The frightened Dothraki scattered in all directions, like a flock of ducks when a lone hawk stoops from the sky.
The guttural cries of the horsefuckers, their savage howls, groans, and screams of pain rang out like the tolling of some vast and merciless bell. I shivered despite myself — Jaime had taken the battle firmly in hand, and now it was plain to all that this was no longer a fight, but a slaughter.
And slaughter was something the Lannisters knew how to do better than almost anyone in Westeros.
No mercy. No hesitation. No quarter…
Jaime drove the Dothraki before him, sweeping around the battlefield in a broad arc and falling upon the remaining Unsullied from the rear.
Randyll Tarly, though I cannot say how he managed to see everything from his own flank, began withdrawing instead. From afar, it appeared as though Dorne had begun to prevail.
The Dornishmen took heart and seemed to sense that all was not yet lost for them. They struck with such force that, only minutes later, a messenger came galloping from Tarly. It turned out I had been mistaken — the lord of Horn Hill was not feigning retreat at all! He truly was being hard-pressed.
The Dornish seemed suddenly to realize that the battle had not yet been decided, that victory might still be within their grasp. They struck with tremendous force and very nearly shattered our right flank.
I sent Tarly the entirety of the infantry reserve — two thousand men. Horns sang out, and the men broke into a run.
For near half an hour, everything hung by the thinnest of threads. Randyll Tarly, snarling defiance at the enemy, continued to give ground step by step. The warriors locked in battle were cut down as though by some vast, invisible scythe.
The Dornish warhorns rang bright and clear, while their proud banners — Martell, Yronwood, and Fowler — forgetting centuries of hatred and ancient enmity, united into a single mighty fist and continued to strike, slash, and thrust…
Meanwhile, Jaime's furious advance had halted the enemy reserve, and once more the battle froze in uncertainty.
By then the sun had nearly reached its zenith. The fighting had raged for several hours, and men on both sides were beginning to tire. Arms no longer wielded weapons with their former strength, the first savage exhilaration had faded, and the battle itself had become exhausting.
At one point, the Dornish advanced too far and exposed themselves. Our archers immediately began showering them with arrows. Better still, the shots struck them in the flank, which made the task all the easier.
The Dornish formations wavered, lost momentum, and became bogged down within our lines.
***
An hour later, Jaime, showing remarkable command and near-miraculous gift for order, hacked his way through the last of the enemy reserves.
His knights left behind a field churned to mud beneath pounding hooves, strewn with dead Dothraki and their horses — dying, groaning, stunned, and wounded. Sweeping in a wide arc, they fell upon the rear of the Unsullied, cutting down every foe before them and steadily forcing the enemy back toward the waters of the Blueburn.
Some of the Dothraki managed to break free from the trap. Edmure Tully rode after them with a thousand horse, driving them southward.
And yet the Unsullied neither fled nor abandoned their queen. They managed to reform their ranks, and despite being surrounded on three sides, they continued slaughtering my men, piling up veritable mountains of corpses.
That day, the Unsullied proved themselves worthy rivals even for the finest infantry in Westeros.
Jaime sent a squire asking for aid. I knew he would never ask lightly, and if he was calling for support, then the situation truly was dire.
I looked about me slowly. There were no troops left.Every reserve had been drained to the dregs. All that remained were the Holy Order, Honor and Valor, the Roaring Fire, my bodyguards, and my retinue.
"To the attack! We ride to aid the Lord Commander!" I settled more firmly into my saddle and turned toward Fell. "Lead our force in an arc, like this." I indicated the direction with my sword.
He nodded, acknowledging the sense in the maneuver.
We advanced at a trot, steadily and inexorably gathering speed as we swept around the still-raging center and the dying fires where Drogon had fallen. It seemed as though the earth itself trembled beneath the charge. Boom, boom, boom went the horses' hooves, and the echo of their thunder stirred the blood.
For one fleeting moment, amidst the stench and reek, I caught the faint fragrance of Cloverfield itself. Where once there had been a magnificent carpet of flowers, now there was only wet, churned earth, ploughed under by thousands of hooves and feet. And still, it lived and breathed.
With me rode William Mooton, Yohn Royce, the Holy Order, all the Kingsguard, and Tyrek Lannister.
Gordik Shelby gathered his Honor and Valor company and hurled himself toward the center. That was it. We had spent our final reserves. Now everything depended upon us alone. And by then, I already knew what tremendous power the king's personal presence exerted upon a battlefield.
Rolf Keith unfurled the enormous royal standard bearing lion and stag alike. Now that only one dragon remained — and riderless at that — it could finally be done safely.
"The King is with us! Joffrey is with us!" several brazen voices roared at once.
Our entire wedge — fewer than a thousand men — struck cleanly into the seam between the remnants of the Unsullied and the Dothraki pressed against them.
Lances shattered with dry cracks. Some men were hurled high above the press, while others fell beneath the horses and were trampled into the mud.
Silveraxe broke through the enemy line and kept driving, the full weight of our formation behind him. I found myself somewhere near the middle of the wedge, edged toward the flank, and began laying about me with my lance.
When it lodged fast in some man's body, I let it go and drew Winds of Change.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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