Apparently, it seemed that I was incapable of following simple plans. Even something as simple as keep my head down and do nothing.
I couldn't even come up with a plausible bullshit explanation for what I was doing right now. I was an opportunistic bastard and I had seen an opportunity and took it. This had all started with the Brackens and Blackwoods, because it just had to be those particular morons that started the shit in the riverlands.
A border dispute, considering what I knew about these morons, I doubt it was something as simple or rational as a border dispute, had somehow escalated to a full-on war between the two Houses. Harren the Dick made a habit of leaving the problems of his vassals to be solved amongst themselves.
That was, if it didn't affect his grand undertaking in any sort of way.
This particular feud between the Blackwoods and Bracken just happened to be doing that. So with his army in tow, he had marched to the lands of the Brackens and Blackwoods put down both houses in separate, successive battles. Funny thing is, apparently from what I could understand, Harren the Dick had just done me a bloody huge favour by stimming the closest rivals to Tully power in the riverlands.
Thanks to that, the Tullys were now essentially the second most powerful House behind the Hoares for obvious reasons in this particular part of Westeros.
This is the part where my opportunism showed itself. The little voice in my head told me that this was about as good a chance as any to stick it to Harren as he led his tired and probably battle weary soldiers back home.
I should have stuck to the plan. It was sensible and prudent. But I didn't. And now, here we are.
The barrels of burning pitch and oil sailed through the air, rotating as they did so. The ironborn didn't even know what was coming to them. The a couple of the first barrels missed the large column of men by a few yards, but when they burst, they spilled their contents of burning pitch onto any unlucky bastard within reach.
Chaos took the ironborn lines as they tried to find the source of the attack as more barrels of pitch flew through the air, crashing into their lines.
I saw one ironborn lordling try to get a hold of his men before a barrel crashed into him, knocking him off his feet and staining him black from head to toe with pitch. He didn't even scream or cry out. More than likely, he was dead.
I indicated towards the squires who had bows out. Some of the arrows happened to be one fire. Hopefully, one of them would hit the pitch or oil and start a fire.
There was nothing more demoralising than seeing a man being burned alive. "Loose!" The bows made a sound as a flight of arrows was launched into the air into the commotion of ironborn below.
Some of them had been quick to realise they were being attacked and were beginning to make a charge at the tree line, even as more barrels came flying in. Then some of them started dropping like flies when the arrows started making their descent.
An arrow took one ironborn straight through the eye. I think he was still alive for a few moments as he staggered about, hands flailing hopeless trying to pull out the arrow sticking into his head, before I lost him in the crowd and surge of bodies running towards us, cries of death and murder coming from them.
Then the fires started.
Some of the fire arrows had found purchase. Small at first, limited to some patch of grass that the ironborn had run around like a stream flowing around a rock in it's path, they were easy enough to avoid. It became more of a problem as the men covered in oil and pitch were struck by the fire arrows and found themselves set alight, running around screaming as they were cooked alive, skin being seared and their blood being boiled inside.
They flailed and screamed and where there had not been a fire in the direction they ran, there was now a fire.
"Hopes that it rains after all this." Ser Patrek of Fairmarket muttered as he looked at the quickly growing fires. The field had slowly been littered with small, separated fires, but now, they were the slowly but surely joining to become one. "That will be a difficult blaze to put out if it grows anymore than it does."
He had a point. "We can make fire breaks." I tried to reassure both him and myself. This had sounded and looked far better in my head than it was beginning to look as reality happened to set in. "I think I just may have inadvertently separated our forces on the other side of that fire."
This was beginning to look like an incredibly stupid idea. I should probably tell the mangonels to stop firing anymore pitch and oil than they were already doing.
Ser Patrek pointed at something in the fires. "The fire isn't that huge yet. Sers Merret and Kyle can go round the flames and strike the ironborn from the sides and rear." He said, motioning with his outstretched finger the route my other forces could make to get around the fire.
Looking it over, it was possible, but that meant that we had to last a little bit longer than I would like. "Perhaps, nothing we can do nothing but hope about it now." I kicked the side of my horse to force it forward before pulling at the reins to make it turn to face the assembled group of knights. "Men of the riverlands!" I shouted at the top of my lungs and hoped my voice would be able to be carried above the sound of war cries and screaming. I raised my lance. "Today is the day we free the riverlands from the tyranny of House Hoare! Onwards, to freedom and glory!"
I really needed to improve on my speeches, because that was godsdamned awful.
Wheeling my horse around, I kicked my horse forward to the sound of cheers behind me as the knights started moving forward and falling into a close as formation as the woods could allow.
By now, the ironborn were charging up the slopping hill that we were on, hidden from sight by the inclination, the woods and the foliage. Therefore, it probably was a surprise to them when armoured knights came pouring out of the woods, lances brought low and their own war cries.
Edmyn Tully, apparently, was something of a tourney knight. Thing is, Harren had pretty much nearly bankrupted the riverlords, so not many tourneys were ever held. The few that were held, by rich houses of the likes of the Brackens, Tullys, Mootons and Freys, Edmyn had made a note for himself in the lists.
That's why I let his instincts take over as I charged into battle, lance couched underneath my armpit. I steadied my breathing and hugged my thighs as close as possible to my horse as it bared down the hill towards the surprised ironborn.
"Riverrun!" I half-heard myself cry out. "For the Riverlands! For honour! For glory!"
Some knights behind me echoed my cry. "Riverrun!"
Ser Patrek also added his own flavouring. "Fairmarket!"
It didn't take long for me to kill my very first man, eyes widened in surprise and perhaps a little fear. His eyes were still wide and surprised as my steel tipped lance ripped another man's head clean off his shoulders, adding to my grim trophy cabinet of skull trophies.
I suppose this is the part were I would say that I felt bad and that I wanted to shake and puke because of what I had just done then I would remember these were assholes that went about raping and pillaging as they wished.
So fuck them.
When my lance didn't find something to stab, my horse more than did enough damage for the both of us. It bowled through men like a bowling ball, sending them spinning and tumbling into the ground, some to be ridden over by the knights that followed behind.
A thrown axe barely grazed my helmet from the side. That took my attention a little, swaying my lance slightly to the side where it shattered on impact when it struck a reaver straight through his chest, a silent scream on the reaver's face as he dropped to the floor like a dead weight.
To the left of me, some several hundred yards away, Ser Garrett and his company surprised the ironborn that had been turning to converge on the position that my company had attacked. They had been caught unaware, the front ranks having already turned to face us instead of the woods.
Ser Garrett's charge was devastating to say the least. In my case, I suppose they had been expecting some kind of attack, but Ser Garrett and his men had come out of nowhere as far as they were concerned and in doing so, had brought the hurt.
Like our own charge, Ser Garrett's horse was bowling through the ironborn as the momentum of their downhill charge carried them forward, lances prickling and stabbing as they went, armour glowing silver in the day.
With my lance gone, I drew out my scabbard with a quick motion, the sound raspy and bloody. Then I started swinging like a mad man at any ironborn that was in reasonable enough range for me to take a swipe at. I suspect if this was from overheard, the scene of this particular charge would have been something reminiscent of the charge of the Rohirrim in Pelanor Fields against the army of Mordor.
Just with a lot less horses and men. Against men instead of orcs.
Oh gods, and no Olephants I hoped.
The hill had given us an advantage in momentum, but we were beginning to lose our momentum the deeper we buried ourselves into the ironborn lines. I wondered how many my knights were left. We were all heavily armoured or as best as we could meet the criteria of heavily armoured.
The ironborn were beginning to try and drown us in body, clambering and climbing over each other to get the first chance at one of us. If I didn't know any better, I swore they were trying to come for me. I knew I shouldn't have worn my prettiest dress for this date. I should have gone out in my rags.
Stupid ironborn and their iron price.
"Die Tully!" One of them shouted.
An overhead swing of my sword of castle-forged steel was more than enough to split the man's face, my cut having gone through his eye. "No, you die." I don't think he heard me as by then, I was already being accosted by more ironborn.
I whanged my sword onto a decently made helmet of one reaver that sent him stumbling away from me, only to have his head crushed in by the morningstar of one of my knights who was then pulled down from his horse by a thousand reaching, grubby pairs of hands, fighting and cursing all the way as he swung his morningstar back and forth. I made a quick prayer for him.
A trident that gleamed white in the sun scraped and made a sound as it travelled across my breastplate. I wheeled my horse around to face the attacker responsible, but that gave the reaver the chance to stab at my horse, catching my poor destrier in the neck.
Betsy, I decided to call her Betsy, wasn't going to go down like a chump though. She let out a cry as she reared back, nearly throwing me off, and started lashing out with her legs. I saw one of her legs cave in the man's ribs like all the armour he was wearing wasn't even there.
I wisely threw myself of my horse as I remembered that it probably wouldn't be a good thing for me to be trapped underneath my horse. Landing in the grass, I rolled to my feet, sword at the ready as ironborn converged on me.
I was a dead man, but well, at the very least, I wasn't going to go out like a complete and utter chump.
"To your lord!" Ser Patrek rallied the knights as he appeared out of nowhere, his horse leaping into the morass of men that had been gunning for me, his warhammer crushing, caving and oblitirating anything that came close. "Protect your lord!" He shouted as he circled around me on his horse, fighting of any challengers that wished to do me harm, with each shout, rallying even more knights to my location.
It was at this point that I would very much like for Ser Merret and Ser Kyle to make their appearance, whenever they felt like it.
One of the reavers broke through the cordon that was being set around me and charged right for me, a nasty looking axe in hand. He brought it down in mighty chop that I held back with my shield. The axe bit into my oak shield so much, that he had to jerk hard to pull it back out when I cut at him to open up his belly.
His stupid mail stopped that from happening though. "You wouldn't have happened to have been the one that tossed an axe at me would you?" I asked, swiping at his head, arms and thighs. His shirt of mail made it a problem to cut at him properly, but this will have to do.
There were some rather important veins in those part of the body.
He didn't get the chance to answer as Ser Patrek caved in his head from behind. The knight pulled out his warhammer and I watched the body drop lifelessly to the ground. "I had him."
"I swore to your lord father and mother I would look after you." the aged knight bit out. "I won't fail in my oath, even if my wits leave me be. Look," he swept his warhammer around them. "The rest of the horse comes from behind."
It was a bit difficult to see what Ser Patrek was trying to make me see since I was ground level and he wasn't, but I could certainly make out war cries coming from the opposite direction that we had made our charge from.
"Are they breaking?" I asked, taking in my surroundings. I might have had a protective cordon of knights around me that held a disciplined shield wall against the ironborn, but one could never be too careful.
Ser Patrek dropped his head slightly, a thrown spear just barely missing him before he raised his head once more, eyes burning to the point of glowing behind his visor. "They have been struck from the front and now from the flank and rear. They will break." He sounded mighty confident about that.
"I hope you are right." I looked around though at the mass of men trying to break through the barrier set around me. I could see other knights still riding around, running over men and cutting them down, their movement somewhat sluggish. How long had this been going on? I didn't even feel tired. "Desperate men fight all the more harder, Ser Patrek."
"And desperate men run all the harder."