Weeks had passed since King Renly had acquiesced to a plan to attack Tarth. There were obvious advantages to seizing it; they could dominate the Stormlands coastline and threaten Storm's End directly if it was seized, nullifying Steffon's naval advantage and perhaps even forcing a peace. The downside was that an amphibious assault was difficult to coordinate at the best of times, and was even more impossible at night.
There was no way the garrison at Evenfall Hall couldn't see them. The invasion force was so large that nearly every ship in the fleet of House Redwyne was needed, and no one had bothered to snuff the torches as they approached the shoreline. There was supposed to be no resistance after all; a handful of boys who could barely hold spears.
In Garlan's experience however, it was always best to prepare for the worst. As a result, his vanguard was heavily armoured; mostly dismounted knights and heavy infantry with a few crossbowmen in support. He was placing a lot of stock in his knights' staying power until Renly could come ashore with the main force. He wasn't going to be taking any chances.
He surveyed the shoreline again. Nothing, not even a light from the castle. Something wasn't right, but it would be no use trying to bring it to the King's attention. He was dead-set on taking Tarth no matter the cost, and that meant taking Evenfall Hall, which in turn Garlan's troops needed to secure a beachhead for the main force. He turned to a subordinate. "Sound to arms." He ordered. The man nodded and blew three notes from his warhorn. Minutes later, the fully armed and armoured soldiers rushed onto deck with swords, shields, poleaxes, halberds and a dozen other weapons. Garlan's squire handed him his helm as he turned to address the troops. "Men! We have been given a task from our King: To clear a path to Evenfall Hall. You're in the vanguard because you're the best this host has to offer. Each one of you knows what to do. Now, let's take this island!" He said. The men let out a roar of approval and began to descend into the longboats that would take them ashore.
It was only a short row to the shore, but there was still no visible movement on the shoreline, even as they got closer and closer. Garlan felt uneasy. Something was very, very wrong. He was unable to order a halt however as he could feel his longboat beach on the shoreline. The heavily armoured troops climbed out of the boats onto the sand. Assaulting Evenfall Hall itself was impossible as it was guarded by a cliff face, so they'd had to land a distance south of it. Again, this was not something Garlan was happy with. They'd be sitting ducks for an ambush as they made their way up to the castle.
He snapped out his orders. Ten-man formations with a gap in between each one, crossbowmen covering the flanks, and his few light troops out in all directions for scouting. Satisfied, he ordered his men to move out. He hoped that they'd reach the castle entrance and set up a siege line before Renly arrived with the main force.
The advance was going okay, though some of the light infantry could have done with focusing on their jobs a bit more. They seemed to be treating this whole thing very casually; spears resting on their shoulders and talking to each other. It was stupid. They were meant to be watching for the enemy, not treating this like some walk down a road.
Then Garlan noticed something, a light flying into the sky. Likely a flaming arrow, but what was that for? A signal?
He was answered soon enough.
Lines of his men were felled in seconds by a volley of arrows. The others were confused, shouting for some indicator of where the arrows had come from. They were sitting ducks, which of course meant that a second volley killed even more of them. "Shields! Shields!" he yelled. Some of his men raised their shields; the third volley cut down those that didn't. "Shieldwall, now!" He commanded. His men began to form up, their shields locking with each other in order to protect each other from the arrows. The fourth volley was luckily stopped from doing major damage.
It wasn't long after that a trumpet blew, and a wave of infantry charged into them. Garlan thrusted his sword through one of the soldiers charging at him and smashed another in the face with his shield. The fight was desperate; they were on their own without support and under attack from all sides. Of course, the enemy chose this moment to charge in from a second direction as well, creasing into his flank. He cursed his light troops for their casualness about watching his flanks as he shoved his sword through the throat of another soldier.
They had to get back to the beach. They couldn't be attacked from behind like he feared if they did. He gave the order to prepare to withdraw slowly. They had to hold their formation to stop the whole thing from turning into a rout. If it did, then it was unlikely they would be able to recover. Thankfully, his men were able to hold their discipline and fell back one step at a time, making sure the enemy paid for each yard they advanced. Silently, he thanked the Warrior for that.
Not that it would last long.
To his horror, he found out that Loras had arrived with the second, larger assault wave at the beach. His retreating forces were going to be running right into his brother's men just as they were marching forward. The beach was going to be hopelessly congested and ripe for a slaughter. Garlan had heard about this sort of thing happening before, with men being pressed up against each other so tightly they couldn't even swing their swords.
He just hoped things were going better on the water.
He hoped things were going better on land.
After Garlan had landed with the vanguard, Renly immediately ordered Loras to prepare the second wave to land, and they had minutes after Garlan's troops started advancing on the castle. The idea had been to reinforce him quickly and give him the strength to attack the castle quickly.
The third wave was preparing to land when Renly had caught a glimpse of a small group of ships flying Steffon's banner retreating at the sight of the Redwyne fleet into the strait between the mainland and the isle of Tarth itself. He'd immediately given chase with much of his fleet, trying to rout them away from the battle, and that's when things had gone badly wrong. With the bulk of his fleet now in the strait, he'd received a nasty shock when other ships from Steffon's fleet had set up a defensive line at the northern end; and an even nastier one when more enemy ships, hidden on the other side of the isle, had sailed around and cut them off from a retreat.
Now, while the heavier ships held the positions at the ends of the strait and cut down anyone trying to flee, lighter ships were in amongst them, raining arrows down on his decks. The fact that these ships were lighter meant that his own heavier vessels were unable to turn and attack them, while his light ships were unable to maneuver properly. The result was mass chaos and confusion in his fleet as light caravels flying the stag-and-wolf banner caused his ships to crush even closer together.
Giving orders in such a mess was impossible. He cursed himself for allowing them to be drawn into such an obvious ambush. They had to break free somehow before Evenfall Hall's catapults started lobbing boulders at them. Then they'd be in even more trouble. Issuing orders to abandon ship would have seemed obvious, but even Renly knew that doing so would make them a target for ramming. Turning to Paxter Redwyne, he made his decision. "Is there any way I can get to a bloody caravel?!" He shouted, narrowly avoiding another volley of arrows.
"The ships are so tightly packed you could just wander along the decks!" Redwyne said, his eyes darting all around, trying to find a suitable vessel. "There!" He said, pointing to one about 150 yards away. It'd be hard to get to under the endless arrow volleys though. "You'll need men to go with you! Keep you protected from the arrows!"
Renly bit back a snarky reply as Redwyne signalled over half a dozen men. After ordering them to keep Renly safe at all times, he turned back to him. "I would advise moving now, Your Grace!"
"Sage advice, Lord Redwyne!" He replied. "Let's go!" He called out to the soldiers around him and they began heading for the ship that had been pointed out. They climbed over the decks of others on the way. Some were still being rained on with arrows; others were being boarded. It was the latter that made the most trouble for him.
They had been crossing the deck of one galley when a burly soldier forced his way past his guards and slashed his sword across Renly's chest. He thanks the Gods he was wearing his brigandine; armour was impossible to cut through with a sword, particularly his, which had been crafted by a smith in Highgarden. One of his guards then thrust his own sword through the soldier's neck before helping him up.
"You have to keep moving, Your Grace!" He shouted. It was as the man was handing him a shield that he noticed the other guards were dead or dying.
I'm a politician, not a soldier! He thought as he began running, shield raised above his head.
The screams of the dead and dying mixed with battle cries and war horns all around him. Was this what Robert relished so much? It was insanity. How could any man find joy in this? His only consolation, he decided, was that Steffon was likely having the same thoughts. The boy took no joy in fighting, even if he did have a talent for directing battles. His nephew would have been much happier at the Citadel, surrounded by books.
By some miracle, he managed to make it to the ship. After barking orders to get the ship free from the crush, he took another look around. More men dying by the thousand. What was happening at the shoreline wasn't as clear, but he could make out that things were going badly there too. Damn it, this whole attack had been a fucking disaster! This was supposed to be a simple move to capture Tarth and use it as a jumping-off point to attack Storm's End directly, but the entire thing had gone badly wrong. His nephew had been waiting for them; waiting to spring a perfectly-timed, perfectly-planned ambush.
He'd underestimated Steffon, and now it was showing.
Finally, the ship managed to break free and began plowing through the water at full pelt, along with a handful of others that managed to follow them. It was the only hope to get past the defensive line at the southern end of the strait. Thankfully it seemed that Steffon's captains there were caught off guard by the sudden move and were slow to turn their archers onto them. Renly's ship sped past them, breaking out into the open sea.
The war was not lost, of course. He had committed less than half of his troops to this attack. More worrying was the loss of so many ships, as well as the political fallout of such a defeat. Would the Tyrells continue supporting him, or would they shift to Steffon or Joffrey? Fond of them as he was and love Loras as he did, Renly was no fool. The Tyrells would not fight for a lost cause.
"This is all my doing." He murmured, turning one last time to the carnage behind them. This blood was on his hands; he couldn't run from that. "Gods forgive me…"
Things were actually going well, at least as far as the battle was concerned. It seemed like the force that had landed was now in complete disarray, and then Renly's fleet had fallen into the trap. If it were his grandfather commanding the other force, Steffon would be thinking that things had gone almost too perfectly. However, it was his youngest uncle who was leading the other force, which Steffon counted his lucky stars for. If Renly had trusted Tarly to lead, he wasn;t sure that things would be going this well.
There were other things on his mind too. He glanced over at Arya, who was leaning on the ship's guardrail. The two hadn't spoken since he'd hit her; not that he would blame her for that. He shouldn't have even raised a hand against her, let alone hit her. Why couldn't she see that he didn't want to send Jon to the Wall but had to so he could hold onto Connington support? There was no way he could let Storm's End be directly threatened, hence why this ambush had been prepared.
He was shaken from his thoughts by the warhorns of various ships, blowing the horn that Renly had escaped. Damn! He thought. We could've ended this war here! Of course, he just happened to have bad luck in other areas, and some of his captains had been not paying attention when his uncle had sailed past them with a few escapees. No matter; it was time to start the next phase. He would land a small force further to the north of the troops Renly had gotten ashore in order to relieve his own troops on the island, who had likely suffered heavy losses of their own.
"You sure you're ready for this?" He heard Edric say. His half-brother had been unusually concerned when it came to Steffon leading an attack from the front, given his penchant for directing the battle behind the line.
"I'll have to do it sometime." He shrugged. Edric nodded.
"Just be safe, okay?"
"You know I can't promise that, Edric."
"Well then try to stay alive."
The two shook hands briefly before Waldron handed Steffon his helm. Steffon thanked his squire before the two began to descend into a longboat, followed by all manner of troops; dismounted knights, men at arms, crossbowmen and more. The battle was already going their way, but decisively crushing the force that had been landed to take Evenfall Hall would be a cutting blow, especially with so many of his uncle's troops already drowning in the sea.
Minutes later, they began rowing for the shore. Not an easy task in heavy armour, but somehow they managed. As they closed on their landing point Steffon could see that things had changed on the beach. Someone had managed to reorganise the Tyrell troops ashore into something resembling a defensive line, and now the 5,000 men Tarth had been holding the island were falling back to regroup. He almost had to admire whoever was commanding the Tyrell troops onshore; reorganising that chaos was no mean feat.
The longboats hit the shore and the soldiers dismounted. "Form wedges!" Steffon shouted. The wedge called for his soldiers to form into arrowhead-like formations with the objective of using the shape to drive straight through an enemy line. In no time at all, they were formed up and ready to attack. Steffon thanked the Gods for the discipline of his soldiers before ordering the advance.
Moments later, he received a nasty shock.
The Tyrell troops, taking advantage of the breather they had after forcing That's forces to regroup, had been able to see him coming and launch an attack. The wedge was good for attacking, but not for receiving an attack, and his men now fought a desperate battle to defend their position. No help was coming; they were on their own as the fighting descended into a disorganised brawl.
Steffon thrusted his sword into the armpit of one soldier, before deflecting a blow from another and bashing the man's face in with his pommel. He took a bare second to look around. The force he'd taken ashore was collapsing, any idiot could see that. Suddenly, he was knocked off his feet, looking up at another man who was about to bring a large mace down on his forehead when a sword was thrust through his stomach. Steffon looked up to see Waldron standing over them. His squire was a decent fighter, he knew.
Another soldier came barrelling towards them. Waldron sidestepped and grabbing his sword by the blade, smashed the crossguard across the back of the man's cut at the unprotected legs of another soldier before shoving the point of the sword the man's neck as Steffon lay here, looking mesmerised.
Neither of them remembered the first soldier, who was still breathing. The man had now drawn a dagger and without warning, stabbed Steffon in the thigh before pulling it out instantly. He knew that blood loss would be what killed him.
Steffon, who had shouted in pain when the dagger went through him, quickly became alarmed at the blood he was losing. Waldron, now able to see what had happened, finished off the soldier before looking at his king's wound.
"It looks bad, Your Grace."
"Then go, Waldron. Tell them Shireen is leading them now."
"No, I am not leaving you here to die. I'll get you to a Maester-"
"Waldron, there is no time for that! Just go!" He snapped. He could feel his strength fading. "And tell . . . tell Arya that I'm sorry." He managed to say before his eyes closed.