Oakenfist’s ship is moored to the dock, but only hesitantly when the first literate sailor jumped over to secure the ship and read the sign hammered on a pile. It caused much argument and concern on the ship, put to silence only when Oakenfist himself came forward, roaring commands. “Get those carts onto the dock! Lower the hold’s plank so the horses can cross over!” he yelled, sending men scurrying to do as he bid. Now most of the company the king has sent is on the dock, but for its leaders.
To the knights, Ser Alyn Velaryon says, “Gods go with you, sers.” In contrast to his manner before, he seems grim ... and perhaps a little eager to continue on down the river, away from this gods forsaken place. “I heard from a maester, that damp cloths over your nose and mouth can ward off plague.” The village beyond the dock is a shadowy place, with little more than an hour remaining of the day. Long shadows cut across the rough streets separating homes, and the apparently-abandoned buildings show no lights.
Ser Luthor is pacing when Ser Alyn arrives where he and the Crakehall cousins are waiting. It’s not the ship that makes him nervous, after all he was born in the Riverlands and twice crossed the Narrow Sea, it’s what’s waiting for them on the shore. “The Gods are cruel,” he murmurs. Just as he reaches the safety of a position in the King’s household he is thrust into a village that might very well have been depopulated by plague. “The Gods are cruel,” he repeats before Oakenfist’s arrival stirs him from his thoughts, he gives the King’s grim cousin a bow in greeting. Then when the King’s cousin offers the advice he nods in thanks. “I shall try that ser,” he offers and then with a glance at the village and a breath to steel his courage, he nods and looks to his companions. “Sers I suppose it is time to go.”
Elmer climbs down fron the ship, the tall knight dressed in mail for some lightness instead of the battle plate. His big horse is fidgety too and he looks at his cousin. “Should we put our flags up? But no the King said inconspicous.” he shrugs and looks at Burton. “Well, i’m ready to go.”
“Me too,” answers Burton,with a slight frown . He wears his famous tusked helm-it has been repaired by a locksmith just after battle-and his voice sounds quite muffled behind the visor. Somehow,he is riding not his black destrier today,but another mount,light, nervous and,learly,very swift ” Not the kind of mission when flags are used.Not a very knightly or chivalrous one ,I am afraid.A routine work. But an important one,to be sure”
Holding an arm out to Ser Alyn and bidding him a good journey, Luthor makes his way down the gangplank to the dock and mounts his horse. Like Elmer he is wearing lighter armor today a mail hauberk and an open half-helm. Once mounted he moves his horse next to the Crakehalls and nods in agreement with Burton. “Very important, if it’s plague or a fresh Dornish host, it is vital the King gets word.”
“Remember, sers. His grace, the king, wishes to know what’s happened,” Oakenfist reminds the knights, as his blue eyes sweep the village as the hour grows darker. “It seems we know, but ... be sure. Take no risks. Then if there’s time in the morning, take as much of the edible stuff that remains, and cart it away. Keep to the river—you’ll find Godsgrace swiftly enough.” And with that, he nods to his sailors, who hurriedly untie the galley from its mooring place. He leans his weight on the galley’s rail, as the oarsmen rush to use their oars to push the ships deeper into the river, and away from the plague-ruined village. The last the knights see of Ser Alyn, the master of ships, he’s raising a hand to them in farewell ... and then shaking his head as he turns away.
Elmer sighs a little as the river galley moves away, then he mounts on his horse, his dark hair a bit unruly. “Let’s go then.” he smiles and takes a flask of wine, drinking deeply. “It sure doesn’t look like there’s much around here.” His sword is heavy on his hip and his dark eyes seem to scrutiny the surroundings.
” Ah,nothing like a bit of helpful advice”- comments Ser Burton sarcastically,as the ship disappears .Seeing that Elmer is holding a flask,he takes his own wineskin and sips the drink ,his gaze still on the sea ” If you were the King,Ser Luthor,what would you prefer it to be-a plague or a fresh host?” Asking this dangerous question, Burton finally turns away from the water and looks at the Rivers knight.
Luthor smiles as he takes in Ser Burton with a glance. “I don’t know about the King, but I hope it’s a host. A host can be defeated with swords.”
Forty men-at-arms and twenty servants mill about, looking nervous. Among them is the Northern knight, Prince Viserys’s man, Ser Blayne Condon. Coming up next to Ser Luthor and the others, he asks, “How shall we proceeds, sers? Search house to house? Should we divide the men up, or stay together?”
“It is certainly better to die in fair combat than from this filth,in your bed..” -Ser Burton starts to reply Luthor,when Ser Blayne Condon addresses them ” It is all one to me .We could divide our warriors in two groups,and begin searching in different places-it would quicken the whole thing. But there is always a chance of a sudden attack. As always, each decision has two sides-a bad one and a good one.Ser Luthor? ousin? What is more important for us .Speed or security?”
Luthor rubs his chin. “I’d say speed. If the Dornish are here waiting in ambush they would not have gone to the trouble to make it look like there had been a plague, they’d want to lure men in not keep them out. Two groups would be fine, though I’d suggest we secure the holdfast first, and set some men to look out from the top of it to make sure we’re not surprised while we search.”
Elmer nods. “Speed it is too..and besides we’re all knights, not like a rabble is going to surprise us.” he says, running a hand through his hair. He draws his sword and moves forward. “Just be ready for anything that comes.” his eyes suggest that he’d love a challenge.
“Holdfast first, then?” asks Condon.
Luthor looks to the other men and then nods. “To the holdfast we can have the servants wait there until the search is done.”
“Oh,I don’t mean just Dornish…..It could be rogues…Deserters…Sometimes they gather quite in large numbers . And this abandoned village could look to them as a chance to do some marauding..”-Ser Burton scratches his chin, and takes a gulp of wine, before continuing “But I say speed too. Ten Westerosi knight could easily deal with this rubble-if they happen to turn up-and it essential for us to find the necessary information for His Grace as fast as we can.And yes,the holdfast would be a good choice “
With a nod, Blayne turns and gives a whistle, waving the rest of the troop forward. The men with the carts whip their horses forward, though reluctantly when they pass the plague sign. Some of them did as Oakenfist said, and have damp cloths wrappd around their faces. The company trundles towards the sept and holdfast in the center of the village, passing abandoned houses. It’s eerily quiet, save for the wind, pushing a little tavern’s sign creakily, or whispering through louvers.
As they ride Luthor’s eyes pass over the village in detail looking for plague marks on the doors or signs that the people had been taken off by force.
In the west, the sun’s a mere sliver above the horizon, and the first stars can be seen in the sky. “A bad omen,” one man says, “to be here at sunset. Like the Crone shutting the door after the Raven of Death flew out.”
Ser Blayne remarks, “We’ll need to get lanterns and torches lit, if we’re to search this village out in the dark.”
Elmer looks up and laughs. “I’m not worried about omens.” His sword glints naked as he moves forward, and he looks around, but doesn’t see even one strange shadow around. He makes his way towards the sept, and dismounts, ready to enter.
“I have seen you in the Kings Landing a few times”-says Ser Burton to Blayne- after a long, eery silence. This usualy fearless man is clearly nervous and clearly wants to make the situation less uncomfortable ” You serve Prince Viserys,if I am not mistaken”. Then he stops abruptly to look at one of the houses,and then,muttering “Ah,its nothing”-once more makes his mount move.
As Blayne is engaged in conversation by Ser Burton, and Elmer goes to investigate the Sept, Luthor nods to one of his men. “See the servants get the torches and lanterns lit and distributed,” he orders before carrying on.
Two of Elmer’s westerlands knights join him at the door, their swords drawn. The door into the sept stands half ajar. It’s dark within.
The carters stop their drays, and men move to get tinder and flint ready. It takes awhile, but slowly a dozen lamps and torches are lit, and handed out to those who need them.
Luthor watches over the men passing out the torches and raises his hand to slow the progress of the column while Elmer and his men search the sept.
Taking one of the torches as it’s offered to him, Ser Blayne gives the heir to Crakehall a nod. “I have that honor, Ser Burton. My lord, the Hand, sent me and some of his other household knights under King Daeron’s command, to aid and support him.” The northman flashes a quick smile—it fades, though, as the darkness makes the village seem more ... haunting—and adds, “I’ve even advised his grace himself, on the approach to Yronwood.”
“I don’t like this”-grumbles Burton, playing with the hilt of his sword. His horse beats the ground with its hoof,neighing loudly ” Even the beast seems to be afraid of this place.And animals feel things ,that we people don’t notice. “
Elmer enters the sept, sword drawn, the torches held around him casting a flickering light. The tall man seps around, but so far he sees nothing out of the ordinary. The statues of the Seven are in perfect condition. He looks around and mutters. “What should we be looking for?”
The statues are indeed fine—carved sandstone, and old to look at—but all the benches that would have sat here are missing. An examination of the floor shows that they certainly once existed, given wear patterns. But now .. vanished.
“Stolen? Mayhaps some poxy Dornishmen have looted this place, once they found their balls,” says one of the Lannister knights, frowning in the flickering murk.
The horse keeps neighing,louder and louder,until it is nearly braying like a donkey . “SHUT UP!”-roars Burton,and hits the beast with his fist-which doesn’t make it stop even for a second. Burton dismounts heavily and looks at Luthor and Blayne “What is he doing in the holy Sept for such a long time? It doesn’t take long to search through such a small building.I am going in.. Or maybe not..”.
Blayne Condon wonders that too. “Lets see,” he says. He moves to the sept door, glancing in and about. He shakes his head, having overheard the westermans remarks. “Seems strange, to loot benches, and leave all else.” One of the men lifts his torch nearer a wall, however, and points. “Not all else, Condon. Look. Someone pried something out—crystals, I expect, part of a brass sconce I expect.” The northman squints in the fitful light, and then nods his head doubtfully.
“Lets see about the holdfast,” he tells the others then, and moves in that direction. Pointing to the wall he adds as he walks round it towards the entrance with the shut wooden door, “If there’s not enough room for all of us, we should make our camp against the wall’s shelter.”
Elmer shakes his head as he sees his cousin’s behaviour. “Easy, coz..” he advises, then looks at the missing pieces. “Odder and odder..I should say.” He goes out the door following Blayne towards the holdfast, his sword still unsheathed.
“A partially looted sept? This night gets stranger and stranger,” he remarks and waits for Burton to remount before he carries on. “Will your horse manage?” he asks the knight quietly as they ride towards the holdfast.
At the wooden gate, Blayne follows everyone else, unsheathing his sword. He looks around at the others, and then nods—before trying the door. A squeak of hinges protesting .... and nothing. It won’t open. “Shut from the inside,” Ser Blayne says. “Means people, don’t you think?” He steps back, and glances up over the high wall to the low tower at its center. There’s no signs of life there. “Or there were, at least. Might be the plague got them.”
“How do we get over?” one of the knights asks. “No siege ladders. We could make some, I suppose… What is it? Fifteen? Twenty feet?”
“Seems like twenty to me,” Condon replies, scratching at his stubbled jaw.
Elmer shakes his head. “I don’t fancy climbing these walls.” he looks at the doors, then turns around to two of his men. “Find me a heavy solid log somewhere around this place.” He smiles a little inanely. “We’ll just break down the doors, we’re in Dorne after all.”
As they moved away from the sept, Burton became more relaxed. He starts whistling some kind of a tune,then turns to his cousin and asks,with a smirk “So,how did you like it? Visiting a holy place? Did you use this chance to pray,you old sinner? ” Then he suddenly frowns angrily “Desecrating a sept…Who would do that? ...And yes,lets break them.I don’t thing its time for ceremonies.”
Luthor gives the door a kick from horseback and nods it’s locked tight. He glances up at the wall and back down to the knights around him and smiles. “Well if anyone wants to go over the wall they’re welcome to it, but remember the Dornish always seem to have bows handy. I say break in the gates.”
Blayne frowns, and clears his throat. “Sending men off to look for a stout piece of wood, sers? Might be an easier way. Oakenfist kindly left a pair of axes in the cart, the kind they used to cut away wreckage in a storm or fighting.” He looks past them, to one of the carters, and the man leans back into the cart to pull out a good, heavy axe. “Two stout men ought to bring it down quick enough.”
And then, as if remembering something, he scowls. “An awful lot of noise, though. Should we chance it?”
Elmer shrugs. “It’s not like there’s anyone else to hear it.” He looks around almost disgruntled. “And in a way I’d almost preferred if I met SOMEONE.” He looks at the men who return with a trunk heavy enough to serve as a battering ram. “This might work faster than axes.” he points at his toutest men who pick it up. “Should we/”
“Lets,” agrees Luthor. “Blayne and I will watch our flanks should there be anyone drawn to us by the noise.”
Condon seems unconvinced, and looks to Ser Luthor. When he pipes up in agreement, the man gives a brisk nod and steps aside. The other household knights of King Daeron turn to look out at the village while the work goes on, just in case. They all have weapons ready.
As the men spread out Luthor finally draws his blade and joins Condon. “You disagree with the plan?” he asks quietly. It’s not a challenge but an honest question. “The King said you were wise in war, I’d hear your reasoning if you’d share it.”
“We should do that,I guess . It will take hours to make ladders, It doesn’t worth it, Sers”-Burton says, and touches the solid gate with his palm . Then he looks at Elmer’s men with a grim smile ” You ‘d better start , lads. We don’t have all day.” Then he takes his sword out and smirks , patting his cousin on the back ” Sorry for bossing around your soldiers, coz”
Condon shrugs his shoulders and says, “What’s done is done. I didn’t think it wise, sending men off looking for a ram,” nodding his head at the great log the men found. “Not before we had searched the village thoroughly. But .... done is done, as I said. Might be this means it really is empty, though I still think we should look closely once we’ve examined this holdfast.”
Elmer laughs shorly at Burton. “Don’t worry, coz, we’re in this together.” he nods towards the men holding the makeshift ram. “Bring down theis damned gates already>” his men move back to gain momentum and run to crash the heavy log into the wooden gates.
*CRASH*
*CRASH*
*CRASH*
The sound of the ram is loud in the silent, empty village, and in the darkness it seems to carry even further. Some of the men tighten their grips on their swords, and glance nervously about them.
The door gives with a last, sharp *CRACK*, wooden shards falling away and one of the hinges torn loose.
“Granted, casting about for a log might not have been the best choice, but fortunately one was close by. As to the search, believe me ser, I am determined to find out what happened here, and when we have the holdfast we will search this village from shore to field and discover the truth,” Luthor says confidently as his eyes watch the town for signs of. . .anything at this point.
The heir to Crakehall is clearly considering something , his eye is half-closed and his arms crossed . “Plague…The only beast that eats you from inside….and that no hunter can master…as the old saying says ...”- he looks at Ser Blayne Condon ,his face grim and serious “If it is indeed plague,this village should be burned down…”
“I’m not like to light the fire, ser,” says Ser Blayne, with a wry grin. “Not when it’ll be a beacon to any Dornish about. Leave that to them.” As some burly men push the broken door out of the way, he slips inside the walls, sword out, head turning this way and that.
“No sign of anyone here,” he says. “Need some torches to see better. Best check around the tower base… And here, here’s the door into the holdfast itself.”
A pair of men with torches enter behind Blayne, and two more enter when the Crakehalls and Luthor follow. A pair of the men then gingerly walk around the tower’s base ... and come back, unharmed. “No one,” one of the men says. Now all eyes turn to the holdfast. A torch is held near the door—
“What’s this? Broken,” says one of the westermen. “Someone took an axe to it.”
As the holdfast doors are broken open Luthor moves next to Burton. “If it’s plague, we may as well throw ourselves on the fire too, after all if I’m to die of the plague, I’d not be remembered as the man who brought it to the army, or his King.”
His grim thoughts shared Luthor dismounts and passes through the gate sword drawn. When it’s become clear there is no sign of people or bodies and the door has been broken by axe. He almost smiles. “Seems like someone else might have scaled the walls before we came,” he says cheered by the thought they might be dealing with the work of men not the devastation of the plague.
” I have seen a rat….near one of those houses…Remember ,when I stoped to look? Rats are the heralds of plague.If we are ill,we’d better kill each other indeed…What did you say?”-Ser Burton scans the walls with his one-eyed gaze -“Yes,it could be so…@
Blayne nods to Burton and Luthor. “Could explain the sept, if men looted it,” he says… and with a nod, he pulls open the door. There’s a smell of rot and filth there, and he wrinkles his nose before moving in. He ushers one of the torchbearers ahead of him.
He comes back out, moments after. “Not a dead animal, as I thought at first,” he’s now whispering, beckoning them forward so he does not need to raise his voice.. “Ser Burton, Ser Luthor—I think there have been men in here, and recently. There’s a winding stair up to the second floor, but if there’s someone hiding there ... two men could hold all of us off for a good while.” He turns then, and glances straight up to try and see if anyone’s at one of the arrow loops above the entrance—impossible to tell, however.
Despite the story told by the facts seemed to be one of attack rather than disease, Luthor advances carefully towards the door looking back to Burton. “Perhaps the rat was just a rat, this looks like men not some plague sent by the Stranger, we may yet have some luck left you and I.” And when beckoned over he glances up the tower and frowns. This is why he hated seiges, the defenders had all the advantages. “Did you get any sign of their numbers?” he asks Condon.
“Oh…Good riddance “-Ser Burton seems relieved-if men were here recently,the village clearly has been abandoned not because of the deadly disease.Then he understands,that his easy-going attitude is clearly not very wise in this situation,and his expression once again becomes concentrated and business-like “So,what do you suggest,Ser Blayne?”
“Hard to say,” Blayne whispers. “Two men, if they had been there a long time and never cleaned it, maybe. More, maybe many more, if they turned it out on occasion.” He frowns past them, to the broken gate where the rest of the company is. “May be we’ll want some knights with spears to lead the way up the steps, sers. Or crossbows, though I don’t recall anyone having one.”
Luthor nods. “Nor I,” he says of the crossbows. “I say a small party with spears and the heaviest armor should go up and see if the upper floors are held against us. The rest should get out of sight of the arrow loops. We are after all here to find out what’s happened not have our whole party killed trying to take this tower.”
Burton orders five of his men to come closer-“Those could do. They are good with their lances. And are ready to do everything their master tells them.Do I tell the truth,Ser Jonn?” A young knight in while cloak nods vigorously . Ser Burton smiles . “But I don’t have anybody who could tell a crosbow from a hammer as well.I guess,spears and heavy armor will have to do.”
The northman nods, and passes the word to the rest. Men arrange themselves—some here in the first floor of the holdfast, others hidden outside, pressing close to the tower or otherwise leaving and staying just on the other side of the wall. It takes time, but two war lances are brought in, and two of Burton’s westermen in their full plate-and-mail armor—madness, for such a mission, normally—lumber in to carry them.
“I’ll go first,” one of them says, “staying as close to the right as I may. You’re just behind me, as close to the turn as you can be.” He starts, then stops. “And keep that lance out of my way!” Behind them, other men pile, to follow them up and be ready to pounce when they’re at the second floor.
Luthor puts himself on the stairs beneath the first party to go up. Pressed against the right wall sword in hand and ears perked for sounds from the top of the stair as the men advance.
Burton moves like a cat,carefully and swiftly. Nobody would have expected such an ability from the mountain of a man the Crakehall knight is. His sword is drawn,and the silvered blade is glittering in the dim light of the torches “If it is only men we are going to fight”-he whispers-” I am as ready as ever!”
Up the winding stone steps the crowd of knights go, the two staunch men with the war lances leading the way. Up, up—
“YEAAAAAARRRRGGHHHHHHHHHH!” A bloodcurdling scream, and suddenly one of the knights in front shouts, “AGH!” and falls back, the bulk of his armor and himself bowling men behind him, sending some falling. There’s a spear jabbing out of the darkness, and then another, and more screaming from above—
Luthor springs up the stairs as the men begin screaming. He leads the way with his shield held high his shield and his sword held out of the way so as not to spear any men that might be falling down towards him. As he rounds the turn he sees the scene of spears and falling men before him. “Seven hells,” he curses. It’s a bloody mess, -his- bloody mess. The way to the spearmen is jammed with men wounded, slain, or struggling to their feet. He glances back as others follow him up the stair. “Single file! We need to clear this mess,” he says to them as he sheathes his sword and grabs one of the struggling men, to help him up to his feet and once he’s standing sends him in the narrow space beside him as he works on the next.
Elmer doesn’t charge in after Luthor, instead, he signals some of his men t come around the building. “It’s too cramped in there for all of us. This way if anyone gets out we’ll be there for them.” he says and half his men prepare crossbows while the others ready their swords. The sounds from inside grow in intensity, but the tall knight stands planted firm ready to spring into action if needed.
Half-falling against the wall, Ser Blayne just manages to keep his feet as the knight falls past. Others are bowled over, and with those stabbing spears—well, he beats a retreat, scowling. “Up, up! Wounded need to move back and out of the way!” he shouts in the confusion. And then, hearing Ser Elmer and his men outside the tower, he raises a shout from inside the holdfast, “Crossbows! Crossbows to the fore, sweep the steps!”
The shouting and noise from upstairs, from the mysterious figures with their spears, grows confused and for a moment the spears falter. Condon offers a tight grin to Rivers. “I thought that’d work,” he tells the younger knight. Casting a glance at the steps leading into the darkness, he adds, “Might be we should try and talk with them. Could be innocents, afraid we’re here to kill them.”
Ser Alek Reyne and Ser Triston Templeton survived, but Ser Gregor Wendwater—who had fought boldly at the king’s landing and the Battle of the Rampart—was killed.
The plan proceeded well, with the Dornish holding their ground while the knights struggled to force them back. In the west, however, Lord Blackmont’s 2,000-strong force which the king had by chance discovered the day before closed on the rearguard he had set in place, led by Ser Moros Massey, a famous knight. Moros the Mordant died, thrown from a horse and snapping his neck, and in the ensuing confusion Blackmont’s forces ran rampant. It was only thanks to the efforts of Ser Dagur Saltcliffe that the rearguard held together long enough for the king to hurriedly send reinforcements from his center.
On the east, the cavalry finally crossed. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and Ser Burton Crakehall led one half of the right wing, and charged at the Dornish center. Ser Ardon Tyrell led the other half. At the same time, the Dornish center began to buckle, but Ser Mavros sent the bulk of the Dornish cavalry into a gap and nearly overwhelmed the cavalary. They covered the general retreat that was sounded at this point, and after the confusion to the west the king chose to call for no pursuit, letting the Dornish army to escape largely intact.
Prince Aemon’s forces suffered a great deal of loss, as they lost contact with Ser Burton’s troop and were very nearly overwhelmed because of it. Ser Ardon and the vanguard were also hard hit, though Ser Triston Templeton, Ser Elmer Crakehall, and Ser Luthor Rivers fought valiantly and helped maintain cohesion until the Dornish withdrew.
In the aftermath, the king chose to tend to the wounded at the location, setting up a camp for the day and allowing the Dornish to flee east along the banks of the Scourge. He was now a step closer to Godsgrace, key to the Dornish defense. The only worry was Lord Blackmont, whom was driven westward once more, and now would be free either to insinuate himself in the rear of the march to prevent further resupply, or to shadow the army on the Scourge’s western bank and perhaps cause trouble at one of the fords of the river.
At one point, the royal banner falls and the word spreads that the king has been killed, until one of the king’s knights takes up the banner and lifts it up once more. The Crakehalls fight well, defending the king’s flank, and Ser Elmer wounds Lord Manwoody. The pike arrive in the nick of time, to throw back the Dornish attack and win time for the archers to come up. In the end, the enemy withdraws, and the king has the cavalry, archers, and pike go forward as far as they can to make sure that they are high enough that they will not drown in the rising water.
Four times the Dornish send forces against them, water around their waists, and four times they throw them back. Half the king’s men are killed, most from arrows or throwing spears, but in the end the flood abates and the rest of his force withdraws.
The king mentions Ser Mavros Uller—now one of the captains of the rebel siege—pointed out some caverns in the foothills around Yronwood when last he deported Dorne in triumph. Ser Blayne goes on to suggest that perhaps the area around Yronwood is unstable enough that rock slides or avalanches could be engineered. Ser Elmer says “I’m no a mole,” in response, and the king laughs. He calls for a maester learned in engineering to discuss the possibility, while telling Ser Elmer that the cavalry he leads on behalf of Lord Lannister will have pride of place if it comes to battle. The king resumes the march, calling on Ser Blayne to join him so that they may discuss his ideas with the maester.
Though greatly outnumbered, the heavier armor of knights and horsemen helped the king and half the knight survive. Great feats were done by the knights who rode with him, as they were surrounded by the Dornish, who focused on trying to kill the king. Ser Elmer and his westermen were cut off from the main body of the king’s forces, and were almost overwhelmed. In the end, Ser Ardon Tyrell organized enough additional horsemen to counter-charge, forcing the Dornishmen to part and opening a way back to the now-formed lines of pike and Braavosi crossbows. In the withdrawal, the king was injured in the shoulder by a Dornish arrow. Afterwards, while the king was being tended, he called for volunteers to join Ser Reynard Caron in meeting with the Dornishmen who came out of Yronwood carrying the peace banner. Ser Albyn Crane, Ser Elmer Crakehall, and Ser Blayne Condon joined the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and treated with Lady Caitrin for a time.
The king’s captains formed a well-defended encampment on his command, to give him time to consider how to proceed. The Dornish army remained near to his host that day, and at least for that one day the castle was not invested.
Then, from a ravine above the battle ground—and behind the rampart—came two hundred horsemen, almost unexpected. Led by Ser Sarmion Baratheon, the path had been discovered by Ser Andry Chester in his efforts to find an alternate route down the Boneway. At the king’s command, Ser Andry directed a picked force—built around a core of the Brothers of the Battle, such as Stormbreaker, Jaremy Dustin, Aron Lightfoot, and Ser Humfrey Westerling—to circle around the rampart. They descended on the Dornishmen, who had a small rearguard in place after Ser Laurent Dalt intuited that something was wrong when he did not see the giant Baratheon in the front lines. In the end, the Dornish were forced to retreat, though they did so with less loss than may otherwise have been thanks to Dalt’s intuition.
Notably, one captured prisoner proved to be the woman Caitrin Blackmont, who had been part of the campaign—the Sand Dog’s doxy, some would say—in the guise of the boy. She had been left behind in the Dornish flight. After her identity was revealed, the king chose to be merciful, and allowed her to return to her compatriots with a message. He offered to treat them honorably if they laid down their arms, and welcome them into his peace. If they fought on, they could expect no mercy. He told Caitrin Blackmont much the same, before letting her go.
Luthor responds to the grin with a grim nod. “You’re right,” he agrees and beckoning to the men behind them to keep clearing the stair he calls. “Peace. Who holds this tower?” he demands of the mysterious spearmen.
Elmer nods to his men and the crossbowmen kneel pointing their weapons to the steps. He waits to see if there is any answer, and he keeps his hand raised. “Fire at my signal.” he says in his loud, powerful voice, while the naked blades of the swords shine around him.
There’s the sound of voices whispering an argument at the top of the steps. Finally, one speaks out in drawling tones.
“Leave us be! We’re doing no harm here,” a deep-throated voice rumbles.
*NOTE* No crossbows, already established.
“Doubtless so, and we will gladly leave you be, but before we do we would like to know what has happened here,” Luthor calls up to them.
” Doing no harm…. Those bastards killed my men!”- Burton mutters, maliciously playing with his sword. His face is red with fury-now it nearly matches the silk of his cloak. “And they will be punished for it-if that doesn’t happen, I am not Burton Crakehall!”-he finally says in a rasping voice ,after a few minutes of silence .
More whispered arguments. The spears menacing the top of the flight of steps withdraw deeper into the darkness, and the same voice responds.
“If you can read, you know what happened,” the man with the drawl—a sure sign of a Dornishman—rumbles. “We’re the last o’ the village, just defending our own! Take what you want and go—we’re stayin’ here!”
Luthor turns to Condon. “Did you see any sign of the dead or plague marks on doors?” he asks the northern knight in a whisper.
Elmer steps forward. “Cousin. Be quiet.” he says in a calm vocie. “His highness doesn’t want bloodshed but information.” He nods towards Condon. “Ser Luthor, the King entrusted this to me and you, will you let me speak for us?” he doesn’t wait, but instead he walks and his powerful voice resounds. “I am Ser Elmer Crakehall, on the orders of his Majesty The King of the Seven Kingdoms. Send put a man to parley and I swear by the Sveen that we won’t harm you.”
“Oh,I will go-after butchering this damned smallfolk,like chickens! Dornish scum…”-having whispered those cruel words, as a last outburst, Burton manages to master his emotions and goes silent. It isn’t easy -he bites his lips so furiously,they start to bleed. But that ,strangely enough, works-once more making the heir to Crakehall completely calm. He takes a deep gulp of air ,sighs and says in a loud voice ” And I,Ser Burton Crakehall, the heir to Crakehall ,guarantee you just the same.What do you mean by “the last of the village”? Where are the others?”
Luthor stands quietly to the side as Ser Elmer takes over the negotiation, his expression one of detatchment waiting to see what will happen next.
“Dead! Dead o’ the plague!” the deep-voiced man yells, sounding frustrated. Again, there’s whispers from above, and then he adds, “The king? We’re just simple folk—leave us be! Take what you want from the village; hardly be the first nor the last! We don’t want nothing to do with the king’s war, nor the Prince’s neither!”
There’s a colloquy as knights consider Luthor’s question, muttering among themselves. Condon finally says, “Didn’t notice any, Ser Luthor, but we came straight here ... hardly looked at the houses.” He glances up the steps, where the voice comes from, and then he says with a note of doubt creeping into his voice, “Might be we’re wasting our time with these men, whoever they are. Sounds like a Dornishman, one of the smallfolk.”
Elmer looks at the barred door and nods. “Nevertheless I want to see one of them.” he says in a determined voice. “Do come out then. You’ve nothing to fear us if you don’t oppose us.” He says, trying to sound reasonable. “If any of you can speak for you, don’t be afraid. But do not make us wait too long.”
Luthor crosses his arm and nods. “Yes, you’re right, we didn’t see to the houses. Personally I think there’s no plague, but all the same. . .” he turns to Elmer and Burton. “If you sers can do without us, I think Ser Blayne and I will take our men and see to the houses nearest the holdfast while you see if you can gain anything from the Dornish.”
“Plague….Well,I knew from the beginning .Horses don’t lie-and rats don’t either”-says Burton in a hoarse voice .He spits on the floor and shrugs,before looking at the door and continuing “Yes,my cousin is right.One of you should come out.We wont hurt him.We must be sure…”.
Furious whispering, back and forth, and then a counter-proposal.
“Aren’t sending any of ours down there,” says the man. “Might be you’re little more than reavers, looking for coin. There’s all sorts out. Some of them even have ‘sers’ in front of their names.” The man rumbles a bitter laugh, and then says, “But if you want, send one o’ _yours_ up, and we’ll talk peaceful. Then you all can go your own way, and leave us be.”
” I must go”-finally says Burton ,in a grave voice,after a long silence. He seems to be taking the plague thing seriously-even though doubting it at the same time.” If it is indeed this terrible disease…Those guys are infected for sure-and even communicating with them could be dangerous…I am older than all of you and must take this risk…”
Elmer shakes his head. “I don’t think you’re calm enough to do that coz.” he sighs. “I’d offer myself, but I’m afraid Ser Luthor and Ser Blayne will do the same.” He runs a hand through his unruly black hair. “So to satify our honor, will you agree to drawing strwas?”
“I believe none of us should take that risk, not yet, not when we could simply make sure whomever is up there doesn’t leave the tower while we search the town for ourselves. Though if that fails and these Dornishmen are our only chance to succeed in the task set before us by the King, then I will agree to draw straws for who goes up to speak with them,” Luthor opines pushing off against the wall to stand with the others.
The northern knight shakes his head and says to the Crakehalls, “The captain of the Lannister troops and the heir of Crakehall? You’ve proved your honor on the field, sers,” says Ser Blayne. “Let a man of lesser responsibility take this task.” He turns after Ser Luthor speaks, and gives a brisk nod, “May be best to look around. They act as if their story’ll be confirmed, if we look.”
“This is not some fucking game ,oz!”-exclaims Burton, looking at his cousin angrily , and snaps with his fingers ” You wouldn’t have been calm too- under those circusmstances-if somebody precious to you-like this good-and-mighty Jonn Lannister,who was to good-and-mighty to lead the Lannister host to war himself , was killed. One of the soldiers they murdered served me from my childhood-he taught me to ride,damn you….But it is not important now. I am the senior noble in our group, I am the oldest one-and I say;I will go….if we will decide that somebody should do so… People died for me before… But we certainly must look around as well.As Sers Luthor and Blayne said “-he finishes neutrally.
“Then I suggest you hold the stairs ser, I will lead the search and see if the story is true, also, if it should be plague, the King suffers less for my loss than the rest of us,” Luthor suggests to Ser Burton deffering to him as his age and station demands.
Elmer shakes his head. “You may be older, Burton, but me and Ser Luthor have the command.” He stands sword drawn on the stairs. “And we attacked these people, they fought back, and soldiers die.” he stands up to his cousin and then tells Luthor. “Very well ser, go and search.” He turns back to the door. “We’ll give you an hour to think.”
Greatful to see some action taking place Luthor bows towards the Crakehalls and turns towards Blayne. “Come with me ser,” he says and heads down the stairs before another squabble can begin.
Grudgingly, Ser Blayne agrees. “As you say, ser. We’ll take some of the men, start looking about. Gods be with you.” And with that, the northman follows Ser Luthor out to search the village.
“Well?” the deep-voiced man rumbles. “Anyone coming up, or are you going to leave us be at last?”
Ser Burton looks at his cousin. He slowly adjusts his eyesling , and smiles bitterly .“Well?”-he asks mockingly-“If you are the commander,that it is your responsibility to answer them.Humble me would stay silent.”
As they descend the steps Ser Luthor says to Blayne. “We’ll search those houses closest to the holdfast it will save time. The men going inside are to be careful and look for signs of both plague and of forced departure as well as for any more hidden smallfolk; we’ll have no more blood spilt if we can help it.” His voice is commanding but touched with regret as he speaks.
“As you say, ser,” says Ser Blayne. He directs the division of the knights into several groups—no less than two knights in each—and sets off with one to the nearest door. He pauses in front of the door, holding up his torch to examine it closely—no plague mark. He pushes it open gingerly, the other knight at the ready .... and nothing. They go in. A minute later, they’re out, shaking their heads to any who might wonder if they’ve found anything.
On to the next house. By this time, three or four have been searched, with varying results—one of the houses _did_ have a plague mark splashed on its door—and three dozen are left to be examined.
Elmer watches the soldiers move around the houses and he doesn’t dignify those inside with an answer. His eyes are brilliant with expectation. What will they find in those houses?
Torch in hand Luthor has one of the two king’s men with him open the door to the plague-marked door, and steps inside first. Sweeping the torch about for light to see if there is sign of bodies as he sniffs nervously at the air for any scent of corruption.
Burton whistles some kind of tune .Then stops and once more addresses his cousin,with a slight frown “Wonder what they find there. Probably,we should have searched through the whole village,before going here. All this shit is not quite what I have expected…”
A pile of bodies—dessicated corpses, months dead, little more than scraps of cloth and skin attached to bones—are in one of the two rooms of this cottage.
After half an hour, all the homes but one have been searched. The last, a cottage with a loft, is entered by Ser Blayne ... and he’s quickly out, calling for Ser Luthor. “Best see this.” When the knight arrives, Blayne leads the way in. He moves towards the second room, but pauses just outside of it. He thrusts the torch into the space…
There’s a pile of dessicated corpses, months dead, little more than scraps of cloth and skin attached to bones there. Condon makes a face. “Not even a burial, or a pyre,” he mutters. “Just piled in here, thrown atop one another.” He turns the torch this way and that, to see what can be seen in the room—the packed-sand of the floor is dark brown, with blood and old fluids, doubtless leaking from the bodies as they bloated and swelled in the first days after death. Or… He frowns at one body, and then another. “Never heard of the grey plague splitting skulls,” he remarks, looking to the bastard riverknight. “Or cutting arms in half, for that matter.”
Elmer takes a deep breath and seems puzzled. “Do you think those felows inside would have left this laying around like this if they were the ones to do it? Or something scared them too?” He seems to be pondering scenarios.
Luthor isn’t sure if he wants to breathe a sigh of relief or retch at the ferocious stench of the place. He settles on a grim expression as he prods a body with the point of his sword and exposes a sword hacked skull. “So we have our answers,” he says and with little else to say of the matter he nods to the others to depart.
A short time later he and his party arrive at the base of the tower and he makes his way up the stairs to where the Crakehall cousins are waiting for news. “The villagers were killed, hacked to pieces in some cases and left piled in a house down near the river.”
“So….Those fine men has been deceiving us ....”-Burton shakes his head disbelievingly and grins ” To outfox the old fox…And I have ,for a moment,thought that they were telling the truth.” His palm grips the hilt of his gigantic sword. He gestures at the door ” So…I guess we don’t have nothing else,but to come in and see what is there…Or you,Sers,propose to continue the negotiations? “
“It’ll be more men dead if we try and storm it,” mutters Ser Blayne, now in ill-humor—he was wrong about the men, it seems. “We don’t know how many there are, either. Four at least. Might be as many as a dozen.”
“Unless we think we can find some way to burn this tower down around these rogues, it’s probably for the best if we just seal them in and see to grabbing what forrage we can from this place,“Luthor suggests. “Less of our blood to be spilt that way.”
Luthor looks to the others. “What’s it to be then?” he asks.
“My only concern with a fire,” says Ser Blayne, “is the smoke. It’ll be seen for miles around. Might draw attention.” He glances again to the stairs leading up, and then says, “We seem to know the truth of matters. These villains can be someone else’s problem, I reckon.”
Elmer shakes his head at Blayne’s words. “I agree with you on the first part. But to the second..we still don’t know who killed those folks in the village. It might be these people behind that door..or it might not. Shall we try another talk?”
Burton laughs angrily . “An absurd situation! King’s knights sitting near a barred door,like stray kittens,and conversing with some suspicious rogues that lie to them !We cant storm them because it is too dangerous…We cant burn them because Dornishmen would see the smoke… And now noble soldiers of King Daeron will have to go away-after doing a bit of robbery,of course….Well,of we are going to do it, lets start. I am already sick of all this” . Burton hides his sword into hilt and looks at his companions ,waiting for their response, but then continues ” We have already spent a lot of time here. We should act-His Grace needs to hear our reports as fast ,as we can deliver him the news…Not that we have much to deliver…Everything that happened here still remains a mystery-if we got hold of one of those bastards, all would have been easier.”
“They’d likely just lie again if we asked them,” Luthor says. “Best to get on with the forrage and forget these ones, they’ve already been here three months by the look of the bodies we found. Mayhaps the King will give us leave to deal with them once we’ve taken Godsgrace.”
“Sticks in my mouth to say it,” says Ser Blayne, “but our orders were clear enough. The king feared there was another army forming—well, if it is, it isn’t from here.” He shakes his head and then, giving a last glance to the stairs, says, “We should wedge that door shut, and the gate too. Keep a guard on it in the night, and in the morning when we take what we can to return to the king. Make sure they can’t find their way out and cut our throats while we sleep.”
The light of dawn was just cresting the horizon when the eight Brigands finally decided it was best if they fled. Moving swiftly against the building light of day, they clambered to the top of the holdfast and securing a rope, they lower it down the side of the holdfast furthest from the gate. “Quick now,” Pygett tells the men Tymon is leading down first. The Dornishman nods and slips down quickly, three others following behind. Pygett sticks his head over the wall, and once he’s sure they’re down safe, he climbs down on his own. The rest following him. “Watty I swear I’ll have your hide if you fall on me!” he chides the spindly former maester who joins him on the rope.
Watty doesn’t fall, and the rest of the men reach the ground without a word. Pygett smiles rubbing his thick black beard, it looks like they’re going to make it with their skins intact. Just then something catches his eye, a glint of steel in the sunlight. He turns just as two knights round the corner, wearing the badge of the Westerosi Kings. Tymon is the first to act, without so much as a word he thrusts at one of the knights with his spear and strikes him in the throat. There is blood and a gurgle as the man falls limp. The other knight reaches for his blade as he falls back. “They’re escap” he manages before Tymon’s spear reaches him as well. But it’s too late there is noise by the gate and a horn sounds long and loud through the morning quiet.
“Qucik, to the far wall,“Pygett orders as his men grab grapples and more rope and make ready to escape.
In the village the rest of the knights are stirring from a restless sleep near the sept, as the servants set about making a quick breakfast while the others make ready to take what supplies they can before they leave this place. Luthor is among the latter and in a foul mood given the follies of the previous nights. Finding the Crakehall men he offers a wine skin as he joins them. “A nip of wine before we begin?” he asks.
Elmer takes the offered wineskin and smiles broadly. “Always, Ser, that’s a kind offer.” he laughs and drinks deeply, but as th horn sounds he jumps up, his sword drawn. “Around the tower, get them.” the huge knight’s voice is louder than the horn and he round off the tower, his men following him.
“Sure”-says Burton, gladly taking a gulp .Then he wipes his mouth,returns the wineskin to Luthor and ...stands up and draws his sword, hearing what his cousin has just said .“That is our chance!”
The wineskin is dropped as Luthor reaches for his sword and draws it in the light of dawn. “Let’s to it then,” he says to Burton. “Men to me, to the tower!” he shouts and pelts on behind Elmer for the tower as the king’s men hurriedly follow.
At the tower, the brigands are in dissary, the survivors of the party set to watch it stand back held at bay, by the superior numbers of the brigands, but neither can the brigands turn their backs on them and try to climb. Pygett snarls. “Back you whoresons!” in his booming voice. “Or I’ll have your guts open with my axe,” he says sliding a finger along its blade for effect.
The guards are chosen men from regular troops so they don’t get scared that easily, and they shout jeers back as Elmer and his men come round the corner, his shiny coat of mail covering his torso. “Good..” he smiles, his teeth flashing over his dark beard. “I wanted a fight.” His men go to one side of the brigands, ready to charge, while the guards lower their spears.
Burton slowly raises his sword and slashes with it in the air. His knights-those that havent been killed yesterday-group around him,looking at the brigands with utmost hatred. The heir to Crakehall is smiling,but his eye does not-his gaze is cold and cruel “Highwaymen must swing.That is the law. So care to take some of them prisoner-for the sake of the good old rope.And now-CHARGE!”
Luthor frowns as he studies the scene, two of his men are down but the brigands are cornered, dead men, now that they are outnumbered. He nods to Elmer and takes his own men to join the gaurds, his frown changing to a grim look of determined wrath. As he strides to the front of the guards, he finds something familiar about some of these men. Perhaps he’d fought with them during the last war, it didn’t matter now, they were dead men. Some of them seemed to be aware of their fate as well, wavering, looking like they’re about to throw down their weapons. Then Burton calls for the charge and Luthor sees the hope in their eyes vanish as three forces of Westerosi chivalry closes in for the kill. The forces collide and the bloody slaughter begins. Luthor picks a Dornish spearman for his first, a ragged looking man with missing teeth and a scraggly beard. He brushes aside the man’s stab with his blade, then opens his face with a backslash. He screams holding his face and drops his weapon. Luthor hits him about the head with the flat of his blade to send him to the dirt, and save him for the noose as he moves on to the next.
Elmer isn’t one to keep men for hanging, the tall heavy knight moving with deadly speed , his heavy blade smaching against the face of one of the brigands, practically taking half his head off. Pygett’s axe comes flying towards him, as the bandit attacks desperately, but Elmer jumps back and his backhand stroke is parried with the haft of the axe, he goes at it again, and parried again, but the force of his cuts sends the bandit off balance, and the crafty knight’s next slash slices through PYgett’s knee, cutting off his leg with massive force. As the bandit almost falls over, looking at his leg in disbelief, Elmer smiles and runs his sword calmly into the former blacksmith’s muscular chets.
Advancing over the body of the unconcious brigand, Luthor spies a familiar face, one which is now contorted in an expression of utter fright. “Watty?” he exclaims in surprise and then his eyes narrow with sudden understanding. With his free hand he grabs the man by the colar of his tunic throws him to the ground. “Stay,” he tells him. “These are the Bright Banners!” he shouts to his companions. “The traitors who lost the king Vaith and Godsgrace!”
Burton acts and moves very quicky-once again ,he has proven,that a big man isn’t necessary slow.He is one of the first knights to meet the enemy .He kills one of the ruffians,a young slender brute,armed with a mace,with one bloody slash of his sword-and starts looking for another victim. And soon he finds one ;a tall man ,armed with a spear,stands in his way. He has a pale,honest face-one that doesn’t suit a deserter and a brigand one little bit.Seeing Burton,he desperately tries to pierce him with his lance-but to no avail.The heir to Crakehall thrusts-and cuts the shaft of the mans weapon in two parts.Suddenly,instead of trying to run ,the brigand kneels before Burton “Please,Ser,spare me….You are my only chance…I am not a villain like them, I am a good soldier…I have served in Vaith,as a guardsman…Those murderers forced me…I have a wife and children.Please…”
Elmer “shakes his head and mutters. “Bright Banners. Kill them all!” he yells at his men and indeed the swords and spears of the Lannister men force the brigands apart cutting them down one by one. He moves to stand at Burton’s side and his vocie is filled with savagery. “This fellow lies through his teeth. I’d run him through, but I suppose he could witness for his crimes before he hangs.”
The Lannister slaughter is swift, there is only one man left standing the rest are either wounded or dead. Luthor stays the man that comes for Watty and drags the former acolyte in the dirt towards where Burton has one of the spearmen on his knees. “This one will suffice for a witness,” he says of Watty. “And like as not knows where the rest have run to. So kill that one if you like Burton.”
“If you were a guardsman,it is even worse! You betrayed all that must be sacred to a honest soldier “-Burton answers sternly,and pushes the brigand away with his foot ,as he tries to kiss his jackboots ” Dale,get the rope ready!”. The man looks up at the heir to Crakehall ,and whispers pleadingly “Please,Ser…Kill me with you own hand. Or order one of you knights to.But not this… I don’t want my sons to find out,their father was hanged as a deserter ... They were so proud of me,being a warrior…” Burton thinks for a moment,and then asks the ex-guardsman “What is you name,man?” Hope appears in the brigands eyes;he stands up “Tymon…I always tried doing the right things…Went to sept every week…And now it came to this…Becoming a ruffian and a deserter…”
Luthor says, “H-he did try to be good, it was Pygett, he made us kill the smallfolk,”“
“H-he did try to be good, it was Pygett, he made us kill the smallfolk,” offers Watty still lying in the dirt like a worm at Luthor’s feet. If either Watty’s words or Tymon’s have been heard by the Rivers’ knight he gives no sign of it as he watches Tymon with finty eyed dispassion while he waits to see what Burton will do with the man.
“I will spare you…”-Ser Burton finally says,keeping silence,for a minute or two, “Your wife and children will be provided for-though it is more,than you deserve…” The man bows deeply and smiles happily,his eyes glittering with tears . He starts uttering words of gratitude,but Burton stops him ” But you have to pay for your crimes,in one way or another… You will become my prisoner,and later,if the King decides to show you mercy-as I did-you will join my men . From now your life belongs to me.Remember that”
A glimmer of hope appears in Watty’s eyes as Tymon is spared. “What’s to become of me sers?” he begs. Luthor regards him coldly. “Where are the others?” he asks. Watty gets to his knees. “They’ve gone to the Tor, to take ship back across the Narrow Sea, three months past.”
Luthor curses and his hand clenches around the hilt of his sword. For the briefest moments he considers killing the man, but then he catches sight of his two men downed, one slain, the other injured, and remembers the wounds some of Ser Burton’s men took the day before. “Tend to our wounded and the king will decide your fate, but if any die on the march, be sure that you die with them.” With a gesture Luthor calls over some of his men to take Watty to the wounded and then turns to the Crakehalls. “Well this is done then,” he says. “Lets see to this tower, then be off about our other business?” he suggests.
Three hours pass in forage before it’s decided it’s time to go. The tower yielded little but a bit of wine and a few trinkets stolen from the town but all is added to the wagons but the crystal and brass stolen from the sept which is returned. The fields turn out to be the real trove and the servants return with plenty of dates and oranges to fill the carts. Once the goods are secured and the prisoners are placed under guard, the column forms on the dusty track leading out of the village to Godsgrace and its leaders take the fore. After one last look, they nod in agreement, and the word is given to move out and abandon the sullen empty village and make their way back towards camp. As the trail of dust that marks their passing fades into the distance the carrion birds descend upon the little dock where the sign once hung, to feast upon the six heads set upon its piles.