10th Moon 125AD
When word had reached Highgarden of winter's passing, His Grace had been quick to begin the preparations for the coming conquest. Ravens were sent to the northern lords to gather their men and prepare supplies for the coming campaign. Father had chosen to call the chosen banners to Stonebridge, a small town that sat upon the Mander.
The Caswells, Merryweathers, Rowans, Ambrose, Cuy were just among over several dozen Houses that answered the king's call for men and arms. The architects, perhaps some conspirators involved with this entire farce amongst the Faith had also called upon the Faith Militant.
Over the years, Gawen had been more than well aware to notice that they had been on a recruitment drive, approaching knights whether they be the extra sons of Houses that didn't need them, hedge knights looking for their next meal for the Swords and hundreds upon hundreds of smallfolk for the Poor Fellows.
The swelling in size of the Faith Militant would have been enough to make a lord or king uneasy. Thousands of men under arms not underneath their command or control? That would be a nightmare and a half.
Gawen couldn't help but have a sinking suspicion that his father had also agreed to this conquest for another reason to throw the Faith Militant into battle and hoping that they suffer large enough casualties that they will lose much of their threat to the stability of his kingdom.
Though it seemed that the Faith Militant had been more than willing to dull their fangs for His Grace more than he knew.
The Faith Militant, led by a Most Devout by the name of Florian Tyrell had only taken a moment to pass by the town to claim supplies before taking, according to Lord Caswell himself, an army that wasn't really fit to be called an army but more a mass of humanity down the Mander on its way to the riverlands.
"Someone is a little too eager for battle." Edmund said as he rode beside. They had long crossed the border into the riverlands two days back.
Gawen thought about everything he couldn't recall about Florian from his time in Oldtown. What he recalled wasn't pleasant. "Glory more like." He said with a snort of disdain. "I don't think he knows what he is doing."
Edmund smiled at him some. "He must know something if he is so confident to lead the Faith Militant himself. Strange for a septon, true, but not unheard off."
His brother spoke the truth. In time pasts, it wasn't strange to hear tales of septons taking up arms to lead men into battle for the Seven. In truth, the histories spoke of the first Andals to land in Westeros as being led by septons themselves, fighting and conquering in the name of the Seven.
That still didn't change his opinion on the Most Devout.
"Florian is an ambitious fool that seeks glory, fame and renown for himself. I'm sure he seeks to take the post of High Septon for himself. What better way to give him renown amongst his fellow Most Devouts that bringing heretics to heel?"
"Heretics?" Repeated Edmund, saying the word with obvious amusement as they continued to ride down the road that led to Stoney Sept. "Is that what we are calling them now?"
He rolled his eyes and made a dismissive motion of the hand to his brother. "You know what I mean."
The Faith called them heretics, for their perversion of the Faith and the masses and the lords that were in line to agree with them lapped it all up. Many lords and knights declared they fought not for land or glory, but to bring the heretics of the riverlands to heel and be finally be able to banish the stain of the old gods out of Westeros as the High Septon had consistently preached.
Those who knew better simply saw it as a good excuse as any to increase their own power through the acquisition of land and coin that war provided.
But even he would be a fool to deny the sort of courage the thought of fighting for their gods would inspire in a man. Someone once said that there was nothing more truly terrifying than a godly man and from what he had seen, they had the right of it.
Men could commit great good in the name of the Seven and great evil as well.
Edmund chuckled some. "Though I do hope that Florian leaves some fighting to us. It would be a shame if we gathered all these men and nobles to find them with nothing to fight."
Lord Lawrence Caswell interjected then. "I doubt so, my prince. I saw the so-called 'army' the Most Devout led...and I pray for them every night."
"It surely cannot be that bad." Ser Owen Rowan, a long-time companion of his brother let out aloud. "The Warrior's Sons is one of the most noble and able knightly orders in all of the kingdoms!"
"Oh, the knights looked spectacular enough, but it's the Poor Fellows I speak off." Spoke Lawrence Caswell. "Most of them wore no armour but the clothing on their back. I saw very little in anyone that could make for proper soldiering material."
"So, like our own levies then?" Asked Edmund, amused. "Most of the levies that have been called wear little in the way of armour themselves. It matters not anyway, the true deciding factor of the coming battles-."
"If there are any." Ser Owen said.
Brother let out a bark of laughter as he nodded at his friend. "True, true, Owen, but if it does come down to engagements on the field, the deciding factor shall be our horse and there is no better horse in the realm than the one I see right now."
"Aye!" Ser Owen cheered merrily, lifting a hand up high. "We shall fall upon our enemies with glimmering steel and scatter them like sand in the deserts of Dorne! Paint the field red with their blood! Marvellous!"
Gawen thought Ser Owen's words a bit too bloody for his liking. Where they not to be taking prisoners? The chivalric code looked upon needless slaughter with disdain.
But brother couldn't help but laugh to his old friend's words. "True! A tide that shall not be stopped!"
Lawrence Caswell though was grimmer in tone and thoughts. "Traders pass through our lands and they speak. They spoke of well-armed and armoured men patrolling the roads like these very ones we travel upon. I think it would be folly to just think them away, my prince."
"My lord, if you dress a pig in woman's clothing and make-up, is it still a pig or is it now a woman?" Asked the crown prince as he hunched forward to grab the wine skin.
The lord blinked. "A pig in women's clothing? That would be a silly sight."
Edmund nodded. "I agree, a silly sight, but you have not yet answered my question. Would it be a woman or still a pig?"
"A pig, my prince." The lord eventually answered quickly. "It would still be a pig."
"Exactly," Edmund said as he took a drink from the wine skin. "It doesn't matter how well dressed the rabble is, it is still rabble and shall be washed away by the tide."
Gawen could understand where the lord was trying to say and where he was coming from, but he still couldn't truly defend the lord. Hundreds, no, thousands of years have shown that knights, men on horseback even, have long since been the deciding factors when it came to battle.
"And anyway," He began to speak, gaining the attention of the other lords and royalty. "How would this king pay to arm and armour this army of his? Good steel costs good coin. I think these traders you spoke of may have been exaggerating, my lord."
Lawrence Caswell nodded. "I think so too, but one can never be too careful, my prince."
They were making good time towards their next point of destination.
According to the king, the lands that bordered the reach chafed against the current king and his support of the heretics as they were truly followed the Faith as it was and not what it had become in these lands. Father had been quick to note that had given them friends. They would pass through said lands with allies waiting ready to aid them and add more men to their own numbers for the campaigning to come.
His father's words had been true as they had been joined by riverlord houses and they were soon to join even more at Stoney Sept, the seat of the Faith in these lands. It was where the Faith Militant had rushed to so quickly without waiting for the rest of the assembled host to meet and depart together from Stonebridge.
His Grace had been right in one accord, they did have friends amongst the riverlords it seemed. What a queer people, the moment that trouble comes, they immediately blow like parchment in the wind to the strongest power. He couldn't help but find that to be distasteful and make him worry about the future.
If another kingdom was to try and take the riverlands for itself, would they constantly have to fear for the loyalty of the lords of these realms? The thought didn't sit well with him.
We'll have to find new loyal houses. Marry our own into them. Solidify their ties to Highgarden.
Perhaps wipe the board clean and create new houses from proven, loyal and able men? That was something to bring up with father at the next meeting.
He felt pity for the young king of the Trident, having only won his crown for a little over a decade and to lose it to the ambitions of men and matters outside his control. A grim smile came to his lips for he knew what this was.
This was the game of thrones. You either won or you died.
It was better this king than his own.
The paved and well-made roads that they travelled upon added to his pity for the king. These were the most well-made roads he had ever seen outside Oldtown and the roads of various towns and cities in the Reach itself.
To be able to organize all this and fund it, this king had talent and potential and it was all going to be wasted. It was truly a waste.
Perhaps he could convince father to make the king a vassal underneath the rule of Highgarden? It was something of a thought.
On the fifth day, Edmund found himself in a large tent that held the commanders and lords of the army. All of them looked towards one man. A knight of the Swords, battered, bloody and haggard. His eyes bore the look of someone that had not seen proper sleep in days.
Father held the chalice in his hand tightly, so tightly that it seemed to bend and crumple underneath the pressure applied to it. "Start again. Tell me what happened."
The knight, quite young by the looks of it, licked his parched lips as he nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. We made landing at Kirkgate's Point then made good time towards Stoney Sept. The Most Devout was most eager to meet up with his fellow in Most Devout Willas and the lord of the town, Lord Harold Keating. With the knights and levies of their lordship, our numbers would have swelled, allowing us to strike east."
"East?" Ser Owen asked, an eyebrow raised. "Why east?"
"The God's Eye, my lord." The knight replied, shifting from one foot to the other. "The Most Devout planned to burn the insult to the gods to the ground, then take Harrenhal. Its position would have allowed us to strike at any target we wished."
"So, what happened?" The king asked, urging the knight on.
"We made good time, reaching Stoney Sept faster than we thought, but we found it under siege. A dreadful siege really, now that in truth, was more than likely bait to draw us in."
Gawen leaned forward, a frown on his face. "Bait?"
"Bait. There were no siege lines, no patrols, nothing. Nothing at all to warn the besiegers of an enemy advance. We thought the gods were smiling down upon us, believing in the righteousness of our cause. Most Devout led the charge on their unprotected lines. The knights and heavy horse led the charge, thundering across the open fields towards the camps...it all seemed so easy, except,"
"It was all a trap." Edmund noted with grim certainty.
The young knight nodded. "The men rushed forward to meet us, without any sort of weapon until they crouched to the ground and pulled on some ropes when we were close enough. Those ropes pulled up stakes, stakes that speared horses to death, throwing riders of their horses. Just like that, our charge was brought to a halt. Then the arrows started falling on us. It seemed as if the sky was filled with them. Horses were arrowed to death, knights and mounted men as well.
"The sound of retreat was called, but when we turned, we saw our foot being ridden down by cavalry that had come to take them from behind. The poor buggers never had a chance. We tried to ride to their aid, but by then, more horse had appeared from our flanks. It was then too late, whatever order had remained was lost. It was all we could do to escape the slaughter. To live to fight another day, yet they continued to hound us. We made for the woods, but they continued to chase us. I lost many fellows thanks to their pursuers."
"You ran." Ser Owen said with disdain, his arms crossed. "A knight should hope for a good death on the field of battle. What you did was nothing more than cowardice."
The young knight blinked before he reared himself up and held himself straight at the insult that had been thrown his way. "I killed men in that battle. Young as I am, I saw a losing battle and better to live today to fight another day and avenge my fellows. If all had perished, you would not have the extra swords you have now."
Ser Owen scoffed. "Bloodied swords and barely organised and disciplined rabble."
"Now, now ser," Edmund cut in, a conciliatory smile on his face. "Any extra sword hand we get, even if it's just one, is good enough for me. That sword hand may just be the one to bring us victory in a decisive engagement. You did well to bring us this news, ser, go, rest and partake in some wine. You deserve it."
The knight blinked before he nodded and bowed tiredly at the waist. "Yes, thank you, my prince."
"Before you leave ser," Ser Gyles Tyrell called out. "May I enquire if you know anything about the fate of the Most Devout?"
The knight shook his head. "No, my lord. He was at the front, but his banner was still held aloft during the melee. I lost sight of it when we made our escape." And after that, the knight left.
"Well, there goes the might of the Faith." His Grace said with a sigh. He shook his head. "The fools were too eager, even a simpleton surely would have noticed something was amiss. It seems we are dealing with an opponent with a low cunning to them."
Edmund rose from his seat and cupped his chin in thought. "If they have taken Stoney Sept, we shall have to retake it. We can't leave such a position open on our rear, especially as it provides a secure supply route to our lands."
"They won't keep it though." Roland Ambrose said. "Our allies the Lannisters shall be striking both on their western and southern flank."
"With how many men though?" Lawrence Caswell asked. "We all know that they shall mostly be concentrating on bringing the Iron Isles to heel. We can only expect a few thousand men at the very least."
Gawen couldn't help but curse the Faith. Their constant badgering had resulted in them splitting their forces. The Hightowers and Redwynnes had opted to join the Lannisters to battle the ironborn and finally conquer and bring the light of the Seven to the Iron Isles.
The Hightowers boasted significant strength of the Reach and that strength could have surely been of more use here, rather than trying to take some desolate rocks that could be easily kept in check by a strong navy.
"More than enough." Father said, bringing the discussion amongst the lords to an end. "My son had the right of it, one extra sword could prove to be decisive in battle, a thousand even more so. Ser Gyles, have our outriders' lookout for traps and scouts of their own. I don't want our host to befall what happened to the Faith Militant. Also, a raven has to head for Oldtown, I want to know what is happening with the Stormlands and the Vale..."
Gawen listened intently as his father gave out orders and commands to his commanders and lords as they strategized and planned before it was all brought to an end for them to return to their beds and rest for the coming battles to come.