Chapter 37

Edric could see from the ship that things had not gone as planned with Steffon's attempted landing. The Tyrell troops, once in horrible disarray, had managed to patch together some semblance of a defensive line, leaving much of Steffon's force at a disadvantage; unable to face any opposition. As a result, they had been shocked when their enemies had been able to fight them back to the boats. Now, wounded men were making their way back aboard the ships again. Surveying the carnage, Edric noticed one person clambering tiredly onto the ship.

Waldron. Without Steffon.

Edric stormed up to the Frey and seized him by his brigandine. "Where is he?!" He demanded. "Where's the king?!"

"H-he's safe." Waldron panted. "He should b-be here-"

"You fucking left him there, coward!" Edric yelled.

"No, I swear that I didn't-"

"Swear all you fucking well like, Frey." He said, grabbing his hammer and shield before making his way to the ship's guardrail. As he prepared to climb over the side and lower himself into one of the longboats, there was a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm coming too." Arya said. "I'm not letting you go ashore by yourself."

"I thought you didn't care what happened to him?" Edric questioned.

"There's a lot of people here who do care what happens to him, and there's no way we're getting ashore without them."

"Well, what do you propose?" He asked, getting slightly frustrated at the girl. With a deep breath, Arya turned around to the soldiers on the deck.

"Edric and I are going ashore to find our King." She announced.

"Lady Arya, it's too dangerous for you-" One soldier started.

"Too dangerous? Too dangerous to try and find our King?" She challenged. "I'm a girl, not yet a woman fully grown, and yet I'm willing to go ashore to find him? Well if I'm a girl, what does that make all of you?" She demanded. The soldiers looked at each other, ashamed. "They're already beaten! We have the chance to knock Renly and the Tyrells out of the war for good right here and find our king. If I'm willing to do that and you're not, then what are you supposed to be?" She asked. Edric noticed a definite shift in some of the soldiers; a few nods here and there mixed with grunts of agreement. Then they started to make their way to the longboats and getting back into the fight.

Edric smirked. "Not a bad speech. A bit halting, though."

Arya chuckled. "Speeches are Steffon's thing, not mine." She replied, finally mentioning her betrothed's name without any sort of malice.

"You still care about him, don't you?" He asked.

"We can talk about that when we get him back." She answered. Edric nodded. Right now, they had to get their king back.

Lowering oneself down a rope into a longboat while wearing heavy armour and carrying a shield, warhammer and arming sword would be tight work for anyone, and Edric cursed the fact that he was effectively carrying three weapons plus his dagger. Still, the hammer was likely better than the sword for almost every situation, and the sword gave him a backup weapon.

He was joined in the longboat seconds later by Arya, Needle strapped at her waist and light leather armour covering her torso. "Well, what are we waiting for?" She asked. Edric nodded and signalled for the boats to begin rowing to the shoreline. By now, some friendly ships were able to support them with archers as they went ashore.

As they disembarked, Edric could see to his joy that the Tyrell troops, attempting to evacuate themselves, had clearly not been expecting a second attack. He was about to lead a head-one charge when Arya's voice broke through.

"Form shieldwall and advance!" She ordered. Some of the men were stunned at hearing orders from her before Ser Justin Massey turned around to them.

"You heard her, you bastards! Shieldwall, now!" He yelled. The men formed up hurriedly after that and soon began a slow, steady advance. The slightest gap in the shieldwall would give an opportunity for the Tyrells to break it, which would open the way for the Baratheon troops to be slaughtered. Soon, they had closed to a short distance. "Orders, My Lady?" Massey asked Arya, who looked a bit shocked before Edric nodded to reassure her.

"Charge!" She yelled. A trumpet blared and a mighty war cry went up from the Baratheon troops, who charged straight into the unprepared Tyrells. Edric knocked one off his feet with his shield before smashing the warhammer into his face. He quickly turned and jammed the hammer's spike into another soldier, simultaneously blocking a strike with his shield from another. He turned again, and felt a blinding pain across his face. One Tyrell had landed a superficial cut on his face and was about to run Edric through with a slender blade poked out from his neck. The man fell, revealing Arya holding a bloody Needle.

"Reform!" She shouted. The Baratheon soldiers formed up again and pressed their attack. The soldiers that Lord Tarth had commanded in defence of the island were also attacking again from the other direction, causing absolute mayhem.

Edric could feel Arya's hand on his shoulder as they pressed forward. While swinging a warhammer was hard in a shieldwall, Needle was perfectly suited to thrusting into anyone who got too close, and she was putting it to good use. Soldier after soldier fell in front of him as Arya thrust the sword forward.

"Enjoying yourself there, she-wolf?" He asked, half-jokingly.

"Kind of busy, Edric!" She shouted back. Touchy . . .

They kept advancing, and Edric could see that panic was starting to grip the Tyrells now. The handful that had escaped the fighting could only watch as their compatriots on the shore were massacred.

It was at that moment when a tall, heavily-armoured warrior broke through the shieldwall. Edric recognised him, with not a little bit of horror, that it was Garlan Tyrell. He knew what the eldest Tyrell son's reputation was. Ordering someone to take his place in the shieldwall and the gap plugged, he moved back to confront Garlan.

His opponent was fending off three attackers simultaneously, including Massey. While the two soldiers attacking him died easily, Massey was more agile, and was able to sidestep or parry most of Garlan's attacks. He landed two heavy blows on areas that Garlan's armour didn't protect, a huge cut under the armpit and a crossguard strike on the shoulder before Tyrell slammed his sword's pommel into the side of Massey's head, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Edric chose this moment to attack. With a cry of "Storm's End!" He flipped his warhammer around to smash the spike through his Garlan's breastplate, but that war cry was his undoing. It gave his opponent enough time to turn and block the attack before kicking him hard in the chest. Edric tumbled to the ground, his hammer knocked clear. He scrabbled for his sword, but was unable to pull it from its scabbard.

He let Garlan's next strike hit him on the breastplate as he scrabled to his feet. He finally had his sword out. Edric was not nearly as good with a sword as he was with a hammer, and it showed. Garlan was a natural swordsman, and his strikes were disorienting Edric. Arya dived into the fight, but Garlan was able to take the two of them himself. He was just about the most skilled warrior in the Seven Kingdoms at that point, after all.

Edric and Arya began to try alternating their strikes, attacking him at the same time. Garlan's armour deflected most of their attacks, but he was beginning to tire, and it was only a matter of time before they found a gap in his armour. He decided to withdraw when he saw Lord Selwyn Tarth charging up to him. Two opponents he might've been able to take, but three, not likely. He shoved Edric back with a kick and Arya with a shove before beating a hasty retreat back to his own lines.

Edric got himself up and went to check on Massey. Thankfully he was still breathing. Likely there'd be some head trauma, but he'd hopefully be okay to fight in a few weeks. Probably.

The battle was basically over after that. Upon seeing Garlan dretreat, the Tyrells still on shore had either fled to the boats under his orders, or thrown down their arms and surrendered; the Baratheon troops gladly scooping up the finely-crafted Reach-made swords and axes they had left behind. Edric turned to those who saw Arya leaning on Needle, breathing heavily from the exertion.

"That is our Queen! Our She-wolf!" He exclaimed.

"She-wolf! She-wolf! She-wolf!" The soldiers cheered as Edric went to fetch his hammer. As he did, he noticed a familiar-looking body. He removed the body's helm, and what he saw filled him with horror.

"Arya… ARYA!" He shouted.

Alerted to his presence, she came running over. "What? Edric, what's-" She cut herself off, gasping at what he'd found.

It was Steffon. Unconscious and barely breathing. "He needs a maester." Edric said, as Arya knelt down beside him. "He needs one now."

Arya nodded. "Get back to the men, have them grab a cart and a maester. I'll look after Steffon."

"By your orders, your grace." Edric nodded, before getting up and racing back to the men, leaving Arya alone with her betrothed.

"Steffon…?" Arya said, cradling his head on her lap. "Steffon, it's me."

It was obvious he couldn't hear her. He had been badly wounded and was deathly pale; even more so than he usually was. Soon enough, Edric returned with two soldiers and a cart. "We have to get him up to Evenfall Hall. Lord Tarth's Maester will be waiting for us."

"I'm coming with you."

"Of course." He nodded as the soldiers carefully loaded Steffon onto the cart before making their way to Evenfall Hall, with Arya and Edric keeping watchful eye on Steffon. All around them, they could see Tyrell prisoners being stripped of their weapons and armor. But Arya kept her attention fixed on Steffon.

It was strange. Despite the obviously dire situation, he looked oddly peaceful, even if he was still wearing his armor. His skin was still warm, and he was breathing, but these were all minor details. Her worry was focused on the considerable wound in his thigh, and whether he had lost too much blood. She silently prayed to both the Old Gods and the New as they arrived at the castle and were ushered into one of the rooms where the Maester was waiting.

"He has lost much blood." The Maester said, after Steffon was set down on a table in front of him. "We must act quickly if he is to be saved." He immediately went to work on her betrothed, but much of it was beyond Arya. Her knowledge of healing was limited to basics, like milk of the poppy to numb pain. Not that Steffon will need any right now, she thought.

"My Lady, I must ask that you leave. This is a very delicate procedure." The Maester said, snapping Arya from her thoughts.

"No, I can't. He needs me."

"I understand the sentiment, My Lady, but I must ask that you leave. I cannot focus on the King with others present."

"Well, I'm not bloody leaving!" She shouted back.

The Maester shook his head, muttering something before turning back to her. "Very well, but I must ask that you stay back. The slightest thing going wrong would mean His Grace's death." He said. Arya nodded, understanding. The Maester was Steffon's best hope for survival now, and getting in his way wouldn't be a very good idea, to say the least.

She sat against the wall, her mind wandering to her past with Steffon. There was no doubt he was a caring boy, in spite of the way he disliked much about himself. He'd been kind to her up until the moment they'd had their fight.

Her heart still stung at the mere thought of it, as hackneyed as that sounded. He had always been so accomodating towards her that the though of a vicious argument like that had been something she would've laughed at. Now she had proof that he did have some of his father's tendencies. She still knew that he wasn't anything like his father, of course, but it was impossible to ignore his father's influence on him, and expecting him to not inherit something from his father was stupid.

She knew that he was a better man than his mother and father; he lacked his father's penchant for drink and his mother's hateful personality. Of course, he wasn't entirely blameless himself. He still was crippled by self-doubt, and his temper was beyond volatile. She knew that firsthand. Though she also knew he likely regretted hitting her.

Their last conversation . . . Their last conversation had been weeks ago, with both of them walking away upset with the other. What if he does die? She thought. She couldn't bear the thought that he'd die thinking she still hated him over the incident. She had believed that she did hate him, but the fact that he was now lying unconscious on a table while a Maester did his damndest to save his life put things in perspective for her. She didn't really hate him. She didn't want him to die. She wanted to live a life and grow old with him-

She cut her thoughts off. She didn't want to end up sounding like Sansa. But would it be that bad? A voice in her head said.

It's not like she hadn't considered the questions herself many times. Would it really be so bad if she did actually want to raise a family with Steffon? It'd be in their own way of course; Arya was not going to be some idle queen who did nothing, and she knew Steffon would understand that much. With his own ideals, there was no way he was going to sit around and do nothing as King either. Another difference between him and his father.

Seeing him on the table with the cut in his thigh had almost triggered something hidden inside her. That she did, in fact, care about what happened to this blue-eyed, black-haired, somewhat awkward boy that people were calling the Young Stag.

At first, he muttered something under his breath, before making a sudden gasp of air.

"He's awake!" The maester panicked, as Arya rushed forward to Steffon's side.

"Steffon!" She cried.

"A-Arya…?" He gasped.

The maester began to"Oh, no. No, no, no, no…" He then made his way to his apothecary and began to concoct a mixture of herbs and liquids. "Forgive me, My Lady But our king cannot be conscious if I am to save his life. He must be given Milk of the Poppy before I can proceed any further."

"No!" Arya cried.

"I'm sorry, milady. It's the only way I can save his life. Your Grace, please." The Maester held the cup to Steffon's lips and he drank. Almost instantly, Steffon fell into a deep sleep.

"You bastard!" Arya cried as Edric burst in.

"Come on, you shouldn't be seeing this." He said.

"Don't touch me!" She shouted as he put a hand on her shoulder and she slapped it away. He did it again, more firmly this time. Again, she slapped his hand a way. Suddenly, she felt his arm go around her torso. Without warning, he began hauling her from the room as if she were a disobedient child, with her kicking and screaming the whole time.

By the time he'd pulled her from the room, she knew that her face was red with anger. She didn't care. She violently shoved her elbow into his stomach, causing him to let go. Thank the God's he's taken off his armour. Arya started running for the door again; she had to be by Steffon's side, otherwise they might never speak again. Then she felt Edric grab her again and this time, his grip was a lot stronger. He pulled her away again and this time, two soldiers had moved to guard the door. No way was she getting in there now, not that it ever occurred to her.

"Bastard! Let me in there!" She shouted as tears began streaming down her face.

"Arya, you'd get in the Maester's way!" Edric shouted, before grabbing both of Arya's shoulders so she could look him in the eye. "He's trying to save Steffon's life! Don't you see?!"

Arya froze, letting Edric's words sink in, as the fight drained completely out of her. Steffon could die at any moment. She should be in there with him, damn it! She'd never forgive herself if he died thinking she was angry with him. The rational part of her brain knew that Edric was right, but she wasn't paying any attention to rationality right now. She knew she wouldn't be able to get past the two soldiers guarding the door. Even if she could, what would she do when she got inside? What could she do? She knew that the answer was not much, but again, she wasn't listening to the rational part of her brain right now. She just wanted Steffon to be alive and well, to see him fumble his way through a sentence again, to see him smile again.

To be able to kiss him again.

She slumped against a wall, crying freely into her hands. Don't die, Steffon… She thought. Please, don't die. Then, she felt Edric place a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see he too had tears welling up in his eyes, clearly just as fearful as she was for Steffon's life. She turned around before hugging him, burying her face into his shoulder as she continued to cry. Edric didn't say anything, only putting a comforting hand on her shoulder as he let her cry into his tunic.

Arya began a silent prayer to the Old Gods aloud for the first time in a while. She prayed for Steffon's recovery, she prayed for an end to the war, which she could see now was only killing more and more people. Most of all though, she prayed for Joffrey to meet his end soon and leave Steffon the rightful king