[Chapter Size: 3600 Words.]
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Third Person POV
Reach, 300 AC.
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The Lannister army finally reached the plains after traveling for almost a week. At last, they found what they had been looking for. In the distance, they could see the smoke rising from the enemy camp. Finally, they had found it in the middle of the plains.
"Let's move forward," Kevan said as the army resumed its march. "Send more scouts."
"My lord, none of the previous scouts returned. They are afraid," one of the captains said cautiously.
"Tell them they are needed. Either they do it, or they'll face the gallows. They have the important mission of informing us what lies beyond that hill. They are absolutely necessary, and even if they risk their lives, they must fight for their homeland. The Westerlands are bleeding because of the men ahead. We have the duty to sacrifice ourselves if it results in the death of the enemy that has ravaged our lands." Kevan spoke in a firm tone as one of the men nodded.
"They'll do it, yes, my lord," the soldier said before moving forward to order the scouts to carry out the new mission.
They quickly rode across the open field on horseback, spread out in several lines. Jaime Lannister watched the sunny day as he looked at the backs of the scouts advancing across the field. He couldn't help but touch his golden hand.
"Could he be here?" Jaime whispered, looking at his hand. Soon, he lowered his eyes to it, the mark the Arcticans had left on him. His sister had been wounded in King's Landing by Arya Stark. Her face would remain scarred, condemned to live behind a mask, while he had lost his sword hand.
It had been a long time since he knew exactly how he would claim retribution for what they had done by tearing off his arm, but he agreed on one thing: the flames of rage and vengeance in his chest grew stronger with each passing day as he waited to find that same man. He had trained all this time, no matter how difficult it was, to finally take his revenge.
In any case, everyone waited while the scouts continued advancing until they reached the top of the hill. But something left them all holding their breath in shock when the scouts were suddenly struck by arrows, as if the enemy already knew exactly where they would come from.
They were riddled with arrows fired from the other side. All eight scouts who had advanced from every direction were pierced by arrowheads. Fortunately, they were not those giant arrows they had heard so much about, capable of simply skewering a man from one side to the other.
In any case, the horses began running in every direction in panic, while the scouts' bodies fell to the ground.
"It seems our first move proved useless," Kevan muttered in a grim tone. His men were equally displeased by what had happened.
"Please, we must destroy them all at once, Lord Kevan. We can simply charge them. They wouldn't stand a chance," one of the lords called out, desperate for revenge.
"I don't think that..." He didn't even manage to finish. A tremendous roar came from beyond the hills. In an instant, several objects began flying over them.
Kevan's eyes widened as he saw several objects flying into the sky and heading toward their army.
"Shields! Raise your shields!" Kevan shouted as a shower of small objects began spreading across the sky.
At first, he thought they were stones. They were already soaring overhead, catching everyone by surprise. Whatever device those men had used to launch those projectiles had incredible range. And with the hill blocking their view, they couldn't even see the enemy. Even so, this could only confirm that they were walking into a trap.
The men were not completely unprepared. They were still setting up camp, but at least ten thousand soldiers of the army were ready to face the Arcticans if they were found in the valley and launched a charge against them. Thus, ten thousand shields were quickly raised.
The problem was that many of those objects flew directly toward the rear sections of the army, reaching well over a thousand meters away. How could something launched with such force travel such a distance? No one understood. But it certainly proved that those men from beyond the Wall possessed secrets that no one else had, secrets capable of revolutionizing warfare in this age.
That was one of the advantages they held over Westeros.
The objects quickly descended, striking the first shields as the men defended themselves. The real problem came with the sound of glass shattering. Everyone stared in shock as small glass spheres burst against the shields. A strong acidic smell followed immediately, and the men, still gripped by adrenaline and nerves, noticed the liquid beginning to spread.
Kevan, standing at the front under the protection of his shield, looked on in astonishment. Even Jaime felt a knot form in his throat at the sight.
"That's..." Jaime Lannister murmured beside him, knowing exactly what that liquid was. Despite its bluish color, he recognized it instantly. "...Wildfire." The memories came flooding back.
He knew the Arcticans possessed wildfire. He had suspected it ever since hearing they had destroyed the entire Redwyne fleet, proving the weapon's devastating effectiveness without losing a single ship.
Jaime, in particular, had always feared what wildfire represented, and the destruction of ships and castles had not gone unnoticed by him. But now he was witnessing the enemy hurling it from afar.
Another thunderous volley echoed in the distance like the crack of a whip, reverberating across the entire region. Another barrage of objects followed, but this time not only did the same blue flasks shatter against the shields and the ground, countless trails of fire also streaked through the sky, burning chunks of charcoal cutting across the heavens. They were small enough that there were hundreds, perhaps even thousands of them.
"Get away from the liquid!" Kevan shouted immediately, already knowing what was about to happen.
It wasn't only the front of the army that had been struck, but the supply wagons as well. Some men were hit directly, without the protection of their shields, as the glass smashed violently against their faces and bodies, leaving them wounded.
At the same time, most of the flasks shattered, covering them with that same chemical substance, which immediately caused an intense burning sensation upon contact with their skin.
The burning chunks of charcoal fell upon the men immediately afterward, advancing rapidly, and most of the shields were struck as the soldiers shouted for everyone to get away and throw down anything covered with the liquid.
The problem was that the moment one of the burning chunks of charcoal struck the liquid, no one could control the situation anymore. After all, the substance had spread everywhere. Kevan, who was already riding away with many of the commanders, couldn't even shout an order to put out the flames. Using enough water to extinguish all that liquid was impossible on such a scale, even with ten thousand men.
The moment the flames reached some of the shields, they spread rapidly, triggering small explosions. They were nowhere near as massive as when an enormous amount of wildfire was concentrated, as the Arcticans had done at the Twins or at the castles of the Westerlands, where entire structures had been blown apart.
Even so, small explosions erupted, consuming the men as they screamed in agony and catching some of their comrades in the blasts as well. The force of the explosions itself crushed steel and hurled it away, since the effect was explosive rather than merely flames spreading.
That was precisely the difference between ordinary flammable oil and the chemical substance known as wildfire, created by alchemists to produce far more powerful reactions as the flames spread.
A substance created and funded for warfare in a dragonless Westeros by the Targaryens, used a few times throughout history, but truly developed and put into practice by the Arcticans, known throughout the world as the kings of the seas because of the naval weapons that employed this substance, allowing them to destroy entire fleets without suffering a single loss.
They had already destroyed at least a thousand ships that way, counting both pirate vessels and the naval fleets of the kingdoms.
And now they were putting that same weapon to use in the middle of a battlefield. As dangerous as the substance was, the Arcticans seemed extraordinarily skilled in handling it.
The problems escalated rapidly. Some of the flames reached nearby areas after the explosions, while other sections remained covered only by the liquid, untouched by fire.
Even those who had anticipated the explosions and avoided being caught in them were burned by the intense heat spreading in every direction.
Kevan watched in growing horror as men screamed in despair. Some were consumed by the flames, others burned while crying out for help, while the rest could only watch their comrades burn alive beside them. He clenched his teeth. It seemed the trap devised by the Arcticans had been designed precisely to create this moment.
He knew it was a trap, especially because the scouts had stopped returning with reports and information about the enemy and had begun to be picked off one by one. Kevan suspected the Arcticans had already been there for days, simply waiting for them.
His eyes turned to the sky, where countless birds circled overhead, watching them...
They knew everything about his army. They knew their numbers, their formation, and had the advantage of being able to enter the bodies of animals to observe them at all times, gathering far more information than anyone else ever could.
How could anyone win a war against an enemy who watched them constantly? Who possessed information through spies and scouts while yours were being eliminated, while the enemy had eyes everywhere? Even loyalty and gold meant nothing there. Not when you had no control over the loss of communication needed to monitor the enemy.
You were entirely at their mercy. After all, they possessed all the information and could manipulate it however they wished...
Addam Marbrand was proof of that. Kevan couldn't understand why the King of Arctic had lured Addam into joining the army instead of allowing him to enter the Westerlands through the Golden Tooth, where he could have provided assistance far more easily. But no. Jon had chosen to gather him together with his men, perhaps intending to wipe them all out at once.
It seemed like a grim strategy. And now all they could do was watch as part of their army burned alive.
"Get away from the liquid! Throw away any shields covered in it! Tear off any armor soaked with it, and don't touch the liquid under any circumstances! We're pulling back immediately! Retreat!" Kevan shouted, having no other option for those who had not yet been caught by the flames.
Whatever was waiting beyond that hill, they could not face it now.
Another volley was launched by the war machines. The thunderous roar echoed across the entire region. How much more of that liquid would come? But this time, it wasn't more liquid that rained down upon them.
A storm of arrows flew through the air in tight formation before spreading out.
"Gods..." someone murmured as the men retreated in haste.
Those had not been fired from bows, but from some kind of war machine.
Soldiers continued to be struck while others raised their shields. At the same time, men burning alive ran across the battlefield, begging for someone to save them before collapsing one after another. Some even fell onto the wildfire spread across the ground, igniting fresh flames that engulfed soldiers who had not even been wounded until then.
Kevan could only watch as chaos consumed his ranks while they withdrew from the area.
"Retreat! Retreat now!" he shouted.
Jaime followed close behind, frowning. It seemed fighting Arctic was even worse than he had imagined.
The enemy continued their assault, launching projectiles from over a thousand meters away with their war machines. By the time the Lannisters finally managed to pull back, at least one-sixth of their forces had been left behind, while many others were wounded.
"Five thousand... We lost five thousand men. Is that correct?" Kevan slammed his fist on the table in frustration.
They had reached the northern side of the plain, a mile and a half away from that cursed hill, while the enemy remained in the distance, with the smoke from their camp rising on the other side.
Kevan believed they were safe there. The enemy weapons had reached as far as eight hundred meters. He had never seen anything like it and had not believed the rumors until this day... How had they prepared such things in only a few days? There had been no reports that they had brought so many war machines... Much less had he imagined they would use that kind of hidden weapon, even though he had already expected some sort of trap.
"We also have three thousand wounded..." another man replied, making the atmosphere even grimmer.
"We can still defeat them. They're relying on those weapons, and they can only fire them once. The real problem is those flames. But if we all charge together, we can defeat them," Lord Ferren said with hatred, desperate for a chance to defeat the enemy after today's disaster...
Many agreed. They had underestimated the range of the enemy's weapons and the terrain, which favored them... And they had paid dearly for it. Perhaps if they all launched a single massive charge...
If they crossed that distance all at once, the weapons might not be able to stop them. Even if they lost another five thousand men before reaching the enemy, they would still have twenty-two thousand soldiers against fifteen thousand.
The problem was what that army represented. To begin with, they had eliminated eight thousand men that day, counting both the dead and those left unable to fight, without losing a single soldier...
And what they possessed... It was said that their finest warriors wore full plate armor like heavy knights, yet moved freely while slaughtering any enemy before them. The giants simply cut men in half. Some reports from the Dothraki Sea claimed that their three-meter-long swords could cleave through a dozen men with a single swing.
What did a thousand of them represent?
That was the problem. They were now divided between hatred and fear. Victory seemed more distant than ever, and today's humiliation had dealt a devastating blow to the army's morale.
But what other choice did they have?
"We should negotiate," Lord Plumm said. "Let's see our enemy before we act..."
"They might attack us. You know how savage they are," another lord exclaimed.
"From what we've heard, they didn't do anything at Durwell. The castle itself is still standing. Perhaps they keep their word," Plumm replied as Kevan fell silent in thought for a few moments.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Addam Marbrand said.
"You say that because you were deceived. But this is a chance to see our enemy face to face. We can learn more about them..." Jaime offered his opinion. Despite the hatred he felt, he knew they needed to discover exactly who they were dealing with.
"Very well. We'll take a delegation. We'll meet them on the battlefield under a banner of peace," Kevan said.
Everyone nodded, preparing to do exactly as he had ordered.
As everyone was leaving, Kevan stopped his nephew.
"You stay, Jaime," he said.
Jaime merely grimaced. "No. I'm going."
"If I fall, if they do anything, I need you to take command of the army," Kevan said.
"I'm going, Uncle. Don't deny me this. I'll go one way or another. You know that." Jaime simply removed Kevan's hand from his shoulder and walked away. Kevan merely sighed. His nephew had also been completely consumed by hatred.
Though, personally, he also intended to ask about his sister and, above all, about his wife and daughter.
The group was quickly assembled.
As the evening wore on, Kevan could see the entire army with their heads lowered, staring south with fear and anger as they lit campfires and prepared for any attack during the night. The distance was now safe, but the fear remained. Watching their comrades burn alive that afternoon had left a deep scar, as had the rain of arrows that followed soon afterward.
They had lost five thousand men, and eight thousand more were being treated throughout the camp. It was the most humiliating thing Kevan had ever witnessed in any war.
The tents had already been raised. No one knew how long the meeting would take. They quickly raised the banner of peace as they finally saw several men appear atop the hill.
They also raised a banner of peace, signaling that the meeting would take place.
Kevan quickly advanced with his men as they headed toward the middle of the battlefield. The other group advanced as well, approaching until they stopped in front of them after passing several burned bodies and others left dead, while scavenging animals were already feasting on the flesh still scattered across the ground.
Though they didn't seem particularly fond of those burned by wildfire. Even those creatures were repulsed by those cursed flames.
They arrived in groups of equal size, carrying their banners, stopping a few meters apart in the middle of the plain, where there were no fallen bodies.
To no one's surprise, Kevan found the very boy responsible for all that chaos, the leader of that kingdom. As he approached, his bright green eyes and impassive expression studied the men before him, who wore crimson armor.
''The gaze of someone carrying far too much responsibility for one so young.'' Kevan couldn't help but think.
He remained silent. The boy was practically the same age as Lancel, his son in King's Landing, who had married Amerei Frey, a marriage that was becoming a thoroughly unhappy one... In any case, Lancel would never accomplish even one percent of what this king had already achieved at that age, even if he lived a long life.
He didn't like that comparison one bit...
Kevan had always known that every boy dreamed of glory, of achieving great deeds, of having his name revered. But here stood a living example of exactly that. A boy who had been born, or at least had come from, the lowest class. Could someone truly begin with nothing and rise to become what he was today? Especially when his royal blood had never even been a real factor behind his achievements in the first place.
Kevan would have admired him at any other time, but not in this life, nor at that moment.
Neither would his men. Even so, their expressions showed surprise and even a degree of unease. The true man responsible for all the chaos in Westeros was, at that moment, nothing more than a boy who could not have been more than twenty namedays old, facing men twice his age with an analytical gaze, studying them without revealing his true thoughts as each of his eyes rested upon every man clad in crimson armor.
Everyone's eyes also wandered over those accompanying him. Kevan was quite surprised to see Barristan Selmy among them. The man who had once been a true symbol of knighthood, but who had left the court after Joffrey took the throne and imprisoned Lord Stark.
Now he wore a suit of Valyrian steel armor, standing beside another king, bearing Arctic's emblem upon his chest, maintaining an upright posture and a resolute gaze.
Kevan could even feel his nephew fixing his eyes upon his former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He couldn't help but feel somewhat uncomfortable. But it wasn't only Barristan.
Barristan Selmy might have been one of the greatest warriors in all of Westeros, yet there, standing beside the others, he seemed like just another man, because the warriors surrounding the king were equally impressive.
''So this was the power that boy had built in roughly twelve years?''
Kevan wondered how, in a world like this, someone could have created all of this in barely a decade, when not even families that had existed for centuries, across dozens of generations, could have imagined anything remotely comparable.
And the worst part—or perhaps the most irritating—was the calm look on all of their faces as they regarded the men of the Westerlands, consumed by rage as they waited for the meeting to begin. It was as though they were not a threat at all, as if they were already looking at dead men.
Kevan knew he possessed almost no information about that group or about Arctic itself.
His instincts told him they were hiding many things. Many secrets that had yet to be revealed to the world.
The calmness in their expressions said a great deal, as though they were exactly where they intended to be.
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