brilliant white scales sword sheathed at his side. "So what is it that sweet Cersei has sent you for. I hardly thinkit is to ensure that my mattress is properly stuffed or that my sheets have been sufficiently laundered."

The taller man frowned and tightened his grip on his sword. Tsk tsk no sense of humor.

"The Queen has demanded your presence in the Small Council chamber."

"What for?"

"For a meeting of the Small Council of course!"

"At this hour. Have I forgotten something?" Tyrion paused. "It's not her nameday is it?"

Ser Meryn looked like he was about to erupt but Tyrion cut him off once again. "Pod fetch the Dornish red from the kitchens. I fear I may have need of it before the morn is done. Bring it to the small council." Tyrion returned his attention to Ser Meryn. "Well Ser, lead on."

Trant growled as he turned on his heel heading down the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion turned to a drowsy Shagga. "I don't think he likes me very much." The mountain clansman shrugged and stood to follow Tyrion out of the chamber towards the small council chamber.

Sers Arys Oakheart and Boros Blount were on guard, Ser Meryn must have already entered. "Good morning," Tyrion directed to Ser Arys, while he ignored Blount. The council chamber was empty save for Sers Meryn and Mandon standing guard, a sitting Varys, and a pacing Cersei.

His voice dripping with sarcasm Tyrion addressed the tired and frazzled looking Cersei. "Why my dear sister you look positively radiant this morning." Cersei stopped in midstep and turned to glare daggers at Tyrion.

She snarled. "You won't be grinning for long imp!"

As Tyrion sat she turned her attention elsewhere. "Where are they?" She asked of Ser Mandon.

Before the fish-eyed vale knight could respond Littlefinger sauntered into the room coming to a near stop when he caught eye of Tyrion. He smiled slightly and sat opposite to Varys. He knows what this is about and if Littlefinger is smiling than it can only be trouble.

Cersei returned to her pacing

Pycelle doddered in next.

With everyone arrived Tyrion turned to Cersei. "So my dear sister why has the Small Council been summoned on such an early hour."

It was Varys who answered. "Renly Baratheon is dead."

Tyrion raised a eyebrow. "How?"

Varys sighed. "In battle Lord Renly's host of twenty thousand knights was broken by Lord Stannis outside Storm's End those who survived the battle have, led by Alester Florent by and large pledged themselves to Stannis growing his host near four times over. Some are already calling it the Second Field of Fire."

While Tyrion had listened to the Spider he had heard nothing that seemed to much of a reason for all this alarm. While an upset the result was hardly astonishing, Stannis was afterall a respected commander and Renly… Renly was not. But that last part that made everyone present, even Littlefinger, sit up in shock.

It was Littlefinger who broke the silence. "Stannis has dragons?"

Varys shook his head. "Not that I am aware of. However my little birds have sung such sweet songs of fire and blood. They sing of flames rising hundreds of feet in the air. They sing of men and horses fleeing in utmost terror. They sing of smoke and the stench of burned flesh filling the air for miles." Here the Spider stopped and giggled. "Now my lords, my Queen, what do we know of that can do all these things?"

Tyrion was stunned near to silence but after a few moments he managed to say. "Aside from dragons, only wildfire."

"That is. That is preposterous." Stuttered Pycelle. "How could Lord Stannis have wildfire? Only the Alchemists can make wildfire. This. This is nonsense. Your Grace."

Cersei snapped at Pycelle. "Shut up you beardless fool. Stannis has wildfire that much is undeniable. It doesn't matter how what matters is what we do."

For once Tyrion agreed with his sister. A shame she can't be this reasonable all the time. "What other songs do your little birds sing?"

Varys shrugged. "Josua Willum, Brienne of Tarth, Parmen Crane, Randyll Tarly, and Loras Tyrell are all confirmed to be slain. Lord Willum and the now Lord Dickon Tarly have refused to bend the knee and instead have been taken prisoner."

Tyrion thought for a moment. "Did any of Renly's host escape the battle?"

"The songs vary, but at most one and five hundreds fled under the command of Mathis Rowan. By this time they are likely to be nearing Bitterbridge where Renly's foot is encamped. Further it is clear that the garrison of Storm's End surrendered not long after that battle."

"Leaving Stannis free to march on King's Landing, and with construction of the chain better than a month from completion. He can sail up the Blackwater without anything to stop him."

Cersei snarled. "The wildfire can still turn his precious fleet into so much firewood."

"The wildfire was always a risk," Tyrion sighed. "But now it is a liability."

Cersei gave Tyrion that particular glare he imagined that she had perfected in her childhood. It meant I know you're trying to say something clever but I'm don't know what and I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of asking.

Too bad. "With only our forces armed with wildfire we were already at risk of blowing ourselves up. Now Stannis will be flinging wildfire back at us it is almost a certainty that someone will fuck up his day and ours by dropping a pot and taking half our walls with it."

Pycelle shook his head. "My lord Tyrion surely you overestimate the impact Lord Stannis' wildfire would have on the battle. Moreover does he not run the same risks as we would."

Tyrion made sure to make his tone as exceedingly patronizing as possible. "Grand Maester perhaps you have forgotten but Stannis has the liberty to spread out his forces and unlike us he is not trapped in a city filled to the brim wildfire. The inconvenient truth is that we have spent thousands of dragons on something that is now more likely to send us all to the Seven Hells than the enemy. King's Landing is indefensible."

This got Cersei's attention. She threw her full goblet at the wall spraying her wine across Ser Mandon's white cloak. "You want to abandon the capital! Abandon the Iron Throne! What kind of fool are you? If we flee people will think us cowards. Without the capital people will think Joffrey to be a false king."

Which to be fair he is.

"Not flee. Retreat. One is cowardice the other is prudence, do try and keep up. Besides if we don't retreat then we will be either dead or prisoners and once that happens there's not much we can do to stop Stannis from crushing us. On the other hand we can always fight another day and recapture the city. Besides would you rather see your childrens heads on spikes?"

Littlefinger and Varys were silent though Pycelle had foroughed his brow in thought. "Your grace perhaps Lord Tyrion has a point. There is historical precedent during the Dance of the Dragons King Aegon did lose the city for a time and it did not lose him the war. Surely we... er... King Joffrey can do the same."

There was a moment of silence as the other members of the small council stared at Pycelle. Cersei in particular seemed speechless.

The old goat knows that if Stannis takes the city that he'll lose his head along with the rest of us.

Cersei glared at Pycelle. "I am a woman and I have more balls than you craven. You would have us abandon the city and let Stannis take Joffrey's throne without even challenging him?"

Before Pycelle could speak Tyrion made his move. "No one said anything about letting Stannis walk in unopposed."

Littlefinger chose this moment to interject. "Then what do you propose."

"Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella, must leave the city before Stannis lays siege. After that we resist with everything we have. If we're lucky we can damage Stannis' host enough to make defeating him later considerably easier."

Cersei sneered. "If Joffrey leaves then the gold cloaks will collapse in minutes."

Tyrion nodded his agreement. "Yes of course, you're right, which is why Lancel will be wearing Joffrey's armour and a crowned helm. From a distance he looks enough like Joffrey to pass and in armour and a crowned helm hardly anyone would be able to see the difference."

Cersei seemed a tad calmer. "And where would you suggest Joffrey go? Casterly Rock? Harrenhal?"

"Goldengrove."

Cersei stiffened. "You want to send my son across half the Seven Kingdoms to the castle of our enemy!" She nearly screeched the last word.

"Our former enemy and he'd only be travelling across half of one kingdom. With Renly dead his war dies with him those who would go over to Stannis have already done so. And need I remind you Stannis killed Loras. Lord Mace will be itching to win his vengeance against the killer of his favourite son."

"Then why not go yourself? Why send Joffrey when there is fighting between here and Goldengrove!"

"Joffrey will of course have the Hound and a guard of three hundred gold cloaks, half our red cloaks and half my clansmen. As for why Joffrey must go Renly did not just leave an army without a leader, he left a bride without a husband."

Varys chuckled. "You mean to wed Joffrey to Margaery?"

"Indeed I do. Joffrey can ride to Goldengrove and from there gather the Tyrell swords and a Tyrell bride. He can then be sent to the safety of Casterly Rock."

Cersei objected. "Joffrey is betrothed to Sansa Stark."

Littlefinger cut in. "One could mention that the Tyrells are so very much wealthier than the Starks. And mayhaps the beauty of the Lady Margaery herself could be mentioned."

Tyrion grinned. "Betrothals can be broken. With her brother in open rebellion wedding and bedding Sansa Stark gives us nothing that holding her prisoner does not already. But Margaery Tyrell, wedding her would give us all the strength of Highgarden."

Cersei shook her head. "Joffrey will never accept Renly's leavings, he is too proud. He would never consent to wed the Tyrell girl."

"In three years Joffrey could refuse to consent but he is only three and ten, and you are his regent while I am his Hand. The king will do as he is bid."

With all her objections dismissed Cersei closed her eyes and nodded. "Very well, but the kingsguard will go with him, and you will send all your sellswords and double the gold cloaks to act as Joffrey's guard."

"It would be very strange if our pretend king had no whitecloaks around him, and Myrcella and Tommen will need guardians as well. Myrcella is fond of Ser Arys so he can go with her to Dorne. Ser Boros often guards Prince Tommen so there is no need to change that. Ser Preston and Ser Meryn can watch Lancel. That leaves the Hound and Ser Mandon to guard the king."

Varys chose that moment to add. "If I'm not mistaken those are the two best swords among the Kingsguard. Excluding poor Ser Jaime of course."

Cersei still seemed unhappy so Tyrion continued. "And of course every sellsword we can hire will go with him. We can't trust them to fight for a doomed city anyway. And the Small Council must go to advise our king."

At last Cersei relented she sat and held her head in her hands. "If any harm comes to Joffrey then you had best pray the gods keep you safe."

Tyrion was solemn. "You have my word no harm will come to Joffrey. Now I believe we have travel preparations to begin"

Cersei arched and eyebrow. "We?"

"I said the Small Council must accompany Joffrey and I am a member of the Small Council am I not?"

"You are the king's hand," Cersei purred. "And the hand must always be at the kings side, which is why you must stay here. Or else people will question why our king commands the walls without his noble uncle bravely at his side."

Shit. She has me.

Littlefinger spoke before Tyrion could defend himself, smiling more like a cat than a mockingbird. "Her Grace has the right of it, especially since His Grace has not yet reached his majority, there must be a man of your experience to command the defence."

Pycelle nodded in agreement and Varys looked on passively. Shit. shit, and shit.

"If the council wills it then I will of course stay to command the city," Tyrion admitted grudgingly.

"Excellent," Cersei looked happier than she had in months.

Likely not since I first came to King's Landing.

With their business done the Small Council dispersed. Littlefinger, Varys and Cersei left to begin making their preparations to leave, though it would be several weeks at least before they left the city. Tyrion waddled out of the chamber to be met by the yawning trio of Pod, Shagga, and Bronn.

"What news?" Asked the sellsword.

Tyrion took a moment to sigh. "We're fucked."

Mathis

With a vicious twist Mathis Rowan freed his sword from the flesh of a dying man. He turned to his left, bringing his shield up as he did, to block the axe stroke of another Florent man-at-arms. The impact sent a shock up his arm causing him to gasp in pain and inhale gout of smoke. Mathis, coughing and lightheaded, tried to raise his sword but before he could launch a thrust in return the fox's helm was split in two by a pole-ax wielded by an Osgrey knight. One of the burning pavilions collapsed sending a spray of sparks and burning cloth into the enemy. The enemy knights flinched back. Now free, for the moment at least, of any pressing concerns trying to kill him Mathis pulled back trusting his knights to hold long enough for him to get his bearing and a plan to get them the hell out of here.

It had seemed so easy on the ride from Storm's End, get to Bitterbridge first and rally the foot, and then bring the immense host over to the Lannisters. Who being led by the shrewd and pragmatic Lord Tywin would then without doubt look to reward this stalwart act of loyalty. A seat on the Small Council, a keep for his youngest son, holdfasts for his numerous cousins, and perhaps a Lannister marriage between his slut of a daughter and whichever nephew Tywin could spare. Lancel mayhaps?

Alas if one wants to make the gods laugh you must only tell them their plans. Despite his haste Mathis, and the thousand survivors he had brought from Storm's End, had arrived only minutes before near two thousand men, bearing the banners of Florent and Massey and Baratheon, came with dozens of representatives from near half the houses of the Reach, all of them preaching the glories of Lord Stannis. The fighting had broken out almost immediately, with Mathis' loyalists taking the worst of the fight as whenever Mathis organized his forces enough to create a strongpoint it was near immediately wiped away by the accursed new weapons some of Stannis' men wielded.

Having seen them close now, in the confines of the camp, he saw now that they were weapons, not sorcery. He knew not how they worked only that they killed with fire and smoke and let loose sharp cracks or load roars when they did. After the battle at Storm's End Mathis had idley wondered if, like Aegon before him, Stannis commanded dragons and know Mathis knew he had been right. For what else could one call these weapons? They may be lacking him wings but fire they had aplenty.

Mathis pushed his way through the mass of grunting and shoving men to where his fellow loyal lords had gathered chief among them Ser Leo Blackbar and Lord Arthur Ambrose, the other great lords and knights of the Reach being either dead, fled, or else had turned their cloaks. Even Lorent Caswell, the lord of Bitterbridge, was doing nothing about the fighting. Instead the craven preferred to hide in his keep. He could distantly hear a series of dragon roars.

"My lords."

"Lord Mathis," the two lords answered.

Ser Leo seemed worried, his broad chest heaving with exhaustion. "I fear we are losing the battle."

A glance confirmed that Lord Arthur seemed to share Leo's opinion. Mathis considered lying but decided that the truth would suit him better at the moment. "Yes, we are losing. What we can best do now is retreat in good order with as many men as we can."

The young Ser Leo seemed more than a tad concerned. "How are we to do this? Half the host is fighting the other half. Rivalries buried for decades have come to the fore." He shook his head. "it's chaos. We couldn't lead a pig out of this mess let alone and army."

Mathis shook his head. "We don't need to lead we just need not flee. Florent and Massey are in near as big a mess as we are. No one knows who's really on which side. By presenting an organized force in a sea of chaos men will rally to us. Seven Hells man men are rallying to us! All we must do is march towards the edge of the camp as more men rally on us we can mount our retreat in good order taking thousands. No. Tens of thousands of soldiers with us."

Lord Arthur was nodding now though Ser Leo still seemed uncertain.

Another burst of roars echoed in the burning camp, Mathis looked at Leo and shrugged. "With or without you we are leaving Ser."

Leo closed his eyes as sparks washed over him. "Alright let us be done with this place,"

"Very good. We will go south and follow the Mander, if we are separated we will meet at Longtable. Are we agreed?"

Arthur smiled. "Aye."

Blackbar sighed. "Aye."

"But if we are to retreat first we must win some breathing room. Lord Arthur, Ser Leo hold the line while I break these bastards." Without giving them a chance to argue Mathis once again drew his sword, but rather than dive back into the pushing and shoving mass of men, he instead gathered a hundred or so stragglers from the rear. Moving in a broad arc through a quiet and all but deserted area of the camp. Here and there were bands of armed men gathered around choice tents ripe for looting. Repressing his own greed for the moment Mathis pressed these looters into his service and just as he had foretold the more men he gathered the more came to his banner.

As his band gathered itself amongst what had once been a makeshift tourney field Mathis leapt atop an abandoned wagon to address them. "Men. Warriors of the Reach! Of the Stormlands! In five minutes we are going to be on the enemy we are going to hit them from the rear and fuck them bloody!"

Mathis smiled as the makeshift host of highborn knights and smallfolk levies cheered.

He raised his hands for silence. "And as I'm sure you all know the best way to fuck someone good and proper is to slip in without even being felt. But once you're there you don't stop until the wench is screaming your name and all the gods! Only difference now is that we won't stop!"

Another cheer.

"Now don't just stand their lads! Get to the fucking!"

A roar rose from a thousand throats as the host charged past Mathis and through the mass of tents that separated them from the enemy rear. Mathis hopped down from the wagon and joined them in their headlong charge.

The tents parted and gave way to a crowd of men killing each other with a howl Mathis leapt forward into the mass of the enemy, trusting in his plate to keep him unharmed, he rammed his shield against a Fossoway man. His bull-like rush sent the man sprawling into two others of the foe sprawling and broke a small hole in their line, a gap that was quickly exploited by his knights. Surprised, exhausted and taken from the rear it did not take long for a rout to begin.

As the enemy fled Mathis stood amongst the crowd of cheering soldiers Lord Arthur and Ser Leo approached him. Ser Leo sighed. "We would not have held out much longer my lord. As it is we're lucky that none of Stannis' dragons arrived."

"The gods have smiled on us then. Now we must get this lot out of here, get me a horse." It took only a few moments for a suitable steed, a rowan courser, to be found. Now mounted Mathis looked down on Ser Leo. "Have your men bring up the rear and collect any stragglers." To Lord Arthur he said. "Mind the flanks my lord. I'll take the front" Then he raised his sword and his voice as one. "Now lads follow me!"

Mathis spurred the courser south holding his blade aloft, and leading thousands of men in his wake. We must be fast elsewise we'll get this lot caught in a meatgrinder and pinned down until Stannis' dragons can rip us apart.

True to his thoughts Mathis led the host on a quick march through the camp, per his commands to Lord Arthur and Ser Leo more and more stragglers, men from a dozen houses, were gathered and folded into the barely organized column. Every so often Mathis would give another cheer and charge a few dozen paces forward, just to keep his men running. The pace couldn't be maintained for long but all they needed was to get free of the camp.

Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. A armoured man in Florent colours and behind him a few hundred more armed men. Many of them with dragons. Shit.

Mathis didn't have a choice if he let the men wait a moment they'd start thinking about the dragons and if there was one thing Mathis knew it was that a thinking soldier was a soldier who was about to run away. The only thing for it was to charge right into them before they enemy could ready themselves and more importantly before his men could think.

He spurred his horse. "CHARGE!"

Mathis wasn't sure who was more scared the Florent man-at-arms, who was now staring down a mounted man swinging a sword at his head, or Mathis himself who was looking down at a hundred dragonmen. Flame and smoke and death billowed from the weapons and passed Mathis by. Mathis cut the Florent down and smashed his horse into the line of swordsmen and dragonmen. He swung his blade wildly as the enemy crowded around him. A man grabbed his leg to try and drag him off the horse. Mathis smashed the offending limb with his pommel.

Then a tide of screaming men swept the enemy away. Laughing Mathis gave chase to the enemy cutting them down as they fled the camp. As the enemy fled Mathis rather than continue to follow them led his men south.

Hours later Mathis let himself sit down he and the host was exhausted by over an hour of battle and then hours more of marching. He let himself rest not bothering to issue commands about fires or piss pits or anything else. His throat was still sore from shouting commands and breathing smoke. He grimaced as wine seared his throat. He pulled his gauntlet off and took a good look at the bruises that covered his shield arm. A few squeezes later and he was assured that there were no broken bones just bruises. He felt a pain in his leg his calf and ankle were covered in dried blood. He started to struggle with his armour. Gods know where my squire is, dead in a ditch most likely. Mathis paused a moment to whisper a prayer for the poor lad had been the son of a distant cousin. Not a close relation but family nonetheless. Getting his armour off was a struggle but with some difficulty he found a long shallow cut on the side of his leg. It matched well with the jagged hole in his armour.

A flicker in the corner of his eye alerted him that someone was walking towards him. No, two someones Ser Leo, and a smoke blackened and bleeding peasant levy in Mullendore colours. Mathis rose to meet them but his greeting died in his throat when he saw what the peasant had in his arms. It was blackened and battered by sword and axe. It was a dragon.

Catelyn

A week's worth of riding passed in a blur as Catelyn drifted in and out of a fever sleep. She slept most hours of the day and struggled to eat anything. It seemed whatever she ate was simply vomited out only minutes later. In her few moments of clarity she realized that she had lost control of her bowls and that she was covered in her own filth. Though to be true she found herself struggling to care as she could not feel the filth flowing out and covering her.

Hallis had tied her like a sack of barley to a horse, while he and Lucas Blackwood stayed by her side, lest she fall.

A few times they stopped to wash Catelyn in a stream or river. Each time she was stripped and carried at arms length by two of her guards. She was then slowly dipped into the waters as one would hold her and the other used a cloth on her to rid her of the built up shit and piss. As they did this others would try and was her clothes to rid them of the bulk of the filth. She watched them ball up her stained and tattered dress. I will have that burned when we reach Riverrun.

She had lost track of how long she had been rising when, during one of her washings, Ser Wendel cursed and suddenly she was beneath the water. Catelyn panicked she pulled and pushed to free herself but the fever and lack of food had left her weak. The current was pulling her downstream. As a child she had learned to swim in the Red Fork and the Tumblestone but now her legs were like a great weight that pulled her down far from the light and the air. Hands grabbed at her and in her panic she began to pull on them intent on using whoever this was to climb out of the water. Alas she was too weak to do so and that very well might have saved her as Perwyn Frey pulled her from the water and dragged her to shore.

It was only after, that Catelyn realized that at now point was the water more than an arms length deep. As the party rode onwards she cried herself to sleep.

The next day they stopped at a small village in the Kingswood. There Ser Perwyn brought her to an old woodswitch to have her wounds tended. The old woman had leaves and feathers woven into her hair. She had Catelyn lie down on a straw pallet while she examined the wound with her poking and prodding fingers. "Does this hurt?"

"No."

"Hmmm. It is tainted to be sure. The dark humours have entered the wound and must be cleansed." The woodswitch stood and examined and array of clay pots marked with runes. She opened one and placed it on a table. After emptying the contents into a bowl she crushed it into a fine powder and mixed it with water and herbs from her hair.

"This poultice will repel the humours but first I must clean the wound." The old woman filled a kettle with wine and set it to boiling. Once done she waited a few minutes for it to cool and then soaked a rag in the hot wine. The woman used the rag to wash the wound and the surrounding flesh pushing it into the injury and up against Catelyn's bones. Once the woman was satisfied she poured some of the wine directly onto the wound. Catelyn hissed as hot wine flowed up her back to where she could still feel.

The woman applied her poultice to the wound then wrapped it in bandages made from wool. "I have prepared enough to make five poultices. It must be changed every three days and the bandages must be washed daily."

Catelyn nodded her understanding.

The woodswitch gave her a pat on the head and finished wrapping her waist in bandages. She left and in a few minutes Hallis and Ser Perwyn carried her out and tied her to the horse.

Whatever the woodswitch had put in the poultice it did it's work quickly. Within days the swelling and redness that had gripped Catelyn's lower back was gone and the fever had abated leaving her mind clear once again. Though still not in control of her bowels she was now able to at least abate the worst of it by stuffing her small clothes with cloth and moss to soak up the filth.

They left the Kingswood a week later travelling at speed through the heart of the war. The Riverlands, which had once been green and rich and peaceful, were now a blackened desert burnt by Lannister raiders. As they rode deeper into the Riverlands they found more and more broken and abandoned villages. The smallfolk having fled to the forests or to their lords castles or else now lying dead in their fields.

A week after entering the Riverlands they ran out of poultice. It was not long before her wound began to grow red and swollen. Lucas Blackwood claimed that by using a heated dagger he could drain the wound of the illness. All it did was make her injury larger. As days were spent riding Catelyn could feel her fever begin to return it wouldn't be long before she was again gripped by delirium.

By the grace of the Seven it did not come to that. Catelyn had lost track of how long they had been riding but as they crested a hill she saw a most welcome sight. Thank the gods. Below the hill lying astride the Red Fork of the Trident was Pinkmaiden castle and from its wall flew the dancing maiden of House Piper.

The party quickly rode towards the gates.

"Who goes there?"

Lucas Blackwood answered. "Ser Wendel Manderly, Ser Perwyn Frey, Hallis Mollen, I am Lucas Blackwood, and Catelyn Stark the Queen Mother. Now open this gate unless you want her grace to die of her injuries!"

It did not take long for the gates to open and for Lady Piper to send for her maester. Within minutes Catelyn was lying abed with servants fluttering around her asking over and over again if she had need of anything.

My husband. She thought. My children. My legs.

She did not know Lady Piper, she was a decade younger than Catelyn from a minor house near the Stoney Sept, she was big-breasted and large with child and seemed to be not very bright. Idly Catelyn recalled that Lord Clement had remarried after his first wife had died in childbirth. Uninterested in conversing with this stranger Catelyn closed her eyes on the nattering woman and let her fever send her into a twisting and dream filled sleep.

When she awoke the maester of Pinkmaiden was tending her wounds, though she could not feel it. He hemmed and hawed as she was poked and prodded by the maester's thin fingers.

"What did this your grace? It looks like no wound I've ever seen."

Catelyn was silent for several long moments before she answered. "A dragon."

At that the maester paused. "Are you having a play with me your grace?"

Catelyn repressed a shudder at the memories of flame and smoke and screaming death and too much blood. "I wish I was."

After that the maester was silent as he treated her wound.

At the insistence of Maester Walder and Lady Piper Catelyn and her guard agreed to stay a few days to ensure that her wound was healing well and so Lady Piper could host them properly with a small feast.

To be truly fair it was as good a feast as could be expected given burned fields on both sides of the Red Fork. Roasted venison and pork covered in honey glazes, platters of sliced vegetables, and rolls of cheese with nuts and freshly baked bread, with wine and ale in abundance. Everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves Ser Wendel in particular gorged himself on a small mountain of food. Singers sang songs of glorious victory, one in particular sang a version of The Rains of Castamere entitled The Snows of Casterly. Better it be called the Burning of Winterfell if Robb should try to make war on Stannis. After that Catelyn's mood soured and she soon asked to be taken to bed. Excusing her absence due to her wound. Even then she had to wait through a dozen boasts and oaths as every knight in the hall swore to personally take Stannis' head in vengeance.

What good is a rotting head to me when I cannot even relieve myself.

As if on cue she, and most others, smelt a particular odor rising from Catelyn. Stinking and humiliated Catelyn was carried out of the hall.

The next two days passed without incident and Catelyn was allowed to leave without much fanfare. She pushed herself and her guards to ride quickly north along the Red Fork, towards Riverrun. They were not alone for very long, up and down the length of the Red Fork were soldiers in Tully, Bracken, Piper, and Blackwood livry. The fighting men were cutting logs and digging pits at every ford between Riverrun and Pinkmaiden.

A day's ride south of Riverrun their path crossed with a large party of mounted knights and at their head, armed and armoured, was Edmure.

He grinned at the sight of her and laughing rode up to her. "Cat it has been to long! How are you?"

Edmure grew still and silent as he saw the ropes and straps which secured Catelyn to the saddle. "What is this? Why?"

Tears began to overflow Catelyn's eyes and spill down her cheeks.

His face still grave her brother urged his stallion next to her and leaned down to embrace her in a tight hug. Catelyn pushed her face into Edmure's shoulder.

"I will kill whoever did this to you."

Author's Note: Good news and band news. The good news is I've been posting this on another site until now so I've got a backlog that'll be posted rapidly. Bad news is after that you guys will need to wait like everyone else. I usually take about two weeks to write an update.