(Third-person perspective)
A chilling silence hung over the heart of the Vale of Arryn. Aermir brandished his powerful family summoned creatures, weaving a web of silence across the Vale. He severed the traditional ways of communication between the Vale's families and the rest of the Vale, just as he had done in the Three Sisters.
On the cliffs surrounding the Vale of Arryn, Po and Erebus, with hundreds of Crow, circled like silent sentinels. Their wary eyes scanned the sky, ensuring that not a single Crow would bring news of the valley's plight. When the lords of the valley sent out messengers, not one returned.
If Po or Erebus are not present, they will notify the others, while on the ground, Berus, Artio, Sith, and the other familiars will hunt down the messengers. None of them can leave the valley, and the poor messengers become food for wild animals one by one.
In the hall of the House Lynderly, Lady Elara Lynderly was consulting with her advisors. The lack of support fueled the flames of anxiety. Several days had passed since they sent out Crow and messengers, and there had been no reply. With her father, as the sole heir, absent, she had a responsibility to defend their land. Her cousin Aron Lynderly, a seasoned warrior, expressed his concerns...
"Something's not right. Lord Arryn should be responding to our call by now."
Elara was a clever woman, but knew nothing about war; she was aware of this weakness and, as the future heir, she had to remedy it in time, but for now, she had to rely on the judgment of experienced advisors. "Aron had repeatedly defeated attacks from Mountain Clans, bravely defending their land," he said, shaking his head.
" The Mountain Clans also have problems. They don't wage war. They don't have enough manpower and resources. The only reason we haven't wiped them out is the instability of the mountains; in the mountains, our losses would be staggering. The mountain tribes are not united. Their infighting is no less intense than their infighting with us."
A knight burst in, carrying a letter, Aermir allowed him to pass. Elara glanced at it and then handed it to Aron. It was a message from Lord Waynwood, urging them to unite and march on the Mountain Clans. Aron said...
"I think we should unite and drive them out immediately. They may outnumber us, but we are the knights of the Vale. On the plains, they will never stand against us."
Another knight said, "We should call upon House Hunter and House Upcliff to join us and form a deadly pincer attack."
Elara liked the idea, and they immediately sent out the Crow. Of course, Aermir received the news first and was allowed to come to the battlefield, but he wanted to change the battlefield. He retreated to the Citadel of the House Hunter and House Upcliff and set up camp next to a forest. This camp was a decoy, and most of his troops were deep in the forest.
The House Egen, encamped on the valley slopes, faced relentless attacks from the Mountain Clans. Lady Alys Egen, a skilled archer, fired arrows at the approaching enemies. However, the magical armor of the mountain warriors rendered many arrows ineffective. Like most families, the House Egen was in awe of the Mountain Clans ' superior equipment.
Among the Mountain Clans, Tormund of the Burned Men wielded his massive warhammer, shattering the defenses of the House Egen. Small-scale battles on the hillside became a test of endurance, with both sides vying for control of the strategic slope.
The sun climbed high in the sky, casting its warm rays upon the lush valleys of Vale of Arryn. The House Hardyng was attempting to hold a shallow river crossing. Omer, the Moon Brothers, keenly observed the House Hardyng from his concealed position on the rocky cliffs. First, they clashed with the Hatton army, then he sent a subtle signal, initiating a planned retreat and summoning his men to lure the Vale's army into Trap set by Aermir. A week earlier, Aermir had laid this Trap and instructed Omer on how to proceed.
Ser Beric Hardyng, a seasoned and discerning commander, kept a close eye on the obvious weaknesses of the retreating Mountain Clans. He harbored some doubts, but the prospect of a decisive victory for the Moon Brothers convinced him to pursue them. He would not pursue them if they approached the mountains, but what could they do on the plains? In his eyes, they might have better weapons, but they were still mountain barbarians. As long as they remained on the plains, he was certain of his victory.
The river seemed calmer than usual, but he didn't care. He believed it was divine intervention. This way, his cavalry wouldn't lose too much speed. Normally, the water here would be knee-deep, but now it was only half-deep. His thousand-strong cavalry launched a fierce charge, and as they passed the riverbank, the mountain men lined up again, beginning a new round of fighting. Those mountain Wildlings held their ground on the opposite bank; when he heard the rumbling sound, he realized what was happening, but it was too late.
He could hardly believe his eyes; the floodwaters were rushing towards his men, but how could this be? How had they caused the flood so quickly? He watched helplessly as the floodwaters surged towards his troops, still unable to believe his eyes. It couldn't be; half his army was still crossing the river. He couldn't turn back; all he could do was change course. Their frenzied charge had become a desperate gamble; they didn't care whether they were trampling friendly or enemy troops; they only wanted to cross the river in the shortest possible time.
Aermir used earth magic to build a dam. He slowly built a wall so the water level wouldn't drop immediately. He didn't need a long time to build the dam. Its purpose was simply to create a powerful enough wave, and that was enough. If he didn't release the water, the dam would collapse in a few days. The dam didn't block all the water, but it blocked most of it, and the people of the Vale, under attack from four different fronts, had no time to investigate the water shortage.
As the House Hardyng's army advanced towards the other side of the river, only a small portion successfully crossed safely. Now, the Moon Brothers had the numerical advantage. Suddenly, the air crackled with the twang of bowstrings, and mountain archers hidden in the cliffs and foliage along the riverbank unleashed a volley of arrows.
Chaos erupted on the riverbank as the Vale troops were once again caught off guard and charged. Arrows struck their targets with deadly accuracy. In the center of the skirmish, Ser Beric Hardyng put up a fierce resistance, struggling to restore order to the troops. Omer seized the opportunity, bursting from the rocky cliffs to engage Ser Beric in a duel.
Ser Beric and Omer clashed, their swords striking each other with a symphony of clangs that echoed across the cliff face. Omer was as agile and graceful as a lynx, his attacks swift and powerful, his magical armor as heavy as leather. Ser Beric, clad in armor that gleamed in the sunlight, moved more slowly, but his blows were incredibly forceful, a testament to the well-trained Vale Knights.
Ser Beric, burdened with the responsibilities of House Hardyng, struggled to maintain control. He was a powerful man, but Omer's attacks were exceptionally potent. Thanks to Aermir's plan, each battle was spaced at least one or two hours apart. This allowed him to move between the front lines, healing 200 warriors and granting them superhuman strength and speed. This enabled him to fly from one place to another without rest, but it also made the battles much easier.
Under the relentless sun, the confrontation reached its climax. Blood flowed like rivers, and sweat poured down both sides. Omer seized a vulnerable moment and launched a series of rapid attacks. Each strike was like a heavy hammer blow. The Vale knights were exhausted and fighting alone, finding themselves completely at the mercy of the mountain chieftain.
Ser Beric hid behind his shield, but Omer charged at him like a bull, slamming his shield against Ser Beric's, causing Ser Beric to stumble backward. Ser Beric didn't give up; he was battered and bruised, every part of his body aching, but he didn't give up. He gritted his teeth, trying to get up, but a kick struck his helmet, sending it flying. He was dizzy and his ears were ringing. He could feel his end was near.
He threw his sword at the charging Omer, but Omer blocked it with his shield and swung his one-handed axe at Ser Beric's shoulder. Ser Beric convulsed in pain but did not die immediately; he smiled, his mouth full of blood, and plunged his dagger into Omer's neck, knocking him down as well.
Moon Brothers, the leader of the Omer, stood there victorious; he had won the battle, but seconds later he fell to the ground, a wound on his neck leaving him barely alive, a smile still on his face. He knew that his people's days would come, and he would leave a victorious tribe to his son. Aermir was too far away to arrive in time. Omer struggled to raise his axe, making a "crunching" sound, trying to shout; blood choked his throat.