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Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 27

AN: I should mention that I appreciate each and every review.

ooOoo

The sun still shone but its light was dimmed by the smoky haze shrouding the battlefield. Here and there puddles of lamp oil were still alight, flickering a sullen orange now that the alcohol had burned away. Dead pigs were dotted around here and there as was the occasional dead soldier, but by far the most noticeable corpse was the elephant that had absorbed the first grenade. From its shoulders down it looked perfectly fine. Its head, however, was nothing but a shining white skull. Everything else had been burned away and even now its eye sockets were lit by eerie tendrils of green flame reaching out from within.

Footing was still reasonably good despite the mess the Golden Company's archers had made of the field when they fled, and the Sunset Legion advanced at our usual clip. The drums beating out the marching pace sounded oddly muted. It could have been the smoke, but more likely was a result of the adrenaline coursing through my system. All of my inherited instincts wanted me to spur my horse on to wade into the enemy, cut them down and inspire my men.

Instead I took a deep breath to steady myself. The usual smells of sweat, blood, and shit hovered over the battlefield, but the smoke carried some discordant notes. The Volantine booze burned slightly sweet, while the pine-resin smeared pigs had left behind a scent that made me hungry for some maple-smoked bacon. Shaking my head to dismiss the errant thought I turned to address Rodrik Lolliston, seated on a horse that was walking placidly next to mine. The Essosi nags hardly measured up to proper Riverland chargers, but at least they weren't hysterical at the sounds and smells of war.

"Look sharp, now. Your young eyes will see better than mine through the smoke."

He turned to me, surprise evident despite the helmet covering much of his face. "Look sharp for what? Surely they've almost broken?"

I shook my head. I couldn't blame him for thinking it: any of the other companies we've fought would have fled the field by now. The only way to learn some things was to make naive assumptions and have them proven wrong. My job was to make sure Rodrik didn't get anybody killed as he learned how to lead an army.

"The Golden Company are made of sterner stuff than that. We've put them on the back foot, but they still have plenty of fight left in them."

We soon came into our first contact with the Golden Company's heavy infantry. Through the haze of smoke I could make out a relatively small group of a hundred or so men, separated from their friends but maintaining good discipline. A jolt of excitement raced through the whole legion at the prospect of coming to grips with the enemy and Petyr's column surged forward.

Just about the whole front line of the Golden Company was bowled over in the initial clash. The superior reach of our pikes meant that each of the men in the front line had to absorb the impact of four or five charging legionnaires, while their spears were unable to reach our men. The second line fared better, perhaps one man in three being knocked off his feet, and the third line held firm, grinding our column to a temporary halt as they caught pikes on shields as best they could and started a pushing contest.

I saw many great feats of arms performed by the soldiers of the Golden Company. One man batted aside three spear thrusts coming in from the left with his shield, fended off another from the right with his spear, then dropped his spear and grabbed the pike of the man before him, yanking the legionnaire out of formation. He stepped forward, drawing a sword from his belt as he closed within ten feet of his target, then fell backwards as a pike he hadn't seen took him in the chest, almost lifting him off his feet with the shock of impact.

Another man had lost his shield and wielded his spear like a quarterstaff, the shaft blurring in front of him as he fended off a constant barrage of attacks. He called to the men beside him to use the openings he was creating, and they did, charging forward only to be felled by pikes that had attacked from father back in the formation. A moment later the man who had first caught my eye was downed by a pike that had slipped past his defenses.

All up and down the line it was the same story. Tremendous individual skill at arms displayed again and again, and every time rendered ineffective by the cold math of the pike formation: twenty feet is longer than eight feet, and five men attacking at once is a lot more than one. A few of my men were tripped up, but the Golden Company spearmen just couldn't close to an effective range to really put a hurt on anybody. Lines of spearmen were knocked down one by one, and they finally retreated after about half their men were out of the fight. They pulled back in good order, and I was thankful to see that my men were well disciplined enough to resist the temptation to try and chase after the retreating enemy. There was still plenty of heavy infantry out there for us to fight.

The story was much the same for the next company we encountered, and the next. After that, though, we ran into a sizable contingent of spearmen that managed to stalemate Petyr's column. The impact from the second column sent them reeling back, but still they held. The basic math of the situation was on our side, but I still worried about what the Golden Company could do with the weight of numbers evened out. It was hard to tell through the smoke, but it seemed like this was most of their remaining heavy infantry. If they managed to close in and start inflicting serious casualties on our column I wasn't sure how well our relatively untested men would hold up.

There was a great deal of yelling and a tremendous noise from the clash of arms. I was intently focused on what I expected to be the decisive moment of the battle, so much so that I didn't realize Rodrik had been trying to get my attention until I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned to see him staring at me... no, past me, his eyes wide.

"Captain! Look!"

I followed his gaze and saw what a gust of wind had revealed to his sharp eyes: the smoke had parted to reveal the knights of the Golden Company in full charge, headed directly at Petyr's flank. My blood ran cold. If the cavalry took Petyr's men in the flank all unawares, the result would be catastrophic. They couldn't maneuver to face the charge directly while they were in the thick of the push and pull with the Golden Company's spearmen. Hell, in the heat of combat I couldn't be sure they would follow my orders at all. I could probably get them to a static pincushion formation, but while that would fend off the cavalry charge adopting such a static pose was just asking for death by inches from the opposing infantry.

I was about to bite the bullet and give the order when the knights broke off their charge, instead beginning to pivot to their left. I couldn't believe what I was seeing at first. Were they planning to ride around our formation and try to attack us from behind? I was still mulling over the question when the Long Lances materialized out of the concealing smoke, smashing into the still turning knights like the fist of an angry god.

It may have been my imagination, but I thought I could hear Irrys's war cry over the crash of battle. I turned back to Rodrik.

"Order the reserves forward."

Irrys's enthusiasm was all well and good, but the knights of the Golden Company knew their business. Even caught somewhat unawares, I'd put even money on them winning the cavalry battle. I couldn't change the outcome of that fight. What I could do was use the time I'd been given to make sure that it didn't matter.

The reserve column turned the tide. The addition of a large body of fresh men with blood in their eye always has a salutary effect on allied forces, and the Sunset Legion pushed forward with renewed strength as the reserves entered the battle. The Golden Company, meanwhile, had seen their salvation arrive in the form of their cavalry and then snatched away by the Long Lances. They had been suffering horrible losses in their efforts to close with the Sunset Legion, and as they were forced backwards they finally reached the breaking point.

A horn echoed over the battlefield, sounding a repeating series of notes. The Golden Company began to withdraw. We pressed forward, but they knew their business. A screen of spearmen would delay our progress, then fall back only to be replaced by a new screen of troops. All the while, the main body of troops receded further and further into the distance.

We finally broke free of the smoke, and I could see where the retreat was headed: the broad stone bridge over the Rhoyne just downstream of Selhorys. A stream of skirmishers and archers was already pouring across. We pushed forward with renewed effort, but continued to be slowed by the Golden Company's organized retreat. A moment later a stream of horsemen broke out of the smoke, all bearing the colors of the Golden Company. They made a token effort to threaten our flanks, forcing us to halt for a moment, then broke off and rode for the bridge.

By the time we finally reached the bridge, the vast bulk of the Golden Company was on the other side of the river, continuing their retreat upstream. All that was left behind was a group of a hundred men, lined up shoulder to shoulder ten deep across the bridge. They made no move to retreat and showed no interest in surrender. It was clear that they intended to fight to the last man.

We obliged.

ooOoo

When the bridge was cleared there was no question of an immediate pursuit. The Golden Company was well out of sight. Catching them with our foot troops was impossible, and considering the discipline they had shown sending our cavalry out after them by themselves would be the height of foolishness. Besides, we needed a pause to get ourselves sorted out.

The aftermath of any battle is a tremendous mess. With all the flammables we had been throwing around, this one was even more so. Besides accounting for our casualties-fairly light, considering-we also had to loot the bodies, track down what had happened with the elephants, and decide what to do with our prisoners. The Golden Company was well-equipped. Together with their habit of keeping their personal wealth on them in the form of precious metals and jewelry, it made for lucrative bodies. It also meant that many of the men who had been knocked out of the fight had survived the experience.

For the most part I left that business to others. The prisoners could be handed off to Selhorys, to be ransomed out or simply released at the cessation of hostilities. I'd make sure I got my cut of the proceeds of course, but otherwise it didn't particularly concern me. There was one exception, though.

I was reviewing reports in my tent when the tent flap was thrust aside and Petyr burst in. He was followed by two of his men. They were escorting a prisoner between them, a man who looked rather the worse for wear even before taking into account the fact that he had been stripped to his smallclothes and had his hands tied behind his back. The most distinctive thing about him was his shock of red hair. It wasn't until he looked up and glared at me, though, that I felt a thrill of recognition.

The odd thing about it was that I didn't recall anybody from the books matching his description. Brynden certainly knew him, though. I suppressed a shiver at the odd dissonance and looked to Petyr for an explanation.

"This cunt led the last stand at the bridge," Petyr spat out. "They killed Dallen and Jarvas!"

Well, this was a little awkward. On the one hand, it was a good sign that Petyr was attached to his men. And that our casualties had been light enough that each one was still keenly felt. On the other hand, Petyr's obvious enthusiasm for a spot of revenge murder was troubling. On the gripping hand, at least he hadn't taken the prisoner out back and knifed the guy without letting me know what was going on.

That feeling of being a mafia don was coming on strong once again. I did my best to keep my expression neutral and my gaze flat.

"We killed rather more of them, I think," I said. "We are at war, after all."

Petyr deflated when he realized that I wasn't going to say anything more. Without a word he turned and slugged the prisoner in the gut. The man grunted, but didn't say anything. Petyr drew back his arm for another blow, but stopped when I cleared my throat. He had the good grace to look a little embarrassed when he turned back to face me.

"Now, Petyr, you should show a little restraint when you've captured a lord. Although I suppose Griffin's Roost isn't a lordly holding these days."

Petyr looked back in shock, then turned back to me. "That's Jon Connington?"

I nodded.

Connington himself didn't say anything. He'd been glaring at me this whole time. The glare had intensified a bit when I made it clear that I knew who he was. He certainly seemed to have all of the force of personality that Brynden remembered. I idly wondered what had happened to render him irrelevant before the books kicked off. Probably got himself killed leading some grand battle with the Golden Company as part of another character's backstory. Well, just because I wasn't going to kill him out of hand didn't mean I couldn't fuck with him.

"He'd be the Hand of the King right now if Rhaegar hadn't been as much of a gaping cunt as his old man."

ooOoo

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Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 28

AN: Currently shooting for a Sunday/Wednesday-ish update schedule.

ooOoo

Jon Connington had been quite the rising star once upon a time. A talented fighter in his own right, a skilled and energetic leader of men, and a close friend to the crown prince. He and Rhaegar had been practically joined at the hip. Or, some had it, joined more intimately than that. In any event, Robert's Rebellion had been his making and his undoing.

Connington would never have been given high office under Aerys in peacetime. The old madman was far too paranoid about being usurped by his son. It took a war he was on the verge of losing for Aerys to put competence ahead of loyalty. By the same token, Aerys wouldn't have lived forever. If he had died and Rhaegar had peacefully ascended to the throne, Connington could have been made the King's Hand without an ultimatum hanging over his head.

And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Connington had taken his shot at power and done his level best to capture Robert and end the rebellion. He failed and was promptly sent into exile. Apparently he had made something of himself in Essos. Not so high a rank that the Golden Company was unwilling to lose him, but high enough that he had been given a key command. And who knows, maybe he insisted on leading the rearguard. He could have acquired a taste for lost causes in fighting for Rhaegar.

The insult to his beloved prince got a reaction out of him where Petyr's assault had failed. Connington thrashed about wildly, a snarl on his face, as he did his level best to break free and kill me. Fortunately, Petyr had chosen a pair of stout lads to act as guards. They kept a solid grip on him until he gave up on trying to break free. Though physically he sagged in defeat, the glare he shot me was still filled with murderous intent.

"And I would have respected the Blackfish were he not a traitor."

Petyr stepped forward, drawing his hand back to slug Connington again. He stepped back when I held up a hand to calm him down.

"Now, now, it's not treason if you win," I said. "Besides, come to that, Aerys broke faith when he burned his loyal vassals to death."

"Only a king can judge the actions of a king," Connington replied, his enthusiasm undiminished.

A brief note on Westerosi politics. I was in no way, shape, or form interested in bringing democracy to the Seven Kingdoms. I'd seen what happened when you tried to introduce democracy to people who weren't particularly interested in it, and I didn't even have jet planes or armored tanks on my side. Besides, the political system in Westeros wasn't that bad by medieval standards. There were laws in place limiting what the aristocracy could do and feudal obligations were in fact reciprocal. Now, were those laws enforced even handedly against the politically connected? Not really, but that's more of a problem with human nature than with monarchy. Someday I might like to help introduce a local Magna Carta if I got the chance, but for the most part I wanted to stay out of politics entirely.

All that said, Connington's remark managed to rouse my inner populist. I did my best to resist the temptation of being essentially a law unto myself when running the Sunset Legion, and I didn't appreciate the suggestion that it was a right and proper way for a monarch to behave.

"I'd say Robert found Rhaegar's arguments lacking and passed a final judgment."

Connington had begun to sag a bit with fatigue, but the mention of Robert jolted him back upright and brought a furious light to his eyes. "The usurper is no true king."

I shook my head, then turned to address Petyr with my reply. "Isn't it amazing how much wiggle room you can create with one little word? Robert sits on the Iron Throne. The Lords Paramount pay his taxes and march at his command. He's killed everyone who seriously contested his right to rule. That's as much as Aegon ever did, and Robert didn't have any dragons. That's a true enough king for me."

I had turned back to Connington and saw him sag as I finished my little speech. I didn't kid myself that I had persuaded him. More likely he had only been running on that initial rush of anger, and now that his energy had run out he had no wish to continue debating for the sake of debating. He did still have one last spark of defiance in him, though.

"I suppose you'll march me back to your king and beg him for a reward."

I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud at that. It took me a moment to get it out of my system and wipe the tear from my eye.

"I hardly any need any reward from Robert and, to be honest, I doubt your name has crossed his mind for years," I said. "Now, will you give your parole?"

He stared at me blankly.

"Well?" I asked, a little impatient. "Will you swear not to try to escape, not to harm any of my men, and not to sabotage our war effort for the duration of hostilities?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Well, it's a question of whether you'd like to stay with us and have relatively free run of the camp. If you'd rather be with the rest of the prisoners in Selhorys, there's no need to do anything."

I didn't expect him to be keen on being held prisoner by the people he'd been besieging. I intended to intervene to ensure that everybody we turned over survived the experience, but realistically there was only so much I could do about the conditions of anybody imprisoned. It didn't take him long to make his choice.

"Very well."

"Make your oath, then."

He did. Never let it be said that Jon Connington can't manage a nice turn of phrase. When he finished I nodded at the men who were holding him captive.

"Let him go, boys."

They complied.

"Dig his personal effects out of the rest of the captured equipment and keep them somewhere secure. Petyr, see to getting him issued a tent and some food, and make sure our men are aware of his status."

Petyr looked stricken at the turn things had taken. "Captain, I-"

"If you require any clarification of your orders," I interrupted, "we can discuss them tonight. Now, if there are no immediate concerns?"

There weren't. The little group bustled out of my tent, leaving me alone with my paperwork.

ooOoo

It wasn't long after sunset that I was interrupted by a knock against the pole in the center of my tent's entry way. I had finished with all of the urgent paperwork by that time and was working on my personal journal, so I didn't feel any guilt about putting it aside to focus on the figure of Petyr Baelish. He looked a bit nervous, as well he might. It was one thing to react with surprise when an order was given, but quite another to continue to press a commanding officer for his reasoning.

I did my best to put him at ease, gesturing for him to come inside and take a seat. I pulled a pair of glasses from beneath the table along with a decanter. Each glass received a generous couple of fingers of clear liquid. I had worked with a clever man in Volantis to put together a rudimentary charcoal filter that had resulted in something more drinkable than their typical rotgut.

"I imagine you're wondering why I didn't have Jon Connington killed out of hand?"

He nodded, then brightened up as a thought occurred to him. "I know a couple of lads who can take care of things, if you wanted him handled more... discreetly."

I shook my head as I slid a glass across the table. "No, not now that he's put himself under my protection. Here, drink this. I don't like to talk philosophy when I'm completely sober."

He looked down at the glass, then back up at me. "I didn't know you'd studied at the Citadel."

"Fuck those dusty cocksuckers. I'm talking about a personal philosophy," I said, picking up my drink and swirling it for a moment before knocking back a slug. "Petyr, if you go through life without thinking about what you're doing there's a real chance that you could wake up one day and realize you've become a giant cunt."

His eyes widened at that, although I couldn't tell if it was in reaction to my sage advice or the salty language. In any event, he followed my lead and took a drink from his glass. He did a manful job hiding his reaction, but he still hadn't quite got the knack of handling hard alcohol.

"Now, Jon Connington... a septon would tell you that there's no need to worry now that he's sworn before the gods not to harm us."

Petyr snorted. "A children's tale."

"A merchant would tell you that a reputation for keeping your word will help you strike deals in the future."

Petyr didn't say anything, but he did look interested as I continued.

"An old veteran would tell you that today's captor could be tomorrow's captive."

I paused to top off our glasses, then leaned back and waved my hand dismissively.

"All of that just goes to what other people think. And sometimes that matters. But when it comes to the important stuff, you're the one that has to live with it. Some things you don't do just because they're wrong."

I wanted to try and educate Petyr, but I was also working through my reasoning for my own benefit. Compared to what I was used to, my new position offered me a lot more opportunities to kill inconvenient people. For the most part it didn't really come up as I wasn't particularly murderous. Jon Connington, though, was the kind of bright spark that had future trouble written all over him. I could justify killing him either in defense of the realm or based on my foreknowledge. In order for a guy like him not to have figured into canon he must have died before the books started, so executing him would in a way just be following the natural order of things. It still didn't sit right with me, though.

As to Petyr, my goals were twofold. First of all, I didn't want him to stab me in the back. I thought I was pretty far along in that goal after giving him a taste of military leadership and military success. Almost as important, though, I wanted to help him turn into the grown up version of the bright kid Brynden remembered rather than the horrible villain I had read about. To that end I really needed to steer him clear of any kind of utilitarianism. Petyr Baelish was going to be able to accomplish a great many things without getting caught, which meant that I didn't want him to be constrained only by cost-benefit calculations.

"More children's stories," Petyr grumbled. The drink must have been getting to him.

"Strong words from somebody who only lives because of a Stark's sense of right and wrong."

Petyr sat up straight and flushed red. I'm not sure he had realized he had been speaking out loud. "Catelyn-"

I held up a hand, cutting him off. "Cat is a sweet girl, but if you think Brandon ever restrained himself on her account, you're a fool. Killing you in that duel would have been pure murder. If there's one thing the Starks have drilled into them it's not to kill anyone who doesn't deserve it."

Petyr remained silent. I sighed and took another drink.

"Think about Connington's nonsense: only a king can judge a king. Only a king can pass judgment on another king, but that's just a practical restraint. Anybody can judge a king," I said, locking my gaze on Petyr's. "The Father gave us all a soul, to know right from wrong. And he gave us all reason, to turn those instincts into rules. You'll be a lot happier with yourself in the end if you make an honest effort to live by those rules instead of trying to rationalize whatever you want to do."

Petyr was silent for a long moment. "What's your rule, then?"

I took a slow sip of my drink while I thought. "My rule... never fuck over somebody who doesn't have it coming."

"How do you know who has it coming?"

"Practice."

He chuckled a bit at that. I held out some hope that he was taking this at least a little bit to heart. "So Connington..."

"What's he done? Fought for Aerys? Half the kingdom did that, and most of them still have their holdings. Dreamed about kicking Robert off the throne?" I said, shaking my head. "That's nothing worth an execution. He hasn't murdered anyone, he's never raped anyone, hells, as far as I know he's never cheated at dice."

"So he doesn't have anything coming."

I nodded. "If that changes, well, it changes. But until then we treat him like any other noble prisoner."

Petyr looked down at his drink in contemplation. Maybe I was getting through to him. Maybe he was just humoring a maudlin old man. It was hard to tell. Worst come to worst, I could just force him to act like a decent human being until it became a habit.

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Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 29

AN: While I might suggest inventions that would benefit me personally, I'm not wandering around trying to be Johnny Invention-seed. And that's not even getting into the limitations on my own abilities.

ooOoo

The day after the battle was busy. Despite my best efforts at delegation, the city fathers of Selhorys refused to finalize the prisoner-handling arrangements without speaking to a company commander. Since the Tattered Prince and Irrys Marohr were off chasing down members of the Golden Company who hadn't managed to make it across the bridge the duty fell to me. So my morning was shot.

The meeting wasn't that bad, honestly. The people of Selhorys were grateful for our appearance, not to mention impressed that we had managed to drive off the Golden Company. They put on a touching victory parade in our honor, and the town fathers were generous in their efforts to slip me an under the table reward. If I hadn't been happily married-and morally opposed to pleasure slaves-the negotiations could have dragged on all day.

Settling the handling of prisoners was relatively straightforward. I had tasked Petyr with putting together a list of reasonable ransom demands for each prisoner and he'd come through for me. I explained to the city council that my primary concern was that I didn't want to face these men on the battlefield during this campaign. Ideally they should wait to ransom them until the war was over, but if they couldn't wait then the men should at least be shipped down to Volantis before being released. With our control over the river traffic that should keep them out of action for long enough to suit my purposes.

They dickered a bit over who would get what percentage of the ransom paid out, but the basic terms remained unchanged. One key point that I emphasized was that we expected to get paid the same amount whether the men were ransomed or died in prison. I could only assume that there would be some score-settling once members of an invading army were helpless prisoners of the city they'd been attacking. I couldn't stop it completely, but I could provide a bit of a financial disincentive. And insulate myself from risk in the bargain, of course.

That business was handled relatively quickly. Selhorys was eager to have control of the prisoners and happy that it looked to be a financial windfall as well. What turned out to be a stickier issue was the matter of securing supplies. Volantis had promised to pay for our armies' provisions, but the people of Selhorys were understandably hesitant to trade hard goods for paper promises.

They unbent a little bit when I reminded them why Volantis was paying for our food. An army had to eat one way or another, and if we couldn't buy food then the only alternative would be "living off the land." Also known as stripping local farms bare by force of arms. I'd provide the farmers with receipts, but I suspected that they would be less successful than the city council at turning those promises into gold.

In the end we reached a compromise. I agreed to pay a small portion of the cost up front, an amount easily realized out of our loot. They also would be allowed to apply our share of the ransom gold to cover any portion of the IOU not paid by Volantis. It was possible that they would try to dick us around in the future, but I wasn't too worried. I didn't think they'd be able to come up with any kind of accounting trickery that would slip past both me and Petyr, and in the event of any trouble I'd have eight thousand pissed off collection agents at my beck and call.

Provisions secured, I spent the afternoon putting together an assessment of how badly we'd hurt the Golden Company and how well we'd be able to defend this position. The answer: pretty badly, and pretty well.

We'd killed a little over seven hundred of them and captured about that many. More captives trickled in throughout the day, but not enough to change the basic calculation. We'd also killed or captured substantially all of their elephant force. Everybody I spoke to swore up and down that no elephants had made it over the bridge, which meant that our raiders should have them all in hand by the end of the day. For all their other virtues, elephants are not particularly stealthy.

We would be sending the captured elephants down to Volantis for sale. Cool as it would be to add them to our forces, the only available trained elephant handlers were from the Golden Company. Mercenaries could be cold blooded, but I could hardly expect them to make war on their long time comrades. Not to mention that if anybody had effective anti-elephant tactics up their sleeve, it would be the Golden Company.

Would the Golden Company be in any shape to deploy those tactics? It was hard to say. They had suffered fearsome losses, with around fifteen percent of their men killed or captured. Armies had dissolved over less comprehensive defeats. On the other hand, they had retreated in good order and were famed for their iron discipline. They had to be shocked at what had happened, but I suspected that beneath that they would be spoiling for a chance to avenge their defeat.

The other good news for us was that the terrain was well suited for defense. The bridge would be easy enough to secure, and the rolling hills north of Selhorys on the east side of the river were the kind of terrain that could chew up an attacking army. They might be able to cause some mischief if they could round up enough boats, but an amphibious landing with medieval technology didn't seem particularly threatening.

All in all, I was in a good mood as I headed for a meeting with my fellow Captains at the end of the day. I had already half started picking out design elements for our long term camp. The Sunset Company could more or less build permanent facilities around its tents and be perfectly content for months or years on end, of course, but it would take a bit of work to integrate our allies into the field works.

The Tattered Prince had certainly picked out a nice spot for his command tent. Located on a small hill that rose out of the flat plain between Selhorys and the river, it offered a terrific view of them both. I admired the view as I approached, and admired the tent as I took a seat around the Tattered Prince's small field table. The inside of his tent was festooned with souveniers from his long career as a sellsword. I hardly recognized any of them myself, although a few of the symbols struck a chord in Brynden's memory. Taken together they gave the tent the same sort of crazyquilt design aesthetic as his cloak.

The meeting began with a brief discussion of the day's events. The Long Lances and the Windblown hadn't lost any men during the day's pursuits. They had managed to gather twelve elephants under their control and confirm the deaths of nine more. They both seemed satisfied with my report on the negotiations with Selhorys. All in all, no surprises.

I was caught completely off guard when Irrys announced that the Long Lances would be ready to commence pursuit of the Golden Company tomorrow morning. Even more so when the Tattered Prince declared that the Windblown would be ready to go as well.

I blinked, a bit taken aback at their eagerness. Then I realized they were both looking at me. The brightly decorated walls of the Tattered Prince's tent felt like they were closing in on me as I scrambled for a response.

"My men are always ready to march, of course."

It was even true. They might grumble about all of the drilling that I put them through, but the result was the most disciplined force that Brynden had ever been associated with.

"I had thought that we would hold this position and wait for reinforcements," I continued. "After our victory, Volantis should have no trouble recruiting more men to its cause."

"Pah! They had chance to join!" Irrys said, punctuating his words by bringing his fist down on the table. "Why share glory now?"

The Tattered Prince nodded along with Irrys's words. The flickering lamplight gave his eyes an eerie shine as he added his two cents.

"Defeating the Golden Company will build a reputation. Destroying them will build a legend."

I held my tongue for a moment as I thought things through. I hadn't worried overmuch about my reputation since arriving in Westeros. Oh, I wanted the Sunset Legion to be well respected, and with our combat record as it was we were well on our way there. But as for myself, personally, there had been no need. Brynden Tully had lived a full life and built a strong name for himself long before I had arrived on the scene. While I might feel a bit awkward trading on another man's reputation, the fact remained that it was always there when I needed it. The chance to add some significant shine to that name in my own right had some appeal.

And, as the Tattered Prince had intimated, there were names and then there were names. Randyll Tarly was well known as a talented military commander. Robert Baratheon was a legend in the flesh.

Destroying the Golden Company would be the stuff of songs sung for generations to come. However eager my companions might be, though, I reminded myself that there was a reason the Golden Company had survived this long.

"They didn't appear poised on the brink of destruction to me."

They had suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of a terror weapon that they had likely never before encountered. A weapon that had turned the force of their own special units against them. And despite that they had managed a well-organized fighting retreat. Charging after them hell for leather seemed awfully risky to me. A reputation built out of careful victories might not be as grand as a reputation won from dramatic gambles, but it was valuable all the same and I'd hate to throw it away.

"On the brink, no," the Tattered Prince acknowledged. "But we did capture much of their supply train. Men of the Golden Company must eat like any other man."

That... was a very good point. The Golden Company's baggage had been a big disappointment, loot wise. They had grabbed everything valuable before they left. They hadn't been able to take the bulky low value items, though, like food.

It occurred to me that I had been thinking of pursuit in a far too modern fashion. If you were chasing mechanized infantry and you gave them a day's head start, they could be hundreds of miles away by the time you moved. Men marching on foot couldn't cover nearly that distance. Especially men who had to forage for food as they went. We could almost certainly catch up with them, operating as we were with a solid supply line from the river. If we could wear them down, pick away at their morale, deny their attempts to rest, harass their attempts to gather food... they were very disciplined men, but at the end of the day they were men. They could be defeated.

Something could go wrong, of course. They could get supplies from their own sponsors' navies. Hell, they could have reinforcements waiting up river. Things could always go wrong in war. For that matter, if they chose to engage us in a decisive battle immediately, we could lose. The Golden Company's losses had only been enough to drop us to rough numerical parity, not enough to give us a real advantage. They wouldn't have their elephants, but we wouldn't have more than a few of our firebombs.

It would be a pure test of strength on strength. Will against will.

When I realized I was smiling I knew I had made my decision.

"We'll cross the river at first light."

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Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 30

AN: I like to think that people in universe also think the Dornish are insufferable.

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It wasn't quite that simple, of course. I had to meet with my column commanders to tell them about our new plan so that they could pass the orders down to their lieutenants who could pass the orders to the soldiers under their command. I also had to arrange with Selhorys for our supplies to follow us upriver. It was all more tedious than difficult. Sleep is overrated anyway.

There was some grumbling in the ranks, but the Legion looked reasonably sharp as we marched across the bridge. Victory will smooth over a lot of minor complaints. It also wasn't like we were marching into immediate danger. We knew the Golden Company was more than a day's march away. Our goal was to continue to apply strategic pressure rather than try to run after them in some kind of hot pursuit.

The terrain on the west side of the river matched what I had seen north of Selhorys. Lots of low rolling hills, gradually flattening out as they approached the river itself. Any trees growing here had long since been cut down, likely floated on down to Selhorys, so we were marching through a sea of knee high grass. It didn't take a tracker to spot the Golden Company's trail. Thousands of marching feet had left a churned up track in an arrow-straight line heading northward.

But for the river Rhoyne flowing beside us, the first couple of days could have been marching exercise back in Braavos. Hours and hours of walking followed by making camp, all without contact with the enemy. I suppose the sentries guarding the camp were more vigilant than they would have been during an exercise, but in any event there were no surprises.

It was on the third day that several scouts reported spotting their opposite numbers from the Golden Company. At that point the game was, as they say, afoot.

The plan was to harry the Golden Company. The broader idea was to put them in a situation where they didn't have any good choices. In this we were greatly aided by the fact that they had been forced to abandon their baggage train. The Golden Company was made up of highly disciplined battle-tested veteran soldiers, but they had to eat just like anybody else. The soldiers probably carried some food with them, but they wouldn't have wanted to be too loaded down during our battle. That meant that they had to get more food from somewhere.

That meant they would need to "live off the land." That could involve hunting food, but more likely meant extorting food from locals who had stored up the fruits of their own labors. They would no doubt give those locals an IOU for the food, but I'd be shocked if any of those IOUs ever turned in to hard cash.

That approach had its drawbacks. One was that it didn't engender much goodwill in the local population. That was a more pressing concern when the local population had hunting rifles, but even in medieval times it wasn't wise to provoke the smallfolk into desperate acts. The other problem was that any given location only had so much food available. The Golden Company might have liked to fort up on defensive terrain to get themselves sorted out and perhaps wait for reinforcements, but they couldn't do it without facing a very real risk of starvation.

They wouldn't run out of water, of course, not marching along the Rhoyne. In theory they could also receive food from the river. Fishing wouldn't be enough to keep them fed, of course, but Qohor or Norvos could ship food down to keep them going. I doubted they would have much success with that, though. We were well south of Dagger Lake. In addition to marking the traditional limits of the maritime influence of the northern Free Cities, Dagger Lake itself presented a serious obstacle to shipping with its rampant piracy. Any ships that made it through would then have to contend with the might of Volantis. Being that it sat on the Summer Sea, Volantis naturally had more of a navy than the landlocked cities. Not all of them could sail the Rhoyne, but now that we had freed the surrounding lands from control by a hostile army I was certain Volantis would be sending enough ships upriver to at least control the Rhoyne below Dagger Lake.

If they couldn't stop, then the Golden Company would have to keep going. That was where the harrying came in. It wouldn't involve any actual combat between foot troops. Rather, it would be a game of cat and mouse between opposing cavalry units. The Golden Company had more cavalry, but would have to spread them out in order to forage as much food as they could. By keeping our forces more concentrated we could pick off isolated units. The Golden Company could respond by consolidating their forces and perhaps attempting to lay some ambushes of their own. The point of the overall effort was to reduce the food they were bringing in and hopefully cause a steady stream of losses.

If they couldn't stop and they couldn't keep going, then at some point the Golden Company would be forced to seek a decisive engagement. That's where the Sunset Legion came in. If the Golden Company attacked us in force our job was to be the rock that could serve as the fulcrum for our allied forces. Whatever happened we would need to hold or, ideally, push the enemy off the battlefield.

I won't lie, it was a little nerve wracking marching along day after day, half-expecting to see a thousand pissed-off troops come steaming toward us from over the next ridge. Our scouts reported the Golden Company showed no signs of turning back, and our own screening force should give us plenty of warning before any actual attack, but that doesn't stop the hind brain from raising the hairs on the back of your neck when you know there are a few thousand soldiers out there who want you dead.

There was also the simple fact that the Golden Company had our allies badly outclassed when it came to cavalry. That gave them a lot of strategic maneuverability if they wanted to use it. If they gathered a couple thousand troops together and decided to head straight for our foot troops, our cavalry wouldn't be able to do much to slow them down. It would be up to the Sunset Legion to see them off. I thought my men could do it-we'd certainly been able to handle the Long Lances-but there was a niggling sense of doubt in the back of my mind.

If I was feeling a bit unsettled, I'd wager the men were worried too. That was why, a week into the pursuit, I broke from my usual routine. I rode at the front of the legion throughout the morning, as was my usual custom, but in the afternoon I hopped off my horse and dropped back to march with the men. As it happened, the commander of the frontmost body of troops was Walder Frey.

"Ho there, Walder! Nice day for a walk."

He nodded as I fell into step alongside him. "I was just saying something similar, Captain. I must admit that the view is better from the front."

I knew that the individual companies rotated in the marching order. I didn't pay much attention to the details. I took a moment to study Walder. His time in the field had done him good. He had lost the softness that a man in a comfortable station tends to acquire in peace time, and acquired a healthy tan and a bit of lean muscle. His eyes, always sharp, had taken on a more serious cast, and he didn't seem at all flustered to be talking to me.

It's a shame that war is so ruinous to nations when it can be so good for young men.

"Still, it's damned inconsiderate of those golden bastards to drag things out like this," I said, shaking my head. "They can't win. With all this running they're only going to die tired."

Walder inclined his head, acknowledging the point. "I will say I look forward to the next group of Dornishmen I meet crossing the Twins."

"Oh?"

"They do go on, you know. Mother Rhoyne, Queen Nymeria, unbowed, unbent, unbroken, and all that. I quite like the idea of mentioning that I helped reconquer their old homeland. The tricky part is to mention it in an offhand sort of way."

I chuckled. I was a little surprised enough Dornish used the Twins to leave Walder with an opinion of them. My memory of the books was that the Dornish had always struck me as arrogant pricks. Searching Brynden's memories, he hadn't met that many Dornishmen... but they were all arrogant pricks. I guess some things were universal.

"Let me know once you've figured it out. I can probably find some Dornish for you to insult without needing to go all the way back to the Twins."

I also didn't want him dwelling too much on thoughts of home. I wasn't under the impression that any of the Freys were tremendously enamored with their living situation, but time away does tend to make the heart grow fonder. Walder had proven to be a capable commander as well as providing a valuable service in gathering information. He could train up a replacement, but I'd much rather he stick around. Besides, I'd grown to like the guy.

I noticed that the man marching next to Walder and a bit behind was obviously listening in to our conversation and smiling at the casual denigration of the Dornish. I caught his eye before I spoke again.

"And you, Carsen? Do enough Dornish truly pass through Fairmarket for you to form an opinion of them?"

"Ser," he said, pulling himself straight as he started at the shock of being addressed. "Begging your pardon, ser, but it don't take many."

I put on a bit of a mock frown at that. "Now lads, when you get a little bit older and wiser you'll realise that there's a balance to everything in this world. You wouldn't appreciate the light of day without the dark of night. You wouldn't appreciate the summer without winter. And without Dornish men, we wouldn't have Dornish women."

Dornish women, as it happened, were behind three of Brynden's five closest brushes with death. The ninepenny war rounded out most of the top ten. Still, as I looked back over the years I couldn't help but agree with the conclusion drawn by a younger Blackfish: totally worth it.

I made conversation with the two of them for a few more minutes before making my excuses and dropping back in the formation to repeat my performance with the commander of the next century in line. It's touchy business, appearing unconcerned with looming danger without seeming dangerously out of touch and without obviously putting on an act. Fortunately, Brynden Tully had years of experience in soothing young warriors, experience that I drew on throughout the day.

I also had a few opportunities to repeat the trick I had pulled with Carsen. I didn't actually know all of my employees by sight. There were too many of them for that to be practical, and honestly the effort involved in even trying to get to know all of them would have involved far too much socialization outside the chain of command to be healthy for the Legion as a whole. But I did know a fair few of them. Enough that I was able to from time to time address somebody casually by name in the middle of a conversation.

A mercenary outfit like ours ran best if the rank and file were convinced that the old man in charge knew everything and was in complete control of the situation. My sore feet were a small price to pay for shoring up those beliefs, and my feel for the men by the end of the day was telling me that our morale was in a good place. In public I was the very picture of confidence and the men drew strength from me.

Sitting up in my tent after the day's march was through, all those worries that I kept hidden tried to bubble up to the surface. Many of them were groundless, or out of my control. If the Long Lances fucked up and were slaughtered to a man it would be disastrous for the campaign, but there wasn't much I could do about it. What I could do-or at least should try to do-was to figure out a solid plan of battle in case the Golden Company chose to make a stand.

Even in a disaster of stampeding elephants and flaming missiles, the Golden Company's heavy cavalry had damn near turned our flank. The Long Lances had held them off, but I didn't like their chances in an extended fight. I was confident that my men could win the infantry battle if given enough time. The problem came down to math: the Golden Company had more cavalry than we did, and man for man they were at least as good as ours. If we split our forces evenly they could split their forces evenly and outnumber us on each flank. Or somebody might get the bright idea to concentrate their forces on one flank and press for a breakthrough while fighting a holding action on the other side.

Essentially, we wanted to stalemate the cavalry battle while the infantry fight decided the outcome, while the Golden Company would be aiming for the exact opposite. It was possible that the Long Lances would manage a heroic effort that would inspire the Windblown skirmishers to go toe to toe with the Golden Company's heavy cavalry and hold them off. But it was a hell of a thing to depend on.

The Golden Company was running right now in part because it was a natural reaction to being pursued, but also because they were still going on the momentum of our first battle. Once they got over that, there was no telling what they would do. It would be pretty fucking embarrassing if they sent us running back the way we had come.

Just as I had every evening after crossing the Rhoyne, I sat up for an hour after curfew staring at the diagram I had drawn of the battle of Selhorys and chewed on my quill, hoping for inspiration to come to me.

ooOoo

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Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 31

AN: Sorry about the delay.

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I came into this world knowing there were two classic beginner's mistakes when it came to tactical warfare: making things too simple, and making things too complicated. However fun and exciting it might feel to zerg rush your opposition, repeating the same thing over and over was eventually going to run you headlong into defeat. On the other hand, there was the problem of friction: passing along messages and coordinating complicated maneuvers was fiendishly difficult in the heat of battle, and turning your troops into a confused mess was just about the worst thing you could ever do during a fight. The trick was coming up with plans that walked the tightrope of being effective while still being possible to carry out.

Brynden's memories weren't a huge help on that front. His experience, as was true of most of the local nobility, focused on logistics, strategy, and morale. It was the pursuit of a morale advantage that lay behind all the endless personal drilling in fighting technique. No one man could cut down enough of an opposing army to make a numerically noticeable impact, but seeing your liege lord up in front fighting was a morale boost like few others. Other than that he knew quite a bit about deciding where an army should go and how an army should go about getting there, but not much on tactical maneuver.

Westeros had the concept of small unit tactics, of course. There were all manner of things one could accomplish with twenty good men. But when you had an army of thousands of men drawn from vassal levies scattered all over the kingdom, there was only so much you could do. You could position them to create an advantage. You could try and maneuver for a terrain advantage of some kind. Once the fighting was imminent, though, the only orders you could really give were to advance or to retreat. And the retreat order was often iffy.

The Sunset Legion had drilled and drilled and drilled until I believed they could do more than that. I was ready to introduce the concept of tactical decisions that went beyond deciding when to commit your reserve. I just wasn't sure whether I would be introducing a new model of combat or providing a cautionary tale for ages to come.

These were the thoughts that ran through the back of my mind as we marched day after day up the Rhoyne. We didn't see hide nor hair of the Golden Company, but our allied cavalry reported plenty of action every night. So far they had been enjoying modest success, though there was always the danger of one giant ambush wiping out days of incremental gains. Around us the terrain grew choppier, the hillcrests packed closer together and higher up. It was a welcome relief after days of fighting up and down those hills when things smoothed out again as we continued on. By the time we were within a week's march of Chroyane the terrain was much like the fields surrounding Selhorys. Not pancake flat, but gently sloped enough that you didn't really notice until you had crested one hill and started down the other side.

The basic mathematical problem facing me hadn't changed. While our outriders were nibbling away at the cavalry advantage enjoyed by the Golden Company, the advantage remained. However we deployed our forces, they would have choices available to them to respond. Being as they had more cavalry, they would be able to choose a cavalry advantage on one or both flanks.

I needed them to make the wrong choice. That was easier said than done. I didn't have any tricks in mind from back home that would get me anywhere-building plywood tanks to fool recon planes wouldn't do much-nor did I have Lann the Clever in my ranks to hide a cavalry squad behind a blade of grass with his tactical genius. There were some things you could do to fool scouts. Set more cooking fires than you really need, march in unusually wide or narrow columns to confuse your trail, that kind of thing. But when it came right down to it there wasn't much you could do to hide the disposition of your forces when you were marching into melee range.

So they would see how our forces were arranged. That didn't mean they necessarily knew what we could do. I could work with that. We might just deliver a surprise that would result in a decisive victory. Or cock things up and get overrun by a thousand knights.

Or we could hold the bulk of our cavalry in reserve and use them to delay whatever the Golden Company tried to do. Just rely on our pikemen to carry the day. That had been our original plan, and it had a lot going for it. One thing was making me nervous, though: my backup plan had always been for us to turtle up, weather a loss, and retreat in good order. That plan became less and less practical the further we marched up the Rhoyne. Managing a retreat to a safe haven a day or two away was a very different thing from two weeks of retreat.

I didn't let on about any of these worries in front of the men, of course. Undermining their morale would be worse than any tactical blunder I could make. I did my best to treat our march like any other, dispensing bad jokes, good advice, and the occasional rebuke for sloppy work. I thought about talking things over with my lieutenants, but ultimately decided against it. I would present any plan I decided on to them for discussion, but it wouldn't do them any good to see me dither.

I did have a few quiet conversations with the other company commanders after the nightly scouting reports. Irrys, of course, was confident in the ability of the Long Lances to outfight their opposition. The Tattered Prince was more cautious, but ultimately believed that past performance predicted future results. A company that had been beaten and was currently on the run was unlikely to muster the fighting spirit to turn around and defeat its pursuers.

We were about a day's march south of Chroyane when his theory would be put to the test.

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I crested the rise to find the sight before me matched the description given by our scouts. The hill sloped down gently for a few hundred yards, turning into a flat plain that stretched for another few hundred yards before sloping up into the next hill. Halfway up the opposite slope a line had been carved into the earth, creating a ditch and rampart defense currently manned by men in shining armor. It was the first time I had laid eyes on the Golden Company since the battle, and if this moment were my first introduction to them I would never have guessed that they had been conducting a hard fought retreat for the last three weeks.

I suppose you don't get a reputation as the best mercenary company in Essos by collecting bottle caps.

In the center of the valley a small party was waiting beneath a flag of parley, seated casually on their horses. I could make out the black heart painted on the shield of the man at the head of the group. Looked like Myles Toyne wanted to talk.

The Tattered Prince and Irrys Marohr had been riding beside me. They finished their survey of the situation and were turning to me as I turned to address them.

"Shall we see what he has to say?"

They both agreed, though it was clear neither expected anything particularly useful to come of it. Still, even mercenaries respected the flag of parley. Attacking the group below was out of the question, so we might as well talk. Even if it devolved into an exchange of insults, there was no harm in it and we might get a chance to take the measure of the man leading the Golden Company.

I'll admit I was curious, too. Brynden only knew Toyne by reputation and I didn't remember him at all.

Someone with sharper eyes than mine counted nine men in the delegation below. We gathered up six other horsemen as escorts and rode down under our own white flag. The Tattered Prince and Irrys fell in behind me. I wasn't too surprised. Irrys wasn't much of a diplomat and the Tattered Prince was a quiet sort. Their willingness to let me do the talking didn't mean that they were letting me run the whole show. I knew more or less what they were willing to agree to. If I went beyond that they wouldn't show dissension in front of the enemy but they'd certainly tear strips out of me once we were back in camp.

I glanced behind us to see that our men were already filing over the ridge and setting to work digging our own ditch and rampart line. Just because we were going to talk didn't mean we had to leave ourselves vulnerable. A parley can always end suddenly and once the parley is over an attack is perfectly honorable.

If Toyne noticed the work going on behind us he didn't pay it any attention. Instead his gaze was fixed on the three of us as we rode into earshot.

"Marohr. Prince. Blackfish."

"Blackheart."

I was tempted to try to needle him. The problem was that I didn't really know what would get under his skin. The kind of people who cheerfully commit heinous war crimes generally aren't the kind to get flustered when you accuse them of committing war crimes. Trying to twit him without knowing what would work would be foolish. Instead I held my tongue and studied the man in silence.

Myles Toyne was an ugly motherfucker. Not the ugliest I'd ever seen, but on the spectrum ranging from a dashing commander on the one hand and a brutish thug on the other he was pretty far along towards the thuggish end of things. His nose was too big for his face and had been broken several times. His ears jutted out on both sides like jug handles, and his lantern jaw had also been broken and reset crooked. Match all that with his receding hairline and the stubble of a man on campaign and you had a face capable of scaring small children.

He also had a black reputation to go along with the black heart blazoned on his shield. It was said that when he marched he left a trail of broken bodies and broken men in his wake.

Looking in his eyes, though, I had my doubts. Brynden had met plenty of out and out sadists in his life, and Toyne didn't carry that air of casual cruelty that Brynden associated with the true psychos. There was a calculating glint in his eyes that didn't match with his brutal reputation.

Toyne had been sizing me up while I was studying him, and apparently decided he had seen enough.

"Your boys fought a hell of a fight back in Selhorys. I can respect that," he said, pausing to hock up a loogie and spit off to the side. "Pull out now and start marching south and I'll let you go. We can fight some other time."

Well, it stood to reason that it took balls to rise to the top in the Golden Company. Still, that was a bit much.

"How generous of you."

Toyne didn't react to the sarcasm. He just kept his steady gaze on me as he spoke.

"Your boys fought hard, but they're green as grass. First time they lose they'll shatter."

That was a fair point. Or it would have been, with an ordinary fighting unit made up of troops the age of my men. Surviving the ups and downs of a miliary campaign bred a certain sort of resilience that was invaluable when it came to holding a unit together through a defeat. I was pretty sure that we had managed to accomplish something similar by virtue of incessant drilling. I'd wager my men would be able to retreat in good order if it came to that. Of course, I was hardly going to get into that discussion now.

"We'll just have to keep winning, then."

He shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't make much difference where we kill them. Must be going soft in my old age."

With that, he spat out another impressive gob of phlegm and turned to ride away, his men following after. The parley was over.

The Golden Company had decided to make their stand. The question now was what we were going to do about it.

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Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 32

AN: Holy cow, almost to the first page of ASoIaF fics by review count.

ooOoo

I was halfway through my breakfast the next day when I heard a lookout call out. His voice didn't have the note of panic in it that would have inspired me to abandon my food. Instead I quickly downed the last of my camp stew and was on my feet mopping up the remnants with a chunk of bread when the messenger reached my tent. I held the bread between my teeth as I tugged my helmet on and gnawed on it as I followed the messenger through our camp. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all, and most armies aren't sporting enough to allow for a snack break if you start to run out of energy mid-battle.

I arrived at the edge of our camp in plenty of time to see what had caused all the commotion. The Golden Company was marching out from behind their defensive position. Rank after rank, they made their way down the hill and formed up in a skirmish line on the valley floor. Our own camp bustled with activity, bugles ringing out and summoning the men to their formation. I sent a messenger to fetch my column commanders and soon Rodrik, Petyr, and Walder were standing beside me, watching the activity below.

Having lost their elephants, the Golden Company was assuming a more conventional formation. The front lines were organized into what seemed to be phalanxes, men armed with spear and shield standing close enough together to cover their neighbor. While visually impressive, I was confident that we could beat them. The simple physics of pushing with two hands on a twenty foot spear instead of with one hand on an eight to ten foot spear made for a decisive advantage. Behind the phalanx stretched an almost equal number of lightly armored missile troops of all sorts. Their cavalry was split off to the sides of the formation, divided roughly equally with a small group kept in reserve.

They moved with quiet professionalism, quickly sorting themselves out into a formation that was as neat and tidy as if it were drawn up in a textbook. Once they were in place they marched forward in unison. They had nearly reached the center of the valley when they came to a halt, another maneuver that would have earned praise on a parade ground.

A ripple of relaxation ran through our camp as it became clear that we weren't facing an imminent assault.

"Looks like they want a battle," I said. I wondered how much of a wait it would take before that professional image cracked and they started shouting insults up at our camp.

"They're starving and desperate," Walder said. "Let them stand there and sweat."

"We've been chasing them for weeks and now they're right there," Petyr said. "Let's gut the bastards."

"We're going to have to fight them eventually," Rodrik said. "Although I dare say I'd rather they had to run uphill first."

"I do believe this calls for a command meeting," I said. "Rodrik, get the men in marching order then release them in shifts to finish eating and tidying up the camp."

Even if we did decide to grant the Golden Company their wish and meet them in battle, it wouldn't be any time soon. Making a bold move as they had was often good for a morale boost. Letting them stew for a while ought to take the edge off of that, while our men could take their time and be at peak readiness when it was time to fight.

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The other two company commanders had had a similar thought, and we were soon gathered together on the hillside just outside of and below our fortifications. We were each mounted and positioned so that we could look out onto the valley below while we spoke with each other.

"So, Golden Company is ready for fight after all," Irrys said. He sounded almost pleased.

"A good meal will stiffen anyone's spine," the Tattered Prince commented. Seeing the looks of surprise on our faces, he explained.

He had sent some scouts out rather closer to the Golden Company's camp than I had dared. During the night they saw several ships pull up on the river bank. The ships weren't flying any flag, and none of them were maintained to any kind of military standard. They were, however, well loaded down, judging by the time spent unloading boxes. The scout had stayed long enough to see the general level of enthusiasm with the delivery and the immediate transport of the boxes to the camp's cook fires before making his way back and giving his report.

That changed things. I had been relying on the pirates of Dagger Lake to deny the Golden Company any resupply from Qohor or Norvos. It wasn't wrong to think that they would try to capture anything valuable heading down the river, but the pirates were hardly loyal to Volantis. They had no reason not to take the Golden Company's money. I doubted that they had enough food on hand to keep the whole army fed, but trying to starve our way to victory just got a lot more difficult.

We were close to the edge of Volantene control over the Rhoyne, even as reckoned on the most optimistic maps back in Volantis. Could they send enough naval power up here to stop the food smuggling? Sure. Would they? Probably not. And if they did it certainly wouldn't be in a timely fashion. So sitting in our camp and waiting for the Golden Company to run out of food was no longer a viable option.

What's more, that meant that the challenge the Golden Company was presenting by marching out and offering battle was not the desperate throw of the dice that it had seemed. Instead, it was an effort to complete the reversal of morale that had occurred over the past couple of days. For weeks the Golden Company had been on the run, scrambling for food to fend off starvation. Now, they had a base of operations. They had asserted control over a particular piece of land. They had some semblance of a supply chain. If they were willing to fight us out in the open and we weren't willing to fight them, then all of a sudden they were the force with strategic mobility on its side.

Staying in camp and refusing to fight was always going to rankle. I could sell it to the men if it was something that would lead to an inevitable victory. Now, though, it sure would look a lot like cowardice. It would also show a lack of confidence in my men. That was a poison that could linger for a long time.

The Tattered Prince had obviously had the time to work through the implications of the news before he shared it with us. He waited patiently, though, holding his peace as we processed the information. It was Irrys who spoke first.

"Attack is not just chasing glory, then."

I felt a weight that I hadn't been aware of fall off of my shoulders. He was right. There was no real decision to be made now. We could pull back. Put things off. But if we couldn't beat the Golden Company now, when could we beat them? If we declined a fight on a level field of battle now, how could we ask our men to fight the Golden Company later, under worse circumstances? Volantis might hire some reinforcements, but Qohor and Norvos could do the same thing. At some point we were going to have to prove that we were better than the other guys if we wanted to win this war. We wouldn't get a better chance than today.

The sudden absence of worry brought into sharp relief something that had been nagging at me for a while. Part of me was still new to leading troops, and very new to the idea of heading into a close run battle. That part of me had nurtured the suspicion that I might just be the worst kind of glory hound: sending young men off to die in order to build up my own reputation. Picking a fight with the Golden Company just to write my name in the history books with the blood of men who trusted me.

Now that I was looking at it squarely, I could see that the idea was nonsense. The men following me knew the risks when they signed up. They looked up to me, they respected me, but they knew combat was a dangerous thing. They were still ready, hell, they were still eager, to get out there and fight. All they asked from me was to give them the best chance possible to win. After all, they shared in the glory of anything we accomplished together.

I nodded as I came to a conclusion. "Let's use the unbalanced formation."

Both of them looked at me, a little uncertain. It was the Tattered Prince who spoke.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded again. "If we're going to wager it all, I'll bet on my men."

ooOoo

It was a lovely day for a battle. The sun had burned away the early morning overcast and was providing a pleasant warmth that had not yet turned into the oppressive heat of the afternoon. The sun seemed to shine down on us from across the river Rhoyne, throwing sparkling reflections off the water. With the battlefield oriented north to south neither army would be staring into the sun.

We formed up out in front of our camp. Down below in the valley the Golden Company had relaxed as the hours dragged on but pulled themselves back into readiness when we made our move.

As always, the Sunset Legion was at the heart of our formation. Petyr had command of the first column. Fifty men wide by twenty men deep, it was the Legion column closest to the river and would be the first unit to close with the enemy. To their left the second column was of a similar makeup and stood ten paces back. They were under the command of Walder Frey. The reserve column was another ten paces back and compared to the other two was rotated ninety degrees, standing twenty men wide and fifty men deep. Steady Rodrik Lolliston was in charge of them. In our previous battles the reserves had never had more than mopping up to do. I suspected that was about to change today.

Where our formation differed from the usual was in the disposition of the allied troops. A small force of skirmishers and light cavalry protected the left flank, and another small force of cavalry was behind the main formation in reserve, but by far the majority of the Windblown and the Long Lances were positioned on the right flank, between Petyr's men and the river. We could wind up with a cavalry advantage on the right flank, depending on how the Golden Company responded. At the very least the change in formation should prompt them to make a change in response. I was quite curious to see what they did.

This was a battle that was going to come down to fighting spirit and perhaps tactical acumen. I was just about out of superweapons. We had a few of the alcohol grenades remaining. I would have loved to have more. The shock value would be less, now that they had seen them in action, but it's hard to become totally inured to the prospect of being lit on fire. For that matter, now that the Golden Company had seen the grenades at work, even the threat of them might be unnerving. To that end, I had once again seeded torchbearers throughout our formation. Unlike last time, most of them had crossbows slung across their backs and were under orders to snuff their torches and start shooting once they were in range. Only a few torches would be needed to light off the last few grenades. They were clustered in Petyr's column to give him a little more punch at the point of attack.

I took one last look over the line. Everybody was in place. I nodded to the drummer. He beat out a steady rhythm, and on the second repetition the men began to march. The fate of this war was in their hands now.

ooOoo

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Chapter 882 - gg