Chapter 23: The Hunted Stag, The Hawk's Stratagem
The retreat from Ashford was a grim affair. Lord Randyll Tarly, having tasted blood, harried the rebel rear with his outriders, forcing a rapid, often disorganized, withdrawal northwards. Morale among the allied forces of Stark, Arryn, and Baratheon was low; their first major engagement against a top-tier loyalist commander had ended in a clear, sobering defeat. Robert Baratheon, his arm in a sling and his pride deeply wounded, was a thundercloud of frustrated rage.
It was during this difficult march that Lord Vorant's contingent once again proved its exceptional quality. While other units struggled with discipline and dwindling supplies, the Obsidian Guard and Brandon Snow's Wolf Brigade remained a bulwark of order. They often formed the rearguard, their dark, disciplined ranks and the unerring accuracy of their Stonefang iron-tipped arrows deterring Tarly's pursuit more effectively than any other force. Vorhax himself seemed tireless, his presence a cold comfort to his own men and an unnerving enigma to his allies. He used Nyx, his goshawk, to maintain constant aerial reconnaissance, providing timely warnings of Tarly's movements and identifying defensible positions for their nightly encampments. His foresight in establishing independent supply lines also meant his troops suffered less from hunger and exposure than many others.
As Tarly's pursuit intensified, Robert, a prime target for the loyalists, was forced to separate from the main army with a small escort, seeking refuge in the seemingly insignificant river town of Stoney Sept. He hoped to rest, recover from his wounds, and evade capture while Lord Arryn and Eddard Stark regrouped the main rebel host to attempt a relief.
News soon reached the retreating rebel army that Lord Jon Connington, the Griffin, a close friend of Prince Rhaegar and a fiercely loyal Targaryen commander, had arrived at Stoney Sept with a strong force of Crownlands levies and knights. Connington, burning to capture the usurping Stag, had sealed the town and begun a meticulous, brutal house-to-house search for Robert. The bells of the town's septs rang out in alarm, a constant, mournful peal that would give the ensuing battle its name.
Vorhax, encamped with the main rebel forces a day's hard march from Stoney Sept, received this intelligence with cold precision. Robert's capture or death would be a catastrophic blow to the rebellion, and thus to Vorhax's own long-term plans. While he held no personal loyalty to the boisterous Baratheon, Robert was the indispensable figurehead of this uprising.
"Connington is thorough, but his attention will be focused inwards, on the town," Vorhax stated in the urgent council of war convened by Lord Arryn and Eddard Stark. "He will not expect a swift, decisive counterstroke from our battered forces. This is our opportunity."
He then outlined a daring plan. While Lord Stark and Lord Arryn prepared the main body of their troops for a direct assault to relieve Stoney Sept, Vorhax proposed to take his own elite forces – the Obsidian Guard and the Wolf Brigade – on a rapid night march, circling wide to approach Stoney Sept from the south-east, the direction Connington would least expect an attack.
"Connington will have pickets, but his main strength will be deployed facing north and west, towards your anticipated approach, my lords," Vorhax explained, his finger tracing a line on a rough map. "My forces can infiltrate the southern quarter of the town, sow chaos amongst his rearguard, and strike his command just as your main assault begins. He will be caught between two fires."
It was a risky maneuver. It required speed, stealth, and perfect timing. Eddard Stark, his honorable nature perhaps making him wary of such unconventional tactics, looked uncertain. Jon Arryn, however, older and more pragmatic, saw the desperate brilliance of the plan. "Lord Vorant's men have proven their mettle and their… unique capabilities," Arryn said, his gaze thoughtful. "If any force can achieve such a feat, it is theirs. We will place our trust in your stratagem, Lord Vorant. May the gods grant us success."
Under the cloak of a moonless night, Vorhax led his handpicked force. They moved like shadows, the Obsidian Guard's dark armor blending with the darkness, their movements honed by relentless training. Brandon Snow's Northmen, accustomed to harsh conditions and stealthy movement, kept pace. Nyx flew ahead, a silent scout, her Force-enhanced senses guiding Vorhax, helping him bypass Connington's thinly spread southern pickets.
As dawn approached, Vorhax's forces were in position on the outskirts of Stoney Sept's southern quarter, hidden in a mist-shrouded collection of abandoned barns and overgrown orchards. Through his spies within the town (Anya had managed to get a few local sympathizers to feed information to a contact point), Vorhax knew Connington's search was becoming increasingly frantic, his men spread thin.
The signal came with the first rays of sun glinting off steel in the distance – the vanguard of Stark and Arryn's army engaging Connington's northern screen. Simultaneously, the great bells of Stoney Sept began to ring with renewed, frantic urgency as townsfolk realized a major battle was erupting around them.
"Now," Vorhax commanded, his voice a low growl. "No quarter. No hesitation. We are the hammer."
The Obsidian Guard, with the Wolf Brigade close behind, erupted from their concealment. They hit Connington's rearguard and supply lines with the force of a thunderbolt. The loyalist troops, caught completely by surprise, their attention focused on the attack from the north, dissolved into chaos. The narrow, winding streets of Stoney Sept became a butcher's yard. The Obsidian Guard, fighting in disciplined shield-wall formations in the wider avenues and breaking into smaller, brutally efficient kill-teams in the alleyways, were devastating. Their Stonefang iron swords and axes, some subtly imbued with a chilling aura of fear, carved through leather and mail. Brandon Snow's Northmen, their battle cries echoing off the walls, fought with a savage joy, their greatswords and axes cleaving helms and shields.
Vorhax himself was a whirlwind of black iron and death at the heart of his advancing forces. He moved with a speed and precision that was utterly inhuman, his dark blade a flickering extension of his will. He cut down Connington's personal guard, his Force-enhanced senses allowing him to anticipate their moves, his strikes precise and instantly fatal. He sought not personal glory, but the complete collapse of the enemy's command structure.
As chaos engulfed the southern part of the town, Eddard Stark's Northmen and the knights of the Vale crashed into Connington's main force from the north. The street fighting was desperate and bloody. Then, from a hidden cellar near the town's sept, Robert Baratheon, alerted by the din of renewed battle and perhaps by Vorhax's agents, emerged like a wounded lion, his warhammer in hand, his roar of defiance echoing through the streets. He rallied a handful of his own men and plunged into the fray, his presence electrifying the rebels.
Caught between Stark and Arryn's relentless assault, Robert's sudden reappearance, and Vorhax's devastating strike from the rear, Connington's army shattered. What had been a methodical search operation turned into a desperate fight for survival, then a full-blown rout. Jon Connington himself, fighting bravely but seeing his forces disintegrate, was wounded and barely managed to escape with a fraction of his men.
The Battle of the Bells was a resounding victory for the rebels. Robert Baratheon had been saved, a significant loyalist army had been broken, and the tide of the war, which had seemed to turn against them at Ashford, now swung decisively back in their favor. Rebel morale soared.
In the aftermath, as the victorious rebel lords gathered in the blood-spattered square of Stoney Sept, Vorhax's contribution was undeniable. While Ned Stark and Jon Arryn had led the main relief, it was the Hawk Lord's audacious flanking maneuver and the terrifying effectiveness of his troops that had truly broken Connington's back.
Robert, his arm still bandaged but his spirits restored, embraced Vorhax in a crushing hug. "Hawk! You black-hearted, magnificent bastard! You saved my arse again! That was a stroke of genius, coming at them from the south! By the gods, with you and your devils, we'll send Rhaegar and his whole damn family screaming back to Valyria!"
Even Eddard Stark, though clearly discomfited by the sheer brutality of the Obsidian Guard, offered his grudging thanks. "Your men fight with… uncommon discipline, Lord Vorant. You have done the North a great service this day by helping to save my friend."
Jon Arryn, ever the statesman, was more effusive in his praise for Vorhax's tactical brilliance. Only Stannis Baratheon (who had been with Robert in Stoney Sept, organizing its meager defenses before the main battle) remained aloof, his expression if anything more suspicious than ever. Such consistent, overwhelming success, such "uncommon discipline," was, to his mind, deeply unnatural.
Vorhax accepted the praise with his customary cold humility, deflecting credit to the bravery of his men and the leadership of his fellow lords. He ensured his forces secured a significant portion of the captured loyalist arms and supplies, further enhancing their already superior equipment. His interrogations of high-ranking prisoners, conducted with his usual chilling, Force-assisted efficiency, yielded vital intelligence about Rhaegar's main army – its numbers, its composition, and the morale of its commanders after Connington's defeat.
News of the victory at Stoney Sept, and the subsequent execution of Lord Connington's office as Hand by a furious King Aerys (who blamed Connington for the defeat, not Rhaegar), spread quickly. Prince Rhaegar, now with the main royalist host, knew he had to force a decisive confrontation quickly before the rebellion gained further momentum.
In the rebel council of war, invigorated by their triumph, the decision was made to march out and meet Rhaegar head-on. Vorhax, his influence now significantly enhanced, subtly guided their strategic discussions, advocating for a battlefield where the terrain would favor their combined strengths and allow his own forces to be deployed to maximum effect. All intelligence pointed towards the Trident as the most likely site of the coming cataclysm.
As the united rebel army, their banners snapping defiantly in the wind, marched from Stoney Sept, Vorhax rode near its vanguard. His reputation, already fearsome, had ascended to legendary status among the common soldiers. They saw him as a dark omen, but an omen of victory. His Obsidian Guard and the Wolf Brigade were viewed with a mixture of terror and awe. The Hawk Lord was no longer just a powerful Stormlord; he was a kingmaker, a master of war, his shadow falling long over the future of the Seven Kingdoms. The final, decisive battle against Prince Rhaegar was drawing near, and Vorhax, the Sith Lord cloaked in feudal lordship, felt a cold, predatory thrill. This war was shaping up even better than he had foreseen.
(Word Count: Approx. 4400 words)