Chapter 89 86

Ser Jasper Redfort

Ser Jasper Redfort and his household guardsmen had fallen slightly behind the Arryn column, but that was within acceptable bounds. Maneuvers required time. He had come into this expecting the Falcon's Eye to be a man propped up by his father and the king, his reputation built on borrowed glory. The rumors swirling around Axel Arryn were too many and too contradictory to take at face value. Jasper had always asked different questions. Would Axel Arryn be celebrated across the world had he not been born to a great house? Would he have become a mercenary captain without the men of his house who followed him into foreign lands? Would he have become King Robert's Hand without the friendship between them? He had traveled enough of Westeros to know that celebrated fighters were often hollow men, praised for things they had not truly earned.

The Falcon's Eye had not troubled him before. He was far away and not concerned with the affairs of his future lands. Jasper had been perfectly content with Arryn sitting in the capital playing at being important. He could not have cared less about the man as long as the Vale remained stable. Then Lady Lysa Arryn's rebellion broke out, and his opinion of his liege fell to a point beyond expression. How could anyone have permitted a half-mad woman, a foreigner at that, born in the Riverlands, to use a ten-year-old child as her justification for raising a rebellion against the sitting Lord of the Vale?! Jasper did not understand it, especially since, on top of everything else, Axel was Lord Royce's nephew, and the second most powerful house in the Vale had backed its own kinsman. He had made up his mind on the matter: only a complete idiot could let a rebellion ignite with those cards in hand.

Whatever kind of fool Arryn might be, he remained the liege lord to whom House Redfort had sworn its loyalty. A few months of fighting and the scales had tipped in the Falcon's Eye's favor. Even Stannis's arrival had not helped the rebels, they would simply starve. All that remained was the final stroke, one last effort, and the war in the Vale would be over. For that reason he had exercised his rights as the future Lord Redfort, taken the household guard, and ridden to the battlefield. When he cut off the Blackfish's head, no one would dare deny his house what it was owed.

"My lord, look. The Falcon's Eye is riding into the battle himself." His most trusted man pointed to the right.

Indeed he was. Arryn had not hesitated to lead the charge directly against the enemy cavalry. At the head of the opposing riders stood a man of extraordinary height, bearing the Waynwood sigil. Jasper had a good memory but could not place anyone who matched the description of a giant in full plate wielding a halberd. Beside the armored colossus, Arryn looked unimpressive. It seemed like the Falcon's Eye might simply be ridden over and not even noticed.

At some point Arryn and the Waynwood giant separated from their respective groups and spurred toward each other. The giant swung his halberd. Arryn brought his Valyrian blade across in the same instant. The moment of impact came, and then something impossible happened. Jasper thought his eyes were deceiving him, but the stunned faces of his men told him they were not. Axel Arryn, with a single stroke, severed the horse's head and split the Waynwood giant clean in two.

Without slowing, Arryn pressed the attack, cutting down two more enemy riders in quick, fluid movements. The giant's sudden death, the shock that followed, the Falcon's Eye's furious charge, and the crisp discipline of the former sellswords combined to break the enemy cavalry. Arryn milked every ounce of momentum and drove nearly to the heart of the enemy formation. Now Jasper could admit it freely: the Falcon's Eye's reputation as a great warrior was deserved. The allied riders began to slow. Initial momentum was a fine thing, but their enemy soldiers had ground them down and finally brought them to a halt. The battle had shifted. Now it was his turn. Another hammer blow and the enemy would not survive it. All he needed was room to build speed.

He had ridden out the distance needed for a proper cavalry charge and was about to give the order when he stopped. He stared at the neighboring hilltop in disbelief, studying the figures standing there. Around thirty riders in light armor watched the battle below with unhurried calm. What stopped him was not their presence, but the banner snapping in the wind. A black trout on a field of red and blue, the personal standard of Brynden the Blackfish, supreme commander of the rebel forces. And if you looked closely enough you could make out a grey-haired old man in fine armor styled to resemble fish scales. The momentary shock passed and Jasper gave his order.

"Reform! We are going for the Blackfish's head!"

...

A blow, a hard block, one enemy dead. A parry, a head taken off, a subordinate saved. The battle went on. For some it was a slaughter to the death. For others it was just another fight. For one man it was a moment to think.

Hm. Redfort should have charged long ago, and yet there is no sign of him. He is not even riding in our direction. Treachery? Possible, but unlikely. The Redforts have tied their future to mine and would not betray me so clumsily. If not treachery, what is the reason for his absence? An ambush, a sudden enemy attack? No, in that case someone would have ridden to warn us and ask for reinforcements. Think about Jasper. He came here to win glory. The simplest and most meaningful thing he could do would be to become the central figure in putting down the rebellion. And how does one do that? By doing something significant. What counts as significant? Taking a castle, breaking an army, killing a name. There are no castles nearby, and no army either, which means someone drew Redfort toward him at full gallop. The Blackfish?! He would not have shown himself without a plan.

At some point the enemy riders understood they had nothing left to gain here and split into small groups, scattering in every direction.

"My lord, the enemy is retreating! Shall I organize a pursuit?" Under ordinary circumstances this would have been right, but there was a different problem at hand.

"No." His answer surprised the old warrior. "Ten minutes to regroup. Then we ride after Ser Redfort."

...

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