Oathkeeper

Chapter 75: Battle of White Harbor

A drumbeat of duty sounded through the meadows. It worked like a successfully casted spell. Immediately taking effect and filling the hearts of the men with great courage. A call to feat. To which the soldiers answered with their feet marching towards the beckoning battlefield in perfect syncopation. Unlike Moat Cailin, there was no fog on this field. The men could see perfectly through the sparsely vegetated plain that ran all the way to the Wolf's Gate of White Harbor. Every fighter looked to the sigils of House Karstark, Hornwood, Flint, and the other ten fighting under House Arryn to unite their hearts and spirits into one. Today they marched for honor, for duty, for loyalty and for Lady Yara Greyjoy's freedom.

Lord Arryn rode in on the left. His obnoxiously pompous grin and long flowy hair made him appear strong and militant-minded in front of the archers he was meant to lead to victory. It was the smallest portion of the Queen's army, totaling to just a few over five hundred. Although the man secretly hoped he would never find himself leading soldiers into battle, he was forced to take up archery shortly after his father and mother passed. He was no good with a sword, nor would he ever be. His arms would flail around like a fussy newborn babe, but he managed to learn to shoot an arrow well. Or rather, just as wll as any other. Lady Karstark rode up the center. Dressed in her normal thick woolen feminine styled tunic and pantaloons, she held a stone cold stare as she prepared the knights on horseback. There was also Ser Flint, who rode up the right hand side, and had every intention of abandoning his horse to fight on foot with the rest of the twelve thousand seven hundred and fifty groundsmen he would command. Every well trained knight knew you had a better chance at knocking a man clean out on horseback, yet he preferred to be one with the earth.

Then there was the Queen. Her face, a blank canvas of resolve, her eyes, burning with a fierce intent. She rode ahead of her allies with her jaw set steady and strong. All nineteen thousand and five hundred of them. Her armor was as black and polished as her stallion, and when they were paired together, they produced an energy to fear.

The meadow was as silent as a crypt, yet everything was serenely alive. After storming for numerous days, the sun cracked through the stormy sky like an egg. There were still mud puddles that ran deeper than the ocean splattered across the battlefield, and the drying grass reeked off pine so strongly that some of the men could taste the tart sticky tree sap on their tongue. The Queen steered the stallion in deep thought. Its beating hooves matched her heart rate, slow and steady. Finally, the fleet had reached the point where they could see the tip of the Harbor and the mass of the army standing out in the open field to defend it. There were still over a thousand feet between them, but their presence was large enough to fill the entire field.

Brienne's ear perked to the gentle clicks of a galloping horse approaching her from behind. She didn't need to turn to know who it was, nor what they were going to say.

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Lady Karstark voiced.

She gripped onto the reins, slowing right by Brienne's side. Her expression read confident, yet her eyes were slightly anxious. But Brienne didn't see that as a bad thing. She saw it as motivation to give it your all, and she hoped Lady Karstark did too. As for her plan . . . there really was no way to ensure that she would not die in pulling their first move. But that was what she and Sansa discussed and she was going to honor it.

"It is my duty as Queen," Brienne responded.

"If anything were to happen . . . we'll be ready for it, Your Grace,"

Brienne nodded and released the reins. She balanced on the horse, undoing the buckle of her weapon belt before handing it off to Lady Karstark. Then she took off in one hyaah. The wind tossed through her freshly chopped hair while her armor clanked and chattered in the quiet. Her stomach was filled with air, so much that she thought she'd up and fly off her horse. It was a feeling she was unused to. A feeling of subtle trepidation. She didn't stop until she nearly reached the other end of the field, where her approaching fleet looked more like a swarm of cockroaches rather than soldiers. Her enemies stood stiller than rocks. Their armor and weapons flashed their wealth, and maybe even their skillset. It would have rattled something in Brienne had she not confident in her larger host of soldiers.