Chapter 17
Off the Coast of the fingers, A week later, 234 BC,
He breathed in the cold, salty and familiar air of one of the many bays that could be found along the coast of the fingers. These days have made his job so much easier than it would have been. And what a job it was. The Coast of the Vale, as far south as Longbow Hall, soon found itself lacking standing castles, and its most developed areas were quickly burned to the ground in the same manner as Gulltown had been. Houses Lipps, Doniger, Strickland, Saul, Wydman, Hersy, Croray and Lynderly had their castles burned and their garrison killed. They had, of course, taken prisoners as well, Noble children, women and the men who were not fighting and did not die trying to protect their homes, all of whom were being treated well, though guarded, in Maidenpool as ordered by King Lucas. Rape and other such vile crimes had been stamped out harshly within the first two sacks. Anyman who had been convicted of those crimes soon found themselves on a captured sisterman ship heading towards the wall, though the worst offenders or most vile of men were brought out to sea, had their arms and knees cut and then bound and were dumped far out form land. Most definitely dying from blood loss, drowning, frostbite or perhaps even an animal of some kind. Looting and plunder were allowed, but women and girls were not counted. Since then, none had dared to go against their orders, and strict rules of engagement were followed at all times.
This had, of course, earned them the mocking name of 'The honourable reavers' by the Valemen, but the name had stuck. Even his brother began to refer to sixty ships under his command in such a way, and he got the moniker 'The honourable', which would have been a good thing were it not said mockingly. Nonetheless, his men did their jobs, and by all accounts, it was doing wonders for the war effort. The flow of reinforcements to the Vale armies had all but stopped. As men were unwilling to leave their homes unprotected from the infamous fleet, productivity along the coast was at an all-time low and banditry at an all-time high as there was no lords or castles with lords men in them to protect the lands. Making them easy targets for bandits, brigands and recently a resurgent and recovered Mountain clansmen. Refugees flooded inland and away from rivers, causing more problems to a land whose rulers were, for the most part, away at war with only a shadow force to keep law and order led by boys too young or men too old to be effective at anything more than the basic needs. If Florian was honest, it was a miracle that the Arryns still had the funds to keep this war going after such a long winter, the costs of war and these raids.
Now though, he and his men had been called back to the Sisters to use their onboard weapons against the last standing keep on the god's forsaken Islands. The Breakwater of House Borrel still held on, its lord refusing to surrender and the Northmen unwilling to go on an unneeded assault. So the entirety of the Eastern Riverlander fleet was to meet there and bombard the castle until a white flag was raised or the castle crumbled to rubble. Florian wagered it would be the latter if the mad lord Borrell had not surrendered already. He doubted he would do so now by all accounts, and his only family had been his two sons, both of whom had been found among the dead in Sisterton. What else was there for the old lord to live for? His guardsmen? Unlikely, and it was not as though they would betray him either, none of the other guards in the keeps had done so, and he doubted these would either, apparently the ruling lords of the Islands were worshipped as half-gods for some unknown reason. And when the seat of House Torrent had been stormed, the entirety of the staff and guards not killed in the fighting were found having committed suicide. One of the most haunting sights his brother had ever seen, something Florian did not doubt for a second. Shaking those thoughts out of his mind, he ordered the drums to begin their rhythm and retreat to his quarters to write a report for the king. One of the learned men from the small college near Raventree hall would be sent who served as healers and raven tenders in place of the Maesters on the larger ships in the fleet. It only took them until nightfall to reach Sweetsister, and after coming in to unload prisoners, resupply and let most of his crew off for the night, the ships went back out to sea and began their bombardment.
—-
North of Brindlewood, 234 BC.
The 15,000 strong, recently reinforced Blackwood men were beginning their retreat to a spot of their choosing where they could make their stand as had been decided by the war council. The Riverland host had been retreating for the past two days, doing as much damage as they possibly could to slow down the Darklyn host, which had begun its march from Duskendale two days before that, being harassed the entire way. They could not allow the Darklyns to get into the Riverlands, or else no doubt they would try and take revenge on the raiding the Riverlanders had done to both them and the Vale. Instead, he and the Mallisters had decided they would line out on one of the many rolling hills in the region, giving them a slight advantage. Other than that, they just had to rely on their abilities and their men's superior training and experience, most of them veterans of some war or another.
If Brynden was honest, he probably was one of the least experienced in the army in terms of battle, though undoubtedly one of the best trained for it. And it was for that reason he had been given command of the 6,000 archers in their host, an important job and one that required skill, but it was not overly complicated most of the time. Get his men the best possible angles and try to get as many effective arrows downrange as possible while limiting their casualties. To do this, he had taken five of the best rangers he had and assigned them to sections within the archers they were set to lead. He had split his archers into three groups of 2,000, one group on either side, flanking the infantry line and protected by the cavalry, while the other 2,000 under his direct command stood behind the infantry line. Ordinarily, this would not work; well, no, it would work but not as effectively because the archers would have to ark their shots which were both harder to do and less powerful when it struck. Unlike an arrow fired at the usual 20-45 degree angle upwards through in some cases, like in an ambush or siege, that angle would change of course. However, in this case, he was able to have his archers where they were because of the positioning of the infantry, which was about three-thirds of the way up the crust of the hill, which meant his archers had a clear view over their heads and towards the oncoming enemy.
The reinforcements his father had dispatched led by Lord Charlton arrived just in time, showing up just as dawn broke that very morning. His men, tired from a relatively quick march, had just six hours of rest before the scouts reported the oncoming Blackwater army. Now an hour later, 15,000 Riverlanders lined out beneath the summer sky on what was undoubtedly the lushest field Brynden had ever seen. By the end of the week, however, the fallen blood would have washed into the ground, feeding the soil to become even greener. But just how much blood would be spilt today and whose blood it was going to be was about to be decided as the Darklyn host began its advance.
The host was split into four groups; in the centre were the Blackwater knights, their metal armour shining in the sun as they began their slow and steady march towards the hill. Behind them lay the three other forces, one in the centre and two on the flanks. To him and no doubt the other commanders, the Darklyn plan was apparent, but that did not make it any less effective. A head-on charge of the Knights was a proven tactic that had sent more than one first man host fleeing butchered beneath the heavy horsemen. Even hills such as the one he now stood upon had proven only small obstacles for the famed warriors to pass.
However, the Riverland host did not move to counter this in any obvious way. No cavalry was brought to the front to meet the andals, and no frontline was shifted at all, Duke Kevan unwilling to allow the andals to dictate the battle. Instead, the heavy riders of the Riverlands stood their ground, protecting the flanks and the vulnerable archers. Brynden agreed with that; it was highly likely that the intention of the knights was just as much to draw the protection of the longbowmen away from their positions. The Knights would clash with the Riverlander horseman tying them up, preventing them from going to help their exposed archers. The infantry would smash into their lines, likely focusing on the weaker flanks trying to collapse them and, in turn, the entire Riverlander line.
However, this did not happen, and the Darklyn host halted their advance for five minutes as new orders were no doubt being relayed. Surprisingly the Knights stayed in the centre while the infantry reformed, becoming one extensive line with archers and crossbowmen in front. The Blackwater resumed its advance at a steady pace, and when they got within 400 yards, Brynden gave the order to fire, and the distinctive twang and then hiss of the Yew longbow was heard across the battlefield. The men in front of the centre longbowmen flinched as arrows flew over their heads, but not a single one threatened to hit them 2,000 arrows flew towards the Blackwater knights in the centre more often than not, finding a target, horse or man. On a plate armoured man at this range, which was just at the limit of the longbows range, the arrows bounced off and did little more than a dent, wind and slightly wound the man beneath the armour. However, the odd one might find a hole in the plate, which was usually fatal or debilitating. Far more common were the arrows that found their mark in a lighter armoured horse, burying deep and causing the horse to buck or even fall dead. Their heavily armoured riders going down beneath them were usually crushed to death beneath the weight or even trampled by their comrade's horses.
Another volley was fired, another, and another as the Blackwater men absorbed the fire being put to them. When they reached 250 yards, the crossbowmen ran forward and returned fire. However, the bolts were far less effective. Crossbows were powerful, but they needed to be fired straight on or with a slight angle upwards. In this case, the bolts needed to be aimed much higher to get up the hill which made most of them fly off target, and the ones that didn't either bounced off armour or was caught by shields doing minor damage. To further add to the Blackwater woes, a crossbowman could not move while he reloaded, not only making him an easy target for periods as long as an entire minute. This left them vulnerable and easy targets as only the professional men at arms had shields on their backs to protect them and slowed the whole Blackwater advance.
After three more minutes, they had only advanced another 100 yards, and in that time, eighteen volleys (a total of 108,000 arrows to put it into perspective which considering each archer had 24 arrows, so a total of 144,000 arrows in the army was a jaw-dropping amount) had descended upon the Blackwater men killing or wounding many hundreds. Eventually, the Knights, likely of their own decision and without the order of the commanders, got sick of being rained down upon by thousands of arrows broke out into a charge. They crossed the distance surprisingly quickly though suddenly the archers became a lot more deadly and arrows killed as men and horses fell. Spears, pikes, bills, and halberds were brought forwards, and the centre Riverlander force under the command of Jonos braced for the oncoming charge. They smashed their weapons against their shields, letting out unintelligible roars, which was joined by their comrades on either flank as well. Which drowned out the whistle of another volley that from close range and on was perfectly capable of puncturing through some of the weaker plates and breaking bones on better ones which could be just as effective. Most of the front 200 knights fell dead or wounded, often with more than one arrow sticking out of them or their horse.
However, the knights did not stop their charge and smashed into the infantry like a tidal wave. More than a few were killed by the Riverlander polearms, but enough survived that the charge was brutal and effective in killing many riverlanders even while going uphill. However, the Blackwater men did not stick around for more than five minutes because they had lost all momentum of a charge by that point. They were being pulled down or killed from or on their horses easily, their fewer numbers becoming evident, and they turned around retreated backwards. By now, his archers were on their last two arrows, and while on the flanks, they had a few more that would likely soon be joining the infantry in melee combat.
Just as he was about to order his men to fire their last two volleys at the advancing infantry, he heard horns blow from the slight hill Kevan was commanding from. The cavalry on either side, led by Finn and Lord Charlton, moved from behind and to the archers' side and broke out into a charge. He grinned as he spotted their target; their flanking infantry was completely exposed to the Riverlander horsemen due to the Blackwater knights' charge. It was a thing only a commander with an overlooking view of the battlefield or one with supreme tactical knowledge and awareness would be able to exploit; luckily for the Riverlands, Kevan Mallister had both. And charging downhill, they smashed into the ranks of advancing infantry whose hastily formed shield wall did little against the sheer weight and kinetic energy of the charge. Men were sent flying on all sides; seeing what needed to be done, he ordered his last two volleys upon the knights who were trying to hastily reorganise and move to hit the exposed sides of the Riverlander horsemen. Their arrows flew true and buried into armour and flesh and caused chaos as horses and riders panicked, allowing the Riverlander horsemen to disengage from their mele fight, which had slowed down into a slog and retake their position on the hill.
However, Kevan gave the Blackwater flanks no time to recover, and archers loosed their arrows into the unorganised levies killing hundreds as they desperately tried to reform their battle lines. Four more volleys were fired before they ran out of arrows, but they had done enough, and the Blackwater advance was halted. However, the Darklyns knew that they could not retreat now and reform. As it would not only allow for the Riverlanders to rest, recover and restock on arrows from their baggage train, which were already being fetched but would take perhaps two hours to replenish their arrows fully. And so the advance merely stopped, the remaining knights were split in half and sent to either flank, being jeered by the levies of the Blackwater as they did who rightly blamed them for what had happened.
However, he did notice that they did not reorganise their infantry to place more men on the flanks from the centre, which had not taken any losses from the cavalry charge. It did not take him long to see that the Darkyln king was trying to target his centre, which had taken losses from the charge of the knights, though not as many as the Blackwater levies. But it was still an advantage and one that the Darklyns intended on using. The knights being on the flank added to this theory as they were likely there to make sure that the levies on the flank did not break before the men in the centre could break through the outnumbered Blackwood centre line and then fold in on them like a swinging door.
He sent a runner to Duke Kevan, asking for either reinforcements or permission to allow his archers in the centre to join the melee, which they were banned from doing as of that moment because Kevan did not want to lose the valuable and highly trained longbowmen. The runner returned to him saying that Duke Kevan could not spare the men on the flanks, but neither could he afford to lose so many longbowmen potentially. Keven also wanted to have at least the three thousand in the centre able to fire at all times. The plan was to use the archers on the flank as footmen after they were out of ammo and allow the centre to be resupplied from the baggage train. As a compromise, he was allowed to commit half of the 3,000 longbowmen under his command into melee should he deem it necessary. At the same time, the other 1,500 would be resupplied with immediate priority, it was not exactly what he wanted, but it was a good compromise nonetheless.
The Blackwater advance resumed, but, this time, it was faster as archers were felling no men as of yet, the first three carts of arrow filled quivers yet to arrive on the battlefield and would not do so for another 10 minutes. Very few projectiles flew from either side, though, as the crossbowmen and archers of the Blackwater had been out in front of the infantry. As had been trampled about thirty yards before the infantry with virtually no survivors but in the centre and so once more the men in front of him took the brunt of the enemy attack. Though to be fair to them, they took it with them now typical Riverlander fashion, banning their shields and singing ballads which drowned out the screams of those unlucky enough to be hit. The injured were dragged back behind the lines where 200 physicians, healers and their assistants did what they could for them, which was painfully little but better than what happened in most armies. The dead and dying just lying beneath the feet of their comrades, which was not surprisingly very demoralising. Gradually the enemy fire let up as the two infantry lines got within throwing distance of each other, not that anything was thrown; that was more the Dornish's style.
Then the Blackwater men charged, the bravest and glory hungry throwing themselves in while others were more cautious in how they fought, standing as far out of range from the probing spears of the Blackwood shield wall. Brynden watched with ever-increasing worry and anxiety as the centre lines fought valiantly against their more numerous foe. On the flanks, the situation was better as the line of the far flanks were beginning to very slowly cave inwards under the strength of the Blackwood forces there. The cavalry was in a battle of their own as well on either side, it was too far away for him to see, but he knew anyway that it was no doubt a hard slog of heavily armoured men bashing their weapons into the others plate armour.
Ten minutes later, he breathed a sigh of relief as carts loaded with quivers began to arrive, he ordered every second man to step forward and the others to go and get a quiver. He did not move to take one, instead drawing his longsword and taking the ironwood heart shield painted with his house's banner that a guard on his left offered him. Another man handed him his beaked Hounskull helmet, the same one worn by all his family members in battle. The armour itself was black with hints of red and white undertones. Though it lacked the intricate engravings and jewels of, say, a Lannister or Gardener, it was highly effective, comfortable, recognisable. The beaked helmet was a frightening sight to see in battle. His helmet was decorated with a modest silver crown crafted atop the head rather than the gold one worn by his father and marked him as the heir of the kingdom of the Riverlands. He twirled his sword in his hands for a couple of seconds as the men selected to fight in the rapidly worsening centre lines readied themselves for battle.
He viscously tried to clamp down on his nerves and gripped his sword so hard he could feel it through his gauntlet. But as he looked around him, he saw his men looking to him for guidance. Most of whom had fought many battles before this one; warriors were looking to him to lead them through this one. And for some reason, when he felt that pressure, that knowledge that by his actions and actions alone, these men, and many others like them, might or might not see their homes again, he did not shy away. He did not shake in fear as he raised his sword to point down the hill where the hard slog of melee combat was taking place; his feet did not collapse as he readied himself to charge, and his voice did not waver as he gave the order.
"Charge! For the Riverlands and the Old Gods!" He called, his voice normally so quiet and calm that it felt like you had to strain yourself to hear it even though it was perfectly clear now rang across the battlefield. The shouts of his men in response as they began their charge to follow him were five times as loud, and the Blackwater men in the centre looked up to see fifteen hundred archers of the Riverlands on a frenzied charge led by their prince, the beaked mask, black plate and crowned helmet marking him out as a Blackwood. And no one wanted to fight a Blackwood. Munin flapped off from his position on his left shoulder and began to circle the battlefield; his caws heard clear as day to Brynden alone as though the intelligent bird were right beside him and not hundreds of yards up and drowned out by the ding of the battle.
He allowed the familiar sound to focus him, and he smashed into the battle with an alert mind that allowed him to cut down the first man who tried to face him, another came, and he caught the man's thrust on his shield and pushed, sending the man backwards to clash with his comrades. Dodging a tired axe thrust, he stabbed the wielder through the eye and blocked another spear on his shield. However, even after killing four more men, he was quickly overwhelmed. He went on the defensive, deflecting, blocking and catching strikes, only retaliating with lightning-quick stabs, which stemmed the tide. This allowed for his guardsmen, some of the elite raven corps, to make their way to him and allow him to recover his spent energy. Fighting continued for hours more, with more and more men dying. So caught up in action was he that he did not notice that the Knights of the Blackwater had finally been overwhelmed and killed or captured on the flanks, and the horseman of the Riverlands turned right around and smashed into the backs of the Blackwater infantry on the flanks. Not long after that, horns blew from the Blackwater side of the field, signalling a retreat.
And in a flash, they were fleeing, being cut down as they did by horsemen, arrows and the odd extremely motivated footman. 2 hours later and the cavalry returned reporting that they had chased the Blackwater army to Hollard Keep around a days' march to Duskendale before they retreated. However, they had left many hundreds dead in their wake.
Late that night, Brynden was sitting alone in his tent, a glass of warm whiskey in his hands as he stared transfixed at his suit of armour that was now cleaned and hanging up on the wooden manikin. Minor dents could be found littered amongst them were the odd glancing blow had slipped through his guard or been let through on purpose as a trap, his armour absorbing the worst of it and leaving him with nothing by the bruises and odd light cuts.
Now that the battle was over, he could reflect on it, not that he had much of a choice as every time. He closed his eyes; he was back on the field, the smell of shit and blood mixing and the sounds of battle only matched by the screams and tears of the wounded and dying. Munin was perched on his shoulder as usual, and when a single tear slipped from his eye, it was his faithful companion who shook him from his stupor to wipe it. Eleven thousand men had died on the battlefield, and in the rout that followed, the number had reached 14,000, more than double that number wounded or crippled. It was a slaughter and one he knew would haunt his dreams just as it would every warrior who had the misfortune of living to suffer the aftermath of such a defiling of human nature. It brought no small amount of shame to him now that the thing he had always prided himself on, his prowess and martial talent, was used for such butchery as he saw today. Downing the glass, he placed it down on the table beside him and moved to ready himself for sleep, ignoring the sounds of celebrations outside.
On the one hand, it disgusted him that they could celebrate a thing like this, that they could be proud of what they had done today. However, on the other side, the side of his mind not burdened and morphed by the horrors of his first battle saw that they had every right to celebrate. Outnumbered by 5,000 men, they had held the hill valiantly. The charge of the blackwater knights, the hill, their cavalry, the longbowman and the infantry who held determinedly on all sides were the factors that led to their victory. A victory that likely won them the Blackwater and allowed his father the security to move from the crossroads. The Darklyns host was battered and bruised, and in the following days, it would likely fracture into pieces with the many petty kings and lords breaking off, each blaming the other for the defeat and many losses they suffered. He washed his face one more time and went to bed. However, it would be another two weeks before he could get more than a handful of hours of sleep each night.
Chapter 18
The Nest. A week later, 334 BC.
More and more news came in, getting worse and worse as it did. The Sisters had been taken now the Northmen had dispatched the meagre resistance the island had posed with most of its adult male population dead being too stupid and stubborn to recognise the futility of how they fought. Fighting for your kingdom and culture was admirable and should always be done, but they had not done it effectively at all, trying to go toe to toe with their far greater opponents in straight on combat. The last stronghold had collapsed into the sea under a constant barrage from 100 ships. For the previous two days, three trebuchets that had collapsed most of the castle into the sea and the few who didn't die from that were killed by the Northmen who stormed it soon after ending the last pocket of resistance. If that were all it meant, it would be fine; the sisters mattered little in the grand scheme of things, only useful as a staging ground for an invasion or buffer for the north. But no, more significantly, it meant the Riverlander fleet was once more free to do as they pleased and had returned to their ways of honourable reaving as it was called. Already more and more keeps and settlements were being burned, and worse still, no one bothered to resist them anymore, knowing it was futile and they would be allowed to go unmolested if they complied peacefully. Such was the reputation of the Riverlander fleet, the smallfolk unwilling to die unnecessarily.
Then there was the breaking of the Blackwater force by the Mallister brothers and Prince Brynden Blackwood. The host of disunited petty kings had scrambled back towards Duskendale in a mess with prominent petty kings having already split off; Houses Rosby, Hayford and Stokeworth had all broken off from the host with their men. They returned to their keeps, and if he was being honest, David knew it would not be long before others joined them as even now, the Riverlander fleet made it's way further and further south to threaten those keeps. It was likely that more and more would see the futility of their situation and begin to bow to the Blackwoods one by one as soon as an army showed up at their gates. Notable exceptions were the Darklyns, Hollard's and Buckwells, the first two being the instigating house and their devout vassals. The latter had lost every male member of their immediate family, their now burned barren lands passing to their former lord's second cousin's bastard, who was the only eligible male heir. This boy of about three and ten had already written a letter pledging his loyalty to David's father; his father had, of course, merely scowled at the baseborn boy's letter, which promised little more than burnt fields barren of any man of fighting age.
But worst of all, for him personally, was his failure at Hunton. It was an embarrassment that he had been given a task by his father, with who he often argued frequently and intensely and when he was allowed to prove himself right, he had failed and been forced to withdraw back to his father like a little boy hiding behind his mother's skirts.
They had not accounted for such a large force being their especially not under the command of a general like Duke Brynden Redwood, cousin and best friend of King Lucas. The man was a shrewd and competent commander known for fighting on foot with his men and inspiring loyalty and respect in those men because of it. The man had dug in and fortified his lines well and had done nearly half of the damage inflicted on the Arryn lines before the two armies even met in melee combat. He had suffered heavy casualties there and done little to shift the balance of the war back into their favour which would have happened had he secured the higher portion of the High road from the only garrisoned town along the entire road. After hours of fighting, he called a withdrawal as no sign of a breakthrough had been found. He knew that if he allowed himself to be bogged down there for too long, reinforcements would arrive. His host would be decimated, leaving his father and the few men in the precarious position of being stuck between one enemy army and one that was potentially more dangerous as his father was convinced that the Royces were friendly.
The next issue he had now was the Royces had 12,000 men in their host while he and his father had 11,265. That was not a good position to be in and even worse now that the lords of the Vale were begging for his father to sue for peace and allow the North and Riverlands all the concessions. They wanted to halt the war which had left the Vale in the worst state economically, strategically and productivity-wise in written history. Like the coast, the most fertile land in the kingdom was now left mostly barren of crops, castles, and people and was instead infested with brigands and clansmen. First Men's host was stationed near the Redfort, about half a day's march from the Bloody Gate and two days from both Iron Oaks and Runestone and maybe another day or so from Strongsong and Lonbowhall. Close enough to respond to any threat to any one of the lords within the armies, keep yet close enough to give the appearance that they were still supporting their liege. David did not believe it for a second. The Firstmen Lords of the Vale, who for so long had rebelled under the rule of his ancestors, had coordinated this, and his father would soon pay for the mistake of letting Ronal Royce join his brother.
He walked through the halls of the fortress, which still showed signs of the extremely bloody battle that had been fought here, and made his way to the commander's rooms, which had been commandeered by his father from the now-dead Blackwood soldier. His father had summoned him and other loyal lords here with the utmost urgency, and he had left the yard where he had been beating a squire into the ground to relieve his frustration as quickly as he could while still looking dignified. He was giddy to prove himself right to his father.
He was the last to reach the chambers anyway as the Vale lords who had survived the bloody storming of the nest sat all around the council chamber.
"What has happened?" He asked, more commanded, of his father, who looked red-faced with anger.
"The treacherous Royces have betrayed us!" He snarled at him in response, "They cut the skin off the soles of Septon Eugine and left him to walk barefoot to warn us while they marched upon the Eyrie!"
"Fortunately, one of my scouts managed to find him and bring his message to us." Continued Ser Lorence Corbray, Knight of the Bloody Gate.
"I told you this would happen, father, and now we are stuck, surrounded by two greater hosts. We should be very grateful that the Royces did not decide to march into the Bloody gate saying they were moving to reinforce us and slaughter the garrison trapping us here." He told them, and his father glared fiercely at him.
"Fuck you." His father spat.
David merely tutted and grinned like a cat at his father. It brought him an indescribable joy to be able to rub something like this in his face.
"My King, my Prince, perhaps we should discuss what we are going to do about this problem?" Lord Grafton asked.
"What can we do? Our best course of action is accepting whatever peace the Blackwoods want and then moving back through the Bloody gate to crush the Royces." Said Lord Corbray. "We need peace, my King; our lands are in chaos, and most of us have no keeps or family to go back to after this. We should end this pointless war and get our family back and our lands back in order."
"Agreed", Said Lord Waxley, whose own lands were likely the next target for the Riverlander navy.
"We shall not bow to heathens!" Denied his father, "We will continue this war, and the seven will grant us victory. We will march east within three hours, and then we shall crush the Royces beneath the Eyrie as our ancestors did at the battle of Seven Stars."
"Of course, my king." Agreed, Lord Grafton. "Should we leave a garrison here?"
"Yes, a small one. Around four hundred men, we need all the men we can get. And send messengers that we need every man we can get who did not already join us."
"Father, no one will come. We have been preparing for this war for years and marshalled nearly every single able-bodied man we could, and those that we didn't have turned to banditry, been killed by Riverlanders or Clansmen or don't care enough to come and we have no way of making them come." David told him.
"I don't care! Tell them that any able-bodied man not in our army will be killed as soon as this war is over!" spat the King before storming out, mouth-frothing like a rabid dog. David walked over and spat into a bowl before pouring himself a cup of wine and taking his father's seat. He looked up and saw he had the attention of every man in the room. "You can follow him. Or you can follow me."
—-
The High Road, four days later. 324
Thirty thousand men marched in ordered columns up the road, a vanguard of 5,000 having cleared the way earlier on in the day to spring any traps or ambushes there might have been, but still, the grand army of the Riverlands did not slack. More than three-quarters of the army were veterans and those that were not had been drilled into line while the army had been stationed at the Crossroads. They marched in ordered columns to the beat of drums with men chanting and singing songs as they did. At the head of the column was none other than King Lucas' The great' Blackwood. The man was currently deep in thought, absently stroking his raven's feathers as he did so. The Royces had finally chosen their side and made their move, 12,000 men marching to take the Eyrie. A fool's errand, the fortress was impregnable with 30,000 neverminds less than half that; they should have taken the Bloody gates and locked the Arryns out of their kingdom. As of now, however, his Rangers informed him that the Arryn army had passed the Bloody gate three days ago and left nothing more than a token garrison at both fortresses. However, the first fortress he needed to take was in view. The nest was a formidable fortress, no matter how you looked at it. But with a token garrison holding its already damaged walls from the wrong side, it would not take more than a week for the fortress to fall as the vanguard's engineers were already well underway assembling siege equipment.
The smallest corps in his army once more proved their worth and the cost it took to train and educate them for both battle and constructing everything from palisades, traps, walls, bridges, camps, trenches, stakes, outposts, siege equipment and everything else an army might need. Honestly, they were heroes. Three days later, the weakened walls of the fortress were being pounded by Riverlander artillery. Five days later, the garrison was being overwhelmed by vengeful Riverlanders who had marched through the burned and abandoned villages and towns along the border or had heard the stories of the atrocities that had happened there. Not a single Valeman survived the assault, and only a handful of Riverlanders fell in the night assault through the collapsed walls.
He currently sat in the freshly vacated commander's rooms where he could nearly picture the Vale king sitting in the seat he currently sat in, thinking about his son's campaigns as Lucas now was. Except Brynden had not failed as David Arryn had, and instead, Lucas's heir proved himself and won his spurs in battle. Kevan Mallister had reported that Brynden had led his men brilliantly and had been a valuable asset throughout the campaign. From any other of his lords, excluding perhaps both his cousins and Lyman Darry, he would have thought it was nothing more than a lord trying to win favour with him and his son, but Kevan Mallister was not that type of Duke. The man's respect was earned through actions and ability, and it was a respect that was hard-earned by anyone and to hear such compliments about his son was a pleasure for him to hear and brought him great pride. Currently, his son and the Mallisters were securing the Blackwater, sieging down the keeps of any who did not agree to bow to him. The Ross, Hayfords, and Stokeworths had all bowed already, and the Lords of Crackclaw point were currency negotiating their fealty. Excluding the Valyrians, of course. However, the Darklyns still head out, bringing every able-bodied man they could into the walls of their city and stocking up for a siege. The fleet had already been dispatched and had just yesterday burned Wickenden and three other keeps in the bay of Crabbs to the ground and were now on their way to blockade and bombard Duskendale. It would be a brutal siege, but after it was done, it would lead to the entirety of the Blackwater as far south as the mouth of the Blackwater, where a specific city would one day be built.
He had decided to leave those houses south of the Blackwater rush as they were. Leaving them independent clearly stated to the Durrandons that he had no plans to encroach on their lands nor the lands they claimed and gave them land to expand into should they wish it. Should they not, those houses and their lands would be a buffer from potential Durrandon aggression and a wall separating the two great kingdoms. They were, after all, still a seven worshipping house and kingdom, and all it would take would be a single zealous Durrandon king, and the house of the Stag would be more than willing to try and tear his kingdom asunder. He would not let that happen while he still drew breath, and if his diary did its job, neither would his descendants.
The Black book in front of him featured an intricate design of the Blackwood sigil in the centre of the cover, while the rest was covered in ravens of alternating white and black. It was built to last as well as the cover was hard and durable while the pages were the best in the kingdom. His accounts of what had happened so far during his life are contained in it. It showed his thoughts on matters ranging from faith to warfare and diplomacy to trade, all of it geared towards helping future generations be the best kings they could be and giving warnings about what was to come. His descendants would think him a greenseer. That was the only way to go about it he could think of. Though he would not warn them of everything, he wrote a few key things. Such as 'when the three dragons come, bow or are burned' and 'far to the north, where winter is internal, the icy dead await their awakening. Legends are born of truth.' Cryptic enough to be passed as famously frustrating green dreams but clear enough to send his message. He hoped and prayed that his descendants would learn the lessons contained within this diary and have some common sense.
Independence from the Targaryens was just not possible or feasible for his kingdom. They were the central-most kingdom with no natural defences, excluding the neck to the north and mountains of the moon to the east. But to the south were miles and miles of fertile fields with only rolling hills and the occasional large river for decent defence, neither of which would cancel out the dragons unless his descendants thought it smart to make all of his soldiers swim in full armour while the dragons descended. No, that would be a fool's errand, and his descendants would be better off getting strong negotiating ground and getting the best possible deal they could in return for bowing. Religious security, more freedom in taxes, fewer restrictions on how many professional soldiers they could have and things like that. But all of that would happen when he was dead and gone, and there was little point in him fretting too much over it.
Now he needed to get past the Bloody Gate and into the Eyrie. His best way of doing that would be through one of the many passes in the mountains. Still, the Rangers had spent the last few moons trying to find passes in the mountains suited to their needs, but the only ones there were either too small, too dangerous, or blocked off, leaving him with no other choice but into pushing on and trying and taking the Bloody gate. He knew just as well as his lords did that such a thing would be a bloody affair. But he had time, and if he was lucky enough, his siege weapons might make a few holes in the walls and kill enough men to make storming the castle easier. And if he was fortunate, the Royces might win the battle against the Arryns and come and siege the fortress from the other side, meaning he would not have to storm it and would be able to starve the defenders out as they were cut off from supplies on all sides. But for now, his army would rest for two days before they began their hard march up the mountains again.
—-
The road into the Vale. 334 BC
The thousands-strong army of Vale made steady progress through the mountains and had turned onto the road that would bring them to the crossroads. Not just literally but also figuratively. To the north and the left turn was the Eyrie, the Royce army and a battle they had little hope of winning. Straight on was the lands of those who had risen in rebellion; straight on lay the families of those who had risen in rebellion and the chance to win this war. The Royce army was currently besieging an impregnable fortress that was stocked to the brim with provisions, it would take them years to win that siege, and while they did that, the army of the Vale could siege and assault their keeps which were likely undermanned. If they could take their lands and family hostage, they could bring the lords to heel and keep the line of the Falcon Knight alive and rule their rightful lands. There was no army in their way. No mountains were slowing them. All there was stopping them was a single man. A foolish man who could not see past the obvious and yet that man was their King, that man was his father. But by this time tomorrow, that man would be dead, and the army of the Vale would march on to Runestone and end this rebellion with the full support of its lords.
Should the Royces give up their foolish siege, then they would be
coming to his army, and all it would take was a clever bit of manoeuvring, and he would have ground that could cancel out the numbers advantage. Should they dally for too long, however, he would get perhaps another two thousand or so men from lands loyal to him to reinforce him and even further balance the numbers. The only downside to this strategy he saw was that it gave the Blackwoods more time to try and break through the blood gate and his lands. Also, those of his neighbouring vassals open to raids from the Royce army and made it possible, though highly unlikely, that the Royce army might just turn around and then besiege the eastern side of the Bloody Gate, which was far weaker than the western facing one and would mean that the two forces would unite. He would be in an impossible situation. However, he did not believe this was happening. His sources in the Royce army told him that relations between the Royces and the Blackwoods were icy, and the Royces would be unlikely to work with the Blackwoods further than they already were. It was a gamble but one he was more than willing to take. Soon he would be King, and soon after that, the Royces would bow and be decimated, and the Blackwoods would be forced to negotiate peace.