This is unforgivable!"
Fuck sake, not him again. Emmer tried to quell the headache that was soon going to come to him as he looked over the fields that surrounded Pinkmaiden. Around him, hundreds, perhaps even thousands of men were being put at work to disassemble the siege lines that the Lannisters had built.
Of course, among these workers were some highborn that had been put to work as they had nothing better to do than eat their food and drink their wine.
"Do you know who I am!?"
The man raged again. Emmer leaned on his halberd keeping the annoyance at bay. Would anyone notice if he took the man to the side and gutted him like the pig that he was? They probably would.
From what he had learned, this person here was someone mighty important. Some kind of priest or something. Why all the fuss would be made for a priest was beyond him though.
"No." Emmer replied, lazy eyes half-glaring at the priest.
The priest chest puffed up in outrage at his reply, bright brown eyes glaring at him with seething fury.
Emmer certainly knew who the man was with the amount of time that he had complained about being treated like a common peasant and well below his station. The way he had said it had just spurred the rest to give him the worst of the work details.
"I am Florian Tyrell! Most Devout of the Faith! The blood of Garth Greenhand flows through my veins! You can't just treat me like this you godless heathens!" He threw the make-shift hoe he he had been holding to the ground in a bit of a tantrum. "I deserve to be treated better than some addle minded peasant! I should be held within luxurious rooms as befitting my status! You can't do this to me!"
He had those words so many times by now that he just didn't care anymore. He yawned as he replied. "Yes, I can actually. And you know why m'lord? Because I have big sharp pointy stick."
And who the fuck was Garth Greenhand anyway? The man kept spouting out tales about him but every single damned time like he expected Emmer and the rest of the guards to know who any of those people were.
The face took on a very comical imitation of a tomato. "Y-Yo-You!" So comical and red this Florain fellow became, it seemed words failed to come out of his mouth.
Emmer yawned as he glanced around the field once more. After spending days on end cooped up in Pinkmaiden, it was good to be out and about like this, but he was beginning he would have preferred to still be at the battlements than deal with this nonsense.
Why did the king keep these fools alive again?
***
The ointment tasted like grass on the inside of my lips, but I was told it would do the job when it came to stopping the bleeding from my cut lip. As useful as it was, the taste of grass inside my mouth wasn't something I really liked.
And I couldn't even wash it away with the equally horrible taste of wine.
The taste of grass didn't stop me from carrying out my duties though. "Casualties?"
"Ours?" Ser Patrek asked and I inclined my head in a simple nod of yes before he continued speaking. "Minimal. It would be something of a surprise if we had more than several hundred were lost, we are still carrying out the count but we have healers on hand taking care of the wounded as well they can."
Lord Mallister shook his head from where he sat. "I thought you were going to leave some for us, sire."
"I did leave some for you." I retorted with good humour. "Perhaps if you wanted a larger portion of the feast uncle, you should have walked faster."
Lord Mallister chuckled some as he nodded.
The Lord of Seagard and my uncle had soon joined the battle just when it was winding to a close. Apparently, his arrival was what finally broke the camel's back. With all the chaos that was happening on the battlefield itself, no-one had really seen the Mallister foot creep into the battle.
From the direction they had come, no-one had actually seen them marching up. His van of spearman had charged forward to join the battle that was happening between the two wings of Trident and Reach cavalry. With Ser Patrek's horse being supported by the spearman, that had been more than they could handle and they soon broke.
Lord Mallister wasn't done though with his opening move. With his main force, he led them through a gap between the battle that was happening between the two opposing forces of horse and led the remainder of his foot to strike at the flanks of the Gardener centre.
By nothing more than pure luck on our side, we had somehow been able to catch the Gardener centre in a pincer attack from the left and right. By then, the battle had all but been won.
The Gardener's started to leave the field, in good enough order from what had been reported, but the rear of Lord Mallister exploited that same gap from before to charge forward towards the Gardener reserves. There was something to be said about infantry charging cavalry and it could have ended up as a disaster if not for the fact that they were already in the midst of a withdrawal.
"We captured their camp." Ser Patrek said as he recalled the day's events. "There wasn't really much there apart from some chests of coin, to pay for the actual soldiers perhaps, but nothing too much of value."
Ser Lyman nodded as his eyes roamed through some papers. "We also captured a large number of highborn, both from the Reach and the Westerlands. The most prominent of them being Ser Tytos Reyne of Castamere."
Huh, a Reyne? That was a pretty good catch really.
The Reynes were the second most powerful House in the Westerlands and the second everything behind the Lannisters, though I was probably mixing my future knowledge with that of today. The politics of the Westerlands might very well be different from the one I could recall about the Westerlands hundreds of years in the future.
Though they still had a gold mine, so they were probably still filthy rich.
"Did we capture any of the Gardener royalty?" I asked the all-important question.
Ser Lyman shook his head. "No, sire, but it won't be long before we capture them. They are retreating south back to their lands but Lord Mallister has some of his forces pursuing them."
Lord Mallister nodded his head with the air of a confident man. "My men will catch up with them. I doubt they will even be able to ride all the way back to Stoney Sept with their horses alone. War horses aren't bred for long distance travels, especially after the battle you spoke off."
I nodded at his words. There was probably some truth to them. We were leagues away from the nearest Gardener force in Stoney Sept. Lord Mallister's men were a rather loose definition of fresh, but they could probably pull it off.
There was nothing that I could do about it but leave it to him before I could send my own forces to pursue after them. The taste of grass washed over my tongue again from an absent lick of the inside of my lips by my tongue and I mildly cursed at the greenhand that had caused the cut.
Looking back at that particular battle, I realised if it wasn't for the fact that he used a sword, I'd probably be dead. Hm, seems it was time to up the ante with my own training and hopefully, the next time that we find ourselves in a fight, I won't be anywhere near the battlefield.
Actually, I didn't want to fight another war ever again. This time, I'm sure I got lucky.
And luck was capricious at best in this world.
***
The steed laboured for breath as it tried to rise to its feet, blood dripping from its side were the spurs had bit into its skin hard enough to draw its life blood from underneath its hair and skin. Someone had ridden that mount a little too hard.
Gawen looked at the poor animal as it refused to stand and continued to take it large breaths of air. He shook his head at the sight. Well, no-one will be riding that horse anytime soon. And that was another mount lost. Soon they will have no mounts left at the rate they were going through them.
He looked around the plains they had taken to rest. Off to the side, some men were busy refilling their water skins with water from a stream that ran nearby. The closest sat dotted here and there, they had the sort of hollow, defeated faces that man who had lost battle wore.
They were also tired. And hungry.
Mostly hungry. They had little food to share and what little they had, had quickly finished not long ago. He found it funny, he had been with a group of fifty or so at the start of the retreat, but several days later, there number had whittled down a little less than a score of men.
Some had died or others hadn't been able to take it and went to surrender to the forces that pursued them. Mostly knights of lesser houses, men who wanted to live and with little to go in terms of pride.
Ser Jonas shook his head at the beast as it ignored any and all urges to rise. "She won't be going anywhere, your grace. This beast won't be carrying anyone for a good while."
Gawen glanced in the direction their pursuers would most likely come from. "A good while is too long. We need to move." By now, he had abandoned his plate. He now only relied on his mail and gambeson for protection, which should serve him well enough.
Ser Jonas nodded. "Aye, I know that much, but the men need to rest. They can't go on any longer without some time to relax their bodies. Some of them haven't slept in days."
Gawen frowned as he nodded. "I know."
One of those that hadn't slept in days was him. Even now, it took a lot of effort to think properly and keep his eyes opened. His eyelids had never felt so heavy before that it might as well have been unreal.
Something that was either a yawn or a sigh escaped from the depths of his throat. Which one it was, he didn't know but didn't particularly care to know either. He wondered if Edmund and Mern had been able to escape.
He prayed to the gods that they had been able to escape or that no harm had come upon them. Perhaps they were already at Stoney Sept with the Gardener force that had been left there to siege the castle. This entire campaign had been nothing but a disaster.
If those two were captured, chaos would more than likely ensure back in the kingdom. The players would start to move, play their little games and jockey for prominence. He hoped that mother and Ser Harlan would be able to keep things in order.
The thought of his mother made him think of his own wife. When he had left, Delilah had a babe at her breast and another growth in her middle.
'Perhaps the Hightowers and Redwynnes had better luck than us,' he thought with weary amusement. 'Something has to have gone for us. This couldn't have all been a failure.' He half sighed and half yawned again.
To his tired mind, he found himself surprised that he soon found himself cursing at the Faith for giving ideas to his father. Ideas that could have brought ruin to the realm itself.
"My prince!"
Someone shouted. Gawen snapped his head up, to look for the voice. The men that had been refilling the water skins were pointing in the direction of some woods some distance away, shouting as they did so.
As tired as his eyes were, he saw what they were indicating towards, pursuers.
He cursed as he turned to rouse the men up, to get them back on their horses. To flee.
As he clambered onto the back of a poor horse that whined at the weight of both him and Ser Jonas, he cursed his luck. There pursuers had driven them away from the road that had brought them up north from Stoney Sept.
Now they were forced to make their own way back south. They didn't have a map. They didn't know the land. The best they could do was head so far south, that they would soon find themselves in Reach lands.
Hopefully though, he hoped that they kept themselves straight enough to find themselves wandering into the Stormlands.
That would very much add more insult to injury.
***
Garth frowned as he sat in the bath, looking up at the ceiling of the Tooth. By a hair's breadth, he had been able to escape the battle at Pinkmaiden. 'How am I going to explain that to father?' He thought to himself.
Ser Vincent had been nice enough to try to placate the feeling of failure that loomed inside him. The noble knight had told him that it wasn't his fault. That the only reasonable thing to do would have been to run against the numerous foes of the riverlanders.
Even with the knight's words, he still felt like a failure, even more so with the hurried escape they took to flee back into the friendly Westerlands. Noble men and knights had fallen to their pursuers whilst protecting him and all he could do was run.
'What a fine prince I make.' He thought as he rose up from the bath, lukewarm water washing away at the sides of the metal tin that served as his bath. 'Runs whilst he leaves his army to fight till the bitter end.'
The servants scurried to dry him and helped him put on his clothes. Absently, he noted that they all seemed a little jittery, their eyes doing all their best not to look upon him. Not that was anything new. He was a prince of the blood.
A Lannister of the Rock.
The lower born had always been shy to look upon his golden form. So, he shook his head and played no heed to it.
"Where is the Lady Jeyne?" He asked any of the servants. "I have some news that concerns her."
The servants looked at each other before one of them spoke first. "The lady has been taken ill m'lord."
"Your Grace." He corrected in an afterthought. He sighed. "Well, is it anything bad?"
They looked again at each other, strange before the one that had spoken before shook her head. "No, Your Grace. The maester is still tending to her and hers for what it is."
He frowned at the news. Her and hers? Did that mean all the Leffords had been taken ill. Some contagion of some kind? Now that he thought about it, the castle did seem to lack a fair number of people from the last time that he was here.
Then again, Lord Lefford had taken many of the guardsmen and servants with him, so it was not that surprising.
"Well, give her my wishes and I require to be notified at once of when she is well enough." He ordered them.
He should be the one to tell the Lady Lefford of the likely fate of Lord Lefford and Marvell. It would only be proper.
"It will be done, Your Grace."
"Good, good."
He sent the servants away after that and took to some reading, anything to take his mind away from the happenings of the past days. Before he had noticed it, the sun had disappeared into the west and night had come upon him without his knowing.
Yawning and his eyes tired from his reading, he closed the book shut. He blinked at the sight of food at the side that had layed untouched.
Apparently, sometime during his reading, food had been brought up and he hadn't even noticed. He shook his head as he picked up the plate of what seemed to be bread and beef stew. By now, the bread had gone to hard and wasn't worth eating.
"Ser Vincent!" He called out to his protector that was outside his door. He waited for a moment and didn't get a reply. "Ser Vincent!" He called once more and once again, he didn't get a reply. He frowned as he made for the door. "Ser Vincent Vickery!"
It was much unlike the man to not answer to his summons. Perhaps he was sleeping?
Opening his door, he looked for the knight only to find a body slumped at the side and a servant standing over it, a knife coloured red with blood in his hand. Garth looked at the servant and then his eyes lowered down to the knife and then to the body.
He moved and threw his plate at the assassin, causing him to duck as he protected himself. Garth took that chance to retreat into his room and shut the door behind him.
He dragged the bedside to barricade the draw as his mind went through everything he had seen. 'Assassins! But how!?' How did they find themselves into the keep? When did they get inside the Tooth?
Then suddenly, the jitteriness of the servants all made sense and he seethed. They knew! They knew and they didn't tell their prince about the threat to his persons!?
He made for the window as something banged upon the door behind him.
"Prince Garth!" A muffled voice called from the other side. "It's no use. The Tooth is ours. You have nowhere to run! Open the door and surrender! You shall be treated with honour!"
He had already lost one battle. He wasn't going to have the dishonour of capture taint him anymore than he was already. He looked down the window and slammed his fists onto the window sills. His rooms were too high, to fall from here was to see him break his bones.
'They probably planned for this.' He cursed as he recalled the man on the other side say they had taken the castle. Could he make some sort of rope with his bed sheets and use it to get as low as possible before making a leap?
Looking at the fabrics that covered the bed, the thought was very much possible and he soon acted upon it. He made to the bed and began to rip at the quilts and coverings as the bangs on the door continued. He had to work quickly.
Quickly.
Quickly.
Something sharp pressed into his back. "Easy now," a smooth voice spoke from behind him that made him stop. "No sudden movements and everyone gets to go home, alright?"
"How did you get inside? I barricaded the door."
The voice behind him chuckled some. "Who do you think brought you the food? I never left." Garth cursed some more. Mother was right, he did take into his books a little too much. "You were supposed to eat the food and let the sleeping potion do its work and none of this would have happened."
So, they wanted him alive. He turned around slowly and frowned when his opponent had taken a step back to put some distance between them to stop him from making a grab at his weapon without him having the time to react.
The man motioned towards the door with a tilt of the head. "Move the bedside."
He frowned as he did what was asked of him. "You'll never escape. My father, King Loren will have an army set on this castle soon."
The servant with the knife and with more men, dressed in Lefford livery that he had seen the guards wore swarmed into the room and took him in hand, tying his hands behind him.
The man snorted. "The castle is ours. So is the Tooth. When morn comes, this castle will be openly flying the Tully standard. No more need for going around traipsing as Lefford guardsmen and servants. We will finally be able to bear our true allegiance."
"Then you hasten to bring your end on you."
The man smirked. "You'd think, wouldn't you?" He waved at the man that had him in their grasps. "Put him with the rest of the highborn. And let's begin to end this mummer's farce. I'm actually starting to think I'm a servant."