Ben

Ben was clad in armour, his helmet failed to hide his long bright red hair, but a visor would hide the beard he was growing once he lowered it. He wore the Targaryen colours and with his morning star on his belt and a kite shield on his arm, Ben thought he made for an imposing sight.

Stoney Sept was a walled town nestled in the rolling hills of the southern Riverlands. It was a quiet town, filled with cobbled streets and narrow alleys that wound their way between the ancient stone buildings. The sun was high in the sky, and the town’s walls rose above the buildings casting a sharp shadow across the narrow streets below. At the top of the walls, sentry towers could be seen, wooden structures on top of the stone wall, men stood on them watching the countryside for any sign of trouble. Other men stood on the wall, they did not look outwards, but inwards, looking for any hint of the rebel Lord Baratheon.

Ben had been spared from the fighting the day before. Lord Connington’s vanguard had crushed and dispersed Robert Baratheon’s army, the fresh loyalist army made quick work of the rebels who had been retreating through the Reach for almost a month. The rebel lord had vanished with the rest of his army, but this morning Lord Connington’s scouts had seen Lord Baratheon with at least a hundred men entering the town, half a day north of where they were. The army arrived in only four hours; Lord Connington had taken the men to their limit with his forced march.

Once they arrived Lord Connington promptly ordered the loyalist army to secure the gates and wall. After that, he ordered them to search every house and building in the town and to find Robert Baratheon. That had been an hour ago.

Ben was checking a house placed in an alley which branched from the main street of the town. The smell of freshly baked bread drifted through an opened window, intermingled with the rich scent of roasting meat, coming from the markets behind the house Ben was in. The elderly woman who had opened the door watched him search every room with a stern expression. Ben noticed the woman glimpse at the morning star resting on his belt anxiously a few times. They hadn’t uttered a word since Ben had announced he would be searching her house on orders from The Hand of the King, she probably didn’t have anything to say to him, and Ben didn’t know if there was anything he could say to calm the old woman. It was much easier for him to wield his morning star in the field than his tongue in conversation.

As Ben made his way through the house, his senses were on high alert, his pale blue eyes scanning every corner for any sign of danger. He checked each room carefully, lifting old crude tapestries and peering behind furniture, but he found nothing suspicious. Just as he was about to give up his search, he heard a faint rustling sound coming from a room he had just searched. His hand went to his morning star as he slowly made his way over to investigate. As he opened the door a rat scurried away towards a nook in the corner of the room. Suddenly he heard a noise behind him, and he spun around, morning star at the ready, but he found only the shocked face of the elderly woman standing in the hall. The shock on her face turned into a smirk. “A scaredy cat, are you? Just you like your King.” The woman spat at him. “Our King.” Ben corrected her. The woman opened her mouth, to say what Ben would never know, but she was interrupted by the ringing of bells, the bells from the sept the town got its name from. Ben’s face turned white, the bells could only mean one thing, an enemy army was approaching. He lowered his visor and rushed outside.

Men screaming could be heard from all directions, some shouting orders, others cries of war, and some were simply screaming. Ben clutched his shield tightly in one hand, his morning star in the other, and tried to understand what was going on. He ran towards the main street, there he saw men carrying the banner of the three-headed dragon trying to storm the gateway which was being held by a small number of rebels, behind them in the distance Ben could see a great cloud of smoke approaching their way, the feet beneath his feat trembled. Cavalry, he thought. They had to close the gate.

He charged towards the gate. A man fell from the wall, Ben looked up. The rebels defended the gatehouse fiercely, as fiercely as the loyalist tried to retake it. Soon Ben found himself in the middle of the fray, around him the sound of clashing steel was almost deafening, and the metallic smell of blood was nauseating. Ben tried not to focus on that, in front of him a man wearing black and red was felled by a warrior clad in yellow, their eyes met for a second and before he realized his morning star met a thick wooden shield and the man in yellow staggered backwards. Strike after strike, Ben saw himself overwhelm the warrior, charging ever forward. “Never relent” Lucius had once taught him. The warrior swung his battle axe in a desperate attempt to force Ben to halt his assault, he instead lost his balance and slipped on the blood that covered the street of stone. Their eyes met again, his were green, Ben noticed, opened in panic, they reminded Ben of that one sheep his father had used to show him how to slaughter, pleading, scared. Ben never joined his father and brother when they slaughtered the sheep again. Still, he kicked the warrior’s shield to the side, as Ser Myles had taught him, and bashed the man’s helmet inwards with his morning star. His blood joined the drenched stone street.

The battle around Ben was still raging, a storm of steel. He saw two men fighting and recognized the king’s colours in one of them, he swung his morning star with all his might on the back of the other man. One after another, Ben couldn’t tell how long or how many, but soon it was made clear. Too long, not enough. The horses clashed against the fighting men, they did not discriminate between friend and foe, one hit Ben and threw him to the ground. The strength of the smack made Ben lose his breath, horses ran above him, and he expected a hoof to smash his head like he had smashed the green-eyed warrior’s. It never did, when Ben recovered his breath and stood up the cavalry was long past them. A few men ahorse remained around, cutting down those who remained. Ben had remained unnoticed. He saw the rebel foot coming towards the gate, but he didn’t see any men of the king standing around him, so he ran towards one of the narrow alleys. He had to find Ser Myles; he would know what to do.

He ran through the alleys, the bells sounded loudly and incessantly over the screams of battle. He stumbled into a man wearing colours he didn’t recognize and a rusted helmet, the man looked at him for a moment and charged silently. Ben responded to his charge and the trust of his sword with a step to the side, followed by his morning star swinging upwards towards his face. He tore the man’s rusty visor from his helmet and half his face from his head along with it. The man stood for a moment and looked at him with a single brown eye, he looked baffled, and then he fell face-first to the ground. Ben looked at the corpse for a minute, he couldn’t move a muscle. Suddenly he realized the bells had stopped ringing for a moment, he also felt the bile in his throat. No time for that, he thought as the ringing resumed. He swallowed and kept going, he had to find Myles. He continued towards the Stoney Sept. Along the way, he found scattered soldiers whom he rallied behind him.

When they arrived at the square in front of the sept the sight was gruesome. Bodies were scattered on the floor and a pitched battle was taking place. Searching for Myles Ben’s eyes scanned the battlefield, and he finally saw him at the steps of the sept. Robert Baratheon and Myles Mooton were engaged in single combat, on the steps below them laid five bodies, they wore red, white and gold. Ser Myles’ men, Ben thought. The stormlord had the knight on his back foot, he needed help. “Men! With me!” He boomed. He charged towards the sept followed by the six men he had gathered going through the alleys. They followed as Ben opened a path through the square swinging his morning star with abandon, he felled all enemies who stood in his way, but most just stood aside. In no time he reached the steps.

Myles' shield was torn apart the knight had been reduced to dodging the strikes of Baratheon’s hammer. As Ben ascended the steps Ser Myles charged forward trying to catch the stormlord off-guard, Robert Baratheon deflected the knight’s sword with his hammer and in the same motion struck Myles’ knee. The knight fell with the single strike.

“Charge him!” Ben shouted, as the three men who remained at his side followed his direction. While the men charged the stormlord Ben picked up Myles and rested him on his shoulder, when Ben raised his gaze, he saw two of the men already laid dead on the steps, the third was running away from Robert. Ben ran too, he had to get Myles out of the town.

Ben quickly descended the steps, with one arm he carried Myles on his shoulder and with the other he held his shield, his morning star was lost, he didn’t even remember letting go of it. As he made his way away from the square and through an alley, he heard a horn blowing twice, Lord Connington’s signal of retreat, the battle was lost. Ben ran through the alley, without any idea of where he was going. Retreat, that was the signal. But retreat where? Ben didn’t know where he was or where he was going, but he kept going. As he made his way across an abandoned street a knight fell from the sky in front of him, the corpse remained unmoving, and Ben didn’t want to know how the man looked beneath the black and yellow armour. Ben looked up and saw a man staring at him while standing on the edge of a roof, he wore red and black. The man nodded at Ben, and he nodded back at the man. The man then pointed to Ben’s left. “Go to the eastern gate! It’s the only way out of the city!” The man shouted. Ben mumbled thanks which wouldn’t have been heard if the man was standing next to him and ran in the direction he was pointed to. He ran through empty streets and alleys at first, but then he found fighting. Ben rose his shield and charged through the battle, he ran as fast as he could, thankfully Ser Myles had stopped screaming in pain a few minutes past.

They made it to the eastern gate in one piece, mostly, Ben couldn’t help but worry about the dangling broken leg of Ser Myles. There Connington was organizing an orderly retreat. The wounded were being put on wagons and tended by maesters while they were carried away first. Ben carefully placed Ser Myles on one of the wagons, he waited for a maester to tend to Myles before he relaxed. Suddenly he felt the toll of battle all at once, his muscles sore, from use and bruises. He looked at himself, he was covered in blood. The enemies’ blood, he thought. Then he saw his hands, as pale as death, maybe not all his enemies’ then. He wondered if Lucius had survived the onslaught before falling on his back, the muddy grass felt comfortable. The evening sky was very pretty he noticed; then everything went black.