Chapter 19
The Bloody Gate. Two days later. 234 BC
Boulders, bolts and other projectiles smashed into the walls of the great and famous fortress that had blocked the way into the Eyrie for centuries; Riverlander artillery was constantly firing and never let up on the bombardment the garrison of the Vale was currently suffering. The Vale army had taken a couple of hundred men from the fortress and left it slightly undermanned, not enough to make a massive difference in the long run here. Still, those few hundred men could enormously impact the open field in service of the Arryn King.
And that King was now the topic of discussion amongst the Riverlander army. Hugh Arryn had died in his sleep, or at least that was what the rangers had told him, and that was what he had, in turn, told his lords, and it had filtered through the army and was now a well-known fact. His rangers had also told him they suspected foul play highly as Hugh Arryn had shown no signs of illness before his death, and since David Arryn became King, the army had altered its course from the Vale towards the castles of the Rebelling lords. It was an intelligent and weighted move that someone like Hugh Arryns would never have done. But his son had seen the folly of the siege of the Eyrie, which would take years and would be impossible to take in an assault and with the entire Royce army tied up in a siege. It left their lands, arguably more significantly depending on the lord, their family, entirely open for the taking. It would either force the Royces to rush their siege and potentially launch what would be a suicide assault on the Eyrie or give up their siege and turn and go and face the Arryn army.
The critical difference between the two battles would undoubtedly be terrain. In such mountainous land, the terrain would be the deciding factor and cancel out any numbers advantage the First men had. The First men going to the Andal army would give them a much better chance of victory. While the Andal army charging towards the Royce army was plain suicide as not only did they outnumber them, but they would also have been able to choose the ground and smash the Andals with relative ease ending the war. Alas, that was not to be as Hugo Arryn was dead, and his son now led the army and had chosen the wiser choice, and it was now imperative that he managed to break through this fortress in the coming days. As such, he had many men constantly gathering materials and ammunition to be used by his siege weapons, so they never had to stop their bombardment.
Already the first wall was beginning to show signs of weakness as his engineers continued to build even more weapons to add to the bombardment. If he was to guess, then perhaps a hundred defenders had died in the bombardment, which was a bonus. However, there were still many more within the three curtain walls of the Bloody Gate, and at least two of those walls would have to fall before he risked an assault. He would prefer not to; every life was valuable in his army. After all, they were a Riverlander and his subjects, they were also trained men, and he had spent many resources to make them so. He would not throw them away stupidly.
A week later.
The early morning sun rose over the Bloody gate to light the besieging Riverlander camp. Still, the camp had not halted its activity even in the darkness and bitter cold of the mountains; throughout the evening, the weapons had not stopped firing, their projectiles doing severe damage to the first wall and the defenders' morale. No one liked to have large projectiles slamming in their general direction, and not only did it keep them from any decent sleep, but enough of them hit someone, which made them fearful and jumpy. Sleeping for his camp was much easier as he camped further away from the walls, and the sounds of the walls being bombarded were barely heard by those trying to sleep. However, that morning, the attention of all in the camp was grabbed by the sounds of crumbling walls. Men rushed from their morning routines to see the ground beneath the first and second wall seemed to crumple in on itself, and the walls fell with it making huge openings in the first and second walls. Lucas smiled when he saw this.
Mining was an extremely rare and underutilised tactic when besieging a fortress in Westeros. He had only ever come across it being used once, and that was by a Gardener army some thousand years ago, or so on a Westerlander castle, he couldn't even remember. But he remembered how effective and common it was in his old life and had seen that it would be effective and efficient here. His engineers had been hard at work tunnelling underneath the walls and navigating the hard bedrock that the fortress was built on. But his engineers had managed to navigate it in five tunnels. They had brought down three-quarters of the first two walls, making them effectively useless and forcing the Valemen to fall back to the final wall, which was raised on slightly higher ground than the other two, which had made tunnelling under it much more difficult.
It would be a regular and lengthy bombardment that would bring down those walls. Luckily he had always been a patient man, and his men never lacked for work to do or drills to master.
—-
The Eyrie, 334 BC.
He huffed out a breath through his nostrils and bit back an angry remark at his brother, who had been the one to deliver the news to him, and he wrestled his temper back under control and sighed. The Arryn fool was dead, and the Vale army had turned right around and had taken an under defended Redfort.
"This was always a possibility, brother, that David Arryn is not as foolish as his father is not ideal, but murmurs of kin slaying patricide already follow him."
"And what good will it do us?" Scoffed Robar. "I doubt his lords care all too much, and even if they do, they won't do anything because they know they need to be united if they want hope of winning this conflict. The Septons will turn a blind eye to any rumours until after the war is over, and by then, they will be expelled from the Vale, or we will be too busy dying to be able to reap the rewards of their justice."
"True enough." Agreed, Ronal, his brother cracking a small grin that Robar found himself unconsciously sharing. "Well, the Redfort was the obvious first target, and Lord Redfort had moved his family and valuables to Runestone as soon as the Andals passed back through the Bloody gate. The Tollet's seat of Grey Glen is next along the road and then Runestone, and after that, they will swing north and take Ironoaks and Longbow Hall while gaining men as he does."
"A few hundred men at the very most." Pointed out Ronal.
"Aye, and yet on the ideal ground, a few hundred men could kill ten times their number." Robar dismissed. "We need to move now. This siege is a damned fool's errand, no one inside the Eyrie decided to side with us and let us yet, and I doubt that will change anytime soon. We shall move towards Grey Glen and try and choose the ground on which we fight or at least put ourselves in between them and our lands."
"That would be our best bet." Agreed Ronal.
"Yes, now go on, ready the men, we will be leaving here tomorrow." He said as a servant hurried to refill his goblet with ale. "And brother", He called as his brother bowed and turned to leave though he turned around when Robar called him.
"Make sure Lord Redfort knows we will avenge his loss." Robar sighed and internally cursed his brother, Lucas Blackwood and Hugo Arryn for putting him in this position. He told his younger brother, who nodded and left.
By dawn, the Royce army was moving at the fastest possible pace to position themselves on the favourable ground between the Aryans and Runestone.
—-
Duskendale, two weeks later, 334 BC.
He rolled the arrow in his fingers as he sat bored atop his horse overlooking the siege of the largest city in the region atop a small hill beneath a single oak tree. He was alone up here, the Mallisters, Lord Charlton and Finn Harlton all elsewhere, and he found it relaxing as the cool sea breeze and shadow of the tree kept the hot sun from his armoured body. However, his helmet was in the arms of a servant at the bottom of the hill with the guards, all of whom were happy to leave the quiet Blackwood prince alone atop the hill though they did not slacken in their watch of their highly respected leader.
The arrow in his hand was both complicated and not. It was easily longer than his forearm. The shaft was made of ash and was sometimes lightly burned depending on where it came from; the feathers were always goose, taken from the same wing of the same bird so that they curved in the same direction and trimmed to be off the same length.
The heads varied more extensively through the two most common were the long bodkin points, usually just plain iron, but around a fifth or so were hardened steel, and it was usually those steel ones that had the potential to penetrate plate armour, subject to conditions of course. However, the other ones had no problems puncturing mail or leather combined. The second most common variety was the jagged heads or flesh arrows as they were becoming to be known. Those arrows could cut through mail and leather on their own but would only dent the plate. These heads had two razor-sharp jagged blades perfect for cutting through the mail, leather and furs and would cut through skin like butter; they were more expensive and less common than the bodikins, though it was such an arrow he had in his hands at the minute.
There were no markings on it, nothing to signify whose lands it had come from nor who it belonged to though he knew it came from the direct Blackwood crownlands. Much like every lord, mayor, count, duke, and commander had to provide a designated, usually significant, amount of longbowmen to be raised in times of war. They were also required to produce a designated amount of the different types of arrows every year, half of which always went to his father as tax. The Lords made thousands of arrows every year, and the lords didn't much mind this tax. As the Longbowmen of the Riverlands were very much enshrined in the culture and regarded as heroes by lord and smallfolk alike, if the Lords had to lose a bit of gold, and give some arrows to those longbowmen, then so be it.
The bows themselves were marvellous things, huge, as tall or taller than a man, and the strength of an Ox was required to use one, and as such, it was easy to pick out an archer in a crowd for they had arms the size of bells and muscles like a Septon has sins. With the exclusion of one family, most women didn't have the strength needed to use one, and aside from his own family, he had only ever seen four women able to wield one of the great war bows. That the women in his own family could use these bows had been a topic of much discussion for as long as anyone could remember.
The short answer was that no one knew how the women could do it without having the muscles that even their brothers and fathers needed to wield the bows. Sure they were still well-muscled and were far stronger than most women and even men, but it was not as if they had arms or shoulders like the men needed. His father said that where the men drew their strength from their arms and shoulders, the women drew it from their stubbornness. Brynden would agree with that indeed, but he also half-believed the rumour that Blackwoods were just born by the gods to bend bows, and that was that.
The sound of a loud crash against the walls made him glance towards the walls. One of the towers had been struck with a direct hit, and it had collapsed; it was not alone of the original outer town walls, only six towers remained, and many areas of the walls were too damaged to have any real amount of defenders on those spots. Those areas where the walls were damaged and the towers were weak were the weak points, and they were the best places to assault should Kevan Mallister decide to launch an attack. But not yet. They had plenty of time, their army blocked the land, and the navy blocked any supplies or reinforcements by sea. Duskendale and the Darklyns were the last remaining hold out north of the blackwater and west of Crackclaw point, the lords and kings of those lands having not gotten involved, the southern Blackwater houses due to the influence of the Storm King and the Cracklaw houses due to their historic neutrality and close relations with the Islands of the Valyrians.
His father was content to leave them as they were, the house of the point being good trade partners and good friends of the Freehold and the southern Blackwater houses being essentially Stormlander vassals even if they did call themselves King. War would come from expansion into the either region, and war with potentially friendly realms was not what one would call ideal, and war with the Freehold was essentially suicide; just ask the Rhoynar or their charred corpses.
—-
Near Grey Glen, two weeks later, 334 BC.
They had come. Twelve thousand men from the lands of Lords such as Redofort, Royce, Waynwood, Hunter and Belmore, all of them eager to go home and all of them aware of what they needed to do to make it happen. They needed to defeat the Arryn host who stood between them and the Road towards Grey Glen.
David had outmanoeuvred his foe, and it gave him great pleasure to say that. He and his army had been taking its time, seizing towns and castles sworn to the First men all along the road from the Redfort and had moved towards Grey Glen to do the same. When news came that the First men were nearing to stop his foes from being able to choose the ground he had bypassed the castle and placed himself in between the seat of the Toilets and the road from which the Royce army was coming. From, which was also the road towards Runestone, Gulltown and further on from that Longbow Hall and Iron Oaks going along the Vale coast. That, he hoped, would be the critical factor in this battle.
He had lined out his men in two rows, as was prudent for what would doubtless prove to be a long engagement. Eight thousand men formed the stretching frontline of his forces, dismounted knights included, which hugged the high hill's crest six men thick. At the same time, behind them, the second line was actually three separate formations with one on both flanks and in the centre to reinforce and allow him to have freshmen in reserve he could substitute in when the frontlines of the frontline needed rest.
The Royce army did not break their column even as his army came into view. David knew they were aware his army was there, but they didn't get into battle lines as was the norm. They were choosing instead to remain in their vulnerable column, which on flat ground would be akin to suicide if the enemy commander was competent and ordered a fast attack. David did no such thing because this was not flat ground. His knights were dismounted. The terrain was rocky and uneven, which would result in an unorganised charge, but most importantly, he didn't charge because that was exactly what Robar Royce wanted him to do. A young king who was rumoured to have killed his father eager to prove himself and secure his reign in one fell swoop charges on a vulnerable host, his armoured lines descending with frenzied excitement. And then the Royce host would no longer be panicking; they would form pre-drilled battle lines in rapid time and meet his men head-on, the advantage of terrain gone and the playing field once more even.
David, however, was no fool and his men stood their ground on the hill, and the Royce army seeing this had not baited him, formed their formations anyway, dismounting from their horses and retreating the servants and baggage. A mirror of his own, except instead of having reinforcements just behind all three fronts, he had them in reserve in the centre. But they did not advance. Three hours later and still the Royce army did not move. David figured they were allowing their men to rest after their march; their men lay about on the ground, relaxing, eating and drinking while his own stood in formation watching. Two hours later, and David was beginning to get antsy, he figured that it was another attempt to bait him down from the hill. Only when the sun started its descent and fires began to appear within the Royce lines did he start to question exactly what was happening.
"Gather the lords and tell the men they can rest. The reserves are to construct and layout the camp under your command." He ordered old Lord Grafton. Not the most marshall of men but a strewn administrator and steward. The lord nodded, and riders were dispatched with his orders.
"What is going on?" He demanded to know when the Lords under his command gathered with him overlooking the battlefield from atop the hill.
"They are delaying." Said Lord Corbray.
"Agreed," said Lord Crane. "They mean to keep us here in the hopes of the Blackwoods breaching the Bloody Gate and coming to save them."
"No… The Royces want to win this battle on their own, or else they will have no choice but to become the puppet of the Blackwoods who have done everything in this war so far." Argued Lord Waxley.
"Yes… they would have no negotiating power, and they undoubtedly have begun to dislike their Riverlander allies. After all, they wish to rule these lands, and the Blackwoods have effectively crippled them." Agreed, Lord Lynderly.
"So what then…." Wondered David before his eyes widened slightly. "How many days' worth of water do we have?" He asked them.
"Maybe a week's worth." Said Micheal Grafton, heir of Lord Grafton. "8 days if we ration."
"The only nearby water source is a stream on the road and a small stagnant lake a mile behind us." Said, David. "And we are in enemy territory; that lake could be poisoned easily."
"We must act, my King." Said Lord Lipps.
"Indeed. Send riders to the lake. I want it constantly guarded, test the water on the prisoners first. We shall remain here, however, and ration our water. A week is plenty of time for circumstances to change or the Royces to get desperate. The Bloody gate should hold for a couple of moons yet. I doubt the walls have even begun to be bombarded yet." He said, and though his words were said firmly and did much to calm his startled nobles on the inside, he raged. He thought he had outmanoeuvred his foe, and perhaps he had, but the Royces knew these lands, for it was they and their vassals that ruled them directly, and they had adapted to his position on the hill. And now his army was under siege atop their high hill. The closest water source aside from the lake they had access to was a small river that was around two days' march behind them, a direction they did not want to move in as it would give the advantage to his enemy and corner him in the mountain valley the river had carved out in the mountains. No, that would not do; he would not allow himself to lose the advantage he had gained like his father would. They had the higher ground, they had equal numbers, and they had a just cause. This battle was in their favour, and it could be no other way.
Chapter 20
Here is your chapter back
The Bloody Gate 334 BC
Fourweeks had passed since the first two walls fell, and only one remained. However, this one was the strongest and had proven thick and steady. If Lucas were to guess, it would be another two weeks before the first few portions of the walls began to fall. In the meantime, he had taken to drilling his men just out of range of the walls and launching small tester attacks on the walls to keep the defenders on their toes and ease the boredom that had started to take route in his camp. The labour required to man and supply the siege weapons was also vital in keeping complacency from his soldiers though only so much could be done.
He, however, kept himself occupied by sparring the best warriors in his army, no matter their birth, and overseeing the drills and training within his camp. This was done not only for his benefit but also to let his men see him close up rather than simply being an armoured man atop his horse overseeing them doing all the hard work. He had a fine reputation amongst his men anyway, but loyalty and dedication were invaluable to a general from his men. And Lucas was nothing if not a good general.
He was currently sitting in his command tent, a comfortable white tent decorated with furniture, maps, and two Blackwood banners. He had been eating his lunch while reading a letter from Lara with a slight smile on his face. She spoke of how much she, Louis and Sara missed both him and Brynden, whom she told him they were all very proud of. Brynden proved himself a fine general, and Lucas smiled proudly whenever he thought of his eldest son. The boy had won his spurs and, while very young, was quickly becoming a renowned warrior prince earning the nickname of Brynden the Black Prince for his black armour, Blackwood name and not least because it simply rhymes well.
"What's tickled you then?" Spoke a voice as the flaps of the tent opened. Only one man in his army was allowed to enter his tent unannounced.
"Letter from Lara and sit down Brynden." He spoke, smiling at his best friend and cousin.
"Oh? How's the old crone? What about young Louis and baby Sara?" Asked Brynden with a smirk.
"That old crone will beat you senseless if you called her that to her face, and Louis and Sara are fine, though both are growing quickly, according to Lara."
"Ah, Lara's harmless." Dismissed a laughing Brynden, pretending to be unintimidated by the fearsome Blackwood Queen. "And children tend to grow up quickly, or at least my own do."
"And how are they?" He asked his friend.
"Not bad, not bad." Smiled Brynden, a father of two, a lad named Tytos after Bryndens father and a lass named Melissa. Brynden was of age with Louis and Melissa with young Brynden. "What about Callum Ryger?"
"He's much the same. Growing and wanting to be fighting this war. According to Lara, he's matured much over the past few moons and will make a good husband for Melissa." Lucas told his cousin, the young Ryger, heir of the heir of Willows Wood, was a bright boy like his grandfather though perhaps more martial minded than the old Ryger lord. However, that was no doubt expected of a boy raised under the care of Lucas Blackwood.
"Good, good, I still want to meet the lad, and she won't be marrying him until I deem her old enough." Said Brydnen pointedly.
"Cousin, you're one of my Dukes; it is not up to me who or when she marries." Laughed Lucas.
"I know… it's just after Sara…." He didn't finish the sentence, but Lucas grimaced anyway. When she married, Sara had been too young and had her first child too quickly and suffered gravely. It was something both Brynden and Lucas blamed themselves for, but they had been young and too busy playing at being king to realise their mistake. One they suffered gravely for every day, her absence a constant reminder of their mistake and continuous motivation to be better. Though those wounds still cut.
"I agree, brother; we will not make that mistake again; she was too young," Lucas said, and his cousin nodded thankfully before shaking his head.
"What news of Duskendale?" he asked.
"Kevan has decided to launch an assault, the town walls are nearly totally weakened, and he should be doing so as we speak. He intends to take control of the town and stop reinforcements coming from the Dun Fort, locking the Darklyns in their keep and giving them no other option but to surrender." Lucas told him.
"A solid plan, the Dun Fort overlooks the town with only one pathway down into the town as far as I can remember. If they can take the walls and then hold it, the town will fall easily, leaving the Darklyns and their allies trapped in their keep." Said Brynden. "What do you plan on doing with them if they surrender?"
"There's not a whole lot I can do. This isn't the Brackens or the Vances; the Darklyns influence in the region stretches from the Cape to the Stormlands. We cannot simply strip them of their lands and titles without angering others, and that is something we cannot afford. Kevan has been ordered to offer surrender in which the Darklyns bow and keep their lands in return for their crown and taxes. If they don't, they will starve in their keep, and a junior member of the house who Kevan and Brynden judge best will take the role as Duke of Duskendale, the heir being sent to foster with us."
"A hostage then." Said Brynden.
"I know, cousin, I would rather not use a child against their parents, but it is needed to maintain our control and integrate them into the kingdom for future generations," Lucas said, shaking his head. "Besides, they will be treated well and educated like a ward."
"It is necessary, and I don't like it, though, Lucas."
"Me either, but I see no other option," The Blackwood king said, setting down the letter and turning to face his cousin properly. "Now onto why I called you here."
"Go on."
"As you know, my good-brother and his men are currently stationed on the sisters, awaiting the influx of Northmen to migrate onto the Islands to repopulate them with friendly inhabitants. However, there is not many willing to go, not that either the North or the sisters have much of a population, to begin with, but anyway. So there will still be a majority sistermen population there, and my good-father believes it will be a few generations before the islands are properly made northern."
"And what does this have to do with me?" Asked Brynden.
"Nothing really, but I want your opinion on an offer from the Starks." Lucas said, "In exchange for 10,000 Rivermen and their families moving to the Islands and a lease of our shipbuilders and shipyards and yearly shipments of grain. The Starks will be willing to supply us with timber for ships, lowered tariffs for goods from the Riverlands in the North and exclusivity for the trade of furs to the south."
"That is not a fair trade whatsoever." Stated Brynden. "The population hit will be hard but manageable. The grain will also be manageable but not ideal after a long winter. However, the lease of our shipbuilding facilities is not feasible; the eastern fleet needed upgrades and expansion anyway but now needs repairs and replenishment. The western fleet needs larger ships as it is mostly made up of aged longships. Still, more importantly, we would see a heavy loss on the trade ships we sell to others and use for ourselves. This deal would see our presence on the waters decline heavily in the coming years and leave us open on the sea. And the terms they offer do not compensate us sufficiently for these losses. Timber for ships is useless if we cannot build any, lowered tariffs are nice but not exceedingly valuable, especially if we see the decline in our trade fleets number and condition we should be expecting with the loss of our shipwrights would negate this to an extent, ships do not last forever and will need replacing eventually. While extremely valuable during the winters and autumn, the same problem for the fur trade sees a large decline during summer and spring. As I said before, the problems our trade fleet will suffer will negatively impact our benefits from this." Brynden said, and while his words spoke of the negatives of the offer, his tone of voice was not dismissing entirely.
"Indeed, however, we both know the North will use the yards to make a fleet for themselves, which will be a boon for us in the long run. Besides, the deal only includes the shipyards on the west coast, mainly the ones in Seaguard and along the Cape of eagles for ten years." Lucas said. "Our western fleet mostly patrols the sunset sea and makes regular raids on the Iron Islands. We can allow it to be weakened for ten years as we are on decently friendly terms with the Lannisters, and the Iron Islands couldn't be a threat for another hundred years." The raids on the Islands were a vital factor in this. The ships of the Western fleet patrolled through and around the Islands, and any hint of rebuilding was squashed out, shipyards were never allowed to be rebuilt, and the only ships in the Islands were a handful of Lannister ones on their outpost and old fishing ships, no they were thoroughly beaten.
"I suppose, but the burden on the eastern yards will be huge, and it will cost a lot of gold to expand them enough to pick up the slack. Trade is the lifeblood of our kingdom, as you well know, and any deal that slows trade is not advantageous to us." Brynden said.
"I'm aware, and gold will be needed to rebuild the Blackwater region, gold we do not have in as large quantities as I would like. This war has been expensive, and the winter that preceded it has made us tighten our belts and reach into our reserves on more than one occasion. Reserves I had wanted to spend on canals and deepening sections of the trident to boost trade and water passage." And wasn't that the truth of it. Soldiers needed to be paid and paid well in the case of the Longbowmen and professional soldiers. But not only that, but the soldiers were also away from their professions as carpenters, farmers and a variety of other trades, and as a result, income had been hit hard. Trade had been hit hard as fewer goods were produced and fewer ships came to a realm at war, fearing being caught up in some way in the conflict or associated with one side, thus angering the other.
"And yet you are tempted to accept." Brynden laughed.
"Aye, not only does a stronger north help us, but this deal would also foster a closer bond between our two kingdoms and would give us more political power over the Reach and Lannisters. It is a near guarantee that winter will come in the next ten years, furs are necessary during it, and while both kingdoms will try and supply themselves as well as they can, the Northern market is by far the largest and most valuable. They will be forced to trade with us to get to it." Lucas said. "Besides, we can supply the men they want easily by granting some of the veterans their lands there instead of in the Riverlands and by offering a subsidy for families moving there, the grain will not be an issue as harvest approaches, and even with depleted farm hands we will not struggle to feed ourselves, gods be praised."
"Agreed, but I urge you to take your time thinking about this, perhaps get the council of a few other Lords as well," Brynden told him.
"I will do so. Thank you, Brynden." He told his cousin with a smile, who gave the same before bowing and leaving.
—-
Near Grey Glen. 9 days later 334 BC.
They sat atop their hill for nine days, waiting for the Royces to assault while their reserves dwindled. By now, thirst had set in as the lake's water was laced with a Dornish poison, slow-acting diarrhoea inducing toxin that, while not fatal, caused men who drank it to come down with a severe temperature and chronic diarrhoea leaving them essentially useless in combat. Of course, the Royce prisoners were the first to show symptoms, but by then, four days had passed, and some of his men had begun to drink it, only a few hundred or so, but it was still significant as the sick needed more water if they didn't want to die of fever. Not that it stayed in them too long as they shit it out a few hours later. And now David was beginning to see he could not stay atop the hill for too much longer, so he was left with two options, attempting to retreat, leaving a small force here to stop the Royce army from pursuing or descending from the hill and give battle.
He could only afford one of those options. Morale within the army was not high, with strict rations and stricter punishments for those that broke them. Men were tired, thirsty and sick and even worse was what was being said about him. How he had murdered his father made him a cursed kinslayer, and he feared the Royce heathens so much that he had allowed them to besiege his ancestral castle and the seat of Arryn power for thousands of years. Also, he fled the battle with them, trying to hide his cowardice by sitting back and allowing his men to take useless castles. None of it was good for his army, and he needed a victory if he wanted to be the king to bring the Arryns to even greater heights by winning this war. His fleeing from another battle was not an option. Just as he was about to order the mobilisation of the army, a guard broke in.
"My King! The outer two walls of the Bloody gate have fallen! The messenger said that the fortress wouldn't be able to hold for longer than three weeks. This was two weeks ago!" The guardsmen panicked. And David, for the first time since his father's death, felt his confidence slip for just a moment. How was this possible? The gate was impregnable sure it was undermanned, but that should matter. No one had ever gotten past the first wall; how did two of them fall? "My King?"
David ignored the guard for a second longer as he gathered himself. "Ready the men, we attack today." He ordered, and the guard ran out to relay the order. He summoned his servants and squire and began to armour himself for battle, anticipation swelling in his stomach for the fight to come. Three hours later, the Vale army was once more in battle formation.
"Advance!" He called. He was one of the few men atop a horse, making him easily identifiable from just behind the battle lines with his Falcon Knight inspired armour with a blue cape and blue plume atop his crowned helmet.
The Royce army was also formed up by then, having identified the telltale signs of an army preparing for battle hours ago. They wherein much the same formation as they were the first day, and David, try as he might, could not think of anything he might be able to do to give him the advantage in this battle. This terrain was too rocky, open, and steep to pull off some tactical manoeuvre that might win him the fight. It would be a straight-up slugfest and one he knew he had to win because a failure here would end Arryn's reign in these lands. Already he had made contingencies; a friend in the Reach had promised to take in his family at Highgarden should he fail here. One day when the time was right, the Arryns, with the help of the Gardeners, would bring down the Blackwoods, restore the Arryns to their rightful lands and reinstate the followers of the seven to their ancestral homes. But he was determined not to need that anyway, he would win here, and then he would force march to the gate and then throw back the Blackwoods, forcing them to meet him for peace talks.
With newfound determination and the knowledge that his dynasty was safe should he fall today, he kicked on his horse until he was nearly amongst the back lines of his men. Sword in his right gauntlet resting on his shoulder and Arryn shield and reigns in his left hand he held his head high and regal like as men looked up to their leader seeing his gleaming armour and regal stance and their steps became that little bit more steady and fast, their will became that slight bit more sound.
The sun gleamed on the battlefield as the Arryn army reached the halfway point down the hill, and crossbowman broke through the ranks to fire their first volley, slamming into the shield wall of the first men. However, there was a reason the crossbow was so widely used and feared even over the longbow. Aside from the minuscule amount of training required, its bolts could penetrate most armours, thus making it the better choice to arm your levies with for most lords. At Hunton, Brynden Redwood had used a shield wall much like the Royces to counter and block as many bolts as possible. However, the difference here was that the Riverlander men were not only better trained but worked as one cohesive unit. All of them trained in the same ways and formation and as such could work together seamlessly. It was as annoyingly satisfying to watch as it was intimidating. The Royces, on the other hand, was made up nearly entirely of untrained levies; few of them have ever held a shield in their life, never mind held one in a formation under heavy fire as men fell all around them, blood spurting from deep wounds.
The shield wall was like a second home for the Riverlanders who were used to holding their ground and absorbing fire. At the same time, their longbowmen decimated foe after foe before they charged in and cleaned up with the cavalry, but to a stranger, the shield wall might as well have been the deepest of the seven hells as men shook like a leaf, praying that their shield or the shield of their neighbour would save their lives. The Royce archers and crossbowman, for there was no standardisation within the army as most of the archers came from the Hunters of Longbowhall and the crossbowman from everywhere else, began to retaliate, firing their projectiles into the advancing andals killing many. But they were shooting uphill while the Andals had an easy shot downhill on them, and the skirmish was only made competitive by the archers of Longbow Hall, which were only a tier or so worse than those of the Riverlands. However, after a further twenty minutes of this skirmish, the Royce archers and crossbowman retreated behind their infantry lines as they proved unable to match up to the Andal crossbows, who once more began to bombard the infantry lines.
David called for the lines to stop, and the infantry lines watched as their crossbowman had free reign to fire downhill into the mass of Roycemen, cheering them on with cries of happiness as carnage reigned in the Royce lines. However, soon his crossbowman ran out of bolts and retreated to join the infantry taking their shields off their backs and drawing their swords, axes or maces. With a roar, the advance began again, and when they were close enough to see the fear on their faces, David knew he would be victorious. The lines smashed as the true Valemen charged the last few metres down the slope, crashing into the first men who quaked like little girls. Initially, he had planned on this being a long engagement, but he sensed victory and committed the two wings of his rear line to advance while the centre remained. Within half an hour, the Royce flanks were buckling, and Robar Royce committed his reserves to hold them while in the centre things were only a tiny bit better,
An hour later, David was satisfied this battle was ready for the taking. Dismounting in front of the last reserves, He raised his sword.
"For the Vale! For the Seven! For honour!" He shouted, and his men roared as they charged down the hill into the chaos that the battle had descended into; blood coated the ground and bodies, shields, and weapons were obstacles you had to avoid to reach the next man. David joined the battle killing two exhausted men in rapid times, their strikes were so weak and so slow David barely felt like he had to stop them, confident that they would do little more than scrape his armour. It was not long after that the centre Roycemen began to turn and run, and soon it was a full-on route as men fled for their lives, many dying as they did while many others threw down their weapons, very few getting the mercy they desired from their blood-crazed foe. David, however, knew it was pointless and stupid to try and chase them down; even if they could reform the army, they had lost too many men to this day to be a real threat to him. Besides, he needed to get to the Bloody gate to throw back the Blackwoods. He ordered the non-noble prisoners who refused to fight for him to be killed, knowing they would only slow down his march. Seeing how serious he was with his order, many took the offer as he killed the first man to refuse. Two days later, his army was on the march once again, fed, watered and rested as well as they could be; morale was as high as possible. Much like at the battle, David could practically feel the righteousness and overwhelming confidence of the seven flowing through his army. The Blackwoods were next, and much like the Royces, they would be swept aside by the newly motivated and inspired Vale army.