Daven
What madness has come over Lord Mace? Daven rode at the head his guard, a fine selection of highborn cousins, third sons, and landless knights, fierce fighters to the last and loyal to the bone, and not far from the dragonmen commanded by Ser Murton Lannys. Together they made up a fraction of the fifteen thousand strong vanguard, which was commanded by Ser Kevan Lannister. Aside from Daven, the other major commanders were Ser Harys Swyft, Ser Addam Marbrand, Ser Mern Oakheart, Lady Arwen's eldest son and heir, Lord Phillip Foot, and Lord Mathis Rowan.
They had crossed the Mander near four hours past and had continued east following the course of the Cockleswent to where Lord Mace and Ser Garlan were locked in battle with Lord Stannis. A battle they are losing. At a trumpet's call, Daven departed his guard and the dragonmen, leaving them under the command of Ser Murton Lannys, and rode to join Ser Kevan, and his squire Gunthor Rowan, Lord Mathis' son, on the crest of a low hill, from which they could gain a clearer picture of the battle.
Ser Addam Marbrand shook his head. "Seven Hells but this looks bad."
Daven nodded his head in silent agreement. The combined Tyrell army, led by Lord Mace and Ser Garlan, had been split near in half by Stannis' dragonmen and even as they watched the Fossoway knights moved to exploit the gap. The flanks were in no better shape as they fell back under the furious rebel assault. The trail of bodies the started in the river, continued onto the banks, into the fields, and was now behind the rebel lines. It was a bloody trail of the dead and dying, the result of failed attempts to hold the line. A crackle of dragonfire erupted from a large rectangular block that was near the center of Stannis' army, adding to the thick cloud of smoke that was hanging still in the windless air.
"Lord Mace is five minutes from disaster," Daven said, his statement was accompanied by nods and utterances of agreement from the other lords, knights, and commanders, save for Ser Bronn Wolfsbane who said nothing and whose face revealed nothing, and Lord Mathis Rowan who shook his head in disagreement.
"The difference between disaster and victory is a fine line, Ser Daven," said the Lord of Goldengrove. "Lord Stannis' flanks are vulnerable."
"Aye, they are," Ser Kevan agreed quietly, the aging man turned to face his commanders. "Ser Daven take your dragonmen and punch a hole in the enemy's right, Ser Bronn will be under your command as will Ser Harys Swyft."
Daven joined Ser Bronn and Ser Harys in giving a low bow from his saddle.
Ser Kevan turned to face the heirs to Ashemark and Old Oak. "Ser Addam and Ser Mern you will sweep around and savage Stannis' left flank."
"Yes Ser Kevan," said Ser Addam. Ser Mern simply gave a slow nod of his head.
"Lord Mathis you and I will take the center and smash Lord Fossoway and after that, you'll deal with the dragons since you've faced them before.
If Lord Mathis was nervous about facing the weapons that had destroyed Renly's army he didn't show it. "We'll stop Stannis' advance cold then throw him back across the Cockleswent," he declared.
Daven hadn't wanted to waste a moment so he had already turned his horse around to ride back to his men, but he turned around and shouted back a jape to the other commanders. "And send him to bed without supper!"
Daven rode off to the sound of their laughter. Beside him, the chinless Ser Harys Swyft did his best to keep up, while Ser Bronn Wolfsbane, followed like a shadow. Ser Bronn had risen quickly in a short time, it seemed Lord Tywin intended for him to replace the dead Ser Gregor as his favourite attack dog. He's uncouth, callous, dangerous, and utterly amoral. No wonder Lord Tywin likes him. Daven smiled. He's also clever, quick, and an excellent fighter. No wonder I like him. Daven rode quickly travelling across the field to where Ser Harys Swyft's foot was marching, splitting off from the main column.
Daven came to a swift halt and addressed the other two knights. "Sers, meet me by the dragonmen as soon as you've seen to your commands."
"Of course Ser Daven," answered Ser Harys.
Ser Bronn grinned. "Aye Ser."
The two knights, one of an ancient heritage and one a former sellsword, rode off to see to their troops, while Daven made his own path back to the dragonmen and his guard. Daven dismounted and handed his reins to his squire, a lad named Terrence Lannister, of the Lannisport Lannisters. He joined the dragonmen, who were gathering three hundred yards from the right flank of the rebel host, within the shadow of a hill. Lord Tywin had been generous to the men, each had been gifted a new brigandine, a small steel shield emblazoned with a golden lion, and a sword, axe, mace, or warhammer, depending on their preference.
Daven marched the line clapping shoulders and trading japes. "Load with two balls," he commanded of Ser Murton Lannys. "We need to give these rebels a nasty surprise."
"Aye Ser," chuckled Ser Murton.
"Good man," Daven clapped him on the shoulder and returned to his horse to meet with the quickly approaching Ser Bronn and Ser Harys. "Ser Bronn have your riders form up on each flank of the dragonmen after they've given the enemy a volley charge in and smash that part of the line. Ser Harys spread your men out and attack along the rest of the line don't give them a chance to shift things about. Ser Bronn I assume I'm right in guessing you won't need directions on what to do once you've broken through their lines?"
"Oh no Ser, my boys will tear them up from the rear something fierce."
"Excellent. Ser Harys keep on them once they've started to break don't give them any respite, chase them back into the river."
"Of course Ser Daven."
"I'll stick close to the dragonmen should you have need of me. Now, let's be about our business shall we," Daven spurred his horse and joined his guard in gathering behind the line of dragonmen.
As Daven waited impatiently for the Ser Harys' foot and Ser Bronn's riders to move into place, his hand rose without thinking to twist its fingers through his beard and his mind wandered to more melancholy thoughts. I don't think Mother could bear it if I died to day, not after Father. At least she'd have Cerenna and Myrielle to look out for her... and Sansa... my widow. Though how much comfort she'd be willing to give I know not. Sansa had spoken quietly that night but in his memory, the word seemed to echo off the walls, it was so loud. Yes, she'd said, yes I hate you. If I die today I'll leave my wife a widow mayhaps that will be the only thing I can give her that will make her happy.
Daven shook his head to dismiss such dismal thoughts and, after a quick look around to confirm everyone was in position, gave a signal to his trumpeter to sound the advance. Along the line, trumpets continued the call and captains and sergeants shouted at their men, Ser Murton himself commanded the dragonmen to begin their own advance, and soon thousands of armoured and armed men began to march towards the foe, Ser Bronn's men came up forming a wing just behind each dragonman flank, and beyond them the hurrying western foot flanked them. As one they crested the top of the low hill and came within sight of the rebel army. The foe was slowly turning about to face them. They were Stormlands men infantry armed with spears, axes, and shields. They were forming a wall of steel and bodies to guard the rebel flank and were only a hundred yards away.
At fifty yards Ser Murton gave his next command. "Stop!" The dragonmen stopped. "Ready!" He shouted, as one the dragonmen hoisted their hand-dragons off their shoulders and readied them. "Aim!" Daven was pleased to see the rebel troops were already beginning to tremble and shake. They know what these weapons are and they know what's coming next. Ser Murton shouted. "FIRE!" And seven hundred hand-dragons roared fire and death at the enemy, the smoke made a foul smelling shroud in the air, and the ground began to shake as Ser Bronn's cavalry charged from either side of the dragonmen and into what Daven imagined as the bloodied and broken remnants of the Baratheon lines. The growing sound of the clash of battle swelled as Ser Harys' foot made contact along the enemy line.
Daven clapped Ser Murton in the back. "Well done Ser well done! Reload and advance shoot any enemy that seems to happy," Daven hefted his lance and turned to address his guard. "Come lads! Once more into the fray!" The guards cheered as Daven led them in following Ser Bronn's own charge. They passed through the smoke and Daven saw the carnage the dragonmen and Ser Bronn had wrought. The riders had smashed through the rebel line and were riding free beyond it, the rebels were crumbling as they came under attack from all sides. Daven waved his lance again and led his men into the exposed flank of a square of Buckler spearmen.
Daven's lance struck high in a man's chest, easily breaking through the footman's mail armour and reappearing out of his back. Daven dropped the lance and drew his sword even as his war horse trampled over another rebel. Under attack from three sides, it was not long before the Bucklers began to rout and they spread their terror to their neighbours.
As the rebel right collapsed Daven pulled up and stood in his stirrups. "Hah! Victory! Victory and King Joffrey!"
Davos
Davos gritted his teeth as the rotten stench of the dragon smoke pervaded the air. Dragonfire crackled all around Davos. The ranks of two thousand dragonmen and three thousand footmen armed with pikes, halberds, billhooks, and all manner of polearms, surrounded him in a great square, dragonshot firing wildly in all directions at the enemy closing in around them.
Davos pulled his horse around, as he tried to keep an eye on every direction. Bitterly, he remembered their successes earlier in the day when the dragonmen had thrown back the foot and horse of the Tyrells, opening up their ranks to Lord Owen Fossoway's charge that had near broken the enemy in half. The charge that had been swiftly followed by fifteen thousand foot under Ser Erren Florent, Lord Ralph Buckler, and Lord Alesander Staedmon, and lastly the dragonmen themselves who stayed in reserve to better conserve the precious black powder. Barely five weeks from King's Landing and we're already short on black powder. Another volley crashed into the mass of Oakheart infantry. The smoke was too thick for Davos to see the results but he knew what he would have seen, blood and death.
Everything has gone wrong and gone wrong so quickly. The Lannisters had come over a hill on the right and had stormed into the battle and since then there had only been scattered messages from the other commanders, and what news Davos received was all but useless. However going by the Lannister and Rowan horse in front I'd wager Ser Erren's foot is dead or fled. What little more he'd been able to piece together showed that the enemy knights had smashed into both flanks and had shattered the center.
Another crackle of dragonfire echoed to his right, but it seemed strangely distant. What? Before Davos could even finish his thought a wave of death came through the ranks of his men. Screaming lead balls sundering armour, flesh, and bone, and sending blood flying. The dead and wounded alike fell, though the dead were mercifully silent.
"Return fire!" He shouted as loudly as he could. "Cut down the rebels!" Davos didn't know if it was his command that prompted it or simply the initiative of his captains but several of the companies began to shift so as to open fire on the rebels.
Without warning the still air came to life with a wing that blew the bulk of the smoke away. Across the field, the Davos saw rebel dragonmen letting volleys fly into the ranks of Davos' men. Just as Davos' own men were doing to the enemy. Amongst the browns and greys of the common soldiers was a flash of gold and crimson. A Lannister most likely, though which of that vast family I have no idea. It seemed the foe had caught sight of Davos as well for he raised his longsword in a salute. After a moment's hesitation, the Davos did the same, just as the wind died and the smoke took back the air.
This can't continue. Davos grabbed the attention of his messengers, four young boys, barely older than Devan. "Retreat, tell the captains to retreat across the river, but to hold the formation if they value their lives!" The boys ran as fast as they could and for a moment Davos let himself breathe as the smoke swirled. This is just a ship in rough seas and it's time to make for port. He tried to ignore the little voice at the back of his mind that said that unlike an enemy army the storm wasn't trying to kill you.
Davos waited nervously as the battle continued to rage around him. Three more volleys erupted from the Lannister dragonmen before Davos' greater numbers saw them off and slowly ever so slowly the great block of men began to move northwards shedding blood, smoke, and the dead at every step. The formation moved slowly and fitfully some companies moving faster and some slower as they stopped to fight the enemy and fire hand-dragons into the smoke.
It didn't take long for Davos' captains to start sending messengers of their own. "Ser Aemon Thunder says he's low on black powder," the first said. "Ser Godry Farring says he's out of black powder," said the second. A half a dozen more came with similar messages.
"Ichiro," Davos turned in his saddle to speak to his advisor who wore a queer mix of Beikango and Westerosi armour and weapons. "Break into the emergency reserves."
Ichiro was stone faced. "The reserves are almost gone."
Fuck. "They," Davos pointed at the enemy. "Don't know that. Get every bag, every little barrel, and make a big show of loading every hand-dragon, but keep them in reserve for when they try to charge again."
"Yes lord," Ichiro bowed and smiled slightly.
Davos turned back to face the smoke and the foe. Hopefully, that will be enough to hold them back. As Davos' commands took effect his men continued their slow march towards the Cockleswent. With the dragons down to their last bits of black powder, the smoke was clearing giving Davos a clearer view of the battle. All around them the thousands of foot and horse that had crossed the river before the dragonmen were in all but full flight and paying the price for it as the enemy knights rode them down. Even so, there were other islands of order like Davos' own force. In particular, a large block of troops on the left was holding steady beneath the black dagger and red heart banners of Lord Alesander Staedmon. The right and center under Ser Erren Florent and Lord Ralph Buckler were in a shambles. Smashed beneath the might of Lord Rowan's knights and the Lannister dragonmen. The former of which was rallying beneath their lord's gold and silver banner, readying for another charge, all that opposed them was Davos' dragonmen and several thousand screaming and fleeing foot.
With the left flank and the center beaten apart, the enemy turned their full attention on Davos and his dragonmen. It was enemy archers that came forward now, longbowmen from the marches, crossbowmen from elsewhere, and the Lannister dragonmen made their return. The arrows, bolts, and balls began to fall and Davos' dragonmen returned fire, reaping a dreadful toll upon the enemy, but their retreat quickly slowed to a crawl, and the dragonmen began to run lower and lower on black powder until at last the sputtering dragonfire ceased. "Pikemen forward!" Davos commanded. "Dragonmen to the rear!" Davos' men hurried to obey, even as the enemy infantry closed in dragging the retreat to a halt as the companies fought, and failed, to stay in a cohesive formation. But even as the enemy attacks mounted and defeat seemed inevitable, relief came.
The enemy advance was broken by a deafening roar that thundered through the air following in the wake of the ball of iron that the dragon had sent flying into the enemy, dirt, blood, and limbs made a gory path behind the dragon-shot. Davos gritted his teeth in savage satisfaction as the mere sound of Balerion's roar brought the enemy to a halt. Balerion's roar was the first of many as the dragons let loose their fury one by one. The battle was turning back again as, in addition to the dragons, reinforcements were crossing the river, strong blocks of Stormlander and Reachmen infantry ready to hold back the enemy tide and guard Davos' flanks. As the reinforcements joined his beleaguered force and the battle began in earnest once again Davos felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It's done we can win this. Even the broken men from the flanks and the center were beginning to rally.
Davos' horse reared as without warning a massive explosion of a different kind rocked the world it came from the hill across the river, where the dragons were firing. Had been firing, for even as the echo of the first explosion was still hanging in the air it was quickly followed by two more of a slightly different timbre than the first. The dragons. It seemed Davos wasn't the only person to come to that conclusion as the foe began to roar in triumph and surge forward smashing into the men who were just beginning to rally sending them back into a fleeing panic.
"What was that?"
Ichiro answered. "Sometimes after much use the dragons grow weak and they…" Ichiro trailed off as the results were obvious to anyone with ears.
"Can they be repaired?" Davos felt he knew the answer but he had to ask anyway.
Ichiro shook his head. "No. At least not in time to make a difference here and now."
Davos gritted his teeth, trying not to let his frustration show as the enemy knights began to charge the shaken and disordered pikemen. He tried to shout over the din of battle. "Pikes! Hold! Hold steady!" His captains and their sergeants were shouting as well, but even as the pikemen tried to ready themselves to meet the enemy charge a wave of screaming, fleeing, routing men fleeing the weight of the charge were driven into them, the broken remnants of the center and the flanks that had so recently been rallying. The formation held for a moment but then seemed to melt as the routing men forced their way inside and spread their panic, as the foe, glorious and terrible in their victory, crashed into them. Davos saw men sent flying by the power of the charge, men who were spat upon lances like chickens. The lines of pike and hand-dragon that had once surrounded Davos seemed to split open like a ship smashed by a ram, letting the enemy come crashing through.
Davos brandished his sword and reached up to pull his visor down, but the damn thing caught on something, as it near always did. Davos pulled a second time, a third time, and then gave up. Seven Hells but I hate this helmet! Davos screamed and awkwardly swung his longsword at the face of a foeman's horse. The beast balked and reared threw its rider off balance and letting a footman haul him off with a billhook.
Davos turned and stabbed at another knight but his blade scraped uselessly off the man's armoured shoulder. Ichiro cut with his curved foreign blade but against the plate armoured knights of the Reach, it was near useless. Not that my longsword is much better, Davos thought grimly as he awkwardly parried a lance thrust.
Davos' horse shuddered and stumbled as a knight in gold and silver armour rammed his massive destrier into Davos' smaller steed. He slashed overhand at Davos with a longsword, but Davos managed to parry with his own blade. The knight swung again, but Davos was too slow to parry again so he flung himself backwards in his saddle to avoid the blow. He tried to bring his sword up into the teeth of his foe's horse, but even as he tried a footman in gold and silver grabbed his arm. The knight attacked again and Davos blocked with the steel gauntlet of his left arm, leaving it numb. He heard and felt a warhammer smash into his armoured shoulder, the spike pushing through a gap and sticking in his flesh. He screamed as his blood began to flow from the wound, his arm curled up uselessly in pain. The silver knight made another thrust, aiming for Davos' unprotected face. Unbidden he recalled his wife's smile. Marya…
There was a single instant of pain and then there was nothing.
Mathis
With a victorious roar and a spurt of blood, Mathis pulled his longsword free of the red ruin that had been the Onion Knight's face. He whirled his blade back around and aimed it at a dragonman's neck, but the man raised his axe to block, so Mathis shifted slightly and his sword cut deep into the man's arm.
Mathis smiled, they're crumbling, I can feel it, the heart's going out of them. "Hack them down!" He shouted. "Hack them down!" Mathis followed his own advice and swung his sword at a fleeing dragonman, his sword deflected off the helm but caught the shoulder and sent the man to the ground nonetheless. Mathis destrier reared and smashed steel shod hooves onto the poor bastard's back. Mathis laughed as he parried a furious blow from the curved sword of some foreign sellsword. The man swung thrice more but Mathis parried each blow before kicking back his spurs and sending his destrier surging forward again. The armoured bulk of the horse throwing the foreigner and his own little horse back and into the mass of fleeing men.
Mathis pulled hard on the reins and squeezed with his knees ordering his steed to join his charging knights and to follow the fleeing foe into the Cockleswent. "Hack them down! Hack them down!"
The chant began to catch and soon it seemed that the whole army was shouting. "HACK THEM DOWN! HACK THEM DOWN! HACK THEM DOWN!"
Mathis grinned. Songs will be sung of this day! Songs will be sung of me! The man who crushed the dragons! His destrier's hooves landed in the river sending the cool water flying in a spray. The river was red and brown with blood and churned up mud from countless feet and hooves. The Baratheon center was broken the dragons crushed under hoof. "Victory! Victory!"
His men joined him in his joy. "VICTORY!"
At last Mathis took a moment to breathe and exult in his victory. And it was his victory. Rowan men had broken the Fossoway traitors, Rowan men had overridden the Florent led foot, it was Rowan men that had shattered the dragons, and it was Rowan men who had carried on and battered through straight to the river. It was left to the Lannisters and Tyrells to follow them and finish off what was left of the rebels.
"Songs men! Songs will be sung of this day! Songs will be sung of YOU!"
"HURRAH! ROWAN! LORD MATHIS!"
Mathis wheeled around to survey what was happening elsewhere on the battlefield. The smoke was still a bit too thick to make out the enemy banners accurately but Mathis thought the left was held by Crownlanders and the right by Stormlanders. The enemy flanks were holding for the moment but that would change when his men fell upon them from the rear. Some were already doing that but most were chasing the dragonmen and the remnants of the Florent center into the river. Mathis laughed and smiled at their battle lust. Let them have their fun it's not every day you win a war! Mathis stopped laughing when the wind rose again and cleared the smoke enough to see clear across the river.
With the breaking of the dragonmen and the explosions that had silenced the dragons, the smoke had been steadily growing thinner and thinner. Now with the wind, it was thin enough that Mathis could see across the river and up the low hill on the northern bank. But more importantly, see what was coming down it. Too late Mathis remembered Stannis' reserve. Time seemed to slow as Mathis picked out the individual banners of all the knights pouring down the slope. Florents, Storm's End and Dragonstone men, and the household guard of Stannis himself. In the lead of this great charge was a small diamond of fluttering white cloaks surrounding a shimmer of gold. Throwing caution to the wind? That's not like you Stannis. No time to worry about it though.
Mathis gripped his reins, wheeled his destrier around, stood his stirrups, and shouted. "Come around! Form ranks! Face the charge! Come on men!"
But over the noise of battle most of them didn't hear him and in the glory of victory, many didn't notice their impending doom. The enemy was breaking, the enemy was running, and every instinct in their bodies was screaming at them to break ranks and give chase, to kill, to loot, to let the Warrior and the Stranger run loose over the battlefield. Mother have mercy.
"Come on together men! Come together!" The enemy was growing closer their hooves were thundering in the air, growing louder and louder. At last Mathis' desperate shouting was drawing the attention of some at least but not enough to stop what was coming, only a few hundred out of thousands.
The enemy charge drew closer and the thunder of hooves and the scream of war cries. "STANNIS KING! OURS IS THE FURY!" Grew too loud to be ignored. Other lords and knights joined Mathis in screaming for order, to join ranks, to face the charge, but it was too little too late. The sudden shift in fortune had stolen the heart from the men, replacing it with despair, as the Baratheons bore down on them.
So close, so fucking close.
The charge struck home smashing into the wavering men of the Reach and the West and sent them running back across the river. But not everyone fled, Mathis knew that there were small pockets of order in the churning mass of chaos. If the charge can be checked just enough perhaps the men can rally. Perhaps a victory can still be won. Mathis raised his sword, kicked his destrier forward, and led his household knights into the teeth of the charge.
Mathis saw Ser Winston Morsey, an old, but still fierce man, who had taught him how to ride a horse and hold a lance, take a lance in the throat, a Baratheon man's horse took a lance to the neck sending the man flying off his horse, a Florent had his leg near ripped off by an axe, and Mathis aimed his charge at a Baratheon man aiming a lance at Mathis' steed. At the last moment, Mathis' massive destrier leapt forward, throwing off the aim of the Baratheon man and letting his lance pass harmlessly by Mathis' right knee. Mathis responded with a lunge at the man's side, aiming for the gap between the plates, but the man twisted and the blade skidded harmlessly along the man's backplate.
Mathis began to whirl around in his saddle to make a second pass at the man but was cut off by the arrival of a white scaled and white armoured kingsguard. It was luck alone that saved Mathis life as he raised his sword the strike at the kingsguard he, by chance, deflected the blow Stannis Baratheon had aimed at the back of his neck, instead, it skidded across his pauldron. Mathis turned meaning to recover and strike a blow of his own, but he was forced to parry again, and again, and again. The sound of battle was being drowned out by Stannis' wordless scream of fury. The water splashed high between them as their warhorses maneuvered around the river.
Mathis had seen Stannis Baratheon fight in earnest once before on Great Wyk during the Greyjoy Rebellion. That time the younger brother of Robert had fought with a cold focus, striking swiftly and precisely. But not this time. This time Stannis was still precise, but there was nothing cold about him. Stannis was fighting like his brother, like Robert, the Demon of the Trident returned, the fury of the storm unleashed.
The Baratheon rained down blows upon Mathis, who was barely able to block and parry them let alone try a counter strike. The Valyrian Steel of Stannis' new blade slammed into Mathis own sword again and again and again, sending tiny slivers of castle steel flying with every strike. With sudden dread Mathis realised, I'm going to die here. Mathis' salvation came in the form of one of his knights, a young lad named Barthen, who attacked Stannis' left side. Stannis wasted no time in damn near cutting the poor lad's head off. But Barthen had distracted the terror long enough for Mathis to pull his destrier around and make his retreat. As Mathis fled he turned to get one last look at Stannis and quickly turned it into a full body flinch as he saw Stannis brandishing a small had-dragon at him. He never heard the crack of the black powder all he felt was pain as his left leg exploded in an eruption of blood and splintered bone.
Mathis felt someone else's hand on his reins, he hadn't realised he'd dropped them. Mathis forced his eyes open to see who had taken them. Through tear wracked eyes he saw the gold tree on silver of his house. Oh good. Mathis closed his eyes again when he opened them again he was laying down somewhere there was still smoke in the air, but it was wood smoke, not dragon smoke. He blinked his bleary eyes and tried to move, but his leg was fixed in place. Before he could do much more a hand pushed on his chest to keep him down. It belonged to a young maester Mathis didn't recognize. "Stay still my lord, you were gravely hurt in the battle."
"Is it done?"
"My lord?"
"The battle, is it done?"
"In part my lord."
What does he mean by that? "Did we win?"
"No one wins in war, my lord."
Great a poet. "Fuck off and tell me who won."
The maester was silent again. "That has yet to be determined my lord, today was only the first day of battle."
Mathis sighed. Damn. "Could you bring my son to me?"
"Of course my lord," the maester left.
Melisandre
It was the custom of the Beikango to write and read a poem at the death of a man of worth, a man of honour, of a good man, of a friend. With the permission of Stannis Baratheon, though the king had not come to see the ceremony, Ichiro did just that to honour Lord Davos Seaworth. Ichiro stood tall and straight, his white funeral robes blowing in the evening wind, a thin piece of paper, on which the poem was written, in his hand. The foreigner held his hands out before him, the poem above the chest of the dead man, as he read loudly and clearly in the Common Tongue of Westeros. His accent has improved.
Many places you have seen
Many storms you have weathered
The road is now calling
At last to paths that lead home
I will say this last goodbye
Ichiro bent over Davos and placed the poem beneath his folded arms. Seconds later the Silent Sisters took their charge and put him within one of their tents, where they would strip flesh from bone and then return Davos Seaworth to his wife. Melisandre didn't stay to witness the rest of the ceremony for the other dead highborn. It's a meaningless illusion created by the Great Other.
Instead, she left to walk the waters of the Cockleswent where thousands had died and thousands more had been injured, where three of the dragons had been destroyed by their own fire, taking dozens of precious handlers with them. Much of the black powder was gone and with the death of Davos Seaworth, the dragonmen had been left leaderless and demoralised. Melisandre stepped past the last of the pickets and began to walk down the gentle slope of the hill that ran to the Cockleswent. Most of the dead had been cleared away but the refuse of battle, broken weapons, scattered arrows and dragonballs, scraps of armour, and pieces of bloody flesh, still littered both sides of the river. Stannis has snatched a stalemate from the jaws of disaster. Even so, it was only the benevolence of the Lord of Light that preserved us by casting the shadow of doubt into Lord Tywin's mind. After Stannis' charge, it had not taken long for both sides to retreat to their camps and tend to their wounds. Barely an hour later the main elements of Lord Tywin's host had begun arriving. If he had pressed an attack then Stannis would have surely lost and without him, the Great Other would take the world.
Melisandre stepped off the riverbank and into the cool waters of the Cockleswent. The cool water babbled over the rocks and the mud. Beyond the waters lay the great host of Lord Tywin, near twice the size of Azor Ahai reborn's, waiting for the dawn. This river cannot protect Stannis the bank is too low, the river too shallow, what defences there are, are not strong enough, and his army is too tired, too hurt... too faithless. She turned leaving the river and the ruination of so many behind her. I must light the nightfire and pray for the dead.
Safely back inside the guarded camp Melisandre knelt and pushed the brightly burning torch into the kindling and within seconds the great pyre where the dead had been gathered was burning. Melisandre straightened and surveyed the living faithful who had gathered around the pyre. So few, so few are faithful, and no great lords among them. It shamed Melisandre to think of converts in such a way but it would take more than household knights and lesser sons like Clayton Suggs, Patrek of King's Mountain, Benethon Scales, or Malegorn of Redpool to spread the true faith in Westeros. Even the conversion of Queen Selyse was of limited use, for she was vain and unpopular at best. At the least, Richard Horpe and Justin Massey have managed to rise high.
Through force of will Melisandre pushed her worries away, she breathed deeply, and began her nightly prayers first in High Valyrian, then in the tongue of Asshai, and lastly in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "R'hllor, come to us in our darkness," she called. "Lord of Light defend us, protect us, and shelter us in Your radiance in this dark hour. Cast Your fiery gaze upon the foe and burn them as they fester in darkness and treachery. For the night is dark and full of terrors," Melisandre ended her prayer and waited as the faithful completed the ritual.
"For the night is dark and full of terrors," the converts echoed.
She waited a moment and then spoke for the dead. "Let these souls depart their mortal flesh, cruelly sundered before their time, and join the Lord of Light in His great hall where the darkness of their sins and the cold cruelty of the world will be burned away, where there is no winter and no night. For the night is dark and full of terrors."
"For the night is dark and full of terrors," the faithful echoed again.
Most of the converts departed within a few minutes others stayed as long as half an hour, but eventually, Melisandre stood alone watching the dance of shadow and flame. She waited and waited and… There. The weave of smoke, shadow, and flame coalesced into images. Horses, men, fighting. A stag surrounded by wolves, lions, krakens, spears that shone, a three headed dragon, and golden skulls. Show me Lord Tywin. The fires wavered and revealed the Lord of Casterly Rock at a council and speaking with another, the flames did not reveal who. Show me victory. She saw a wounded lion tearing at roses that bore no thorns, behind the lion was the shadow of a stag. Of course. Melisandre straightened, letting a slight smile play over her heart shaped face, and turned to walk to King Stannis' tent.
Melisandre passed by Ser Timon the Scrapesword and Ser Andrew Estermont of the kingsguard as she entered the tent, Ser Richard Horpe was inside guarding the king, and Ser Boros Rambton was having his flesh removed by the Silent Sisters, he had fallen defending the king. She sat at the table within and joined Lord Alesander Staedmon, Lord Steffon Varner, Ser Masuro Kichashiro, Lord Bryce Caron, Lord Casper Wylde, and half a dozen other highborn, in waiting for the king to speak. Stannis sat at the far end of the table, leaning on his sword that Melisandre had heard was already being called Fury, his as yet unnamed hand-dragon lay on the table beside his cup.
Stannis took a deep drink from the cup and leaned further on his sword. "Casualties?" He asked roughly.
Lord Alesander Staedmon, his leg swathed in bandages, answered, reading off from a piece of parchment. "Ahem, uhm, the uh numbers are still coming in Your Grace, but it seems at least three thousand dead and over twice that badly injured. Maester Kepam believes many of them will not live out the night. Uhm Your Grace's goodbrother Ser Erren is dead, as is Lord Ralph Buckler, his heir Ser Barron Buckler, and Lord Davos Seaworth. Lord Owen Fossoway and Ser Jon Fossoway are not among the dead or injured, it is believed that they were captured."
Before Lord Alesander could continue King Stannis spoke again. "Enough my lord, leave the parchment, I'll read it later. Ser Masuro, how fare the dragons?"
The foreign knight stood awkwardly and bowed before speaking. "Three of the dragons were destroyed, taking their crews with them, and two more dragons were damaged in the explosion again with the loss of much of their crews. A half of the remaining black powder was lost as well."
"The dragonmen?"
"Losses were less than expected, Lord Seaworth had moved them to the rear once they ran out of black powder. The pikemen took the brunt of the enemy charge."
"How much black powder is left?"
Masuro's long silence before his spoke was an answer in itself. "Not enough to fight a battle."
Stannis ground his teeth for a moment. "Move the dragons farther down the hill, so they directly overlook the ford, load them with nails and scrap metal. Have the men dig out trenches and pits."
"Your Grace," Lord Steffon Varner spoke for the first time. "Perhaps it would be wise to retreat and rally at Cider Hall?"
Stannis' hands tightened around the grip of Fury. "If we retreat then Lord Tywin will follow us and as he does so, his numbers will grow as the more of the Reach gathers to him. Besides Cider Hall is too small to accommodate this army, unless you mean to abandon thousands outside the walls and then settle into an unwinnable siege. We fight here, win or lose we will make our stand here," Stannis waved a hand in dismissal. "Go on, do your duty."
Melisandre waited for the rest of the council to depart before rising and stepping around the table and walking towards her king. Silently, she inspected the contents of his cup, as she had suspected it was wine instead of Stannis' customary lemon water. He won't admit it, not to me, not to anyone, maybe not even himself, but he lost a friend today. She stood beside him and spoke. "When dawn comes Lord Tywin will find victory. I have seen it in the fires."
Stannis said nothing, the sound of grinding teeth filled the tent.
"He will ride across the river and overwhelm you with his numbers. He will lose many men but he will win the battle," Melisandre put a hand on Stannis' shoulder. "But there is a path to victory my king. Give yourself to R'hllor."
Stannis pushed her hand away and stood, stepping away from her, still holding Fury in a clenched fist. "Since coming to Dragonstone you've said that."
"And since coming to Dragonstone it has been true. I foresaw your victory over your brother and over Tyrion Lannister."
"The dragons gave me both those victories not you," Stannis said angrily.
"Did dragons save you from the Spider's assassin?"
Stannis ground his teeth and said nothing.
Melisandre smiled again, stepping forward to push her advantage. "It was R'hllor who gave you the dragons. You were born again in the smoke and salt of their black powder and you woke the metal of the dragons out of stone. But they cannot help you now. Only the power of the Lord of Light can bring you victory over the lion," she stepped towards Stannis, towards Azor Ahai reborn. "Give yourself to the Lord of Light," she put her hands on his shoulders. "Give yourself to the god of fire," Melisandre twisted her robes so that they fell revealing her nakedness, her hands rose to Stannis' face and gently began to guide it to hers. "And shadow." Stannis did not resist.