Chapter 45 - chapter 45

The battle was exhausting, even for Brienne. In prior engagements, the fighting had been short and fierce. Often, there'd been several short moments of reprieve where one sides retreated or withdrew, and then another clash shortly afterwards. This one was different, as the chaos and nighttime nature of the battle had hidden just how badly the Riverlands had been defeated.

During the battle, she spotted the cloak of the Kingsguard and called out to Ser Arys.

"Where is Lady Myrcella?" Brienne asked, somewhat confused. It had been her understanding that Ser Arys and Lum were on protective detail. Myrcella had planned to observe the battle.

"Lady Brienne," he replied as he slashed the chest of an unarmored spearman, "she said that my sword arm would be of better use in the battle; once the gates were open, I joined up with Ser Lyle's group."

Brienne frowned. It was Myrcella who had dictated the 'protocol' of always having along two of her Stormguard, with Ser Arys being an acceptable substitute as a member of the Kingsguard. Was she worried about the outcome of the fight? Brienne had her orders, and her duty was to help quickly destroy any strongpoints of resistance that gathered.

When dawn had finally revealed the one-sided carnage, the fighting soon ended. Brienne spotted Lum, who was taking charge of sorting out some of the prisoners, and she frowned.

"Lum, who is guarding Lady Myrcella?"

Lum shrugged, "I'm not sure; before the battle, she tasked me with ensuring that our later waves of climbers were adequately prepared."

"You left her alone?"

Lum just gave her a look, "I, of course, did what was asked of me by her ladyship. She is over there by the gatehouse."

Brienne stalked toward the location. She was glad that her stitches had recently been removed, otherwise she would likely have torn them again. Seeing Myrcella busy speaking with the captive heir of Riverrun and several others awaiting her attention, she realized that this was not the time nor the place. Instead, she waited until checking in with Ser Theo to report for their protection shift.

"Lady Myrcella, we need to talk."

Myrcella glanced up from the letter she was sealing and looked at her.

"Judging by your expression, you have a concern – what is it?"

"You sent away your guards – why?"

Myrcella gave her a soft smile. "Ah, that. I decided that our climbing infiltrators could use some additional assistance. My throwing knives are even more difficult to defend against in the dark."

Brienne furrowed her brow. "We could have gone with you! It is our duty to protect you."

"Save for Lum, you are all knights, who fight best in plate. You weren't suited to climb and fight; having you forgo your armor would be foolish. I used you in the place that provided the maximum benefit that would lead to the highest chance of victory."

"Is climbing now among your talents? This was too dangerous. What chance of victory would we have if you died? You are this host's heart and soul; you must be protected."

"You exaggerate; I admit that my stratagems are an integral part of…"

"My lady! I don't speak of tactics. They love you; they practically worship you. Some are calling you THE Maiden." Brienne shook her head in exasperation, "I know that you rule as you see fit, but I beg of you, if you value what we, what I do for you as part of the Stormguard, please be more careful. At the very least, let us know what you are doing."

Myrcella's face grew contemplative for a moment, as if she was considering something of deep importance. Brienne would give half of Tarth away to be able to read her thoughts.

"You have my apologies, Brienne. I should have explained myself prior to the battle; however, there will be times where I cannot do so. Be it because some of my Stormguard are not gifted at dissembling due to oaths I have sworn, or other reasons."

Brienne nodded; she understood. It frustrated her; her life and honor were tied to the petite girl of only a dozen years. It was beyond just duty for Brienne. She cared for the girl; this was someone who was truly worthy of the title of a noble. Someone whose mind would usher the Stormlands into a new era of prosperity and justice.

"Speaking of my Stormguard, how is everyone doing? Were there any injuries?"

"Nothing significant," she shook her head as she replied. "Ser Barristan is a bit bruised when his horse was cut down and he fell, but the Bold kept fighting with his usual fierceness despite that. Ser Barlow's wrist is sprained from a parry gone wrong, and Ser Jaspar took a few blows to the helm. He gave back his supper shortly after, but the Maester checked him and says that he is well."

"Hmm, a concussion, but probably a mild one. Thank you, Brienne, I intend to get some rest now. You have done well."

Brienne felt the familiar glow of pride suffuse through her body. Could any knight receive greater praise from their liege than being told that they had done well? Brienne wished her a pleasant rest. Ser Theo cocked his eyebrow.

"Questioning the Lady Myrcella – how bold of you."

Brienne felt a flush appear over her face.

"I was concerned. Every word I spoke was true – we can lose a battle, but as long as Myrcella lives, the army will not lose heart."

"You'll have no argument from me, my lady. Imagine – taking Harrenhal – we did it, and I can still scarcely believe it."

Brienne wondered what their next move would be. She realized with a start that Myrcella would likely ask her Stormguard for their thoughts on the matter. Brienne began to order her thoughts on the future while still keeping an ever-watchful eye out for any potential threats as Myrcella rested.

***

Not many men would bring their lover to war, but Oberyn was not like most men, nor was Ellaria Sand like most women. She was a beauty and insatiable bed companion, as well as the most entertaining woman he had ever met. Most men would not bring their daughter to war either, but Obara Sand was also at his side.

When Doran had finally given permission, a general muster had been called throughout Dorne. The lords were showing themselves to be laggards, and Oberyn suspected that it was his brother's doing. Doran would prefer the war be all but concluded and Dorne's strength preserved. Impatient, as always, Oberyn gathered near a thousand men and made his first strike by way of sea while the rest of Dorne mustered at the Prince's Pass.

His target was Weeping Town, the busiest port of the Stormlands. It lay on the southern shore of Cape Wrath. The Stormlands were not a strong naval power, primarily due to the dangers of Shipbreaker Bay, but this far south, the storms were far less dangerous. Weeping Town did significant trade with Dorne, Tyrosh, and the rest of the Stormlands. Taking it would hurt the Stormlands economically, and there would be decent plunder to be had.

Oberyn knew that the Stormlords would be fighting in the north with their muster. The market town would not be undefended, but it wouldn't be defended enough to resist him. As his ships sailed in, he gave Ellaria one last kiss before leading the charge. Obara, his eldest daughter, was right behind him as they confronted the hastily assembled foe.

A few arrows fell around them, and then Oberyn was in the thick of it. His spear moved with deadly precision, taking the first man in the throat. The furious charge in the dawn light broke the enemy, who had not expected the elite of Dorne to attack. Oberyn's blood was up, but the fight was already over; the few who didn't surrender and had managed to flee reached the relative safety of the Weeping Tower.

It was hardly an impressive fortification, but it could prove bothersome to storm. He gave a third of his men leave to loot what they desired and took the rest toward the base of the tower. Obara beside him complained.

"Why even talk with them? We should just take the tower and put them all to the spear."

Oberyn clicked his tongue. "Taking, even a tower like that, is not a pleasant experience. I have no wish to feel the sting of boiling water poured on my head."

The tower was not large, and Oberyn called forth for whoever ruled to come converse. When banners were called, it wasn't always clear who would remain behind and who would lead a house's troops. In this case it, it looked like old Lord Whitehead had remained behind and his son ser Addam Whitehead had answered the call of Lady Myrcella.

After a brief exchange and an assurance of safety during the parley, the old lord climbed down and met with Oberyn. The Red Viper even set a table and chairs for them to discuss things civilly.

"Lord Whitehead, would you care for some wine?"

The venerable old lord, who amusingly had white hair atop his head, shook his head.

"Not even if it was from your cup, Prince Oberyn."

Oberyn laughed and drank deeply from his cup, "Your loss."

After he set the cup down, he leaned forward, "You cannot hope to hold the tower, and I have no desire to waste the sons and daughters of Dorne on taking the old thing. Lay down your arms, and I will take but one man in five of noble or knightly status hostage, and the rest can be gone from this town. You may be among those who can depart."

The old lord lowered his eyes, "And if I refuse?"

"Well, taking your tower will put me in a foul mood. I will be less inclined to show mercy. I am not a Lannister, and would not cause needless suffering, but dead is dead, no?"

The old man raised his eyes. "Your terms are fair, but I could not look upon my peers if I did not raise my blade in defiance. Instead, I propose a duel. Should you win, we will abide by the terms you have offered; should you lose, your men will leave and not return."

Oberyn smiled in amusement. "Who would be your champion?"

"I have lived long enough; I will face you, or your champion."

"Done then; do you need time to prepare?"

"Give me an hour, and I will be ready."

As the old lord went back to his tower, Oberyn's daughter approached him.

"Let me fight in your place; he isn't worthy to fight a Prince of Dorne."

Oberyn considered it. He enjoyed dueling people, but the venerable man with stiffness in his joints was not a proper foe. He had no wish to shame the man, but times seemed to have changed in the Stormlands. Up until recently, they had not been as relaxed in their thinking as Dorne when it came to allowing women to fight. The 'Terror of Tarth' had changed that some, and there were even rumors that their new Paramount Lady had participated in their Trial of Seven. Oberyn hardly thought that was likely, but the rumors that came with the story attached no shame to her participation.

"Very well, daughter, you may fight in my place. The old man should be easy prey, but do not be foolish."

Obara grinned and thanked her father.

When the time came for the duel, Lord Whitehead walked out slowly in his plate armor, a sword in one hand and a steel rimmed oak shield in the other. Obara wore her riding leathers, a spear in one hand and a round shield in the other. A whip was wrapped at her side. She was taller than the aging lord and held a relaxed stance.

The local septon said a few words about the Warrior and the Father's guidance, and the duel began. Lord Whitehead ponderously raised his sword and advanced on Obara. His movement was sluggish, and Obara easily stabbed out and struck him in the chest. The spear point did not pierce, of course, but it rattled him a bit, and he backed an unsteady step.

Obara went on the offensive, relentlessly stabbing out at her foe. Her swift and accurate strikes seemed to befuddle her opponent as they struck him from helm to leg. His counter swings were easily avoided; not once had Obara even needed to block with her own shield.

Oberyn's bastard daughter now moved in with even more confidence, driving the old knight back, and when he was unsteady again, she charged forward with her shield, attempting to drive him to the ground. Only, the old knight instantly steadied and pushed her back as his sword whipped around with speed faster than he had shown all fight. Obara flinched back and only suffered a shallow cut to the face instead of a fight-ending wound.

Obara gave a curse at having so nearly lost the fight due to her overconfidence. She came in again, her spear now having a harder time finding its mark. However, age and the weight of armor began to take its toll, and the old knight could not keep up with the faster and more fit Obara. Fully winded in truth now, Whitehead could not stop the Sand Snake from circling him and bringing the spear down into the gap where the back of the knee joint had thinner armor. Her powerful piercing thrust took his leg down.

"Do you yield?" Obara called out.

The knight let go of his sword and undid the clasp of his helm, and tossed it aside.

"No."

Obara shrugged and stabbed him through the neck without further delay.