-Chapter 20-
-POV MC-
Before leaving, I observed Stannis, and what I saw assured me of our victory. I noticed he had a pale complexion, sunken cheeks, and dark eyes marked by deep circles. He wasn't in his best form, and it's thanks to this that we will make him yield.
I smiled and then said, "We will destroy him, just follow the plan. Once I sound the horn, try to form a fan shape."
They all nodded and then went off to take command of their respective wings.
---
-POV 3rd Person-
On the battlefield, Ronnet Connington arranged his forces with precision.
To his right, the mighty forces of the Tyrells, their gold and green colors fluttering in the wind.
To his left, the indomitable Tarlys, supported by various minor houses, totaling an impressive contingent of 15,000 men on each side.
Behind this formation, in reserve position, stood the houses Penrose and Tarth, ready to intervene wherever necessary.
At the heart of this imposing deployment, Ronnet positioned his army in the center, 18,000 men equipped with the best weapons and armor, 10,000 heavy infantry soldiers ready to face any enemy charge.
5,000 archers who could also fight in close combat and shoot with longbows like machine guns and 3,000 armored cavalry, ready to charge at any moment.
Before the battle truly began, a sea of archers advanced in front of the army, their bows drawn.
As soon as the order was given, they loosed their arrows, raining down on the enemy army like a deadly shower.
The sun reflected off the thousands of drawn bows, forming a sparkling sea of light. Ronnet Connington had devised a continuous shooting strategy for his archers: 2,500 archers would release their arrows while the others loaded the next shot in that short time.
Their longbows, favoring range and power, drew and released their arrows with unprecedented speed.
Each volley sent about 2,500 arrows every 3 seconds, meaning that with each breath, the sky darkened again, drowning Stannis's troops under a rain of steel.
Stannis's troops, despite their numerical superiority, struggled to advance. Each step was marked by the fall of several of them and the need to hide behind their shields to avoid being laid on the ground with an arrow in their body.
Muffled sounds of pain and cries of terror mingled with the continuous sound of arrows whistling. The men instinctively raised their shields to try to protect themselves, but the density of the rain made this protection insufficient.
In a few minutes, the ground was littered with bodies, creating additional obstacles for the troops that followed.
The initial confident advance quickly turned into a slow and hesitant progression.
The front ranks, the most affected, were practically annihilated. It could be estimated that nearly 7,000 to 10,000 of Stannis's men had fallen or were seriously injured in less than half an hour.
---
-POV Stannis Baratheon-
The arrows fell like rain, a dense, cold, and ruthless rain.
I was shielded under several shields held by my men, but I could hear the terrible and incessant sound of arrows piercing armor and flesh, leaving nothing but a trail of death behind.
Every passing second meant fewer men for my cause, lives sacrificed for a plan that seemed, at this stage, doomed to failure.
I had underestimated Connington, or rather his army. I had underestimated the power of the longbow and the discipline of his troops.
My army, superior in number, was disorganized, falling apart under the constant fire of the archers.
I looked around, searching for Davos. He was a sailor, not a land strategist, but he was a man I trusted. However, in this sea of men and chaos, he was nowhere to be found.
The men panicked, retreating, jostling, some throwing their weapons to run faster away from this deadly rain.
This was unacceptable. I am Stannis Baratheon, the rightful king of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Defender of the Faith of R'hllor and Protector of the Realm. I would not be defeated by... arrows.
"Form turtles!" I shouted, hoping my voice would be heard above the panic of the soldiers running in all directions: "Use the shields to protect yourselves, gather and prepare to charge!"
The idea was simple: if we could reach the enemy lines quickly, their archers would no longer have an angle to shoot, and their own men would be caught between a hammer and an anvil.
I looked among the lords who had followed me, the Florents, the Fossoways. They had all promised their loyalty, and I had to make sure they kept their word.
"Fossoway, those archers!" I ordered to a nearby group of heavy infantry.
Their charge would be the signal for the others. If we could shake their center, maybe the rest of Connington's army would collapse.
But inside me, a worry grew. Every strategist knew that in every battle there is a pivotal moment, those instances where everything can shift, and this was one of them. I had to make sure the balance tipped in my favor by any means.
I hoped the sacred fire of R'hllor would be with me today. I had made sacrifices, I had burned for this god, and now it was time to see if it was worth it.
Gripping the hilt of my sword Lightbringer, I silently prayed for the strength to strike my enemy where it hurt.
Today, the war would be won or lost, and I was determined to be the one standing at the end.
A young sergeant of Stannis's forces, in the midst of this melee, desperately tried to rally his men: "Form a turtle! Protect yourselves under the shields!"
But even this traditional defensive formation was ineffective against the firepower of Connington's army.
On the other side, Ronnet watched, satisfied, from an elevated position. He could see the chaos he had orchestrated.
The enemy losses were considerable, and he had not yet engaged his troops in close combat.
Suddenly, a horn sounded from Stannis's side.
The men began to regroup and form defensive lines, preparing a charge. Stannis, in a last-ditch effort, tried to break the enemy lines before suffering further losses.
Ronnet, anticipating this movement, signaled his archers to fall back behind the infantry lines. The heavily armed soldiers prepared to receive the imminent charge of the enemy army.
The losses inflicted by this volley were considerable. As the enemy army approached, the archers skillfully retreated, leaving room for the infantry soldiers to take over.
---
-POV Rodrik-
The horizon was darkened by the menacing approach of Stannis's heavy infantry. Every step they took resonated like a war drum, reminding everyone of the weight of the impending confrontation.
I felt a surge of nostalgia wash over me. Long ago, in my lonely days as an orphaned mercenary, I would never have imagined finding myself here.
It was Ronnet, then younger but already a born leader, who had offered me a helping hand when no one else would have.
He had seen me fight, recognized a spark in me, and offered me a place among his order of knights.
It was he who had introduced me to nobility and the honor of serving House Connington. Thanks to this house, I had met a woman, a commoner by birth, but royal by heart.
Together, we had two sons, born in 290 and 292 AC. They were my pride, my legacy.
I wouldn't be here without Ronnet, I owe him absolutely everything, and I would fight to the death for him. Instead of training with him in the cavalry with the other knights, he gave me the position of commander of the infantry corps.
Feeling the weight of responsibility, I raised my sword, calling the attention of my troops, and shouted, "Shields forward! Form the wall!"
My soldiers responded with precision, as one man, their shields forming a robust barrier, as we had done again and again hundreds if not thousands of times in our battle simulations during our training.
I walked in front of them, feeling their determination. These men were not just soldiers; they were my family, brothers in arms united under the griffin banner to protect our lands and families and the House Connington that had given us all a purpose.
The enemy charge was rapidly approaching. Inspired by the history we had written together, I took a deep breath.
Then, echoing across the battlefield, I shouted, "A griffin, a griffin!" and as one man, every soldier took up the cry, their voices merging into a deafening roar that seemed to make the ground tremble.
"A GRIFFIN, A GRIFFIN!"
As Stannis's infantry approached, I remembered my sons, the honor of House Connington, and the debt I owed Ronnet.
'We would hold, for glory, for family, for the griffin.'