Many named characters from powerful houses will be killed in this war, conflicts in agot are generally on a larger scale than in vanilla ans that will be represented in terms of destruction.
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Sounds good, im going to change the name a little for realism sake (Ser Bryce Woyne im thinking) but that sounds doable, it will be a good while before this char appears however.
Glad to hear!
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The rebellion is off to a good start... for the rebels.
Killing off the King was a good plan. It didn't succeed, but the idea was sound.
Killing off the King was a good plan. It didn't succeed, but the idea was sound.
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Things are not going to get much better for the loyalists anytime soon, though as in all wars things wont be perfect for either side.
Vaemond recognizes that it is foolish to put himself in so much personal danger, but despite this, he wont change his habits and will continue to fight alongside his men, hes been lucky so far, but luck doesnt always last forever.
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Chapter 28: A Falcon Caged (Lord Robert Farman, Ser Bryan of Stone Keep, Ser Robin Ryger, King Ronnel Arryn)
7th Moon, 8024
Faircastle, Fair Isle
Robert Farman sat in his chair in his solar, positioned directly by the large window overlooking the Sunset Sea.
He took another look out to sea, for the third time at least, but still they remained, as real as the cup of wine in his hand.
Three war galleys flying the golden lion banner on red, three Lannister warships cutting their way through the waves towards Fair Isle.
They could only have one purpose, word must have reached Loren Lannister of his role in helping Matarys Targaryen escape from Fair Isle after Loren had ordered the king's brother to be imprisoned.
Lord Farman found himself thinking, not for the first time who had betrayed him, one of the sailors on his ship that he had arranged to take Matarys and his retinue to Seaguard no doubt, perhaps it had even been the captain, the wealth of house Lannister was legendary, and it was well known the Lannisters paid their debts, both in matters of reward and vengeance, and the Lannister ships were here for the latter.
It doesn't matter He thought to himself, looking out the window and checking once more to make sure the ships were in fact real, whoever had betrayed him, the result was the same, 3 Lannister warships sailing onto his island.
He heard a knock at the door, standing from his chair, he ran a hand down his wine soaked leather jerkin and ordered the man in.
It was his Maester, Ottyn, standing in the doorway, hands folded over his black robes.
Lord Farman studied him, wondering if this man who had served him for well over a decade had informed on him, he thought it unlikely Ottyn was not one that took the initiative often and had to be prodded into action….most likely it was one of the sailors.
‘’They will be docked within an hour Lord.’’ Ottyn said grimly.
‘’What is your counsel?’’ the Lord of Fair Isle asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, he had all but made his mind up.
‘’I counsel you to raise what forces remain to us here and defend the walls, they likely have some 300 men on those galleys, but I am sure with the advantage of our walls we can throw them back to the sea…..strike your banners for the Targaryens, it is said King Vaemond is a charitable man, he will reward your family, both for aiding his brother and standing against the Lannisters.’’ Ottyn said.
Lord Farman ran a hand through his beard, the garrison of Faircastle was weak, when the war had begun in earnest he had sent most of his knights and levies to join Loren Lannisters armies. He may have defied his lieges order to imprison Matarys but Loren Lannister was still his liege lord and he would fulfill his oaths, not doing so would have ended any hope of avoiding reprisals for his treason.
It's made no difference in the end…I should have held back my levies He thought to himself ruefully, he had received word that his levies had participated in the Battle at Nunn's Deep against the Tullys, where no doubt many of them had fallen.
He turned back to Maester Ottyn, who was clearly waiting for an answer.
Lord Farman shook his head ‘’There will be no battle today…I wont have hundreds dying on my behalf….the garrison is mostly made up of old men and young boys, those too weak or inexperienced to go with our main levies…perhaps we could throw them back…but I will have no bloodshed.’’
Ottyn nodded, the disappointment evident on his face ‘’A risky proposition Lord…..they will no doubt have orders to take you into custody….the best case scenario is Lord Lannister spares you until the war is over, assuming he is victorious, and then deals with you then…but there is no guarantee, even if he is not able to personally preside over your sentence, that he won't order you executed to send a message to his other vassals…and even if you are spared and King Vaemond wins the war, you will spend months if not years in a dank dungeon in the bowels of Casterly Rock.’’
Lord Farman had no intention of spending a single day in a cell, much less years, but he nodded slowly.
‘’I have much to consider….you say we have an hour….I will think on your counsel.’’ He replied.
‘’It will be as you say of course but….if you mean to fight them, we will need time to prepare the men….time is of the essence Lord.’’ The Maester responded, bowing and leaving the chamber slowly.
Once he was alone, Lord Farman placed his hands behind his back and walked to the window, observing the fast approaching Lannister ships.
His mind went to his family then, his two girls, Ella and Elena, who had left with Matarys Targaryen and were likely close to the capitol by now. He even spared a thought to his Tarbeck wife and her bastard child, whom he had allowed to be raised under his own roof, despite the shame of it.
Most of all he thought of his firstborn son, Flement, who had died of cancer some years prior at the age of 20. He had been a difficult child, arrogant, cruel at times, and prone to gluttony, but he had been his only son, his firstborn and the Lord of Fair Isle had not been the same since his death.
He remembered his son at the end, bound to a bed, pitiful, the flesh sunken off his bones…a horrible way to die.
Mine shall be a kinder fate He thought to himself, looking down at the sunset sea.
Lord Farman had no intention of resisting the Lannister ships, ordering a defense of the walls would lead to a large amount of blood being shed, both Lannister and Farman and he would not be responsible for it. He had no intentions of letting himself be captured however, even if he had an assurance that he would not be immediately executed and would be rescued from the bowels of Casterly Rock, he would not surrender, his star had faded long ago.
He leaned over the window, looking down at the sea-sprayed white walls of his tower, and the rocky sea cliffs below.
His house words came into his mind then The wind our steed.
He repeated the words as he climbed onto the ledge and let the wind take him, plummeting to the cliffs below and into the waters of the sunset sea.
9th Moon, 8024
Village of Rosesk, Coldwater Burn, the Vale
The village of Rosesk was aflame, red and orange tendrils danced from building to building, sending thick plumes of black smoke into the cool air. The thatch roof of the village tavern collapsed inwards as Ser Bryan urged his destrier forward, the waning sun catching on his bloodstained silver plated armor as he passed by a burning watchtower, underneath it several dead corpses.
Ser Bryan, commander of one of the Eyries three way castles slowly spurred his horse around the scenes of the recent battle, four corpses lying on the muddy street in front of them. Three of them were the peasantry of Rosesk, but one of them had been with their host, a young knight by the looks of it, a feathered arrow sticking out of his mailed shoulder, while a spear stood upright, impaled in his chest.
What kind of knight is killed by a peasant He thought scornfully, they had lost near 100 men storming the village, but to be killed in the muddy streets of a village was the lot of common foot soldiers, no suitable fate for a knight.
Passing several more dead bodies, he finally made it to the village center, where several men-at-arms had rounded up the surviving militia of the town, dirty, bloody and several of them wounded they made for a pitiful sight, many women and children were among them as well.
‘’Is this all of them?’’ He asked a grizzled serjeant gruffly.
The man nodded ‘’123…..half of them fighting men…rest is just villagers.’’
Ser Bryan rode his horse forward, hand at the hilt of his longsword ‘’You should have laid down your arms when you had the chance…..you filthy rebels will see the truth of that….to your grief.’’
‘’Were no rebels Ser.’’ One of them, an elderly man said, dirty gray hair falling past his shoulders.
‘’You fought against your own countrymen……those that fight to win your own independence…..near 100 good men died putting down your treason.’’ Ser Bryan said airly.
‘’Seems to me you're the rebels…..we serve Lord Coldwater…aye…him and the Royces, they fight for the Dragon King….you're the ones that rose up ‘gainst them, that makes you rebels.’’ The old man said.
Bryan nodded to one of the men at arms who stuck a spearpoint through the back of the old man's skull, sending face first into the mud in a bloody heap, around him several villagers screamed.
‘’I won't suffer to be called a rebel to my face….I serve King Arryn, and you are his subjects, something you seem to have forgotten…..your Lord Royce has allied with the Sisterman pirates who have taken the Paps and Elesham, stealing the castles of their own countrymen, your Lord is a traitor.’’ Ser Bryan said.
‘’Were no traitors Ser.’’ A voice from the crowd yelled.
‘’If thats so…..why did you bear arms against our host when we arrived…..we came to liberate you and you repaid us with arrows.’’ Ser Bryan said loftily.
‘’Your riders tried to rape Serra, the millers girl, and they knocked old Jurgen into the dirt when he tried to stop them from stealin our grain stores…we was just defendin ourselves.’’ Another voice cried out.
‘’You name it defense, I name it treason against your own countrymen.’’ Ser Bryan said, turning to one of his loyal men.
‘’Get the villagers out of here, put them in the granary for now.’’ He ordered, and the villagers in the center, mostly women and children were dragged off by men at arms, many having to be pulled from their male kin who had survived the fight.’’
There were some 60 men left in the town center, the surviving members of the militia that had opposed the attack, some of them sat blankly, while others begged for help, either for their own wounds or the wounds of their comrades.
‘’Water Ser.’’ One of them called, but a man at arms laughed
‘’You won't have any use for it soon enough.’’ He said.
‘’You are all traitors….do you know what the punishment for that is?’’ He asked to noone in particular.
That caused a cacophony of shouts and screams from the surviving militia members, but Ser Bryen heard little of it.
He raised his hand slowly.
‘’Death.’’ He answered, giving the signal.
A line of crossbowmen fired into the huddled mass of men, quarrel after quarrel hitting the unfortunate men.
A few managed to evade the first volley and flee the center but were swiftly cut down by Bryens riders, laughing.
It went on for a few minutes until slowly the screams ended, and his men moved in to finish off the wounded.
‘’What do we do with them in the granary Ser, the women and children.’’ His lieutenant asked with a sick smile.
‘’Treason must be burned away…..burned into ash.’’ Ser Bryan answered, wheeling his destrier towards the granary.
The screams of the villagers inside the burning granary were gut wrenching, but Ser Bryen had chosen his most heartless and hard warriors as part of his small host and none seemed the least bit fazed by the atrocity they were watching.
Such is the fate of traitors Ser Bryen thought to himself, listening to the fast fading screams from inside.
That was where Lord Wallace Waynwood found him, following with the majority of their army.
It did not take the gallant old lord of Ironoaks to ascertain what had happened at the village.
True to his name, he immediately confronted the commander of Stone Keep.
‘’What have you done….what have you done.’’ The old man cried with dismay.
‘’I dispensed the King's justice to rebels….they slew near 100 of our men, they were traitors.’’ Ser Bryan said with a shrug.
‘’You have murdered these good folk…..slaughtered them like dogs…..and the women and children…..burned…..you are no knight…you have no chivalry…no honor.’’ he prattled on.
‘’King Ronnel gave me command of this host, and instructed me to secure the Vale….the village is secure now, and will serve as a lesson to the peasants in Runestone…..you may be a High Lord but I was made your commander in this campaign…I have heard your counsel, now leave me.’’ Ser Bryan said with satisfaction, his land may have been limited to a small waycastle, but his martial prowess meant that High Lords had to defer to his judgment.
Lord Waynwood was persistent however ‘’Lord Arryn instructed you to secure these lands, not savage them….he shall be hearing of this you vagabond….knight without honor…..you shall hang for this…yes…you shall.’’
‘’Careful my Lord…..you may recall that I have mine own escort standings round me, your only companion is that ragged squirrel corpse you call a beard.’’ Ser Bryen said, earning laughter from his retainers.
Lord Waynwood, who had neglected to form his own forces in his haste to confront Ser Bryan and looked around slowly at the suddenly serious killers around him.
The old lord's hand fell to his sword, causing Bryens men to do the same.
‘’If you think to intimidate me……you are mistaken…you shall hang for this false knight….you have my word.’’ The Lord of Ironoaks said, before wheeling his horse around.
The following morning the old lord would leave the host with his own forces, but Ser Bryan cared little, one less high lord to share credit with, when King Ronnel returned from the west he would find his own lands secure and rebellion quelled, all thanks to Ser Bryan of Stone Keep, Lord Royce and his Sistermen were a nuisance to be sure, but he would defeat them in time, just as he had at Narrowshade.
Lord Bryan soon I think The false knight thought to himself, as the waning embers of the fires of death made their way into the sky.
11th Moon, 8024
Outskirts of Stoney Sept
Ser Desmond Ryger and his exhausted small company rested under the shade of a willow tree, ironic considering a green willow tree on white was the sigil of House Ryger.
He looked at his own shield to try and look for any similarities, but there was little to be found. The white paint that had once fully covered his shield remained only in specks, most of it being hacked off, leaving only the battered wood below, the green tree was even worse, the green paint changed to a sickly brown tint as a result of the blood.
A poet might have been able to make a fucking ballad about this He thought to himself, looking at his houses namesake, strong and steady, in stark opposition to his own party.
He had led a company of 100 Ryger men at the beginning of the war, courtesy of his nephew, the Lord of Willow Wood. Now just 40 remained, and they would soon be 39, Quick Brynnan had taken an arrow to the neck at Peckledon, it had been just a graze in truth but a fever had set in on their retreat north to Stoney Sept and it was clear he didn't have long left.
Wasn't quick enough to get out of the way of that arrow He thought to himself dryly.
The Tully host had been ground to pieces at Nunn's Deep and the Battle of Borrows, but still Lord Tully, known as the hotspur, had ordered the remnants of his army to attack west yet again, this time from the south into the flatlands of the Westerlands.
The result had been the same. They had been met by a combined force of both Westerman and men from the Vale of Arryn and had been repulsed in a bloody battle at Peckledon, sending the Tully force retreating in half a dozen directions, Ser Desmond had taken his surviving men north to Stoney Sept, back into the Riverlands.
Damn fool of a Tully He thought to himself angrily, Ser Desmond was no coward and had distinguished himself at all 3 battles with his bravery, yet after Nunn's Deep and Borrows they never should have advanced west again.
A cool breeze upon his face slowly abated his anger, the songs of birds in the distance made their camp almost peaceful.
‘’Almost makes one forget were at war.’’ One of his men said, and Ser Desmond nodded.
‘’Aye….but it seems to me us Rivermen have been the only ones fighting this war….where is the King….where are the Stormlanders.’’ Ser Desmond said, the frustration returning.
His man did not respond to that, simply spitting a hack of sourleaf to the ground.
‘’Rider!.’’ One of his archers, who had been posted at the perimeter, called out with alarm.
‘’SHIELDS, SPEARS.’’ Ser Desmond called out loudly, awakening his men from their slumber, hastily arming themselves and throwing on whatever armor they had on hand.
Ser Desmond pulled on a faded surcoat over his studded leather jerkin, leaving his chainmail by the tree; he had no time to don it.
He made his way to the edge of the knoll and looked at the rider.
He was dressed lightly for fast riding in a leather brigandine and wore a leather cap, he wore a half surcoat showing 3 black ravens holding 3 black hearts.
Ser Desmond scanned the horizon, the terrain was flat all around and he could see no signs of any other companions or riders.
The rider waited at the base of the hill patiently, Ser Desmond, ascertaining there were no other riders in sight, made his way down the hill to meet him.
‘’I didn't see any other riders with you……but if this is some kind of trick, it will be the last one you play.’’ Ser Desmond said, hand brushing his longsword in a not so subtle gesture.
‘’There will be no need for that.’’ The rider said, raising his arms in the air slowly, showing that he was unarmed.
‘’It's considered damn poor manners to treat with dismounted man while one remains mounted….especially a knight.’’ Ser Desmond said curtly and the rider nodded and dismounted, holding his black horse's reins.
‘’Who are you….I see by your surcoat you serve the Corbrays…..we saw quite a few of your comrades at Peckledon…slew some too if I recall.’’ Ser Desmond said.
‘’Who I am is not important….but the message I bring you is of great import…..King Ronnel Arryn is marching from Peckledon with a small escort not 10 miles away from here….he means to return to the Vale….a small force as I said as to not draw attention to himself.’’ The rider said.
‘’Do you take me for a fool?’’ Ser Desmond asked after the shock of the revelation wore off.
‘’I take you for a soldier….that is within grasping distance of the greatest prize you could think to grasp…the King of the Vale.’’ The man responded.
‘’Aye im sure if I follow a rainbow I'll find myself a pot of gold, a comely wench and the King of the Vale trussed up and ready for the fucking dungeons…..though I find the prospect of some of your fellows waiting to ambush us sours the appeal.’’ Ser Desmond said.
The messenger laughed lightly at that ‘’There is no need for traps, you number just 40 men, tired and wounded, if I wanted you dead i'd ride here not alone but with three dozen corbray knights and as many men at arms.’’
Ser Desmond couldn't help but see the truth in the man's words ‘’And why would a Valemen such as you want your own king captured.’’
‘’It is not so much what I, a humble messenger want, it is what my Lord wishes….but I have said too much…..King Ronnel is traveling with some 15 men ten miles south of here along a small river, go or don't…the choice is yours…farewell.’’ The rider said, mounting up and riding off into the distance.
Ser Desmond stood there for a good long while, pondering the man's words.
To hell with it He thought, turning back to his men on the hill who were waiting anxiously.
‘’THOSE OF YOU STRONG ENOUGH TO MOVE FORM UP…..ARM AND ARMOR YOURSELVES, WE MOVE IN THIRTY MINUTES, SADDLE WHAT HORSES REMAIN TO US.’’ He bellowed.
‘’For what purpose Ser.’’ One of his men asked.
‘’Were going to catch ourselves a falcon.’’ He said, earning bewildered looks from his men who nonetheless obeyed.
Two Hours Later
The small retinue made their way beside the small river, the call of some water bird being the only noise to break the silence.
I couldn't have known King Ronnel Arryn thought to himself grimly, seated atop his white stallion.
He had received a raven some days past from Lord Wallace Waynwood, his good friend and one of his most trusted advisors and vassals, the man had helped him immensely in his years since coming of age and the King trusted him completely.
The message was a grim one, it stated that Ser Bryan of Stone Keep had committed savageries against the village of Rosesk, executing most of the men while the women and children were locked inside a granary and burned alive.
I couldn't have known the King thought once again more confidently this time. At the outbreak of war, Ronnel had proposed two main hosts, one which he would lead personally would march west to help their Lannister allies, while another would remain in the Vale and secure their own lands from the Royces, who remained loyal to the Targaryens.
He had chosen Ser Bryan of Stone Keep to lead the latter host, it was true the man was not of a great house and his lands only included one of the three small waycastles that guarded the ascent to the Eyrie, but he was young, bold, and martially inclined, and the King thought it best that any victories in the Vale be won by one of low birth as opposed to some great lord, as to not take away from his own glory.
That had proven a terrible mistake however, he had visited Rosesk once, a rather unremarkable village in truth but the smallfolk had been generous and Ronnel had always done his best to be kind to villagers in the Vale….and now they were dead….slaughtered.
He would not remain in the West while his smallfolk suffered, even after winning much glory at the battle of Peckledon where several thousand Valemen fought alongside their Westerlander allies to drive off a Tully attack.
His place was in the Vale; he had also received a raven detailing that the surviving army of Lord Nestor Royce had joined with an army of Sistermen and seized 2 small island castles off the fingers, aided by a royal fleet from Dragonstone.
Ronnel meant to return to the Vale and negotiate a peace or at the very least a ceasefire with Nestor Royce, when he had declared himself King, he had never meant for any bloodshed to occur within his own lands, and he meant for it to stop, there would be no more burning of villages, no more slaughter.
How he would attain the peace with Nestor Royce he could not say, Ronnel had never been a man that was blessed with charisma or natural negotiating skills, but he would find a way, he was a King now after all.
He turned and looked at his escort, 15 mounted knights, their horses donning the pale blue falcon banner upon their caparisons.
Too few He thought to himself, he supposed he could have taken his entire force he had brought west with him, a host of several thousand, but they would likely be discovered, the way back to the Vale would take them through most of the Riverlands, the Tully’s strength had been ground to pieces in their attacks west but there was always the risk they might be ambushed with nowhere to retreat.
His Marshal, Lord Qarl Corbray had suggested taking such a small force, stating that a force of under 20 men avoiding the main roads was unlikely to be discovered and would reach the Vale quicker than a larger host, and Ronnel had not spoken against it, as was his nature.
All these thoughts were running through his mind when the first shout of alarm came from his escort.
He turned and saw a small force of mounted men appear from a small forested thicket, their sigils bearing a green willow tree on white, a banner he had seen at the battle of Peckledon….on the opposite side.
The captain of his escort shouted a brusque command for his men to form a circle around the King.
It's just a few scouts Ronnel thought confidently, his escort was more than capable of dealing with the small ragtag band of rivermen scouts ahead of him.
No sooner than Ronnel had drawn his sword, however, a band of two dozen footmen appeared from behind two large rock formations on the bank of the river, charging alongside the calvary from the forest with a war cry
He saw one of his knights take an ax in the helmet from a Riverman rider, delivering a loud clanging noise, but his man managed to block the next strike and thrust his sword into the man's belly, blood dripping from his face.
Another one of his knights took an arrow in his plate armor chestplate, the arrow did not puncture the heavy plate, but the impact startled the man so much he kicked his horse which reared and sent him flying to the ground, his leg trapped in the stirrups, sending the man thudding along the grass after his horse.
An axeman with a shield tried to grab his reins but Ronnel shot out a plated elbow at the man's face, knocking him away.
‘’Flee your Grace….we shall hold them.’’ One of his men cried out but Ronnel paid him no need and returned to the fray,
A King does not run He thought to himself.
Suddenly, another rider was upon him, unlike the other mounted rivermen he seemed to be a knight, dressed in blackchainmail and wearing a surcoat of the green willow, a mail coif adorned his face.
The enemy knight brought down his sword towards Ronnel in a slow yet powerful arc, but the King of the Vale managed to get up his metal shield and block it, sending flecks of pale blue paint everywhere.
The enemy launched another strike but Ronnel was ready this time and bashed his shield forward, surprising the man and giving him time to hack at one of the the man's leg, his heavy ornamental sword cutting through the ringmail and causing his enemy to withdraw his horse with a curse, an arrow whistled towards him, striking his shield as he looked for his next opponent.
He saw one of his knights stick a lance through an enemy pikeman's face, attempting to cut his way free of the ambush but just as it looked as if he might have opened a path of escape, the knight in black ringmail Ronnel had wounded moments before was on him, hacking the man in the leg, before another slash to the chest knocked him from his horse wounded.
Ronnels escort was thining by now, the enemy forming a circle around the survivors, while archers were forming a line to make good on this advantage.
It's over He thought to himself, he had a duty to his men to preserve their lives.
‘’Stop!’’ He cried out, as loud as he could.
He turned to the man in black ringmail ‘’I will yield to you Ser…..but on one condition….it's me you're after, the King of the Vale, allow my men safe passage back west….you have no need of them.’’
The enemy knight grimaced in pain, holding his wounded leg in one hand ‘’Normally I wouldn't give a rats ass about a defeated foes conditions…..but youre a better sword than most high lordlings, and a good deal braver….aye, your men can leave…but you…..you'll rot in the darkest dungeon in Riverrun for the rest of the fucking war.’’
Ronnel cursed himself for a fool the entire ride to Riverrun.
No crown is worth this much trouble He thought to himself as the red sandstone walls of Riverrun came into view.
Faircastle, Fair Isle
Robert Farman sat in his chair in his solar, positioned directly by the large window overlooking the Sunset Sea.
He took another look out to sea, for the third time at least, but still they remained, as real as the cup of wine in his hand.
Three war galleys flying the golden lion banner on red, three Lannister warships cutting their way through the waves towards Fair Isle.
They could only have one purpose, word must have reached Loren Lannister of his role in helping Matarys Targaryen escape from Fair Isle after Loren had ordered the king's brother to be imprisoned.
Lord Farman found himself thinking, not for the first time who had betrayed him, one of the sailors on his ship that he had arranged to take Matarys and his retinue to Seaguard no doubt, perhaps it had even been the captain, the wealth of house Lannister was legendary, and it was well known the Lannisters paid their debts, both in matters of reward and vengeance, and the Lannister ships were here for the latter.
It doesn't matter He thought to himself, looking out the window and checking once more to make sure the ships were in fact real, whoever had betrayed him, the result was the same, 3 Lannister warships sailing onto his island.
He heard a knock at the door, standing from his chair, he ran a hand down his wine soaked leather jerkin and ordered the man in.
It was his Maester, Ottyn, standing in the doorway, hands folded over his black robes.
Lord Farman studied him, wondering if this man who had served him for well over a decade had informed on him, he thought it unlikely Ottyn was not one that took the initiative often and had to be prodded into action….most likely it was one of the sailors.
‘’They will be docked within an hour Lord.’’ Ottyn said grimly.
‘’What is your counsel?’’ the Lord of Fair Isle asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, he had all but made his mind up.
‘’I counsel you to raise what forces remain to us here and defend the walls, they likely have some 300 men on those galleys, but I am sure with the advantage of our walls we can throw them back to the sea…..strike your banners for the Targaryens, it is said King Vaemond is a charitable man, he will reward your family, both for aiding his brother and standing against the Lannisters.’’ Ottyn said.
Lord Farman ran a hand through his beard, the garrison of Faircastle was weak, when the war had begun in earnest he had sent most of his knights and levies to join Loren Lannisters armies. He may have defied his lieges order to imprison Matarys but Loren Lannister was still his liege lord and he would fulfill his oaths, not doing so would have ended any hope of avoiding reprisals for his treason.
It's made no difference in the end…I should have held back my levies He thought to himself ruefully, he had received word that his levies had participated in the Battle at Nunn's Deep against the Tullys, where no doubt many of them had fallen.
He turned back to Maester Ottyn, who was clearly waiting for an answer.
Lord Farman shook his head ‘’There will be no battle today…I wont have hundreds dying on my behalf….the garrison is mostly made up of old men and young boys, those too weak or inexperienced to go with our main levies…perhaps we could throw them back…but I will have no bloodshed.’’
Ottyn nodded, the disappointment evident on his face ‘’A risky proposition Lord…..they will no doubt have orders to take you into custody….the best case scenario is Lord Lannister spares you until the war is over, assuming he is victorious, and then deals with you then…but there is no guarantee, even if he is not able to personally preside over your sentence, that he won't order you executed to send a message to his other vassals…and even if you are spared and King Vaemond wins the war, you will spend months if not years in a dank dungeon in the bowels of Casterly Rock.’’
Lord Farman had no intention of spending a single day in a cell, much less years, but he nodded slowly.
‘’I have much to consider….you say we have an hour….I will think on your counsel.’’ He replied.
‘’It will be as you say of course but….if you mean to fight them, we will need time to prepare the men….time is of the essence Lord.’’ The Maester responded, bowing and leaving the chamber slowly.
Once he was alone, Lord Farman placed his hands behind his back and walked to the window, observing the fast approaching Lannister ships.
His mind went to his family then, his two girls, Ella and Elena, who had left with Matarys Targaryen and were likely close to the capitol by now. He even spared a thought to his Tarbeck wife and her bastard child, whom he had allowed to be raised under his own roof, despite the shame of it.
Most of all he thought of his firstborn son, Flement, who had died of cancer some years prior at the age of 20. He had been a difficult child, arrogant, cruel at times, and prone to gluttony, but he had been his only son, his firstborn and the Lord of Fair Isle had not been the same since his death.
He remembered his son at the end, bound to a bed, pitiful, the flesh sunken off his bones…a horrible way to die.
Mine shall be a kinder fate He thought to himself, looking down at the sunset sea.
Lord Farman had no intention of resisting the Lannister ships, ordering a defense of the walls would lead to a large amount of blood being shed, both Lannister and Farman and he would not be responsible for it. He had no intentions of letting himself be captured however, even if he had an assurance that he would not be immediately executed and would be rescued from the bowels of Casterly Rock, he would not surrender, his star had faded long ago.
He leaned over the window, looking down at the sea-sprayed white walls of his tower, and the rocky sea cliffs below.
His house words came into his mind then The wind our steed.
He repeated the words as he climbed onto the ledge and let the wind take him, plummeting to the cliffs below and into the waters of the sunset sea.
9th Moon, 8024
Village of Rosesk, Coldwater Burn, the Vale
The village of Rosesk was aflame, red and orange tendrils danced from building to building, sending thick plumes of black smoke into the cool air. The thatch roof of the village tavern collapsed inwards as Ser Bryan urged his destrier forward, the waning sun catching on his bloodstained silver plated armor as he passed by a burning watchtower, underneath it several dead corpses.
Ser Bryan, commander of one of the Eyries three way castles slowly spurred his horse around the scenes of the recent battle, four corpses lying on the muddy street in front of them. Three of them were the peasantry of Rosesk, but one of them had been with their host, a young knight by the looks of it, a feathered arrow sticking out of his mailed shoulder, while a spear stood upright, impaled in his chest.
What kind of knight is killed by a peasant He thought scornfully, they had lost near 100 men storming the village, but to be killed in the muddy streets of a village was the lot of common foot soldiers, no suitable fate for a knight.
Passing several more dead bodies, he finally made it to the village center, where several men-at-arms had rounded up the surviving militia of the town, dirty, bloody and several of them wounded they made for a pitiful sight, many women and children were among them as well.
‘’Is this all of them?’’ He asked a grizzled serjeant gruffly.
The man nodded ‘’123…..half of them fighting men…rest is just villagers.’’
Ser Bryan rode his horse forward, hand at the hilt of his longsword ‘’You should have laid down your arms when you had the chance…..you filthy rebels will see the truth of that….to your grief.’’
‘’Were no rebels Ser.’’ One of them, an elderly man said, dirty gray hair falling past his shoulders.
‘’You fought against your own countrymen……those that fight to win your own independence…..near 100 good men died putting down your treason.’’ Ser Bryan said airly.
‘’Seems to me you're the rebels…..we serve Lord Coldwater…aye…him and the Royces, they fight for the Dragon King….you're the ones that rose up ‘gainst them, that makes you rebels.’’ The old man said.
Bryan nodded to one of the men at arms who stuck a spearpoint through the back of the old man's skull, sending face first into the mud in a bloody heap, around him several villagers screamed.
‘’I won't suffer to be called a rebel to my face….I serve King Arryn, and you are his subjects, something you seem to have forgotten…..your Lord Royce has allied with the Sisterman pirates who have taken the Paps and Elesham, stealing the castles of their own countrymen, your Lord is a traitor.’’ Ser Bryan said.
‘’Were no traitors Ser.’’ A voice from the crowd yelled.
‘’If thats so…..why did you bear arms against our host when we arrived…..we came to liberate you and you repaid us with arrows.’’ Ser Bryan said loftily.
‘’Your riders tried to rape Serra, the millers girl, and they knocked old Jurgen into the dirt when he tried to stop them from stealin our grain stores…we was just defendin ourselves.’’ Another voice cried out.
‘’You name it defense, I name it treason against your own countrymen.’’ Ser Bryan said, turning to one of his loyal men.
‘’Get the villagers out of here, put them in the granary for now.’’ He ordered, and the villagers in the center, mostly women and children were dragged off by men at arms, many having to be pulled from their male kin who had survived the fight.’’
There were some 60 men left in the town center, the surviving members of the militia that had opposed the attack, some of them sat blankly, while others begged for help, either for their own wounds or the wounds of their comrades.
‘’Water Ser.’’ One of them called, but a man at arms laughed
‘’You won't have any use for it soon enough.’’ He said.
‘’You are all traitors….do you know what the punishment for that is?’’ He asked to noone in particular.
That caused a cacophony of shouts and screams from the surviving militia members, but Ser Bryen heard little of it.
He raised his hand slowly.
‘’Death.’’ He answered, giving the signal.
A line of crossbowmen fired into the huddled mass of men, quarrel after quarrel hitting the unfortunate men.
A few managed to evade the first volley and flee the center but were swiftly cut down by Bryens riders, laughing.
It went on for a few minutes until slowly the screams ended, and his men moved in to finish off the wounded.
‘’What do we do with them in the granary Ser, the women and children.’’ His lieutenant asked with a sick smile.
‘’Treason must be burned away…..burned into ash.’’ Ser Bryan answered, wheeling his destrier towards the granary.
The screams of the villagers inside the burning granary were gut wrenching, but Ser Bryen had chosen his most heartless and hard warriors as part of his small host and none seemed the least bit fazed by the atrocity they were watching.
Such is the fate of traitors Ser Bryen thought to himself, listening to the fast fading screams from inside.
That was where Lord Wallace Waynwood found him, following with the majority of their army.
It did not take the gallant old lord of Ironoaks to ascertain what had happened at the village.
True to his name, he immediately confronted the commander of Stone Keep.
‘’What have you done….what have you done.’’ The old man cried with dismay.
‘’I dispensed the King's justice to rebels….they slew near 100 of our men, they were traitors.’’ Ser Bryan said with a shrug.
‘’You have murdered these good folk…..slaughtered them like dogs…..and the women and children…..burned…..you are no knight…you have no chivalry…no honor.’’ he prattled on.
‘’King Ronnel gave me command of this host, and instructed me to secure the Vale….the village is secure now, and will serve as a lesson to the peasants in Runestone…..you may be a High Lord but I was made your commander in this campaign…I have heard your counsel, now leave me.’’ Ser Bryan said with satisfaction, his land may have been limited to a small waycastle, but his martial prowess meant that High Lords had to defer to his judgment.
Lord Waynwood was persistent however ‘’Lord Arryn instructed you to secure these lands, not savage them….he shall be hearing of this you vagabond….knight without honor…..you shall hang for this…yes…you shall.’’
‘’Careful my Lord…..you may recall that I have mine own escort standings round me, your only companion is that ragged squirrel corpse you call a beard.’’ Ser Bryen said, earning laughter from his retainers.
Lord Waynwood, who had neglected to form his own forces in his haste to confront Ser Bryan and looked around slowly at the suddenly serious killers around him.
The old lord's hand fell to his sword, causing Bryens men to do the same.
‘’If you think to intimidate me……you are mistaken…you shall hang for this false knight….you have my word.’’ The Lord of Ironoaks said, before wheeling his horse around.
The following morning the old lord would leave the host with his own forces, but Ser Bryan cared little, one less high lord to share credit with, when King Ronnel returned from the west he would find his own lands secure and rebellion quelled, all thanks to Ser Bryan of Stone Keep, Lord Royce and his Sistermen were a nuisance to be sure, but he would defeat them in time, just as he had at Narrowshade.
Lord Bryan soon I think The false knight thought to himself, as the waning embers of the fires of death made their way into the sky.
11th Moon, 8024
Outskirts of Stoney Sept
Ser Desmond Ryger and his exhausted small company rested under the shade of a willow tree, ironic considering a green willow tree on white was the sigil of House Ryger.
He looked at his own shield to try and look for any similarities, but there was little to be found. The white paint that had once fully covered his shield remained only in specks, most of it being hacked off, leaving only the battered wood below, the green tree was even worse, the green paint changed to a sickly brown tint as a result of the blood.
A poet might have been able to make a fucking ballad about this He thought to himself, looking at his houses namesake, strong and steady, in stark opposition to his own party.
He had led a company of 100 Ryger men at the beginning of the war, courtesy of his nephew, the Lord of Willow Wood. Now just 40 remained, and they would soon be 39, Quick Brynnan had taken an arrow to the neck at Peckledon, it had been just a graze in truth but a fever had set in on their retreat north to Stoney Sept and it was clear he didn't have long left.
Wasn't quick enough to get out of the way of that arrow He thought to himself dryly.
The Tully host had been ground to pieces at Nunn's Deep and the Battle of Borrows, but still Lord Tully, known as the hotspur, had ordered the remnants of his army to attack west yet again, this time from the south into the flatlands of the Westerlands.
The result had been the same. They had been met by a combined force of both Westerman and men from the Vale of Arryn and had been repulsed in a bloody battle at Peckledon, sending the Tully force retreating in half a dozen directions, Ser Desmond had taken his surviving men north to Stoney Sept, back into the Riverlands.
Damn fool of a Tully He thought to himself angrily, Ser Desmond was no coward and had distinguished himself at all 3 battles with his bravery, yet after Nunn's Deep and Borrows they never should have advanced west again.
A cool breeze upon his face slowly abated his anger, the songs of birds in the distance made their camp almost peaceful.
‘’Almost makes one forget were at war.’’ One of his men said, and Ser Desmond nodded.
‘’Aye….but it seems to me us Rivermen have been the only ones fighting this war….where is the King….where are the Stormlanders.’’ Ser Desmond said, the frustration returning.
His man did not respond to that, simply spitting a hack of sourleaf to the ground.
‘’Rider!.’’ One of his archers, who had been posted at the perimeter, called out with alarm.
‘’SHIELDS, SPEARS.’’ Ser Desmond called out loudly, awakening his men from their slumber, hastily arming themselves and throwing on whatever armor they had on hand.
Ser Desmond pulled on a faded surcoat over his studded leather jerkin, leaving his chainmail by the tree; he had no time to don it.
He made his way to the edge of the knoll and looked at the rider.
He was dressed lightly for fast riding in a leather brigandine and wore a leather cap, he wore a half surcoat showing 3 black ravens holding 3 black hearts.
Ser Desmond scanned the horizon, the terrain was flat all around and he could see no signs of any other companions or riders.
The rider waited at the base of the hill patiently, Ser Desmond, ascertaining there were no other riders in sight, made his way down the hill to meet him.
‘’I didn't see any other riders with you……but if this is some kind of trick, it will be the last one you play.’’ Ser Desmond said, hand brushing his longsword in a not so subtle gesture.
‘’There will be no need for that.’’ The rider said, raising his arms in the air slowly, showing that he was unarmed.
‘’It's considered damn poor manners to treat with dismounted man while one remains mounted….especially a knight.’’ Ser Desmond said curtly and the rider nodded and dismounted, holding his black horse's reins.
‘’Who are you….I see by your surcoat you serve the Corbrays…..we saw quite a few of your comrades at Peckledon…slew some too if I recall.’’ Ser Desmond said.
‘’Who I am is not important….but the message I bring you is of great import…..King Ronnel Arryn is marching from Peckledon with a small escort not 10 miles away from here….he means to return to the Vale….a small force as I said as to not draw attention to himself.’’ The rider said.
‘’Do you take me for a fool?’’ Ser Desmond asked after the shock of the revelation wore off.
‘’I take you for a soldier….that is within grasping distance of the greatest prize you could think to grasp…the King of the Vale.’’ The man responded.
‘’Aye im sure if I follow a rainbow I'll find myself a pot of gold, a comely wench and the King of the Vale trussed up and ready for the fucking dungeons…..though I find the prospect of some of your fellows waiting to ambush us sours the appeal.’’ Ser Desmond said.
The messenger laughed lightly at that ‘’There is no need for traps, you number just 40 men, tired and wounded, if I wanted you dead i'd ride here not alone but with three dozen corbray knights and as many men at arms.’’
Ser Desmond couldn't help but see the truth in the man's words ‘’And why would a Valemen such as you want your own king captured.’’
‘’It is not so much what I, a humble messenger want, it is what my Lord wishes….but I have said too much…..King Ronnel is traveling with some 15 men ten miles south of here along a small river, go or don't…the choice is yours…farewell.’’ The rider said, mounting up and riding off into the distance.
Ser Desmond stood there for a good long while, pondering the man's words.
To hell with it He thought, turning back to his men on the hill who were waiting anxiously.
‘’THOSE OF YOU STRONG ENOUGH TO MOVE FORM UP…..ARM AND ARMOR YOURSELVES, WE MOVE IN THIRTY MINUTES, SADDLE WHAT HORSES REMAIN TO US.’’ He bellowed.
‘’For what purpose Ser.’’ One of his men asked.
‘’Were going to catch ourselves a falcon.’’ He said, earning bewildered looks from his men who nonetheless obeyed.
Two Hours Later
The small retinue made their way beside the small river, the call of some water bird being the only noise to break the silence.
I couldn't have known King Ronnel Arryn thought to himself grimly, seated atop his white stallion.
He had received a raven some days past from Lord Wallace Waynwood, his good friend and one of his most trusted advisors and vassals, the man had helped him immensely in his years since coming of age and the King trusted him completely.
The message was a grim one, it stated that Ser Bryan of Stone Keep had committed savageries against the village of Rosesk, executing most of the men while the women and children were locked inside a granary and burned alive.
I couldn't have known the King thought once again more confidently this time. At the outbreak of war, Ronnel had proposed two main hosts, one which he would lead personally would march west to help their Lannister allies, while another would remain in the Vale and secure their own lands from the Royces, who remained loyal to the Targaryens.
He had chosen Ser Bryan of Stone Keep to lead the latter host, it was true the man was not of a great house and his lands only included one of the three small waycastles that guarded the ascent to the Eyrie, but he was young, bold, and martially inclined, and the King thought it best that any victories in the Vale be won by one of low birth as opposed to some great lord, as to not take away from his own glory.
That had proven a terrible mistake however, he had visited Rosesk once, a rather unremarkable village in truth but the smallfolk had been generous and Ronnel had always done his best to be kind to villagers in the Vale….and now they were dead….slaughtered.
He would not remain in the West while his smallfolk suffered, even after winning much glory at the battle of Peckledon where several thousand Valemen fought alongside their Westerlander allies to drive off a Tully attack.
His place was in the Vale; he had also received a raven detailing that the surviving army of Lord Nestor Royce had joined with an army of Sistermen and seized 2 small island castles off the fingers, aided by a royal fleet from Dragonstone.
Ronnel meant to return to the Vale and negotiate a peace or at the very least a ceasefire with Nestor Royce, when he had declared himself King, he had never meant for any bloodshed to occur within his own lands, and he meant for it to stop, there would be no more burning of villages, no more slaughter.
How he would attain the peace with Nestor Royce he could not say, Ronnel had never been a man that was blessed with charisma or natural negotiating skills, but he would find a way, he was a King now after all.
He turned and looked at his escort, 15 mounted knights, their horses donning the pale blue falcon banner upon their caparisons.
Too few He thought to himself, he supposed he could have taken his entire force he had brought west with him, a host of several thousand, but they would likely be discovered, the way back to the Vale would take them through most of the Riverlands, the Tully’s strength had been ground to pieces in their attacks west but there was always the risk they might be ambushed with nowhere to retreat.
His Marshal, Lord Qarl Corbray had suggested taking such a small force, stating that a force of under 20 men avoiding the main roads was unlikely to be discovered and would reach the Vale quicker than a larger host, and Ronnel had not spoken against it, as was his nature.
All these thoughts were running through his mind when the first shout of alarm came from his escort.
He turned and saw a small force of mounted men appear from a small forested thicket, their sigils bearing a green willow tree on white, a banner he had seen at the battle of Peckledon….on the opposite side.
The captain of his escort shouted a brusque command for his men to form a circle around the King.
It's just a few scouts Ronnel thought confidently, his escort was more than capable of dealing with the small ragtag band of rivermen scouts ahead of him.
No sooner than Ronnel had drawn his sword, however, a band of two dozen footmen appeared from behind two large rock formations on the bank of the river, charging alongside the calvary from the forest with a war cry
He saw one of his knights take an ax in the helmet from a Riverman rider, delivering a loud clanging noise, but his man managed to block the next strike and thrust his sword into the man's belly, blood dripping from his face.
Another one of his knights took an arrow in his plate armor chestplate, the arrow did not puncture the heavy plate, but the impact startled the man so much he kicked his horse which reared and sent him flying to the ground, his leg trapped in the stirrups, sending the man thudding along the grass after his horse.
An axeman with a shield tried to grab his reins but Ronnel shot out a plated elbow at the man's face, knocking him away.
‘’Flee your Grace….we shall hold them.’’ One of his men cried out but Ronnel paid him no need and returned to the fray,
A King does not run He thought to himself.
Suddenly, another rider was upon him, unlike the other mounted rivermen he seemed to be a knight, dressed in blackchainmail and wearing a surcoat of the green willow, a mail coif adorned his face.
The enemy knight brought down his sword towards Ronnel in a slow yet powerful arc, but the King of the Vale managed to get up his metal shield and block it, sending flecks of pale blue paint everywhere.
The enemy launched another strike but Ronnel was ready this time and bashed his shield forward, surprising the man and giving him time to hack at one of the the man's leg, his heavy ornamental sword cutting through the ringmail and causing his enemy to withdraw his horse with a curse, an arrow whistled towards him, striking his shield as he looked for his next opponent.
He saw one of his knights stick a lance through an enemy pikeman's face, attempting to cut his way free of the ambush but just as it looked as if he might have opened a path of escape, the knight in black ringmail Ronnel had wounded moments before was on him, hacking the man in the leg, before another slash to the chest knocked him from his horse wounded.
Ronnels escort was thining by now, the enemy forming a circle around the survivors, while archers were forming a line to make good on this advantage.
It's over He thought to himself, he had a duty to his men to preserve their lives.
‘’Stop!’’ He cried out, as loud as he could.
He turned to the man in black ringmail ‘’I will yield to you Ser…..but on one condition….it's me you're after, the King of the Vale, allow my men safe passage back west….you have no need of them.’’
The enemy knight grimaced in pain, holding his wounded leg in one hand ‘’Normally I wouldn't give a rats ass about a defeated foes conditions…..but youre a better sword than most high lordlings, and a good deal braver….aye, your men can leave…but you…..you'll rot in the darkest dungeon in Riverrun for the rest of the fucking war.’’
Ronnel cursed himself for a fool the entire ride to Riverrun.
No crown is worth this much trouble He thought to himself as the red sandstone walls of Riverrun came into view.
- 5
- 1
War is lots of blood and confusion that comes from a moment of calm. Does the capture of Ronnel change the picture? Thank you
- 1
Well, the capture of Ronnel is something.
I agree with the logic of the villagers. Also, this is ASOIAF - do you expect chivalry to be honored that much?
I agree with the logic of the villagers. Also, this is ASOIAF - do you expect chivalry to be honored that much?
- 1
There will be small periods of peace for many of the characters involved, but the war will never be far from their mind. In terms of Ronnels captur, from a purely gameplay point of view it wont change much but there will be some things in the story it can help explain.
One of the things I wanted to echo was the seemingly brutal to the extreme nature of wars in the asoiaf world, unfortunetely, it wont just be the rebels commiting atrocities.
- 1
Chapter 29: A Bleeding Stag (Orys Baratheon, Vaemond, Theo Tyrell)
1st Moon, 8025
Outskirts of Mulbarton, Cornfield, Southern Westerlands
A man never feels so alive as when he is marching to a fight Orys Baratheon thought to himself as he spurred his horse across the flatlands of the Southern Westerlands, his small warband close behind.
It had been too long since Orys had a good fight, in his youth he had been a great warrior, slaying the Storm King Argilac in single combat during his half-brother Aegon's conquest. However, his appointment as Hand of the King following the conquest meant that during wartime, he was oft needed to remain in the capitol to govern and rule. He had seen some minor action during the pacification of Bloodstone in the Stepstones, but even then he had missed out on the fighting, his role during the war limited to starving the pirate defenders of the aforementioned fortress into submission.
The outbreak of the war that was becoming known as the Lion's rebellion had given him ample opportunity to participate in skirmishes however and he found that the years of limited combat had not dulled his affinity for fighting, though the loss of his eye some years prior and his growing age affected him more than he would have cared to admit.
He often rode ahead with his outriders, personal retainers and scouts in search of enemy warbands, often several days ahead of his main host. Today was one of those days, his outriders had given him word that a small party of Swyft men from Cornfield had been seen in the area, a party which included several highborn knights, led by Ser Daven Swyft, brother of Jon Swyft, who was Lord of Cornfield and Marshal of the Westerlands.
Orys immediately put together a force to ride ahead and deal with the small force, it was better to deal with them now then wait for them to join a larger force. The Dornish were marching up the Princes Pass with a host of over ten thousand to join up with Orys’s Stormlanders and the Ironborn, his nephew Vaemond would also arrive in the southern Westerlands in time, the outcome of this war would be decided on the southern flatlands, and Orys was prepared to gain every advantage he could before those decisive battles, even advantages as small as removing a few knights.
‘’They may have fled into the village of Mulbarton….we should be prepared to burn them out.’’ proclaimed Jon Penrose, Lord of Parchments, a formidable warrior, and one of Orys’s most trusted Stormlords.
‘’Let its burning serve as a lesson to other villages….show them the price of harboring traitors.’’ Agreed Ser Jorys Vunatis.
The young Lyseni knight was one of the more interesting of the retainers that rode with Orys. When Orys had captured Bloodstone some years prior, he had captured many members of the Vunatis pirate family. Most of these he had ransomed back, but young Jorys, then a boy, was a distant cousin and his kin had not bothered to ransom him.
So Orys had taken the boy to serve as his page in King's Landing, serving drinks, running messages and the like, the young Lyseni boy had proved so hard working Orys had made him a squire, and in turn a knight, serving in Orys’s household guard in the capitol.
‘’We ride west to fight rebels…I won't have it said I preyed on the weak and innocent villagers of Mulbarton.’’ Orys said, earning a frown from Lord Penrose.
They rode for another hour until suddenly, a warband of about their size appeared on the plains in front of them, mounted and armored, bearing a standard of a blue rooster on a yellow field.
A few riders rode forth to meet them, riding under the banner of house Swyft, a scarred and portly knight with a brown beard led them. Orys nodded to Lord Penrose and Ser Jorys and they spurred their horses to the plains in between the two forces.
‘’If we would come to blows I would know your name Ser.’’ Orys said politely, enemy or not the man was a knight and was afforded certain courtesies.
‘’Ser Daven Swyft, brother of Jon, Marshal of the Kingdom of the Rock and Lord of Cornfield….and we shall most certainly come to blows.’’ The man said.
‘’Unless of course you turn around and ride the way you came….we shall allow you to retreat unmolested…..if you are foolish enough to give us battle however none of you shall be spared.’’ A young knight next to Ser Daven said.
‘’And who is your companion who speaks so boldly?’’ Orys asked curtly.
‘’Ser Simon Boldrooster….my cousin and son of my grandfather's natural born son….he speaks true…..run back to Storm's End with your tail behind your legs……else you shall learn what happens to stags that leave the woods.’’ Ser Daven said hotly.
Lord Penrose’s face went red and his hand dropped to the longsword at his hip, but Orys raised a hand to calm him.
‘’Mayhaps you will learn a similar lesson as to what happens to overbold chickens….make your preparations Sers.’’ Orys said, wheeling around his horse and riding back to his men without a second glance behind him.
‘’Prepare the men for a charge.’’ He commanded Lord Penrose who nodded.
‘’Glady Orys.’’ He responded.
Orys had forsaken all ornamental armorment since the antlers on his stag's helmet had taken his eye at the Tourney of Kings Landing, and instead wore a plain woolen doublet with a heavy and plain well worn mail over it. His helm was a simple greathelm with ample dints and dents, while his shield was splintered and bore evidence of heavy use…despite his hard working nature, Orys was not a man that devoted much care to his equipment. He wore a faded yellow cloak upon his shoulders. The only possession that distinguished himself as a great lord was a longsword with a black diamond in the pommel and two winding weirwood antlers in the crossguard, the sword of Storm King Argilac Durrandon, whom he had slain in single combat during the conquest.
‘’LETS KILL THE WHORESONS.’’ Lord Penrose shouted to the some fifty mounted men in their small warband, who shouted a raucous cheer and thundered towards the host of house Swyft, who were similarly numbered and mounted.
‘’WEDGE!.’’ Orys commanded, taking the lead position in the triangular charging formation, Ser Jorys and Lord Penrose immediately behind them.
They came together in a crash of horse and shield upon the grassy flatlands, Orys prepared his longsword to strike at a lancer, but before he could deliver a blow one of the men behind him stuck a spear in the horse's eye, sending the man tumbling to the ground, leaving Orys’s strike to cut harmlessly through the air.
Cursing, he wheeled his horse around to regroup.
Behind him Jorys was parrying a mounted axemen's attacks, turning away two of the man's attacks before opening him from neck to navel in a savage downwards hack.
Jon Penrose was faring equally well, and Orys saw the Lord of Parchments stick a lance through Daven Swyfts neck, sending a spray of blood throughout the melee.
A knight in heavy plate armor with a longsword riding at Orys was enough to remind him he was more than a spectator to the battle.
Orys urged his destrier forward, avoiding the knights strike.
The knight tried another slash at his stomach, but Orys, once again spurred his horse forward, raising his shield in the air, crashing into the man, though both managed to keep their balance and the melee quickly turned into a close quarters brawl.
Orys slashed his sword down at the mans legs, his blade cutting into the plate armor but failing to draw blood, he quickly slashed upwards, hoping to surprise the man but the knight managed to push his shield in front of his neck at the last moment though the force of the blow cut the leather straps and caused it to clatter to the ground.
The Lord of Storm's End kept up the attack, using his larger frame to force the man into the defensive and block a flurry of savage attacks.
The knight desperately tried to regain the offensive and to his credit it was a fine strike, his longsword traveling in a lightning fast arc all the way from behind his shoulder towards Orys own shoulder, a cut that would have cleaved Orys from shoulder to torso, but the Lord of Storm's End brought his own longsword in a ferocious hack towards the coming sword in a deafening clash, and his strength won out, pushing the blade back as his own sword caught the Cornfield knight right between the eyes with a meaty thunk, ending the duel.
Ours is the Fury Orys thought to himself, breathing heavily.
The exhaustion slowly came upon him then, but he did not have much time to rest as the young knight that had been named Ser Simon Boldrooster caught sight of him and thundered towards him at a breakneck gallop, a look of determination in his eyes.
Orys caught the first strike on his shield, as well as the second, thrusting his sword forward in a counterattack but Boldrooster was quick and pulled his horse to the side, out of range of the strike.
They exchanged strikes once more, Ser Simon blocking one with his shield, while Orys turned away one with his longsword, and the deadly dance continued.
Ignoring his aching muscles Orys forced himself to launch several hacking strikes at the man, but the young Westerlander was quick, and made good use of his shield, before a darting thrust forced Orys to abandon his own shield, which looked more like a tree stump than a kite shield at this point.
Orys sensed the situation was growing dire, he was already fatigued from his previous fight and his one good eye was fast becoming filled with sweat.
Down to just his longsword he turned away two strikes and attacked, hitting the young knight in the leg, leaving a long slash mark in the plate but otherwise doing nothing, while his followup attack sent flakes of plate from the mens gorget on his neck.
I have him Orys thought to himself, feeling the momentum change.
The Boldrooster sensed it too and wildly thrust his sword forward in a last ditch attempt to stop the ferocious attack. As fate would have it the strike would pass by Orys’s blind eye and the Lord of Storm's End would not see it until it was too late, his own sword raised high, prepared to deal a killing blow.
The Westerlanders sword took him in his good eye through the slit in his greathelm. Orys bellowed a roar of pain as his sight filled first with bright red crimson then nothing.
He tumbled from his horse onto the hard ground with a thud. He raised his arms into the darkness, but he never saw the Boldrooster dismount and thrust downwards his sword into his neck, sending his mind to darkness as well as his eyes.
Orys’s forces would send the Westerlanders into a full retreat, but their celebration was short lived as they would discover the body of Orys Baratheon on the grassy plains of Cornfield, the man who had served as hand of the King for near 3 decades and the most trusted companion of the late King Aegon was dead.
Four Weeks Later
Courtyard of Storms End
Vaemond stood in the courtyard of the ancient fortress of Storms End, which true to its name had just experienced a downpour before the proceedings of the day, and the air was heavy with the smell of both the sea and the fallen rain, though the emerging sun was already making the downpour a distant memory.
The bodies of his aunt and uncle, Orys and Rhaenys, were placed upon two resplendent pyres, laying on beds of thick cloth, his aunt laying on black velvet with red stitching, his uncle on bright yellow and black.
He had been just days removed from securing the capitulation of the port city of Duskendale when he had received the grim news that his uncle had been killed in a skirmish in the southern Westerlands, and his body was being brought back to Storm's End.
With Duskendale dealt with and the majority of the Darklyns levies scattered, Vaemond had ordered all the lords of the northern crownlands to raise their levies and join their forces to the small force he had led at the beginning of the war, it was time for the King to ride west.
Gathering the levies and establishing battle order would take time however, giving Vaemond time to attend his aunt and uncle's funeral. He had stopped for two days in King's Landing, spending them peacefully with Nyel and little Laena before he once again continued on by ship to the capital of the Stormlands.
Vaemond had been preparing to mourn just his uncle and longtime hand, but hours before he was to set sail another raven had brought more grim news. His aunt Rhaenys had died of the cancer that had afflicted her for the past few years. The word of her half-brother's death and the unenviable task of informing her ward, Orys’s youngest daughter Eglantine had sapped much of her strength, and she had taken to her sickbed, never to rise again, the last of the four great leaders of the Targaryen conquest, to make matters worse, her dragon Meraxes had fled the castle in a grief filled rage, burning a stableboy and two horses before flying across the Narrow Sea.
Nyel had of course wanted to come, but Vaemond reminded her that there should always be a Targaryen in the capitol, and he knew all too well the dangers of traveling by sea, Matarys was still in the Riverlands on his way back from Fair Isle,a dangerous task since the Tullys had all but been removed from the war, if something were to happen to not only him and his younger brother, Nyel and princess Laena would be all that was left of their dynasty, and he would not risk them at sea.
He gave a look towards young Boros Baratheon, the new Lord of Storm's End, and his own cousin. He had the dark black hair of his father, and all of his strength. He was only sixteen but even before his arrival Vaemond had heard he was growing into quite the warrior, favoring a large warhammer with great skill.
In truth, the boy had very nearly not been here. Vaemond had never had much interaction with his younger cousin, and much of that was due to the fact Boros had been fostered at Casterly Rock by Loren Lannister as a ward since his early boyhood. No doubt when planning the rebellion Loren Lannister had counted on his holding of the young man to stay Orys from raising his banners in support of his King, but young Boros had staged a daring escape in the middle of the night when word of the war came, but not before slaying two of Lannisters guards.
Vaemond was shaken from his thinking by the young Septon of the castle, who had approached him uncertainly, a nervous expression on his face.
‘’Speak your mind.’’ Vaemond said, sensing the man had something to say.
‘’A thousand pardons your Grace…it's…well…your Aunt of course should be burned according to your family's customs…but Orys Baratheon was lord of Storm's End….he became a Baratheon when he took his wife's name…perhaps his place is in the crypts with the Storm Lords of old.’’ The young septon said cautiously.
Vaemond was silent at that for a moment, studying the young septons face, in truth he was older than the King, but still was a part of a younger generation, who were quickly forgetting the truth about his uncle if this septon was any indicator.
‘’Orys Baratheon is my uncle……the brother of my father King Aegon….he was no mere general during my fathers conquest, but instead his kin.’’ Vaemond said.
The septon looked shocked at that ‘’Your….uncle?’’
Vaemond nodded ‘’He was the natural born son of my Grandfather Aerion……he may not have my name, but he has the blood of my family in his veins….he is the blood of the Dragon and he shall have a pyre as befits his heritage, so that he may join his ancestors.’’
The septon quickly bowed at that and scuttled off.
The ceremony went quick after that, as his aunt's closest kin he bore the torch to her own pyre, while his cousin Boros attended to his father.
He approached his aunt, who even in death looked graceful and serene, memories of his aunt singing them songs and telling them tales as children coursed through his mind. His aunt had no children of her own, but he knew he owed her a debt all the same, not only for her kindness in his youth but also for the fact that his own dragon Moondancer, currently in King's Landing, had been hatched by her own dragon Meraxes, though of course it had originally been intended to be his younger brother Matarys dragon.
Your line shall continue…..the dragons of our descendents will be your children He thought, before placing the torch onto the black velvet, the fire immediately spreading throughout the Pyre, while his cousin set Orys’s pyre alight.
Vaemond stepped back and joined Orys’s family to watch them burn. Orys’s wife Argella, her arms placed on the shoulders of her two daughters, had grown heavy in her twilight years, but nevertheless was still a handsome and sturdy woman.
He watched the flames dance, and for a moment he thought he could see dragons in the flames, flying among the embers.
Twenty five years prior four young warriors from Dragonstone had set out on the greatest conquest in the known world, and twenty five years later they were united once more.
I'll count myself lucky if I never have to watch anymore of my kin burn Vaemond thought to himself, the past years had been hard, first his son Aelyx and his mother, and now his aunt and uncle. It was not lost on him that the future of his family now depended solely on him and his actions, a future that was becoming more threatened with each passing day and defeat.
After his aunt and uncle's souls had been seen off, he sought out his cousin. He was encouraged by the tale of his escape from Casterly Rock, but still his cousin's upbringing with the Lannisters was worrying.
‘’Cousin Boros.’’ Vaemond said.
Boros nodded greetings at that, Vaemond was a large man but even at 16, Boros was of a height with him.
‘’My condolences about your father….he was a great warrior and a greater man….even as a child I knew of his prowess, to serve as hand of the King for nearly three decades is a testament to his ability.’’ Vaemond said.
Boros shrugged rather indifferently ‘’You knew him better than I did, living at the capitol, his duties often kept him from making the trip to Casterly Rock….he was a great warrior….that much is true at least.’’
Vaemond had never been one to beat around the bush, and he sensed that his cousin would not be won over by kind words and eulogies ‘’Cousin…..I must know your intentions in this war…..your connection to Casterly Rock is notable….you will forgive me if I am concerned.’’
Boros was silent for a moment before he shook his head ‘’Trust me cousin if I meant to side with the Lannisters I would have you in chains and on your way to the dungeons of Casterly Rock the moment you set foot in Storms End…..but here we are, speaking.’’
‘’So you will raise your banners to my cause?’’ Vaemond asked.
Boros nodded ‘’You have my men, and my hammer, I never loved my father in truth, but I will find the man that slew him and bury my hammer in my skull…..as honor demands.’’
Vaemond nodded, relieved.
Any happiness of his cousin's commitment soon was washed away with more negative tidings however. He spent much of the afternoon speaking with the Storm Lords in attendance at the funeral and they all sang the same song, veiled in courteous or blunt and honest, their message was the same.
They had been willing to send their entire levies with Orys, who was an experienced battle commander, but they were much less willing to devote men to Boros, an untested boy of 16. When Vaemond had pointed out that he could lead them into battle, he was reminded rather sharply by Lord Peasebury that it was the duty of the Lord of Storm's End to lead Stormlanders into battle, not foreigners.
Orys had brought over 25,000 swords and spears to Vaemonds cause, however Vaemond had helplessly watched that number dwindle down to about 8000 at days end, as most of the Lords were calling back most of their levies, unwilling to devote men to a sixteen year old boy in a war that was fast becoming uncertain.
Following the last of these conversations, where Lord Willem Tarth had politely stated that while he would honor his obligations to Storm's End, but no more than what was necessary, Vaemond was left alone in the courtyard.
The sun was gone as quickly as it came, and the gray skies sent a constant drizzle down to the courtyard, but Vaemond paid it little mind, making his way to the walls, leaning over them and looking at the stormy seas over a hundred feet below.
The Tullys had been all but neutralized in the war, over two thirds of the Stormlanders were abandoning him, the Ironborn had been with his uncle in the west, but Vickon Greyjoy had never been one for cooperation and they could be anywhere by now, the Dornish were still marching up the prince's pass, and the North watched the war with great interest, like a hunting wolf looking for any sign of weakness, and any day could be the day a raven arrived with tidings that 40,000 northmen were marching south to join the rebels.
I am losing this war Vaemond thought to himself, the gray skies matching his mood.
He had hoped that taking Duskendale would send a message to the rebel and neutral lords of Westeros, swaying them to his cause, but all reports suggested that more attention was being payed to the fact that after over a year of war, none of the Westerlander fortresses had been taken, his caputing of Duskendale barely being acknowledged.
I march west with the men I have…..even without the greater part of the Stormlanders He thought to himself grimly as the rain fell upon the walls of Storms End.
Five Days Later
Highgarden
Theo Tyrell sat in his throne, a frown on his face as he read the missive that had arrived by raven that morning once again.
‘’This is true?’’He asked Highgardens aged Maester Garmon.
Garmon nodded ‘’It was sent by Maester Monfryd of Storm's End, in his own writing…..may the warrior give him rest.’’
Theo nodded and read the scroll once again, the message was short but nonetheless grim, Orys Baratheon had been killed in a skirmish in Cornfield, in the southern Westerlands and had been laid to rest in Storms End.
Cornfield was on the border of the reach, and Theo Tyrell had of course heard rumors of Orys’s demise, but he assumed they were false, he had been raised in the capitol by the late King Aegon and Orys Baratheon was never far, and Theo had admired the man for his ability, both as a warrior and an administrator, Orys would often accompany the King and give him instruction during Theos training days in the courtyard.
He found himself thinking of Corlys Velaryon, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and the hero of his youth, who had knighted Theo in the north after the fight against the Eastmelt bandits. His old mentor was on the losing side now and knowing him he would die in defense of his King and the capitol, and if recent reports were to be believed the Lannisters were preparing for a thrust east towards Kings Landing, against the Targaryen royal family.
In truth he had not known Vaemond very well, he had returned to Highgarden shortly after the boy's birth, but he did remember Nyel, always sweet and polite, even as a little girl.
The thought of all their heads adorning spikes was almost too much to bear and he quickly expelled the thought from his mind, yet the feeling inside of him did not abate.
I have sat idly by for too long He thought to himself.
He had of course wanted to strike his banners in defense of King Vaemond and the Targaryens at the war's onset, but his marriage to Rylenna Lannister was a complication, he was bound by blood to Loren Lannister, who was grandfather to Theos own son Amaury.
The memory of that day in Eastmelt came back to him, where Theo had slain his first man, he remembered the cold snow on his knees as he had knelt at Corly’s command, the feel of cold steel on his shoulder as the Lord Commander had knighted him, the cheer of the warriors when he had rose as Ser Theo Tyrell.
But most of all he remembered the words of the Lord Commander.
Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to obey your liege lord and king, to fight bravely when needed
I do
Then in the name of the warrior I charge you to be brave, Rise Ser Theo of the House Tyrell, Knight of the Reach.
He realized he had been silent for a good long while, a state he was oft to fall into. Maester Garmon had since bowed and began to withdraw from the hall.
‘’Maester Garmon.’’ He called out suddenly.
The man turned.
‘’Call the banners…..we ride to war.’’ He commanded.
‘’For whose cause?’’ The maester asked with surprise.
‘’The Targaryens.’’ Theo said curly.
‘’But my Lord….your marriage to Rylenna…you are bonded by blood to Loren Lannister…the gods frown on wars between those bound by blood.’’
‘’I was bound to the Targaryens long before Loren Lannister….when the histories write of this war they shall write that it was the Chivalry of the Reach that won this war…they shall write that the Tyrells remain loyal to the throne…that Lord Theo Tyrell, first of his name kept his vows…now do as I ask.’’ Theo commanded.
The maester bowed and withdrew.
The Knights of the Reach rode to war.
Outskirts of Mulbarton, Cornfield, Southern Westerlands
A man never feels so alive as when he is marching to a fight Orys Baratheon thought to himself as he spurred his horse across the flatlands of the Southern Westerlands, his small warband close behind.
It had been too long since Orys had a good fight, in his youth he had been a great warrior, slaying the Storm King Argilac in single combat during his half-brother Aegon's conquest. However, his appointment as Hand of the King following the conquest meant that during wartime, he was oft needed to remain in the capitol to govern and rule. He had seen some minor action during the pacification of Bloodstone in the Stepstones, but even then he had missed out on the fighting, his role during the war limited to starving the pirate defenders of the aforementioned fortress into submission.
The outbreak of the war that was becoming known as the Lion's rebellion had given him ample opportunity to participate in skirmishes however and he found that the years of limited combat had not dulled his affinity for fighting, though the loss of his eye some years prior and his growing age affected him more than he would have cared to admit.
He often rode ahead with his outriders, personal retainers and scouts in search of enemy warbands, often several days ahead of his main host. Today was one of those days, his outriders had given him word that a small party of Swyft men from Cornfield had been seen in the area, a party which included several highborn knights, led by Ser Daven Swyft, brother of Jon Swyft, who was Lord of Cornfield and Marshal of the Westerlands.
Orys immediately put together a force to ride ahead and deal with the small force, it was better to deal with them now then wait for them to join a larger force. The Dornish were marching up the Princes Pass with a host of over ten thousand to join up with Orys’s Stormlanders and the Ironborn, his nephew Vaemond would also arrive in the southern Westerlands in time, the outcome of this war would be decided on the southern flatlands, and Orys was prepared to gain every advantage he could before those decisive battles, even advantages as small as removing a few knights.
‘’They may have fled into the village of Mulbarton….we should be prepared to burn them out.’’ proclaimed Jon Penrose, Lord of Parchments, a formidable warrior, and one of Orys’s most trusted Stormlords.
‘’Let its burning serve as a lesson to other villages….show them the price of harboring traitors.’’ Agreed Ser Jorys Vunatis.
The young Lyseni knight was one of the more interesting of the retainers that rode with Orys. When Orys had captured Bloodstone some years prior, he had captured many members of the Vunatis pirate family. Most of these he had ransomed back, but young Jorys, then a boy, was a distant cousin and his kin had not bothered to ransom him.
So Orys had taken the boy to serve as his page in King's Landing, serving drinks, running messages and the like, the young Lyseni boy had proved so hard working Orys had made him a squire, and in turn a knight, serving in Orys’s household guard in the capitol.
‘’We ride west to fight rebels…I won't have it said I preyed on the weak and innocent villagers of Mulbarton.’’ Orys said, earning a frown from Lord Penrose.
They rode for another hour until suddenly, a warband of about their size appeared on the plains in front of them, mounted and armored, bearing a standard of a blue rooster on a yellow field.
A few riders rode forth to meet them, riding under the banner of house Swyft, a scarred and portly knight with a brown beard led them. Orys nodded to Lord Penrose and Ser Jorys and they spurred their horses to the plains in between the two forces.
‘’If we would come to blows I would know your name Ser.’’ Orys said politely, enemy or not the man was a knight and was afforded certain courtesies.
‘’Ser Daven Swyft, brother of Jon, Marshal of the Kingdom of the Rock and Lord of Cornfield….and we shall most certainly come to blows.’’ The man said.
‘’Unless of course you turn around and ride the way you came….we shall allow you to retreat unmolested…..if you are foolish enough to give us battle however none of you shall be spared.’’ A young knight next to Ser Daven said.
‘’And who is your companion who speaks so boldly?’’ Orys asked curtly.
‘’Ser Simon Boldrooster….my cousin and son of my grandfather's natural born son….he speaks true…..run back to Storm's End with your tail behind your legs……else you shall learn what happens to stags that leave the woods.’’ Ser Daven said hotly.
Lord Penrose’s face went red and his hand dropped to the longsword at his hip, but Orys raised a hand to calm him.
‘’Mayhaps you will learn a similar lesson as to what happens to overbold chickens….make your preparations Sers.’’ Orys said, wheeling around his horse and riding back to his men without a second glance behind him.
‘’Prepare the men for a charge.’’ He commanded Lord Penrose who nodded.
‘’Glady Orys.’’ He responded.
Orys had forsaken all ornamental armorment since the antlers on his stag's helmet had taken his eye at the Tourney of Kings Landing, and instead wore a plain woolen doublet with a heavy and plain well worn mail over it. His helm was a simple greathelm with ample dints and dents, while his shield was splintered and bore evidence of heavy use…despite his hard working nature, Orys was not a man that devoted much care to his equipment. He wore a faded yellow cloak upon his shoulders. The only possession that distinguished himself as a great lord was a longsword with a black diamond in the pommel and two winding weirwood antlers in the crossguard, the sword of Storm King Argilac Durrandon, whom he had slain in single combat during the conquest.
‘’LETS KILL THE WHORESONS.’’ Lord Penrose shouted to the some fifty mounted men in their small warband, who shouted a raucous cheer and thundered towards the host of house Swyft, who were similarly numbered and mounted.
‘’WEDGE!.’’ Orys commanded, taking the lead position in the triangular charging formation, Ser Jorys and Lord Penrose immediately behind them.
They came together in a crash of horse and shield upon the grassy flatlands, Orys prepared his longsword to strike at a lancer, but before he could deliver a blow one of the men behind him stuck a spear in the horse's eye, sending the man tumbling to the ground, leaving Orys’s strike to cut harmlessly through the air.
Cursing, he wheeled his horse around to regroup.
Behind him Jorys was parrying a mounted axemen's attacks, turning away two of the man's attacks before opening him from neck to navel in a savage downwards hack.
Jon Penrose was faring equally well, and Orys saw the Lord of Parchments stick a lance through Daven Swyfts neck, sending a spray of blood throughout the melee.
A knight in heavy plate armor with a longsword riding at Orys was enough to remind him he was more than a spectator to the battle.
Orys urged his destrier forward, avoiding the knights strike.
The knight tried another slash at his stomach, but Orys, once again spurred his horse forward, raising his shield in the air, crashing into the man, though both managed to keep their balance and the melee quickly turned into a close quarters brawl.
Orys slashed his sword down at the mans legs, his blade cutting into the plate armor but failing to draw blood, he quickly slashed upwards, hoping to surprise the man but the knight managed to push his shield in front of his neck at the last moment though the force of the blow cut the leather straps and caused it to clatter to the ground.
The Lord of Storm's End kept up the attack, using his larger frame to force the man into the defensive and block a flurry of savage attacks.
The knight desperately tried to regain the offensive and to his credit it was a fine strike, his longsword traveling in a lightning fast arc all the way from behind his shoulder towards Orys own shoulder, a cut that would have cleaved Orys from shoulder to torso, but the Lord of Storm's End brought his own longsword in a ferocious hack towards the coming sword in a deafening clash, and his strength won out, pushing the blade back as his own sword caught the Cornfield knight right between the eyes with a meaty thunk, ending the duel.
Ours is the Fury Orys thought to himself, breathing heavily.
The exhaustion slowly came upon him then, but he did not have much time to rest as the young knight that had been named Ser Simon Boldrooster caught sight of him and thundered towards him at a breakneck gallop, a look of determination in his eyes.
Orys caught the first strike on his shield, as well as the second, thrusting his sword forward in a counterattack but Boldrooster was quick and pulled his horse to the side, out of range of the strike.
They exchanged strikes once more, Ser Simon blocking one with his shield, while Orys turned away one with his longsword, and the deadly dance continued.
Ignoring his aching muscles Orys forced himself to launch several hacking strikes at the man, but the young Westerlander was quick, and made good use of his shield, before a darting thrust forced Orys to abandon his own shield, which looked more like a tree stump than a kite shield at this point.
Orys sensed the situation was growing dire, he was already fatigued from his previous fight and his one good eye was fast becoming filled with sweat.
Down to just his longsword he turned away two strikes and attacked, hitting the young knight in the leg, leaving a long slash mark in the plate but otherwise doing nothing, while his followup attack sent flakes of plate from the mens gorget on his neck.
I have him Orys thought to himself, feeling the momentum change.
The Boldrooster sensed it too and wildly thrust his sword forward in a last ditch attempt to stop the ferocious attack. As fate would have it the strike would pass by Orys’s blind eye and the Lord of Storm's End would not see it until it was too late, his own sword raised high, prepared to deal a killing blow.
The Westerlanders sword took him in his good eye through the slit in his greathelm. Orys bellowed a roar of pain as his sight filled first with bright red crimson then nothing.
He tumbled from his horse onto the hard ground with a thud. He raised his arms into the darkness, but he never saw the Boldrooster dismount and thrust downwards his sword into his neck, sending his mind to darkness as well as his eyes.
Orys’s forces would send the Westerlanders into a full retreat, but their celebration was short lived as they would discover the body of Orys Baratheon on the grassy plains of Cornfield, the man who had served as hand of the King for near 3 decades and the most trusted companion of the late King Aegon was dead.
Four Weeks Later
Courtyard of Storms End
Vaemond stood in the courtyard of the ancient fortress of Storms End, which true to its name had just experienced a downpour before the proceedings of the day, and the air was heavy with the smell of both the sea and the fallen rain, though the emerging sun was already making the downpour a distant memory.
The bodies of his aunt and uncle, Orys and Rhaenys, were placed upon two resplendent pyres, laying on beds of thick cloth, his aunt laying on black velvet with red stitching, his uncle on bright yellow and black.
He had been just days removed from securing the capitulation of the port city of Duskendale when he had received the grim news that his uncle had been killed in a skirmish in the southern Westerlands, and his body was being brought back to Storm's End.
With Duskendale dealt with and the majority of the Darklyns levies scattered, Vaemond had ordered all the lords of the northern crownlands to raise their levies and join their forces to the small force he had led at the beginning of the war, it was time for the King to ride west.
Gathering the levies and establishing battle order would take time however, giving Vaemond time to attend his aunt and uncle's funeral. He had stopped for two days in King's Landing, spending them peacefully with Nyel and little Laena before he once again continued on by ship to the capital of the Stormlands.
Vaemond had been preparing to mourn just his uncle and longtime hand, but hours before he was to set sail another raven had brought more grim news. His aunt Rhaenys had died of the cancer that had afflicted her for the past few years. The word of her half-brother's death and the unenviable task of informing her ward, Orys’s youngest daughter Eglantine had sapped much of her strength, and she had taken to her sickbed, never to rise again, the last of the four great leaders of the Targaryen conquest, to make matters worse, her dragon Meraxes had fled the castle in a grief filled rage, burning a stableboy and two horses before flying across the Narrow Sea.
Nyel had of course wanted to come, but Vaemond reminded her that there should always be a Targaryen in the capitol, and he knew all too well the dangers of traveling by sea, Matarys was still in the Riverlands on his way back from Fair Isle,a dangerous task since the Tullys had all but been removed from the war, if something were to happen to not only him and his younger brother, Nyel and princess Laena would be all that was left of their dynasty, and he would not risk them at sea.
He gave a look towards young Boros Baratheon, the new Lord of Storm's End, and his own cousin. He had the dark black hair of his father, and all of his strength. He was only sixteen but even before his arrival Vaemond had heard he was growing into quite the warrior, favoring a large warhammer with great skill.
In truth, the boy had very nearly not been here. Vaemond had never had much interaction with his younger cousin, and much of that was due to the fact Boros had been fostered at Casterly Rock by Loren Lannister as a ward since his early boyhood. No doubt when planning the rebellion Loren Lannister had counted on his holding of the young man to stay Orys from raising his banners in support of his King, but young Boros had staged a daring escape in the middle of the night when word of the war came, but not before slaying two of Lannisters guards.
Vaemond was shaken from his thinking by the young Septon of the castle, who had approached him uncertainly, a nervous expression on his face.
‘’Speak your mind.’’ Vaemond said, sensing the man had something to say.
‘’A thousand pardons your Grace…it's…well…your Aunt of course should be burned according to your family's customs…but Orys Baratheon was lord of Storm's End….he became a Baratheon when he took his wife's name…perhaps his place is in the crypts with the Storm Lords of old.’’ The young septon said cautiously.
Vaemond was silent at that for a moment, studying the young septons face, in truth he was older than the King, but still was a part of a younger generation, who were quickly forgetting the truth about his uncle if this septon was any indicator.
‘’Orys Baratheon is my uncle……the brother of my father King Aegon….he was no mere general during my fathers conquest, but instead his kin.’’ Vaemond said.
The septon looked shocked at that ‘’Your….uncle?’’
Vaemond nodded ‘’He was the natural born son of my Grandfather Aerion……he may not have my name, but he has the blood of my family in his veins….he is the blood of the Dragon and he shall have a pyre as befits his heritage, so that he may join his ancestors.’’
The septon quickly bowed at that and scuttled off.
The ceremony went quick after that, as his aunt's closest kin he bore the torch to her own pyre, while his cousin Boros attended to his father.
He approached his aunt, who even in death looked graceful and serene, memories of his aunt singing them songs and telling them tales as children coursed through his mind. His aunt had no children of her own, but he knew he owed her a debt all the same, not only for her kindness in his youth but also for the fact that his own dragon Moondancer, currently in King's Landing, had been hatched by her own dragon Meraxes, though of course it had originally been intended to be his younger brother Matarys dragon.
Your line shall continue…..the dragons of our descendents will be your children He thought, before placing the torch onto the black velvet, the fire immediately spreading throughout the Pyre, while his cousin set Orys’s pyre alight.
Vaemond stepped back and joined Orys’s family to watch them burn. Orys’s wife Argella, her arms placed on the shoulders of her two daughters, had grown heavy in her twilight years, but nevertheless was still a handsome and sturdy woman.
He watched the flames dance, and for a moment he thought he could see dragons in the flames, flying among the embers.
Twenty five years prior four young warriors from Dragonstone had set out on the greatest conquest in the known world, and twenty five years later they were united once more.
I'll count myself lucky if I never have to watch anymore of my kin burn Vaemond thought to himself, the past years had been hard, first his son Aelyx and his mother, and now his aunt and uncle. It was not lost on him that the future of his family now depended solely on him and his actions, a future that was becoming more threatened with each passing day and defeat.
After his aunt and uncle's souls had been seen off, he sought out his cousin. He was encouraged by the tale of his escape from Casterly Rock, but still his cousin's upbringing with the Lannisters was worrying.
‘’Cousin Boros.’’ Vaemond said.
Boros nodded greetings at that, Vaemond was a large man but even at 16, Boros was of a height with him.
‘’My condolences about your father….he was a great warrior and a greater man….even as a child I knew of his prowess, to serve as hand of the King for nearly three decades is a testament to his ability.’’ Vaemond said.
Boros shrugged rather indifferently ‘’You knew him better than I did, living at the capitol, his duties often kept him from making the trip to Casterly Rock….he was a great warrior….that much is true at least.’’
Vaemond had never been one to beat around the bush, and he sensed that his cousin would not be won over by kind words and eulogies ‘’Cousin…..I must know your intentions in this war…..your connection to Casterly Rock is notable….you will forgive me if I am concerned.’’
Boros was silent for a moment before he shook his head ‘’Trust me cousin if I meant to side with the Lannisters I would have you in chains and on your way to the dungeons of Casterly Rock the moment you set foot in Storms End…..but here we are, speaking.’’
‘’So you will raise your banners to my cause?’’ Vaemond asked.
Boros nodded ‘’You have my men, and my hammer, I never loved my father in truth, but I will find the man that slew him and bury my hammer in my skull…..as honor demands.’’
Vaemond nodded, relieved.
Any happiness of his cousin's commitment soon was washed away with more negative tidings however. He spent much of the afternoon speaking with the Storm Lords in attendance at the funeral and they all sang the same song, veiled in courteous or blunt and honest, their message was the same.
They had been willing to send their entire levies with Orys, who was an experienced battle commander, but they were much less willing to devote men to Boros, an untested boy of 16. When Vaemond had pointed out that he could lead them into battle, he was reminded rather sharply by Lord Peasebury that it was the duty of the Lord of Storm's End to lead Stormlanders into battle, not foreigners.
Orys had brought over 25,000 swords and spears to Vaemonds cause, however Vaemond had helplessly watched that number dwindle down to about 8000 at days end, as most of the Lords were calling back most of their levies, unwilling to devote men to a sixteen year old boy in a war that was fast becoming uncertain.
Following the last of these conversations, where Lord Willem Tarth had politely stated that while he would honor his obligations to Storm's End, but no more than what was necessary, Vaemond was left alone in the courtyard.
The sun was gone as quickly as it came, and the gray skies sent a constant drizzle down to the courtyard, but Vaemond paid it little mind, making his way to the walls, leaning over them and looking at the stormy seas over a hundred feet below.
The Tullys had been all but neutralized in the war, over two thirds of the Stormlanders were abandoning him, the Ironborn had been with his uncle in the west, but Vickon Greyjoy had never been one for cooperation and they could be anywhere by now, the Dornish were still marching up the prince's pass, and the North watched the war with great interest, like a hunting wolf looking for any sign of weakness, and any day could be the day a raven arrived with tidings that 40,000 northmen were marching south to join the rebels.
I am losing this war Vaemond thought to himself, the gray skies matching his mood.
He had hoped that taking Duskendale would send a message to the rebel and neutral lords of Westeros, swaying them to his cause, but all reports suggested that more attention was being payed to the fact that after over a year of war, none of the Westerlander fortresses had been taken, his caputing of Duskendale barely being acknowledged.
I march west with the men I have…..even without the greater part of the Stormlanders He thought to himself grimly as the rain fell upon the walls of Storms End.
Five Days Later
Highgarden
Theo Tyrell sat in his throne, a frown on his face as he read the missive that had arrived by raven that morning once again.
‘’This is true?’’He asked Highgardens aged Maester Garmon.
Garmon nodded ‘’It was sent by Maester Monfryd of Storm's End, in his own writing…..may the warrior give him rest.’’
Theo nodded and read the scroll once again, the message was short but nonetheless grim, Orys Baratheon had been killed in a skirmish in Cornfield, in the southern Westerlands and had been laid to rest in Storms End.
Cornfield was on the border of the reach, and Theo Tyrell had of course heard rumors of Orys’s demise, but he assumed they were false, he had been raised in the capitol by the late King Aegon and Orys Baratheon was never far, and Theo had admired the man for his ability, both as a warrior and an administrator, Orys would often accompany the King and give him instruction during Theos training days in the courtyard.
He found himself thinking of Corlys Velaryon, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and the hero of his youth, who had knighted Theo in the north after the fight against the Eastmelt bandits. His old mentor was on the losing side now and knowing him he would die in defense of his King and the capitol, and if recent reports were to be believed the Lannisters were preparing for a thrust east towards Kings Landing, against the Targaryen royal family.
In truth he had not known Vaemond very well, he had returned to Highgarden shortly after the boy's birth, but he did remember Nyel, always sweet and polite, even as a little girl.
The thought of all their heads adorning spikes was almost too much to bear and he quickly expelled the thought from his mind, yet the feeling inside of him did not abate.
I have sat idly by for too long He thought to himself.
He had of course wanted to strike his banners in defense of King Vaemond and the Targaryens at the war's onset, but his marriage to Rylenna Lannister was a complication, he was bound by blood to Loren Lannister, who was grandfather to Theos own son Amaury.
The memory of that day in Eastmelt came back to him, where Theo had slain his first man, he remembered the cold snow on his knees as he had knelt at Corly’s command, the feel of cold steel on his shoulder as the Lord Commander had knighted him, the cheer of the warriors when he had rose as Ser Theo Tyrell.
But most of all he remembered the words of the Lord Commander.
Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to obey your liege lord and king, to fight bravely when needed
I do
Then in the name of the warrior I charge you to be brave, Rise Ser Theo of the House Tyrell, Knight of the Reach.
He realized he had been silent for a good long while, a state he was oft to fall into. Maester Garmon had since bowed and began to withdraw from the hall.
‘’Maester Garmon.’’ He called out suddenly.
The man turned.
‘’Call the banners…..we ride to war.’’ He commanded.
‘’For whose cause?’’ The maester asked with surprise.
‘’The Targaryens.’’ Theo said curly.
‘’But my Lord….your marriage to Rylenna…you are bonded by blood to Loren Lannister…the gods frown on wars between those bound by blood.’’
‘’I was bound to the Targaryens long before Loren Lannister….when the histories write of this war they shall write that it was the Chivalry of the Reach that won this war…they shall write that the Tyrells remain loyal to the throne…that Lord Theo Tyrell, first of his name kept his vows…now do as I ask.’’ Theo commanded.
The maester bowed and withdrew.
The Knights of the Reach rode to war.
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Two more chapters to go before I’m caught up again, but just some quick comments on the previous two, as the war was really getting going.
This seemed like a good victory at the time and against the odds, but compared to the battles that would follow it was more of a skirmish!
Ah, this is the short moment of hope before the main force of orcs appears to spring the trap.
Alas!
A terrible loss.
With more to follow. Clearly this is going to be a bloody and difficult affair. Credit to the Gods (AI) for making it a worthy challenge.
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Orys and Rhaenys are the end of an era. All died so young, did any of the four reach fifty-five? IIRC, in base game, Rhaenys's moniker 'the Beguiling' is bestowed upon on attractive pagan women. Is her religion considered pagan? Did Rhaenys die before Orys, he is pictured as her liege in her death screen? Hopefully, Vaemond can send one more family member to the promised land. I do not want Matarys to have to say good-bye to his brother and Matarys being released from his demons will not be a completely bad thing. War score minus 96 but over 70 in ticking, Vaemond needs to capture an enemy holding quickly. Thank you for the update.
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The death of Orys is tragic. Truly, the age of the Conquest is over.
And the Reach finally chooses a side! That's amazing news...
And the Reach finally chooses a side! That's amazing news...
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It will be extremely difficult, and it was not helped by a certain blunder/misunderstanding I made at one point in the war, and the Riverlanders strategy in this war would make for a good teaching textbook to the ai on what not to do during a war.
Only Visenya made it past that age, dying at the age of 56, while Rhaenys made it to 53, Orys 51, and Aegon only 43. In terms of Rhaenys's nickname I didnt pay it all that much attention(Nyel at some point in the AAR gains the nickname ''the feeble'' despite not having any ilness or ''weak traits''), but I dont think she stayed High Valyrian religon long enough to gain the nickname so likely at least in this mod any religon can get it, very good catch on your part though.
Rhaenys and Orys died just days after Orys did within the game, though even if she died later I likely still would have combined it for simplicities sake. Matarys and Vaemond are very close, as is the entire second generation of Targaryens (the 3rd will likely....not be so friendly torwards eachother). Matarys certainly has demons but theyre not necassarily bad for others as they are his reputation in a medieval society, though there may be a way for Matarys to lose his demons without death
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Very true, as the age of the initial conquest fades, the next generations will begin to carve their own stories, and Vaemond is now the undisputed leader of the Targaryen family, I was sad to lose them all so soon though, especially Visenya as I think it would have been cool to see her powerful Dragon in this war, though her dragon Vhagars story is not over and will have an heir worthy of the oldest Targaryen sibling.
It was certainly needed, I made a blunder where I thought the rapidly rising ''rebels control all holding'' would be reversed by my taking of Duskendale, but it turns out that can only be stopped by taking the ''main'' rebels (Lannisters) holdings, it was fortunate they joined as I was in the process of potentially brokering an alliance with the Hightowers and their 15k men as I was getting a little worried.
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Chapter 30: The Storming of Greenfield (Vaemond, Nyel)
15th of 5th Moon, 8025
Siege Camp outside of Castle Greenfield
Vaemond stood outside his tent, fully armored in black plate watching as the sun's morning rays spread over the surrounding grassy hills, shining with dew.
All around him the camp was stirring, cookfires were being prepared for breakfast, while other men were seeing to their arms and armor, which they would soon need for today would be a day of battle.
The momentum of the war had shifted nearly overnight with the entrance of the Knights of the Reach into the war. The Lannisters had gone from preparing a decisive campaign to strike east against Kings Landing to suddenly having to shift to the defensive.
Vaemond had been on his way from Storms End to meet up with his new host of some 10,000 Crownlanders when he had heard the news, Ser Harold Langward proclaiming that the rose of victory had finally bloomed, and Vaemond had to agree with him.
In addition to the Reach’s entrance into the war, the Dornish were finally clear of the Princes Pass, and were marching some 12,000 men towards Casterly Rock, while the Ironborn skulked about in the area as well, things were looking good for the Targaryens.
Vaemond still needed a victory however. The Tyrells were planning to raise 3 hosts, one to assist the Dornish in sieging Casterly Rock, another of some 13,000 men was already on its way to assist Vaemond in the southern Westerlands, while the final host, which Theo Tyrell had promised would exceed twenty thousand men, was being raised in Highgarden.
It would take time for these hosts to be raised however, and Vaemond still needed a victory, the war had raged on for a good while and Loren Lannister still held every holding of his self proclaimed Kingdom of the Rock, something Vaemond was determined to change.
His Uncle Orys had the right of it before he was killed in a skirmish in the area. The best way into the Westerlands was from the relatively flat southern grasslands and hills. The Tullys had been foolish to attack through the mountainous west, but Vaemond liked his chances much better, in large part due to the fact the Lannisters would likely not oppose him as they would risk being caught in between the Dornish and the approaching Reach hosts, the area was ripe for the taking.
There had been many options on where to launch the first strike against the Westerlands among them Payne Hall, Peckledon, Riverspring or Cornfield, the seat of the Lorens foremost general. Vaemond eventually settled on the small castle of Greenfield. Even in the context of an ongoing war, Lorens' vassals still feuded with each other, and the Greenfields were embroiled in a conflict with the Swyfts of Cornfield, their liege lords, taking most of their men and leaving the castle lightly garrisoned.
The King would have normally preferred to siege the castle into submission, but he knew he needed a victory and he needed it soon to show that the Lannisters were well and truly on the back foot and losing their lands, even with the Reaches entrance into the war, the North could match their manpower with some 40,000 men, Vaemond needed the victory soon and had resolved to assault the castle.
Even with the large part of the Greenfield levies being gone, the castle had word of their approach and had managed to garrison some 700 men inside the castle walls, many of them would be peasants, but there would be a sizeable number of hardened household guards and men-at-arms on the walls as well.
Corlys Velaryon joined him, fully armored in white enameled plate and a snowy white cloak, in stark contrast to Vaemonds midnight black plate armor, studded with rubies, behind him came Ser Harold Langward, whos brown hair was streaked with white, and Ser Roland Crakehall, holding his fearsome longax.
‘’It's time for Corlys.’’ Vaemond said curtly. He had decided on a morning assault the time when much of the garrison would be groggy from sleep and breaking their fast. He hoped the scene of the majority of his own army sitting at cook fires would further lull his opponents into a false sense of security.
He would not be attacking with all of his 10,000 men, but rather 2000 of his best warriors, chiefly knights and men-at-arms, many of them veterans of Edgerton and the Whispers. He had his men construct wooden scaling ladders from behind the privacy of the surrounding hills to further obscure his plans.
Corlys nodded, they had the 2000 man assault party spread out throughout the camp rather than gathered together to mask their intention so the garrison would not see all of them armed and armored at the same place.
‘’When I give the order…..there's no going back, when they see us bringing the ladders from behind the hills they will see our intentions, groggy or not….we have one chance to catch them by surprise.’’ Corlys cautioned.
Vaemond nodded and pulled on his black greathelm ‘’Give the order.’’
Corlys waved his hand around his head, and a man on one of the timber watchtowers gave three loud blasts with his trumpet.
They moved fast, the scaling party holding the wooden ladders appeared from behind the nearby hills. They were unseen as they moved through the bustle of the camp, but immediately after they left the siege camp towards the walls the defenders of Greenfield shouted alarms and sounded their own horns, Vaemond and his three Kingsguard joined the warriors from the camp, charging forth and massing together to assault the walls.
They faced heavy fire as they charged towards the stone walls of Greenfield, quarrels and arrows filling the air and dropping many of the men holding the ladders, but whenever any fell, another took their place.
Vaemond was reminded of his sister's dream and pushed it from his mind, when in the midst of battle, any doubts or fears could mean one's death.
They attacked from 2 directions, the center of the castle to the sides of the gatehouse and the left wall, Vaemond and his kingsguard would join the assault on the front gatehouse wall, where the fighting would be thickest, such was the place a King's leadership was needed most.
Stepping over corpses and wounded men alike, Vaemond at last made it to the castle walls, where his men had laid the scaling ladders and were climbing onto the ramparts, where a melee was already underway. In opposition to the fierce volleys they had faced approaching the castle, they faced little resistance climbing the walls, with only the occasional stone and no boiling oil being dropped on them, Vaemond guessed they had well and truly taken the defenders by surprise before they could prepare a determined defense.
The King was first among his Kingsguard scaling the ladder, with Corlys and Ser Harold close behind him, Ser Roland Crakehall brought up the rear as if the big man fell he would likely take them all down with him.
They found the melee already underway on the battlements when they pulled themselves up and wasted no time in joining the fray.
A defender in a padded cloth gambeson with an ax and shield stood in their way, but Ser Harold, who had taken the forefront position bowled him over with a charging shield bash, and they continued on to the gatehouse.
A halbadier in plate armor in front of the King in the front row, one of Vaemonds men fell to the floor wounded, his arm a mess of blood and bone, Vaemond took his place in the front, Ser Harold and Ser Corlys at his side while Ser Roland watched their rear.
A peasant with a longbow who had became caught in the melee nocked an arrow, jostled from all sides but nevertheless he managed to get up the bow and aim it at the front rank but Ser Harold Langward took him in the side of the head with a ferocious hack of his sword.
They continued to fight their way into the gatehouse itself. A spearman thrust his weapon forward at Vaemond, who managed to get up his shield just in time, catching the spearpoint between the heavy wood and the metal plating. The man at arms saw where this was heading and quickly dropped the spear, leaving it stuck in the shield and fleeing.
Vaemond cursed and dropped his now useless shield and continued on.
They were well into the gatehouse by now, Corlys Velaryon, fighting with just a longsword thrust his sword forward into the neck of a spearman, clearing the way forward.
Most of the gatehouse had fallen, but there was a set of wooden stairs leading to the top of the gatehouse tower, where the King could hear shouts of defenders up above.
He could not shout over the noise of the melee so he gestured Blackfyre towards the stairs to his Kingsguard who nodded, he made his way to the stairs, making the first turn and then felt a blinding flash of pain in his neck, causing him to cry out in pain.
He stumbled backwards, tumbling down the stairs, seeing a crossbowman who had been waiting at the top of the stairs reloading.
Vaemond at last came to a rest at the foot of the stairs, caught by Ser Roland who laid him down.
If it had been an arrow it likely would not have troubled him much, but the crossbow had been shot at a close range and had punched through his black plate gorget. The armor had been enough to divert the strike a few inches to the left from puncturing his throat, but the quarrel was embedded within the flesh of the King's neck.
‘’THE KING IS WOUNDED.’’ Ser Roland screamed, cradling the King to his chest and reciting a prayer to the warrior.
Vaemond felt hot blood running down his neck, the sounds of the fighting and Ser Rolands words growing fainter and fainter until at last all went black.
Two Hours Later
Vaemond woke with a throbbing pain in his neck and a blinding sensation in his eyes. He was lying in a bed next to a glass window, which was shining bright light in his face.
He groaned and raised a hand to shield the sun.
Where am I? He thought to ask.
‘’Whr m..I.’’ He managed to croak out in a wheezing gasp.
‘’Be still your Grace.’’ A voice said gently, holding his shoulder firmly, the face of Ser Harold Langward peering down at him.
The memories slowly began to come back to him.
‘’We are in Greenfield Vaemond, you took a quarrel through the neck, their maester saw to your wounds after we carried you to his infirmary, a good Riverman he was….your gorget deflected it just enough to stop it from puncturing your throat but you lost a good deal of blood, he stitched the wound recently, you are not to talk or you could rupture it.’’ Corlys Velaryon said.
‘’Crossbows….a coward's weapon….Ser Harold cut down the man that shot you, a cleaner death than the bastard deserved’’ Ser Roland Crakehall said venomously.
Vaemond made a move to speak again but the Lord Commander raised his hand.
‘’The castle is ours if that's what you mean to ask….some 160 dead and wounded for us, a hundred more for the defenders but they've surrendered the castle…Greenfield is ours….you are lucky for that thick bull neck of yours however….what were you thinking charging up there without a shield ’’ Corlys Velaryon said with a frown.
Before Vaemond could answer, a wave of exhaustion set over him and his world faded to black once more.
6th Moon, 8025
Outskirts of Kings Landing
Nyel sat atop her horse watching the road, her escort of Ser Gawen Corbray and Ser Gregor Goode close behind.
Her horse shuffled nervously and she laid a comforting hand on its head, in the skies above them Narrah and Aelesar flew around in circles, frightening the horses.
She looked up at her own dragon Narrah, who was dark red with horns and a long stripe from head to tail white as bone, playing with her sibling.
Almost big enough to ride Nyel thought to herself, her dragon dwarfed her brother Matarys’s white and gold dragon Aelesar, though Aelesar was much faster.
Maester Arlan had awoken her with two ravens that morning, one with good tidings and one with bad.
The first had been sent by a Maester Walton from Greenfield Castle in the Westerlands, bearing the message that her brother had taken a quarrel to the neck storming the castle, he had lost a significant amount of blood but was being cared for and would soon be strong enough to ride.
She had of course been concerned, but her main emotion had been one of relief, she had feared that her dream could represent her brother's death, but if this wound is what the dream signified, and it seemed likely, then things could have ended much worse.
The second raven brought more welcome news, her brother Matarys and his escort led by the Kingsguard Ser Garmon Hightower were finally returning to the capitol from Fair Isle. The war had made it unwise to risk travel until a route was secured, and the raven, which had been sent from Maidenpool also stated other unnamed difficulties which had slowed down their progress.
She had determined to meet them on the road personally, even though the realm was at war, things in the capitol had been dull, save for the birth of a new Targaryen, and it was good to get out of the Aegonfort, even if just for a while.
Her brother's escort soon came into view from the road, bearing Targaryen banners waving in the wind.
Her brother and Ser Garmon were at the forefront, Matarys still kept his hair closely cut, though his chin was covered in a coarse silver beard.
When he caught sight of her, he spurred his horse forward, racing away from his retinue, a grin on his face.
Nyel laughed and dismounted, she truly had missed her brother, oddities and all, it had been well over a year since he had set out for Fair Isle, a task which he had only planned on lasting a month or two.
He embraced her tightly, and Nyel thought she saw some tears running down his cheek.
She hastily cleared them from his face and gently broke their embrace, it would not do for his retinue to see the King's younger brother crying like a child.
‘’There were days I never thought I would make it home again.’’ Matarys said dramatically, wiping his eyes.
‘’For your son's sake I am glad you did make it back…the Aegonfort has felt empty without you…truly Matarys.’’ Nyel replied.
‘’My….my son?’’ Matarys asked suddenly.
‘’Yes….we sent a bird but….you must not have gotten it…you have not known all this time?’’ Nyel asked with surprise.
Matarys gave a choking gasp of happiness and the tears once again began to flow down his cheek‘’What is his name.’’
‘’Your Lady Wife named him Jaekar…a good strong name for a boy with both the blood of the Dragon and the First Men.’’ Nyel said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
‘’And what of Demerei…is she alright…is she well, when I did not receive a raven I feared….her sickness.’’ Matarys prattled on.
‘’She is well Matarys, the Royces have always been champions of the birthing bed, sickness or no, Grandmaester Arlan has even managed to improve her condition significantly with his potions.’’ Nyel said.
‘’I…I must go to them.’’ Matarys said, and Nyel smiled and nodded and her brother raced off to the city, a few of his guardsmen in tow.
She approached Ser Garmon Hightower, who looked rather pale.
She laid a hand on his shoulder ‘’Thank you for bringing my brother safely back to us Ser…you have our eternal thanks.’’
Ser Garmon shook his head ‘’I did my duty my Queen, nothing more….the knowledge of that is enough for me.’’
‘’You spoke of delays?’’ She asked politely.
‘’Yes your Grace, we remained in Seaguard for several months. I did not wish to risk being caught in between the knights of the Vale near the Mountains of the Moon and the Lannisters, who destroyed the majority of the Tully forces….your brother would make a valuable hostage.’’ He began before continuing.
‘’When we received word of Ronnel Arryns capture I decided it was safe, the Knights of the Vale won't dare march into the Riverlands while the Tullys hold their liege lord, so we kept north towards Maidenpool before cutting south….I am loathe to say we encountered plague on our journey my Queen, though we did our best to avoid the areas.’’ Ser Garmon said.
‘’A plague?’’ Nyel asked, the concern visible on her face, she was no stranger to the horrors of the pox, as a sickness had claimed the life of her firstborn, Prince Aelyx, some years prior.
‘’Yes your Grace…the bloody flux…no doubt spread by refugees fleeing the war.’’ Ser Garmon said before he suddenly coughed into an armored elbow.
‘’Are you well Ser?’’ Nyel asked with concern.
After some time he nodded ‘’I am your Grace….just weary from the road.’’
She noticed the beads of sweat on his clammy skin.
‘’Nevertheless I think you should see Grandmaester Arlan Ser.’’ Nyel said courteously.
Ser Garmon bowed ‘’As you say your Grace….I shall see him upon the morrow as soon as I am rested.’’
The following morning Ser Garmon Hightower had stumbled into the Grandmaesters quarters, burning with fever and on the brink of collapsing, Grandmaester Arlan had quickly diagnosed him with the Bloody Flux, which had slowly begun creeping into the city.
He had immediately ordered Ser Garmon quarantined in the White Sword Tower and Ser Gawen Corbray and Ser Gregor Goode evacuated, they could not risk the pox spreading through the royal court, where any harm to Princess Laena or Jaekar could cripple the Targaryen dynasty.
Unfortunately, as Ser Gawen Corbray and Ser Gregor Goode were removed from the tower, Grandmaester Arlan observed symptoms in them as well and they too were quarantined.
Grandmaester Arlan did all he could for them, lighting prayers in the sept for their recovery and sending his best acolytes to care for the three Kingsguard, but the flux did its bloody work in the end, and Ser Garmon Hightower, Ser Gregor Goode, and Ser Gawen Corbray succumbed to the sickness.
Following this, Nyel would have the bodies of the three Kingsguard burned and order the castle gates closed against the spread of the flux in King's Landing; she would not risk losing another child to disease.
Siege Camp outside of Castle Greenfield
Vaemond stood outside his tent, fully armored in black plate watching as the sun's morning rays spread over the surrounding grassy hills, shining with dew.
All around him the camp was stirring, cookfires were being prepared for breakfast, while other men were seeing to their arms and armor, which they would soon need for today would be a day of battle.
The momentum of the war had shifted nearly overnight with the entrance of the Knights of the Reach into the war. The Lannisters had gone from preparing a decisive campaign to strike east against Kings Landing to suddenly having to shift to the defensive.
Vaemond had been on his way from Storms End to meet up with his new host of some 10,000 Crownlanders when he had heard the news, Ser Harold Langward proclaiming that the rose of victory had finally bloomed, and Vaemond had to agree with him.
In addition to the Reach’s entrance into the war, the Dornish were finally clear of the Princes Pass, and were marching some 12,000 men towards Casterly Rock, while the Ironborn skulked about in the area as well, things were looking good for the Targaryens.
Vaemond still needed a victory however. The Tyrells were planning to raise 3 hosts, one to assist the Dornish in sieging Casterly Rock, another of some 13,000 men was already on its way to assist Vaemond in the southern Westerlands, while the final host, which Theo Tyrell had promised would exceed twenty thousand men, was being raised in Highgarden.
It would take time for these hosts to be raised however, and Vaemond still needed a victory, the war had raged on for a good while and Loren Lannister still held every holding of his self proclaimed Kingdom of the Rock, something Vaemond was determined to change.
His Uncle Orys had the right of it before he was killed in a skirmish in the area. The best way into the Westerlands was from the relatively flat southern grasslands and hills. The Tullys had been foolish to attack through the mountainous west, but Vaemond liked his chances much better, in large part due to the fact the Lannisters would likely not oppose him as they would risk being caught in between the Dornish and the approaching Reach hosts, the area was ripe for the taking.
There had been many options on where to launch the first strike against the Westerlands among them Payne Hall, Peckledon, Riverspring or Cornfield, the seat of the Lorens foremost general. Vaemond eventually settled on the small castle of Greenfield. Even in the context of an ongoing war, Lorens' vassals still feuded with each other, and the Greenfields were embroiled in a conflict with the Swyfts of Cornfield, their liege lords, taking most of their men and leaving the castle lightly garrisoned.
The King would have normally preferred to siege the castle into submission, but he knew he needed a victory and he needed it soon to show that the Lannisters were well and truly on the back foot and losing their lands, even with the Reaches entrance into the war, the North could match their manpower with some 40,000 men, Vaemond needed the victory soon and had resolved to assault the castle.
Even with the large part of the Greenfield levies being gone, the castle had word of their approach and had managed to garrison some 700 men inside the castle walls, many of them would be peasants, but there would be a sizeable number of hardened household guards and men-at-arms on the walls as well.
Corlys Velaryon joined him, fully armored in white enameled plate and a snowy white cloak, in stark contrast to Vaemonds midnight black plate armor, studded with rubies, behind him came Ser Harold Langward, whos brown hair was streaked with white, and Ser Roland Crakehall, holding his fearsome longax.
‘’It's time for Corlys.’’ Vaemond said curtly. He had decided on a morning assault the time when much of the garrison would be groggy from sleep and breaking their fast. He hoped the scene of the majority of his own army sitting at cook fires would further lull his opponents into a false sense of security.
He would not be attacking with all of his 10,000 men, but rather 2000 of his best warriors, chiefly knights and men-at-arms, many of them veterans of Edgerton and the Whispers. He had his men construct wooden scaling ladders from behind the privacy of the surrounding hills to further obscure his plans.
Corlys nodded, they had the 2000 man assault party spread out throughout the camp rather than gathered together to mask their intention so the garrison would not see all of them armed and armored at the same place.
‘’When I give the order…..there's no going back, when they see us bringing the ladders from behind the hills they will see our intentions, groggy or not….we have one chance to catch them by surprise.’’ Corlys cautioned.
Vaemond nodded and pulled on his black greathelm ‘’Give the order.’’
Corlys waved his hand around his head, and a man on one of the timber watchtowers gave three loud blasts with his trumpet.
They moved fast, the scaling party holding the wooden ladders appeared from behind the nearby hills. They were unseen as they moved through the bustle of the camp, but immediately after they left the siege camp towards the walls the defenders of Greenfield shouted alarms and sounded their own horns, Vaemond and his three Kingsguard joined the warriors from the camp, charging forth and massing together to assault the walls.
They faced heavy fire as they charged towards the stone walls of Greenfield, quarrels and arrows filling the air and dropping many of the men holding the ladders, but whenever any fell, another took their place.
Vaemond was reminded of his sister's dream and pushed it from his mind, when in the midst of battle, any doubts or fears could mean one's death.
They attacked from 2 directions, the center of the castle to the sides of the gatehouse and the left wall, Vaemond and his kingsguard would join the assault on the front gatehouse wall, where the fighting would be thickest, such was the place a King's leadership was needed most.
Stepping over corpses and wounded men alike, Vaemond at last made it to the castle walls, where his men had laid the scaling ladders and were climbing onto the ramparts, where a melee was already underway. In opposition to the fierce volleys they had faced approaching the castle, they faced little resistance climbing the walls, with only the occasional stone and no boiling oil being dropped on them, Vaemond guessed they had well and truly taken the defenders by surprise before they could prepare a determined defense.
The King was first among his Kingsguard scaling the ladder, with Corlys and Ser Harold close behind him, Ser Roland Crakehall brought up the rear as if the big man fell he would likely take them all down with him.
They found the melee already underway on the battlements when they pulled themselves up and wasted no time in joining the fray.
A defender in a padded cloth gambeson with an ax and shield stood in their way, but Ser Harold, who had taken the forefront position bowled him over with a charging shield bash, and they continued on to the gatehouse.
A halbadier in plate armor in front of the King in the front row, one of Vaemonds men fell to the floor wounded, his arm a mess of blood and bone, Vaemond took his place in the front, Ser Harold and Ser Corlys at his side while Ser Roland watched their rear.
A peasant with a longbow who had became caught in the melee nocked an arrow, jostled from all sides but nevertheless he managed to get up the bow and aim it at the front rank but Ser Harold Langward took him in the side of the head with a ferocious hack of his sword.
They continued to fight their way into the gatehouse itself. A spearman thrust his weapon forward at Vaemond, who managed to get up his shield just in time, catching the spearpoint between the heavy wood and the metal plating. The man at arms saw where this was heading and quickly dropped the spear, leaving it stuck in the shield and fleeing.
Vaemond cursed and dropped his now useless shield and continued on.
They were well into the gatehouse by now, Corlys Velaryon, fighting with just a longsword thrust his sword forward into the neck of a spearman, clearing the way forward.
Most of the gatehouse had fallen, but there was a set of wooden stairs leading to the top of the gatehouse tower, where the King could hear shouts of defenders up above.
He could not shout over the noise of the melee so he gestured Blackfyre towards the stairs to his Kingsguard who nodded, he made his way to the stairs, making the first turn and then felt a blinding flash of pain in his neck, causing him to cry out in pain.
He stumbled backwards, tumbling down the stairs, seeing a crossbowman who had been waiting at the top of the stairs reloading.
Vaemond at last came to a rest at the foot of the stairs, caught by Ser Roland who laid him down.
If it had been an arrow it likely would not have troubled him much, but the crossbow had been shot at a close range and had punched through his black plate gorget. The armor had been enough to divert the strike a few inches to the left from puncturing his throat, but the quarrel was embedded within the flesh of the King's neck.
‘’THE KING IS WOUNDED.’’ Ser Roland screamed, cradling the King to his chest and reciting a prayer to the warrior.
Vaemond felt hot blood running down his neck, the sounds of the fighting and Ser Rolands words growing fainter and fainter until at last all went black.
Two Hours Later
Vaemond woke with a throbbing pain in his neck and a blinding sensation in his eyes. He was lying in a bed next to a glass window, which was shining bright light in his face.
He groaned and raised a hand to shield the sun.
Where am I? He thought to ask.
‘’Whr m..I.’’ He managed to croak out in a wheezing gasp.
‘’Be still your Grace.’’ A voice said gently, holding his shoulder firmly, the face of Ser Harold Langward peering down at him.
The memories slowly began to come back to him.
‘’We are in Greenfield Vaemond, you took a quarrel through the neck, their maester saw to your wounds after we carried you to his infirmary, a good Riverman he was….your gorget deflected it just enough to stop it from puncturing your throat but you lost a good deal of blood, he stitched the wound recently, you are not to talk or you could rupture it.’’ Corlys Velaryon said.
‘’Crossbows….a coward's weapon….Ser Harold cut down the man that shot you, a cleaner death than the bastard deserved’’ Ser Roland Crakehall said venomously.
Vaemond made a move to speak again but the Lord Commander raised his hand.
‘’The castle is ours if that's what you mean to ask….some 160 dead and wounded for us, a hundred more for the defenders but they've surrendered the castle…Greenfield is ours….you are lucky for that thick bull neck of yours however….what were you thinking charging up there without a shield ’’ Corlys Velaryon said with a frown.
Before Vaemond could answer, a wave of exhaustion set over him and his world faded to black once more.
6th Moon, 8025
Outskirts of Kings Landing
Nyel sat atop her horse watching the road, her escort of Ser Gawen Corbray and Ser Gregor Goode close behind.
Her horse shuffled nervously and she laid a comforting hand on its head, in the skies above them Narrah and Aelesar flew around in circles, frightening the horses.
She looked up at her own dragon Narrah, who was dark red with horns and a long stripe from head to tail white as bone, playing with her sibling.
Almost big enough to ride Nyel thought to herself, her dragon dwarfed her brother Matarys’s white and gold dragon Aelesar, though Aelesar was much faster.
Maester Arlan had awoken her with two ravens that morning, one with good tidings and one with bad.
The first had been sent by a Maester Walton from Greenfield Castle in the Westerlands, bearing the message that her brother had taken a quarrel to the neck storming the castle, he had lost a significant amount of blood but was being cared for and would soon be strong enough to ride.
She had of course been concerned, but her main emotion had been one of relief, she had feared that her dream could represent her brother's death, but if this wound is what the dream signified, and it seemed likely, then things could have ended much worse.
The second raven brought more welcome news, her brother Matarys and his escort led by the Kingsguard Ser Garmon Hightower were finally returning to the capitol from Fair Isle. The war had made it unwise to risk travel until a route was secured, and the raven, which had been sent from Maidenpool also stated other unnamed difficulties which had slowed down their progress.
She had determined to meet them on the road personally, even though the realm was at war, things in the capitol had been dull, save for the birth of a new Targaryen, and it was good to get out of the Aegonfort, even if just for a while.
Her brother's escort soon came into view from the road, bearing Targaryen banners waving in the wind.
Her brother and Ser Garmon were at the forefront, Matarys still kept his hair closely cut, though his chin was covered in a coarse silver beard.
When he caught sight of her, he spurred his horse forward, racing away from his retinue, a grin on his face.
Nyel laughed and dismounted, she truly had missed her brother, oddities and all, it had been well over a year since he had set out for Fair Isle, a task which he had only planned on lasting a month or two.
He embraced her tightly, and Nyel thought she saw some tears running down his cheek.
She hastily cleared them from his face and gently broke their embrace, it would not do for his retinue to see the King's younger brother crying like a child.
‘’There were days I never thought I would make it home again.’’ Matarys said dramatically, wiping his eyes.
‘’For your son's sake I am glad you did make it back…the Aegonfort has felt empty without you…truly Matarys.’’ Nyel replied.
‘’My….my son?’’ Matarys asked suddenly.
‘’Yes….we sent a bird but….you must not have gotten it…you have not known all this time?’’ Nyel asked with surprise.
Matarys gave a choking gasp of happiness and the tears once again began to flow down his cheek‘’What is his name.’’
‘’Your Lady Wife named him Jaekar…a good strong name for a boy with both the blood of the Dragon and the First Men.’’ Nyel said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
‘’And what of Demerei…is she alright…is she well, when I did not receive a raven I feared….her sickness.’’ Matarys prattled on.
‘’She is well Matarys, the Royces have always been champions of the birthing bed, sickness or no, Grandmaester Arlan has even managed to improve her condition significantly with his potions.’’ Nyel said.
‘’I…I must go to them.’’ Matarys said, and Nyel smiled and nodded and her brother raced off to the city, a few of his guardsmen in tow.
She approached Ser Garmon Hightower, who looked rather pale.
She laid a hand on his shoulder ‘’Thank you for bringing my brother safely back to us Ser…you have our eternal thanks.’’
Ser Garmon shook his head ‘’I did my duty my Queen, nothing more….the knowledge of that is enough for me.’’
‘’You spoke of delays?’’ She asked politely.
‘’Yes your Grace, we remained in Seaguard for several months. I did not wish to risk being caught in between the knights of the Vale near the Mountains of the Moon and the Lannisters, who destroyed the majority of the Tully forces….your brother would make a valuable hostage.’’ He began before continuing.
‘’When we received word of Ronnel Arryns capture I decided it was safe, the Knights of the Vale won't dare march into the Riverlands while the Tullys hold their liege lord, so we kept north towards Maidenpool before cutting south….I am loathe to say we encountered plague on our journey my Queen, though we did our best to avoid the areas.’’ Ser Garmon said.
‘’A plague?’’ Nyel asked, the concern visible on her face, she was no stranger to the horrors of the pox, as a sickness had claimed the life of her firstborn, Prince Aelyx, some years prior.
‘’Yes your Grace…the bloody flux…no doubt spread by refugees fleeing the war.’’ Ser Garmon said before he suddenly coughed into an armored elbow.
‘’Are you well Ser?’’ Nyel asked with concern.
After some time he nodded ‘’I am your Grace….just weary from the road.’’
She noticed the beads of sweat on his clammy skin.
‘’Nevertheless I think you should see Grandmaester Arlan Ser.’’ Nyel said courteously.
Ser Garmon bowed ‘’As you say your Grace….I shall see him upon the morrow as soon as I am rested.’’
The following morning Ser Garmon Hightower had stumbled into the Grandmaesters quarters, burning with fever and on the brink of collapsing, Grandmaester Arlan had quickly diagnosed him with the Bloody Flux, which had slowly begun creeping into the city.
He had immediately ordered Ser Garmon quarantined in the White Sword Tower and Ser Gawen Corbray and Ser Gregor Goode evacuated, they could not risk the pox spreading through the royal court, where any harm to Princess Laena or Jaekar could cripple the Targaryen dynasty.
Unfortunately, as Ser Gawen Corbray and Ser Gregor Goode were removed from the tower, Grandmaester Arlan observed symptoms in them as well and they too were quarantined.
Grandmaester Arlan did all he could for them, lighting prayers in the sept for their recovery and sending his best acolytes to care for the three Kingsguard, but the flux did its bloody work in the end, and Ser Garmon Hightower, Ser Gregor Goode, and Ser Gawen Corbray succumbed to the sickness.
Following this, Nyel would have the bodies of the three Kingsguard burned and order the castle gates closed against the spread of the flux in King's Landing; she would not risk losing another child to disease.
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How fares the king? Ticking war score gone, war more manageable. A new bairn, hopefully Prince Jaekar will not battle the demons that his father wrestles daily. Thank you for updating.
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The succession is secure...
Vaemond is wounded, which could prove problematic.
Vaemond is wounded, which could prove problematic.
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The White Book Entry #2
The White Book
Deeds and Accomplishments of the Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard
Ser Gawen Corbray
Ser Gawen Corbray was appointed to the Kingsguard of King Aegon the first as one of its seven original members and first to represent the Vale, taking his white cloak in his 23rd year. He served for 3 decades, both with King Aegon and his son King Vaemond, being known as one of the Kingsguards finest warriors among his brothers, wielding the Valyrian Steel sword Lady Forlorn, ancestral sword of house Corbray.
-Fought at the battle of Watersmeet in King Aegon's conquest, standing bravely alongside his sworn brothers on the right flank, which turned away Lewyn Martells attack.
-Served as a member of King Aegon's escort during the peace negotiations upon the Greenblood River.
-Dismounted all challengers at the grand tourney of Casterly Rock, winning both the victory and the day's final honors.
-Remained behind in the capitol to guard Queen Nyel, Princess Laena, and the pregnant wife of Prince Matarys during the peasant revolt in Cracklaw Barren on King Vaemonds orders.
-Fought bravely during the campaign against the pirate coalition on the island of Sunstone, slaying many pirates for which he came to be known as Gawen the Red.
-When his kinsmen in the Vale rose up alongside the Lannisters in the Lion's rebellion, made it known he would not raise blades against his own family. Was henceforth left in the capitol to guard the royal family where he fell victim to the bloody flux which ravaged the White Sword Tower.
Ser Garmon Hightower
Ser Garmon Hightower, youngest son of Manfred Hightower, Lord of Oldtown, was named to King Aegon's Kingsguard in his 18th year as the orders first representative of the Reach. One of the Kingsguards most dutiful defenders, he was known for both his bravery in battle and his honorable temperament, never failing in his duty.
-Fought bravely at the battle of Watersmeet alongside his sworn brothers on the right flank, repulsing Lewyn Martells attack.
--Served as a member of King Aegon's escort during the peace negotiations upon the Greenblood River.
-Served as Prince Matary Targaryens sworn shield as a member of the honor guard that carried the ashes of Visenya Targaryen to rest in the sunset sea off of Fair Isle.
-Following Lord Robert Farmans aid in escaping the Westerlands, escorted Prince Matarys safely to King's Landing from Seaguard.
-Succumbed to the bloody flux that ravaged the White Sword Tower in 25 AC.
Ser Gregor Goode
Ser Gregor Goode, member of a minor house of unlanded hedge knights, was appointed to King Aegon's Kingsguard in his 20th year as the first representative of the Riverlands. A strong man, he was known for his quiet yet dependable nature. In his later years a tragic killing at a tourney lessened his taste for martial pursuits, and his duties were mostly reserved to guarding and other peaceful assignments, though it must be said he never failed in them.
-Fought alongside the Rivermen during Aegon's Conquest for the Targaryen cause, serving at the field of fire.
-Served as a member of Queen Visenya's personal guard during her one year long tour of the free cities, accompanying the Queen to Braavos and Norvos and later escorted Princess Nyel safely back to the capitol.
-Bore the Standard of the Kingsguard during the Battle of Watersmeet, fighting alongside his sworn brothers on the right flank and repulsing Lewyn Martells assault.
-Guarded the royal family during the rebellion of Crackclaw Point.
-Succumbed to the bloody flux which ravaged the White Sword Tower in 25 AC.
Deeds and Accomplishments of the Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard
Ser Gawen Corbray
Ser Gawen Corbray was appointed to the Kingsguard of King Aegon the first as one of its seven original members and first to represent the Vale, taking his white cloak in his 23rd year. He served for 3 decades, both with King Aegon and his son King Vaemond, being known as one of the Kingsguards finest warriors among his brothers, wielding the Valyrian Steel sword Lady Forlorn, ancestral sword of house Corbray.
-Fought at the battle of Watersmeet in King Aegon's conquest, standing bravely alongside his sworn brothers on the right flank, which turned away Lewyn Martells attack.
-Served as a member of King Aegon's escort during the peace negotiations upon the Greenblood River.
-Dismounted all challengers at the grand tourney of Casterly Rock, winning both the victory and the day's final honors.
-Remained behind in the capitol to guard Queen Nyel, Princess Laena, and the pregnant wife of Prince Matarys during the peasant revolt in Cracklaw Barren on King Vaemonds orders.
-Fought bravely during the campaign against the pirate coalition on the island of Sunstone, slaying many pirates for which he came to be known as Gawen the Red.
-When his kinsmen in the Vale rose up alongside the Lannisters in the Lion's rebellion, made it known he would not raise blades against his own family. Was henceforth left in the capitol to guard the royal family where he fell victim to the bloody flux which ravaged the White Sword Tower.
Ser Garmon Hightower
Ser Garmon Hightower, youngest son of Manfred Hightower, Lord of Oldtown, was named to King Aegon's Kingsguard in his 18th year as the orders first representative of the Reach. One of the Kingsguards most dutiful defenders, he was known for both his bravery in battle and his honorable temperament, never failing in his duty.
-Fought bravely at the battle of Watersmeet alongside his sworn brothers on the right flank, repulsing Lewyn Martells attack.
--Served as a member of King Aegon's escort during the peace negotiations upon the Greenblood River.
-Served as Prince Matary Targaryens sworn shield as a member of the honor guard that carried the ashes of Visenya Targaryen to rest in the sunset sea off of Fair Isle.
-Following Lord Robert Farmans aid in escaping the Westerlands, escorted Prince Matarys safely to King's Landing from Seaguard.
-Succumbed to the bloody flux that ravaged the White Sword Tower in 25 AC.
Ser Gregor Goode
Ser Gregor Goode, member of a minor house of unlanded hedge knights, was appointed to King Aegon's Kingsguard in his 20th year as the first representative of the Riverlands. A strong man, he was known for his quiet yet dependable nature. In his later years a tragic killing at a tourney lessened his taste for martial pursuits, and his duties were mostly reserved to guarding and other peaceful assignments, though it must be said he never failed in them.
-Fought alongside the Rivermen during Aegon's Conquest for the Targaryen cause, serving at the field of fire.
-Served as a member of Queen Visenya's personal guard during her one year long tour of the free cities, accompanying the Queen to Braavos and Norvos and later escorted Princess Nyel safely back to the capitol.
-Bore the Standard of the Kingsguard during the Battle of Watersmeet, fighting alongside his sworn brothers on the right flank and repulsing Lewyn Martells assault.
-Guarded the royal family during the rebellion of Crackclaw Point.
-Succumbed to the bloody flux which ravaged the White Sword Tower in 25 AC.
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The changing of the guard goes beyond the family. Thank you for providing requiems for the kingsguards.
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It seems like even the kings guards are dying...
It was nice to hear of them, though. A reminder that the the Lords Paramount and the Targaryens aren't the only relevant people in the Seven Kingdoms.
It was nice to hear of them, though. A reminder that the the Lords Paramount and the Targaryens aren't the only relevant people in the Seven Kingdoms.
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