Finally, we have our first battle.
One thing I should mention before we dive in is that as a history student, I'd be stupid not to look at battles through history for inspiration. This chapter takes inspiration from the campaign of Quintus Fabius Maximus against Hannibal during the Second Punic War, and the Battle of Teutoberg Forest, where the German Arminius won a decisive victory over the Roman general Varus. Here we get to see the first indicators that Steffon is a skilled commander.
They had been riding for days.
Ever since the ill-fated meeting between Steffon and Renly, Randyll Tarly had been entrusted with leading the vanguard of Renly's army into the Stormlands. he had of course tried to discourage an outright invasion. His army was smaller, meaning it was easier to manuever; he said. Renly more or less told him to follow Steffon and force the battle to crush his 'contemptible little army'.
120,000 against 23,000.
On paper, it seemed a pretty easy equation, but war rarely translates cleanly from paper to reality. It had already been several days, and they were still no closer to forcing a battle. Steffon was being very crafty; he was avoiding situations where he could be forced into battle and carefully shadowing Renly's army. His smaller army could move around a lot quicker that Renly's massive one. Moreover, Renly's infantry was lagging behind his cavalry; largely because the King in Highgarden was under the illusion that heavily armoured knights mounted on barded warhorses were enough to win a battle all by themselves. Steffon had of course exploited this by raiding their supply lines with light cavalry.
It was beginning to take a toll. Steffon would hit them and they'd ride to respond, only for him to attack at another spot. He'd hit their supply lines then vanish into the countryside. It was a game of cat and mouse, and their enemy was infuriatingly good at it. As a side effect of the infantry largely being ignored by Renly, they were consoling themselves by getting themselves drunk, which further hampered the response to Steffon's raids. Thankfully, the army was beginning to coalesce, and Renly's arrival seemd to raise the men's spirits a little, though Tarly was currently trying to convince him of Steffon's strategy.
"People like to praise Steffon for his strategic mind . . . he's just being a coward." Renly said in their command tent.
"Maybe, but it's having an effect. The men are on edge; most of them can barely sleep for fear of a raiding party in the night." Tarly replied.
"Lord Tyrell, where did the last raiding parties go?"
"Scouts reported them fleeing in the direction of the Kingswood, Your Grace." Lord Tyrell responded.
"We should pursue them. Force the battle!" Ser Loras said.
"That's exactly what he wants. Our advantages are our numbers and our cavalry. If we fight on ground he chooses, we throw that away." Tarly replied.
"Lord Tarly, while I do not doubt what Steffon is trying to do, you must remember that he is a boy who has never seen battle before. He's just as likely to run back to Dragonstone as fight us." Renly said. Not when Stannis is at his back;Tarly thought. "You will have the vanguard, Lord Tarly. Pursue Steffon's band of raiders into the Kingswood and ride them down. If you happen to encounter his main force, crush it. We cannot afford any delays."
Things were proceeding exactly as Steffon had planned them. His scouts had spotted Renly's army advancing towards the Kingswood. Now, all they had to do was fix the ground and make it ready for a fight.
His stake pits were proving to be rather simple to construct, being simple holes with wooden stakes in them and then covered with wicker and vegetation. Hopefully, it would help negate Renly's advantage in numbers and horsemen. He knew he had to look for any possible means to try and make his force more effective. One of the theory books called it force multiplication. He did have just over 20,000 men facing 120,000, so he had to look for ways to maximise his fighting potential somehow. Still, he was grievously outnumbered.
"So, what's the plan, stag boy?" He heard a voice ask. He turned around to see Arya, who had taken to wearing the stag-and-wolf sigil on her tunic. It had been especially sewn for her by Shireen, and of course, Arya had gladly accepted it.
"Well, since you asked politely. . ." He trailed off and kissed her. "The plan is for Renly's army to come marching in here. This is the only road through the Kingswood, so they'll have to march in narrow formation. Their knights won't be able to get up much momentum and their numbers will be more of a disadvantage in such a confined space. We hit them at multiple points. That's where the crossbows, aimed at their commanders, come into play. Then we charge at different points. We don't try to hold a position; we rush in, attack, get out, then repeat."
"It seems a bit dishonourable."
"Arya, Renly has 120,000 men. I only have just over 20,000. This is how wars are won." He said, taking her hands.
"You seem to pay more attention to this war than to your betrothed."
"Only out of necessity, wolf girl. I love you. Don't ever doubt that." he stroked her cheek and kissed her. Arya kissed him back, their lips melding together. "How's that for love?" He asked, chuckling as they held their foreheads together.
"Don't you go dying on me, stag boy."
"I won't Arya. We still have to marry." He replied
"Your Grace." Stannis said, breaking the moment between the two.
"Yes uncle?" Steffon asked, turning but keeping Arya's hand in his own.
"The trap's nearly set. Stake pits have been set up and the crossbowmen have ranged their targets. Renly stands little chance of mounting a proper fight here." He ellaborated.
"Of course. Thank you, uncle. Assemble the commanders in my tent in 10 minutes. Arya will be joining us."
"She's not one of your commanders, Your Grace."
"She is to be my wife, uncle." He said. Arya smiled lovingly at him. "And she is most certainly not a porcelain cup, like so many other proper ladies. She will sit in on my war council meetings." He added, with a note of finality. 10 minutes later, Steffon's principle commanders were gathered in the tent, a map spread out on the table before them.
"A sound plan, Your Grace." Lord Arstan Selmy said. The other lords nodded.
"My lords, if i desired nothing but yes-men I would be no better than my uncle on the other side of the battlefield. If you have any reservations, speak up." Steffon said. Lord Bryce Caron decided to speak up.
"Your Grace, this plan hinges on two things: tight discipline and them reacting slowly. What if they react faster than we expect?"
"We pull back into the forest. Renly's knights won't be able to charge us and his infantry will be staggered as well. We're in strong defensive territory, Lord Caron. I understand your misgivings, which is why I've thought this through. Uncle Stannis, you will have the group on the left. Ser Barristan, the right; Lord Tarth, you will cut off their advance once the rest of the trap has been sprung."
"Should we not cut off their retreat?" Lord Selmy asked.
"No. If we surround them completely, they'll fight ten times as hard. We'll leave a path for them to rout along and carry the panic back. Hopefully it will overtake some part of the rest of their army." Steffon explained. "That will be all, my lords. Shore up our positions and make sure the men are ready. We cannot afford to lose this." He said as the meeting finished. He saw Ser Barristan and Lord Selmy walk off together; it was obvioust that the old knight had much affection for his great-nephew, and was looking forward to fighting alongside him.
"When the battle begins Arya, I want you back from the fighting." Steffon said, sensing that his wife-to-be was still with him.
"What?! i can handle myself just as well as any of them!" She said, no doubt referring to the soldiers.
"I know you can, Arya, but we're going into battle. If you're killed . . . I don't know what I'd do."
"You want to shunt me away like some bloody crate, is that it?!"
"No, it's not Arya! Seven Hells, I thought you would understand!"
"I'm a better fighter than you are!"
"And I have your brother guarding me at all times!"
"You should have me with you as well!"
"If you're wounded or worse, take a guess at who your brother's going to blame!" He shouted. That gave Arya pause. "It would ruin me too, because then those men wouldn't have a King leading them . . . they'd have a man worried about the girl he loves. That is not a good situation for anyone. Stay back from the battlefield. Hell, I'll even have Edric guard you. Just stay back, okay?" He said. Arya looked in his bright blue eyes and saw genuine sincerity behind them. He was worried for her.
"Fine." She conceded. "Only for this time. Next time, I'm going to be with you."
"We'll see, wolf girl. We'll see."
Harys, a soldier in service of House Peake, was marching with the vanguard under Lord Tarly. He'd had barely any sleep; the same went for nearly all of his comrades. Of course, the knights were looked after, as well as the mounted men-at-arms. It seemed that King Renly placed a higher price on them than he did his footsoldiers; the fact that they had been forced to stand sentry during the nights to ensure that the knights and lords were well-rested was as clear a indicator as he'd ever seen.
Currently, he was marching near the front of the column with around a thousand other men in full armour, and it was weighing him down. Couple that with the dagger, sword and halberd, and it was even heavier. And they didn't have squires or followers to carry their equipment for them; they all had to carry everything themselves. Lucky bastards, he thought of the nobles.
"Harys, you see something over there?" His friend Edwyn asked. Harys looked and shook his head.
"Your eyes are playing tricks on you again, Ed." He replied.
"Stay sharp! Steffon's men could be hiding anywhere." Lord Tarly ordered. How the bloody hell to we stay sharp when we've been marching for days? Harys wondered.
"Harys, look!" Edwyn said, pointing up. Harys followed his finger to see a single flaming arrow take to the sky. What the . . .
He never had time to finish his thought
What must have been nearly a hundred crossbow bolts sprang out from the treeline, and dozens fell. Then another volley came from the other side and more dropped. "Edwyn!" He shouted as he noticed his friend had taken a bolt through the neck.
"Form up! Form up!" Lord Tarly shouted. Form up where?!They were being attacked on both sides, and the crossbowmen were targeting the men on horseback; several knights had already fallen. Nevertheless, Harys joined a formation as an advance was ordered towards the treeline. The men advanced at the double, running towards the crossbowmen. As they neared them, the lead ranks of the formation seemd to plunge into the ground. Harys noticed that the pits the men had fallen into were adorned with wooden stakes. A simple trap, but highly effective. Then came another crossbow volley. They were now knocked off-balance as what were unmistakably Stormlands war trumpets sounded. Out of the treeline, men bearing the sigils of Houses Tarth, Selmy and the Baratheons of Dragonstone came charging at them.
"Retreat!" A man called as Harys impaled a man on the point of his halberd before managing to bring the blade down on the skull of another, causing a sickening crunch to echo in his ears. He followed his comrades back to the road, but they weren't fast enough. The enemy troops were on them before they could form up properly, and the result was predictable as charging wedges of Baratheon, Selmy and Tarth soldiers slammed into them. Harys, realising how useless his halberd would be in such close quarters, tossed it aside and drew his sword. He knocked aside the pike of one enemy before slamming the pommel into his throat before turning to his right and opening the throat of another. However, his attention was taken just long enough for a sword to pierce his side. As his life began to fade, he swore it was Barristan Selmy himself cutting him down as the second sword stroke opened his own throat.
His strategy was working well; Steffon could see. The Reachmen that made up the entirety of the vanguard were panicking and running as the victorious Stormlanders pressed their advantage. The multiple different attacks had the advantage of keeping the enemy off-balance and unable to organise a defence, which may have been a side effect of his crossbowmen prioritising commanders. He turned to his right and noticed Jon thumbing his sword. "Go on then." he said.
"Your Grace?"
"You want to fight Jon. Go on, I won't stop you." Steffon replied. Jon nodded and slid on his helmet before dismounting. What Steffon had said about Renly's cavalry being unable to get up momentum also meant that his own cavalry couldn't get up momentum, hence why he'd ordered his own knights to dismount. Jon drew his sword, and with Ghost in tow, charged down into the fight with a loud cry of "Winter is coming!".
But now, Steffon was exposed without his personal guard or sworn shield who were now fighting, and one of Renly's knights had noticed. They charged forward, smashing through themselves before the hole was closed. The knight charged Steffon, who had failed to notice the knight. He was pulled from his horse and crahsed the ground. The knight would have brought his sword down on Steffon's unprotected head, had he not rolled out the way. Steffon took to his feet and drew his own sword, though he knew he stood little chance agains the knight.
The first blow came and Steffon parried it away with some effort. He attempted a thrust at the knight's head, but it was parried with almost no effort by the knight. The second attack that Steffon blocked took even more effort. After a second failed counterattack, the knight unleashed a flurry of blows that Steffon was barely able to parry. The knight kicked at his knees, sending him to the ground and bringing his sword down. Steffon managed to block it, but the knight had struck him with such force that the sword flew from Steffon's hand. As the knight was about to bring their sword down again, they were suddenly tackled and their sword fell from their hand. Another figure, moving as quickly as a cat, jumped forward and wrenched off the knight's helmet and levelled a weapon at their neck.
Edric and Arya.
"Looks like we arrived just in time." Edric said, turning to Steffon for a bare second.
"I told you to keep her back." Steffon replied, grabbing his sword and standing up.
"Later. You'll want to see this." Edric said. Steffon made his way over to see that his would-be killer was a woman. "What is your name?" He asked. "I'm not going to hurt you. THese two won't hurt you unless I tell them to or you do something stupid."
"Brienne. Brienne of Tarth." The woman said.
"Tarth? You do know your father has given me his sword?"
"I know." The woman said. It was clear she wouldn't say anymore
"Well, I'm certain your father will want words. Take her weapons and tie her to a tree." He ordered. Edric obliged by taking Brienne's sword belt and using it to bind her. Steffon turned to Arya. "What in Seven Hells were you thinking?!"
"I wanted to be at the battlefield and so did Edric. We decided you'd need help."
"I was handling myself just fine!"
"You were abut to get killed!"
"I'm smarter than that and you know it!"
"Smart enough to send my brother into the fight and leave yourself unprotected?!"
"Seven Hells, you know that's-"
"Lover's quarrel?" Edric smirked, walking up to them.
"Shut up Edric!" They both shouted. Edric held up his hands in surrender before walking back to make sure Brienne was tied securely to the tree.
"I don't know what's gotten into you Arya, but if you're killed-"
"If you're killed then this is all for nothing, you idiot! Don't you get it?! You're their king!" Arya said. "If you die, then the war is over. Please see that."
Steffon called Stannis into his tent that night. Important matters that needed discussing was all that he'd said. Needless to say, the stone-faced Lord of Dragonstone was never one to ignore a summons from his King. Still, he found his mind wandering as to what the matters that needed discussing were as he entered the tent.
"Uncle, thank you for responding to promptly. I understand that this was very short notice."
"When my king summons me, I respond." Stannis replied simply.
"Uncle, I was nearly killed today. It has forced me to consider the notion of a successor."
"Your Grace, you and Lady Arya are not wed yet."
"Of that, I am aware. The successor will have to be a Baratheon, of course. And I know who it is." Steffon said, handing his uncle a piece of paper with his unbroken seal. "If I am to die, you will open that. From then on, your war will be to seat Shireen on the Iron Throne. She is the only Baratheon of my generation, meaning that after me, she has the best claim."
"Shireen will be honoured, I'm certain, Your Grace." Stannis replied.
"Thank you uncle. If you will excuse me, I have called Lady Arya to my tent as well tonight. She and I have things to discuss." He explained. Stannis nodded and left. A few minutes later, Arya walked in.
"Well?" She said.
"I . . . I wanted to apologise. I was rude and it was uncalled for."
"You're bloody right it was. I'm capable of handling myself, you know." Arya replied, a little petulantly.
"I know . . . I just want to keep you safe. Our enemies will try to kill you to get to me, and it'll be successful because I love you, Arya. I love you, and our enemies will use that against us." He said, as he removed his gambeson, the only bit of armour left on him, and sat down. He'd sweated so much under the padding, mail and plate that his tunic was nearly sweated through and was sticking to his skin. "Our enemies are ruthless Arya. If I were to lose you . . . I'm not sure what I'd do." He said.
Arya removed her sword belt and placed in on a table before walking over and straddling Steffon. "I'm not sure what I'd do if I lost you . . . but I know we're both better alive." She said before kissing him deeply. He stank of sweat and grime, not that Arya noticed. Steffon kissed her back just as deeply, but there was something else about this kiss; it was more heated and passionate than their previous ones. Their bodies began to press together.
"Your Grace, you-Oh Gods!" Jon said, having tried to tell Steffon something before rapidly backing out. Arya leapt off of Steffon as the boy stood up.
"W-what is it Jon?" He asked.
"A column from the Riverlands has arrived. Lady Stark is with them and is asking entry. A boy around your age is with her." Jon explained.
"Well, send them in." Steffon replied. Catelyn Stark, accompanied by a boy of a similar age to Steffon entered. The boy was wearing the brigandine on House Frey, with his leather surcoat bearing the twin towers.
"Your Grace." Catelyn said, "Allow me to introduce Waldron Frey, son of Lord Walder Frey."
"Of course. Lady Stark, is there something you wish to say? You look troubled."
"Your Grace, Robb has sent Theon Greyjoy to the Iron Islands to bring his family to our side." She explained. Steffon scoffed.
"First truly stupid decision he's made this war."
"Steffon!" Arya said.
"I did warn him to never trust a Greyjoy, Your Grace, but he did not listen." She sighed. "He has sent me to discuss supply and coordination between our forces."
"Of course." Steffon replied. "Still, we should discuss in the morning. I am exceedingly tired after the battle today, even if we did succeed in driving Renly back. Before you go, may I asky why the young Frey is here?"
"I'm your age, Your Grace." Waldron said.
"Of course, Your Grace. Lord Walder extracted a heavy toll. Robb is to marry one of his daughters and has taken on Olyvar Frey as his squire . . . and Lord Frey has also demanded you take Waldron as his squire." She explained. Now it was Steffon's turn to sigh.
"I'm never given a choice in these bloody matters." He muttered under his breath. "Lady Stark, we will discuss your matters in the morning as I am in dire need of rest. Jon is outside. He will escort you to a spare tent." He said. Catelyn curtseyed before leaving, obviously unhappy that Jon was escorting her. "And I could use a squite, Waldron." Steffon said brightly. "First, I need you to take my hauberk to the camp armourer. A few of the links busted and repairs are needed." He said.
"Your Grace, surely this is not all I will be doing. I am to be a knight when I'm finished as a squire."
"If and when a man is knighted it is done beacuse he has proven himself worthy. Your knighthood will come after you have proven yourself worthy of one, not before. Now please take my hauberk to the armourer." Steffon replied before laying down on his cot. Waldron rolled his eyes and took the hauberk before leaving the tent.
"I get the feeling he'll be trouble. What about you, stag-" Arya cut herself off as she turned around to see her betrothed already asleep. She rolled her eyes and smiled to herself before climbing in next to him.
Done! Hopefully this wasn't too cringeworthy.