A thin morning mist clung to High Hermitage. Seven knights emerged like phantoms from the haze, the Blackmont banner—a black vulture carrying a pink infant—snapping crisply in the morning breeze.
They halted exactly one arrow flight away from the walls.
"My Lord, do you think they will yield the castle?" Ideally, the knight beside Erwin rubbed his sword hilt anxiously. He looked up at the towering walls of High Hermitage, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "High Hermitage has tall walls and thick stone, and the garrison is full. Taking it by storm won't be easy."
"If words can persuade them to open the gates, that is best. If not, we can offer terms to ensure they don't fight to the death." Erwin turned to look at the knights behind him, a glint of cunning in his eyes. "Taking a castle is never just about ladders, rams, and swords."
"My Lord speaks wisdom," a standard-bearer chimed in sycophantically. He adjusted his grip on the banner pole. "Everyone knows that during Robert's Rebellion, the Pufferfish Lord laid siege to Storm's End for a full year. In the end, the war was over, the castle hadn't fallen, but he had grown a size larger from all the feasting."
"The Reachmen boast of their chivalry, but they're soft as summer peaches." Another knight spat on the ground in disdain. "That Pufferfish's heir thought his valor enough to challenge Prince Oberyn. He couldn't even control his horse and crippled himself for it."
"And Randyll Tarly's eldest," a third knight cut in, eyes full of contempt. "I hear he's fat as a sow and has a heart smaller than a peanut. To make his pig of an heir brave, Randyll even hired two warlocks from Qarth to slaughter an aurochs and make the boy bathe in its steaming blood."
"And the result?" someone asked curiously.
"Both warlocks tasted Randyll Tarly's whip," the knight laughed, drawing guffaws from the group.
"Maybe they used the wrong blood," a young knight said with mock mystery. "Rumor has it dragon's blood holds magic. Perhaps that could make the pig brave."
"Blood and fire share a source. Are you trying to roast the future Lord of Horn Hill?"
"When he inherits Horn Hill, we can march north and have a whole-roast pig feast!"
While waiting for High Hermitage's response, the knights traded jests and insults about the Reach. The lighthearted atmosphere made it easy to forget they were on a battlefield.
The Blackmont lands bordered the Dornish Marches, and friction with the marcher lords of the Reach was constant. Mocking Reachmen was their favorite pastime.
Just as their banter reached its peak, Erwin coughed lightly. The smiles vanished instantly, and silence fell over the group.
The side gate of High Hermitage slowly groaned open. Seven knights, bearing the violet banner with the white sword and falling star, rode out in single file and reined in their horses a short distance away.
After the heralds exchanged names, Ser Williams shouted:
"Ser Erwin! Take your men and leave Starfall's lands immediately! For the sake of our shared Dornish blood, if you obey the commands of the Warden of the Torrentine from this day forth, Starfall promises to overlook your acts of aggression!"
"Are you joking?" Erwin saw through Ser Williams's bluster immediately and laughed. "The 'Sword of the Morning' broke his blade in the Red Mountains. Starfall's elite are dead. These peasants you've conscripted would have been crushed already if they didn't run so fast. A hollow title can't protect your lands!"
Ser Williams's face was as dark as storm clouds. "Then what do you want?"
"If you surrender the castle, bend the knee to House Blackmont, and send hostages to Blackmont," Erwin raised his chin, his voice dripping with arrogance, "I pledge, on behalf of Lady Larra, that you may keep two-thirds of your lands and holdfasts."
"We need time to consider," Ser Williams said gravely. "We will give you an answer in three days."
Erwin nodded with satisfaction. "I give you three days. No more."
On the ride back to camp, a knight asked, puzzled, "My Lord, isn't this just a stalling tactic?"
"Our siege engines need time to be built," Erwin said confidently. "And we must wait for the Vulture King's army to arrive. It is unwise to bleed ourselves dry against Starfall's walls now. If we fight too hard and lose too many men, we won't have the strength to suppress the wildlings later. We'd be handing them the victory on a platter."
"But when the wildlings come, aren't you afraid they'll storm the castle first and demand a share of the loot?"
"Wildlings are useless at sieges, but their numbers will swell our ranks and terrifying appearance will force High Hermitage to surrender." Erwin smiled slyly. "Tell me, would the men of High Hermitage trust the honor of wildlings, or the word of a fellow Dornish lord? Only by surrendering to us can they save their castle and lands."
The knight looked at him with admiration. "My Lord is truly brilliant!"
Two days passed in a flurry of siege preparations.
During this time, Viscount Dimitri of High Hermitage sent envoys multiple times bearing gifts of wine and meat. The implication was clear.
Erwin was amused. "It seems Dimitri knows which way the wind blows. When Chian arrives, we'll just prop a ladder against the wall for show, give them a graceful way to step down, and walk right in."
"I thought that 'Sword of the Morning,' Arthur Snow, was supposed to be formidable. Turns out he's just a brute," a knight slurred, hiccuping from the wine. "He's nothing compared to My Lord's strategy. You've taken the lower Torrentine with a wave of your hand."
Another joined in. "I reckon his win against My Lord in the joust was just luck."
"Hah!" Erwin was delighted but waved his hand with mock humility. "Snow defeated Prince Oberyn twice. His lance work is undeniable. But he is too young, too naive. He treats war like a tourney."
An old knight, watching the relaxed state of the camp, felt uneasy. He warned gravely, "The war is not won yet. We must remain vigilant."
"Old Ser, you worry too much," the knights laughed dismissively.
Erwin shook his head, chuckling. "Put your heart back in your chest, old friend."
Just then, a scout hurried over with a man dressed in wildling furs.
"My Lord, the Vulture King has arrived on the west bank of the Torrentine and is crossing now. This is the envoy, Man Di of the Stone Barbarian Tribe."
"How many men do you have?" Erwin signaled to his squire. "And what took you so long?"
The squire hurriedly poured a cup of amber peach wine for Man Di.
Man Di drained the cup in one gulp. "The King followed your orders, My Lord. He emptied the Red Mountains. We have over two thousand brave warriors."
He wiped his mouth. "As for the delay... on the way here, the King passed the grave of the old Vulture King. He stopped to pay respects to his father's spirit and pray for victory. It took some time."
"Filial piety. Commendable." Erwin was surprised but pleased. "Good. We will prepare to storm the walls. Your men will support from the flanks. Shout, make noise, scare them."
Man Di paused. "My Lord, will you not meet with my King first?"
Erwin stood up, swishing his cloak with a flair of dominance. "Tell him... we will meet inside High Hermitage!"
"Sound the horns! Assemble the army! Prepare to attack!"
Years of skirmishing with the Marcher Lords had kept the Blackmont army sharp. Under the urging of their commanders, they assembled quickly.
Soldiers pushed the newly built rams and siege ladders toward High Hermitage as warhorns blared.
From the walls of High Hermitage, a sparse, weak rain of arrows fell. The resistance was pathetic; only a few unlucky souls were hit.
Just as the Blackmont soldiers set their ladders and began to heave the heavy battering ram toward the gate...
Creak—Groan.
The gates of High Hermitage opened slowly on their own.
The commander in charge of the ram grinned. "Just as Lord Erwin said! Their resistance was all a show."
He started to complain, "But they could have at least let us hit the door once. If you're going to act, act the part properly..."
His complaint died in his throat.
Inside the open gates, hundreds of knights, armed to the teeth, sat silently on their warhorses. Their armor shone so brightly in the sun it hurt his eyes to look at them.
Doo-doo-doo—!
Urgent, sharp horn blasts tore through the air, followed by the thunder of iron-shod hooves pounding the earth.
Like a flood of steel, hundreds of knights erupted from the main gate. The ground shook beneath their charge.
"Starfall!"
"For the Sword of the Morning!"
Shouting their battle cries, the knights swung longswords, maces, and morningstars. Under the command of Lothor Brune, they cut through the stunned Blackmont vanguard like a knife through melon.
Behind them, a tide of infantry poured out of the castle, swarming the chaotic siege lines.
On the battlements, the defenders dropped the act. Arrows and stones rained down in a lethal storm upon the Blackmont soldiers below.
The siege force collapsed instantly.
"They seek death! I wanted to give them dignity, but they used my mercy against me!"
Erwin saw the sudden turn of events. Fighting back the throbbing pain in his skull, he issued orders without panic.
"The gate is open! Order the wildlings to charge! Rush the gate!"
"Cavalry! Intercept those knights! Do not let that hedge knight escape again!"
"I will end this in one stroke!"
Messengers sprinted to relay the orders. Not far away, the Blackmont cavalry commander acknowledged and led his men to charge the Starfall knights rampaging through their lines.
On the right flank, the wildling army received the order and charged.
But they didn't charge the castle. They charged the Blackmont flank.
If the Blackmont army had been slightly prepared for the trap at the castle, they were completely defenseless against the betrayal of their "allies." The wildlings, who had been cheering them on moments before, slammed into their ranks with savage ferocity.
The Blackmont soldiers, utterly confused, broke immediately under the onslaught.
Erwin Blackmont stood frozen, his mind reeling.
"The wildlings... treachery! They've joined Starfall!" The old knight beside him reacted instantly. "Erwin! Rally the men! Retreat to the camp and organize a defense! I will take the reserve and hold them off to buy you time!"
Without waiting for an answer, the old knight drew his sword and spurred his horse. A sad, knowing smile creased his wrinkled face.
His squire raised the banner and followed, leading the reserve into the jaws of the wildling charge on the right flank.
"How... how can this be?"
Erwin looked around blankly. He saw more and more soldiers pouring from High Hermitage. He saw his disciplined army disintegrating into a routed mob. Disbelief filled his eyes.
This must be a nightmare. Seven save me. I just need to close my eyes and open them, and I'll wake up in my tent.
But before he could blink, a violent spasm of pain shot through the back of his head, nearly causing him to faint. The pain brought reality crashing down.
"Sound the retreat!" he shrieked. "Back to the camp! Retreat!"
The trumpeter beside him blew the retreat frantically.
Erwin's hands shook as he took the reins from his squire. His legs went weak as he tried to mount, nearly falling off. The squire caught him just in time and shoved him into the saddle.
"Damned wildlings! They lied to me? What did Starfall give you? Was half the land not enough to fill your bellies?"
As the retreat sounded, the standard-bearer followed Erwin to the rear. The Blackmont army, now in full rout, was cut apart and surrounded.
Once the stubborn pockets of resistance were crushed, cheers of victory erupted from High Hermitage.
Lothor Brune prepared to lead his cavalry in pursuit, but the sharp blast of a horn from Gerold Dayne called him back.
"Where is Lord Arthur?" Lothor Brune took off his helm, demanding an answer from Gerold. "The enemy is broken. Why stop the pursuit?"
Gerold Dayne took a leisurely sip of his unsweetened lemon water. "It is his order. House Blackmont and Starfall are both Dornish. We avoid meaningless slaughter."
"Their spirit is broken. He wants you to tail them. Don't engage the main force, just round up the stragglers and captives as they flee."
"As for where Lord Arthur is?" Gerold smiled a strange, crooked smile.
"He said he will meet us inside Blackmont castle."
---
Erwin managed to rally the routed troops at his camp. A headcount revealed fewer than a thousand men remained.
Terrified of a pursuit from Starfall, he didn't dare stay. Fighting through his headache, he ordered the army to take only dry rations and march through the night toward Blackmont.
Harassed day and night by Lothor Brune's cavalry—who buzzed around them like relentless flies—the four-and-a-half-day journey was compressed into a grueling three-day forced march.
His army shrank with every mile. By the time they reached the walls of Blackmont, only two hundred men remained.
"We made it."
"We're safe."
The exhausted soldiers collapsed at the sight of their home castle. Some wept with relief.
Erwin looked at the silhouette of his castle, then at his two hundred tattered survivors. He thought back to his arrogance before High Hermitage, his vows to his cousin.
Suddenly, his body went limp. His vision went black, and he toppled from his horse.