[h1][b][color=FFD700][center]The Roseroad/Crownlands[/center][/color][/b][/h1] The forces divided, as Garland, Alerie and Daenys split off, 6,000 going down the Roseroad and into the more exposed plains. It was there that the fighting started, and indeed, it was a move that had proved to be working at first. The Crakehall forces had taken the bait, and unbeknownst to Garland, they were not doing well at all. But they were buying time, and they had drawn forces. Or at least, that seemed to be the case, in part. There was no doubt a thickly air of tension that felt like it was being shattered, and the fighting, as skirmished as it was, was not going well for the Reachmen, outnumbered almost two and a half times to one. The field was open, and it was not going to end well, though the willingness of the men to push against the Westermen seemed to work, pinning them as best as they could with their pikes and cavalry charges, seeking to push and hold territory rather than flat-out kill any Crakehall. It was attrition, and at the very least, it could hold for an hour or two...albeit at a cost of both routing and many, many dead Reachmen. Unbeknownst to Garland, half of the men on the field south-west of King's Landing were going to die, the other half would run to Tumbleton and not return. Riding on, Garland's forces were on the roads heading to the Kingsroad, through the Kingswood. Alerie herself, in her carriage wouldn't have even known about the fighting that was happening in the distance. As the evening began to arrive, the fighting intensified. It wasn't known if it was a Tyrell sword or a Crakehall one that was drawn first, but there was now a skirmish south-west of King's Landing, and it looked overwhelmingly like it was not a friendly fight at all. Owing to the fact that Lord Rowan of Goldengrove was among their presence, they would put up some stiff resistance, but they wouldn't be a fighting force at the end of it- even Garland knew that. Still, there was a fight to be had, and Garland only could tell that if they wished to get into the capital, there was no other way than direct confrontation. It was a transgression of his Handship, and as he had stated in his letter, to back down would be to let them besiege and take King's Landing. Garland wouldn't let that happen, even if he didn't want blood. Moving to the rear of the unit, Garland stayed with the rear guard, to bolster the predominantly Bitterbridge men, Lord Caswell not among their presence, in order to give the tired men a little more morale, chatting to many a Knight, The fighting could be heard getting closer and closer, and as the sun began to sit on the horizon between the pines, the rush seemed to be far, far more urgent. -------- (a [@agentmanatee] and kingkonrad collab) [h1][b][color=FFD700][center]The Kingswood[/center][/color][/b][/h1] [center] [img]http://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/thumb/2/24/Tomasz_Jedruszek_HouseTyrell_Bannermen.jpg/350px-Tomasz_Jedruszek_HouseTyrell_Bannermen.jpg[/img][/center] The evening was beginning to die, as the tracks through the Kingswood were filled with horses, carriages and men moving fast, the sound of distant fighting loud and clear, blood being shed, Reachman and Westerman, this being a fight, not some parlay anymore. And in the Kingswood, among the pines and other trees, were the last of The Reach's forces, it's rear guard. The bulk had already passed through, and his plan seemed to be working, though Garland knew nothing of how devastating the fight was in the fields outside of King's Landing, the 6,000 strong retinue that had held the rest of the encamped forces at bay now. Garland continued to ride, moving through the forest as he saw his men pick off a number of Crakehall forces, by a small encampment. "Forward! We haven't got time to dawdle, we must advance on the gate!" Garland yelled, his helm on, breathing hard as he looked around, the sight of men moving quickly, advancing on their own horses, the small skirmishes dying down. He took it in on the distance, the numbers of Crakehalls that had suddenly decided to appear, and appear in force. They were intercepting, and had come to this flank for a reason, seeing it as weak. Garland knew they couldn't pass, not if they wanted to hold their pocket for a little longer and get as many Tyrells into King's Landing as possible. The Crakehall men were moving through the forest, some on foot, some on horseback, arrows not flying for the mere reason of the trees, but some bowmen were picking off lucky shots. It was there that Garland saw it, as he realized their number. They were at least double his own rear guard, and they had known this route, it seemed, albeit they hadn't closed the net just yet. They couldn't charge through. They were breaking apart this formation. Alerie, Daenys, they were ahead, he could already tell, they had advanced onto the Kingsroad, but they were still a distance away. Stopping the horse, Garland looked over, sword drawn, as he swung it in the general direction of the Crakehalls. They had to attack. "We hold the line, they get through us, they'll cut the rest of our forces to pieces! Charge!" Willow responded, as the Tyrell Lord, and his guard charged in counter to the foot-mobile Crakahall force, Garland swinging his sword and killing one, wounding another as he rode back around, the rest of his men yelling. They were outnumbered, even here, significantly. The rest of the men were making progress or fighting other units, but right here, Garland was getting bogged down. Dismounting the horse as he moved out from the Crakehall men, he raised his Heater up fully, and moved up, a number of his guardsmen following, as pikes were raised. Two horses were taken down by Pikes, but they were quickly cut down, as the Crakehall host arrived. The trees shook in the breeze, but the noise was insignificant compared to the yelling and the letting of blood that was going on, the sun barely poking between, the banners of the Rose and the banners of the Boar coming together in a melee. Even Garland could tell, his strategic decision had worked, but this was not something that was needed. They couldn't flee this, they had to hold, and defeat these men, before leaving. It would leave the rest exposed, and it would be a failure on their part, be run down by this host. Garland moved forward and took a sword in his shield, swinging hard as he stabbed clean through the Crakehall man's throat, before pushing him over with the shield, moving forward as his guards continued to fight, the results mixed, some getting cut down, some making progress forwards, but overall, even Garland could feel that they were getting swamped. He moved forwards and made a low blow against an axeman, feeling a strong blow against his shoulder as Garland swung out, a high blow that axed through the Westerman's head, the longsword splitting it down, as Garland pulled the sword out. He had his strength, but he could already tell, even if he could kill this number. He stood tall in his armour, his ornate helm still over his head, and it wouldn't be difficult to find him at all. The Crakehall men did not seem to have a distinct figure among them, not that Garland could see yet, as he moved forward, holding his shield up as one of his men took out a Crakehall in front of him, with a sharp slice through the chest. "We have to stop them advancing, hold fast!" Garland yelled at the top of his voice, the Reach Lord inspiring his men, but he himself even knew only inspiration could do so much. They had to get out of here soon, before they did get overwhelmed entirely, and got out of there. His life mattered, that much Garland knew, but he had to fight, show courage, not be a coward. He was Garland Tyrell, The Young Rose, and his bravery was what made his Kingdom so chivalrous, what meant women adored him. He had to be a real figure, and not run away from this, like some craven would. Or else his sister could die, or even worse, Daenys could be found. Lorch had dismounted and was cutting down any Tyrell man dumb enough to try and stop him. Some knight charged him, sword raised, Lorch parried the heavy handed strike to his left, and impaled the fool through the neck, his sword sticking out the back of his head after he had shoved it between the mans gorget and helmet. He drew the blade out. As the man fell, he saw what he was looking for. Garland Tyrell stood, alone, his guards occupied with other men, and Garland cutting down one of his men. The axe man fell, but it din't matter, Lorch hadn't been seen yet. He rushed at Garland, shouting his challenge to the 'young rose' loudly, [color=00aeef]"GARLAND TYRELL! The Young Rose!"[/color], Lorch charged, a thrust aimed for his neck. Garland looked over, looking across at Lorch, turning quickly as he raised his heater shield, the Ironwood shield barely stopping Lorch's sword, as he pushed back, throwing him forward a little, Garland back, his guard fully engaged and unable to stop, that is, apart from one. One of the men at Garland's side turned to Lorch, and charged on him, but it was not before another Westerman had already stabbed a pike through his plate, impaling him gruesomely, blood gushing onto the floor. Garland looked over at Lorch, his thoughts cold, his breath heavy, his mind focused. Blood stained over his gauntlets, his sword was confident in his hand, his shield clasped strong in his left. He looked into Tywin's eyes through his visor, and did not respond. He did not need to. He lashed out, moving forward, using his shield as a heavier stop to stop any lower attacks from Lorch, just hoping he could take a bold move. He gave a swing, and felt it clash against the Westerman's blade, as they interlocked, Garland swinging it once more and brushing his shoulder, as he felt himself then get pushed back, his shield smashed aside hard, something that only a very good fighter could do. Most couldn't breach it, but Garland knew at this moment, that he was indeed, fighting a fight against a man who knew his sword far, far too well. Garland continued to hold, watching Lorch circle, to pick out any holes. Garland swung out, and the sword clashed, as they pushed off, Garland countering another swift blow at his left with his shield, acting out with his right hand and his sword, met again by Lorch, who was stopping his counters, and wearing him out, using his shield and sword in perfect unison, not in a passive mood, but in one that was going to crack open Garland. He knew this well, and guessed he had to finish the fight fast, before this continued to go on. He threw himself up quickly, gaining a little distance in as he put his shield up and gave a high blow, hoping to throw Lorch off his guard, knowing it was going to come close. And it did, as Lorch barely covered himself with his own shield, blocking the Tyrell from putting the sword between his head and shoulders, having a swipe right where it would have been best to have gone. Garland had exposed himself, however, and knew it full well, as he pulled back, scrambling to defend. The Young Rose wasn't a fool, he was competent, a good fighter, but Lorch was a powerful fighter. Their swords clashed as Garland attempted to gain distance, but Lorch just knocked the shield away, trying to get his blade at the neck again, but Garland knocked it to the side, then bringing the blade down at Lorch's head. His shield barely got there in time, stopping Garland's blade short of his helmet. But, now Garland was open, and Lorch brought his blade slicing through the Young Rose's helmet. Garland raising his shield, he did not expect the blow to come as high as it did, as he saw Lorch swing a fast but vague blow. It was barely even time before he felt his helmet smash off, and a cut from the sallet rip through the left of his head, cutting behind his cheek and up to his right ear, blood pouring, the wound skin-deep, but exposing his long hair, and his face. It was as if the truth wasn't already clear, but this was Lord Garland Tyrell, and nobodye else, He alone was on the floor, in the heat of the fight. Backing up, another Crakehall moved forward, the same that had speared his guard. Garland swung out, smashing his pike, before standing with a vigour, his shield lowered as he stabbed the Crakehall thick and thin, defenseless in the way he held himself, turning around. It was only then, that he realized what he had done. His shield lowered to make the move from the floor onto his feet, he had let it happen. It was a moment of exposure that had let the move happen. As Garland fought off the Pikeman, Lorch saw another chance. As Garland tried to stand, Lorch brought his blade along Garland's arm, and into the Lord's mail covered armpit. The blade ran tgrough the young rose, the thrust deep in his upper side, Lorch smiled, and ripped the blade out, watching as the Young Rose fell to the floor. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Willas rode, the sight of the fighting outside massively mad to understand. From what he could gather, the forces in the open were being cut to shreds, and they couldn't help them, not now, not the ones he had seen to the South-West. They were obviously in sight, but to the south, from the height of the towers of King's Landing's perimeter wall, the Reachmen flanking around to the South could be seen, with far more Rose banners and flags being hoisted high. There were men forming, and already, over the evening, the Tyrell Retinue response had been fast. Willas had told Rhaenyra to keep herself in the Red Keep, and be prepared to defend. Her dragons could not leave the Dragon Pit, unless absolutely essential, and that this was a Reach fight. She would not be dragged into this, the Princess had enough on her mind, Willas decided, and for that, they were going to sally forth themselves. However the hell Garland intended to get in, Willas guessed he was causing a diversion..but it wasn't working. Crakehall forces had parted off and already began attacking the Reachmen that were at the rear, and the pocket was collapsing in. On the Kingsroad going south, the Reachmen were thundering, and aware that they had to move fast to help in whatever way they could, the 2,000 strong retinue following. Riding out, he saw the two carts in the convoy make their way almost by the gate, as Willas rode by one. He was looking for Garland, Alerie, anyone. He found the latter, the door open, his young niece looking on at the sight of Willas Tyrell. "Where's Garland? What in Seven Hells is going on!?" Willas barked, aware it wasn't the nicest introduction, but there was an air of fear, and the noises of charges and war in the distance could be heard. It wasn't a place for Alerie, that much Willas knew. "He's holding our rear guard, he's back in the forest. Willas, what's going on?" Alerie responded, sitting up from her seat, leaning out the side. "Our scouts saw Lorch's guard moving there...they're going to get cut to pieces if they don't pull back. Alerie, get inside the walls, I'll be back!" Willas said, as Alerie's carriage door shut, and the horses neighed, before then kicking hard and breaking back into a run, Willas looking across to the rest of the mounted Reachmen, looking to Willas for instruction. "We've got a Lord to save, with me!" All in the while, Alerie and Daenys had made it inside, and already within the castle walls, Alerie could tell. "Driver, take us to the Red Keep. Pass it along to Daenys. I shall need to speak with Princess Rhaenyra." ------------------------------------------------------------ Willas's guard followed. They were moving fast, at full pelt, the sight of more Tyrell Retinues moving out, sweeping by the side of the convoy, sallying forth to guard the sides, and the Tyrell forces that were entering. On the distance, the sight of the other Tyrell force being crushed and forced back, routing almost entirely could be seen, over 6,000 men thinned to half that number, or in outright retreat along the Roseroad, following their engagement with the main Crakehall forces. It was not looking good, not at all. Alerie was safe, that much was certain, and Willas was somewhat relieved that she was in safe hands. It was Garland that he worried for...the Young Rose was a man who was binding much of the Reach together, and while Willas knew he could do damage, he was not used to this. Not a seasoned, weathered soldier, he was a administrator and not a born fighter. That was his preserve, and Willas couldn't let Garland get overwhelmed, that much he had to say to himself. The forest was barely a ten minute ride away, as the sight of forces could be seen. The Tyrell Retinues almost immediately clashed with Crakehall forces, as Willas's horse continued galloping, deeper and deeper into the wood. He was looking for a banner, some sort of sign, of where Garland was, as he continued riding, many of his own guard, including Ser Maxwell, quickly getting stuck into the melee, hitting the Crakehall forces side on. They were colliding, and Willas could guess that this rear guard had spent too much time holding the line, and that they had to be relieved. Garland was a good tourney fighter, but this wasn't a tourney, this was a fucking skirmish, and while he could hold his own...it wouldn't be for long, Willas could imagine. Riding around a tree, he saw a Crakehall raise his pike, and Willas was forced to almost dive into the man, running him down and his own horse running over his body, using the momentum and force to knock the man out, before taking a look around once more. Blood was being spilt, and even Willas's retinue could turn the tide for perhaps a minute, around 1,000 of his own forces sallying out with him. He turned his head, and looked around. It was only then that Willas saw it, in the exact moment he arrived. Garland had a blade in his side, and Ser Lorch was right by his side doing it. ------------------------------------- Garland fell to the floor, coughing blood, looking up. He didn't even have words, as the noise of a horse stopping could be heard. Numerous horses stopping, as a matter of seconds passed. Willas looked across, seeing Garland on the floor, on his knees, knowing full well what he saw. Blood. Willas drew the Poleaxe, and looked across at Lorch, Willas wearing no helm. His cavalry began to push through, as Willas looked on. He would tear him limb from fucking limb, that is, he would if he had time. "You Crakehall bastard! Garland!" He said, his words ripping through the air, Willas not charging forward, as he simply pushed on, pushing his Poleaxe forward to meet his sword, and throw him off balance, the pointed pike on the weapon making contact, but not clean, only a scuttiling blow off his plate, as he knew he had lost his own momentum. But he was a Kingsguarder...and this was a weapon that could do many a thing. He wanted to disarm Lorch, but knew that time was short, and any way that would kill the fucker would work. He didn't know what Garland was feeling, but he knew he saw blood, and inside, Willas knew that this man had to die. He was going to have his head removed from his shoulders, he simply did not care. Lorch hardly got his shield up to stop Willas's blade, it bit deep into the wood, but stopped it. He pushed the blade back and struck at Wilas's side, but was parried by the haft of the polearm. He clashed this way several times more before Wilas attacked again, this time Lorch parried the axe head, and clashed his sword into Wilas's side, eliciting a grunt. The two sparred, Lorch cut into Willas's cheek, but Willas responded in kind, putting the blade in Lorch's thigh. He winced and backed off, before diving back in to the fight, knocking the wind out of Willas, but couldn't get past the whirling poleaxe. Garland exhaled hard, his sword still in his grip, as he looked over. Things felt hazy, he could barely stand, but the adrenaline in his body was keeping him going. Weakness, darkness. A voice in his head. The sick, twisted noise of Daenys in his mind, it rang out. "Garland the Cruel." He heard. His mind felt like it was being split in two, the pain, the agony, the utter lack that his body wanted to continue ringing out, but only one thing said something to him. He had to try. Try and stop this, or Willas could follow him. Another Tyrell could not follow in his own steps, as he winced, his boots quietly moving over the forest floor, light blurred and images unclear. Looking across, he saw Willas grapple with Lorch, as Garland raised his sword in his hand, barely able to even hold it tight, as he moved forwards. He was exposed from his guard himself, as Garland, blood running down his armour, pushed forward and stabbed into Lorch's lower back, pushing the blade through, the blade finding contact direct into the man's plate and mail, a simple twist enough to make the damage clear. Pulling it out, Garland fell down onto his knees once more, looking over at Willas. Words formed his mouth, but Willas did not want him to speak, looking at him, as he looked back at Tywin. Lorch was busy with Wilas, the fight was fierce, the man was a former Kingsguard... but Lorch was no pushover, still standing a head above Wilas. As they fought Lorch watched for his moment, to drive the old Rose to the ground like the young... and he saw it. Wilas overextended himself! This was it! This wa-... suddenly Lorch couldn't think straight... he felt it, Garland's blade buried nearly the hilt in his back. He looked down, seeing the blood covered blade protruding through is guts, his ears filled with ringing, and he felt blood in his mouth. He dropped his sword and shield, weakly grabbing the blade and pushing, before Garland pulled it out. Lorch fell to his knees, blood spilling out of his mouth as he retched in pain, he fell to his side, barely able to hold himself up, the light was swimming, everything was pain... agony... the world was shifting light and dark. He looked up at Wilas, now holding the hole in his gut and glaring at the former Kingsguard. He could hardly speak, but his size gave him the strength he needed to do so, "*gurgle* Bastard... traitor*cough*Frey... Tyget'll *gurgle*have your head... " "Enough." Willas said coldly to Lorch, the Tyrell not a man of honour, or not at least at this time. He heard his plea for Mercy, and the Commander of the Goldcloaks knew what it meant. A Knight would spare him. Not Willas, not after what he did, what he was doing, what he had heard. Perhaps Garland would have spared Lorch, perhaps he would have let him live if he was the one with the Poleaxe in his hand, standing six feet, four inches over the two wounded figures, one the leader of the Crakehall sieging forces, one his nephew, the man who had fought so hard to get his niece and that bastard of a man, Daenys Targaryen, to the city that he had a control on. King's Landing had taught Willas that you did not act sparingly, you did what you had to do, particularly in a world where he had heard of what the Red God could do for people. The axe blade mounted below the pike was brought up, as Willas then brought it down with a hammer blow, slamming it into Lorch's throat, the momentum of the heavy two-handed weapon cutting through his spine and skin like butter. The last thing that Lorch would have seen was the blade come down, and Ser Willas Tyrell decapitate him. There was a good reason, not only that Willas knew he had already done such a terrible act. Men could come back, but without their head, not so much. He perhaps had conciousness for a second longer, as Willas stared into his cold, dying eyes, cut off of it's body, of it's brutality, of it's capability. It was a gone thing. His head severed, Willas dropped the poleaxe as he ran to Garland's side, crouching down as he looked over. "Willas...." He moaned, clutching his side, looking at his wound. It was nasty, and he couldn't even see it through the mail in his side, the blade clearly cutting through his armpit, and into his chest, though he couldn't tell how far. "Garland, stay with me...listen, I'm going to get us out, back to King's Landing." He said, looking down at the wound. Tearing the material from his cloak, he stuffed it into his side, pushing as much as it as he could into the mail, aware it wouldn't do much. Garland reacted a little, alert that he wasn't bleeding as heavily, but knowing it was an additional agony on his bare skin. "I fucking told Alerie I wouldn't die...Seven Hells....I am not letting her have the last laugh." Garland coughed, a smirk on his face, as Willas couldn't even do the same to respond to him. How the hell was he doing this? He was going to fucking die here in his fucking arms, and he was doing this? "You won't, I swear it, I swear it!" Willas said, as he looked over at him. "I'm going to pick you up, get you on a horse.,. Stay with me." He added, his voice desperate, a tone that felt caring, felt cautious, felt like he didn't want the fucking Lord Paramount of the Reach to die right here. Looking across, one of the Tyrell Retinues, from the city moved up, already scrambling down, alongside other forces. "Get off that fucking horse and help your Lord!" Willas said, the noise of fighting in the distance ringing out, as the soldier did exactly as he was commanded. Dismounting the horse, they both picked up Garland, who looked out on the horizon, his vision blurred. He didn't know what to feel, he felt very, very strange. Memories were flooding a little, his head light. He shut his eyes, as Willas looked over. "Garland! GARLAND!" He yelled, as he slapped him in the face lightly. He was passing out, he was losing consciousness, he was going to fucking die, Willas said to himself. "Fuck! Get the men out of here, we have to leave!" Willas yelled, as he slid Garland onto the horse's saddle, throwing himself onto the same horse, snapping the reins as the horse responded to Willas's not-so-fine command, taking off. Riding out of the forest, the noise of fighting could be heard, Garland looked on, his eyes half-open, as he looked across at the sight of the fight, the Kingswood fading into the distance, as Willas's horse charged down the Kingsroad heading north, into the city of King's Landing. Tyrell men were in the field, on the walls, everywhere, and distant Crakehall banners and vassals could be seen, on the far horizon. Garland himself didn't know what the hell had happened...it had just happened, the sword slashed was heard around the world, and now, people were dying in a bloody sally, trying to desperately get in. "Stay with me, nephew!" Willas yelled, the sound of arrows firing, both Reachman and Westerman, as he headed across and off the road for a little while, still riding as hard as he could for the gate, the sun beginning to set, the scene beginning to cut to darkness as the horse rode into the last shade that the castle walls gave.