RM: Chapter 109

Haypile was about two and a half days over the border from the lands of House Hawick into Mooton Lands. To get there, we actually had to bypass a number of smaller villages and hamlets a day or so out from the border. That was fine, though, as once we had defeated the Army of the Vale in our ambush, we would be free to return and take those villages and hamlets at our leisure. That was the plan, at least. Whether it would work out for us or not had yet to be seen, but I had every confidence that our plan would work. After all, the leaders of the Vale Army had completely alienated the one person they had working for them who could actually be a threat to me as a commander. With the Tattered Prince no longer in command of the Enemy Force, I was sure we would prevail.

The Town of Haypile itself was surrounded on all sides by flat fields. Hay, Barley, Turnips, and Wheat were all grown here. Harvested and sent to the massive granaries in the town for storage. It was those Granaries that I wanted to take intact, as they would effectively force a response from the Army of the Vale that could then be ambushed by my force. Aside from the fields and granaries, the other most distinguishing feature of the town was the timber pallisade. A circular wall of wood surrounded the town, with wooden gates and wooden watchtowers. It was a defense that would be absolute proof against bandits and some smaller, older-style military forces. It wouldn't keep us out, however.

It seemed that the inhabitants of Haypile knew that, because they assembled their small garrison under Ser Ralf Pemford, the Knight of Haypile, outside the Gates. It wasn't much. A mere five hundred men, mostly bulked out with a wartime militia of whatever men of fighting age the Town could spare, equipped with a mix of hastily assembled weaponry and farming implements. There wouldn't be any point in killing them all, as it would be a massive waste of people, not to mention fodder for the White Walkers should they get this far. Ser Ralf Pemford seemed to understand the bit about it being a waste of people, because he approached the middle of the field between our armies under a white flag of parlay with three of the actually decently equipped men in his ragtag group of Wartime Militia, Garrison Troops, Yeoman, and so on.

"Ser Roger, Ser Andar, Ser Raymun, with me. Let us see what Ser Ralf wants." I intoned.

"Aye, My Lord." Nodded Ser Roger Groves.

"Of course." Agreed Ser Raymun Darry.

"Aye, let's get this over with." Affirmed Ser Andar Royce.

"Ser Denys, Lord Mors, make sure the men are ready, just in case we can't come to an agreement." I ordered.

"A bloody waste." Spat Lord Mors Marshberry.

"Aye, but necessary all the same if we can't get Ser Pemford to surrender." Sighed Ser Denys Irons.

And with that, I spurred Armino forward, my faithful steed jolting ahead thanks to the promise of battle. I had, after all, taken to feeding him apples after every successful battle, even if I participated with the infantry. He carried me into battles, after all, so he deserved them. As I rode, Ser Roger took up position to my right, with Ser Raymun on my left and Ser Andar bringing up the rear in a sort of diamond formation. It was a more disciplined formation than what Ser Ralf Pemford and his three Yeomen had used to ride out. Their formation was looser, and if I had to guess, only Ser Ralf and the Yeoman on the right were used to riding more than occasionally.

This poor showing would have never been allowed under the Tattered Prince, and if it had been, it would have been part of some stratagem to trade land for time or lull us into a false sense of security for a later ambush. It was just another hint of the chaos that the change in command among the enemy forces had brought with it. That was all to the good, at least for us, though I pitied the men under Ser Symond Templeton's command. Chaos amongst the Commanders of an Army was never something that led to anything good, after all. However, I had little time to ponder that, as we pulled up to the parlay moments later.

"Lord Seawynd, Ser Roger, Ser Andar, Ser Raymun." Greeted Ser Ralf Pemford.

"Ser Ralf, Yeomen. Forgive me, I do not know your names." I returned.

"These are Ronnet, Dick, and Benn. They are some of the Yeomen who own parts of the fields out here in exchange for service." Introduced Ser Ralf.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, though I have to say that I wish it were under better circumstances." I opined.

"Aye, that's why we're here." Huffed Ser Andar.

"Indeed. Perhaps you could tell us what you wish to accomplish here?" Questioned Ser Roger.

"Aye. It would be best to come to some arrangement to spare your men." Intoned Ser Raymun.

"There you have it, Ser Ralf. Shall we get down to the business at hand?" I queried.

"Aye. What terms are you offering?" Asked Ser Ralf.

"Unconditional Surrender." Insisted Ser Andar before I could say anything.

"Ser Andar, please!" Hissed Ser Roger.

"No. He has no hope of resisting us. Unconditional surrender is the only logical term to offer." Scoffed Ser Andar.

"Loath as I am to agree here, Ser Andar has a point. You really can't hope to resist us." Remarked Ser Raymun.

"I would burn the Granaries before agreeing to those terms." Scowled Ser Ralf.

"Perhaps a compromise then? Single combat to determine the fate of the Town?" I questioned.

"And should you win? What then?" Queried Ser Ralf.

"We will simply occupy Haypile. No sack." I offered.

"Deal. I will fight for Haypile myself." Agreed Ser Ralf.

"I would be remiss if I did not do the same." I nodded.

"Shall we reconvene in, say, two minutes? My squire has my helm. I wished to parlay with my full face." Informed Ser Ralf.

"That is agreeable." I nodded.

As Ser Ralf headed out back to his rag-tag mass of Yeomen, Garrison Troops, and Wartime Militia to grab his helm from his squire. Ser Andar Royce let out a grunt of discontent. I rounded on him with a cocked eyebrow as he did so.

"If you have something to say, Ser Andar, say it." I demanded.

"Why do you indulge him? We could have taken this town trivially. There was no need to humor Ser Ralf's request. Do you truly believe he would have set flame to the granaries?" Asked Ser Andar.

"I do, Ser Andar. I know the look in a Man's Eye when he has nothing left to lose. If I had agreed to your. . .proposal, then we would enter Haypile with it being a burned-out ruin that serves no one. We need to take the Granaries intact in order to bait Ser Symond and the Vale Army into moving to retake the Town. Your impetuousness almost cost us that. Do not let it happen again." I answered, steel in my voice.

As I spoke, I looked Ser Andar dead in the eye, staring him down. Ser Andar Royce blanched at the tone of my voice and the look in my eye. He was likely just now realizing how close he had come to blowing the whole campaign. He nodded once, shakily, at me. I suddenly realized that Ser Andar might have gotten used to special treatment as his father's heir and that for all he was a couple of years older than I was, he had very little in the way of practical experience outside of a few skirmishes with bandits or Mountain Clansmen before Baelish had conquered the Mountains of the Moon.

"Aye, Lord Seawynd. It won't happen again." Vowed Ser Andar.

"Cheer up, Ser Spruce! Your mistake didn't ruin the campaign, and you know now not to do it again." Remarked Ser Raymun.

"Indeed. A mistake here and there is all right, even expected. Just so long as you learn from them." Affirmed Ser Roger.

"Just make sure you learn from them, or you'll have a very short career as a battlefield commander. Possibly a very short life, as well." I added.

Shortly after that, however, Ser Ralf Pemford returned bearing his Helm and Lance, seemingly eager to do this from horseback. I called for a Lance of my Own, and one was swiftly brought forth. I spurred Armino a bit away from the sight of the Parlay, and Ser Ralf followed. Then I closed the visor on my helm and saluted Ser Ralf. Ser Ralf saluted me back, then the duel for the fate of Haypile began in earnest with a charge. Ser Ralf spurred his horse toward me, and I did the same for Armino. As we charged each other, lance tips gleaming, I realized this was no tourney joust with blunted lances. I'd known that intellectually, of course, but this was the first time it sank in. We wouldn't unhorse each other or anything, but impale each other. That being the case, I could use tactics and techniques that would have never flown in a Tourney Setting.

As we closed, I used my lance like a spear, parrying Ser Ralf's own lance out wide as we passed and trying to maneuver him out of his saddle, or at least disarm him, using leverage in the bind of lances. I was Dornish, after all, and for all that I favored my Stepfather's Braavosi customs, I still knew how to use a spear better than the average Riverlander. It seemed that Ser Ralf hadn't been expecting that, and his own lance had been in position as if this were a joust, couched and ready to strike. As I brought my lance around in a circular motion, keeping contact with Ser Ralf's lance haft, my attempt to disarm him succeeded. His lance was torn from his grip and he had to bend damn near in half in his saddle to avoid being unhorsed by a follow-on sideswipe from my lance.

Realizing that he would never gain any room to draw his sword this way, Ser Ralf spurred his horse away, taking a thrust to his shield as he did so that gouged a great chunk out of the iron-banded oak. He managed to get free from the clash and have his mount gallop down the field so he could draw his arming sword, however. I grinned at that behind my helm, raising my lance in a salute. A man like this, who had a talent for arms, shouldn't be languishing in a place like Haypile. Unfortunately, that was just how the Andal System worked. Ser Ralf returned my salute with his blade, and then we were charging each other again.

This time, as I thrust my lance at him, he took the point on the shield before bringing his sword down on my lance haft. His blade split the wood with a cracking sound, cutting the head of my lance off, but I had a trick up my sleeve yet, wielding the shortened lance haft like a club and smashing him twice. The first hit slammed into his shield, further weakening it after two high-speed lance impacts. His shield held this time. The second hit, however, smashed his shield to flinders and sent him crashing to the ground. I tossed my shortened lance haft at him like a Javelin as he got to his feet, forcing him to parry and giving me time to draw my Valyrian Steel Blade.

Now, however, he was at a distinct disadvantage. He had fought well, but I had systematically destroyed many of the advantages he could have used to keep fighting. He was unhorsed, so I had the advantages of elevation and speed. He had no lance, so I also had the advantage of reach from the back of Armino, and he had no shield, so I had the advantage of protection, as well. Of course, there was also my advantage in Weapon, being that I had Valyrian Steel and he did not. Realizing this, Ser Ralf Pemford threw down his arming sword and took a knee.

"I yield, Lord Seawynd. You win, Haypile is yours." Surrendered Ser Ralf Pemford.

"I accept your surrender under the terms that we agreed to. I also commend you, Ser Ralf. That was well fought." I grinned.

"Thank you, My Lord. I've always had a knack for combat." Nodded Ser Ralf.

And with that, Haypile was ours. We entered the town without a battle, and I made sure that we kept to the terms. There was no looting or sack, not that I expected such from my own troops or Ser Raymun's, as I had fought beside them previously. I hadn't been certain about Ser Andar's Men, however. Thankfully, it seemed that Bronze Yohn also enforced good discipline amongst his own men. We had no incidents as we occupied Haypile. That was good because, in taking the Town's Granaries, the trap was baited.

Now, all that remained was to set the ambush and spring the trap on Ser Symond Templeton when he inevitably took the bait. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so here's the next chapter. Sorry, this was late. I had something come up last night that I had to take care of ASAP. In this chapter, we see the taking of Haypile, and also get a bit more characterization for Ser Andar Royce and Ser Raymun Darry. Ser Andar is a bit of a hothead, but that's largely down to inexperience. Meanwhile, Ser Raymun is a boisterous kind of guy, a bit like Mors Marshberry or the Greatjon, to use a Canon, Northern Example. Of course, Ser Andar's hotheadedness almost cost them, but Ricasso's experience offset that.

Ser Ralf Pemford was another of my own original creations. We know there's a Minor House that's House Pemford, but the only thing we hear about them is that Jaime killed Poul Pemford during the Battle of Riverrun. We know literally nothing else about them. Here, I have one of them acting as the appointed Knight of Haypile. At the same time, he's got a knack for personal combat, which is why he gets to be Knight of Haypile, but even with that knack, he's still a second son of a Minor House and in the Andal System most of Westeros uses, that means he's not gonna climb very high.

At any rate, the next chapter will be Ser Symond Templeton's Response to the trap Ricasso and Company set for him by taking Haypile. Then we'll have an interlude with a Naval Battle off Runestone against Littlefinger's Fleet.

Stay tuned. . .