WILOW-Ch.353: Grief and Despair
Southern-West Lannister Camp, Near Riverrun, Riverlands
POV of Ser Stafford Lannister
-BOOOOMMM!!!
Stafford Lannister was woken out of his slumber with the sound of the explosion.
His eyes were wide open as he frantically looked around his tent. Everything was just fine.
The Riverlander whore he had been sleeping with looked around in fear before she quickly took her dress from the ground and left the tent.
He looked at his armor.
-BDAAMMMM!!!
Another explosion rang out.
This time, he was more coherent and realized that the sound of the blast came from the north, from the other side of the river, where his son and the Lannister main Command Center were located.
He looked at his armor once again.
There was no time to wear it.
He quickly donned his gambeson and breeches. The commotion outside his tent was getting louder, so he quickly picked up his sword and left his tent.
He looked to the north, and his heart fell.
The place where the Command Center was located had gone up in flames.
And above that…
"D…dd… dra… DRAGONS!!!" The soldier beside him shouted and then dropped his spear and ran.
"RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!! DRA…" The man's words were abruptly cut short as he collided with a horse whose tail was on fire and was then promptly trampled by the other horses behind him.
His eyes widened in fear, and he jumped to the side.
The horses passed a few feet from him and toward the river. He noticed that their hair and tails were on fire.
Green fire.
His mind whirled in confusion as he got up and looked at the place where the command center used to be.
His heart was filled with grief at the thought of his dead son.
"…ot dragons." A man said from beside him.
He turned and stared at the man.
It was Lord Gawen Westerling.
"What?" he asked.
"Those are not dragons." The man said, "They don't breathe fire. The men atop those creatures are throwing something. The fire is green in color. It must be wildfire."
He continued to stare at the man, wondering how the man thought that he would find such information interesting when his son was dead.
"M'lord. M'LORD!!!"
Someone else asked for his attention.
He turned around, and his stomach sank to his knees as he took a good look at his camp once again.
The southern part of his camp was filled with smoke and fire. That was where they kept their horses.
The horse with the flaming tail suddenly made sense.
"M'lord… There…" the man shouted and pointed in the distance.
He squinted, and then his eyes widened.
The howl of the wolves echoed in the camp.
The earth shook, and then thousands of horse riders charged into the camp.
His words were stuck in his mouth.
"M'lord. What should we do?" someone asked.
He gulped, and his eyes went toward the northern camp once again.
He remembered Lord Westerling's words. The non-dragons had bombarded the whole army camp with wildfire.
Chaos and death reigned in the army that his son once commanded.
His son, who was now dead.
"My lord." Someone else shouted.
"Ser Stafford." Someone shouted, "Come to your senses. We need you to lead the men."
He turned and saw that it was Lord Tytos Brax.
He gulped and looked at the chaos.
Could it even be salvaged?
He had to try at least.
For his son.
He blinked the tears from his eyes and turned to Lord Gawen Westerling.
"Lord Westerling." He said, his voice cracking a bit from the immense grief at the death of his son, "Take control of our foot soldiers. The enemy cavalry has only breached the outer tents. Rally the men and chase them away from our camp at any cost."
He turned to Lord Tytos Brax, "Lord Tytos. Create a defense line. The enemy might have surprised us, but we still have the…"
His words were cut short as he heard a horn blare in the distance, and his shoulders slumped as the cavalry withdrew, only to be replaced by an even larger infantry, and then the arrows started raining down on his men.
He turned to Lord Tytos Brax. "Go now."
Lord Tytos bowed and left.
He turned to the rest of his men. Only a few of them were wearing their armor, or parts of it. Most of them looked like they had just come from their tents as soon as they heard the commotion. Their hair was disheveled, and their faces filled with terror and despair.
He couldn't blame them. He doubted that he looked any better.
He took a deep breath, "Rally the men. Gather around and form a line. Stop the enemy at any cost."
The men yelled affirmations and left. He knew that some of them were probably going to run away as soon as possible.
He didn't care.
He had a feeling that he had lost this battle even before it began.
The next few minutes were the worst moments of his life.
He and his commanders tried to rally their men and create a proper defense against the enemy army, which he now knew belonged to the Boltons.
The direwolves, the non-dragons, and the banners were a clear indication.
Against all odds, his subordinates did manage to rally the men and create a decent defense against the enemy army.
But none of it worked.
The Bolton infantry was the most disciplined foot soldiers he had ever seen. His men were cut down like wheat by a scythe in front of them.
All the while, arrows continued to rain down on them while the enemy cavalry went through his men like butter.
"Lord Regenard Estren is dead." One of his men reported, "Our left flank has broken and is routing."
He was not surprised. Not when six other commanders in his army died mysteriously from stray arrows.
By now, he was sure that they were not stray arrows but the arrows of a very skilled enemy archer.
How do you fight the enemy when your commanders continue to fall like this?
He knew that defeat was imminent, and there was nothing he could do at this point.
The northern camp was already in shambles. He did not doubt that the presence of the non-dragons and the wildfire explosions would have broken their morale even before the battle began.
He would have put his hopes on the Southern-East army, but they, too, were under attack by the enemy cavalry and were in an even worse state than they.
He heard the howls of those giant and terrifying wolves reach near him.
"M'lord. The gates." One of his men pointed.
He turned around and saw the Portcullis of Riverrun fall as the hundreds of men inside sallied out to pincer attack them.
A few days ago, he would have welcomed any such attack. But now…
He chuckled bitterly to himself before he drew his sword from its sheath.
He might have lost his son. He might have lost this battle, but he was not about to go down easily.
"Men! TO ME!!!" he shouted and turned to face the Riverlanders.
--------------
Author's Note: You folks can also read up to +65 chapters on my P@treon Page as an early access privilege.
You can also read "+3 Free Chapter" and see some pictures as aFree Member.
www.patreon.com/vanguard_v
P@treon Page Name: V For Vanguard
Next Chapters' Name:
Ch.354: Wyvern Rider - I
Ch.355: Wyvern Rider - II
Ch.356: Victory Celebration