282 AC, Ashford.
On the seventh day after the Tragedy at Summerhall, Robert's army broke camp and marched west.
Leon had not managed to leave.
That morning, he had found Robert and told him he wanted to continue south with the people from the Wendwater.
Robert had been sitting on a rock gnawing on a haunch of venison. After hearing him out, he tossed the bone into the fire, stood up, and looked down at him.
"South? To Highgarden?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what Highgarden is doing right now?"
Robert crouched to meet his eyes. "Mace Tyrell, that fool, is gathering the armies of the Reach. Once his tens of thousands of men are ready, they'll come at me from the west and bite me in the arse."
Leon looked at him without speaking.
"I need you, Leon," Robert said. "Those eyes and that head of yours work better than those of any vassal in my lands."
This was not a request. It was an order.
Tyrion coughed beside him and murmured to Leon, "I don't think we'll be leaving."
Leon fell silent for a few seconds, then nodded helplessly.
That afternoon, the forty-odd farmers from the Wendwater were assigned to Robert's supply train.
They could not fight, but they could carry things, feed horses, and cook.
Leon and Tyrion accompanied Robert's advisers west.
Riding his horse and watching the horizon draw closer, Tyrion suddenly said, "Do you know where we're going?"
"Ashford," Leon said. "On the border of the Reach."
"And then?"
Leon did not answer.
Tyrion sighed. "I thought heading south would let us avoid the war. And what happened? We walked straight into the middle of it."
Leon looked at him.
"You could go back to the Westerlands first."
"Leave?" Tyrion scoffed. "If I leave, who'll help you keep an eye on the people who want to harm you?"
The corners of Leon's mouth lifted slightly.
Three days later, word arrived from the scouts:
The Reach's vanguard had reached Ashford and was preparing its defenses.
Its commander was Earl Randyll Tarly-a renowned general acknowledged throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and hereditary commander of the Reach's vanguard.
Robert's army made camp on a rise five li east of Ashford.
That evening, Leon and Tyrion were summoned to the commander's tent.
Robert sat before a map, surrounded by knights.
The tent was dim, lit only by a few flickering candles.
"Randyll Tarly." Robert pointed to a mark on the map. "The Reach's vanguard commander. He's already taken Ashford with about three thousand men."
Earl Cafferen frowned. "Three thousand? We have ten thousand."
"His main force hasn't arrived yet," Lord Grandison said. "Mace Tyrell's army is still behind him."
Robert tapped the map.
"So we need to swallow those three thousand before his main force arrives. Once we win this battle, the Reach won't dare advance east lightly."
The men nodded in agreement.
Leon stood at the edge of the gathering without speaking.
Robert suddenly turned to him. "Little Leon, stop showing off that pretty face of yours and say something."
The tent fell silent.
Everyone looked at the dwarf.
Leon rose and walked over to the map, his Eye of Insight sweeping over the markers.
He was silent for a few seconds before speaking.
"The commander is Randyll Tarly."
"I know," Robert said.
"No, my lord." Leon raised his head. "You may not know this man. He's no ordinary nobleman of the Reach.
"He trained his army himself. Mace Tyrell didn't hand it to him. House Tarly has guarded the northern foothills of the Red Mountains for generations, fighting the Dornish year after year."
Robert frowned. "What difference does that make?"
Leon pointed to Ashford on the map. "His three thousand men have spent years wading through blood. They're worth five thousand of anyone else's. And he knows how to choose his ground, arrange his formations, and wait for us to make mistakes."
Murmurs spread through the tent.
One knight said disdainfully, "How formidable could an earl from the Dornish Marches be?"
Tyrion suddenly spoke. "I've heard of him."
Everyone turned to him.
Tyrion stood beside Leon, his mismatched eyes glinting in the candlelight.
"There are accounts of him among the maester's books at Casterly Rock. Ten years ago, when he was barely in his twenties, he led four hundred men to repel a Dornish raiding party over a thousand strong."
He paused, surveying the knights. "Do you know how he did it? He split his army into three groups. Two lay in ambush, and one lured the enemy in. When the Dornish gave chase, he attacked them from three sides and killed half of them."
The tent fell silent.
Robert stared at Tyrion, then looked at Leon.
"Have you two dwarfs come here to dampen my spirits?"
Leon shook his head. "Not to dampen your spirits. To tell you this battle won't be easy."
"Then how do we fight it?"
Leon pointed to the map. "My lord, you're right. Once his main force arrives, we won't have a chance. So we have to fight before it gets here.
"But Randyll Tarly won't take the bait easily. He'll form his lines and wait for us to charge."
He raised his head and looked at Robert.
"If you insist on fighting, there's only one way: advance steadily! Rely on our advantage in numbers. We must settle the battle within an hour.
"But we mustn't rush forward blindly. And if it drags on until the Tyrell main force arrives, we'll have to run."
Robert stared at him for a few seconds, then grinned.
"All right. We'll fight your way."
At dawn the next day, Robert's army advanced toward Ashford.
Leon stood on a rise, with Thea and Sandor guarding his left and right.
A short sword hung at his left hip and a dagger at his right. Sweat had darkened the sword's grip.
Tyrion stood beside him, clutching a solid steel hand axe he had picked up from a fallen knight and never quite brought himself to discard.
In the distance, the formation of the Reach's vanguard was clearly visible.
It was not the loose, chaotic formation he had imagined, but neat and orderly, as though measured with a ruler.
His Eye of Insight worked at full strength.
He could see that mass of cold blue-green light. Randyll Tarly.
That light was not flame, but ice and steel, a calm that betrayed no unnecessary emotion.
He stood at the center of the formation, surrounded by rank upon rank of soldiers, each like a piece in his hand.
Leon's heart sank.
Worthy of an undefeated god of war...
Calm to the extreme.
This was no ordinary opponent.
A horn sounded.
Robert's cavalry began its charge.
In that instant, Leon saw Randyll Tarly's response: a counterattack prepared well in advance.
His army opened like a door, letting Robert's cavalry charge inside, then closed, encircled them, and split them apart.
"Reckless boar! This is bad," Leon murmured.
Thea tightened her grip on her sword. "Young master?"
Leon did not answer.
He stared fixedly at the battlefield, his Eye of Insight catching every detail: the cavalry being cut off, the banners falling, the masses of cold blue-green light drawing ever closer.
Randyll Tarly was concentrating his forces to divide them.
He was splitting Robert's army apart and eating away at it.
The fighting lasted an hour.
Standing on the rise, Leon watched that mass of cold blue-green light devour the orange flames bit by bit.
Except for the force Robert led, the soldiers were falling back, scattering, and dying.
Suddenly, he spotted a familiar figure: Earl Cafferen, the Stormlands noble who had submitted to Robert after being captured at Summerhall.
He was charging with his own guards, trying to tear through Randyll Tarly's encirclement.
Then Leon saw Randyll Tarly move to meet him in person.
The cold blue-green light collided with the dark gold light.
A few seconds later, the dark gold light went out.
Earl Cafferen had fallen in battle.
Just then, a small band of routed soldiers surged toward their rise.
They were Robert's cavalry, fleeing soldiers of the Reach.
The pursuers spotted the figures on the rise and immediately detached a squad to charge them.
"Young master, stand back." Thea drew her sword.
Sandor had already charged out.
He was like a moving fortress. His greatsword swept across, cutting the first Reach soldier in two, shield and all.
Blood splashed across his face. His expression did not change; he simply kept moving forward.
But there was more than one enemy.
A second wave surged up, then a third.
Sandor was tied down.
Three soldiers circled the rise and charged Leon.
Thea did not retreat.
She met them. Her sword flashed, and the first soldier's throat opened.
She turned sideways to avoid the second man's thrust, then drove her sword beneath his ribs with a backhand strike.
Her boot struck the third man's knee, and as he dropped to his knees, her sword took off his head.
The whole exchange took fewer than ten breaths.
Leon drew his short sword and stood behind Thea, his Eye of Insight fixed on the center of the battlefield.
Then he saw it.
Clouds of dust rose along the western horizon.
The Tyrell main force had arrived! At least twenty thousand men, approaching at full speed.
Leon hurriedly shouted, "Thea, follow me in! Sandor, protect Tyrion!" Then he turned and ran.
Thea guarded him as he rushed into the center of the battlefield, searching for Robert among the bodies strewn across the ground.
At last, he found that black-clad figure amid a cluster of routed soldiers. Robert was covered in blood, scraps of flesh hanging from his warhammer, still roaring as he charged forward.
"My lord!" Leon shouted. "We have to retreat! The Tyrell main force is here!"
Robert glanced back at him, mad flames burning in his blue eyes.
"Retreat?! I haven't lost yet!"
"You've already lost!" Leon pointed to the dust on the horizon. "Look over there! At least twenty thousand men! If you don't retreat now, everyone will die here!"
Robert looked where he pointed.
In that instant, his expression froze.
But he did not order a retreat.
"Give me another incense stick's worth of time!" he roared. "I can cut down Randyll Tarly!"
He turned to charge again.
Just then, the enemy seemed to spot Robert's banner.
A troop of Reach cavalry changed direction and charged toward their position.
The leading knight pointed at Robert and shouted, "That's Robert Baratheon! Take him!"
Leon's heart sank to rock bottom.
The cavalry came too fast.
Thea met them. Her sword flashed, and the first knight fell from his horse.
But the second and third followed close behind.
Her movements began to slow, and her breathing grew heavy.
Sandor burst out from behind them, his greatsword sweeping across and cutting down two riders along with their horses.
But more enemies were surging toward them.
One knight broke through Thea's defense and charged Leon.
Leon ducked beneath his thrust and drove his short sword into the horse's neck with both hands.
The horse collapsed with a shrill scream. The knight fell, and Tyrion struck him in the back of the head with his axe.
Tyrion panted, blood dripping from his trembling hand axe, and looked at Leon. "Seven Hells! I killed someone..."
Leon did not answer.
He rushed up to Robert and grabbed his cloak.
"Did you see that?! They came for you! Every moment you stay here, more people die for you!"
Robert turned to look at him.
For the first time, hesitation appeared on his face.
But just then, Thea let out a muffled groan.
Leon turned to see a Reach knight's longsword cleave into her shoulder. She fell from her horse.
Sandor roared and charged over, his greatsword shearing off the knight's arm, but more enemy soldiers were surrounding them.
Tyrion rushed up to Robert and craned his head back, fury burning in his mismatched eyes.
"Robert Baratheon!" he roared, his voice drowning out the din of battle. "You fucking listen to me!"
Robert froze. Everyone around him froze, too!
A dwarf, shouting at a lord on the battlefield?
"You want to die here? Fine! That's your business!" Tyrion pointed at the soldiers fighting around them. "But what about them? What about the men who've followed you through life and death? Cafferen is already dead! How many more do you want buried with him?!"
Robert's face flushed red, his veins bulging.
"Imp, you're asking to die-!"
"What?!" Tyrion refused to back down. "If you die, can Stannis hold Storm's End? Your brother Renly is only three. Who's going to raise him?
"Can Eddard Stark win this war alone? You'd fucking have it easy, dying a hero on the battlefield and leaving everyone else to clean up your shit!"
In that instant, Leon saw the fire in Robert's eyes go out.
It had not been doused. The tirade had snapped him awake.
Robert whipped his head around, looking at the soldiers fighting, at the bodies on the ground, at the dust of the approaching enemy drawing ever closer on the horizon.
He drew a deep breath.
"Quick! Retreat," he roared. "Now!"
The horns sounded.
The signal to retreat spread across the battlefield.
Sandor hauled Thea onto his horse, blood spilling from her wound.
Leon and Tyrion guarded her flanks as they galloped north.
Behind them, Randyll Tarly's army did not pursue.
He simply stood in the middle of the battlefield, watching Robert's routed troops recede into the distance.
That mass of cold, blue-green light never wavered from beginning to end.
The retreat lasted an entire day and night.
When Robert's battered troops finally stopped beside an unnamed river, Leon fell from his horse and knelt on the ground, gasping for breath.
His hands were still trembling.
Not from fear, but from overexertion.
It was his first time fighting in a war, too, and it was far more terrifying than a handful of people hacking at one another...
Tyrion was in even worse shape. His face was as pale as a corpse's, he had vomited several times along the way, and his hand axe had vanished somewhere.
"How's Thea?" Leon asked.
Sandor approached from behind, carrying the unconscious Thea over his shoulder.
Blood still seeped from her shoulder wound, and her face was frighteningly pale.
Leon struggled to his feet and walked over to her.
[Eye of Insight] activated.
Excessive blood loss, the wound's edges gaping outward, but no vital areas had been hit. She would not die.
He briefly closed his eyes.
That night, sparse campfires dotted Robert's camp, which lay in deathly silence.
Earl Cafferen's banner was folded up, ready to be sent back to his family.
More than a thousand Stormlands soldiers would never go home.
When Leon found Robert, he was sitting alone by the river, staring into the black water with a wine flask clutched in his hand.
He did not turn at the sound of footsteps.
"Your dwarf brother was right to curse me out," he said. "I nearly got everyone killed."
Leon sat down beside him.
"You're not a god," he said. "No one is free of mistakes."
Robert turned to look at him, his blue eyes bloodshot.
"Randyll Tarly." He bit out the name. "I'll remember him."
Leon said nothing.
In the distance, Tyrion crouched beside a campfire, clumsily dressing Thea's wound.
Sandor sat silently to one side, his greatsword across his knees.
Leon suddenly spoke. "My guard nearly died right in front of you."
Robert paused.
"She raised me, feeding me with her own hands."
"I..." he said. "I owe you a life."
Leon shook his head.
"Not me. Them."
He looked toward Thea. "They aren't here for you. They're here for me. If I'm at your side, they have no choice but to follow you."
Robert was silent for a long time.
"Do you hate me for starting this war?" he asked.
Leon thought for a moment.
"No," he said. "But next time, please listen to me, just once."
Robert looked at him, then suddenly smiled.
There was none of his usual swagger in that smile, only weariness and sincerity.
"All right."
Three days later, Robert's battered troops reached the vicinity of Stoney Sept.
Word arrived:
Jon Connington's royalist army was closing in.
Meanwhile, the combined forces of Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully were also on their way.
The next battle was about to begin.
Leon stood on a high slope, gazing at the northern horizon.
Thea's wound had not healed, but she had regained consciousness.
Sandor stayed by her side without leaving her for a moment.
Tyrion's color had improved somewhat. He walked over and stood beside Leon.
"Tell me," Tyrion suddenly said. "In that battle against Randyll Tarly, would Robert have died if you hadn't been there?"
Leon thought for a moment.
"Yes," he said. "He would have died there."
Tyrion nodded.
"Then you saved Robert's life. You know that?"
Leon did not answer.
He only gazed north, watching the storm draw ever closer.
I saved Robert's life.
But that changes nothing.
The war continued.
More people would die.
And the wound on Thea's shoulder would forever remind him...
The price of power could never be measured in numbers.