Mathis
At the word of Stannis' coming the loyalist forces had, as per Ser Harry Strickland's suggestion, retreated from Stonehelm and into the Red Mountains. The logic was simple, and Mathis agreed the Dornish had already passed through the Red Mountains, thus it was relatively secure, and their new position was closer to the Dornish supply lines based from Yronwood and Wyl. Secondly, the valleys and mountains made for an excellent defensive ground to hold against Stannis' larger force. Which now outnumbered King Aegon's by nearly four to three, or five to two, or ten to one, depending on which scout you believed. They travelled deeper into the Red Mountains for two days before they came upon the ground marked out by Dornish scouts.
The chosen field of battle was a narrow valley on the dirt road between Stonehelm and Blackhaven. Small cliffs and bluffs of bare red stone anchored the right flank, the cliffs then fell to the flat ground of the valley floor, before rising into rough hills broken by scrub and boulders that seemed to have been tossed around by giants. The valley itself was quite flat, bereft of broken ground, streams, or boulders. Nothing that would blunt the charge of mounted knights, or provide cover against the archers, crossbowmen, and dragons that waited for any attacking force. The Dornish light cavalry arrived last, long after the rest of the loyalist army had made camp. The riders from Wyl and Yronwood had started skirmishing with the Baratheon loyalists days before they even left Stonehelm. The Stormlanders had given almost as good as they got however, the Dornish riders had returned bloody and tired, they'd be of little use in the coming battle.
Still, things were going well in the camp, despite the constant bickering between Ser Harry Strickland and Lord Jon Connington, and Mathis' persistent nightmares. A course of action was quickly decided by the king and his commanders. The army was divided into three wings, the Dornish under Prince Oberyn's command had taken the rugged ground on the left flank, with Lord Wyl's spearmen holding the broken ground that rose from the valley. The Golden Company's squares and ranks of pikemen and archers were on the right, arrayed neatly on the flat of the valley, above and behind them were small hills and bluffs that quickly rose into a towering mountain. It was there on that raised ground that the dragons rested with clear fields of fire. A mixed force of Reachmen, Dornishmen, and the Golden Company, mostly the first, held the centre under the personal command of King Aegon. The elephants, most of the heavy cavalry, and the rest of the Reachmen were in the reserve, under Mathis' command. It had pained Mathis slightly to give up command of his Reachmen, but King Aegon needed to learn what it was to command, and he couldn't do that by sitting with the reserve.
With the army in position, they had waited for Stannis to arrive, and an hour after the men beneath the black and gold banners had made camp at the far end of the valley they approached Stannis under the banner of truce for a parlay and a chance to end the day without bloodshed. A fools chance, Mathis thought. Stannis didn't bend to his nephew or his brother, there isn't a single chance in all seven hells he would bend the knee to King Aegon. Still, traditions and courtesies have to be observed.
Aside from Mathis, King Aegon was joined by Prince Oberyn, Princess Arianne, Ser Harry Strickland, and Lord Jon Connington who was almost always at the king's side. The Spider and Littlefinger hadn't joined them, both wisely deciding it was better for Stannis not to know of their presence. Ser Rolly Duckfield, the first, and so far only, knight of King Aegon's kingsguard rode at his side. Mathis wasn't sure what to think of him. He was a hedge knight, though one that was strong and loyal to be certain, and he had a rough and uncouth manner about him.
Stannis came with his own retinue, the woman in red, his priestess from the east, a witch to hear some tell it, followed him like a shadow. Lord Renfred Rykker, Ser Erren Florent, Lord Owen Fossoway, and Lord Gulian Swann. Mathis frowned at the sight of Lord Edmure Tully, who was followed closely by Black Walder Frey. That the Riverlords had joined with Stannis was a poor sign, there had been some hopes that Targaryen loyalists in the Riverlands would join King Aegon, but Edmure was popular with the younger lords and heirs. If he's joined Stannis than the Riverlands are likely lost.
The two parties lined up before each other in the middle of the valley, between the two armies. Mathis ended up directly opposite Lord Edmure Tully. "Your sister," he called. "Lady Catelyn I fear I haven't heard of her since Storm's End, is she well?"
Lord Edmure flushed and his hands tightened on his reins. "Well enough my lord."
"Oh good," Mathis said sincerely. "That's good to hear, I did worry for her after Storm's End. So much chaos."
Before Lord Edmure could reply Stannis raised his hand for silence. His stormy blue eyes glared daggers at Mathis for a moment before he turned his attention to King Aegon.
"If you have terms offer them," Stannis said. "Or I will be gone."
King Aegon arched his back and stood straight up in his saddle. "It is not right for a king to offer terms first," he said. "You are the supplicant here, the rebel, speak your peace, my lord."
Stannis bristled at that and said nothing, letting the warm eastern wind fill the silence instead. "I have no doubt you think so. I have no doubt that there are men good and true amongst you, I have no doubt," Stannis said. "There are men who wrongly believe you to be the true king, and thus would fight to the death for you. Then there are those who knew false kings, usurpers, who turned their backs on their rightful king for no better reason than dreams of power and glory. Men who have served two usurpers already in their bid for power, who can say if they will not soon find another path?"
Mathis stretched his shoulders rather than respond to Stannis' taunt.
King Aegon frowned and leaned forward slightly. "I am the rightful king," he declared. "The son of Prince Rhaegar and Elia of Dorne, heir to a dynasty of three hundred years, and heir to the blood of Old Valyria. The Iron Throne is mine by right of birth and blood. What some of my lords have done before I revealed myself makes no matter. All that matters is that they are here now." King Aegon paused for a moment. Here it comes, Mathis thought. It had taken Varys hours to convince King Aegon and Lord Jon Connington to even consider these terms. "I will offer you these terms only once. Bend the knee Stannis Baratheon and I will magnanimous, I will grant you Storm's End and all of your family's ancestral holdings and honours, even your old seat on my small council should you wish it. All those who follow you will be forgiven and be secured in their lands and title from before this war."
Stannis' reaction was as Mathis had predicted. If looks could kill I dare say Stannis would never need an army.
Stannis said nothing for a few moments, he shifted slightly, his hand clenched and his teeth grinding. Black Walder Frey growled something to Lord Edmure, prompting the Lord of Riverrun to shake his head. "You would try to bribe me with what is already mine," Stannis growled, the muscles of his jaw flexing visibly. "You will bend the knee or be destroyed," he said to King Aegon. Stannis didn't wait to let him respond before turning his steed around and riding back to his camp, a second later King Aegon did the same, and the lords of both kings followed them. Mathis and the other commanders soon returned to their posts to await the Baratheon attack that was surely coming. They were well prepared, lines of pike and spear, walls of shields, archers, crossbowmen, dragonmen, and dragons with their deadly weapon trained on the killing ground. Mathis had no doubt any attack would be defeated and thrown back. There was just one problem.
"Six fucking hours and he's just fucking sat there!" Mathis shouted at the stationary Baratheon army that had formed on several low hills opposite King Aegon's army. "SIX!"
Gunthor chuckled. "Maybe we've scared them silly?"
"Hah! If only it were that easy," Mathis ground his teeth and rubbed his leg as a shot of pain shot up his body. He'd refused dreamwine and milk of the poppy today, for he needed his wits about him, though he was starting to regret that. "What worries me is that Stannis has something planned, some scheme or idea."
"That doesn't sound much like the Stannis I've heard of," Gunthor said. "Schemes and the like."
"I suppose it was just luck that the Iron Fleet was trapped and utterly destroyed at the Battle of Fair Isle?" Mathis asked. Gunthor blinked. "Never believe someone's reputation son, it's usually wrong."
Gunthor's brow furrowed for a moment before a sly grin spread over his face. "What about Prince Rhaegar's reputation? Was he not the Silver Prince, the Hope of the Realm?"
Mathis barked a quick laugh, then reached out to rustle his son's hair. "Remind me to sew your mouth shut," he said with a smile.
"Yes, father."
Mathis shook his head. Sometimes I fear he takes too much after me. Mathis sighed and leaned his head back, looking up at the mountains rising all around him, red and grey stone brilliant in the sunlight. The sky seemed so small here, nothing like the great blue yonder he'd see in Goldengrove.
Movement caught in the corner of his eye drew Mathis attention back to the battlefield. The Dornish were on the move. An attack? Mathis thought. A trick to bait Stannis into an attack. He leaned forward, trying to get a better read on the situation. Dornish infantry were running away from the flank, away from the rocks that anchored their part of the line. He looked toward the rocks, where he could make out what looked like hundreds of men running around amongst the boulders, scrub, and gravel. Flash of fire and smoke erupted from the rocks like dozens of pinpricks. A couple of seconds later the crackle of dragonfire reached his ears. Men among the Dornish fell limp like dolls. Mathis grabbed the reins with both hands and bodily turned his gelding around. He kicked hard and sent the horse running at a quick pace, back toward the knot of messengers not far away.
"Father, what's going on?" Gunthor asked.
"We've been flanked," Mathis said. "Seven hells! Fucking Dornish didn't watch their godsdamned flank!" He pulled up as he reached the messenger and began pointing fingers. "You! Ride to King Aegon and inform him I'm moving to support the Dornish. You, same message to Ser Harry Strickland. You three get my captains in order. I want the elephants up in front!"
Arianne
Arrows and dragonfire rained down on the Dornish left flank. "Back!" Arianne shouted. "Back! Away from the rocks!" A horseman fell not ten paces from her, a yard long arrow in his back, further away, a gout of blood erupted from a Dornish spearman's shoulder as dragonfire struck him. From high on the rocky hill, the Baratheon men were letting loose a torrent of arrows and dragonfire.
"What happened to your men there?" Arianne shouted at Lord Warren Wyl as he nursed an axe wound in his leg.
"They drove us back," he said. "Charged in with their dragons and fired them point blank then set upon us with axes and swords," he gasped in pain as his squire tightened a strip of cloth around his leg. "We were outnumbered, so I ordered a retreat," he said. "My boys have wives at home."
"So do the rest of the boys here!" Arianne turned and cursed him under her breath. "Send word to Lord Anders Yronwood," she shouted at a messenger. "We need to take back the slope, I want Yronwood swordsmen ready at my uncle's command." She felt a tugging at her leg and looked down. An arrow had caught itself in the fold of her mail skirt instead of impaling her calf. Lucky, she thought. She breathed deeply and urged her mare away from the fighting.
Where is my uncle? she thought. Unwillingly, the worst came to mind, that Prince Oberyn had already been killed. Her thoughts were broken by the crackling roar of dragonfire that peppered the retreating Dornish with death. Knights and spearmen alike were sent into the ground. Arianne pulled her sandsteed around, ready to shout when it fell out from under her. "Fuck!" She cursed as she pulled her feet free of the stirrups before the mare's weight could trap her. She rolled to her feet, spear in hand, and took the arm of a mounted Martell guardsman and swung up behind him on his horse. He kicked back his spurs and pushed through the mass of frightened men.
"Uncle!" Arianne shouted as she at last spotted Prince Oberyn, sitting between Obara and Nymeria. Her guardsman rode up to Prince Oberyn.
"Thank the Seven!" Oberyn shouted back.
"What the fuck happened?" Obara asked, her fist clenched around a heavy spear, and her braid flying this way and that as she observed the battlefield.
"Baratheon dragonmen and archers came from the flank, Lord Wyl ordered a retreat, rather than fight them. Now they've got the rocks and the high ground."
"Seven Hells!" Oberyn swore. "We need Anders' men up there now."
"I've already sent a messenger," Arianne said.
"Then another can't hurt," Oberyn turned. "Nym see to it."
"Yes, father," Arianne's other cousin turned her pale gelding and rode off.
Oberyn turned to his other daughter. "Obara take a hundred riders and guard our front." Obara nodded and turned without a word.
"What's happening?" Arianne asked. The only enemy she knew of was on the flank, not the front. Oberyn pointed his spear over the heads of the surrounding guards, Arianne rose to stand in her saddles, and she could just barely see a rising cloud of dust flying over the enemy army. In the dust, she could see the vague outline of men and horses marching forward while the banners above them hung limply in the air.
"Seven Hells," Arianne swore.
Oberyn put a hand on her shoulder. "Arianne, stay close to your guard and stay out of the fighting," he paused. "Let the men see you, but don't let them see you fall."
Arianne nodded and twisted the reins around her hands. "Uncle, can we win?"
"Yes. If we hold and the rest of them," he waved a hand in the general direction of their allies. "Come to our aid, then yes."
"And if they leave us to die?"
Oberyn shrugged. "Then we won't need to worry about it." He stood in his stirrups and raised his spear. "For King Aegon! For Elia!"
"FOR ELIA!" The guard cried. Oberyn set spurs to horse and led them forward to harass the enemy. Even on horseback, Arianne could feel the ground tremble and tens of thousands of men and horses moved on the field. Dornish horse armed with bows and javelins were streaming down the valley, while from Stannis' lines a huge column of horses and men aimed at the disorganized Dornish burst from the clouds of dust. As she watched the enemy formation became clear, knights at the fore with infantry behind and a scattering or archers on each flank. They were yet too far for Arianne to clearly make out many of the banners raised above them and emblazoned on their surcoats, but she could see the black stag well enough and below them the twin towers of House Frey.
Arianne did as her uncle had bid and remained with her guard. They stayed to the rear of the Dornish host, higher on the slope where Arianne could more clearly see the battle unfold. Many of the Dornish had retreated out of range of the archers and dragonmen harassing their flank, while Lord Yronwood was gathering men to drive them out of the rocks. The right and centre of the Dornish were still in good order, but amongst the left, there were only small pockets of order amid the confusion. Lords and knights shouted conflicting commands while common soldiers inched away from the dragonfire and the approaching enemy. Arianne turned to her guard. "Gather as many men as you can, we'll form a reserve and a place to rally."
"Yes princess," he said.
Before long a growing force of spearmen surrounded Arianne's guard. Despite the efforts of the lords confusion still reigned over most of the host, small walls of spears were being formed but the enemy was nearly halfway across the valley already. Arianne pulled her horse around and glared at the Golden Company waiting silently on the higher slope. King Aegon's men were moving, and she could see Lord Mathis' reserve advancing but the Golden Company was doing nothing. As Arianne narrowed her eyes she saw several puffs of fire and smoke rise from the hill, and a second later, before she could even turn to watch, the dragonfire scythed through the Baratheon ranks.
The rushing column seemed to flinch like a living animal. Some men broke rank and began to flee as the terrible volley ripped men apart and sent pieces of them flying into the air with a spray of crimson, but thousands more pushed forward nonetheless screaming cries of fury and terror. Knights and lords were still screaming for the spearmen to form ranks. Ranks were made only for men to be sent to the ground and arrows and dragonfire flew down from the rocky slope. The enemy flankers had pushed forward again to try and support the column. Arianne wheeled to see where Lord Anders Yronwood was and couldn't see him. The Dornish were still forming when Stannis' knights crashed into them. The impact of hundreds of charging horses, men, and lances sent even more confusion spinning around them. Hundreds fell in those brief moments after the impact, and hundreds more began to run up the slope. Only a few knots of spearmen had blunted the charge.
Arianne raised her spear overhead. "Advance!" She called to her guard and the men they'd rallied. "Hold the line!"
As she'd commanded her guards advanced, Arianne followed behind them, keeping to her uncle's words and the knowledge of her own lack of warrior skill. Arianne pushed her nimble sand steed around and pushed her way atop a low rocky outcrop. From the new height, she could see that the knights had wheeled around and moved to the flanks, making room for the infantry that rushed in to attack the Dornish. The Baratheon men charged the Dornish and tide of men in armour, blades held high and ready, and Stormlander axes and Reachman swords met Dornish spears in a clash of steel and sound. The clangor of battle filled her ears and the scent of blood filled her nose. She watched as the disorganized Dornish, already punished and bloodied by the fury of the knightly charge and the volleys of arrows and dragonfire, fall back.
Arianne shook her head and looked around, hoping for some good news at least. Infantry was advancing from the rear and the centre, to support the Dornish lines. The Dornish light cavalry was still active, skirmishing with the enemy knights and trying to stop them from reforming for another charge. The Golden Company's dragons had ceased to roar, likely for fear of hitting the Dornish as well as the enemy. The lines of spearmen were falling back under the savagery of the enemy, men who had braved death and dragonfire had little to fear now from Dornish spears.
"Hold!" She heard Lord Dagos Manwoody shout. "Hold the line!"
"Just a little longer!" Arianne shouted. "For Dorne!" She raised her spear high and aimed it forward. Perhaps it was just her imagination but Arianne thought the Dornish spears advanced slightly against the enemy tide.
A chorus of bellows nearly as loud as the dragons filled the air, the earth trembled and shook, and horses screamed in terror as a strange scent filled the air. A dozen elephants were making their way around the Dornish flank. Arianne raised her spear and screamed a war cry as she watched them smash their way into the Baratheon flank. Men and horses alike fell before them. Great tusks bore long blades that impaled and ripped flesh, lances skewered, and swords and axes and maces fell upon heads and shoulders.
All the furious confidence of the enemy turned at once to panic, and they began to flee. at the site of the once terrible enemy running in fear the Dornish blood came up and as one the spears of Dorne swarmed after them. Arianne came as well, swept up in the rising tide of victory. From the corner of her eye, she saw the centre and the rest of the reserve advancing as well. Only the Golden Company remained resolute in their positions. Even their dragons had ceased to roar.
They were halfway across the valley when the echo of dragonfire rose again. Plums and smoke and flashes of fire rose from the hills where Stannis' army waited. Barely a second later the knight of House Uller beside Arianne disappeared into a cloud of blood. Arianne stifled a scream and pulled back around. She was but one of many of the already bloodied Dornish to do so. More dragonfire passed through the Dornish, sending clouds of blood and spinning limbs into the air. Arrows flew and the crackle of hand-dragons sent more death to pepper the advance. The Dornish already bloodied began to slow and then to retreat. Once again the tide carried Arianne with them. Her sandsteed walked gracefully over and around the dead and wounded, from both sides, on the field.
"Arianne!" She raised her head at her uncle's voice. "I told you to stay with your guard."
"I did," she replied.
Oberyn snorted and looked behind him. "Looks like this is it," he said. "That's it. The battle's done for today."
"Did we win?" Arianne gasped.
"Well… We didn't lose," her uncle shrugged
Stannis and his army quickly retreated from the field. They returned to the safety of their camp. Meanwhile, the wounded were gathered for the maesters, septas, septons, and other healers to perform their grisly work. Arianne knew that many who'd survived the battle would die of their wounds as they waited and that even more would die later as their wounds turned red and green while their blood turned black. But there would be time to mourn later now it was time to plan.
"Retreat," Ser Harry Strickland said calmly, as he warmed his hands over the fire. "Is our only option."
"We still have the high ground!" King Aegon shouted.
Jon Connington shook his head at Ser Harry. "Stannis wouldn't dare launch another attack against us."
"That's exactly the problem," Lord Mathis said. "He won't attack us from the front, he'll try to turn our flank like he almost did today. Only next time it'll be a lot more than a thousand dragonmen and archers."
Ser Harry Strickland nodded. "It'll be cavalry and infantry as well, thousands of them. All attacking our flank. We would be forced to respond and in so doing weaken our main line," he took a sip of wine before continuing. "Further, the Stormlanders will have an advantage in any fighting in the hills, more archers, more dragonmen, and it seems an expert knowledge of the terrain. We would be at a great disadvantage."
"Disadvantages can be overcome," Arianne said.
King Aegon nodded. "Aye," he slammed his fist on his thigh. "We know where Stannis must strike so we can prepare. Infantry, cavalry, dragons, and elephants in the hills, all of them lying in wait."
Ser Harry leaned toward the Beikango lord sitting beside him and spoke in hushed tones for nearly a minute. When he was done at last Ser Harry turned back and said. "The dragons would take far too long to set up and without clear lines of fire could be too easily avoided in any case. I can say from experience that the elephant riders would be very vulnerable to attack from archers or infantry in those hills."
"Trust me," Ser Marq Mandrake said. "You don't want to see what an out of control elephant will do. They're just as likely to kill our own as to fight the enemy."
"The risk of Stannis turning our flank is too great it's as simple as that. To stay is to risk being rolled up like a piece of parchment," Ser Harry said. "Like what could have happened today."
"Only because when our flank was in danger, you sat there and did nothing," Oberyn snarled.
"We had attackers of our own to deal with," Black Balaq said in heavy tones.
"Unlike the Dornish we sent them running instead, of the other way around," Flanklyn Flowers said with a gruesome smile.
Anders Yronwood muttered something Arianne didn't catch,
"Lord Mathis and His Grace were already moving," Ser Harry began with a conciliatory tone.
"If you'd attacked with the rest of us we could have broken through Stannis' lines, and this would all be over!" Dagos Manwoody shouted.
"Aye!" Anders Yronwood and other Dornish lords voiced their agreement.
"If you're too craven to fight," Jon Connington began.
Franklyn Flowers rose to his feet, a hand reaching for his sword, but Ser Harry Strickland stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
"My lords," King Aegon rose to his feet. "Fighting ourselves will do us no good," he waited a moment. "Please let Ser Harry speak, I want to hear what he has to say for himself."
Ser Harry bowed his head toward King Aegon before speaking again. "It was possible that a concerted attack could have overrun Stannis' army and won this battle," he admitted. "But it was just as likely that the attack would fail, and cost us all heavy casualties."
"So you just let us get mauled by the charge?" Arianne asked.
"I saw King Aegon, and Lord Mathis were already moving to support you, and so I felt no need to throw more men into a fight that was already won," he said mildly. "We have bled Stannis here. His dead and wounded are at least twice ours, perhaps more. A victory Your Grace."
"A small one," Aegon said. "Anyone else?"
Arianne leaned forward. "If the risk of being flanked is as great as Ser Harry and Lord Mathis say then should we not attack. With all our forces?"
"Yes," Aegon said. "If we cannot wait for Stannis then we should attack before he's ready!" King Aegon slammed leaned over the fire, purple eyes gleaming in the light.
"Every risk Stannis has of attacking our position, is one we share if we attack him, Your Grace," Lord Mathis Rowan said, his voice was slurred slightly by dreamwine.
"The dragons," Aegon protested. "The elephants!"
"Moving the dragons would leave them vulnerable to Stannis own forces," Ser Harry said.
"And elephants make damnably big targets," Marq Mandrake added.
"House Tyrell," Lord Mathis slurred. "Ser Garlan left the Cockleswent with thousands of men, and no doubt more have gathered around Highgarden as Lord Willas, and the Queen of Thorns plan their next move," he looked to Varys.
The Spider, who until now had been silent, folded his hands and nodded. "Lord Mathis is correct Your Grace. Ser Garlan and his lordly brother remain in Highgarden gathering men."
"Men from where?" Jon Connington asked.
Varys shrugged. "Deserters, sellswords, freeriders, and hedge knights. The remnants and leavings of the armies that have marched through and across the Reach since Renly Baratheon wore a crown."
"Broken men," Lord Warren Wyl said dismissively.
"Experienced men," Ser Harry Strickland countered. "Men with the skills and savagery to live and fight."
"Would the Tyrells even consider following His Grace?" Dagos Manwoody asked.
"They have no choice," Arianne said. "Stannis hates House Tyrell, he will destroy them when he has the chance, and the Lannisters are broken." Arianne shrugged. "It's the dragon or destruction for them."
Jon Connington smiled. "We should pull back through the marches burning as we go. Then move down onward to Highgarden. Thousands will flock to you, Your Grace when they see the dragon banners," he said to Aegon.
The young king nodded. "When then?"
"Tonight," Ser Harry said quickly. "Stannis must lick his wounds tonight. We'll steal a march and be away before he can give chase."
"We'll need a rearguard," Oberyn said.
"Can your riders carry my archers?" Black Balaq asked the Red Viper. "No one can shoot farther than a Summer Islander."
Oberyn considered for a moment before nodding slowly. "That would work."
Aegon slapped his knees. "It's decided then, onward to Highgarden." He raised a cup of wine.
"Onward to Highgarden," they repeated back to him.
Melisandre
She'd had no fear that Stannis would suffer grave defeat in this battle in the Red Mountains. There was no river here, and thus the battle she'd seen in the fires was yet to come. Still, Stannis had been cautious, the usurper's host had many dragons, and they held a strong position. Stannis' commanders had waited for the flanking forces led by Lord Justin Massey and Ser Donnel Swann to be in position before launching an attack. Lord Justin had led half the dragonmen, a thousand longbowmen from the Dornish Marches, and several hundred armoured foot and had followed a narrow shepherds path known to some of the local men. The path had taken them through the mountains and forests to the enemy flank. They had slipped out of the pine forests and slammed into the Dornishmen. Bursts and volleys of dragonfire had quickly broken their will and had sent them flying in disarray back down the rocky slope. Savage fighting and volleys of arrow and dragonfire had kept the Dornish distracted, but the other flank had not been so easy to fight. On that flank, the attack had failed, and the men of the Golden Company had reaped a dreadful toll on the warriors of House Swann and had driven them from the field, and before long Lord Justin's own men had been thrown back as well.
As bloody as the fighting on the flanks had been, they paled in comparison to the carnage of Black Walder Frey's charge. The worst of the slaughter had been wrought when the dragons, left unharmed by Ser Donnel Swann's failed attack, had roared flame and death upon the attackers. Still, the attackers had pushed on, and for a time it seemed that they would have driven the Dornish from the field, and be ready to roll up the rebels like a scroll. The elephants and cavalry had seen fit for that hope, vain as it was.
The dead had yet to be counted but the wounded numbered in the thousands, and many more were still missing, either captured or deserted. A defeat, but not a mortal one, much of Stannis' army was yet unblooded, and after the battle had retreated back to the camp. Though the whispers among them spoke poorly of their morale. The east wind at least kept the smell of death and lingering powder smoke away from the camp. A trench was being dug to bury the those faithful to the Seven, while Melisandre had just finished lighting a great pyre for those who followed the true God, R'hllor. She could see the thick black smoke rising across the camp, and the wind occasionally brought the scent of burning flesh to her nose.
She turned away from the flames and entered Stannis' command tent just in time to here Stannis speak to Justin Massey.
"What happened?" The king asked simply.
"The scouts saw us," Justin Massey answered. "We still moved fast enough to give Lord Wyl a dreadful fright and spread some panic, but other than that." He shrugged. "Lord Yronwood was on us with his swordsmen soon enough."
"How severe were your casualties?" Stannis asked of Justin Massey, while Melisandre took her customary place at Stannis' right hand. As usual, she resolved to be silent for most of the meeting.
"Better than they could have been," the blond lord answered. "Two hundred dead, half again that injured, but the only knights of note among them were Ser James Valkyn and Ser Shadrich of Shady Glen."
Stannis nodded and turned to Ser Donnel Swann and his father Lord Gulian. The knight of House Swann said nothing.
"Please Ser," Justin Massey said. "Regale us with your defeat."
The heir to Stonehelm shot the lord from Massey's Hook a dark look before speaking to Stannis. "We were seen by scouts and harassed by skirmishers and archers from the Golden Company. By the time we broke through, their dragonmen were already in position to defend the flank. Attacking would have accomplished nothing, so I ordered a retreat."
"Nothing!" Black Walder roared. "You'd have at least stopped them from slaughtering my column by giving them something else to shoot at!"
Donnel Swann leapt to his feet. "Care to match steel to your words weasel!"
Black Walder jumped up, a dagger in his hand, and the other Freys present, Ser Walton Frey and Ser Steffon Frey, were at his side. In a second Black Walder was clambering over the table before a pair of shadows in white armour dragged him back. Ser Timon Scrapesword and Ser Andrew Estermont of the Kingsguard were holding Black Walder down, while Ser Richard Horpe and two other Baratheon guards faced down the other Freys. With a twist of his wrist, Ser Timon pulled the dagger out of Black Walder's hand and slammed it point first into the table.
"I will have no fighting here," Stannis said clearly and angrily. "Sit down Ser Donnel."
The heir of House Swann pulled his hand away from his blade, and sat down, glowering at they Freys all the while. Lord Edmure placed a hand each of Ser Walton and Ser Steffon's shoulders, and bid his bannermen to take back their seats. The kingsguard released Black Walder and stepped back to stand beside their king.
"Are you calm Ser Walder?" Stannis asked icily.
Black Walder's fists clenched and he looked to another Frey, Melisandre hadn't learned that one's name, for support. When none came the knight from the Twins faced Stannis. "Yes Your Grace," he said sullenly.
"Good. Your casualties?"
The dark-hearted knight of House Frey pried his dagger free of the table. "The dead are still being counted."
Stannis said nothing and ground his teeth.
"Over a thousand at least, Your Grace, perhaps thrice that," Lord Edmure said. "And more than twice that again in injured," he looked mournful. "Many were Riverlanders."
"If Lord Justin hadn't retreated so soon," Black Walder grumbled. "Then the Dornish could have been routed."
"An easy thing to say when you're not facing down twice your numbers in Yronwood swords and Dornish spears," the smiler said.
"No. I only faced the rest of the fucking army you-."
"Enough!" Stannis slammed his fist on the table. "Lord Justin followed my commands to not risk the dragons or his men unduly. While you acted with haste."
"Your Grace, if Ser Donnel hadn't fled!"
"Never a Frey's fault eh?" Lord Gulian Swann said in support of his son. "You take after your great-grandfather."
"Enough!" Stannis shouted again, his face contorted as the muscles of his jaw worked hard to grind his teeth. "Enough my lords," he said over the din of their arguing. "Enough."
Stannis breathed heavily for a moment. Nearly a minute of silence passed before Lord Renfred Rykker broke it. "Your Grace, would it not be prudent to plan the next move in the campaign or speak of what the enemy will do?"
A tense pause ended when Stannis nodded slightly and waved a hand for Lord Renfred to continue.
The Lord of Duskendale bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Grace," he looked up. "My lords we can hardly make another assault. Not today and not tomorrow."
"We could try a night assault," Black Walder suggested. "Hunt them in the dark and rout them, the dragons will be useless."
"So will ours," Justin Massey countered.
"Night attacks are damnably hard to direct in any case," Lord Casper Wylde added.
"It worked well enough for Lord Tywin," Jonos Bracken said.
"These rebels aren't so foolish as to fight a foe that outnumbers them more than two to one," said Lord Selwyn Tarth. Lord Edmure frowned but said nothing. "In any case, and forgive me your grace, but the men aren't in any condition for another attack."
"Speaking the hard truth needs no forgiveness my lord," Stannis said. "Ser Mark," he called.
"Your Grace?" The knight of House Mullendore stepped forward from his place near the rear of the assembled lords.
The sound of Stannis' grinding teeth grew louder. "You have command of the watch tonight, triple their strength, I want any attack or raid to meet their doom."
"Yes, Your Grace," Ser Mark bobbed his head.
"Lord Hugh, your men will watch the hills on our northern flank."
"Yes, Your Grace," Lord Hugh Grandison said. "Ser Narbert, my grandson, will have the command and he will not fail you."
"See that he does his duty," Stannis replied. "Lord Gulian I give the same command to you for the south flank. Lord Edmure, see that your bannermen know their place."
"Yes, Your Grace," the Lord of Riverrun stood and bowed, sensing the end of the meeting was coming.
"Goodnight my lords," Stannis said with a certain finality. It took several minutes for all of the lords, knights, pages, and sycophants to leave. Only Stannis and Melisandre were left. Without looking at her, Stannis said. "You have something to say?"
Melisandre stood and walked behind him to where the brazier stood. She added fuel to the coals and prodded them into new life. "The fires, have shown me your defeat," she said.
Stannis stared at her, his blue eyes piercing and furious. "You saw this boy defeat me?"
"I saw a three-headed dragon kill a stag, and then tear and rip into its corpse."
Stannis ground his teeth. "You said," he rose to his full, towering height. "That you saw me crowned and victorious on the Iron Throne."
"I did," Melisandre said. "And that has come to pass. You are crowned, you have sat atop the Iron Throne, and you were victorious over your enemies."
"Now you say it was all for naught," Stannis growled. "That my victories mean nothing. That a false Targaryen will kill me and take my kingdom?"
"No," Melisandre answered quickly. "I saw your defeat, but it is as much a warning as it is a prophecy."
"What do you mean?"
"I saw the circumstances of the defeat," she said. "They can be avoided."
Stannis huffed and ground his teeth. "Well, what are they?"
"The battle between dragon and stag was to happen by a river. If you avoid giving battle on or near a river, then it will not come to pass."
"Easier said than done," Stannis grunted. "What river was it?"
"The flames did not show me that," Melisandre said.
"That's hardly helpful," Stannis growled through his teeth. "I can hardly avoid every river in Westeros, my lords would think me craven," Stannis paused and ground his teeth.
Melisandre smiled slightly. "There are other options Your Grace. One restless night, and then there would be none to oppose you."
Stannis didn't react he prefered instead to stare into the brazier. Perhaps hoping the flames would reveal some guidance from the Lord of Light. He plucked a small bag out of his pocket and gripped it tight. Melisandre frowned slightly it was the same bag Ser Davos had once worn around his neck.
"Not yet," Stannis said. "Not yet. You said the number of times was… limited?"
"Yes Your Grace."
"Not yet then, we wait until the moment is right or when things are at their worst. With only a single bolt yet to shoot," he shook his head. "Wouldn't be right to waste it. Not if I can defeat this would be usurper without."
Melisandre nodded. Perhaps Stannis is less faithful than I thought. "Do you need anything else tonight Your Grace?"
"Perhaps later," Stannis said without looking at her.
"Of course," Melisandre said, knowing what Stannis had in mind. She bowed. "I must to light the nightfire and lead the prayers. I beg Your Grace to join me."
Stannis stared into his brazier for a moment, then he stood and wrapped a cloak of cloth-of-gold and black silk around his shoulders. "Of course my lady."
Stannis shadowed Melisandre as she walked through the camp. Most of her converts had already gathered around the prepared pyre, those that hadn't, followed their king's example. Melisandre stepped forward. "The night is dark and full of terrors," she began. "But the fire burns them all away."
When the prayers were done Melisandre stood alone for the whole night. Watching the flames and hoping for some sign that her fears of defeat were unwarranted. The fire gave no answers that night, all they showed her were dark wings and dark clouds. But there was a brightness when morning came, the enemy had fled in the night, and Stannis, cautious of a trap that would prove the fires true, ordered three days of rest. The first day passed calmly, but on the second Ser Richard Horpe came to Melisandre seeking council. His dreams had been terrible nightmares. Before long many others came as well, often speaking of the same nightmare. Dark wings, mad laughter, and the crash of a storm.
Sansa
The raucous laughter of the Ironborn still echoed in the halls, mixed with the occasional cries and screams of women and servants. Sansa walked down the hall stepping over the trashed furniture and tapestries thrown on the ground. The bodies were still being cleared away by the warriors unlucky enough to be given that duty.
The Ironborn had come upon the Shield Islands on a cloudy night. The longboats of Lord Gorold Goodbrother had gone ashore with muffled oars and the warriors set upon the ship's crews and watchmen, while they were still in their beds. Greenshield fell first their men slaughtered before they could send a warning to the other islands. Greyshield had fallen next, but by that point, the clouds had broken and moonlight had revealed the approaching longships. Revealed them too late for the men of Greyshield to take to their ships, but the men of Greyshield fought on the beaches and in the town with fierce skill until reinforcements led by Lord Dunstan Drumm cut down Lord Guthor Grimm and broke their will to fight. By then the sun was beginning to rise, and the fleets of Oakenshield and Southshield had gathered in the strait between their islands. Lord Dunstan Drumm and Lord Gorold Goodbrother had gathered their ships opposite the Shieldmen, and as the two fleets watched each other Euron led the rest of the Ironborn fleet around the islands and came behind the Shieldmen fleet with perfect timing. An easy thing to accomplish when one had a bird's eye view.
The battle had been quick, outnumbered and outflanked, the Shieldmen had stood no chance of victory. The slaughter had turned the water red and attracted sharks, gulls, and crows by the hundred. Southshield then surrendered, Lord Osbert Serry had thrown himself upon Euron's mercy and was drowned for his troubles, his sons were put to the sword and his daughters kept for the reaver's pleasures. But one island yet remained, Oakenshield stood firm against the Ironborn and refused all offers of surrender. The people of the town had tried to flee into the castle, but the gates stood closed to them. Instead, the townsfolk were gathered and stripped of their valuables and everything else by the Ironborn.
The castle had fallen not long after, with almost no fighting men to defend it after the crushing defeat of the fleet, Oakenshield hadn't stood a chance. Hundreds of Ironborn warriors had fallen nonetheless, but the castle fell into the claws of Euron Crow's Eye.
Sansa now walked the halls alone, disdaining the raucous celebrations taking place in the great hall.
Sansa stepped through a pool of old blood, biting her lip as the tingle of pleasure worked up her legs. A door burst open, and a pair of reavers carrying a servant wench pushed through. They stopped at the sight of Sansa and gave her a wide berth as they continued on their way.
"Please!" The woman cried. "Help me!"
Sansa continued walking she refused to turn her head. A quiet part of her conscience whispered something, but Sansa ignored it and kept walking until she turned around a corner, and fell back against the stone wall. Great heaving breaths escaped her as she forced away the tears that the rising tide of memory and emotion brought. She could almost feel Daven on top of her. With shaking hands, Sansa pulled her skin of shade-of-the-evening free from her belt and swallowed a mouthful of the sickly sweet drug. Within seconds the familiar haze settled over her mind and soul, calming the storm within her.
She carried on, through bloodsoaked halls that stank of death, and out of the castle. A small mountain of corpses was being stacked in the middle of the courtyard, the dead men and dead women were already attracting flies. Sansa paid the buzzing pile little mind as she walked beneath the castle gates and set down the road toward the town and the port. A cool sea wind had picked up from the north, making her dress and tangled hair dance in the air. The setting sun had turned the Sunset Sea red as blood.
Sansa walked quickly down to the town where Ironborn, lacking the status to feast in the castle, instead celebrated in the streets. Ale and wine flowed like rivers, whole hogs and cattle were being roasted over open fires, and bread stuffed with nuts and fruits were gobbled by the loaf. Sansa passed them all by her mind fixed on Silence, the ship waited for her in the harbour.
Cersei was locked within a cage on Silence's lower deck. The golden queen was covered in black sludge and brown sewage, her skin and clothes were stained brown and yellow, the mutes had made a game of dropping buckets of filth onto her.
"Euron says I can't kill you yet. There are things not yet fulfilled he says. But he won't say what," Sansa leaned against the cage, her heart fluttered in excitement as the queen pushed herself into the bars, trying to get away from Sansa.
"What do you want from me?" Cersei snarled, with her wild golden hair and bared teeth she looked much like a lioness, though not even half so dangerous. Sansa didn't speak, for she didn't know the answer. "You little northern bitch," Cersei continued. "You were never good enough for my son. Never!"
Sansa's hand snapped through the bars and pulled Cersei's long and messy hair. "Your son is a weakling, doomed to die!"
Cersei struggled, grabbing and scratching at Sansa's hand. "You wouldn't dare," she shrieked. "You're just a scared little girl!"
"That girl is dead!" Sansa growled. "You killed her. I'm something greater." Sansa sniffed, and only then realised she was crying. The storm's black rage rose, and she lashed out with the old bronze dagger Euron had given her. Cersei screamed and flinched back with such force that Sansa was left holding only locks of hair. Her dagger still struck Cersei on the face, leaving a long but shallow wound. Cersei snarled in pain like an injured cat. Sansa stood, bloody dagger in one hand, and bloody hair in the other. Cersei glared at her through streaks of blood. Slowly, Sansa turned and left Silence.
"My lady," one of Euron's sons said. "My father wants to see you."
Sansa swung her feet back onto the pier and stood. She turned and let her eyes pass over the bastard. "Take me to him."
Sansa entered Euron's chamber cautiously, despite the victory his mood earlier had been poor. The Crow's Eye was sitting in the corner, a cloak around him. He was quiet and still, that was when he was most unpredictable, the most dangerous. She willed herself not the rub the deep black bruises and her arm from when she had last upset her master. Deep inside she felt a familiar black rage bubble upwards, but she pushed it back down. "Lord King, you asked for me?"
Euron cocked his head slightly, like a bird, he drank some shade of the evening. "The Wall has fallen." Sansa blinked, this of all things was not something she expected to concern Euron. "The Wildlings smashed through Castle Black and the garrison, led by your bastard brother, bent the knee. The Wall has fallen," he repeated. "And the Night's Watch is but dead."
Jon, Sansa remembered the name of her father's bastard. She'd hardly thought of him since she'd left Winterfell, though of late she hardly thought of her family at all, or of anything from before she cut Myrielle's throat, it was all fuzzy like looking through a fog bank. "Lord king," Sansa said. "Forgive me," she paused, choosing her next words carefully. "But I fail to see the importance."
Euron looked at her. "It matters because I did not will for the Wall to fall or the Night's Watch to die," he looked away. "Great and terrible were the spells and sacrifices that raised it, that are locked deep within the ice. The Wall is a hinge of the world, something upon which magic and men are fixed. That is has fallen should trouble… everything."
Sansa repressed a shiver as the memory of her first meeting with Euron resurfaced. The weirwood tree freezing and exploding into shards of ice, Euron's hand stuck to the surface, his laughter dying. The stunned look on his face. Sansa shifted in place as Euron sat and drank more shade-of-the-evening from a silver cup decorated with oak leaves. "No matter," he said with a chuckle. "Death comes for everything. Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen. The dragon flies and the stag comes running after. Dreams and despair will send them to me, neither knowing that I have arranged their doom. The storm will greet them at Highgarden."
"What about Joffrey's doom?" Sansa asked quietly.
"He will die," Euron said. "When the time is right. Go," he commanded. "I have no need of your nightmares tonight. Drink your fill, eat what you will, find some servant boy and make a salt husband of him. I care not."
"What about Cersei?" Sansa asked instead of leaving.
Euron chuckled. "It's not her time yet. Playing with prophecy is like dancing the finger dance. Dangerous if done right, deadly if done wrong." he laughed. "Cersei is bound to prophesy like a ship to sail. Pulling her along to crash upon the rocks hidden beneath the waves."
"When then?" Sansa pushed.
Euron reached out and seized her hair. "Don't get forward," he warned as he pulled her head down, he chuckled. "It's not ladylike," he let go of Sansa, who stumbled back on her heels. "Just like Joffrey, I'll tell you when the time is right. Now go." His command had a dangerously final tone. Sansa slipped out of the chamber and into the halls of Oakenshield Castle.