chapter 56

Ser Davos was weary beyond words after the battle. He bore some slight wounds, as did his King, but nothing serious. That could not be said for much of the nobility that had been part of the fighting. Lord Glover lingered near death's door, and was fortunate. Ser Axell Florent had been battered so badly from enemy weapons that he was only half recognizable. The Queen would have to be informed that her uncle had fallen. Losses among the Riverlands knights were also high. It was a victory, aye, but the toll was extreme.

"Your Grace, Tywin Lannister has slipped our grasp. Prince Oberyn is still in pursuit, but our own scouts believe they followed a decoy trail. The Crownlands and Westerlands levy and foot have scattered, but we've also captured many. The surviving Stormlords have retreated south; their numbers have diminished greatly. Their foot could not escape, and in several cases, they fought to the end. We do have near a thousand captives, and we suspect that at least another 2,000 Stormlands soldiers escaped south and are likely heading for Storm's End. Reports are mixed; some say that group has Eddard Stark as a captive, others say they saw him bound and being led west."

Stannis nodded, holding his peace while he processed the news.

Robb Stark gave a frustrated snarl. "He's been taken west. Allow me to join the hunt with Ser Oberyn. Grey Wind will pick up the scent."

In truth, Davos doubted that. Too much horseflesh, the blood of thousands, and the emptying of bowels around time of death would all combine to make tracing anything in particular all but impossible.

Well, it would for hounds – maybe these direwolves can do more.

They were queer creatures. In some ways unpredictable – some of the Dornish were furious at the actions of one of the wolves, who had interfered with Oberyn's battle, and claimed it was responsible for letting the Old Lion get away. Reports were confused, of course, but the direwolf had prevented anyone from harming the young Tyrek Lannister. He was now their captive, which had some benefit. It wasn't as if they could ransom him for Eddard Stark though.

"No," Stannis replied, "with your father captive, you are the acting Lord of House Stark and Warden of the North. I shall not risk both your captures or demises."

Robb looked ready to argue; Davos spoke up before the young man could say something foolish.

"Robb, Lord Tywin is not the way Joffrey was. Nor is he like his daughter. He will gladly embrace cruelty most vile, if it serves a purpose. Eddard Stark is a valuable hostage, and with him, he may seek terms. With the Vale now rallying to our cause, his brother dead, most of his army dead, captured, or scattered; he will most like seek terms."

"And have we terms to give him?" Robb argued back. "Terms he could possibly accept?"

There was the difficulty. Davos knew Stannis would want Tywin, Cersei, and Tommen dead. Davos did not think the King would bend on this issue, which would make any sort of ending of the conflict difficult.

"As I thought. Your Grace, my father followed you to battle, and because of him, the Riverlands joined your cause. You owe him – let me go, before it is too late, and they reach King's Landing."

"Owed? I am the rightful King. He owed me his allegiance, and he took the path of honor and duty and gave it. He has served faithfully as Hand, but that too was his duty. I would give much to have him returned, but I will not allow Tywin Lannister to escape justice."

The tension between the two could start a conflagration. Davos was nervous; the reality was that the North cared little for the politics of the south. They had come because of Eddard Stark. If Robb in his youth did something foolish… well, it would be hard to retain the loyalty of the North.

"Your Grace, you cannot expect me to abandon my father when he is still potentially in reach. If you swear it, that you will propose terms that have a realistic chance of success, then tell me them so I may have peace."

Stannis and Robb stared at each other, neither backing down. Davos could hear Stannis's jaw clench and his teeth grind.

"Speak then, Stark, what do you propose we offer the Lannisters so they bend the knee?"

Robb exhaled slowly. "Tywin will never accept his line's faltering. Of his children, only Cersei and Tyrion live. Of his grandchildren, only Tommen. Let Tywin and Tommen take the Black. Have Cersei executed for her crimes against Robert and my family. Allow Tyrion Lannister, who has harmed none that I know of, lordship of Casterly Rock. I know not if the Old Butcher would accept those terms, but in exchange, he returns my father and the other hostages still in King's Landing unharmed to us. The Westerlands and Stormlands bend the knee in fealty. We take one child from each of their principal houses to foster and serve as hostages."

Davos was not sure what to make of it. The Riverlands and Stannis would hate not seeing Tywin executed for his crimes. The Vale would likely not care. Dorne would wish for Tywin's head, if Oberyn was any indication of their feelings, though perhaps the Reach would be willing to support this. From what Davos had heard of Willas, he seemed more pragmatic than vengeful.

"This is unacceptable. Tommen is a threat even on the Wall; he needs to be killed. Justice also demands that Tywin be executed."

Robb exploded, "Then my father is dead! Tywin is unlikely to accept the Black, but there is a chance. Without his own life secure, he will never make peace. We will have to storm the city, and the dead will rival even the carnage on this battlefield!"

"Your father knew the risks, and perhaps Orton Merryweather has already moved and is even now preventing the Westerlands' escape," Stannis replied.

Robb let out a frustrated growl, echoed by a direwolf outside of the tent.

"If he hasn't moved by now, he isn't. I don't know what games the Tyrells are playing, or if Merryweather is just craven, but that is a fool's hope."

"Care how you speak to your King, Stark," Stannis warned.

"I ask again, Your Grace – give me leave to join Ser Oberyn in the hunt."

"It is refused."

And with that, Robb Stark stormed out of the tent.

Stannis stared after him for several seconds and then turned to Davos. "He did not even request my leave to depart my presence; perhaps he is not as similar to Eddard as we hoped."

Davos frowned. "He's no longer a boy, but he may have a boy's heart. I do not think he will disobey your direct command here. He is his father's son and has acted honorably for this entire war."

"We shall see. I also name you my interim Hand until Eddard Stark can be recovered."

"Me? Your Grace…"

"Lord Stark spoke true about your qualities. You give honorable counsel, you are my man to the end, and you are aware of my will. We have not the time for further arguments. I do not know these Northern lords, but I know you, and you will serve as Hand."

***

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It was unsurprising that the Freys would get cold feet after learning the Vale was going to join our foes. Ser Stevron had been shocked to see me alive. However, my mere survival would not dissuade him from carrying out his father's commands.

"The Vale's ending its neutrality has my father concerned. Has Stannis offered terms? This war is growing ever less winnable."

"Terms?" I asked. "No, he has not. He seems dead set on murdering the whole of my family. Ser Stevron, your father is wise to worry, but we will not surrender and leave him high and dry."

"Lady Myrcella, what do you plan to do? I was instructed to ensure that, in any negotiations, House Frey was not too damaged."

"Negotiations?" Ser Lyle barked out, "How could we ever trust their word? No, Frey, our next move is to fight."

"Fight? But how?"

"Ser Stevron, what is my army known for?"

He looked at me and then to the other Stormguard in the room. Brienne, Ser Barristan, and Ser Theo.

"Harrenhal," he hesitantly replied.

"Precisely, and we will be delivering another Harrenhal. The Vale is nipping at our heels. Now that I've rendezvoused with you, it is time to crush them."

"But they outnumber you!"

"As did the defenders of Harrenhal."

"But they are fresh troops, virtually untouched by the war."

"Green troops, I believe, is the term. Sure, they may have some veterans from Robert's Rebellion, but the vast majority are green as summer grass, rife for the cutting. They will break."

"You're serious – you want to fight them?"

Ser Barristan chimed in, "Ser Stevron, you have not witnessed this host perform in battle. In one night, we will have them fleeing back to the Bloody Gate with their tails tucked between their legs. I swear it upon my honor; this is no suicidal attack. We have every intention of emerging victorious."

The old knight frowned. "My father… pox be on his wrinkled skull. We didn't get to fight in Robert's Rebellion, no chance of glory; 'tis time we showed the Seven Kingdoms that the Freys can fight just as well as any other house."

I gave him a smile, nodded, and then started outlining our plan to him. It was simple in nature with few moving parts. Complex stratagems could do wonders – Operation Revolving Door had had several elements to it. However, it wouldn't be called for here.

Phase one of the plan was already inflight. I had Lum harassing the advancing Vale host at night. It was not nearly as elaborate or heavy a harassment as we had done to my uncle's army on the King's Road, but enough for them to get used to bothersome noise at night and not immediately rouse the entire camp.

Phase two was our pure and simple, brutal assault upon them. Under cover of darkness, we would charge forward with plate-armored, dismounted knights. Ser Jaspar and Ser Lyle would lead that attack. They would overwhelm any pickets and palisades.

Phase three had my mounted knights charge in next. The heavy cavalry would be led by Ser Barristan. The rest of our force would advance and crush the opposition. By this point, the Vale host should be in complete disarray. Ser Theo was given command of the lighter cavalry, and their purpose was just to kill as many fleeing foes as possible.

I had come to understand that morale was critical. Here in Westeros, once a battle turned south, all the levies were sure to flee, as were many men-at-arms and even knights. The way to make an enemy realize that the battle was turning against them was overwhelming force and confusion. A nighttime assault was perfect for it. A few knights would be awake, helping the men-at-arms and levies defend the camp, but the shit work of night-duty was often given to the lowest men on the totem pole. Whereas on my side, my best elites would be leading the charge.

The enemy knights would not be wearing their plate to bed. Levies could be roused and handed a spear and fight, but they would also be tired, demoralized, and frightened. To compound that fear, I had given my men a simple one-word battle cry to use over and over – 'FURY.' I don't know how well Baelish had controlled information, but there had been a number of witnesses to my execution; my bet was that the story of my fall would include my last words. To hear a vengeful host charging forward, screaming my parting shout, would be quite unnerving.

The Valemen had to have some concerns over my death. Already uneasy with what had transpired in the Eyrie, it would further exacerbate their morale issues. On the flip side, I had made it a point to rally my men. That afternoon, I had met them in person, shown them that I still lived. Shared an encouraging word and gave them their catchphrase, 'FURY.' I had them shout and demonstrate their fury in channeling the word. I couldn't make it to all the men, but I did to many, and the story would spread like wildfire. I was alive, and Ours was the Fury.

The pièce de résistance would be my pre-battle speech to my vanguard. With it and all the other factors leaning in my favor, the morale difference would be stark. I began my speech as the sun was setting. One in five men would carry torches, and our archers would launch their first volley with burning arrows. It would be the signal for the loudest 'FURY' shout, right as my first wave would be striking. I would not be participating in the battle beyond the speech. Brienne would probably try to bind me if I had attempted to! But that was fine; I trusted my Stormguard to see this fight through. As I watched my leaders and men gather up, I added a bit of an auditory enhancement to allow my voice to carry a mite further.

"Tonight, we shall make history again. At Harrenhal you proved that nothing could stand in our path. Yet, we know the hearts of the craven, the gossips, and the backbiters. They will claim that it was a fluke, or that it was traitors inside, who opened the gate, and all manner of other excuses to allow their minds to take away from the accolades your courage has earned."

I heard a few voices of anger.

"But what will they say after tonight? After we again crush a so-called superior foe? Tonight, we will shut their mouths for all time! We are the Stormlords! With our stalwart allies of Crakehall and Frey, we will storm their camp and put them to the sword!"

I was met with resounding cheers and roars of anticipation.

"House Arryn has shown their true face. They welcomed us with bread and salt and thereafter presumed to take my Stormguard captive. Lady Arryn disavowed Trial by Combat and turned her back on her given word."

"LADY ARRYN IS A HERETIC! SHE HAS TURNED HER BACK ON THE SEVEN!" Ser Bonnifer roared out, as expected. The men voiced their outrage at that and her treacheries.

I drew the attention back to myself. "Her crimes are many, but they underestimated me. They underestimated you. A wise general once said, 'Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as the night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.' Tonight, YOU are my thunderbolt. You are the STORM. You are my FURY!"

"STORM QUEEN!"

"BARATHEON!!"

"OURS IS THE FURY!"

"FURY!"

"THE SEVEN!"

"MYRCELLA!"

"STORM QUEEN"

Huh, I heard more than a few voices take up the 'Storm Queen' chant. Historically speaking, the 'Storm Queen' was the Princess Argella Durrandon, the last ruler of the independent Stormlands. I was not sure if I liked the reference, as her own men had mutinied. And it was a throwback to the old days before the unification of the Seven Kingdoms. But that was a problem for another day.

My men were ready. They were even now joining their commanders and preparing for battle. Their blood would be pumping, their adrenaline making the weight of their armor lighter and their minds sharper. The moment had come to shatter the Knights of the Vale.