cp19

Chapter 18

Marq Piper

Marq scowled. He had no patience for the Northern lords clumped before him, who were even now dallying and arguing over what to do.

"Enough!" Marq cut them off before they could launch into yet another argument.

Foul-tempered Ryswell sent him a glare. "Who are you take that tone with me, Southron Boy?"

Marq matched him scowl to scowl, feeling his blood pounding in his skull. "Lord Edmure gave me the command."

"Edmure Tully can…" Ryswell was thankfully cut off by stolid Medger Cerwyn before he could say something Marq was unable to ignore.

Medger cleared his throat, gathering the attention of the Northerners around him. "His Grace gave the command to Edmure. We don't dispute that. But no plan survives contact with the enemy. With Bolton down, the men are in confusion. And we still need to finish off the Baratheons outside of the city. If we pull back and regroup…"

Marq cut him off with a frustrated growl. Not again. "No. No pulling back. No waiting. No regrouping." He'd been late capturing Tyrion Lannister. Late at the Green Fork. Late to stop the Mountain and save his poor brother at Pinkmaiden. Never again.

Medger sent him a level look. "Then what?"

Marq grit his teeth, turning his horse towards the wreckage of the King's Gate before them. "The way is open before us! We seize it!"

Medger nodded. "Yes… but it will take time to gather the men to…"

Marq cut him off again. "No… we've dallied too long already."

Ryswell gave a sour grunt. "Boy's right about that at least. Every minute we spend gabbing is more time for the Lannisters or the Baratheons, or whoever the hell has the city, to reinforce."

Marq gave the Northerner a considering look and then a firm nod. Decisive, he reminded himself. Don't wait. Don't delay. Edmure was counting on him. "Lord Medger. Lord Robett…" an incline of his head towards the Glover standing to the side. "You get the rest of the host in order. I want you ready to follow us and take the city."

Medger gave him another long look. "And you'll be?"

Marq gave his fiercest grin, drawing his sword smoothly. "Taking that gate."

Medger shook his head. "There's not enough men here yet…"

Marq ignored him. "We move quickly before they have a chance to prepare. Take the gate. And you follow with the host."

His eyes scanned the lords before him, resting on Ryswell. Challenging him. "Up for killing some Lannisters?"

The large man sent him back a bloodthirsty grin. "Always!"

Marq nodded. There were only a few hundred riders ready before him. But all ahorse. If they moved fast… he kicked his horse into a trot. "Fall in then!"

Ryswell let out a roar as he moved to Marq's side, seemingly forgetting his previous animosity at the prospect of battle... "You heard him! You going to let some Southron boy beat us to the city?"

Marq felt his blood sing as they went down the hill. Finally, a chance for redemption. For revenge.

The enemy had clearly been trying to fortify the broken gates, but it wasn't enough.

Absently, he noted the crowned stag as they thundered closer. So, it was Stannis and not the Lannisters in possession of the city? Pity. But still no matter. Scatter and kill them, and the city would be theirs. No more jokes from the Freys about being late. No more shame.

Marq let out a loud whoop as they smashed against the Stormlanders in a giant clang. The front ranks crumpled before their charge. He laid about with his sword, pushing forward. The great arch of the King's Gate was above him now, and he knew they were close to breaking through.

But they were also slowing. The enemy was thicker, and they had done a better job than expected with the barricades.

Their horses were falling as well. To his right, Marq saw Ryswell's giant stallion stabbed by several spears, the lord tumbling from its back.

Marq hesitated only a moment before leaping from his own horse, scattering the Stormlanders before Ryswell and giving the lord time to heave himself to his feet.

Ryswell spat blood as he stormed to Marq's side. "Bloody Southron bastards. That was the finest beast in the Rills."

Marq sent his fiercest grin back, all previous enmity forgotten in the heat of battle. "Time to teach them a lesson then."

Ryswell let out a wild, half manic, laugh at that. "For the North!"

They surged forward, side-by-side, pushing the Stormlanders back. But each step was harder than the last. It was like wading through a sea of molasses.

Marq hacked and strained, forcing one foot in front of the other. Knowing if he stopped for even a moment all momentum would be lost. Vaguely he was aware of the men falling behind him. Fewer and fewer were at his side. But still, he forced himself forwards.

Then he was confronted by two Stormlanders with stalks of yellow wheat on their armor. Grizzled Marchers that even at a glance were clearly veterans. Marq dashed forward, sword clanging against their armor, but the two were obviously used to working as a team.

Desperately he pushed forwards again, but every time he moved at one the other drifted into his blind spot. It was becoming clear he was outmatched. Losing momentum and back-footed.

Then one of the two charged forward. Marq brought up his sword in a wild parry. Even as he did, he saw the man's partner moving into his blind spot. Desperately Marq braced himself, praying his armor would turn the blow. As if in slow motion, the second enemy raised his sword.

And then stumbled. A sword skewered right clear through his chest in a spray of blood.

Rodrick Ryswell cursed, heaving futilely at his sword now twisted in the flesh and armor of the dead enemy. "Bloody. Damn. Bastards." Ryswell grunted with each tug of the blade, before finally giving it up as a lost cause and pulling a long dagger from his belt. "First my horse, now my sword. Finest steel in the whole North."

Marq's limbs felt almost rubbery with relief, but it was short lived. More and more Stormlanders were pressing forwards now, and he and Ryswell were virtually alone facing them as the remaining Northerners fell back.

Ryswell had seen the same thing and gave a low curse. "Time to pull back."

Marq hesitated. He couldn't fail. Not again.

But Ryswell's grip on his shoulder was like iron, pulling them slowly backwards towards the safety of the Northern host. The Stormlanders seemed content to watch them retreat, satisfied with the respite.

Ryswell did his best to reassure him. "Don't like it either lad. But we'll hit them again…"

Marq felt a ball of ice in his stomach as their ragged band crested the hill once more. So close, but he had failed. Again.

Vaguely he saw the other Northern lords rein up besides them as they approached. Medger Cerwyn had an especially disapproving look on his face. "You've returned I see."

Ryswell bristled at his side. "Watch your mouth, Cerwyn. The boy would've had them if you hadn't been slower than a Frey."

Marq blinked in surprise as Ryswell defended him. The Northerner had always been Bolton's staunchest supporter. Marq had lost count of the number of times he had seen the man needling and undermining the Riverlords.

The other Northern lords seemed equally taken aback. Lord Cerwyn cleared his throat and tried again. "It took time, the men were in confusion…"

Marq tuned them out. Ryswell's comment anchored him. The man was right. They'd nearly had them with their small band. It wasn't too late. Not yet. He hadn't lost yet. Abruptly he interrupted Cerwyn. "How many?"

"I… My lord?" Medger stuttered.

"How many of your men are ready?"

He hesitated. "Perhaps half Lord Marq. But surely…"

Marq turned abruptly to Ryswell. "You fancy another round?"

The man gave a viscous grin, blood still staining his teeth. "Always. The bastards owe me a horse. And a sword."

Medger still hesitated. "Lord Marq…"

Marq shook his head, feeling the adrenaline flood into his veins again. It wasn't over yet. He still had a chance to salvage this mess. Show Edmure he was worthy of his trust. "Lord Medger. We nearly took them with a few hundred horse. We've got thousands here now."

"Yes but…"

"No. The city is open for us if we just take that damn gate. We win the war in one red stroke!" Suddenly, he had a flash of inspiration. "Your own King's sister is in there! Surely you don't mean to sit back and let Stannis take her hostage?"

Medger straightened at that. "Well. No. Of course not. Lady Sansa… I hadn't thought…"

Ryswell let out a bark of laughter. "No worries, Marq. We'll take them."

Absently Marq wondered when he had gotten on a first name basis with Ryswell of all people, before turning to the lords before him. "Then get the men ready. There's no retreat this time. We're taking that damn gate."

Another Northern lord, this one with green thickets on his shield, gave a roar at that. "You hear that boys? You going to hang back while some Southron lord rescues Ned's girl?"

And like that, it appeared to be settled. Cerwyn gave him a firm nod and went to ready his men. The entire Northern host gave itself a shake, like a great beast rousing itself.

Marq felt his heart beat faster as he looked from the army at his back to the gate before him. This was it. Sweep aside the Stormlanders and take the city. This was it.

At his side Ryswell had found a new sword, naked steel in his hand.

As one the Northern host moved forwards towards the open gate before them.

Roland Storm

Roland scratched absently at one of his pockmarks as he studied the Northern host in the distance. Around him, the men were scrambling to reinforce the barricade or pull the wounded back.

He was distracted by bluff Gerald Gower joining him. He inclined his head to the other knight. "Ser Gerald. Any word?"

The man gave his head a shake causing Roland to scowl. "Send a messenger to that fool Florent."

Ser Gerald shrugged. "Already have. But the city is chaos still"

"Then send another. They come at us again and we'll have the enemy in the city."

Ser Gerald gave a slow nod, motioning to one of the men at his side to follow the order before turning back to Roland. "Think we can hold again?"

Roland gave a grunt. He didn't like lying to his men. "We beat them back last time."

Gower squinted at the army forming up just out of bow shot. "Lot more of them this time."

Roland gave another grunt. "Like I said. They take the gate and His Grace is fucked. That many of the bastards get into the city we'll never get them out." He let a fierce smile fall over his face. "So we'll just have to keep them out I suppose…"

Gower still looked worried. "Has there even been word of the king? Any word from…" Gower made a vague hand gesture, but Roland knew what he was referring to. The absolute chaos that was the field in front of the city walls.

"No." Roland considered his words. "But that's a good sign. Some had to escape that mess. And if His Grace fell we'd have heard."

Roland squinted. There was definitely movement amongst the Northerners now. It was time. Jumping to his feet, he pitched his voice to carry. "Fall in, boys."

His men formed up at their barricade, but he could see the uneasiness rippling through them as more and more Northerners gathered for what was clearly going to be a major attack.

"We should retreat…" He couldn't see which of the men said that, but it was quickly followed by murmurs of agreement.

"There's too many…" more murmurs of agreement.

Gower tried to shout over the men. "There is no retreat! The City is half-a-flame. Fall back and the Northerners will kill us to a man…"

It was true, but that seemed to only inflame the fear and worry among their listening soldiers. The murmur of discontent grew louder. In a moment it would reach a tipping point.

"Enough! Enough I say!" Roland let a hint of the anger and disappointment he was feeling colour his voice as he turned to his men, eyes and voice demanding their attention. "Warrior above, I've never been so humiliated. Are you Marchers or babes in your swaddling?"

Roland paused and then made his voice high pitched with a whiny, mocking, undertone. "There's too many of them!"

A low, nervous, guffaw of laughter echoed among his men. He waited for it to die before continuing.

"We should flee? We whose fathers faced down the Vulture King? The Dornish Hordes? What are a few Northern Barbarians to us? We are Marchers, every man of us!"

"…I'm from the Rainwood!" Some smart-ass called out.

"The Rainwood!?" Roland jumped down from his perch to face the men more directly. "Well, maybe we are fucked after all!"

Another booming laugh went through the men. He could feel the mood shifting now.

"King Stannis is taking the city as we speak. All he needs is for us to hold and the day is ours. So I swear to the Warrior above. Those tree worshipers could have ten times their number. They will not shift us. The Warrior is with us…"

He paused, drawing their attention in before slowly raising his voice.

"Retreat? Fall back? Seven Hells. Over. My. Dead. Body." He roared each word on top of his lungs.

And the men were roaring with him now. Surging forwards to their positions, spitting and cursing at the Northerners forming up before them.

As though that was a signal, the Northerners started to move forwards at a slow trot.

Gower was back at his side, a worried frown on his face. "Well said Roland. But I fear words won't be enough… they are too many…"

He sent the knight a glower. Gower was a good man. But he didn't understand. "Those were not words Ser. They were the truth." He let his conviction bleed into his voice. "We will not fail our king. We will not lose this gate."

Roland watched the Northerners advance to a canter, the distance closing. He saw arrows being launched now from his men on the wall. Northerners and their horses were stumbling, blunting the momentum of their charge. But it would not be enough to stop them.

He took a deep breath, holding it, tasting it, before letting it go. "The Warrior is with us today. I can feel it. I'm not in the mood for retreat. I swear to the Warrior himself… I shall not move from this spot till we have victory. If the Northerners want this gate, let them come and take it from my cold dead hands."

Gower sent him a look that clearly said he thought Roland insane. "Like as not that is exactly what they mean to do…"

Whatever else Gower meant to say was lost as the Northern host smashed into their men with a sound like thunder.

Roland and Gower were halfway back at the center of the command, but even as he watched the Northerners were drawing closer. The front lines of the Stormlanders torn like paper beneath the fury of the Northern assault.

Roland rolled his shoulders, loosening them. He felt his heart start to hammer and his mind clear as the enemy drew still nearer. Warrior bless him, this was what he was born for. He felt a small smile tug his face as he drew his sword.

Then the Northerners were on them.

They came in a wave. Some ahorse despite the barricade and men they had ridden through. More afoot. For each man he struck down, two more took their place.

It was glorious.

He could feel the Warrior at his side, guiding his arm. He reaped Northerner after Northerner.

His men started to clump around him, an island of order in the chaos. The Northerners saw this too, and still more threw themselves at Roland.

It was not enough. His sword cut and split legs and armor until it was blunt. Then it caved in Northern skulls till it snapped clear in half.

The Northerners thought that was their chance, swarming closer around them. Roland felt a mad grin come across his face. More fools them. The Warrior was with him today.

He lashed out with a gauntleted hand, feeling skull and bone crumble under his fist. The next Northerner he dragged closer into a fierce bone splintering hug. That one had a sword, and thus Roland was armed again.

They came at him in waves, but he was the rock they broke on.

He saw Gower go down, a sword through his back. More and more of his men were falling around him. Some of the Northerners were even starting to slip past them into the city.

But more surged around them, trying to bring him down. They failed.

A giant of a Northern Lord, a black horse with a red mane on his shield, tried to rally the men. He sent spearmen forwards at Roland.

For a moment, it seemed to work. Roland felt a spear pierce armor and flesh into his side. He stumbled for a second. But then his men were roaring and charging to him again, rage twisting their faces as they pushed the Northerners back for a moment, giving him a few precious seconds of respite. Roland snapped the spear off at the point, leaving six jagged inches in his flesh.

And then he killed the spearmen. And then he killed the Northern Lord commanding them. The man went down hard, but he went down.

His side throbbed, but Roland ignored it. The Warrior was with him today.

But there were so many of the enemy. They kept coming. And there were fewer and fewer of the Stormlanders at his side. Less then a hundred now. A few dozen maybe. They were surrounded by the Northerners on all sides. An island in a storm.

It wouldn't be long now he knew. But he had no intention of breaking his word. He had sworn to the Warrior, and the Northerners would have to crawl into the city over his dead body.

Another wave. And another. Roland lashed out wildly around him, all finesse and style gone. Only blood and sinew holding back the tide. They weren't pushing the Northerners back anymore, simply enduring. Any second now it would be over.

And then suddenly, abruptly, the Northern host was reeling backwards. Retreating from their moment of victory.

Roland could only blink, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, almost not believing his eyes as the Northerners slowly pulled back.

Then he saw why. Streaming forwards past him to the barricade were thousands of men, some with the flaming stag on their sigil others the Florent Fox.

A silver haired lord stopped in front of him, squinting as though trying to determine who it was. "Ser Roland?"

Roland gave a bloody smile, trying to catch his breath. "Lord Alestor. You got my message I see?"

The lord gave him a distasteful look. "Yes, your man was most insistent. I see why."

"Someone had to hold the walls."

"Yes…" Alestor gave a small grimace. "You did well enough delaying the Northerners I suppose…" 'for a bastard' was left hanging unsaid between them.

Roland didn't care. His eyes were still on the Northern host. They were reforming as though to try for another charge, but it was no good. More Florent men were climbing on the wall now, and a hail of arrows were flying at the Northerners. The attempt to rally ended before it could start, and the enemy was pulling back further.

Only then did he turn back to Florent. "My Brother?"

Florent shrugged. "I don't know. He was with the King's host. And most of those… well. But I've no specific word. Too many are dead and missing to say for sure."

He hesitated. "The King?"

Florent gave a reassuring nod at that. "He lives. It was a slaughterhouse outside the walls from what I hear. But the Lannisters in the city caved quick enough. Our men were able to open the Iron Gate, and his Grace slipped in with Five or Six Thousand…"

Roland grimaced, suddenly feeling weary. Five or Six thousand? Stannis had led almost thirty thousand. "So few?"

Florent sighed. "The Tyrells and Tullys wrecked us. But still. My men with the fleet took few casualties."

"Another ten thousand then?"

Another nod. "Or near enough. I've some in the Red Keep, the rest are coming to the walls. Its enough. Once his Grace joins us the city will be secured. That which didn't burn down at least." The man shook his head. "Flea Bottom is burned to the ground. The Street of Steel too, or I'd have been here sooner. Tens of thousands died, mayhaps more. Its far worse than the sack ever was."

Still, Roland felt himself relax at those words. "The city is ours then…"

Florent was saying something else, but Roland didn't hear. The city was theirs. They had won. And like that, he felt the energy that had been animating him drain from his body.

He sank to his knees slowly. He'd done it. The city was theirs.

Kevan Lannister

As Kevan and the Reach lords gathered on a knoll overlooking their army, he couldn't help but think that his brother would not have allowed this much chaos in his command. Tywin often let his lords speak their counsel, but for all that he kept a tight leash on them.

Mace Tyrell was no Tywin Lannister.

"Faster!" The Lord of Highgarden was practically moaning. He had been swinging between elation and despair ever since they had found out that the Tullys and Starks had joined the fray. "We must move faster! We must strike them before they have a chance to rally."

"We will. But we know nothing of the battlefield… a little caution is warranted." That was Mathis Rowan. A stolid sort.

Kevan admitted to being somewhat pleasantly surprised that, despite his shortcomings, Mace had surrounded himself with rather able followers. Mathis Rowan, Paxter Redwyne. Even Lady Oakheart, for all she had no place on a battlefield, had a solid head on their shoulders. With luck, if they won the battle, Tywin would be able to use these lords as a balance against Mace.

Sadly though, Mace did not seem inclined to defer to their council, a meaty fist pounding on his thigh. "My sons! We must save them. Who knows what those Northern bastards are doing while Tully blocks our path? We need to scatter him *now*. Now, I say!"

Privately, Kevan thought that it was far too late for that. Their horse and the two younger Tyrell boys had likely either taken the city or been put to flight by now. Those words would not be welcome though.

Paxter Redwyne put a bony hand on his Liege's shoulder. "We will Mace. Don't you worry. I'm sure your boys are fine. They are both able, and there is no finer commander in the kingdoms than Randyll Tarly. We have the numbers…" Paxter gestured vaguely to the foot of the hill where the Tyrell host was formed up, "and no force in Westeros can stand up to the chivalry of the Reach."

"If only that chivalry was with us and not Tarly…" That was a dry murmur from Lady Oakheart.

"Yes. Yes you're right Paxter." Mace was clearly focusing only on what he wanted to hear. "We have the numbers. We will smash the Tullys and then join with my boys. The day will be ours!" The man puffed himself up, the earlier despair forgotten. "What a day! We will defeat Stannis, Tully, and Stark too! In one day! What a victory we will have!"

Despite his better judgment, Kevan felt he had to interject. He had a duty to Tywin and his house to try and keep Mace Tyrell from folly, hopeless as that task might seem. "I fully agree Lord Tyrell. But perhaps we should attempt to flank the Riverlords? They have the high ground, and the horse too…"

Mace cut him off, all brisk business. "No. No. There has been too much waiting and dithering. We go in now while we have the numbers."

Mace rested a meaty hand on Kevan's shoulder as he continued. "That was your brother's problem at the Green Fork! Too many games. Lord Tywin is a great man of course, but sometimes the situation needs direct action! Yes…" almost as though convincing himself. "Strong direct action! You just watch Lord Kevan…"

Kevan resisted the urge to make a cutting comment as the man insulted his brother. Instead he made eye contact with his Cousin Daven and exchanged a worried look. Tywin had seconded the lad to him, and Kevan had found him a solid sort. Nothing like his father Steffon. Devan had been invaluable in helping to win over the younger Tyrell sons to their cause.

Mace was blathering on. "Yes. We must move quickly. Decisively. Scatter them and then take the city for King Joffrey. And my Margaery of course. Yes… Lord Rowan…"

"It will be done." Matthias Rowan inclined his head before turning his horse to see the orders relayed. All up and down the line the soldiers of the Reach shifted and stirred, planning to move forwards."

Lady Oakheart, however, observed the Tully forces ahead of them with some concern. "They seem awfully calm for such an outnumbered force. I would expect more movement from them. They have the edge in calvary, why do they not charge?"

Mace shook his head, brimming with confidence now that his army was in motion. "We outnumber them far too much!"

Paxter Redwyne gave a shallow nod. "Indeed. Their only hope is that we break formation as we go up the hill. They are waiting for us to come towards them and hoping we give an opening. We won't of course. Lord Mace has put our best men in the front. The most disciplined. They won't leave any openings or gaps for Tully…"

Indeed, the Tyrell host was lurching forwards towards the Tullys. The next few minutes might very well decide the entire war, and Kevan hated being the spectator. He would just have to hope that their numbers would carry the day, and that Mace's commanders would be able to contain any of his excess.

Still, he couldn't help but wish they had Tarly here as opposed to with the missing van. Stolid as Matthias Rowan might be, Kevan would have felt a lot more confident with Tarly here to temper Mace. About the only good thing he could say of their battle command, was that Mace and he were to the rear of the army. Perhaps that would keep the Lord from causing too much mayhem or interfering with his commanders.

"What's that?" Lady Oakheart's voice cut through Kevan's thoughts. He followed her gaze and saw movement on the hill in front of them. The enemy host was parting and something was being pushed down towards the Tyrell men.

"Wagons?" Devan was squinting behind him. "It looks like a large number of wagons?"

Mace waved a dismissive hand. "A plot to break our lines and stall us. Tully likes his little tricks from what I've heard. It won't work…"

Mace was cut off as waves of flaming arrows were launched from the Tully lines. For a split second Kevan thought the enemy had somehow managed to miss. The arrows had fallen short, landing more among the wagons than the Tyrell host.

Then, in a clearly audible whoosh, the wagons began to catch flame. Green flames. Kevan's eyes widened in dawning horror.

"Wildfire!" Shock and terror colored Lady Oakheart's words.

"Gods be good…" Daven had his sword drawn, knuckles white.

"No! Impossible!" Mace was shaking his head. "Impossible, there are no Alchemists outside of the capital… it's a trick, it's…"

More and more of the wagons were bursting into flame. Some literally fell apart on the hill before reaching their army, catching the dry autumn grass aflame. More smashed into the Tyrell host. Right into the front of their army, where their best and most disciplined men stood.

Even from their distance Kevan could see many of the men in front of their lines literally go up in flames. Others, some horrifyingly afire, were desperately trying to push backwards into the men behind them. Rowan was trying to rally them, but then Kevan distinctly saw one of the flaming wagons careen directly into his horse.

Desperately, Kevan turned to Mace. "Call the retreat. Quickly. We need to pull back before the chaos spreads. We can still salvage this…"

Mace looked at him, face oddly childlike as though he couldn't process Kevan's words. "Retreat? But… my sons…"

Paxter Redwyne joined them, fear and worry in his face. "Lord Kevan is right. If we pull back now we can still salvage the army, regroup and…"

Mace gave himself a desperate shake. "No! No. We can't pull back. Garlan and Loras… no. They can't have much more of that vile substance. We must push forwards. Forwards…"

Redwyne hesitated while the chaos spread around them, but Kevan shouldered himself between them, grabbing Mace by the arm. "No! That's madness. The men are in flight. The battle is lost. We need to fall back, join with Tywin and we can still.."

Mace shoved him. Kevan was so surprised that he actually stumbled back. The normally placid face of the Tyrell lord had anger on it. "No! Flee to Tywin Lannister," scorn was heaped on the name Tywin, "while my sons fight and die? Never! We can still win. We have the numbers. We need a counter-charge…"

And with that Mace was off. Paxter Redwyne sent Kevan a worried look over his shoulder before hurrying after his liege.

Left with only Daven and Lady Oakheart at his side, Kevan could only watch in horror as Mace and Paxter rallied their reserves. As the rear of their force tried to push forwards, those in the front were desperately scrambling backwards away from the spreading flames. It was total chaos.

Lady Oakheart paled, and put a hand to her throat. "Gods be good. They're charging…"

For a second Kevan was confused, thinking she meant Mace. Then he saw. Charging down the hill, weaving between flame and the smoke like some apparition out of story, was the Tully calvary.

Kevan had never seen anything so frightening. It was like a scene straight from one of the Seven Hells. Demons riding down the hill to punish them, smoke and flame obscuring their banners and glinting off their weapons.

They didn't collide into the Tyrell army so much as simply slice through it. What little order had remained in their forces collapsed. It wasn't an army anymore but a mob, half aflame.

Daven was grim. "Their foot is moving too. Flanking us. He won't send them into this mess if he has half a brain but…"

"He won't have to." Kevan finished grimly. He spared one last look to Lady Oakheart, who seemed lost and unsure, before turning his horse around decisively. "Come Devan."

His cousin trailed after him, sword bared as they rode through the rear of the Tyrell host. Even here it was chaos, but Kevan set a deliberate pace not pausing to look left or right.

"Kevan?" Devan's voice was hoarse. From the smoke or the stress it was impossible to say.

Kevan did not look up as he answered. "The battle's lost. We must away."

"To the camp?"

Kevan shook his head, not bothering to look behind him. "No."

Devan seemed taken aback. "But the men? Our supplies?"

"Lost." Kevan bit off the word. He hated to abandon the company of red cloaks Tywin had sent with them. And the letters in his tent still more. But… "This battle is lost. And Tully is clearly sending his foot to secure the rear. Our men will soon be lost if they are not already. The whole camp is lost…" he waved his hand at the madness of smoke and screams behind them. "We must away now if we want any chance of making it out of Mace's folly."

Devan's face looked grim. "Where? The city? If Garlan and Tarly have captured it…"

Kevan shook his head. He'd had his fill of Tyrells for the day. "No. We daren't risk it. We need to find my brother and warn him. The Tyrells are finished, and this changes everything…"

He was cut off as a knot of knights came out of the smoke before them. A silver eagle on their arms. House Mallister. Tully's men.

For a second he thought they would pass them by, ignoring two men in the midst of this mayhem to focus on the larger threats ahead. But then the lead rider reined in, and Kevan's heart sank. He recognized him.

"Kevan Lannister!" The lead knight thundered, gesturing for his men to move forwards. Jason Mallister and he had met too many times over the years for them to pass unnoticed.

Before he could react, Daven was between him and the knights, mailed fist and sword flailing out.

Desperately, Kevan reached out a hand towards the younger Lannister, but it was far too late. The boy was one against many and the Mallisters were without mercy.

In seconds Devan was surrounded and cut down, his horse riderless and galloping away. And then the knights were around him, cold steel in their hands.

Kevan struggled to keep his emotions in check, turning angry eyes from his fallen cousin and back to Mallister. "That was unnecessary."

Mallister was unmoved. "That was war. You Lannisters have caused far too much mischief to let such a challenge go unanswered. Now my lord. Do you yield?"

Kevan closed his eyes, feeling only a terrible weariness. Anger and bravado would not serve him here. He'd already failed, there was no need to compound that failure. Most bitter of all was the knowledge that instead of relieving his brother's burden, he had just added more weight to it. Once again, family had failed Tywin. Such a bitter pill to swallow. Now the fate of house Lannister rested on Tywin's shoulders. House Tyrell would be able to give no further help. The only consolation Kevan had, was that it would not be the first time his brother had done the impossible.

Finally, reluctantly, his hand opened, letting his sword clatter to the ground. "I yield."

—

I watched the Tyrell army melt away and tried hard to keep my satisfaction in check. I still could almost not believe how smoothly it had gone. The wildfire had worked, but even more crucial to the victory was the response of the Tyrells. I was hardly an expert at war, but I didn't know what madness had compelled them to try and advance *into* the wildfire blaze.

Truth be told, that was the only slightly disturbing part of my victory, and why I was keeping a bit of a distance from the battlefield. The wildfire still raged to our south, and the stink of smoke and burned flesh was not a pretty one.

Once all order among the Tyrells had collapsed and our calvary was among the enemy, it had all been over. The Reach Lords and their men had surrendered in the thousands in their hurry to flee the flames. Those who had not surrendered had been disorganized and easily cut down. Or burned.

I looked up as a company of men came to a halt in front of me. The Mallisters, though I almost didn't recognize them through the soot and grime coating their faces.

"Lord Edmure." Jason Mallister remained solemn and formal.

"Edmure!" Patrek threw himself off his horse, dragging a captive before us.

"Edmure!" He repeated himself again with a huge grin. His teeth stood out starkly white in his soot covered face. "I present you Kevan Lannister!"

Patrek threw the captive, Kevan Lannister I supposed, before me in dramatic fashion and then leaned back to bask in the murmur of approval from the men around us.

I eyed the captive. He didn't look like much, but I suppose I had to appreciate his ability to stay calm. "Ser Kevan."

"Lord Edmure." The man looked up to meet my eyes. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure."

Patrek gave the man a kick for his disrespect, but I held up a hand to stop any further violence. "As may be. Patrek, if you will secure the prisoner? We will deal with him later. And good work…"

Patrek let out another low whoop as he grabbed Kevan by the scruff to drag him off.

I turned back to the older Mallister. "What news?"

The man let a rare content smile cross his normally stoic face. "A great victory my lord."

The others around me nodded.

Blubbery Mooton had an ingratiating smile on his face as he gushed. "The Tyrells are finished Lord Edmure! The Lannisters too. A great victory? No! The greatest! The greatest since Tristifer Mudd! The greatest since…"

I cut the man off before he could continue in his flattery and turned back to Mallister. "Lord Jason?"

The man nodded his head and shot Mooton a contempt filled look. "The Lannisters are not finished while Lord Tywin is in the field. But the Tyrells? Mayhaps. Their host is gone. Dead or to the wind. And Mace Tyrell is dead."

I was slightly surprised at that. "You're sure?"

He nodded. "I saw the body myself. Him and Paxter Redwyne. Lady Oakheart as well."

Mooton seemed shocked at that. "A Highborn Lady? Who would harm her?"

Mallister scowled. "She apparently tried to stop her men from fleeing. They turned on her."

His voice spoke clearly of what he thought of such oath breakers, but I had more immediate concerns. "And the others?"

Mallister continued. "I could not find Mathis Rowan, but like as not he perished in the fire. Half the lords of the Reach did. The rest are captive."

A great victory indeed. Or half of one. "Now if Marq has taken the city…"

We were interrupted by a dry cough and Stevron Frey joining us. I'd sent him to get news of Marq and the city. "My Lords. The Northern host has been repelled."

Mallister's face took on its usual grim cast at that. "How?"

Frey gave a half shrug. "Stannis men took the city far faster than we anticipated. It was a close run thing I'm given to understand, but they made it to the walls in strength enough to repel Ser Marq."

I felt frustration bubbling in me at that. "How? Stannis lost so many… How many of his men could possibly have made it into the city?"

Stevron shrugged again. "Enough apparently. I'm sure Ser Marq did everything he was… capable of… to see your orders completed. His poor luck to suffer a setback. It seems to happen so often." The man couldn't quite contain his amusement at his rivals failure and it got under my skin. This was not the time for such divisions.

I turned back to Mallister. "Then we have to turn around. Join our hosts back together. We can still take the city. We have the numbers…"

The lords around me looked horrified at the idea, but it was Mallister who spoke up. "No Edmure. The men are exhausted. They've been fighting all day. You'll never get them back to the city before nightfall. And we've no idea how many men Stannis still has on the wall. We've a solid victory here today despite not taking the city. But… you risk it all if you push too far. You can't ask the men to go right into another battle."

I knew he was probably right, but it was still so frustrating. We were so close. "But if we let Stannis entrench..."

Mallister shook his head again. "We're done for the day Lord Edmure. But as you said, we still have the numbers once we combine with the Northerners. We do not even know if Stannis has survived. And even if he has… Stannis may be experienced at defending a castle, but Kings Landing is a different beast. And half burned from what I hear too. "

Yes, I knew he was right. It was almost physically painful, but he was right. I just had to hope the Northern army was not too badly mauled. And that Stannis had taken enough losses. Because I knew that was one fanatic that didn't know the meaning of the word quit. I'd made myself his enemy now, and that meant I had to finish him or he would finish me.

I sighed. "Alright. We fall back and regroup. Tell Marq to join us. Bring the wounded too. But I want scouts out at first light. I still mean to take that city…"

"Lord Edmure…" Mallister inclined his head. The other lords moving to see to their own men. The mood was buoyant despite the news of Stannis taking the city. We'd had an amazing victory. We'd crushed three enemy hosts in a single day. But it still felt like an incomplete victory.

A/N: And thus ends the battle! Sorry for the slight delay in this chapter. I work at a University and August is just a crazy month. That said, it was also a long chapter! My longest yet. The multi pov thing is a lot of fun to write, but sure takes a lot of time. The next chapter will be back to our SI. It will focus a lot on the fallout and the forcing of some tough decisions by him in terms of long term plans. I'm actually looking forward to it a good deal, as a lot of political fallout Ive been excited for will occur.