The stillness did not hold for long.
Aegon and Sunfyre lay broken in the western field, surrounded by churned earth, shattered weapons, and men who had forgotten the enemies standing within reach of them. The golden dragon’s fall had stopped the battle because no one beneath that sky had been prepared to witness a king and his dragon struck from it.
Yet thousands of soldiers remained alive, their shields still raised and their blades still slick with blood. Shock could halt an army for a moment, but it could not decide what came after. Ormund Hightower decided first.
From Dravvaxx’s back, I watched him lower the arm that had remained raised since Sunfyre struck the earth. Ser Jon Roxton rode toward him through the centre, forcing his horse between wounded men and broken ranks until he reached the green tower banner.
They spoke briefly beneath the gathering smoke. I could not hear their words, but I recognised the urgency in the men surrounding them. Household knights turned their mounts, runners were sent along the line, and horns began sounding from the Hightower rear.
The order was not to renew the attack. Ormund had chosen to retreat.
His centre responded with more discipline than I expected. Hightower retainers who had spent the battle grinding against Black Rat’s Unsullied began withdrawing behind locked shields. The foremost companies gave ground one measured pace at a time, keeping their faces toward our army while those farther back turned toward the forest.
Archers moved into the spaces between units and loosed rough volleys over the retreating ranks. The arrows lacked the weight and precision of those fired earlier in the battle, but they were enough to discourage any immediate charge.
Wounded men who could still stand were dragged into formation. Those unable to walk were left where they had fallen, some calling after comrades who refused to look back. The decision was cruel, though I understood it.
Ormund was trying to preserve an army already bleeding from every part. A company that stopped to carry every wounded soldier would cease being a company before it reached the trees.
The Hightower centre remained composed because those men had been formed around Ormund’s household banners and bound to him by more than a single morning’s courage. They had endured the worst of the fighting against the Unsullied, watched Aegon fall, and still obeyed the horns.
Their king was dead, but their commander remained mounted beneath his banner, and for many of them that was enough to keep their feet moving in the same direction. The rest of the host did not retreat so cleanly.
Panic began on the western flank, closest to Sunfyre’s corpse. The men there had seen more than a golden shape falling through smoke. They had watched the dragon strike the earth, seen Aegon’s body twisted across the saddle, and understood there was no wounded king waiting to be carried from the field. No officer could soften what lay plainly before them.
A Redwyne levy threw down his spear and ran.
Another followed him, then three more. Their captain tried to stop them, striking one man across the face with the rim of his shield and shouting for the company to remain in formation. The blow did not restore order. It only made the men around him understand that obedience would now be forced rather than willingly given.
The break spread outward.
Within moments, dozens of soldiers were running from the western line. Men abandoned shields, helmets, and packs to move faster. Some fled toward the forest, while others turned south or west across the fields, choosing any direction that carried them away from Dravvaxx and the dead king.
When officers attempted to block them, several fugitives shoved past or drew weapons against their own commanders. Riderless horses plunged among the infantry, scattering men who had been trying to retreat in order.
The fear reached the remnants of the Bulwer infantry and the Redwyne horse soon after. Men who had held through the battle looked toward the running companies and decided that remaining was more dangerous than joining them. A retreat that might have saved most of Ormund’s host began tearing apart along its edges.
Perhaps a third of the surviving Green army lost all discipline.
From the air, the distinction was unmistakable. Ormund’s centre withdrew like a body under command, its companies maintaining shape and leaving enough room for officers to pass between them.
The routed men moved as individuals. They no longer belonged to banners, formations, or plans. Every one of them chose his own path and trusted only that another man might run more slowly.
Hightower horns sounded again and again from the centre, ordering the broken wings to reform. Some soldiers paused when they heard them. A few turned back toward their banners. Most continued running.
Ormund could not command men who no longer believed survival lay beside him.
Black Rat moved before I signalled.
The Unsullied advanced across the ground they had surrendered during the battle, not in a reckless charge but in the same measured order with which they had received Ormund’s attack.
Their shields remained raised against the retreating archers, while the second and third ranks stepped around the dead without allowing the formation to open. Those in front were exhausted and bloodied, but they continued because the order passed through the whole line rather than depending upon individual strength.
The Dread Legion followed behind them. Jasper’s surviving companies pressed toward Ormund’s centre, avoiding the scattered fugitives and concentrating upon the men still capable of resisting. The purpose was not to run down every frightened levy. It was to prevent Ormund from halting, reforming, and turning his disciplined core back upon our tired vanguard.
The pressure forced the Hightower centre to keep moving. Their rear companies stopped only long enough to exchange spear thrusts or loose arrows before giving more ground. It was a retreat conducted under constant threat, with every pause risking another company becoming trapped between the Unsullied and the men behind it.
Landrey saw a different opportunity on the eastern side.
His cavalry had suffered heavily during the struggle against the Redwyne horse and Ser Jon Roxton’s reserve, but enough riders remained mounted to exploit the spreading panic. The Legion horn sounded beneath his banner.
Riders gathered around him in uneven ranks, joined by Reach knights whose formations had become scattered during the fighting. Landrey did not wait for every horseman to reform. He took those ready to move and swept behind the collapsing western flank.
The first fugitives died without seeing the cavalry approach.
Landrey’s riders struck them from behind, swords cutting into exposed backs while lances drove through men who had discarded their shields. Exhausted soldiers tried to run faster when they heard the horses, but open ground offered no shelter.
Some turned and fought in small groups around fallen standards. Others dropped their weapons and raised empty hands, though surrender was difficult to hear beneath hoofbeats and shouting.
The Reach knights pursued with less restraint than the Legion cavalry. Their anger had been fed by hours of battle, the sight of Sunfyre above them, and the loss of companions beneath Hightower steel. Once Ormund’s flank began running, those riders no longer saw soldiers withdrawing from a defeated field. They saw backs offered to men who had spent too long waiting for revenge.
The pursuit stretched rapidly.
Companies that had begun close to Landrey’s standard broke into smaller groups, each chasing whatever fugitives remained before them. Some riders crossed the western track beyond the orchards. Others followed scattered Redwyne men toward farms and hedgerows, cutting down anyone wearing the colours of Ormund’s allies.
Victory was becoming another danger.
Dravvaxx circled above the field with increasing difficulty. His injured wing remained open, but each turn exposed the widening tear and sent another pulse of pain through him. Blood trailed behind us in dark drops. He had enough strength to remain in the air, though not enough to chase cavalry across half the Reach or answer another dragon if one appeared.
I watched Landrey’s riders lengthen into a narrow line and understood what Ormund might do if they continued.
His composed centre still contained thousands. Ser Jon Roxton had survived the battle and retained mounted men around his banner. The forest offered concealment, hidden tracks, and possibly more weapons that had never been brought onto the field. If our cavalry chased too far, Roxton could turn with several hundred disciplined riders and strike them while they were scattered among fugitives.
I raised the horn and sounded three long notes. The recall rolled across the field.
Landrey heard it almost immediately. His banner slowed, then turned. Legion riders nearest him began pulling away from the pursuit and gathering around their officers. The Reach knights farther west continued, either unable to hear through the noise or unwilling to abandon the chase while enemies remained within reach.
I sounded the recall again.
Landrey rode across the path of one pursuing company and forced them to slow. I saw him raise his sword toward Honeyholt, shouting until enough riders obeyed for those farther ahead to realise they were about to lose the protection of the main force. Reluctantly, the pursuit began folding back toward the battlefield.
It had already cost Ormund hundreds.
Bodies marked the route from the western flank toward the orchards and beyond. Some men had died with weapons in their hands. Many had been struck from behind while running. Others had been trampled beneath the cavalry after falling. The scattered survivors continued into the distance, becoming smaller against the fields until hedges, trees, and farm buildings hid them.
I guided Dravvaxx lower above our centre and gave the signal to hold.
Black Rat’s advance slowed at once. The Unsullied stopped beyond easy bowshot of Ormund’s rear guard, while the Dread Legion halted beside them. Several individual soldiers tried to continue after retreating enemies, but officers dragged them back before a pursuit could form on foot.
We would not enter the forest.
Ormund’s centre remained too orderly, and the trees remained too useful to him. I had no intention of winning the field only to feed exhausted men into the same hidden paths where a third of our scouts had already vanished.
The Hightower withdrawal continued. Their surviving centre moved through the open ground in blocks, protected by archers and the mounted remnants gathered beneath Ser Jon Roxton. The army looked smaller than the one that had emerged that morning. Wide gaps divided companies. Several lesser banners had disappeared, carried away by fugitives or abandoned among the dead. Wagons stood empty where their teams had been killed or cut loose.
Ormund remained beneath the green tower.
He did not rush for the trees. His horse moved at a controlled pace among his household guards, while he continued sending orders along the retreat. The restraint preserved what remained of his authority. Men who looked toward him did not see another rider fleeing the field. They saw a lord withdrawing because the battle had been lost, not because he had lost control of himself.
Ser Jon Roxton held the rear. His knights turned repeatedly to face the Unsullied, guarding the retreat with enough confidence that an undisciplined pursuer might have mistaken their pauses for weakness. Whenever Black Rat’s line moved too close, Hightower archers released another volley and stepped back beneath the protection of mounted men.
Dravvaxx’s shadow crossed Ormund’s path once.
The Hightower soldiers around him raised shields and broke formation for a heartbeat, but no fire followed. I could have burned the retreating centre. They were packed closely enough for Dravvaxx’s flame to kill hundreds in a single pass. However, I did not.
Dravvaxx was badly wounded, the remaining ballistas were uncertain, and Ormund’s men were already leaving the field. Burning them would not recover Aegon, Baela, or the dead beneath our banners. It would only turn a retreat into a massacre and perhaps force men who might later surrender to fight until none remained.
Ormund looked up as we passed. At that distance, I could not read his face. His posture held no challenge now, but neither did it show surrender. His king was dead, his wings were breaking apart, and his army was being forced back into the forest it had tried so desperately to leave.
Yet he still had enough men to remain dangerous.
By the time the last Hightower companies approached the trees, perhaps a third of the surviving host had vanished across the countryside. Some would never return to Ormund. They would discard colours, hide among farms, or try reaching Oldtown alone.
Others might regroup beneath lesser commanders once distance made courage easier. A scattered army did not disappear. It became deserters, raiders, hungry bands, and rumours moving from village to village.
The men who stayed with Ormund were different.
They had watched Aegon die and remained in formation. They had held beneath Dravvaxx’s shadow, obeyed the retreat horns, and protected one another while the rest fled. Their numbers were reduced, but the weakest discipline had already been stripped from them.
Ormund was returning to the trees with fewer men and a harder core.
Dravvaxx descended toward the rise where we had waited before the battle. His landing was rough. The injured wing folded too early, and his weight struck the ground hard enough to throw me forward against the saddle grips. He stumbled several paces, claws tearing deep lines through grass and blood-softened soil before catching himself.
Pain surged through him. I remained mounted until his breathing steadied, keeping one hand against the scales of his neck while he held the damaged wing away from his body. The flesh around the old tear had opened badly, and the claw wound beneath his shoulder still bled.
Dick reached the rise while I was unfastening the saddle straps. He limped as he approached, though the blood across his face and armour did not appear to be his own. His usual irritation remained, but exhaustion had taken the sharper edge from it.
"The pursuit is being brought under control," he said. "Landrey has recalled most of the Legion riders, although several Reach companies went farther than ordered. They are returning now because they finally realised cavalry without support can become corpses with expensive horses."
"They are not to cross the western track again. Send another runner to Landrey and make certain he reforms behind our right before Ormund decides to turn Roxton against him."
Dick glanced toward the distant riders. "He knows the danger, but the Reach knights stopped listening once they saw Aegon dead. Some of them believed the whole Green host had already broken."
"A third broke. The centre did not. The men still around Ormund are capable of striking anyone foolish enough to chase them beneath the trees."
"I will repeat the order until even the proudest knight understands it. The healers are already moving forward, and the reserves remain intact enough to cover the centre if the Hightowers attempt anything before reaching the forest."
I nodded and climbed down from Dravvaxx. My legs almost gave way when my boots reached the ground. The saddle restraints had bruised both thighs during the fight with Sunfyre, while the burns along my forehead and cheek had become more painful now that the wind no longer cooled them.
Dick looked at what remained of my hair and eyebrows, his expression shifting briefly from relief to disbelief. "You appear to have thrust your head into a bread oven and reconsidered only after the baking began. A healer should see you before the skin worsens."
"Dravvaxx needs them first. His wing carried me through the fight while my face merely suffered from being attached to me."
"The dragonkeepers are already coming, although several look as though they expect him to eat the first man who touches the wound."
"They should expect that. Tell them to approach slowly and avoid behaving like prey."
Dick gave me a tired look. "That instruction will comfort them enormously."
The dragonkeepers arrived with water, salves, leather protections, and long poles used to examine the wing without standing directly beneath Dravvaxx’s teeth. He lowered his head and watched them with open suspicion. Smoke curled from his nostrils whenever one moved too quickly.
I kept my palm against his neck. "They are here to mend what Sunfyre tore. You have killed the golden dragon, so there is no need to murder the men attempting to keep you in the sky."
Dravvaxx answered with a low rumble but allowed the first keeper to approach.
Black Rat and Grey Worm came from the vanguard soon after. Black Rat’s armour was dented and streaked with blood from shoulder to knee. He had lost his spear and carried a Hightower short sword in one hand. Much of the blood appeared to belong to other men, though a cut along his upper arm had soaked the cloth beneath his armour.
Black Rat delivered his report in High Valyrian. "The enemy centre remains disciplined and has nearly reached the trees. He recommends that no company advance beyond the present line. Several Legion soldiers attempted to pursue, but their officers stopped them before the formation opened."
"The army holds where it stands. The Unsullied are to reform beyond bow range and prepare for a possible counterattack. Ormund may retreat through the forest, or he may wait until we are collecting wounded before striking again." I replied in High Valyrian.
"Ormund may use the smaller southern paths after nightfall. The enemy has lost many men, but still possesses enough strength to break through one of the weaker road posts if it concentrates suddenly."
"Then we reinforce every known exit before dark. Landrey’s cavalry will watch the western and eastern roads, but no rider is to enter the trees. The infantry remains between the forest and Honeyholt until we have counted our losses and restored the lines."
Black Rat nodded once before looking toward Sunfyre’s corpse. "What should be done with Aegon and the dragon."
"They are to be secured and treated with respect. No soldier takes a scale, tooth, piece of armour, or any other trophy. Aegon was Rhaenyra’s enemy, but he was also her brother and King Viserys’s son. His corpse will not be mutilated for camp entertainment."
Black Rat gave another short nod. "The Hightower wounded are asking for mercy," he added. "Some of our men believe supplies should be kept for our own."
"Those who surrender are disarmed and treated as our capacity allows. Our wounded take priority where injuries are equal, but no man is to be killed because carrying him is difficult. Separate captured officers from common soldiers and record their names if they are able to speak."
The order would not save everyone. The battlefield was too large, and the healers had too little cloth, water, and time. Men would die while waiting because another wound appeared more survivable. Others would be overlooked beneath bodies until darkness found them.
Still, mercy needed to be ordered before anger decided otherwise.
Ser Jon Roxton entered the forest last. His banner remained visible between the trunks while the final companies passed under cover. He turned once toward the battlefield, looking across the men Ormund had been forced to abandon and toward the golden dragon lying dead in the field.
Then the trees swallowed him. Our army did not follow.
Landrey’s cavalry returned in broken groups, horses lathered and streaked with blood. Several riders dragged prisoners behind them, while others carried captured banners or weapons taken during the chase. The Legion cavalry came back in better order than the Reach companies, though all showed the strain of the battle.
Landrey rode to the rise with a cut along one cheek and blood covering the front of his armour. He dismounted stiffly and looked toward the forest before addressing me.
"I brought the pursuit back before any company entered the trees. Some of the Reach knights crossed the western track and chased farther than I intended, but they are returning now. The routed men had no formation left, and another mile might have prevented many of them from ever regrouping."
"Another mile might also have placed your riders beyond support when Roxton turned with his remaining knights. The men running west were no longer the greatest threat. Ormund’s centre was."
Landrey’s expression hardened, though exhaustion kept anger from becoming argument. "I understood that once the recall sounded. The difficulty was persuading men who had spent the entire day being cut apart that a fleeing enemy was no longer theirs to kill."
"That is why they follow officers rather than their anger. The Reach companies that ignored the recall will be identified. Punishment can wait until the wounded are treated, but it will not disappear because we won the field."
He looked across the returning cavalry, then nodded. "They will be identified. I do not yet have a full count of our losses. We lost many during Roxton’s charge and several more while the Hightower horse was breaking. The pursuit cost fewer, although some riders remain missing."
"Send scouts only as far as the western track. Anyone beyond it waits until morning. I will not lose more men searching in darkness near the forest."
"Some of those missing riders may still be alive."
"So may the Hightower men Ormund left behind to kill whoever follows. We will not answer uncertainty by repeating Baela’s mistake on horseback."
That ended the disagreement. Landrey mounted again and returned to organise the cavalry behind our right flank.
As the light began fading, the field revealed the true cost of the battle. Bodies covered the ground between the Unsullied centre and the forest approach. They lay thickest where Black Rat had drawn the Hightower advance into a narrowing pocket and where the Dread Legion’s second line entered the fighting. Dead horses marked the eastern flank, while scorched earth showed where Dravvaxx had destroyed the ballistas.
The pursuit had left another trail leading west.
Some Hightower soldiers lay with wounds across their backs. Others had been trampled after falling. A few remained alive, raising empty hands or calling weakly when our men approached.
Their armour and colours mattered less once they were unable to stand. Healers and soldiers moved among them, deciding who could be carried and who would likely die before reaching Honeyholt.
No song would describe that part honestly.
Singers would speak of the Green host breaking beneath Dravvaxx’s shadow and Landrey’s cavalry riding down the defeated. They would call the pursuit glorious because glory sounded cleaner than men stumbling through mud without shields while horsemen struck them from behind.
I had ordered the chase stopped because victory did not make every death necessary.
By sunset, Ormund’s surviving centre remained hidden in the forest, while the routed third of his army scattered across the countryside. Some would reach Oldtown alone. Some would discard their colours and hide among the villages. Others would become armed bands moving through the Reach without food, wages, or commanders.
Ormund still possessed an army, but it was smaller and harder than the one that had emerged that morning. The frightened and uncertain had fled. Those who remained beneath the green tower banner had watched Aegon die and continued obeying.
I stood beside Dravvaxx while the dragonkeepers worked carefully around his torn wing. Across the field, soldiers cut Aegon from Sunfyre’s ruined saddle and covered his body with black cloth. The dead king was carried toward Honeyholt beneath guard, without cheers or insult.
The routed men had fled when they saw him fall. Ormund’s centre had not.
That was the enemy waiting beneath the trees now. Fewer men than before, but men who had watched their king and his dragon die and still chosen to remain beside Lord Ormund Hightower.