23

Chapter Twenty Three

Eastwood

12 Days after the Coup in Storm's End

Aelon POV

It was hard to describe the relief I felt as the men of House Errol marched their way into the wide streets of Eastwood. As Lord Adam and Edwell rode towards me, I smiled. At their backs, marched a line of troops stretching back as far as the eye could see. House Errol had arrived, and with them, what seemed to be the full strength of Haystack Hall. That is, as close as they could get in such a short amount of time.

"Lord Errol," Ser Garon greeted, "Words cannot convey my gratitude today. House Baratheon shall remember your loyalty, my Lord."

"We are Stormlords, Ser Garon. We remember our oaths and our duties. Some may have forgotten, but House Errol remembers," replied the Lord of Haystack Hall, "and even aside from that, we are to be family soon. I would be a rather poor goodfather if I left young Mya to Borys Baratheon's mercies."

As the two greeted each other, I walked up to Edwell, "I dare say this is the gladdest I've ever been to see you."

With a chuckle, the Knight replied, "I'm glad to hear I'm such a valued guest," face turning serious, he continued, "How is the situation here, truly?"

I winced, "I have prepared as best as possible and with the defences, as they are, I am confident in our success, but we are badly outnumbered."

The usually smiling face of his friend was set in a frown, "Any word from Tarth?"

I nodded, "Yes, but it will take them a while longer to cross the strait to Stormtower and arrive here.

Edwell gave a solemn nod, "We have brought three thousand men, that was all we could muster at such short notice without stripping our garrison completely."

I nodded, it would have to be enough, "I've managed to raise around eight hundred men myself for the defence of Eastwood, although Ser Harys has taken fifty of his best to bleed the incoming forces."

"Not as bad as we expected, but still not as good as we had hoped then," commented Edwell gravely.

Dismounting, a stable hand took the Knight's reins and together we began to walk towards the impromptu command building, previously the offices of the Chief Magistrate, ready to convene to discuss strategy.

Entering the building, I observed the long trestle table that had been moved in the previous day. It was long enough to accommodate both my own two main vassals and Lord Adam Errol's who were substantially more numerous. While I would have liked for Serywn and Warren to attend the meeting as well, the two were unfortunately extremely tied up with overseeing the influx of smallfolk from the neighbouring lands and provisions for the inevitable siege.

I left my seat at the head of the table for Ser Garon and took the seat to his right. James sat on my right and opposite us sat Lord Errol and Edwell. Slowly but surely the rest of our vassals also trickled in and sat at the table.

I spotted Ser Benjen enter from afar with his elder brother. The two of them had ridden in just yesterday with a hundred and fifty men at their back. A very substantial number, and far more than what I had expected from my vassal. The two were understandably outraged at the death of their father at Borys's hands and had ridden to Eastwood with as many men as they could muster from their respective lands to lend their strength to ours.

"Well, it seems we are now all in attendance," spoke Garon from the head of the table.

I nodded at my liege, "Thank you for waiting. Before we all start planning for the battle ahead, I have received some information from my agents and Ser Harys that must be shared."

As Ser Garon nodded at me to continue, I gestured at one of the aides to lay down a map of the region on the table.

"I have received reports that Lords Buckler, Fell and their forces crossed the border into my lands two days ago and as predicted have been making great haste towards Eastwood. Their forces reportedly number just over five thousand. They should arrive at Eastwood's gate two days from now if they keep up the current pace."

The gathered nobles stilled at that. I could see the gears in their minds turning as they quickly realised that they would possess around seventeen hundred more men than we did.

"Borys Baratheon is gathering what men are left at Storm's End. We are fortunate that Lord Rogar took much of his fief's strength with him to the Marches. News from Storm's End is sparse, with Borys's loyalists having killed off most who would remain loyal to us. But even so, I estimate that he shall not be able to muster more than a thousand men. Perhaps Ser Bonifer can shed some more light," I said as I motioned to the eldest son of Bruce Buckler to speak up.

The man in question was a landed knight holding some decent lands south of Storm's End. Undoubtedly he'd know more of the situation there.

The Buckler knight stood slowly as his gaze travelled over the gathered lords and knights. Eventually, he spoke up, "Borys has been gathering as many men as he can. But most of the knights and men at arms had accompanied Lord Rogar. He has been trying to raise men from the remainder, but some other knights have also accompanied me to lend our swords to Ser Garon. He may be able to draw upon anywhere between eight hundred to a thousand men."

I nodded at the Buckler knight and turned my attention back to the council, "Moreover, it seems that Lord Trant has declared in favour of Borys Baratheon and is gathering his own host. While our reports are not conclusive, it is probable that his own host shall number around two thousand. I expect that they shall arrive a day or two after Lord Buckler's host."

Silence for a couple of moments. And then. Mayhem.

The gathered knights and nobles began shouting and screaming their suggestions. Some called for negotiations, some blustered about taking the fight to Borys Baratheon and others shouted incoherent nonsense that did not bear repeating.

"Silence!" Thundered Garon, as he stood and slammed his fists on the table, "this is a war council my lords, not some tavern in Dorne. If you cannot speak in a manner befitting your stations, then I invite you to leave."

As the gathered nobles quieted down, I realised that even the quietest Baratheon brother could command attention and obeisance as his deceased brother could.

"Good, Lord Aelon," said the Regent as he turned to me, "When can we expect Lord Tarth and his forces to arrive?"

"Anywhere between five to seven days my Lord. He is preparing his men to cross the straits as we speak," I responded.

"Then we must hold off the traitors until then," he turned to face the gathering and raised his voice, "this will be a battle of attrition my good sers. Our objective is to hold Eastwood until Lord Tarth arrives. We shall man the walls, hold the gates and break their armies when they siege the town. And when Lord Tarth arrives with his forces, we shall sally out and destroy them on the battlefield!"

Immediately the men roared their approval at Garon's words. The men banged their fists, raised their glasses and cursed Borys and his men in ways so colourful that a lesser man may have blushed.

The conversation soon turned to logistics and responsibilities and James took over.

As the young man assigned responsibilities, made arrangements for provisions and detailed the various plans and contingencies that had been drawn up for the siege, I could not help the surge of pride I felt at seeing the young man before me. Gone was the little squire, who used to follow Ser Morden everywhere. Instead, there now stood an accomplished knight who was commanding the attention and respect of men many years older than him.

"My Lords, I could not help but notice that the plans seem to presume that after the enemy takes the Keep, they will return to their original camp. That is folly, my Lord. The Keep is on high ground. And would serve as the perfect location to settle their army to continue the siege," pointed out one of the knights from House Errol whose name I did not know.

"That is an excellent point, good ser. But before I address that, there is something that I wish to show you," I lifted up the jar I had been carrying and placed it on the table.

There were expectant looks towards the jar, so I explained, "This is a special kind of whisky which we find is able to catch a flame easily."

The expectant looks were replaced with wary ones, "Like wildfyre?"

I shook my head, "It is not explosive, merely flammable, do not fear my lords. This will only catch alight when the wick is lit by a torch. Its strength is not in its flame, not truly, but in the fear, the victims will feel as their shields catch alight, as the ground they are walking on turns into a puddle of flames."

There were some nods from around the table, and most looked thoughtful.

Lord Garon was the first to speak, "I see. I assume you mean to throw this from the walls?"

I hummed, "No, I had a more...drastic idea in mind," taking a breath I began, "holding both the castle and the town is impossible. The Keep simply isn't big enough to garrison all our soldiers and even garrisoned to full strength, it will not be able to hold against the sheer numbers that Borys will throw against us. Considering that Buckler and Fell will arrive before the rest, they will not risk an attack on Eastwood until Trant and Borys arrive. Undoubtedly they will attack the Keep first. That Keep will fall. And when it does, as the good knight pointed out, it will serve as a perfect base from which the enemy can conduct their siege. We cannot let that happen."

I paused, took a sip of whisky from my cup, and continued, " And whilst this castle is part of my life's work. I cannot deny the strategic benefit presented by using it to destroy our enemies and at the same time, deny them the opportunity to use it against us. When they assault the castle, and when they get inside, the garrison will use a secret tunnel that I had built, to retreat to Eastwood, and before that set the castle alight and burn the invading forces inside it."

There were shocked looks all around the table, especially from Lord Garon, "I could not ask a loyal lord to burn his home for this, if we win you would have nothing left."

"No, you could not, but it is what the situation demands. When we win this siege, reparations will be made by the sundered parties and I will rebuild my home better than ever, until then I must look at the situation pragmatically." The situation essentially allowed me to burn down the castle, and rebuild it in a much-improved version using someone else's funds. I would miss my home but it was not as if the fire would harm the stone, merely collapse the beams, it would be reclaimed at a later date.

Moreover, left unsaid was the fact that the Keep was nothing in the grand scheme of things in comparison to the town of Eastwood. It was home to my people, industry, my businesses and the centre of commerce and trade for my lands. The Keep could be pulled down to the last stone for all I cared, but Eastwood needed to survive.

Garon's mouth opened and closed a few times before he nodded with a frown, "And you are absolutely sure this new whisky of yours will perform the job?"

I nodded with certainty, "I have tested it beforehand to ensure it will perform. It burns hot, and it burns fast. Taking the Keep alone will cost Buckler a few hundred men. The consequent burning will hopefully take a few hundred more. That should even the numbers enough to give us a fighting chance."

"As much as it pains me to say so, tis a good plan my lord. Bryce Buckler will undoubtedly dispatch a large force, around two thousand or so in my opinion, to take Eastwood. He's not a fool though, he will keep the main body of his host facing Eastwood in order to prevent his forces from being caught from behind. But even then, hundreds of his own men will die, at little cost to our own," concurred Edwell, nodding at me gravely.

"Very well my Lord, House Baratheon shall remember the sacrifice that Eastwood shall make and as Regent I shall ensure that you will have the gold needed to rebuild your keep, grander than it ever was before," said Garon.

Lord Adam cleared his throat, "So, with that in place, I would like to discuss the strategy for the defence of the town."

There were nods all around as an Errol bannerman smoked, "I agree, that will be where the majority of their forces are concentrated, their prize is sacking it, after all."

I grimaced at the thought, that with the castle being vacated to trap and burn part of Borys' army, the town would be our last stand. At least my family wouldn't be there. When Buckler had crossed the border with his army and it had become clear that war in Eastwood was inevitable, I had sent Elena, Larissa and the kids off to Tarth. In case the worst happened, they would be safe there.

I had even considered sending Boremund and the Will forward to Tarth, where they would be safe, but I could not ask Lord Brynden to shoulder such risk. If we were to lose, he could always claim that he was defending his niece and ally, and was not part of the conspiracy, but if we held the will and Boremund, he would be as guilty as the rest of us.

Sighing, I spoke, "This will be an assault, not a prolonged siege. They are strapped for time for as soon as the King returns from the Marches, he will be enraged at this breach of the King's Peace. They need to have killed you, Garon and taken charge of Boremund before then, else their claim falls to pieces."

It was Garon's turn to grimace as he considered whether his brother was capable of Kinslaying before sighing, "I wish I could disagree but that is most likely. Whoever remains wins."

"How long must we hold out then?" asked Ser Benjen from down the table.

"Until the Tarths arrive. Once they do, we will have to sally out to face Borys and catch him between our two forces. Pray that the King arrives before that, for even with the Tarths, we will be outnumbered."

The talks continued late into the day and I found myself exhausted as I made my way back to my quarters for the night. I found myself in my childrens' quarters soon enough, not an uncommon experience, but today it was different. In a few days, by my own order, we would be burning down this Keep.

While I had presented a facade of fortitude and strength before the war council, internally, I was a mess. This Keep was my home. For over a decade, I had toiled to build this home for myself and my family. My children had been born here, taken their first steps here and even spoken their first words in these very halls.

My gaze fell upon the doorframe and the scratches on the edge which I had used to mark Ned's height every year, the wooden figurines on the desk that Aethan was so fond of and even the dolls that Larissa had made for Alys. I sighed. The possibility of loss in the coming conflict was high. And the very idea of not seeing my children again terrified me.

I wondered, did the rest of the men also feel as deeply as I did, or did my time in my previous life cause me to be more prone to emotion and nostalgia than the rest of my men. But the fact was, that I was terrified. Terrified of losing my life, losing my family and losing everything that I had worked for these past years.

I had fought in battle before, but the skirmish against Borros Buckler was going to be akin to a pillow fight in comparison to the coming conflict. There had been little danger to my life and none to my family and people. Today the stakes were much higher.

Eastwood Border Region

Ser Harys POV

The Same Day

As had been the case for days now, the enemy was on the move and so he was too. Ser Harys was glad to be a man of Eastwood, but the past few days had truly been something from the seven hells themselves.

His liege had tasked him with harrying the enemy army and he had accepted the post with vigour. He had set forth with fifty of his best men to employ what Aelon had declared as guerilla tactics against the enemy; every man in his unit was worth ten of the Bucklers.

Buckler, Fell and their forces had crossed into his liege's lands a few days ago and since then had been setting a hard march towards Eastwood. And while Harys was no cunning strategist, even he was aware that speed was of the essence for the invading forces.

And they were marching at a blistering pace. And while their speed meant that the enemy had little time to spend raiding and pillaging Aelon's holdings, it was also problematic because at this rate they would likely reach Eastwood far before Lord Tarth arrived with his own men.

For the past few days, they had done their best to delay and harass the enemy. For days they had ridden across the land, burning supplies, ambushing scouts and patrols and in the dark, setting up ambushes while shooting arrows at the marching men from the safety of the woodland surrounding the road to Eastwood.

Eastwood's future depended on him and his men. Lord Errol was due to arrive today and he needed to buy them time to enforce Eastwood's defences. James was counting on him and he would not let his son down.

The attack they had been planning, if successful, would set back Bryce Buckler by a day or two. They were supposed to strike directly at the break of dawn and set ablaze the enemy's food stores and provisions.

At least that had been the plan, he thought as he and what was left of his men made their escape. It seemed that after a week of setbacks the commanders of the enemy forces had come to expect an attack by Harys that morning.

When his attack came this morning; they were ready.

The initial attack had gone perfectly. They had taken out the scouts and patrols at their planned entry point and had charged in atop their horses. But instead of finding helpless soldiers, still groggy with sleep, they had charged straight into an ambush.

The next few minutes had been a nightmare. He had lost his horse and his men were scattered as he gave the order to flee. An arrow ripped into his leg as he ran, the pain was immense, bringing him to a knee. He grimaced as he fell to the ground.

Lord Aelon had given his all for the wellbeing of his people, how could Harys give any less than his utmost in return? His son James was a man grown. Seeing him appointed Master of Arms at Eastwood had filled him with pride. If Harys was captured by the enemy not only would it cause his son great anguish, but it would also compromise his son's judgement. He'd rather die fighting than be used as a bargaining chip against his family.

His resolve strengthened, he stood once more, with great effort ignoring the pain in his wounded thigh. He had lived a long time and raised three perfect children, to die doing his duty this day would not be such a terrible thing.

He staggered forward, hearing shouts of the men who had no doubt spotted him through the trees, he grit his teeth and raised his sword, preparing for the battle to come.

Two men ran through the bush, standing side by side. One held a spear, and the other a sword, neither of them looked particularly competent.

"An' who do we 'ave 'ere?" a toothless man said with a grin.

"A lame knight by tha look o' it," another man said mockingly as he looked at Harys's wounded leg, "this ones stuck like a pig. Look, you surrenda' now and you'll make it to the Lord intact. 'e wants knights for ransom."

Narrowing his eyes, Ser Harys swung at the shaft of the first man's spear, sending splinters into the toothless man's eyes. Stepping forward, his knee almost buckling from the pain, he replaced the man's oesophagus with steel. Seeing his friend die so quickly the other man took a step back, wary.

"Well then, you're a fighter for sure. Not many men out 'ere killin' with arrows in their legs," as he spoke, more men appeared from the bushes. Knowing his time was coming short, parried the sword strike haphazardly thrown at him and sliced across his jugular, the man collapsing in a puddle of his own blood.

Harys looked up just in time to see another arrow impact his armpit, driving the air from his lungs. His strength leaving him once more, he fell to the ground with a grunt of pain.

'My armourer should be beheaded', the Potter Knight thought as he lay there, sword still gripped between his paling fingers.

He heard the footfall of men as they discovered their dead compatriots and the bloody and bedraggled knight at their feet. Harys opened his eyes once more, seeing the heel of a boot as it met his nose.

The blow kicked him back as he saw stars. His body felt like it was on fire as his wounds throbbed and caused him to groan in agony.

He could feel his life slipping away as the enemy soldiers surrounded him. Blood pooled around him as he lay on his back and stared up at the sky.

They had struck at the break of dawn and now the sun was finally visible in the sky. Its rays soothingly caressed his blood-spattered and soot-stained face. His last thoughts were of his family.

Ser Harys Potter breathed his last.

Eastwood

Aelon POV

2 days later

Riding across the green fields surrounding his town was a harrowing experience. Where once were growing crops and busy smallfolk plying their trades, now was a bleak empty landscape that would soon become a battlefield. We were on our way to the parley. Having agreed to meet halfway between the camps, Garon had asked me to attend.

Lords Buckler and Fell had arrived with four thousand and six hundred men at their backs earlier that morning. The scouts had alerted us to their arrival as had the remnants of Ser Harys's men who had practically had to be carried into Eastwood upon their arrival. Ser Harys had been my first and my most loyal vassal. His death had hit morale hard. I could hardly imagine what James was going through.

But the needs of the many had to be placed above that of the few. We rallied the men and gathered what intelligence we could. Bryce had ridden hard to Eastwood, and while it had mitigated the damage to my lands, it had not eliminated it. Many villages, farms and settlements on their way had been torched and the smallfolk therein slaughtered. It would have been much worse had it not been for the efforts of Ser George and his men in evacuating most of the people there.

But even then, the damage had been substantial. Ser Harys had managed to strike a blow himself. While only five and ten of the men he had sallied out with had returned, they had wounded the enemy deeply before Ser Harys's death. Every man that had died, had taken five of the enemy with him. But even despite that Lord Bryce's host was barely affected.

With the Errol forces added to my own, I could call upon just shy of three thousand eight hundred men. We were outnumbered, but my troops were fresh, better equipped and were safely ensconced behind a twenty-foot high, six feet wide stone wall.

Honestly speaking, the situation wasn't the most worrisome. If my tactic with the Keep worked, while they would still outnumber us, especially once Borys and Trant arrived, their numbers would still not be enough to overcome the defensive advantage my forces had.

We soon reached the spot at which they would await Bryce and his chosen men. The small amount of Baratheon guards that Garon had brought with him was mounted and surrounding their Regent, not a single one of them seemed relaxed, all poised to defend and die at the slightest hint of enemy treachery.

A few minutes later Bryce came into sight, an arrogant smirk affixed to his lantern jaw, "Ser Garon Baratheon, I see that you have found kindred spirits in your traitorous ambitions. And lo and behold, the bastard is the one to support you."

Alongside Bryce, I spotted the unpleasant visage of another man clad in expensive armour who could only be Lord Fell. Buckler's face twisted into a rather grotesque snarl as he saw me. I waved at him with a cheeky smile on my face.

Garon's scowl was visible, yet he remained composed, "By the Gods Bryce! I had always known you to be a fool, but I never imagined you to be a treacherous one, serving the man who killed your uncle."

Bryce's smile faltered and for a brief moment, I could see a glint of something mad and cruel in his eyes, "Ah, I see you are in no mood for pleasantries, that's a shame. I had never imagined you to stand against the law, Garon. The law is clear that the eldest comes before the youngest in the line of succession. By all the laws of this realm, Lord Borys is Boremund's rightful Regent. Come now, surrender and there need be no bloodshed this day."

"And that would be the case if Rogar had not wished otherwise. He wrote a will where he named me Regent. A valid and lawful testament that you seek to destroy. You only ask me to surrender as you know the King will be on his way shortly. All we must do is hold long enough to see you suffer for your crimes. 'Tis you who should surrender," Garon scoffed at the Buckler's rankling words.

The cocksure smile faltered once more before returning with a vengeance, "The law is clear Ser Garon, and once you lay dead the King will side in our favour, of this I am sure. You will go down in the history books as yet another younger brother who sought to usurp other's rights."

"Then you're more a fool than I thought. He has forced our nephew to flee his home. He killed Ser Bruce, who has served our House faithfully since we were but children ourselves, slaughtered our faithful and loyal guardsmen and the Gods alone know how many other innocents in Storm's End. I will see to it that my brother answers for his crimes," Garon stifled a laugh at the lesser lord's pathetic posturing.

"Ah, but that's not quite true is it? You are the one who took Lord Boremund from Storm's End like a thief in the night."

"Save your breath and state your terms, Bryce. I'd rather not listen to the mad ranting of a rabid cur for any longer than necessary," interrupted Adam Errol.

The effect of his words was clear on the Buckler as the fury in his eyes became more pronounced, "You address an emissary of your rightful liege, Lord Errol. Have care of how you speak or I shall see your house attained for your words. You would be well served to ensure that Lord Borys' fury is not directed at you."

"This is the man you have thrown your lot in with? These past few years, I have come not to expect sound judgement from you Bryce but I expected better from you Edric. Do not let these faithless cunts lead you astray. There is still time to do the right thing!" said the Lord of Haystack Hall as he addressed the Lord of Felwood.

"It is you whose judgement is clouded, old friend. That bastard at your side has tainted you and your house with his suicidal ideas and notions. It is not too late though; renounce your alliance with Aelon Eastwood, recognise the Regency of Ser Borys and order your men to lay down their arms. You have my word that no harm shall come to House Errol," replied Edric Felwood as he spread his arms outward in what was probably supposed to look like a welcoming gesture.

"Aye, Lord Felwood advises you truly. Renounce the traitors and allow House Buckler to lead House Errol back into the fold. Under Lord Borys's Regency, we will take the Stormlands, to heights never seen before. Stand with us, and you shall partake in the coming fortunes, but if you stand against us Adam, I shall personally strip Haystack Hall of its wealth, see your sons dead or at the Wall and your daughters married off to true Stormlander knights and nobles instead of the rabble you seem to have taken a liking to," said Bryce Buckler, a cruel smile adorning his face.

Adam didn't even hesitate as he spat on the ground and spoke, "You must think me a fool if you think I would believe your honeyed words. State your terms and let this be done with!"

Edric Felwood, probably sensing that companion speaking at this point would probably not end well, took the lead, "Houses Eastwood and Errol shall lay down their arms and disperse their armies. You will hand over the traitor Garon Baratheon to face justice and return Lord Boremund Baratheon and Lady Mya Baratheon to the custody of their beloved uncle. You shall kneel before the rightful Regent, Lord Borys Baratheon and in turn, he shall forgive you for your crimes."

Taking a deep breath, he cast a wary look at Adam and I and continued, "As an apology, for the offences caused to House Baratheon and for aiding the traitorous Garon Baratheon, Houses Eastwood shall forfeit some lands which shall be redistributed at the discretion of Lord Borys. You shall send your heirs to foster at Bronzegate, where Lord Buckler shall raise them as his own, to promote peace and harmony in the Stormlands. These are our terms and they are non-negotiable."

His words were met with outrage as Garon, Adam and the rest of our retinue made their dissatisfaction clear through various colourful words being thrown around in the open. I coughed and decided now was the time to intervene, "Your terms are as laughable and pathetic as your weak attempt to usurp Lord Boremund's claim. We shall not even dignify this with a response. Pray that you do not meet me on the battlefield, my lords, for I shall take great pleasure in drawing my sword across your necks."

Bryce's eyes fell on me with fury, "Aelon Eastwood, it's been a while since last we met. You have a pretty town, mayhaps I'll keep you alive long enough to see what I do with it," That said, the Buckler turned his horse and rode back in the direction of his encampment.

I sighed as we made our way back to Eastwood.

How anyone would support such an arse was beyond my ability to comprehend.