Argella
The day was damp and grey, a drizzle had begun to fall by the time they started their journey for the day. Behind uncle Renly's screen of scouts, her father's line of march stretched several miles. Her father rode with the van, always leading his men in battle. Argella would have given anything to travel with them in the frontlines, but her mother would have none of it. Instead she traveled in the main column with her mother, surrounded by plodding warhorses with steelclad men on their backs. Next came the baggage train, a procession of wayns laden with food, fodder, camp supplies, wedding gifts, and the wounded too weak to walk, under the watchful eye of Ser Aemon Estermont and his father's knights of Greenstone. Herds of sheep and goats and scrawny cattle trailed behind, and then a little tail of footsore camp followers. Even farther back was Ser Rolland Storm and the rearguard. There was no enemy in back of them for hundreds of leagues, but her father would take no chances.
Twenty-five thousand they were, twenty-five thousand who had been blooded in the Taking of Griffin's Roost, who had reddened their swords at Misty Wood and at the Battle of Howling Hill, at the Kingswood, at the Grassfield Keep, and all through the rolling plains of the eastern lands of the Reach. Aside from the modest force the Stormlanders left back to protect their lands, the lords of the Stormlands had all marched forth to war with her father with all their strength. Of those thirty thousand who had come answering her father's calls, more than five thousand had lost their lives in battles and raids. Those who had survived the battles still marched with them along with the prisoners and captives taken. Ahead awaited her father's next battle . . . and for me, a husband, a marital bed, and a long life occupied with birthing and rearing children. It was a cheerless prospect. But it was something that was expected of her despite how she hated it.
The drizzle that had sent them off that morning turned into a soft steady rain by midday, and continued well past nightfall. The next day the Stormlanders rode beneath the sun high in the sky, amidst the grey clouds while another drizzle greeted them. They rode with their hoods pulled up to keep the water from their eyes. It was not a heavy rain like it was in the Stormlands, where the downpour turn roads to mud and fields to quagmires, swelling the rivers and stripping the trees of their leaves, when the constant patter would made idle chatter more bother than it was worth. But here the rains were never as heavy as it was in her homeland, where the rains would often turn into howling gales.
"Gods, this rain," Lady Brienne complained as they rode. "It's taking a toll on our march."
"We are stronger than we seem, my lady," Argella told her. "We are used to these rains and storms. We thrive in them." Argella had grown fond of Lady Brienne throughout the march from the Stormlands to the lands in the Reach. The daughter of Lord Selwyn was tall and lean, taller even than her father and both her uncles, but she always dressed in plate and mail with the sun and crescent moon of House Tarth on shield and surcoat. Argella would have worn a fine suit of armour as well, if her mother not so damn against the idea. For now she was content with her hardened leather jerkin. By the Light of the Seven, that was queer garb for a lady, yet Lady Brienne seemed more comfortable, both as a warrior and as a woman, as much as Argella was comfortable with her bow and arrows.
Some of the men spoke about the battles they had fought and "I have fought beside the Lord Robert in every battle," Ser Dermot of Rainwood said cheerfully. "He has not lost one yet."
"Maybe the only commander to do so?" asked Aberdolf Strongbeard.
"I would say so," Ser Dermot said. He was one of heroes made at Howling Hill. The Hedge Knight had won a great fame for himself when he had cut down half a dozen knights and then capture another half, knights from both the Reach and the Crownlands.
Won the every battle he fought, Ella thought, that was something which was a fine accomplishment in itself. But the young Lady of Storm's End knew that it was not yet done, her father's fight, her brother's fight, her fight and the fight of all these men, it had not reached an end. And Argella doubted it would reach its end anytime soon. She didn't want to say that to them however. The Stormlanders did not lack for courage, but they were far from home, with little enough to sustain them but for their faith in her father. That faith must be protected, at all costs.
And half of it came from Argella herself. Even this far South, they had heard of the legend of the Born King and the men took courage from the Dragonslayer so much so that they were not even bothered about fighting the Targaryen dragons. I must be stronger, she told herself. I must be strong for my father and my family. If I despair, my disappointment will consume me. Everything would turn on this marriage. She did not fear at the prospect of the wedding. Ella has fought in battles, killed men and knights twice her age. What more threat could a marriage bed bring on to her that a battle couldn't. Maybe they could even find happiness in one another. If Andrew is half the man they say he is, she would want for nothing else. Moreover a lot of people depended upon this wedding. With her wedding, the power of four different kingdoms would be joined together . . . All hanging in the end of wedding ribbon.
Of late Argella has been hearing a lot about her soon to be husband. "You don't suppose he will be too frightening, do you?" some maid wondered, as they sat around a cookfire one night for supper.
"No," another girl declared at once. "They say he is so handsome, more handsome than anyone in the north could ever be."
"That's not surprising when you consider who his mother was," said Willow, the woman who was one of the cooks in the army. "I remember her, the Lady Ashara Dayne, the Queen in the North. She was a great beauty, the queen was."
"She was from the South, you know," said another girl from the opposite side of the fire. "Some say that she was no mere woman at all, that she was a maiden made of stars and her legendary beauty was result of that."
"That is nothing more than a tasty tale," Kyra said sharply. She had once served in the Red Keep, back when the Mad King still ruled the Seven Kingdoms. "I'd seen Lady Ashara whenever she used to come with the princess to the Red Keep. I know my eyes better than your tongue."
And that gave rise to another argument as to why Andrew's mother had married his father and went on to live so far in the north. Despite the clamour in their party, Argella enjoyed their company truly. She even preferred it more than that of any lady companions. Sometimes it's fun just to ride along with the wagons and talk to people. There were a lot of things one could learn from talking to the people. Argella liked to talk to squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and little children and rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Ella liked to make friends with anybody and everybody. The idea of it might balk a proper lady, but it never bothered her much.
Despite the various rumours that she heard, all seemed to say one thing for sure. Queen Ashara was a woman of great beauty and that Andrew was handsome as well. Even so, the talk scarcely settled her mind about it. She barely cared about how Andrew Stark might look. She found it stupid. They were behaving like silly little girls, even though some were older than her. Their dreams were full of songs and stories, the way she knew of how girls dreamt. No doubt half of the girls were gushing about Joff even now. If only they could know the true boy hidden beneath the fine golden prince. . . Suddenly she felt bad for thinking that. She would never wish that upon anyone. And was it really such a terrible thing, to want a handsome husband? She remembered her own goodsister, who had gushed to her in secret of how handsome Gendry was. Wouldn't she even feel a little bit of disappointment if her King turned to be so dour and dull? And what was so wrong with hoping for love?
Thinking about her brothers made her realise how much she missed them both. Gendry was too busy with the army and Joff. . . Joff was still mad at her for what happened at Howling Hill. Argella couldn't see why she was to blame for his mistakes. Her brother's mood had been foul ever since that day their father chastised for his stupidity. Joffrey did not take that well. From that day he avoided her entirely on the march, preferring the company of their mother and his sworn shield. They do not scold him or mock him, not even for jest, Argella told herself when Joffrey turned away from her that afternoon when she had tried to make peace with him without sparing even a word. Somehow the infant who had held her hand when he first learned to walk became so distant with her. She has never been too hard with Joff like father was even though he has given her plenty of reasons to do so, but now he only hated her for it. She regretted taking him with her to the mountain that day. Ella had only wanted to take him out on an adventure and Joff had shown himself incapable for that as well.
They had followed north along the Kingsroad after the Battle of Howling Hill. When they had reached deep into the Kingswood, her uncle's outriders had chanced upon some Dornishmen and had traded blows with them. Renly Baratheon had also brought word of another large contingent of the Dornish army waiting to ambush them out of the woods by the southern shore of the Blackwater Rush, courtesy of the prisoners he had taken from his fight with the Dornishmen.
Her father had stopped the march that day and called his bannermen together in his tent and talked with them for a long time to plan their next move. Some of the lords thought that they should continue northwards and move for King's Landing. They were confident that they could smash these Dornishmen just like they have been doing for thousands of years. Others urged caution, including her uncle Stannis. Even if they could defeat the dornishmen in battle, it would take time to take the city. They would lose time needlessly and it would give enough time for the prince to turn South and smash them in the rear while they were taking the city. And so her father decided not to move for the city but instead to the Riverlands to neutralise the last standing loyalist army.
That day they crossed past an abandoned settlement in the midst of the grasslands they trod upon. The route took them through the fertile grassy plains along the headwaters of Mander nearby the town of Tumbleton. Argella raced past the vanguard that day leaving the front lines of her father's army where he rode with her brother in the cloud of dust. Someone cursed as she thundered past them and she heard a dozen shouts from behind. On top of it all she heard her father's laughter.
Argella rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of it were a song in her heart. She was as fluid as a centaur when she rode. Ella was even adept at directing her horse through the dense forests of the Rainwood and the Kingswood. The plains were nothing compared to forests in the Stormlands. She stopped at top of the ridge. Beneath them, the plain stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. It almost looked like a sea of grass, Ella thought. Past here, there were no hills, no mountains, no trees nor cities nor holdfasts, only the endless grasses, the tall blades rippling like waves when the winds blew.
Argella raced down the muddy roads quick and straight as an arrow loosened from her bow. The march in the grasslands of the Reach were considerably quicker than the march through the Kingswood. For half a moon, they rode through the forests in the Stormlands, which made their progress a rather long and slow one amidst the woods where the leaves made a green canopy high above them, and the trunks of the trees were wide and wet and covered in moss. There were great elk in that wood, and majestic stags so huge that they dwarfed horses at times. They had to ford three wide streams which had turned into swift rivers in the heavy rain. Once a creek turned so swift and deep that they had to camp for the day beside the rock from which the creekwater flowed down to become a high green waterfall.
Here the green grasses surrounded them instead of dark green and the brown of the woods of the Stormlands as they rode. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the faint smell of rain. Though the rains here were not as wild and heavy as those in the Stormlands, here in the lands which bordered the lands of her father the drizzle from the rainfall in the Stormlands could still be felt from time to time. Even if it was enemy territory the Stormlanders seemed to belong here. But her father did not march blindly with the false sense of security. Always scouts ranged far ahead of the main column, alert for any sign of enemies, while outriders guarded their flanks. They missed nothing, not here, in this land, the place where they could come upon opposition from any side.
But to Argella these plains soon became a part of her. She wheeled her horse about and galloped down the ridge alone. At the bottom of the ridge, the grasses rose around her to her waist, tall and supple. Argella slowed to a trot and rode out onto the plain, losing herself in the green, blessedly alone. Soon Brienne caught up with her and then Argella rode back to her father's army. Her mother was waiting for her furiously by the time she returned. She was arguing with her father quite heatedly.
"How dare you let our daughter run away from the column like that?" Her mother's words rang through the quiet air.
"Quiet, Cersei," Lord Robert snapped. "She didn't go wandering too far."
Her mother was furious. "Too far?" she said. "She could have come across those who would mean us harm."
Her father looked like he was in no mood for more argument. Argella spoke up quickly, sparing him any more headache. "I didn't though," she said. "I found no one else who might harm me." It was a good thing that no one hoped to harm her. Anyone was welcome to try and they would be sorry for it.
Lord Robert looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. "There you have it now," he said. "From her own mouth. Are you happy now?"
"More than happy, my lord," Cersei Lannister raised her voice. Her mother took her by arm and led her away from there. "I had made it clear that you were not supposed to go too far away from the column," she said when they were away from the men.
"I didn't go too far away," Argella said, shrugging. "Anyway I am back now."
Her mother looked at her coolly, her green eyes flaring. "Don't ever go wandering off again, Argella." And that ended the conversation at that.
Every league she crossed took her farther from Storm's End, and she found herself wondering whether she would ever see the castle again. Or was it lost to her forever, like so much else? They crossed the rolling hills of northern end of Reach, past terraced farmlands and small villages where the townsfolk watched anxiously from behind wooden walls and palisades.
By the time they crossed the Roseroad she could see the setting sun red on the sky. They followed the course northwards following the grassy floor through a pinched narrow valley. It was colder now at dusk, Argella thought. She might have to get used to the cold if she is supposed to live in the North though. Winterfell was at the heart of the North which would be much more colder than it was here. As they climbed up the ridge where her father had decided to make camp for the night it was dusk. They camped at a ridge surrounded by tall trees in green raiment. The great elms and beeches that surrounded provided a natural wall around them within where they could stay safe, thrusting up at the belly of the clouds like tall dark spears.
Later that night, their scouts rode back to warn them that the rising waters in the Mander had made it impossible to ford the river. Her uncle Renly and two of his bolder men had tried swimming their mounts across the slow moving waters of the wide river. But halfway into the river the water showed it's nature. Two of the horses had been swept under and drowned, and one of the riders; Renly himself managed to cling to a rock until his men could pull him in. "The river is too wide to swim across, Robert," her uncle said, still in his wet clothes. "And the waters run too high and deep. We might trod upon the sandbars, but there is a fine chance we might lose it halfway into the river."
"There are no bridges along the Mander around these lands or any crossing," Lord Elwood Meadows pointed out. "Not this far north. We would have to turn South and follow the river along the West. The only bridge is at Bitterbridge too far away from us." The Lord of Grassfield Keep had seen and crossed these lands many times before. Lord Meadows had surrendered his castle and his strength to her father while they were crossing the Grassy Vale, and he has rode with them ever since.
Lord Robert looked at his new friend. "Is there another bridge?"
"No. And the fords will be impassable," Lord Meadows said. "If we cannot cross the Mander, we'll have to go around the mountains from where it originates, through the hills and Timbercrust."
"Hills and rocks and bad roads, or none at all," warned one of Lord Elwood's knight. "The going will be slow, but we'll get around, I suppose."
Her father made a wry face. "I cannot keep waiting here," he said. "Going around would have us lose more than enough time. If only our horses had wings instead of hooves we could be at Riverrun by now."
"Yes, but our horses don't have any wings," said Stannis Baratheon.
Her father frowned. "Damn the dornish. I should have stayed on the Kingsroad. The kingsroad runs straight north, we could have had an easy march."
"There may be one other option." Uncle Stannis said, looking at the map.
"Very well, let's see what you have." Lord Robert coolly regarded his brother.
"Tumbleton," her uncle said. "The market town nearby the source of the Mander. We can have our crossing there."
Robert Baratheon scratched his beard. "Tumbleton," he looked intently at the map where a tower had been drawn to mark it's presence. "I like this plan."
"Should we look for any opposition in Tumbleton, my lord?" Lord Fell asked.
"Not much," Lord Meadows said. "Lord Footly marched with Mace Tyrell taking most of his strength with him when he called the banners."
"It might take time to mount a siege," Ronnet Connington said.
Lord Robert gave him an enigmatic smile. "We are not going to siege them," he said and she knew from his tone what that meant.
And so it was decided then that they would move for Tumbleton, the town ruled by House Footly to cross the river Mander there. The next morning her father sent uncle Renly and his scouts to spy on Tumbleton before they could march on that town. They left just as dawn was breaking in the east and Argella had half a mind to accompany them. It was a tiring job to sit here and wait with her mother and younger brother. She watched them go from the top of a little rock at the centre of their camp.
As the cooks were serving black bread and meat to break their fast her uncle returned with his men, riding hastily through the camp. Ella knew there was some problem just by looking at Renly Baratheon. Her uncle hopped down from his mount in haste and walked over to their table. He muttered something in her father's ear and Lord Robert stood up from the table at once and left, his brothers following him quickly outside.
They were supposed to make for Tumbleton that morning, but her father halted the preparations and called his lords for an urgent meeting once again. Argella accompanied Gendry and Brienne to her father's tent. His lords bannermen were with him, Lord Gulian, Lord Selmy, Red Ronnet Connington, the brothers Morrigen, Alesander Staedmon, Lords Tarth, Fell, Errol, Buckler and Mertyns, Lord Meadows and all the others. She was the only woman in the war council, she saw. Along with Lady Brienne. But there was no eyes questioning her presence in their midst. She had fought with them at Howling Hill and no one has forgotten that. They even made songs about it now. Argella has heard it more than once at their camp.
She took her seat beside her brother. Her father waited until the tent flap was closed. Lord Robert looked at the assembled men at his war council and cleared his throat. "The scouts bring news of the Dornish on the other side of the Mander."
A dozen grumbling noises rose from the men and filled the tent. Even Argella was shocked to hear that. They had hoped to keep the Dornish waiting for them in the edges of the Kingswood, but somehow they had caught wind of their movements and raced to block their way north.
"They mean to block our way across the Mander and keep us seperated from our allies."
Argella sat in silence, listening to the wind blowing outside and the sounds of banners flapping.
"The Dornish?" Lord Robin Peasebury was shocked. "How did they even know we were coming along this way?"
"Perhaps the prince is with them atop his dragon?" Lord Mertyns suggested.
"There was no sign of any dragons nearby," said uncle Renly.
"Dragon or not we will have to cross the Mander," her father declared. "How strong is this new Dornish contingent that's been trailing us?"
Renly Baratheon rubbed his mouth. "Four thousand," he said. "Maybe five."
"That is no match for our strength," Guyard Morrigen chuckled. "We should be able to scatter them in short notice."
Uncle Stannis ground his teeth. "Not if they take the bridge and stop us there," he said, pointing at the bridge in the map. "You cannot hope to force an attack up the narrow structure. The approaches will be too narrow. There would be no way to deploy. We will lose more men and more time fighting this unfavourable fight."
"That is if we fail to take the bridge first," said her father. "If we could rush to the bridge and hold it before the Dornish could come to it, then we can finish them off."
"I have more than twenty thousand men. But not all of them are needed to deal with a rabble of some four thousand dornishmen. We will divide our men. I will lead the cavalry and the best knights and archers to ride ahead and take the bridge. The infantry can start up after us as fast as they can while the rear guard will stay here in guard of the prisoners and supplies.
"Meryn Trant will have the rearguard, Stannis will command the infantry in the center. I will lead the van for Tumbleton and the bridge. If we come across the loyalists, we should be able to throw them back and hold the bridge at least until Stannis arrives with the best part of the infantry. Once our battle lines link up we would swarm the field and outnumber the dornishmen three to one."
"If we move swiftly we could outpace the dornishmen to the bridge," uncle Renly said.
"Then we will be in a better position to push back the dornishmen," agreed Silveraxe Fell. "And they won't even expect us to get there so quickly anticipating their movements."
"So why are we wasting more time by sitting here idly," Lord Robert said, rolling the map. "We leave at once."
After her father's bannermen left to make preparations for the quick ride, Argella went to Lord Robert and begged him to take her with him to battle.
Ella held his arm. "Please father, let me come with you," she said. "I don't want to stay here."
"I am sorry, Ella. I don't have it in me to hear another one of your mother's complaints."
"But I want to come," she said stiffly. "I can slip away from mother like I have done a countless times before. I can stay in a safe distance away from fighting if you insist."
"Seven hells," her father swore. "You are as stubborn as you are willful. Come with us if it means that much to you. But don't let your mother see you leave. If Cersei catches you, I am not talking on your behalf."
Argella left straight back to her tent, next to her mother's. She went in searching for Lady Cersei and stayed close to her while the men were preparing to ride out. That would keep mother from actively seeking out for me. Then she slipped away from her mother's side just as the men started to ride away to Tumbleton. Her mother couldn't care less about seeing those men off and it gave Ella the perfect opportunity. She grabbed her bow and arrows from the tent and hopped up on the horse. Argella pulled up the hood and raced to the leaving men to disappear within a thousand horses.
Once they were safely away from the camp, Argella pulled her hood down and the men around her were more happy than shocked to see her there. There was an understanding between Argella and Ser Gerald Gower, the knight who commanded the column in which she was riding. He and all his men were more than happy to have her amidst their presence. Unlike Ser Meryn Trant who would have sold her to her mother without a second thought, Ser Gerald let her ride with his men.
"Why, I shall feel more safe knowing that Lady Storm is there on my side," he said when she told him her intentions to ride with them.
As they rode further away from the camp, Ella left her place in the ranks of Ser Gerald Gower and moved up forward, until at last she was riding with her father at the head of the van.
"You came," her father said, not even a bit surprised.
"I told you I would," Ella said, smiling.
They were less than an hour's ride from the out-walls of Tumbleton that encircled the town. Scouts had been sent ahead. They hastened back to reported that the bridge was held in force against them. The dornish host had beat them to the bridge and has encamped on their way in Tumbleton.
Her father was furious, she could see. He was red in anger. Robert Baratheon called for a halt at once and called his lords and commanders. "The dornish have beat us to the bridge," he declared. "They are making their camp right on our path."
"Should we push on, my lord?" Ser Narbert Grandison asked.
"We are marching to Tumbleton," her father declared. "I have delayed the progress enough already. If the dornish thinks they can block my path any further, I'll punch my way through them."
"Isn't it wise to wait for Lord Stannis to arrive with our main force, my Lord?" Ser Aemon Estermont asked.
"No." Her father had made up his mind. "I have had enough of these dornish." He pulled on his glove. "Get the men ready for battle. Archers in the flanks and the the main columns will advance on the bridge on foot. No good to use the cavalry now. We will fight the dornish on foot and push them back from the bridge. Keep two hundred mounted knights in the reserves."
When the battle plans were drawn and decided, her father's host left to Tumbleton to meet the Dornishmen in battle who were blocking their way North to the Riverlands.
They reached Tumbleton to find the Dornish occupying the bridge and the northern bank of the Mander. A short and stout castle made of stone and wood looked over the town which held the bridge. The banners of House Footly flew from the tower, a field of silver caltrops on black. Argella wondered if the castle hid some waiting garrison to ambush them while they engaged the dornish spears on the bridge.
Under the morning sun, Lord Robert's forces arrayed into their battle formations. About six thousand men had rode with her father to Tumbleton. Most of them were mounted knights and the cavalry of her father who had thought to take the town before the dornish could. Most of them had already dismounted and left their horses with the horsemen in the rear as they closed ranks into long columns of infantrymen with swords and axes and maces and shields in hand. When her father saw the castle still barred and bolstered with the banners flying from them he doubled the number of the cavalry in the reserves and placed them on either side of their army to protect their flanks.
Argella took her position in the elevated banks of the Mander nearby the town with the two thousand longbowmen from the Marches. The men-at-arms were divided into three divisions. The marcher lords and the warriors accompanied her Lord father in the first division which would thrust into the Dornishmen in the bridge. From her raised vantage she could see Lord Gulian Swann and his sons, Ser Donnel and Ser Balon in the front. Lord Bryce Caron and Lord Selmy were amongst them as well.
Argella kept her bow ready as her father's men slowly advanced onto the bridge. The Dornishmen never made forth to meet them. They held their lines and locked their shields. As her father's column neared the bridge, the dornish phalanx lowered its spears in unison and got ready to meet them. It is time to unleash the storm, Argella thought. "Archers," she shouted. "Nock, draw, loose." It was her arrow which took the air first, and the storm followed quickly. Her father stopped his advance and the dornishmen didn't have the time to get their shields up to protect them. Their arrows felled more men than she had hoped. Arrows pierced through flesh and leather and mail and the screams of men dying filled the air.
Down by the bridge, her father roared his command and the Stormlanders charged. They clashed with the phalanx so hard that the impact pushed the dornish back. The force of the attack was so harsh and the impact of her arrows so bloody that she thought the phalanx would break and run. But they only got back into order. The Dornishmen who were quick enough to get their shields up in time to stop the arrows, quickly moved forward to take the place of the fallen.
"Nock," Argella commanded once again as the phalanx was closing ranks against her father's column. "Draw." She picked her target and loosed. "Loose." She could hear the clang of the arrows striking helmets and the sickening crunch of steel piercing flesh. Without giving time for the Dornishmen to reform again, she let loose another volley of arrows, and another and another until the corpses of the Dornishmen in the first phalanx choked the bridge.
The Stormlanders pushed over the corpses and fell upon the second unit. A bitter melee broke out in the bridge. Her father was at the thick of the fighting, splintering shields and smashing breastplates and cracking skulls with his warhammer. Men were thrown over the bridge. She saw people flailing wildly in the slow, grey waters of the Mander. Some swam for the banks and some drowned. Those who made it to the banks did not long outlive them as they were cut down.
Argella turned her attention to the dornish archers behind the lines where the Stormlanders were fighting. Their longbows could outrange that of the dornish bows and their aim better. Half of the dornish archers died before they could let loose. The bridge and the town of Tumbleton blew apart into blood and chaos. Her father's army was pushing the dornish phalanx back from the bridge, bloodying them along every step. On the far bank a dornish knight was rallying the cavalry, waving his sword in the air. Argella put an arrow through his mouth. Her aim was so true that she put him down with an arrow loosened from the other end of the river.
The knight's mount reared and the unfortunate man slipped from his saddle while his leg get caught in the sitrup. The horse bolted from the field, dragging his body along with it. A third of the dornish cavalry was fleeing with their fallen commander in a bright blaze of shiny copper. When her father sent a man flying off the far end of the bridge and emerged on the other bank, blood covering his black and gold armour with thousands of roaring Stormlanders behind him, the Dornish dropped their spears and shields and swords and broke and ran.
Lord Robert held his men under his strong command and no one gave chase to the fleeing dornish. They held the bridge and town now, that was all it mattered. Lord Robert turned and marched his men back to the castle. Before they could even reach the castle two men rode forth and surrendered the castle to her father by the word of Lady Footly.
Her father accepted their surrender and promised that no harm shall befall Lady Footly, her children and the garrison. By the time the bridge was cleared off the corpses dusk was settling in. But there was no sign of her uncle, yet. Stannis and the bulk of the infantry caught up with them in the market town by the time it was fully dark. He had brought a rider from the camp where her father had left the rear guard to guard his family and the prisoners.
"Robert," uncle Stannis said. "There's been word from the camp."
Argella's heart skipped a beat. Did something happen to her mother or Joff?
Her father stood up from beside the fire. "What happened?"
The rider hesitated. "The dornish, my lord. They were there, hidden amongst the woods. We chased them off, but they. . . they made off with the prisoners."
Ella was glad that her mother and brother were safe, but she could see her father's displeasure plain on his face.