299 AC
The gates of Griffin's Roost fell at dawn.
The crimson sun rose over the hills of the Stormlands, casting red shades across the wet stones of the keep's battlements. Smoke curled from the smouldering remains of the outer courtyard, where the sellswords of the Golden Company had set fire to the defenders' barricades in the night. What few Stormlander knights still stood within the gatehouse had either yielded by hornblast or been cut down before the portcullis.
Harry Strickland walked beneath the arch like a conqueror, his yellow-and-white cloak fluttering behind him, his golden helm—crested with a snarling black eagle—tucked beneath one arm. Mud streaked his boots, and blood caked his mail, but the wear of the campaign had not dulled the steely pride in his eyes.
Atop the ramparts, the banners of House Connington—red and white griffins on white and red field—were torn down by the Black Balaq and replaced with the golden banner of the Golden Company.
"The Roost is yours, Commander Harry," said Athelstan, wiping his blade clean of blood. "But Storm's End still holds. Too well, it seems."
"Captain Gower sent word?" Harry asked, looking curiously at his most trusted captain in the company.
"He has. It seems Renly Baratheon has holed himself behind the high walls of Storm's End and seem to be holding it steady."
Harry turned his gaze inland, toward the distant, unseen coast. The skies there hung low with thunderclouds.
"Let him hold the castle for now," Harry murmured, though his tone was sour. "We will wrench it loose from the little stag soon enough."
Harry had already learned Ser Trystan Rivers had taken Crow's Nest, and Laswell Peake was closing in on Rain House. House Morrigen had surrendered, and Ser Trystan was asked to send the hostages to Greenstone. The same fate awaited House Wylde once Laswell Peake took Rain House.
In Harry's mind, Renly Baratheon's good days were numbered.
******
Barristan stood still as a statue as the wind from Blackwater Bay blew past him, carrying the salty scent of the sea. His ears could still hear the waves kissing the shores of King's Landing even though he was camped at the southern banks of the Blackwater. At least, he thought he did. Having spent most of his life in the city, the sound of the waves remained in his mind.
But he was not alone. He was with his squire Edric Storm and an army of Crownlanders under his command.
It was unusual for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to be away from his king's side, but Barristan was not complaining. Recent events had made his mind conflicted, as it became a tug of war between his vows. The vows he swore to Robert Baratheon and Stannis Baratheon conflicted with the earlier vows he swore to House Targaryen.
Word travelled fast of Daenerys Targaryen's ascension as queen and the hatching of three dragons. The last part was something he wasn't sure whether to believe or not. But Lord Varys had informed the Small Council of the dragons and the threat they posed.
True, the dragons were hatchlings and not much of a threat to the Baratheon reign. But each day the dragons would grow, and the longer they lived, the harder it became to kill them.
Knowing this, he feared the king would ask him to attack Dragonstone and kill Daenerys. Thankfully, his fears were unfounded, and he was charged with raising an army from the Crownlands and the Reach to push back the Golden Company from the Stormlands. Lord Renly had already been sent to gather the Stormlords to repel the Dornish host.
Barristan sighed. He had thought to live his final years in quiet service, perhaps as protector of the boy who might carry royal blood and the hope of a different king. When he had offered his sword to Stannis Baratheon, it had been with a soldier's conviction: to serve the realm, to follow the man he believed bore the truest claim after Robert's fall. He had seen the rot in Aerys' court, the disinterest of Robert in the matters of the realm.
Stannis, grim and cold, had offered law and justice to the Seven Kingdoms. But now, two Targaryens were out to reclaim their throne.
Once again, Barristan thanked the Seven for he was saved from facing Aegon Targaryen in the field of battle. Even though he had his suspicions of Aegon's authenticity due to the Golden Company's involvement, he suspected his sword arm might shake if he were to face the boy in battle.
But facing the Golden Company on the battlefield was something he could do with a clear conscience.
"Move faster, Edric." Barristan shouted, seeing his squire struggle against Ser Renfer Brune.
Barristan observed the youngster try to fall back under the relentless assault of the Brune knight.
Despite his young squire's inexperience, Edric managed to hold his ground. Edric slowly but surely retreated while defending his position with the Warhammer, Godsgrief.
"Stop." Barristan ordered. "Good fight, Ser Renfer."
The Brune knight nodded and left the blunted sword on his way out of the practice field.
Barristan looked at the sweaty face of his squire.
"You're still too eager to charge in with the hammer, lad. You need to temper yourselves before your opponent takes advantage of your eagerness."
"I'm using a hammer. You told me to always get inside the guard of my opponent, as most men use swords." Edric said with a sigh.
"Yes, and the men you fight know that too. So, you'd better be very good at your defence because your opponent will always try to keep you at a distance." Barristan advised.
"Everyone says my father was like a storm on the battlefield." said Edric.
"King Robert was a man of great speed and ferocity. His blows were relentless, but his defence was also strong. He was quick on his feet, and his hammer served as much as a shield on the battlefield." Barristan said, reminiscing about that day at the Trident where the fate of Westeros was changed forever.
Sometimes, he wished he had perished there on the battlefield with Prince Rhaegar. It'd have been an honourable end. But instead, he lived long enough to serve two more kings and watched one of his brothers commit the worst of sins and sully the good name of the order.
His only consolation was that Jamie Lannister paid for his sins in blood.
'Perhaps, the Warrior will smile upon me and give me the honour of dying in battle this time.' Barristan mused as he looked further south, where the Kingsroad stretched further into the heart of the Stormlands.
That night, he walked the campsite alone. He watched the men drink and sing from the shadows. The campfires cast long shadows which twisted and turned as if dancing to some tune of an invisible bard.
"Ser Barristan." Maester Mylos called for him.
"Maester." Barristan acknowledged the young maester with a nod.
"We have received a raven from Lord Renly. He has arrived at the castle and called the banners." Maester Mylos reported.
"The trap is set. Good." Barristan let out a relieved sigh. "Let's see whether the Golden Company takes the bait. Inform lords Rykker, Brune, Buckwell and Hayford that we march on first light."
"As you wish, Ser." Maester Mylos nodded before leaving in a rush.
Barristan was left alone to observe the camp in peace. He was close to returning to his homeland, and this time he would have the chance to do his sworn duty and defend House Selmy from foreign invaders. He honestly hoped he'd get his end and become one with the soil of the Stormlands.
'I have served four kings. Not one more.' Barristan prayed.
******
The rains fell hard upon the Stormlands from early morning, as if the gods themselves wept at the blood soon to be spilt. Thunder rumbled across the brooding skies, rolling over the cliffs and hills like war drums.
Beneath the thundering skies and rain, Barristan rode silently beneath the white cloak, its shiny folds soaked with rain and mud. The old knight's armour gleamed faintly despite the downpour, polished with ritual care the night before. He sat astride his warhorse in plated armour, steady despite the muck. Around him stretched a Baratheon host, lean and hardened, quiet in anticipation of battle to work as the hammer to crush the Golden Company against the sturdy walls of the ancestral seat of House Baratheon.
Storm's End lay veiled in mist and shadow on the horizon, a hulking fortress of ancient stone perched defiantly against the sea. The banners of the Golden Company flapped above their siege lines, a hundred campfires hissing in the rain. Siege towers stood half-erected, and catapults only half complete.
The men of the Golden Company were veterans of war in Essos. This made the individual sellswords a worthy foe in one-on-one battle.
However, Barristan was not sending his men to wage a one-on-one battle against such experienced foes. His men were more experienced in picking crops than cleaving heads. Some among his men were good hunters, but most of them had never hunted other men.
He was not the only one to know this. The captains of Golden Company also knew the knights were the most hardened warriors Westeros could offer, not the foot soldiers.
'They think themselves better in combat than the average farmer with a spear in hand. Let them think like that until the light leaves their eyes.' Barristan thought.
He had four thousand men under his command. They had travelled from the King's Landing, hugging the treelines and skirting the Kingsroad, hiding their movement in night and fog. They had even chosen to go around the Wendwater bridge and made a crossing where the river flowed with less force. All the while, their scouts had kept a close watch on the sellswords besieging Storm's End.
The Golden Company had pressed hard from the south, crossing the Rainwood on a rushed march but staying far away from Griffin's Roost. Their siege of Storm's End had been well-planned—too well-planned.
Barristan suspected there were traitors in the Stormlands. The sellswords and the Dornish host were moving faster and unchallenged in one of the most martial kingdoms of Westeros. The fall of House Estermont and the Marcher lords was too quick, which made him suspect there were traitors within the Stormlands undermining Lord Renly and King Stannis.
"Too bold for the sellswords." Lord Rykker whispered. "They have left their rear unprotected."
"Aye. They'll pay dearly for that mistake." Barristan said.
Barristan surveyed the siege encampment laid out below them. The Golden Company had positioned their main forces on the dry northern fields where catapults and towers could operate. Supply wagons ran from a distant rear camp behind the hills further south. Several thousand were spread along the western cliff, hemming themselves in orderly fashion for some reason.
'Probably to assault the western portion of the castle wall.' Barristan thought.
Barristan turned to his lieutenants—Ser Renfer Brune, the grim Lord Renfred Rykker, and the tall, dour knight Ser Rolland Storm, the bastard of Nightsong. It was Ser Rolland who helped them navigate safely and unseen by the enemy scouts. The man had fought valiantly against the Dornish army despite the fall of Nightsong.
"You will ride with the flanking host, Ser Renfer. Take six hundred through the treelines and strike the supply lines. Burn everything."
Renfer nodded and pulled his steel helm down.
"It will be done, Lord Commander."
Barristan nodded and addressed the remaining two.
"Ser Rolland, Lord Rykker—you ride with me. We go straight into their gut. It'll be the signal for Lord Renly to ride out and finish the sellswords between our two hosts."
"It'd be an honour to ride by your side, Ser." Ser Rolland nodded with a fierce look.
"The honour will be mine. Let's ensure this remnant of the Blackfyre rebellion meets its end today." Barristan said with a firm nod.
The Baratheon army broke into two columns. One wound its way toward the rear, silent as ghosts. The other swept down from the ridge in a thunder of hooves and steel, banners whipping, crowned stags and the many banners of the Crownlands charging down the slope as warhorns screamed.
The Golden Company reeled.
Barristan rode at the front, his longsword drawn, the rain glistening along its edge. He felt the old fire again—the thrill of battle, the song of steel, the thunder in his heart. Around him, men shouted the names before they crashed into the centre of the sellswords.
"Storm's End! Baratheon! King Stannis! Selmy!" the men shouted.
The first enemy line broke like dry twigs. The sellswords in their haste made a poor line to defend their centre. Barristan's horse trampled a spearman, and his sword flashed out, catching a sellsword in the neck, cutting a long red line through the neck. He wheeled his horse, parried another strike, then plunged his sword forward, cutting through the unprotected throat of another sellsword. All the while, his men plunged through the chaos and mud upon their horses.
Barristan heard warhorns blowing from inside the castle and watched Baratheon knights ride out from the castle and slam into the shocked lines of the Golden Company.
The Baratheon knights slammed into the mercenaries with disciplined fury, with Lord Renly leading the charge. The entrenched helm of the king's brother would be seen, and the men of Storm's End roared in their vigour, cutting down anything on their path. The storm had soaked the fields, making cavalry charges murderous; mud trapped boots and drowned the wounded. Lightning lanced the sky, illuminating the horror—shattered helms, broken standards, men screaming for mothers or mercy.
"Baratheon! Baratheon! Baratheon!" the men started chanting with fervour.
In that moment, Barristan was taken back to the battle of the Trident. He felt like he was fighting side by side with Robert Baratheon in that moment.
He quickly returned to reality and, with practised ease, swatted away a spear aimed at his side. He pulled the reins of his horse and galloped over his foe, crushing bone beneath the hooves.
"It's too soon." Barristan muttered, seeing the sellswords in greater numbers rushing towards Renly.
"To Lord Renly!" Barristan shouted.
He abandoned the plan to encircle the Golden Company in favour of keeping Renly alive.
Barristan found himself facing a group of disorganised pikemen who braced against him. He didn't slow. His horse veered slightly, and he leapt down into the mud as the beast ploughed through. A pike grazed his arm, but he surged forward, slashing low to hamstring a man, then thrusting his blade through a second's chest.
A horn blew to the west.
Ser Renfer Brune and his vanguard had reached the siege engines. A trebuchet went up in flames. Siege towers tumbled as burning pitch was hurled on them. The Golden Company began to panic, unsure whether to hold the lines or defend the rear.
Then came the cry on the battlefield.
"They're in the camp!"
Ser Renfer's flanking force arrived in greater numbers, cutting through the sellswords from the rear, splitting the enemy host in two. Barristan saw the smoke curling beyond the rear hills, fires devouring the mercenary tents and wagons. Horses broke free. Arrows flew as the supply guards tried to hold their ground, but the Baratheon men cut through them in the smoke.
The Golden Company began to panic and started to break off. They ran for their lives in all directions, scattering across the land in panic.
Some held firm, grizzled veterans with years of war behind them. One captain, a silver-haired man with a two-handed axe, rallied a dozen around him. They fought hard, killing ten before Barristan reached them. He met the captain's gaze, the recognition silent. The sellsword raised his axe.
Barristan struck first.
Their blades clanged once, twice. The third time, Barristan slid under the man's guard and drove a dagger through the sellsword's side. The captain dropped his axe and fell to his knees, staring at the blood on his hands before collapsing into the mud. A swift slash with his sword made the sellsword lose his head.
By midafternoon, the field was soaked in blood, and the golden Company was in full retreat to further south.
Barristan stood atop a rise near the mangled remains of the siege towers, panting. His sword was red, his cloak torn. Around him, the Baratheon banners flew again, and the men chanted his name.
"Ser Rolland." Barristan called loudly, attracting the knight of Nightsong.
"Yes, Ser."
"Give them chase. Take the best archers with you. Take prisoners if you can." Barristan ordered.
"With pleasure, Ser." Ser Rolland grinned under his bloody helm and cajoled his horse towards the men.
He watched the knight gather a good number of men in haste and chase after the fleeing sellswords. He had seen the knight of Nightsong showing great bravery in the field of battle.
'Bravery that could lead to legitimisation.' Barristan mused.
He made a mental note to send a raven to King Stannis requesting the legitimisation. Ser Rolland had fought on bravely even after many of the Marcher lords surrendered to Aegon. That kind of courage merited a suitable reward in his eyes.
A scout approached from the side, gaining Barristan's attention.
"Ser! A rider from within Storm's End."
Out rode a single man, clad in battered plate, his surcoat bearing the antlered stag. He dismounted before Barristan and dropped to one knee.
"Salutations to you, Ser Barristan. Lord Renly extends his warmest welcome to you and your men. The Lord of Storm's End welcomes you to dine with him and celebrate this victory."
"Very well." Barristan said with a sigh. "Tell Lord Renly that I'm most honoured and accept his invitation."
The last thing he wanted was to celebrate the victory with Renly Baratheon. But it was not as if he could refuse the Lord of Storm's End.
He got the opportunity to clean himself up from the blood, sweat and mud once he was welcomed into the castle and provided suitable quarters. Lord Renly tended to take after his older brother too much in celebrations, but the man was known for his courtesy.
A feast was hastily arranged that night, and several barrels of wine were freely given away to the men by Lord Renly's order. A fact that delighted the men who fought to relieve Storm's End from the siege. The men showed their appreciation by toasting loudly to Renly Baratheon inside the walls of Storm's End.
"Let every soul here remember this day. The Golden Company came to terrorise our home. Let this field be their grave." Renly declared to the cheers of many inside the feast hall.
"To Ser Barristan and the valiant knights and lords of the Crownlands." Renly raised his cup in a toast. "To our brothers in arms, whose ferocity broke the Golden Company."
A cheer rose.
That night, they burned the dead. The smoke curled into the black sky as the rain lessened, the storm retreating toward the sea. Barristan stood alone on the battlements of Storm's End, gazing out to the dark waters. He knew it was silly to celebrate after winning a battle.
After all, the war was far from over. This was just the beginning.
AN:
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
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