"Whoa… whoa."
Renly was breathing heavily as he brought his horse to slow down as he popped his visor up with his other hand. He found it difficult to wipe the sweat from his eyes with his armored forearm, and instead had to fish out a rag from his saddle to clear his sight and wipe clean his sweat-drenched brow.
The haze of combat was only just beginning to leave him behind as his arms sagged to his side. Despite the exertion though, he smiled.
The charge had been Glorious. Brutal and devastating, and earth-shatteringly powerful they had cast the quivering Volantenese down for four ranks before they had started to lose momentum, the shuddering wrath of their impact terrifying the men behind at the sheer carnage displayed ahead of them.
He had fought in the melee for less than ten minutes, but it felt as if it had been hours already, there was sweat dribbling down his chin, and he took a long drink from his water-horn to replenish his spirits, beside him Loras looked much the same, pushing his normally pristine, but now sweat-drowned hair was being pushed from his face with a firm hand, and his whole form sagged, much as Renly knew his own did.
Still, he found a wide smile plastered to his own face as he took the now sweaty rag to cleaning blood from his sword. "A beautiful charge men." He shouted to his bodyguard. "We very nearly cast those cowards into the river." He raised the now cleaned sword up, though his arm still stung. "One more like that and they won't dare cross again."
The men seemed happy at that, though their cheering was somewhat more subdued.
"Ah, but I know you are tired, and I will not call it yet, besides, Lord Eddard ought to have a chance to show his mettle, let us return to camp, to replenish our stamina for a while, and let the horses rest. Then with fresh lances, we will return to the battle."
The men nodded in agreement, and he reached over, tapping the still lagging Loras on the shoulder. "Come along then." He chuckled, turning up towards the hill, where even now Lord Eddard army was forming, mostly Northerners and Valesmen who lacked numerous cavalry, they were nonetheless well equipped. The Northerners, on the whole, wore Chainmail and Scale, or plate for the wealthy, and many had furs and pelts draped over their shoulders. Most heads were capped by pointed bullet-helms, rather than the variety of Armets, Aventails, and Full-helms common in the south, though some were scattered amongst their numbers.
The Vale, on the other hand, were more traditionally armored, full plate for the most part, with a rune-bound bronze contingent from house Royce, who had overall command of the Vale army under Lord Eddard. It was a very silly thing wearing Bronze on a modern battlefield for the sake of old superstitions, but then the old lord likely didn't care much if he died here. He had an heir back in the Reach, and the man was a known Warhawk, he probably fancied dying in battle as opposed to letting old age take him.
Renly half thought that Robert himself might prefer the same, though he didn't particularly want that little shit Joffrey on the throne.
He turned his head towards the enemy army at a trumpeting sound, the elephants were beginning to cross the bridge. He supposed that explained Lord Eddard's actions.
He had the urge to turn about, to charge those great beasts himself, and put an end to them like the mirror shield had slain Urrax, but in the end, Renly's better sense won out, and he returned to camp with the rest of his bodyguard.
He was dismounting when he heard a thunk beside him and heard a groan of pain. His blood ran cold as he saw that Ser Loras had fallen from his saddle, his face twisted in pain.
'Oh no.'
__________________________________________________________
"So, that's their game eh?" Maegor grumbled as another army crested the hill, another wave of fresh soldiers to attack his already shaken Spearman across the bridge. And archers this time too if his eyes were still as sharp as he thought. He cursed lightly beneath his breath, as he gestured to his men.
Once the elephants were over, more infantry would need to follow. It would simply be necessary, lest even the great creatures be dragged down by arrow-fire from this new army. He wondered if it was the Westerosi king who had been charging them, or just a particularly ostentatious noble. He knew the man's sigil was that of a stag, so he thought it probably was, but this new army made him unsure. Surely such a force would be under their king's direct command, as opposed to the cavalry.
Either way, crossing the bridge was now a great deal more time-sensitive, and he ordered his elephant's captain to make full haste over the ancient dragonglass. The others following behind. They could not match the speed of horses, but it was important that they cross before the new infantry engaged and slaughtered his men.
Even as the beast trundled forward, he stood from his throne, taking hold of the ax of Norvos and moving to return once more to his armored cabin. The room had windows for him to command from and was shielded from arrow-fire besides. He could command well enough from inside, and at his age, he couldn't afford to take chances.
The captains knew their jobs well enough anyway, trample the enemy underfoot, and press on for the archers.
The question was whether they could do it fast enough and whether the Westerosi had the spines to stand in the face of their charge.
___________________________________________________________
Lord Yohn Royce gazed at the enormous beasts charging across the bridge, even as he ordered his men into position. Archers quickly moving into positions with their traps.
He could see to his left Lord Eddard leading the charge into the enemy infantry at the edge of the bridge, hoping to drive the enemy back onto it, to shatter their will.
He doubted it would work, he could feel the elephant's footsteps already, and that great monstrous one was leading the charge, it's trumpeting roar echoing out over the whole battlefield.
The old lord of Runestone did not know elephants, but he knew men, and no man would willingly run back into such a certain death.
Of course, the Northerners seemed to be offering little more than certain death themselves. Their shield wall slamming into the lines of still disorganized Spearman and cutting into them like a scythe through wheat. By his eyes most of them weren't even fighting back really, still shattered by the impact of the Reacher charge.
The water of the Rhoyne to his right was already starting to flow red with blood, seeping down into it from the makeshift beachhead of the Volantenes. His own forces, mostly archers with around two thousand infantry, we're arrayed to the right of the bridge, with the front of their right flank against the river. Behind them was the camp of the Reachmen, and they were within the range of the bridge proper with their longbows.
Even now as the Elephants coined their monumental charge, he smiled beneath his ancient bronze helmet as he raised his sword into the air.
It was Imperative that they maximize the impact of their volleys, they carried only a few arrows with them coming here due to their weight.
"Ready…"
"Ready…"
"Loose!" He screamed as the majority of the monsters had entered into his range, and he heard the satisfying cry of more than two thousand arrows flying over his head in a great arch, down upon the backs of the creatures, and their unfortunate handlers.
The beasts screamed in pain, or at least some of them did, the smaller ones towards the back mostly. He felt a small smile grow on his face as one of them which had been hit in the eye reared up on its hind legs before smashing into one of its peers, and they tore into each other and blocked the path until those behind them, unable to stop slammed into them.
It was exactly what he had hoped for.
Unfortunately, the largest of the creatures, those at the front which seemed like walking Inns, and especially the great two trunked monstrosity that might as well have stood a tavern unto itself, absorbed the arrow fire with little acknowledgment. They were all armored, plated in Lamellar, and with skin as thick as their plates no doubt. While some had arrows sticking out, none of them took to rampaging in the way of their smaller cousins.
No, instead he grimaced, as they continued apace, seemingly uncaring of their own men caught between them and their enemies.
What remained of the Volantenese scrambled to get away from the great monstrosities as they charged into the northern shield wall, ignoring javelin and throwing ax alike, the Triarchs monstrosity swung it's enormous tusks through the lines with a turn of its head, sending men sprawling to the ground injured, only to be trampled under feet the size of carriages moments later.
He grimaced, even as another cloud of arrows from his men descended ineffectually onto the creatures back. Steel covered wood shielding it's pilots from their barrage.
They could slaughter every infantryman here and still not win victory if they couldn't bring that monster down.
__________________________________________________________
Robert Baratheon smiled as the smell of blood and the sounds of battle filled his senses, even from across the River.
He had ridden up to the crest of one of the rolling hills that dotted the banks of the Rhoyne south of the Sorrows. Selhorys was visible in the distance, it's walls were a faint bump behind another such hill, but his objective lay down below him, where the camp of Maegor sat, just before the Bridge across the Rhoyne.
He took a moment to survey the battlefield and felt a small shock of panic as he saw the damage the elephants were doing to the Northern lines across the river.
'Ned…' he hoped, and with a quick thought added Joffrey to his concern, he might not like his son, but he was his blood all the same.
Still, there was little he could do about it. The Bridge was blocked up with the bodies and corpses of elephants besides, their death wails echoing in mournful song over the battlefield in sharp contrast to the bold war crystal of the beasts still rampaging through the Northern ranks.
He turned his gaze then toward the bulk of the Volantine army, still remaining on this side of the river. Perhaps forty-thousand or more men, they sat watching the battle as he did.
But they had not yet spotted him, or the host that followed behind.
He turned, and road a bit down the hill, moving ahead of the great army of Knights that followed behind him, fifteen-thousand in all, readying now for what might well be one of the greatest charges in history.
He smiled at the thought.
"Right Men. I know your steeds are tired, I know we're all damn tired, we've road hard for nearly a day, and more than a few men have had their horses fall out under them. Left behind to make their own way home." He raised his hammer above his head. "So that said, all I ask of you today, is one more ride. One charge, to make the unwitting cowards over this hill shit their pants and flee before us as if we were the warrior himself walking the earth. Are you with me?"
The din that followed, tired as it was by the forced ride behind them, was energetic, and he smiled at their fervor.
'Right then.' He thought, setting his crowned and horned helm over his head as the thrill of catching the fools wanting filled his mind.
'Time to win this battle.
___________________________________________________________
Renly felt his blood boiling. His mind raging, almost unable to think.
Loras had broken a foot, badly. He had nearly been dragged from his horse by the impact of his charge, and almost ripped the bone in half in his Stirrup.
Very nearly lost it, the Master had said.
The knight might well end up a cripple, like his brother Willas. The very idea was torture he could tell, for both the knight and himself.
It felt as if an iron cage had been wrought around his heart and lit on fire.
And what's more, he had no means to put it out, no means to combat it.
None Save one.
He exited the tent with a warcry, calling his men to arms once more. He had to avenge his knight. He had to kill something. He knew that the elephants were devastating the Northerners.
That would not stand.
He didn't care if the elephants would scare his horses, he didn't care if he should act to conserve his strength. He simply grabbed hold of a fresh Lance and mounted up onto his horse.
The Fury endemic to his line was overtaking him. He overrode Lord Tarly's objections, he called down wrath and doom on the enemy in his mind, and he shouted that all brave men should follow him.
It was a testament, though he wasn't sure to what, that all he could see did so.
"Find Yourself an Elephant, men, and Kill it."
The ride was well underway when he realized that his visor was still up, but he didn't even bother to put it down. He didn't notice the aching in his arms, or the sweat on his brow, for the bloodless was over him now.
He saw as the two trunked command elephant of the Volantines broke away from the Northern lines, aiming for Lord Yohn Royce and his archers. Some animal part of his brain marked it as a target, and he screamed that his men should come with him to bring it down.
His horse tried to slow, to hesitate, but in his anger he dug his spurs into its sides, urging it on. His bodyguard did not all manage the same, but enough did, enough was the truth.
They struck it in the flank, halfway between the lines of the North and the Vale, and his Lance dug deep into its flesh, though he had to let it go lest he fall off of his horse as it continued between the beasts legs.
The thing let out a pitiful scream as more of his bodyguard's weapons found the same.
Then the creature tilted to the side even as he turned around to face it once more, it's pathetic crises shouting all the way.
It hit the ground with a noise like thunder, crushing one of his bodyguards, a young knight from the Marches. His loss only fueled the Baratheon's rage. Hot new blood like lava shooting through his veins as he saw the man crushed under the bulk of the screaming beast.
Then his horse gave out under him, staggering and bleeding.
It fell, thankfully straight, and he was able to disentangle himself from the wounded beast quickly enough.
He climbed to his feet, away from his dead steed, and coughed up dust, glad that it wasn't blood, at least.
His gaze drifted over the battlefield, the deaths of the remaining elephants were all but assured, dragged down by the Northerners or cavalry, though not without more losses, they were cheering now, and many pointed across the river. His eyes followed their hands, and he fell to his knees once again as he saw Robert's army, raising a great cloud of dust behind them as they swept aside what remained of the army of Volantis in a great tidal wave of horse and steel, the shattered remnants run down and trampled under the hoof-beats of his charge.
He felt a strange sort of kinship to his brother now, one which he had not felt before.
Perhaps it was because he understood war better, or perhaps because of the fury that even now refused to subside In his veins. He felt like a Baratheon ought to like the House Words meant more than just nonsense.
Then he heard the yell from behind him.
Rising from the dust of the slain monstrosity was an old man. He might have been tall once, but he was withered with age, and toothless in his screaming, halfway between rage and mourning. Whatever his emotion though, Renly could not ignore the ornate armor that coated his form, nor the enormous ax he hefted over his head.
He recognized the ripple of Valyrian steel on the weapon as the man charged towards him, his scream still not peering out.
Renly smiled. He had lost his sword, but a dagger would do.
He met the man's charge with one of his own, lunging into a sprint and driving his shoulder into the frail old man. His Valyrian ax doing nothing for him as Renly used his sheer size to drive the man to the floor. He raised the dagger up above the man's head and slammed it down into his eye. Once, then again, and again and again, until his tabard and armor were covered in blood and brain matter, fluid and gore coating his front as if he were dissecting a pig instead of caving in a man's skull with a now broken dagger., and the corpse rested beneath him.
Only then did the Lord of the Storm lands realize that he had been screaming as well, the fury that he had felt subsiding as he stood to his feet once more. The ache of his body hitting him like a mace as he almost stumbled back to the ground.
He felt he couldn't help but laugh, even as his remaining bodyguards moved to assist him.
"Lord Renly, are you alright?" One of them asked he wasn't sure which one.
He only laughed louder as he tossed his helmet aside, peeling back his own hair with the gore of what must have been a Triarch of Volantis.
"Never Better!"