Chapter 17: Retaking The Reach
There is still so much to do. For example, my Queensguard: I ask the seven who wear white to assemble in the Red Keep so I may review them and introduce myself formally, though I have met them all at one time or another since my ascension.
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My Lord Commander is Ser Fredrec Ashford, forty-three years of age, and an extraordinary fighter. He bears the scars of past battles and is, by all accounts, a righteous and pleasant man. My other six Queensguard are;
Ser Balman of Wendbridge
Ser Malcolm of Edgerton
Ser Porther of Bitesmouth Town
Ser Dobber Brych
Ser Phillip of Harvest Hall
Ser Karyl of Old Beehive
It is of both note and interest that none of these men originate from the most pre-eminent of Westeros’ houses. No relatives of a Lord or Lady Paramount here. This suits me well, as it ensures the likelihood of conflicting loyalties are reduced, and the convention of serving until death means I am not under pressure to appease rival Lords with my appointments. Moreover, with the exceptions of Ser Balman and Ser Porther, all my men are extremely competent fighters. And I can forgive Ser Porther as he is seventy-five years of age.
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(As an aside, I took a look around to see if any characters of importance in ASoIAF/GoT were still around, and I actually found one! Brienne of Tarth, of all people, is still around and still, at 67, a decent commander. There are also a handful of other insignificants around, I think a few of Walder Frey’s irrelevant grandkids are still alive, some Tyrell chap who was mentioned like once in the books, stuff like that.)
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The time for our unification has come. I will not allow the Tyrells any more time to gather their forces or to get used to their ‘independence’. I send the ravens out to my bannermen and inform them that we are marching to war to retake The Reach.
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I order my armies to gather in King’s Landing. I have some 48,000 men under my direct command, with many thousands more from my vassals. Dorne and The Westerlands have immediately answered my call to arms, which is especially pleasing as they are two of the three Lord Paramountcies which border The Reach. I suspect Boremund will prevaricate, perhaps even defy me, but I believe I have enough to secure myself against him. Soon after The Riverlands and The North both join as well; they are more distant, but it is not unwelcome.
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With around 25,000 men assembled so far in King’s Landing, I decide it will be enough to ride out to assail The Reach. Too large an army will have trouble staying supplied and fed, and this should be plenty given the fact that The Reach’s armies are spread across their entire border. I shall ride in the vanguard myself, for I know how important it is that men see their leader is fearless, even if a woman. Kennett leads my right flank and Ser Karyl on the left. He voiced his disapproval of being charged with a duty other than the Royal Family’s protection, but I am well protected by the others, whilst his skills in war are rare indeed. We march for Tumbleton, just across the border.
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There are some murmurings that Ser Fredrec cannot be trusted, as his family is from The Reach, but I have little reason to credit those notions. Ser Fredrec has been nothing but loyal and diligent, and he seems to have no ambitions except serving. I cannot afford to dispel the Lord Commander without some extremely solid evidence, anyway. I recall reading of the disasters that resulted from Aerys' treatment of Jaime Lannister, and it's a pitfall I fully intend to avoid.
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Another 21,000 men are assembled in King’s Landing. I place this army under the command of my half-brother Jacaerys, who is no slouch in martial matters, whilst giving the flanks to my friend Clayton Massey and my one-time liege Wallace Staunton. I instruct this army to ensure the security of the Crownlands, with the mission of engaging marauding Reachmen such as those currently besieging Edgerton, just north of King’s Landing.
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That army is caught and destroyed in Rollingford. Their attempted retreat to The Reach was cut off and they were cut down. It is a modest victory, but nonetheless a good start to our war.
Suddenly, my bannermen are thrown into a panic - a huge Reachman force has appeared and rapidly marched towards us! My 21,000 men in Tumbleton are attacked by a Reachman army of nearly 30,000. I send a message for reinforcements immediately, and we join battle.
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Despite our inferior numbers the battle goes well - we clearly have superior leadership. During the melee I am dismounted and, on foot, fighting through several peasant levies, I come across a mercenary leader holding back several of my men. Captain Alaric - no relation - is quickly cut down by my blade. I’ve seen many men hesitate when they see a beautiful woman fighting them, and it’s something I gladly take advantage of. Shortly after killing him I am found by Ser Dobber and Ser Malcolm, who escort me away from the thickest fighting over my protestations. As we reach the rear ranks I am overjoyed to see my reinforcements have arrived and are already joining the battle. We now outnumber the Reachmen almost two to one.
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We win the fight handily, driving the ten thousand survivors away from the Crownlands, but minutes after the fighting stops a young squire comes to me with a look of despair. He is terrified of my presence, but I assure him there is nothing to fear - he relates that in the closing minutes of the melee, my subject and friend Clayton Massey was struck down by Lord Arys of Leygood Keep. I command the boy take me to his body, and he does so. The man is lying in a pool of blood, his armor smeared with it, and with two great wounds carved into his flesh. One of them, on his left arm, would have been survivable, but the other was in his throat, and he must have died within seconds. I close my eyes for a moment and breathe a prayer, then I thank the squire for his efforts finding me and return to my command tent.
It is no good to be upset by this. This is war; people die in war. Thirty thousand people died in the battle that just ended; it would be churlish of me to think the loss of my friend is worse than the losses of all those families. Fathers, husbands, sons, never to return home. In my tent my mind wanders, and I imagine what it must be like, what it would be like if I was brought news that my own sons had died. But that is why I must fight, and why I must win - only the Targaryens can keep Westeros safe and at peace.
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The wedding of my son Aegor and Lady Paramount Margaery Footly is to take place soon, and it seems I cannot attend due to the war. Nonetheless I send my best wishes, though not a request for dowry. It would not do to make our house seem in need of money.
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A few days later, a raven comes from the Northman army that had been assembling at King’s Landing. Jarl is at it again. The North has been forced to recall its men from here in the south, a decision I bless. It hardly matters down here, as I have large armies from Dorne, The Westerlands, and The Riverlands all assisting us and The Reach is faltering. It seems that no matter how many times we beat him back, Jarl the Handsome finds a way to hang on and recover his forces.
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In the midst of war, serving a Queen who took the throne through rather underhanded means, Ser Phillip of Harvest Hall has died of old age. I shall soon have to find a new Queensguard, seemingly sooner than I had hoped, in fact. It is also pointed out that it would be proper to have a member of the Queensguard serving in The Eyrie, protecting my son and daughter-in-law. After some consideration I dispatch Malcolm Edgerton. He’s a super fighter and still young.
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After less than a year of war the armies of The Reach are crushed. They are under assault from all directions except the coast, and I imagine the fear of Ironborn raiders must loom large for Anslem Tyrell. Dorne, The Crownlands, The Westerlands, and The Riverlands are all invading and the enemy’s numbers have been brought down to just a few bands of marauders. One of their major lords, Ben Florent, has taken my side as well. Combined, The Reach’s remaining forces could perhaps challenge Ben Florent’s small army, but none of the larger ones. The inevitable must be as obvious to Anslem Tyrell, for he requests my terms.
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They are simple. He is to disavow all claims to Kingship and to revert to Lord Paramount of The Reach. He will swear fealty to myself, to my house, and to the Iron Throne. He does these things, though I cannot say I am entirely satisfied, but their loyalty to Aerys II is not unforgotten.
Days after returning to King’s Landing, with the many surviving troops returning to their own respective homes, I am brought a message by Grand Maester Quellon. I have never seen such a look on his face, but when I unfurl the parchment and read the message, I share his look of shock.
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King Jarl has taken the North.
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