28th of 2nd Moon, 8024
Outside the Walls of the Dunfort, Duskendale
Vaemond spurred his horse forward through the sandy beach at a slow trot, occasionally urging his horse to the side to avoid a dead horse or rider, the entrails of which had turned the tide a pinkish red.
It was a charge born of desperation….desperation and hunger. They had sallied out that morning at first light, some 200 riders mounted on bedraggled starving horses.
The time of the attack and its sudnessness after weeks of boring siege had caught Vaemonds men on the outskirts of the siege camp by surprise, but the riders had not delayed long to capitalize on their advantage but rode quickly for the center of the siege camp…with the goal of ending the siege in a single stroke.
It had been Balerion, the King's bloodhound that had woken him from his sleep and warned him of some impending danger with his barking, well before Ser Harold Langward, who had the watch, barged into his tent, warning him of the attack.
Vaemond didn't have time to fully armor, only being able to pull on a leather riding jerkin and one of his two black shoulderplates before he stumbled out of his tent, Blackfyre in hand and mounted his horse, all of his Kingsguard save for Ser Harold in a similar disheveled state.
He had managed to rally the early risers amongst the camp, who had gone from making cookfires to break their fast to counter charging in the blink of an eye.
They had met halfway between the camp and the Dun Fort, on the sandy coastline in a clash of steel and horse.
The fight had been bloody, the castle gates of the Dun Fort had been closed and the sallying party knew there would be no retreat for them and fought fiercely.
Vaemond had not managed to kill any enemies, but he had knocked a few off their horses while Ser Harold Langward fought his way deep into the enemy column to the point the King thought his Kingsguard had been lost, until the white knight cut his way back to his comrades.
Despite the bravery of the charge, the attackers were doomed to failure once they lost their mobility trapped against the coast and the rapidly waking siege camp.
Archers and Crossbowmen had simply stood on the sides and picked them off one by one, and the melee had quickly turned into a slaughter, 200 men had sortied out of the Dunfort and they were slain or captured to a man, not one had returned to the fortress.
Losses had not been insignificant for the Targaryens however, 80 men had been killed or heavily wounded, mostly those in the outer ranks, though there were many whose corpses adorned the beach as well.
Vaemond maneuvered his horse around one such corpse, one of his own men, who would have looked almost peacefully sleeping in the sand if his neck hadn't been slashed to a red ruin.
‘’It was brave….if nothing else their charge was brave.’’ Vaemond remarked to his three Kingsguard, breaking the silence of the death around them.
Corlys scoffed ‘’Brave and stupid….they never had a chance against us.’’
‘’It wasn't beating us, they rode out for…..they wanted to kill me, end the war quickly….and I gave them that chance by riding out to meet them, brave and stupid applies to me just as much them.’’ Vaemond said, feeling like an utter fool, he had risked everything by leading the countercharge personally, just as he had at Edgerton, and yet somehow he remained unscathed, in the moment however the only thought that came to his mind was to repel the attack, little thought to the consequences his death would bring his family.
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard shrugged ‘’Better brave stupid and alive then the brave, stupid and the alternative.’’ he finished, nodding at a Darklyn freerider who had quickly found himself a new role as crab food upon the beach.
‘’All these men didn't have to die….the fortress will fall within the fortnight…..just as the Warrior above blesses those that show courage in battle, he abhors those that shed blood needlessly.’’ Ser Roland Crakehall said piously, blood and gore dripping from his two handed great ax slung at the flank of his horse.
‘’Be glad you serve me and not my father….he would not have liked you much I fear.’’ Vaemond said lightly, and Ser Harold Langward and Ser Corlys exchanged a knowing chuckle, the late King Aegon's cynicism was well known.
‘’And what's not to like?’’ The big Crakehall bristled.
‘’I meant no offense Ser Roland, only to point out that, even after leaving behind the sept in King's Landing, I have not found myself lacking for interpretation of scripture while in your presence…my father was not a godly man.’’ Vaemond said, causing the other two Kingsguard to laugh and even Ser Roland cracked a smile.
The mood soon soured however as they approached Vaemonds tent of red and black cloth in the center of camp and saw the camp quartermaster standing next to a cage of ravens, a grim look on his face.
‘’A raven must have come in during the battle.’’ Ser Harrold Langward mused
‘’Dark wings, dark words by the look on his face..’’ Corlys Velaryon replied.
‘’Whatever it is, i'm in no hurry to hear it, let us have a few more moments of victory.’’ Vaemond said, slowing his horse to a trot.
He dismounted from his horse and handed the reins to a groom and went back to his tent, removing his shoulder plate and dressing in something more befitting a King before finally going to see the quartermaster, where Ser Roland Crakehall was pacing around impatiently.
‘’Quartermaster….I thank you for your patience….tell me, what news have you received.’’ Vaemond asked.
‘’News from the Vale your Grace….and reports from Lannisport.’’ The man said.
‘’The Vale first I think.’’ Vaemond said, if he was receiving a raven it was likely from Nestor Royce, his Marshal, who had returned to the Vale to raise his host and do what he could against the rebels.
‘’Lord Royce writes that he marched into a trap at Narrowshade, west of Runestone, nearly three fourths of his army was killed or captured…he's fallen back to Runestone with some one thousand men and awaits further orders.’’ The man said grimly.
‘’I told him to avoid a fight….to just threaten their flanks…with him defeated the Lords of the Vale will be able to march south into the Riverlands without fear of their flanks or rear….what was he thinking.’’ Vaemond said, studying the parchment.
‘’He wrote that his scouts told him of a small rebel host and he pursued them, only to be met by over 10 thousand rebels…he writes that he takes full responsibility for the defeat.’’ The quartermaster replied.
‘’Acknowledging his blunder will not bring the men of Runestone back.’’ Vaemond said before sighing.
‘’Send a raven to Runestone informing him he is to take what remains of his host and join with the Sistermen in taking the small island castles off the coast….his men can still be of some use, small as it is….ill send 20 of my 50 galleys blockading Duskendale to transport him’’ Vaemond commanded.
‘’What of the news from Lannisport?’’ Roland Crakehall asked, himself being from the Westerlands.
‘’Vickon Greyjoy and some 15 thousand Ironborn landed at Lannisport, thinking to sack the city, they drove off a small force of 2500 men left to guard Lannisport without difficulty, routing them and set out to making ladders to assault the town.’’ The man began.
Vaemond made no move to interrupt, though he had an idea from the man's tone that what he said next would not bode well for his war efforts.
‘’Before they could attack the castle of Lanns Hall, Loren Lannister set upon them with a host of some thirty thousand while the Ironborn were landing 10 thousand more men, taking them by surprise, the fight was bloody but Vickon and his men were driven off with some 6000 dead and captured, they are fleeing south into the Reach.’’ The quartermaster said.
‘’I suppose it could be worse, if your reports are correct Loren Lannister was bloodied as well, but if they had landed north at Seaguard they could be at Riverrun by now reinforcing the Tullys….instead they are fleeing south, no good to anyone and the Tullys remain isolated.’’ Vaemond said, the calmness of his words not betraying the pit in his stomach.
His victory at Edgerton seemed unimportant now, the war was fast going against him. Nestor Royces host was destroyed, the Greyjoys far from any other allies, and even the remnants of the levy at Duskendale had struck their own blow, ambushing a force of loyal clawmen on their way to Duskendale and slaying nearly 700 of them.
Vaemond nodded ‘’If that is all I shall retire to my tent…thank you for your report quartermaster.’’
The man bowed and left while Vaemond entered his tent, washing the blood from his face with a basin of water.
He then made his way to the large map of Westeros sprawled across a table and slowly removed the orange shield figure of house Royce from the Vale, placing it near the direwolf of the north and the rose of the Reach, bystanders to a war that was fast becoming a feast for the crows.
Two Weeks Later, Outside the Walls of Duskendale
The pale stone walls of Duskendale were alive with movement, despite it being early morning. Guardsmen in chainmail and spears stalked along the walls, while crossbowmen watched anxiously.
Vaemond studied the walls from his horse, a good distance away from the walls and for good reason.
Almost on cue, a large boulder landed on the plains outside the city, far away from any of the besiegers, but the crash of the stone was loud enough to keep many in the siege camp who had the previous nights watch from sleeping.
‘’They've got to be running out of boulders by now….I barely got any sleep last night.’’ Ser Roland complained, the city of Duskendale had a single trebuchet inside the city walls and they had made good use of it, firing boulders over the walls methodically throughout the night, and just two hours ago one had landed a few feet away from one of the besiegers tents, killing two horses and wounding a camp follower.
‘’They will run out when they run out.’’’ Vaemond said curtly, his attention focused on scanning the defenses, his scouts claimed that there were some thousand men within the city walls and the captured garrison from the recently captured overlooking Dun Fort had confirmed this, Vaemonds own observations also aligned with these reports.
‘’We could make it stop….we have four thousand men, give the order and the city will be yours by nightfall Vaemond.’’ Corlys Velaryon said.
‘’And the rebels arms did fail…under the pale walls of Duskendale.’’’ Ser Harold Langward mused.
‘’Lucky for me you are a better swordsman than you are a poet.’’ Vaemond said with a small smile before shaking his head and continuing.
‘’We will starve them out, i'd like a fight as much as any of you, but there is no sizeable enemy host approaching, we have the time.’’ the King finished.
Before his Kingsguard could respond, the blaring of trumpets from behind startled them.
Wheeling his destrier around, Vaemond, a hand on Blackfyres hilt immediately relaxed his grip when he saw the long flowing of house Baratheon, bright yellow silk with a black stag, waving in the wind, at the forefront of the column riding a black war horse was a one eyed burly man in dirt stained plate armor.
‘’My uncle.’’ Vaemond said smiling, riding back to the camp to meet Orys Baratheon.
Orys Baraethon had always been a big man with black hair as dark as coal, at his 50 years his strength remained, but the sides of his black hair were streaked with white, but despite his growing age, the lord of Storm End looked every bit a warrior.
Vaemond dismounted and greeted his uncle, who had served as hand of the King for over twenty years with a clap on the shoulder.
‘’I had not thought to find you here Uncle.’’ Vaemond said with curiosity.
‘’I had not thought to be here…..but here I am with some 15,000 men.’’ Orys said.
‘’Where are the rest of your Stormlords uncle?’’ Vaemond asked, his uncle had assured him he could raise at least 25 thousand men.
‘’I sent most of my strength south to the southern Westerlands to merge with Vickon Greyjoy surviving Ironborn that fled from Lannisport.’’ Orys said, removing his plate helmet with golden stag antlers.
Vaemond waited patiently for his uncle to continue.
‘’With this force here I had hoped to march to the Trident by way of Maidenpool, reinforce the Tullys but recent events have made that improbable.’’ Orys said, taking a cup of wine.
‘’Recent events?’’ Vaemond asked calmly, preparing himself for the worst.
‘’You haven't heard?’’ Orys said, taking a sip of wine, Vaemonds' silence being enough answer for him.
‘’Samwell Tully has sent his forces to take the gold mines in Nunn's Deep…Loren Lannister will march to meet him with Lannisport secure, and with Royces defeat the Knights of the Vale will descend south from the bloody gate……if he had remained in Riverrun I could have reinforced him and we could have marched south to join with the Greyjoys and the rest of my forces…..but with him marching west he is beyond the point of both retreat and reinforcement.’’ Orys said, as the veteran of half a dozen conflicts, he had a good mind for strategy.
‘’Do you think he has a chance?’’ Vaemond asked.
Orys shook his head slightly ‘’He will have good defensive positions, but the armies of the Riverlands will be hard pressed to defeat the Knights of the West, courage or no, Lord Tully has brought an army of trout into the lion's den.’’
Vaemond took the news silently, he had of course recognized the danger the Tully host was in, but he had hoped the Tullys would remain patient and defend their own lands, forsaking battle until they were reinforced, but Samwell Tully's sudden assault to the West had put them in grave danger with little hope of escaping a pitched battle.
‘’What will you do now?’’ Vaemond continued.
‘’I'll ride south, join back up with my forces and the Greyjoys….as should you, finish your business with Duskendale today…that's my council…storm the walls and join with us in the south, the deserts of Dorne are no easy place to muster armies but within a month or two they shall be marching up the princes pass, together with your forces, mine, the greyjoys and Martells….we will have the men to meet Loren Lannister and the Knights of the Vale in a decisive battle.’’ Orys said.
Vaemond shook his head ‘’I'm not ready to march, I mean to siege Duskendale into surrender, save my men an unnecessary bloodbath….but I mean to raise several thousand additional men north of the Blackwater Rush, when Duskendale capitulates and I have those men I shall join you in the west uncle, you have my word.’’
Orys nodded ‘’I suggest you make haste Vaemond…the Ironborn are not known for their patience…but I will keep them in line…you can be sure of that.’’
The following morning the Lord of Storm's End would ride west with his host to join the forming loyalist army in the flatlands of the southern Westerlands, but not before sending a force of a few thousand men to chase off the surviving levy of Duskendale from their siege camp at Rooks Rest at Vaemonds request.
4th Moon, 8024
Mountains of Nunn's Deep, the Westerlands
The soft patter of rain pattered against the red cloth of Lucas Blackwood's tent, but he heard little of it.
He knelt before several small wood figurines on a wooden table, several candles burning, hands clasped around his longsword.
May the warrior give strength to our swords and courage to our hearts as we prepare for battle
May the smith give our shields fortitude in the face of peril and preserve our armor against the enemy.
May the maiden preserve the lives of the young men that will fight upon these hills far from their homes and families, allow them to return unharmed
‘’Ser Lucas.’’ A voice rang out, startling him from his prayers.
A young man in the colors of his house peered into the tent, rain pouring down his steel helm.
‘’I gave orders not to be disturbbed.’’ Lucas said, rising to his feet.
‘’The Westerman….they've broken camp, they are marching on our positions.’’ The young man said.
Lucas nodded slowly ‘’I suppose that's good enough reason…..leave me for a moment if you will.’’
Once the man had withdrawn, Lucas slipped his heavy black ringmail hauberk over his studded brigandine and fastened a steel helm over his head, fastening a sword belt engraved with a white weirwood tree.
Taking one last look at the wooden carving of the warrior he snuffed out the candle with a chainmail glove and marched out into the rain.
Over 10,000 of his countrymen had formed a defensive line stretching over the hilly high ground near the goldmines of Nunn's Deep. Marching on their position was a larger force of Westerman, their ranks awash with red and gold banners, shining in the sun which had emerged from behind the clouds.
His own men were from every corner of the riverlands. A large number of his men had been raised from the lands surrounding Harrenhall and were Quoerhys men, fighting under the 4 white skulls on black and red. There were significant numbers of Frey and Vance men, as well as over 700 men of house Strong.
They had been the first men to answer Lord Tully's call at Riverrun, and he had sent them to strike west while he raised another force, with the purpose of taking the fight to the Lannisters and keeping the fighting out of their own lands.
They had laid siege to the castle guarding Nunn's Deep for two weeks before word came that the Lannisters were sending a force to repel them, the hills of Nunns Deep made for fine defensive positions however and Ser Lucas was agreed with Ser Symond Strong and Lord Garibald Perryn, the other commanders, that they could win a major victory on the high ground of Nunns Deep.
As the highest ranking commander among them it was the Lord of Branstone that addressed their host even though Ser Lucas would be leading the center in the coming battle.
‘’MEN OF THE RIVERLANDS…..THEY SAY THE STRENGTH OF OUR PEOPLE COMES FROM THE STREAMS AND RIVERS OF OUR HOMELAND…AND YET WE HAVE LEFT OUR HOMES AND STRENGTH TO FIGHT AMONG THE DRY HILLS OF THE WEST.’’ The Heavyset Lord said at the center of the line.
‘’THAT WILL NOT SAVE OUR ENEMY IN THE END, BECAUSE WE SHALL MAKE OUR OWN RIVER….A RIVER OF RED AND GOLD…WE SHALL WATER THESE HILLS WITH LANNISTER BLOOD….. YOU SHALL TELL YOUR GRANDCHILDREN OF THIS DAY…GIVE THEM A STORY WORTH TELLING.’’ The Lord of Branstone loudly declared, earning a raucous cheer from the Rivermen.
The Westerman wasted no time launching their assault and soon the battle was underway.
Lucas Blackwood, mounted on a brown warhorse, took his position at the center of the defensive line on the high ground.
We shall bear the brunt of the attack He thought to himself as he studied the Westermans plan of attack.
On the left Ser Symon Strong was leading a sortie of his light cavalry reserve to slow down the enemy advance, while Lord Perryn was dealing with a charge of Westerman freeriders, but the enemy center was advancing their infantry in strength.
‘’LOCK SHIELDS.’’ Ser Lucas commanded and his men at arms moved in front of the peasant levies and archers, forming multiple ranks of locked shields.
The Westerman charged up the steep hill in all their heavy armor and soon the two lines came together in a great crash, with the Westerman being forced to fight upwards from below their enemy.
Ser Lucas rode into the fray, turning away a spear thrust aimed at his horse's neck with his shield, pushing it forward until he heard the breaking of a finger.
He urged his horse forward, seeing one of his men engaged in single combat with a westerman spearman on the outskirts of the line, his warhorse bowled into the man, sending him crashing to the ground with a grunt and the westerman tumbled down the hill.
He saw a westerman swordsman parry a strike from an axeman from Harrenhall, delivering his own strike that nearly took the unfortunate man's head off.
Lucas rode at him, slashing his sword at the mans shoulder, drawing blood, turning away a slash at his leg with his shield, he delivered a ringing blow to the mans iron helm, sending him falling to the ground groaning, Ser Lucas left him there, a wounded foe was a defeated one and he had never been one to kill helpless enemies.
Turning to the left, he saw that Ser Symonds sortie had led the Westerman to drive him off with heavy cavalry, and their knights were charging his position. On the left, Lord Perryn was keeping the Westerman freeriders at bay with a small line of archers and crossbowmen.
After several more minutes, the Westerman heavy infantry had enough of their exhausting attack on the center, and fled down the hill, leaving behind a grisly scene of dead and dying, with the dying slipping down the hill when their strength left them.
His men began cheering but Ser Lucas raised a gloved hand ‘’IT'S NOT OVER YET.’’
Sure enough, the Westerman center sent forward their next wave, this time a charge of lightly armored freeriders.
They rode up the steep hill, an awkward task but making surprisingly good time.
An idea came into Ser Lucas’s mind as he saw them ambling up the steep hills.
‘’HEAVY INFANTRY ON ME.’’ He shouted, charging down the hill.
The Men-at-Arms of the center followed him down the hill with a roar.
The charge took the Westerman center completely by surprise, and it was far too steep for the light cavalry to turn around and flee at speed so they could do little but sit vulnerable on their horses as hundreds of angry Rivermen charged at them.
It was a slaughter, he saw one of his men throwing a hatchet like a throwing ax, taking one of the riders in the middle of the forehead, sending him tumbling from his horse, landing on the rider behind him, similar scenes being seen all around.
They made short work of the freeriders, sending the survivors fleeing down the hill back to the Westerman center which began to withdraw in good order.
Turning to the left he saw that Ser Symon Strong had pushed back the charge of Knights, while on the right, Lord Perryn was preparing to deal with a line of pikemen who were slowly advancing up the hill.
Ser Symon, having dealt with his foes had his archers fire a volley on the advancing Westerman, while Ser Lucas ordered his tired men at arms to take the pikeman in the flank.
That soon put an end to the pikeman's advance, and soon enough the entire Westerlander army was retreating from the field, leaving thousands dead and wounded.
The victorious Riverlanders set about looting the dead, while the three commanders rode to debrief.
‘’The day is ours…..we have given the Lannisters a bloody nose and more.’’ Lord Perryn said, grinning, blood running down his helmet.
‘’They were certainly bloodied…but there will be more battles to fight….that was not the full strength of the Westerlands far from it.’’ Lucas said, dismounting tiredly from his horse.
‘’Perhaps not, but they have lost more than just the battle. In the midst of the fighting I chanced upon Lord Lefford of the Golden Tooth, I put a lance through his hip and gut…the men of the Golden Tooth will surely not fight now that their lord has fallen.’’ Lord Perryn said smiling.
Ser Symon Strong, never one to disagree, nodded his assent but Lucas frowned.
‘’He would have had more value to us as a hostage than dead my Lord…it is true the men of the Golden Tooth may abandon the Lannisters, but Lord Leffords heir will raise them again, no doubt wanting to avenge his father…..slaying him was poorly done…your own lands sit on the borderlands.’’
Lord Perryn grumbled at that ‘’Perhaps you are right…..I had not thought of it like that, it is the duty of a son to avenge a father.’’
Before Lucas could respond there was a cacophony of trumpets, and several shouts of alarm.
Lucas turned and what he saw made his heart sink.
Two huge hosts of men had entered into sight, one approaching the right of their position and another from the center where the first defeated host ahd come from, the hosts proudly bore the devices of the houses of the Westerlander lords.
‘’Prepare the men for battle….reform the shield wall.’’ Lord Perryn commanded, remaining calm to his credit.
‘’There is not going to be a battle my Lord….we have been beaten.’’ Lucas said sadly.
Lucas Blackwood was right, what followed after could hardly be considered a battle.
The enemy had nearly 1500 knights and the tired Riverman could not resist them, high ground or no.
Lucas ordered his own men to surrender, as did Ser Symon Strong, there would be some killing of course but he knew it was hopeless. He would have remained alongside his own men, but his retainers urged him to retreat while he could and continue the fight from the Riverlands.
Lord Perryn remained defiant however and held his ground against Lord Farman of Fair Isle until at last he was forced to flee the field, and many of his men were slaughtered for their leader's foolishness.
Out of the 10,000 Riverman who had held their ground at Nunns Deep, only 2000 managed to escape, with 8000 being killed or captured, while the Westerlanders lost some 3200 men, mostly as a result of the diversionary attack, though the loss of the lord of the Golden Tooth, overlord of the area of Nunns Deep, made it a bitter victory for some.
Shortly after, Lord Tully, leading some 15,000 men, marched into the west, not knowing of his forces' defeat at Nunn's Deep as the survivors had not been able to reach him. On his way to merge with his forces at Nunn's Deep Lord Tully would be ambushed at the Pendric Hills where the battle of Borrows would be fought.
Samwell Tully would lose over half of his forces in the battle, losing 8000 men dead, wounded or captured, compared to 4000 Westerlanders.
The Tullys would slink back into the Riverlands following these 2 battles, their ill fated advance into the mountains of the Westerlands costing them near 16000 men, and severely weakening the Tullys ability to contribute to the war.
