cp18

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

I could feel the tension among the men. It was palpable so near to our goal. Or perhaps I was just projecting? Either way, the men had to know that in less than an hour we'd be in battle. Even Patrek and Marq's jokes had a strained quality to them.

Finally, I slanted a look at the stolid older Mallister riding by my side. I'd picked him to handle most of the actual running of the army I was leading. "They don't know we're here?"

The older lord gave a shrug and a twitch of his head. "Not yet. Not as far as we can tell. And our outriders have been thorough. They will know soon enough though, we are nearly to the city. But your little…" the man grimaced… "trick with the mercenaries seems to have worked. I doubt even Mace Tyrell would have left his flank so exposed if they knew another army of our size was in the vicinity."

I grimaced back at him. I tried not to think of the burning holdfasts we had left in our wakes. Or Bloodbeard's jovial glee at each village and town he looted. No doubt my name was being cursed from one end of the Crownlands to the next. But it had worked.

Marq must have seen the look on my face because he gave me a reassuring slap on the back. "Don't worry Edmure. It will be worth it once we've dealt with the Lannisters and Baratheons."

Patrek grinned, a stark contrast to his stoic father. "King's Landing by nightfall! Women, wine… I've missed it! Wait until you see it Edmure!"

His father sent Patrek a quelling look. "A sacked city is no laughing matter."

Patrek gave the man an exasperated but fond look. "I know father. I'm just saying Kings Landing is…"

His words trailed off and his eyes widened. A second later I saw why as we crested the hill. Chaos reigned before us. In the distance I could make out the city. Smoke was rising from it in waves, and if I squinted I could make out what looked like the sails of hundreds of ships.

But it was the more immediate that took the breath away. An entire battle was raging before us. Just as in the books, it looked like the Tyrells, minus Tywin I supposed, had smashed right into Stannis' forces. It was chaos beneath the city walls. The knights of the Reach were cutting through Stannis' panicked army as I watched. Here and there knots of men were resisting, but I didn't doubt if I let events play out Stannis' entire land force would soon be shredded.

"Lord Edmure." Jason Mallister's grim voice cut through my shocked reaction, grounding me. "They have noticed us."

Indeed, I could see panic starting to ripple through the forces arrayed beneath us as the Tyrells took notice us at the top of the hill. I had a half second of surreal amusement as I realized that this was playing out rather like that scene from Lord of The Rings.

Only those were real men below us, not orcs. And the battle was far from won. A sobering thought. I marshaled myself and nodded, managing to draw my sword with minimum awkwardness. "Indeed. Let us not give them more time to react. Sound the advance. As we planned. We crush them all. Then I want the Northerners over the wall while we guard the flank."

Mallister gave a curt nod. More of our men were cresting the hill. To my left, I could see the Northern banners joining ours. The Tyrells, Baratheons, and the city itself spread out before me. It was on an oddly calm and detached moment. But I knew that would be changing.

—

Loras Tyrell

Loras Tyrell felt a surge of joy as he twisted his sword into the face of yet another of Stannis' fanatics. Even in the heat of battle there was something satisfying about seeing that hated sigil, a perversion of the Baratheon's noble crowned stag, trampled in the mud.

And there was a lot of that satisfaction going around. Stannis was finished. Finished! A fierce joy rose up in him again. But it wasn't enough.

He saw his brother and Tarly a few yards away and closed the distance, taking the time to ride down yet another Stormlander that was trying to flee. Faithless bastard. To not just abandon your king, but abandon it for his murderer?

Another surge of hot anger surged through him at the thought of Stannis. Thinking he could order that freak bitch to kill Renly and then take his army?

"Enough!" A hand was on his arm. Abruptly he realized he was still twisting the sword in the fallen Stormlander. Loras gave himself a shake, looking up.

Despite himself, for a split moment, Loras almost went dizzy. For a second it seemed like his king was before him again. Just a second, but when it passed it made the reality hit him that much harder. That was not Renly back before him, Renly was still gone. And nothing could bring him back.

He loved his brother, but it should have been him to honor Renly by wearing that armor. Just another way he had failed his king. Unable to guard him, and now unable to wear his armor in bringing justice to his enemies. Joffrey be damned. That was just an excuse to finish Stannis.

Their men continued to surge forwards around them, for a second leaving Garlan and Loras in a little bubble of calm. Garlan loosened the grip on his arm, sending him a firm look through the antlered helm. "Loras. Remember yourself. This is a battle."

Yes, he loved his brother. But god, that condescending tone. He argued back. "We need to keep the pressure Garlan. We've won… but that's not enough. We need to finish Stannis.

"We've not won yet." Gods. He had forgotten Randyll Tarly was behind them until the man spoke. "Stannis is finished here, but his men are in the city already. They get to the walls before us, and we'll still have a fight ahead of us."

Loras felt another surge of anger. While they were talking, the army was surging ahead of them. Stannis was getting further from him. It wasn't enough for Stannis to be killed, *he* had to do it. "Forget the city. Stannis is *here*. Before us. Finish him. Kill them all. Then it won't matter what happens in the city."

"Boy…" Whatever Randyll was going to say was cut off. He went abruptly silent, head swinging around like a hunting dog trying to catch a scent, tension in his body.

"What?" Garlan whipped his own head around trying to see what had Tarly on edge.

"Not sure… something doesn't feel right…"

Now that Tarly said it, Loras could sense it too. Almost like a ripple of confusion was rolling through the men around them. You could feel a change in the air, but he couldn't pinpoint it, and they couldn't see clearly from the press of bodies around them.

Tarly was standing on his stirrups now, straining to see over the heads of their men. Suddenly his eyes widened. "Gods save us…"

Then a split second later he was roaring. "To me! Form up! Form up! Halt you whoresons. To your lord!"

Tarly continued roaring, almost forcibly turning men around by the sheer power of his voice, but Loras wasn't sure why. Then through Renly's helm he saw his brother's eyes widen as well.

"Gods be good..." His brother echoed Tarly.

"What?"

His brother pointed, and now he could see. Men were pouring towards them. More than he could count. Banners flapping in the wind. "What…" he could only repeat himself in confusion.

His brother jerked his reins, bringing his horse in line to where Tarly was still bullying the men into some order. Loras followed him, but could clearly see it was too late. Their men were ragged and stretched out from pursuing Stannis. This force was going to fall on them… just like they had fallen on Stannis. The irony of it almost forced a hysterical laugh to bubble up from him.

Garlan was anything but amused though. "Stark and Tully… the traitors."

But… Loras still couldn't believe it. "They're supposed to be in the West. Chasing Tywin."

Garlan shook his head. "Doesn't matter. We'll have to try and hold… hope father can bring the rest of the army forwards…"

"Brace yourselves!" That was Tarly, voice clearly reverberating over the chaos and confusion.

There was a resounding clash as the Rivermen and Northerners smashed into their host. Tarly had managed to create a little knot of order around them, but Loras felt his heart sink. Everywhere else he could see their men being swept aside. The damn enemy was everywhere. What had convinced the Northerners to throw in with Stannis of all people?

And then there was no more time for thought. Loras threw himself forward, but his heart was leaden. His arms heavier than before. He had failed. Again. Even if their father came forwards, Stannis would escape.

Then he saw Tarly pulled off his horse. Strange what you noticed in the heat of battle, but he distinctly saw a group beneath the banner of a flayed man stab the lord. It was almost shocking to see Tarly fall, the old commander had always had an air of gruff invincibility about him.

With Tarly fallen, the last order in the men around them dissipated. He found himself back-to-back with his brother, desperately fighting off the Northerners as more and more of their knights fell around them.

But even in the chaos he had to marvel at Garlan's skill with the sword. Even as their men fell all around them, he and his brother kept the Northerners at bay. Despite himself, Loras felt something resonate in him. This was what he was made for. Battle. If they could just hold out… somehow fight through. Their father had to be coming up with reinforcements…

And then Garlan let out a low groan behind him. Desperately, Loras lashed out in a flurry of blows to give himself some space, twisting to look behind.

His brother was down on his knees, slowly sinking to his side. Renly's armor was dented and beaten, the tine's on that ridiculous helmet snapped. But there was also a sword right through the visor.

"Garlan…" Why did his voice sound so lost? His brother didn't answer him. No one did. There were only northerners left around them.

"I don't know who that one was… not Renly that's for damn sure." Yet another Northerner with a flayed man on his chest was speaking. "But this one's a Tyrell or I'm a bloody Wildling. Roose will want him alive."

The hollow feeling was back as he looked down at his brother. His brother in Renly's armor. Desperately he took a half step back, almost as though he could deny what was happening with a little distance. This couldn't be happening. Renly gone. Stannis saved. Now Garlan dead? Gods… how had it all gone wrong?

"Now don't be a fool lordling. Put down that pretty sword, boy. You come along nicely, and no one has to get hurt. I'm sure someone will pay a fat purse for you…" The Northerner stepped forwards, kicking Garlan's body to the side to clear the path.

Loras saw red. His body moved without thinking, sword slicing through the air, opening the throat of the Northern bastard.

Renly. Garlan. A snarl ripped from his throat. Was he screaming? Crying? He didn't know. He threw himself at the Northerners.

His sword was light in his hands. The enemy was moving slowly. Too slowly.

He'd kill them all. Every time he smashed one down, two more seemed to come forwards. But it wasn't' enough. It wasn't enough. He wanted more. He'd kill the entire army if he had to.

Then his leg gave out. He looked down in confusion when the limb wouldn't respond. He noted with some detachment that there was a spear in his leg. Right in the joint of the knee. He tried to stand up, but the limb wouldn't respond.

Then the pain came. Blinding.

The Northerners were all around him now. He tried again to rise, and felt a scream of pain rip from from his throat. They were too close now, and he'd lost the momentum.

He couldn't give up though. Unbidden, Renly's face flashed before his eyes. Then Garlan. Desperately he tried to lash out with his sword, and felt it bite flesh. But they were behind him now too.

He felt a crushing weight baring down on his back. Then darkness.

—

Lancel Lannister

Lancel leaned against a column in the Queen's Ballroom of the Red Keep, trying to keep the weight off his bad leg. His body felt like one large bruise, and the leg was a constant dull throb of pain. It made it hard to think and hard to focus on what was being said around him.

"Your grace, it was the Goldcloaks. They wouldn't hold! Damn peasants melted like summer snow." Boros Blount sneered down at Janos Slynt to his right.

The Goldcloaks commander was scowling right back at the other man, jowls bouncing as he shook his head. "The command at the bay was yours Ser. If the men didn't hold, the fault is with their commander…"

"Enough!" Cersei's voice cut off their squabbling. "You're both useless. Worse then useless. I don't want excuses, I want answers."

Lancel tried to focus on his queen. Normally the sight of her… so commanding… so breathtaking… it normally filled him with confidence. But right now he was still feeling hollow. "Cersei… The Goldcloaks… they're just city watchmen. They couldn't stand against Stannis' knights."

All eyes turned to him. Desperately, he tried to straighten, ignoring the pain. His mind was vividly remembering the enemy ships slicing through their fleet like a knife through butter. The knights disembarking in endless waves. "The wildfire… was a mistake… the men didn't know how to use it. We set more fires amongst our own than the enemy. The Goldcloaks are from Kings Landing. When they saw the fire? We lost men to their homes. Their families."

The Hound was standing behind the king as usual, and his scarred face twisted in a grimace of disgust. "Alchemist piss. Half the city is on fire and it won't go out. Fleabottom is ablaze."

That seemed to rouse the king from his distraction. "Good! Traitors all of them. They deserve to burn. Stannis too."

Despite himself, Lancel felt a wave of anger shoot through him. "We were holding though! Damn it Cersei, we were holding despite it all! Till you called the King back."

Suddenly his head rocked back, and he felt a sharp pain. Almost hesitantly, he reached his hand up to touch his face. She'd slapped him. Him! It was the shock of it as much as the pain that rendered him speechless.

Cersei was not speechless though. She was spitting mad. "You forget yourself, Ser. That is the King you speak of. His safety comes before anything…"

Gods. She was still beautiful though. Even angry. Especially angry. But… she needed to see. "Cersei. It cost us the city…"

Joffrey seemed oddly pleased at his words. "Yes. Stannis is lucky I didn't stay. I was going to mount his head on a pike."

The hound made an odd noise, and Lancel absentmindedly thought the man was lucky he was standing behind the king and queen so they could not see his face.

Cersei though, she looked indifferent. Beautiful but indifferent. "The city doesn't matter." She gave a dismissive hand wave. "We were never going to hold it."

"Cersei?"

She sneered down at him. At all of them. "Fools. I'm surrounded by fools. What matters is the King. We are perfectly secure in the Red Keep, and well provisioned. Let Stannis have the city, Father will soon rout him out of it. What matters most is the safety of the king."

Blount gave a sycophant like nod. "Indeed, your Grace. Well said. We will keep the King Safe."

Suddenly the doors to the ballroom were thrown wide, cutting off the chatter around them. All eyes darted to Meryn Trant, looking especially stern despite the droopy eyes.

"Your Grace." He fell to his knees before Cersei and Joffrey.

"Ser Trant…" Lancel heard trepidation in Cersei's voice.

"Stannis' men are in the keep."

A gasp went up around them, and he actually heard Slynt give a low moan. Cersei rested her arm on the king as though for support, but Lancel saw that her knuckles were white and tense with the strength of her grip. "How?"

Trant's voice was grim. "Traitors. They call themselves the Antler Men. They've opened a kitchen door. Only a few are in, but there are more coming."

"Mother?" Joffrey looked to the queen in confusion and not a little fear.

Cersei looked lost. A desperate despair in her eyes. It made Lancel's heart break to see it in his proud queen. Desperately, he tried to think what Jaime would do in a situation like this. "My queen…"

All eyes turned to him, and he forced himself to go on. "We must retake the door. Quickly. Before too many enter. Or all is lost."

Blount looked hesitant at that. "If they're already in the keep though…"

Cersei cut him off with a hiss and a slashing hand gesture. "No. You heard my cousin."

She stepped closer to him. Hands on his shoulder. So close she was staring into his eyes. For one heart stopping moment Lancel thought she would kiss him. Here in front of everyone. But then she stepped back and the moment passed. It still took his breath away.

"Ser." Cersei was giving him a regal look. "You will retake this keep. Clegane. You will guard the king. The rest of you with my cousin."

Desperately he straightened himself again, ignoring the pain. "My Queen."

There was a long moment where everyone hesitated. Belatedly, he realized the men were waiting for his order. "Men. We must move with haste. Ser Meryn, you will lead us."

Hopefully that didn't sound too awkward? He couldn't help but notice that while the Red Cloaks fell in, both Blount and Slynt hesitated until a glare from the queen sent them scurrying after him.

The journey down through the Red Keep was hellish. Partly due to the constant pain jolting through him as he tried to maintain the pace, partly due to the panicked servants fleeing in the opposite direction. Lancel supposed it meant they were getting close.

Then they rounded another corner and the enemy was before them. It was a large company, and a Florent was leading them. A stout man, with a broad nose and close set eyes, the sigil of his house on his breast.

Lancel drew to a halt, swaying only slightly on his feet. "Move aside in the name of the King!" To his embarrassment, his voice actually broke slightly on that.

The enemy didn't seem impressed. The Florent sneered at them. "A Lannister."

A lean knight behind the Florent growled. "An abomination."

The Florent nodded his head. "Well said Ser Richard. Surrender Lannister, or die."

What would Jaime do? Desperately, Lancel tried to picture his cousin. "I won't ask you again… stand aside."

Florent cocked his head. "So eager to die? You're too few to stop us."

For a second Lancel looked at him in confusion. Then he glanced behind and did a double take. Somehow, he'd lost half the men that he had set out with. Ser Boros was nowhere to be seen. Slynt either. Only the red cloaks still stood at his back.

Another knight spoke up. "The Lord of The Light has decreed Stannis' victory. No abomination born of incest may sit on the Iron Throne!"

Lancel knew he should feel anger at those words. But mostly, what he felt was fear. He glanced behind again, hoping that somehow the rest of his men would have reappeared since last time he looked. They had not. His leg was on fire now as well. And he knew. The Red Keep had fallen. The King would fall. His queen too. It hurt to think of Cersei at Stannis' mercy.

Part of him wanted to surrender. He knew it was hopeless. But he couldn't imagine Jaime surrendering. If Jaime was in this situation, he'd have a smile and a jape. And then he would kill all who dared defy him or his queen.

Wearily, grimly, Lancel drew his sword.

—

Roland Storm

Roland kept his face stern for the men he led, but inside he couldn't help but feel a surge of elation. He had been secretly disappointed when Stannis had ordered him to the fleet as opposed to the main army, but Warrior be thanked he had still gotten his chance. He had been one of the first off the boats and assaulting the River Gate. He felt exhilaration just remembering that; seeing the Gold Cloaks melt before him.

Glory, battle, and a large company of men at his back. Technically his brother's command, but his brother had gotten lost in the haze of battle. What more could a warrior ask for?

But the battle wasn't won yet. As far as he could tell, Stannis and the main army had not made it in the city yet. Which implied the walls were still being held? Or something else unexpected.

It didn't help that half the city was on fire. He resisted the urge to spit in disgust. The wildfire reminded him too much of that Red Woman. Fire like that had no place in honest battle.

Andrew Estermont spurred his horse to his side. "Ser Roland. If I remember correctly, the King's Gate should be just ahead."

He nodded, scratching at one of the pockmarks on his face. Andrew was a solid sort, and didn't seem to mind being commanded by a bastard. "Good. Get the men ready. If the Gold Cloaks hold the gate still, we'll storm them from behind. Open it for Stannis."

The order was relayed back, and he could see men ready their swords, grim anticipation on their faces. At his left side, Ser Gerold Gower murmured a quiet prayer to the warrior.

They rounded the corner… and it was almost anti-climatic. The great gates were broken and shattered, and yet not a man stood before them. Not at the gates, and not on the walls above. Not a Gold Cloak or Stannis either.

Hesitantly, the men slowed their pace as they approached. Gower looked to him, confusion on his bluff face. "The Gate is broken?"

Roland grunted as they warily moved closer. "Aye. And that's His Grace's battering ram. Sure as sure."

Gower looked confused, not that Roland could blame him. "But then where is his Grace? Or the enemy? Why is no one here?"

Andrew had caught up to them in time to overhear that last comment. "Perhaps the tides of battle swept them away? Still. The fact that the gate is broken can only be a good thing."

Roland nodded slowly. "Aye. Perhaps. Warrior be praised." He supposed Andrew was right. Even if the tide of battle had swept the men away, the Gate was still broken. Stannis would be able to enter at his leisure. The gate being broken was a gift from the Gods.

Still… there might be Lannister men-at-arms nearby. And he wanted to see what was going on. "Ser Andrew. Get some men up on that wall. See if you can figure out what's going on. And if nothing else, we'll want to get word to the King that the way is open."

Andrew followed the orders with alacrity. Then… a moment later… a strangled yell came from the walls and Ser Andrew's men.

Roland's head whipped around, half expecting some enemy to appear, but the gate was still eerily quiet. "Ser Andrew?"

"Ser Roland…" A hesitation. "You'd better get up here…"

Impatient, Roland took the steps two at a time. He hated vagueness. Then he got to the top of the wall and understood why Andrew had been so vague.

Spread out before them was a scene from the seven hells. Total chaos reigned before them.

"What…" Roland trailed off. Trying to comprehend what he saw. He could see Stannis' banners, broken and trampled mostly. He could see Tyrell and the Reach lords, also broken and shattered. Tully's fish. Even the damn Direwolf. Was every Lord in the Seven Kingdom's fighting on the Blackwater?

Andrew's face still showed his disbelief, but he seemed to be mastering himself. "At least we know why the gate was abandoned. Our men must have been swept away by… by… all this."

Roland gave a slow nod. His wits were coming back, scanning the battlefield and trying to make sense of what he saw. "Our army was broken…"

Andrew looked grim. "The King?"

Roland hesitated. "Impossible to say. It looks like some are still fighting…"

Andrew licked his lips nervously. "Do you think the Starks and Tullys came to save us?"

Roland made to answer, then hesitated to observe the battlefield again. "No." He studied it another long second. "No. See there?" He pointed as a small knot of men under Stannis' banner were overwhelmed by a group flying the Tully banner. "I'm not sure whose side the Tyrells were on… but the Starks and Tullys are killing everyone."

Roland considered the situation. It was grim. The men from the fleet may have taken the city, but the land force looked all but routed. "His Grace will need to get to the city. We will have to try and hold the walls."

Suddenly Andrew's eyes widened in horror. "The Gate!"

Roland's head whipped around, dawning horror coming over him as well. "The Warrior damned gate…"

The gate he had been so pleased to see ripped off its hinges before. The gate that should have been an open passageway for Stannis. If the Northerners and Riverlords were really their enemy… if they were planning to enter the city…

Andrew turned his head back to the chaos in front of him. "But if they are the enemy, why haven't they already come over the walls?"

Roland's mind was whirling. "Don't know. Don't care. Estermont… you take the archers up here. Hold the walls. Anyone who isn't wearing the King's badge comes at us, you feather them. And send a messenger to find Florent in this mess. We don't want to lose this city fast as we took it we'll need a hell of a lot more men."

Andrew gave his head a shake. "Yes. Yes of course. But where are you going?"

Roland looked down into the city grimly. Eyes scanning the plaza behind the gates. At least there was plenty of debris and wrecked wagons and houses. They would have to try and rig some sort of barrier. And quickly. He didn't know why the Northern host wasn't taking advantage of the opportunity before them, but he knew it wouldn't last. And with the city burning, who knew how long it would be before Florent and his men made it to them.

Finally, Roland turned back to the knight in front of him who was still waiting for an answer. "I'll be about the Warrior's business. We've a Gods damned gate to hold."

—

The Tyrells and Stannis were both crushed. But I was far from happy. Things were going sideways. Or if not sideways, at least not right. My Rivermen were guarding our flank as planned, but Bolton and his damn northerners hadn't gone over the city walls.

Not for the first time, I turned in my Frustration to Mallister. "What the hell is Bolton doing?"

Jason Mallister looked grim. "I don't know Lord Edmure. We may need to try for the city ourselves… Stannis' men are surely within it already. If they secure the walls before we get in…"

He trailed off as a messenger came running towards us, throwing himself off his frothing horse. I recognized him as one of the many I had sent to the Northern Host. "Lord Edmure! Lord Edmure!"

Impatiently I gestured for the man to rise. "Yes! Out with it!"

He soldier looked distinctly nervous. "Lord Bolton… Lord Bolton has fallen my Lord. The Northerners are in confusion."

I felt a dawning horror. Was this coincidence, or was this Bronn? Was this my fault? "But… I mean… tragic but he's one man!"

Mallister looked even grimmer. "Bolton always played his cards close to the chest. He wasn't one to leave a clear chain of command beneath him, or give a potential rival too much authority. And with the lack of communication between our contingents since Stark's marriage…"

The messenger bobbed his head in agreement. "Yes my lords. Its confusion. No one knows whats going on, or who is charge. The Tyrells and Baratheons are broken, but no one is taking charge…"

"Damn it." I tried to gather my thoughts. This was my mess so I'd have to clear it up. "Fine. Change of plans. Mallister, rally the Riverlords. We'll take the city… the Northerners can guard the flank…"

We were interrupted by Marq dashing over, reigning his horse in seconds before trampling us. "Edmure!"

The panicked look in his eyes did not bode well. "Marq…"

He continued in a rush, pausing to catch his breath. "A second Tyrell host… coming up on our rear."

Mallister let out a low curse, and I felt my stomach plummet. A second host? "But… how many?"

Marq's eyes told me the news wouldn't be good. "Thirty thousand at least. Mayhaps half an hour's march away. Maybe less. Mace Tyrell is commanding. And I saw Lord Rowan's banner as well."

"How is that possible!" I reigned my frustration in with difficulty. "We must have killed twenty thousand of the bastards already."

Mallister shook his head. "Like as not that was just their horse and vanguard. The Reach has always been numerous…"

We had to do something. And I realized in mild horror that they were all looking to me. Marq and the messenger yes. But even the seasoned men like Mallister. My nice simple plan of surprising everyone in Kings Landing had gone haywire.

Finally Mallister cleared his throat. "We can still pull back. That's the safe play. Between us and the Northerners we will outnumber whats left of the Tyrells. And we will still have had a solid victory here for little cost…"

"No." No. We'd never get a better chance to wipe the board clean. My mind whirled, the beginnings of a plan taking shape. I'd be damned if I just retreated after all this.

Mallister looked hesitant. "Edmure. If you still send us at the walls, the Tyrells will hit our rear. It will be a disaster.

I looked around at the knights and lords in front of me, considering.

"Marq…" My friend straightened at my tone. "Marq. You're going to go to the Northerners. You have command. On my orders. You're going to instill some order into those bastards, and you are going to get them over that damned wall whatever it takes."

Marq grinned, a gleam to his eyes. "Edmure. I'll take that city if I have to do it myself. You have my word!"

I nodded, turning to Mallister before Marq had even finished. Marq would have to handle matters on his own. "Lord Jason, we'll deal with the Tyrells."

He inclined his head, and soon knights and messengers were flying to turn my Rivermen around to the new threat.

Despite the buzz of activity as my army reoriented itself, Mallister was looking grimly at the men gathering around us. It didn't take a genius to see why. Half of them looked exhausted from the battle, and our lines were ragged. More were still trickling in. We had a little warning, but it was no easy thing to turn an entire host around.

Finally I made eye contact with the man. "My Lord. Your honest thoughts?"

He shot me a look and then shrugged. "I don't know Lord Edmure."

I considered. "Not all the men will make it here in time."

He nodded. "We lost some to the battle, more to the confusion. Too many won't return to us in time. And without the Northmen at our side? They'll have us two to one. But most of their horse was with the vanguard. They will be largely afoot, and we've the high ground as well. And if Mace Tyrell is truly in command… well he has never inspired fear in his enemies."

The high-ground. Yes. I considered the sloping hill we were on. "Yes… we do have the high-ground…"

Mallister inclined his head, clearly not seeing where my thoughts were going. "Good calvary terrain. They will have to charge uphill to come at us. With luck we will break them with our counter charge and…"

I cut the man off with a raised hand. "Yes. Yes. But first. I wonder. Lord Mallister. This seems like perfect terrain for wagons too. A nice slope. But not too steep. No rocks."

The man sent me a confused look. "Wagons?"

"Yes. Why don't you send for Wisdom Malliard."

A/N: And there we have it! The first part of the Battle of The Blackwater. Hopefully I did it justice, because I had a lot of fun writing it! Especially taking advantage of 'flawed pov characters making wrong assumptions! So I'm hoping it will be as much fun to read as it was to write! Though it was a little weird to switch back and forth to the third person. The next chapter should wrap it up and I'm planning for it to be in a similar format. A collection of POVs from the different chapters.

On a random note, I also wanted to thank everyone who has been reading and reviewing the story! I try not to pay too much attention to the 'numbers' of things. But I can't deny that I sort of did a double take when I went to post this and saw I had 500 reviews and 700 favorites. Sort of sneaks up on you. As a long time fanfiction reader, those are the sort of numbers I usually associated with the 'really good' stories on the site. So it kind of took me aback to see that for my story! Anyway I won't belabour it other than to say thanks to everyone who has been reading and giving feedback. I enjoy all of your comments.