A blur of snarling, wheezing, cursing, furious, pleading faces flashed before my eyes, and I could make neither sense nor distinction in that whirling chaos. Several times men tried to strike at me. My bodyguards intervened in time; once I caught an Unsullied spear upon my shield, and another time I simply twisted aside and the point scraped across my armor.
I did not throw myself into the thickest crush of battle. Today, my mere presence in the fight was enough.
And once more, fortune began tilting in our favor. This time, nothing could stay its course. The enemy, like ourselves, had already committed every reserve to the battle, and now both armies relied solely upon the strength of their arms, their endurance, and their will to prevail.
The remnants of the savage, unstoppable Dothraki, whom Jaime had driven against the Blueburn, broke first. They wheeled their horses about and charged for escape, shoving aside even their own allies in their desperation to save themselves. The Dothraki crushed through the remains of the Unsullied and burst free of the trap.
Our own warriors barely sufficed to encircle the surviving enemy completely, hemming them in against the waters of the Blueburn.
By then, I had already withdrawn from the fighting and ridden back atop one of the low rises. From there, I could clearly see below how, beside the river whose waters had turned pink, the men had spent themselves and now stood motionless, separated by only a short distance. All of them breathed heavily, yet none seemed willing to yield.
I noticed then a detachment of perhaps ten riders approaching me. At their head rode Tyrek — bareheaded, his cloak torn, armor dented, blood streaking his face. Someone lay slumped before him across the saddle.
"Look, Joff, who we've brought you," he said, hauling his horse to a sudden halt so sharp that clods of turf flew from beneath its hooves. The next moment, Tyrek flung a naked female body onto the ground.
The girl was hairless, smeared with blood and dirt, one arm twisted at an unnatural angle… Yet I recognized her. Or rather, I guessed who she must be.
"The Targaryen whore," Tyrek sneered.
The men around me burst into shouting and whistling, thrusting swords and spears into the air.
"Well done, Tyrek!" I smiled broadly, though weariness dulled it. I simply had no strength left for deeper emotion. And still, Daenerys had somehow survived that hell of burning wildfire and the dying dragon. Incredible. "Herald, throw something over her and take her to Archmaester Marwyn. Have him examine her and see to her wounds. Guard her well, and afterward bind her."
"Have you lost your wits, Joff?" Tyrek shouted angrily. "You mean to heal this cunt? Cut her head off!"
A number of the warriors supported him with a low murmur of approval.
"Oh, no." I swept my gaze over the men around me and saw them gradually falling silent. "She will not die so easily!"
The warriors grumbled. It took some time for them to settle, yet none dared argue with me openly.
High above, beneath the clouds themselves, the last dragon circled the skies. From time to time it roared, and in its voice I fancied I heard not only fury, but loneliness as well. It wheeled overhead again and again, no longer attacking, merely watching everything below. Then it turned and flew away.
Herald carried off the stunned Daenerys, and Randyll Tarly rode up to me.
"Those buggerers have no mind to surrender," he practically spat the words. "Shall we finish them?"
"Ride back to them, Lord Tarly, and offer unconditional surrender in exchange for their lives."
Lord Tarly spurred away. I watched him meet with some Dornish commander, the two of them speaking for a time. Eventually he returned.
"They've begun putting forth conditions," Lord Tarly reported. "Trying to determine what they'll have to surrender and how matters will be arranged."
"They're merely stalling for time, I'd wager," suggested Erik Fell.
"I think the same," Randyll nodded. "Evening approaches. They still have cavalry remaining, and I'm certain they'll attempt a breakout southward under cover of darkness."
"Tell them, Lord Tarly, to surrender. Promise them they will be treated according to their station. If they refuse, unleash the bows and crossbows at once. Ser Dorell, return to your men. You know what must be done."
"You would give the order to shoot down foes who are all but helpless?" Lord Royce asked in surprise.
"I already have, if you failed to notice. And if they are fools enough to keep fighting, then I see no reason to waste more of my own men."
"Rightly said. To the seven hells with courtesy," Lord Tarly nodded, then spurred his horse back toward the surrounded enemy.
The Dornish refused to surrender quietly. Then Ser Dorell raised his hand, and hundreds of arrows flew into the tightly packed mass of men.
Two volleys proved enough. Scores fell, horses screamed, and almost at once the Dornish raised a white flag.
The Battle of Cloverfield was over.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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