The Witch-King of the Vale [GoT x LotR]

The Iron Plain. 299 AC.

Tywin Lannister.

"Lord Tywin, Lord Swyft has returned from the Vale's Main Command. A messenger from Lord Arryn has also arrived, to convey his gratitude."

"Enough of this nonsense." Tywin did not doubt for a moment that Arryn was far less grateful than he let on. "Hurry and form up on the left and right flanks."

Tywin Lannister was a proud man. But unlike the vast majority of men, he had something to back that pride with. Having raised his ruined house to the very peak of its power, he had grown accustomed to relying on no one but himself. The Old Lion believed that in any undertaking, only one's own blood could truly be trusted. That was why so many Lannisters and their collateral branches received honors, titles, privileges, and offices. Simply put, the head of House Lannister did everything within his power to avoid depending on others.

"Forward!" Together with Arryn, they would crush the overreaching descendants of the Stewards. It was distasteful even to think it, but Tywin understood his situation and the importance of alliances. Jointly destroying the Tyrells would bind the Vale to him far more firmly than any treaty, and certain concessions would only add enthusiasm to this newly forged alliance.

...

The battle swayed back and forth with no clear victor. Cavalry trampled foot soldiers, foot soldiers trampled the corpses of friend and foe alike, spears skewered the attackers, swords cut down the defenders, shields saved the experienced. It was a scene long since worn into the routine of life, one Tywin had seen more than his share of times.

Because of the hastily formed alliance between the Lannisters and the Arryns, both sides had set their sights on pinning Rowan and Tyrell between them. People from different regions had never much cared for one another, some more, some less, but the dislike for outsiders remained a constant. To minimize the friction and disagreements that might arise from soldiers of two different regions crossing paths, an unspoken understanding had formed between Tywin and the Falcon's eye: they made every effort to keep their soldiers from encountering one another as much as possible. Despite all such efforts, Westermen and Vale men still crossed paths here and there, though fortunately the officers responsible on both sides managed to work together well enough.

"Third company, into the fight!"

"My lord, the first line is breaking. Lord Lynar can't hold and is requesting reinforcements for a breakthrough."

"Send Lynar three hundred men, but tell him not to press a breakthrough. Also order Lord Moreland to take five hundred men from reserve and attack the left flank."... "At once!"

"Why does the Falcon's eye hesitate? This is the perfect opportunity to destroy Tyrell's center. Without it, the pinned army would lose its head and become nothing more than meat for the slaughter, yet he doesn't attack... Does he lack the opportunity? No, Ser Harys Swyft said they still have plenty of fresh soldiers for a prolonged standoff. Is he punishing me for arriving late? Arryn is no fool, he must understand that time works against him, and ending the battle quickly serves his interests."

"What?" The words escaped the Old Lion as he studied the battlefield. Inexplicable tactical movements were unfolding within the Falcon's eye's army.

...

Axel Arryn.

Āeksion Aeragon, from High Valyrian, translates roughly as "the golden withdrawal." Battles are often fought as one line against another. When a retreat becomes necessary, an enormous burden falls upon the rearguard. Their task is to delay the advancing enemy, buy the time needed for the main force to break contact, organize the withdrawal, and hold the designated line. Leave too weak a rearguard, and there's a good chance it gets broken through and destroyed.

The Ghiscari devised a strategy of redeployment that was brilliant in its sheer madness: a full withdrawal of all forces at once. The retreat unfolds in waves, in a circular motion. If executed properly, the front ranks of the enemy soldiers stumble forward three paces, but at the same time the overall perimeter of contact between the opposing forces shrinks. Put simply, the first and second lines of attackers begin to crowd and hinder one another. A single maneuver can destabilize the enemy formation entirely. But there are risks too: if the maneuver is carried out without proper preparation and isn't executed in near perfect unison, it falls apart, and then it is the defenders who suffer the consequences. In Ghiscari treatises this strategy is considered far too impractical for real use, since meeting its conditions is excessively difficult even for a professional army.

"HA, it wasn't for nothing we spent all that time drilling maneuvers!" Jasper was delighted as never before, and his good cheer spread through the entire staff. Though the Vale had stayed out of the civil war for a long while, that hadn't stopped me from seeing to the growth of its military strength. It's not as simple as arms and provisions; turning yesterday's peasants into a proper militia capable of obeying their commanders' orders takes far more. Over half a year of drills, and the results now spoke for themselves. "Don't get comfortable, this is only the beginning!" I had to bark at them. "Once the left flank has pulled back fifty paces, have Tybor fall into a tight defense."

Fifteen minutes, fifty paces. It sounds strange, but this was the first time the army had ever attempted the maneuver in a real battle, which was why it took so long to execute. The results showed themselves at once: the pressure along the line eased, Mathis Rowan's headquarters lay open to a Lannister strike, and at the same time the Tyrells were forced to divert more of their strength to hold off the lions. The first phase of the plan had gone off without a hitch.

"MY LORD! The Tyrell cavalry broke through to the command post on the right flank! Ser Tybor has fallen, the right flank is without a head!" Hells, what rotten luck for Ty to die like that!

"Jasper, take command of the right flank, I'll be there in ten minutes." Without wasting breath on objections, Jasper and his guard rode off at once to salvage the situation. "Stanford, you have overall command, but you will follow the plan. Send a messenger in twenty minutes. If anything unforeseen happens, notify me at once!"

"At once!"

The loss of the flank's commander, its spiritual anchor, was a potentially fatal blow. Tybor had never been an especially gifted fighter or strategist, just a solid, steady man, but his loyalty and his precise adherence to orders had earned my respect. His death could well turn into the loss of the entire right flank. Jasper could delay that catastrophe, but not stop it outright. Numerical advantage, favorable position, and the demoralization of my men: too many factors that could spell the end of that entire flank.

Losing nearly five thousand men was not something I could afford, especially not for uncertain gains. I needed to create pressure that would redirect Rowan's attention elsewhere. I would play to my own reputation and to my enemy's fears, and for a field commander, there is nothing more terrifying than a savage assault aimed straight at headquarters.

"Let's ride!!!" The order was met with a jubilant roar from my guardsmen. The enemy might grow frightened enough, or emboldened enough, to send considerable forces after my head. That would be unpleasant. No matter how strong I am, if I don't have a proper company at my back, all my strength isn't worth a broken penny on the battlefield. If Mathis Rowan isn't a fool, he'll try to strip away my support first, and only then, once he's put me in an awkward position, try to kill me. He simply has no idea that his own awkward position is about to arrive far sooner than mine.

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