Chapter II: One does not simply stop a storm
(Bad I know, but we already have Sean Bean)
I rose at the crack of dawn to survey Stannis's host. They were a pitiful host. A single flank of my combined Targaryen-Tyrell host outnumbered his, and yet he still planned to take the field. Stubborn to a fault, and determined to get ten thousand good men killed. I shook my head and returned to my tent. After the pages were through with me, most of the camp had risen. I sent my pages out for wine and awaited my commanders.
As a member of the Kingsguard, Prince Lewyn arrived first. He nodded towards me and took his seat as we waited for Lord Mace to arrive. He finally came about half an hour later, dressed in full panoply. I gestured for him to sit and studied the impromptu battle map that had been assembled in the early morning.
"This should be an easy victory. We outnumber them three-to-one and a simple charge is likely to break them." I looked at my generals as I spoke. They pointedly ignored each other, but they both nodded in response.
"Good. In that case, Prince Lewyn, you will take the left flank. Lord Mace, you will take the right. I will personally command the center. Tell the drummers to beat advance when the hour is done."
The two of them nodded and went to take their respective places.
"One last thing, sers. If you can find Stannis, taking him alive is preferable. It would end the war in a single stroke."
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A half hour later, the army was assembled. Men armored in black-and-red and green-and-yellow were arrayed against a singularly colored host. Sometimes these battlefields felt like paintings, what with the wide diversity of colors that clashed on the canvas of the battlefield.
I raised my lance and then lowered it again - the signal to charge. A great roar arose from my army, and was echoed by the enemy on the other end of the battlefield. There would be no grand maneuverings today, only copious amounts of blood and death.
My honor guard and I made first contact, the Bull on my right and the Sword of the Morning on my left. I broke my lance upon what seemed to be a sergeant, and then threw the shattered remains at an approaching spearman before drawing my sword and setting about the enemy. The main strength of my force connected a moment after me, producing a great clamor as the two armies clashed against each other.
I fell back into the rote movements of my childhood training: swing, block, counter-attack, evade. The fighting lasted for hours, and by the time I noticed that the swell of Baratheon men around me was thinning, the sun was already high in the sky. Stannis' men had fought like demons and had held for an inexplicably long time, but now they were starting to break and run. I left the rest of my men to finish the enemy host and retired to my tent.
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I was breaking my fast when Prince Lewyn arrived. "We have a serious problem, Your Grace." I put my food down. "Of what kind, ser?" Prince Lewyn turned and spat. "The Tyrell army is abandoning us, ser. They're returning to Highgarden." My jaw fell in shock. "But why?" "It seems that Stannis was smarter than we gave him credit for. He kept a small group of knights in reserve and engaged Lord Mace when that fool charged headlong into the enemy line, like you. Unlike you, however, Stannis found and killed him. Even now, Stannis has fled with the remnants of his host, and the Tyrells are leaving. Our only significant force in the area is now our own host of ten thousand. My nephew is still months away, stuck in the Dornish Marches."
The news was certainly sobering. After a moment, I spoke. "Prepare the army for a forced march."
Prince Lewyn furrowed his brow. "Where, Your Grace?"
I took my wine glass and downed it in one gulp. "Storm's End. Taking Stannis prisoner is now our only chance of victory." I put the glass down. "And make sure that word of this doesn't spread. The longer we have to starve out Storm's End uninterrupted, the better."
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Life in the siege camp had settled into regular patterns months ago. Storm's End was an imposing fortress, but it's large garrison meant that it consumed foodstocks at an alarming rate. No doubt the granaries that were once filled to bursting were starting to run more than a little thin by now. Unfortunately, the war camp was not faring much better. An outbreak of disease a few weeks back had devastated the camp and killed hundreds of men. I looked at the imposing walls a moment longer before returning to the war tent.
When I arrived, a messenger was waiting for me. "King Rhaegar, I bear grave news." I motioned for him to speak. "The rebel armies have taken multiple keeps on the outskirts of King's Landing, and it seems that Lord Gyles Rosby has turned coat and joined the rebels. In addition, Lord Arryn is marching south as we speak to break the siege of Storm's End. It'll take him about another two weeks to reach us, Your Grace. The capital still stands, but the full might of the rebel armies will soon fall upon it."
I took a deep breath and motioned for him to leave before taking the eagle piece and placing it close to the dragon that represented my own small army. Ser Gerold spoke first. "We can't hope to fight them, not with Stannis's garrison at our backs. As distasteful as it is, surrender might be our only option."
I idly fingered the piece that represented Storm's End. "Surrender, or cruelty." "Cruelty, Your Grace?" Prince Lewyn spoke. I nodded. "Have our loudest men inform the garrison that they have a fortnight to surrender Stannis, and that if they don't, their darkest nightmares will seem like inconsequential frights compared to what our army will do when we capture the fortress. Spread whatever lies you wish, as long as it gets the point across. Place the drummers just outside of bowshot and have them beat until they surrender. If they still hold by the end of the fortnight, we will just have to mount an assault." I knocked over the piece that represented Storm's End and stormed out of the war tent.
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The rebel army arrived as predicted at the end of the fortnight. Parley was requested and accepted, and I rode out with my company to meet with Jon Arryn, ostensibly the most sensible of the rebels. I prayed that Jon Arryn lived up to his reputation.
This time around, the other party arrived on time to the parley. Pleasantries were exchanged, introductions made, and the meeting had a generally lighter tone than the previous one. Jon Arryn cut right to the chase. "Your cause is hopeless, King Rhaegar. Ned Stark and Lord Tully march on King's Landing as we speak, and your army is in no shape to fight mine. It's over, Rhaegar. Surrender. We are not Robert and we understand you had no control over what your father did to Ned's family, but you still committed a grievous crime. It's finished. Surrender."
I shook my head. "You are mistaken, Lord Arryn." I motioned to my Kingsguard. "It is your cause that is hopeless." Moments later, Stannis and Renly were brought forward and presented to Lord Arryn. He stared at them, fully comprehending what was happening.
"I believe this will turn out much smoother if we return to King's Landing and hold a council. It is not like you have much of a choice. Refuse, and the Baratheon line, and your justification for this war, dies tonight."
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I don't actually know if the Mannis physically killed Mace Tyrell, but even if he didn't his troops certainly did, and it makes for a nice poetic touch. Still, I managed to win this war despite being outnumbered about five to one.