Chapter 28: A Falcon Caged (Robert Farman, Ser Bryan of Stone Keep, Ser Robin Ryger, Ronnel Arryn

𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝟖𝟎𝟐𝟒

𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐈𝐬𝐥𝐞

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Robert Farman sat in his chair in his solar, positioned directly by the large window overlooking the Sunset Sea.

He took another look out to sea, for the third time at least, but still they remained, as real as the cup of wine in his hand.

Three war galleys flying the golden lion banner on red, three Lannister warships cutting their way through the waves towards Fair Isle.

They could only have one purpose, word must have reached Loren Lannister of his role in helping Matarys Targaryen escape from Fair Isle after Loren had ordered the king's brother to be imprisoned.

Lord Farman found himself thinking, not for the first time who had betrayed him, one of the sailors on his ship that he had arranged to take Matarys and his retinue to Seaguard no doubt, perhaps it had even been the captain, the wealth of house Lannister was legendary, and it was well known the Lannisters paid their debts, both in matters of reward and vengeance, and the Lannister ships were here for the latter.

𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 He thought to himself, looking out the window and checking once more to make sure the ships were in fact real, whoever had betrayed him, the result was the same, 3 Lannister warships sailing onto his island.

He heard a knock at the door, standing from his chair, he ran a hand down his wine soaked leather jerkin and ordered the man in.

It was his Maester, Ottyn, standing in the doorway, hands folded over his black robes.

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Lord Farman studied him, wondering if this man who had served him for well over a decade had informed on him, he thought it unlikely Ottyn was not one that took the initiative often and had to be prodded into action….most likely it was one of the sailors.

''They will be docked within an hour Lord.'' Ottyn said grimly.

''What is your counsel?'' the Lord of Fair Isle asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, he had all but made his mind up.

''I counsel you to raise what forces remain to us here and defend the walls, they likely have some 300 men on those galleys, but I am sure with the advantage of our walls we can throw them back to the sea…..strike your banners for the Targaryens, it is said King Vaemond is a charitable man, he will reward your family, both for aiding his brother and standing against the Lannisters.'' Ottyn said.

Lord Farman ran a hand through his beard, the garrison of Faircastle was weak, when the war had begun in earnest he had sent most of his knights and levies to join Loren Lannisters armies. He may have defied his lieges order to imprison Matarys but Loren Lannister was still his liege lord and he would fulfill his oaths, not doing so would have ended any hope of avoiding reprisals for his treason.

𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥…𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘴 He thought to himself ruefully, he had received word that his levies had participated in the Battle at Nunn's Deep against the Tullys, where no doubt many of them had fallen.

He turned back to Maester Ottyn, who was clearly waiting for an answer.

Lord Farman shook his head ''There will be no battle today…I wont have hundreds dying on my behalf….the garrison is mostly made up of old men and young boys, those too weak or inexperienced to go with our main levies…perhaps we could throw them back…but I will have no bloodshed.''

Ottyn nodded, the disappointment evident on his face ''A risky proposition Lord…..they will no doubt have orders to take you into custody….the best case scenario is Lord Lannister spares you until the war is over, assuming he is victorious, and then deals with you then…but there is no guarantee, even if he is not able to personally preside over your sentence, that he won't order you executed to send a message to his other vassals…and even if you are spared and King Vaemond wins the war, you will spend months if not years in a dank dungeon in the bowels of Casterly Rock.''

Lord Farman had no intention of spending a single day in a cell, much less years, but he nodded slowly.

''I have much to consider….you say we have an hour….I will think on your counsel.'' He replied.

''It will be as you say of course but….if you mean to fight them, we will need time to prepare the men….time is of the essence Lord.'' The Maester responded, bowing and leaving the chamber slowly.

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Once he was alone, Lord Farman placed his hands behind his back and walked to the window, observing the fast approaching Lannister ships.

His mind went to his family then, his two girls, Ella and Elena, who had left with Matarys Targaryen and were likely close to the capitol by now. He even spared a thought to his Tarbeck wife and her bastard child, whom he had allowed to be raised under his own roof, despite the shame of it.

Most of all he thought of his firstborn son, Flement, who had died of cancer some years prior at the age of 20. He had been a difficult child, arrogant, cruel at times, and prone to gluttony, but he had been his only son, his firstborn and the Lord of Fair Isle had not been the same since his death.

He remembered his son at the end, bound to a bed, pitiful, the flesh sunken off his bones…a horrible way to die.

𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦 He thought to himself, looking down at the sunset sea.

Lord Farman had no intention of resisting the Lannister ships, ordering a defense of the walls would lead to a large amount of blood being shed, both Lannister and Farman and he would not be responsible for it. He had no intentions of letting himself be captured however, even if he had an assurance that he would not be immediately executed and would be rescued from the bowels of Casterly Rock, he would not surrender, his star had faded long ago.

He leaned over the window, looking down at the sea-sprayed white walls of his tower, and the rocky sea cliffs below.

His house words came into his mind then 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘥.

He repeated the words as he climbed onto the ledge and let the wind take him, plummeting to the cliffs below and into the waters of the sunset sea.

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𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝟖𝟎𝟐𝟒

𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐤, 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞

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The village of Rosesk was aflame, red and orange tendrils danced from building to building, sending thick plumes of black smoke into the cool air. The thatch roof of the village tavern collapsed inwards as Ser Bryan urged his destrier forward, the waning sun catching on his bloodstained silver plated armor as he passed by a burning watchtower, underneath it several dead corpses.

Ser Bryan, commander of one of the Eyries three way castles slowly spurred his horse around the scenes of the recent battle, four corpses lying on the muddy street in front of them. Three of them were the peasantry of Rosesk, but one of them had been with their host, a young knight by the looks of it, a feathered arrow sticking out of his mailed shoulder, while a spear stood upright, impaled in his chest.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵 He thought scornfully, they had lost near 100 men storming the village, but to be killed in the muddy streets of a village was the lot of common foot soldiers, no suitable fate for a knight.

Passing several more dead bodies, he finally made it to the village center, where several men-at-arms had rounded up the surviving militia of the town, dirty, bloody and several of them wounded they made for a pitiful sight, many women and children were among them as well.

''Is this all of them?'' He asked a grizzled serjeant gruffly.

The man nodded ''123…..half of them fighting men…rest is just villagers.''

Ser Bryan rode his horse forward, hand at the hilt of his longsword ''You should have laid down your arms when you had the chance…..you filthy rebels will see the truth of that….to your grief.''

''Were no rebels Ser.'' One of them, an elderly man said, dirty gray hair falling past his shoulders.

''You fought against your own countrymen...those that fight to win your own independence…..near 100 good men died putting down your treason.'' Ser Bryan said airly.

''Seems to me you're the rebels…..we serve Lord Coldwater…aye…him and the Royces, they fight for the Dragon King….you're the ones that rose up 'gainst them, that makes you rebels.'' The old man said.

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Bryan nodded to one of the men at arms who stuck a spearpoint through the back of the old man's skull, sending face first into the mud in a bloody heap, around him several villagers screamed.

''I won't suffer to be called a rebel to my face….I serve King Arryn, and you are his subjects, something you seem to have forgotten…..your Lord Royce has allied with the Sisterman pirates who have taken the Paps and Elesham, stealing the castles of their own countrymen, your Lord is a traitor.'' Ser Bryan said.

''Were no traitors Ser.'' A voice from the crowd yelled.

''If thats so…..why did you bear arms against our host when we arrived…..we came to liberate you and you repaid us with arrows.'' Ser Bryan said loftily.

''Your riders tried to rape Serra, the millers girl, and they knocked old Jurgen into the dirt when he tried to stop them from stealin our grain stores…we was just defendin ourselves.'' Another voice cried out.

''You name it defense, I name it treason against your own countrymen.'' Ser Bryan said, turning to one of his loyal men.

''Get the villagers out of here, put them in the granary for now.'' He ordered, and the villagers in the center, mostly women and children were dragged off by men at arms, many having to be pulled from their male kin who had survived the fight.''

There were some 60 men left in the town center, the surviving members of the militia that had opposed the attack, some of them sat blankly, while others begged for help, either for their own wounds or the wounds of their comrades.

''Water Ser.'' One of them called, but a man at arms laughed

''You won't have any use for it soon enough.'' He said.

''You are all traitors….do you know what the punishment for that is?'' He asked to noone in particular.

That caused a cacophony of shouts and screams from the surviving militia members, but Ser Bryen heard little of it.

He raised his hand slowly.

''Death.'' He answered, giving the signal.

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A line of crossbowmen fired into the huddled mass of men, quarrel after quarrel hitting the unfortunate men.

A few managed to evade the first volley and flee the center but were swiftly cut down by Bryens riders, laughing.

It went on for a few minutes until slowly the screams ended, and his men moved in to finish off the wounded.

''What do we do with them in the granary Ser, the women and children.'' His lieutenant asked with a sick smile.

''Treason must be burned away…..burned into ash.'' Ser Bryan answered, wheeling his destrier towards the granary.

The screams of the villagers inside the burning granary were gut wrenching, but Ser Bryen had chosen his most heartless and hard warriors as part of his small host and none seemed the least bit fazed by the atrocity they were watching.

𝘚𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴 Ser Bryen thought to himself, listening to the fast fading screams from inside.

That was where Lord Wallace Waynwood found him, following with the majority of their army.

It did not take the gallant old lord of Ironoaks to ascertain what had happened at the village.

True to his name, he immediately confronted the commander of Stone Keep.

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''What have you done….what have you done.'' The old man cried with dismay.

''I dispensed the King's justice to rebels….they slew near 100 of our men, they were traitors.'' Ser Bryan said with a shrug.

''You have murdered these good folk…..slaughtered them like dogs…..and the women and children…..burned…..you are no knight…you have no chivalry…no honor.'' he prattled on.

''King Ronnel gave me command of this host, and instructed me to secure the Vale….the village is secure now, and will serve as a lesson to the peasants in Runestone…..you may be a High Lord but I was made your commander in this campaign…I have heard your counsel, now leave me.'' Ser Bryan said with satisfaction, his land may have been limited to a small waycastle, but his martial prowess meant that High Lords had to defer to his judgment.

Lord Waynwood was persistent however ''Lord Arryn instructed you to secure these lands, not savage them….he shall be hearing of this you vagabond….knight without honor…..you shall hang for this…yes…you shall.''

''Careful my Lord…..you may recall that I have mine own escort standings round me, your only companion is that ragged squirrel corpse you call a beard.'' Ser Bryen said, earning laughter from his retainers.

Lord Waynwood, who had neglected to form his own forces in his haste to confront Ser Bryan and looked around slowly at the suddenly serious killers around him.

The old lord's hand fell to his sword, causing Bryens men to do the same.

''If you think to intimidate me...you are mistaken…you shall hang for this false knight….you have my word.'' The Lord of Ironoaks said, before wheeling his horse around.

The following morning the old lord would leave the host with his own forces, but Ser Bryan cared little, one less high lord to share credit with, when King Ronnel returned from the west he would find his own lands secure and rebellion quelled, all thanks to Ser Bryan of Stone Keep, Lord Royce and his Sistermen were a nuisance to be sure, but he would defeat them in time, just as he had at Narrowshade.

𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘉𝘳𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 The false knight thought to himself, as the waning embers of the fires of death made their way into the sky.

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𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝟖𝟎𝟐𝟒

𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭

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Ser Desmond Ryger and his exhausted small company rested under the shade of a willow tree, ironic considering a green willow tree on white was the sigil of House Ryger.

He looked at his own shield to try and look for any similarities, but there was little to be found. The white paint that had once fully covered his shield remained only in specks, most of it being hacked off, leaving only the battered wood below, the green tree was even worse, the green paint changed to a sickly brown tint as a result of the blood.

𝘈 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 He thought to himself, looking at his houses namesake, strong and steady, in stark opposition to his own party.

He had led a company of 100 Ryger men at the beginning of the war, courtesy of his nephew, the Lord of Willow Wood. Now just 40 remained, and they would soon be 39, Quick Brynnan had taken an arrow to the neck at Peckledon, it had been just a graze in truth but a fever had set in on their retreat north to Stoney Sept and it was clear he didn't have long left.

𝘞𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸 He thought to himself dryly.

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The Tully host had been ground to pieces at Nunn's Deep and the Battle of Borrows, but still Lord Tully, known as the hotspur, had ordered the remnants of his army to attack west yet again, this time from the south into the flatlands of the Westerlands.

The result had been the same. They had been met by a combined force of both Westerman and men from the Vale of Arryn and had been repulsed in a bloody battle at Peckledon, sending the Tully force retreating in half a dozen directions, Ser Desmond had taken his surviving men north to Stoney Sept, back into the Riverlands.

𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘛𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 He thought to himself angrily, Ser Desmond was no coward and had distinguished himself at all 3 battles with his bravery, yet after Nunn's Deep and Borrows they never should have advanced west again.

A cool breeze upon his face slowly abated his anger, the songs of birds in the distance made their camp almost peaceful.

''Almost makes one forget were at war.'' One of his men said, and Ser Desmond nodded.

''Aye….but it seems to me us Rivermen have been the only ones fighting this war….where is the King….where are the Stormlanders.'' Ser Desmond said, the frustration returning.

His man did not respond to that, simply spitting a hack of sourleaf to the ground.

''Rider!.'' One of his archers, who had been posted at the perimeter, called out with alarm.

''SHIELDS, SPEARS.'' Ser Desmond called out loudly, awakening his men from their slumber, hastily arming themselves and throwing on whatever armor they had on hand.

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Ser Desmond pulled on a faded surcoat over his studded leather jerkin, leaving his chainmail by the tree; he had no time to don it.

He made his way to the edge of the knoll and looked at the rider.

He was dressed lightly for fast riding in a leather brigandine and wore a leather cap, he wore a half surcoat showing 3 black ravens holding 3 black hearts.

Ser Desmond scanned the horizon, the terrain was flat all around and he could see no signs of any other companions or riders.

The rider waited at the base of the hill patiently, Ser Desmond, ascertaining there were no other riders in sight, made his way down the hill to meet him.

''I didn't see any other riders with you...but if this is some kind of trick, it will be the last one you play.'' Ser Desmond said, hand brushing his longsword in a not so subtle gesture.

''There will be no need for that.'' The rider said, raising his arms in the air slowly, showing that he was unarmed.

''It's considered damn poor manners to treat with dismounted man while one remains mounted….especially a knight.'' Ser Desmond said curtly and the rider nodded and dismounted, holding his black horse's reins.

''Who are you….I see by your surcoat you serve the Corbrays…..we saw quite a few of your comrades at Peckledon…slew some too if I recall.'' Ser Desmond said.

''Who I am is not important….but the message I bring you is of great import…..King Ronnel Arryn is marching from Peckledon with a small escort not 10 miles away from here….he means to return to the Vale….a small force as I said as to not draw attention to himself.'' The rider said.

''Do you take me for a fool?'' Ser Desmond asked after the shock of the revelation wore off.

''I take you for a soldier….that is within grasping distance of the greatest prize you could think to grasp…the King of the Vale.'' The man responded.

''Aye im sure if I follow a rainbow I'll find myself a pot of gold, a comely wench and the King of the Vale trussed up and ready for the fucking dungeons…..though I find the prospect of some of your fellows waiting to ambush us sours the appeal.'' Ser Desmond said.

The messenger laughed lightly at that ''There is no need for traps, you number just 40 men, tired and wounded, if I wanted you dead i'd ride here not alone but with three dozen corbray knights and as many men at arms.''

Ser Desmond couldn't help but see the truth in the man's words ''And why would a Valemen such as you want your own king captured.''

''It is not so much what I, a humble messenger want, it is what my Lord wishes….but I have said too much…..King Ronnel is traveling with some 15 men ten miles south of here along a small river, go or don't…the choice is yours…farewell.'' The rider said, mounting up and riding off into the distance.

Ser Desmond stood there for a good long while, pondering the man's words.

𝘛𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵 He thought, turning back to his men on the hill who were waiting anxiously.

''THOSE OF YOU STRONG ENOUGH TO MOVE FORM UP…..ARM AND ARMOR YOURSELVES, WE MOVE IN THIRTY MINUTES, SADDLE WHAT HORSES REMAIN TO US.'' He bellowed.

''For what purpose Ser.'' One of his men asked.

''Were going to catch ourselves a falcon.'' He said, earning bewildered looks from his men who nonetheless obeyed.

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𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

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The small retinue made their way beside the small river, the call of some water bird being the only noise to break the silence.

𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 King Ronnel Arryn thought to himself grimly, seated atop his white stallion.

He had received a raven some days past from Lord Wallace Waynwood, his good friend and one of his most trusted advisors and vassals, the man had helped him immensely in his years since coming of age and the King trusted him completely.

The message was a grim one, it stated that Ser Bryan of Stone Keep had committed savageries against the village of Rosesk, executing most of the men while the women and children were locked inside a granary and burned alive.

𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 the King thought once again more confidently this time. At the outbreak of war, Ronnel had proposed two main hosts, one which he would lead personally would march west to help their Lannister allies, while another would remain in the Vale and secure their own lands from the Royces, who remained loyal to the Targaryens.

He had chosen Ser Bryan of Stone Keep to lead the latter host, it was true the man was not of a great house and his lands only included one of the three small waycastles that guarded the ascent to the Eyrie, but he was young, bold, and martially inclined, and the King thought it best that any victories in the Vale be won by one of low birth as opposed to some great lord, as to not take away from his own glory.

That had proven a terrible mistake however, he had visited Rosesk once, a rather unremarkable village in truth but the smallfolk had been generous and Ronnel had always done his best to be kind to villagers in the Vale….and now they were dead….slaughtered.

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He would not remain in the West while his smallfolk suffered, even after winning much glory at the battle of Peckledon where several thousand Valemen fought alongside their Westerlander allies to drive off a Tully attack.

His place was in the Vale; he had also received a raven detailing that the surviving army of Lord Nestor Royce had joined with an army of Sistermen and seized 2 small island castles off the fingers, aided by a royal fleet from Dragonstone.

Ronnel meant to return to the Vale and negotiate a peace or at the very least a ceasefire with Nestor Royce, when he had declared himself King, he had never meant for any bloodshed to occur within his own lands, and he meant for it to stop, there would be no more burning of villages, no more slaughter.

How he would attain the peace with Nestor Royce he could not say, Ronnel had never been a man that was blessed with charisma or natural negotiating skills, but he would find a way, he was a King now after all.

He turned and looked at his escort, 15 mounted knights, their horses donning the pale blue falcon banner upon their caparisons.

𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘸 He thought to himself, he supposed he could have taken his entire force he had brought west with him, a host of several thousand, but they would likely be discovered, the way back to the Vale would take them through most of the Riverlands, the Tully's strength had been ground to pieces in their attacks west but there was always the risk they might be ambushed with nowhere to retreat.

His Marshal, Lord Qarl Corbray had suggested taking such a small force, stating that a force of under 20 men avoiding the main roads was unlikely to be discovered and would reach the Vale quicker than a larger host, and Ronnel had not spoken against it, as was his nature.

All these thoughts were running through his mind when the first shout of alarm came from his escort.

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He turned and saw a small force of mounted men appear from a small forested thicket, their sigils bearing a green willow tree on white, a banner he had seen at the battle of Peckledon….on the opposite side.

The captain of his escort shouted a brusque command for his men to form a circle around the King.

𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴 Ronnel thought confidently, his escort was more than capable of dealing with the small ragtag band of rivermen scouts ahead of him.

No sooner than Ronnel had drawn his sword, however, a band of two dozen footmen appeared from behind two large rock formations on the bank of the river, charging alongside the calvary from the forest with a war cry

He saw one of his knights take an ax in the helmet from a Riverman rider, delivering a loud clanging noise, but his man managed to block the next strike and thrust his sword into the man's belly, blood dripping from his face.

Another one of his knights took an arrow in his plate armor chestplate, the arrow did not puncture the heavy plate, but the impact startled the man so much he kicked his horse which reared and sent him flying to the ground, his leg trapped in the stirrups, sending the man thudding along the grass after his horse.

An axeman with a shield tried to grab his reins but Ronnel shot out a plated elbow at the man's face, knocking him away.

''Flee your Grace….we shall hold them.'' One of his men cried out but Ronnel paid him no need and returned to the fray,

𝘈 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘯 He thought to himself.

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Suddenly, another rider was upon him, unlike the other mounted rivermen he seemed to be a knight, dressed in blackchainmail and wearing a surcoat of the green willow, a mail coif adorned his face.

The enemy knight brought down his sword towards Ronnel in a slow yet powerful arc, but the King of the Vale managed to get up his metal shield and block it, sending flecks of pale blue paint everywhere.

The enemy launched another strike but Ronnel was ready this time and bashed his shield forward, surprising the man and giving him time to hack at one of the the man's leg, his heavy ornamental sword cutting through the ringmail and causing his enemy to withdraw his horse with a curse, an arrow whistled towards him, striking his shield as he looked for his next opponent.

He saw one of his knights stick a lance through an enemy pikeman's face, attempting to cut his way free of the ambush but just as it looked as if he might have opened a path of escape, the knight in black ringmail Ronnel had wounded moments before was on him, hacking the man in the leg, before another slash to the chest knocked him from his horse wounded.

Ronnels escort was thining by now, the enemy forming a circle around the survivors, while archers were forming a line to make good on this advantage.

.

.

𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 He thought to himself, he had a duty to his men to preserve their lives.

''Stop!'' He cried out, as loud as he could.

He turned to the man in black ringmail ''I will yield to you Ser…..but on one condition….it's me you're after, the King of the Vale, allow my men safe passage back west….you have no need of them.''

The enemy knight grimaced in pain, holding his wounded leg in one hand ''Normally I wouldn't give a rats ass about a defeated foes conditions…..but youre a better sword than most high lordlings, and a good deal braver….aye, your men can leave…but you…..you'll rot in the darkest dungeon in Riverrun for the rest of the fucking war.''

Ronnel cursed himself for a fool the entire ride to Riverrun.

𝘕𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦 He thought to himself as the red sandstone walls of Riverrun came into view.