1st Moon, 8025

Outskirts of Mulbarton, Cornfield, Southern Westerlands

A man never feels so alive as when he is marching to a fight Orys Baratheon thought to himself as he spurred his horse across the flatlands of the Southern Westerlands, his small warband close behind.

It had been too long since Orys had a good fight, in his youth he had been a great warrior, slaying the Storm King Argilac in single combat during his half-brother Aegon's conquest. However, his appointment as Hand of the King following the conquest meant that during wartime, he was oft needed to remain in the capitol to govern and rule. He had seen some minor action during the pacification of Bloodstone in the Stepstones, but even then he had missed out on the fighting, his role during the war limited to starving the pirate defenders of the aforementioned fortress into submission.

The outbreak of the war that was becoming known as the Lion's rebellion had given him ample opportunity to participate in skirmishes however and he found that the years of limited combat had not dulled his affinity for fighting, though the loss of his eye some years prior and his growing age affected him more than he would have cared to admit.

He often rode ahead with his outriders, personal retainers and scouts in search of enemy warbands, often several days ahead of his main host. Today was one of those days, his outriders had given him word that a small party of Swyft men from Cornfield had been seen in the area, a party which included several highborn knights,  led by Ser Daven Swyft, brother of Jon Swyft, who was Lord of Cornfield and Marshal of the Westerlands.

Orys immediately put together a force to ride ahead and deal with the small force, it was better to deal with them now then wait for them to join a larger force. The Dornish were marching up the Princes Pass with a host of over ten thousand to join up with Orys’s Stormlanders and the Ironborn, his nephew Vaemond would also arrive in the southern Westerlands in time, the outcome of this war would be decided on the southern flatlands, and Orys was prepared to gain every advantage he could before those decisive battles, even advantages as small as removing a few knights.

‘’They may have fled into the village of Mulbarton….we should be prepared to burn them out.’’ proclaimed Jon Penrose, Lord of Parchments, a formidable warrior, and one of Orys’s most trusted Stormlords.

‘’Let its burning serve as a lesson to other villages….show them the price of harboring traitors.’’ Agreed Ser Jorys Vunatis.

The young Lyseni knight was one of the more interesting of the retainers that rode with Orys. When Orys had captured Bloodstone some years prior, he had captured many members of the Vunatis pirate family. Most of these he had ransomed back, but young Jorys, then a boy, was a distant cousin and his kin had not bothered to ransom him.

So Orys had taken the boy to serve as his page in King's Landing, serving drinks, running messages and the like, the young Lyseni boy had proved so hard working Orys had made him a squire, and in turn a knight, serving in Orys’s household guard in the capitol.

‘’We ride west to fight rebels…I won't have it said I preyed on the weak and innocent villagers of Mulbarton.’’ Orys said, earning a frown from Lord Penrose.

They rode for another hour until suddenly, a warband of about their size appeared on the plains in front of them, mounted and armored, bearing a standard of a blue rooster on a yellow field.

A few riders rode forth to meet them, riding under the banner of house Swyft, a scarred and portly knight with a brown beard led them. Orys nodded to Lord Penrose and Ser Jorys and they spurred their horses to the plains in between the two forces.

‘’If we would come to blows I would know your name Ser.’’ Orys said politely, enemy or not the man was a knight and was afforded certain courtesies.

‘’Ser Daven Swyft, brother of Jon, Marshal of the Kingdom of the Rock and Lord of Cornfield….and we shall most certainly come to blows.’’ The man said.

‘’Unless of course you turn around and ride the way you came….we shall allow you to retreat unmolested…..if you are foolish enough to give us battle however none of you shall be spared.’’ A young knight next to Ser Daven said.

‘’And who is your companion who speaks so boldly?’’ Orys asked curtly.

‘’Ser Simon Boldrooster….my cousin and son of my grandfather's natural born son….he speaks true…..run back to Storm's End with your tail behind your legs……else you shall learn what happens to stags that leave the woods.’’  Ser Daven said hotly.

Lord Penrose’s face went red and his hand dropped to the longsword at his hip, but Orys raised a hand to calm him.

‘’Mayhaps you will learn a similar lesson as to what happens to overbold chickens….make your preparations Sers.’’ Orys said, wheeling around his horse and riding back to his men without a second glance behind him.

‘’Prepare the men for a charge.’’ He commanded Lord Penrose who nodded.

‘’Glady Orys.’’ He responded.

Orys had forsaken all ornamental armorment since the antlers on his stag's helmet had taken his eye at the Tourney of Kings Landing, and instead wore a plain woolen doublet with a heavy and plain well worn mail over it. His helm was a simple greathelm with ample dints and dents, while his shield was splintered and bore evidence of heavy use…despite his hard working nature, Orys was not a man that devoted much care to his equipment. He wore a faded yellow cloak upon his shoulders. The only possession that distinguished himself as a great lord was a longsword with a black diamond in the pommel and two winding weirwood  antlers in the crossguard, the sword of Storm King Argilac Durrandon, whom he had slain in single combat during the conquest.

‘’LETS KILL THE WHORESONS.’’ Lord Penrose shouted  to the some fifty mounted men in their small warband, who shouted a raucous cheer and thundered towards the host of house Swyft, who were similarly numbered and mounted.

‘’WEDGE!.’’ Orys commanded, taking the lead position in the triangular charging formation, Ser Jorys and Lord Penrose immediately behind them.

They came together in a crash of horse and shield upon the grassy flatlands, Orys prepared his longsword to strike at a lancer, but before he could deliver a blow one of the men behind him stuck a spear in the horse's eye, sending the man tumbling to the ground, leaving Orys’s strike to cut harmlessly through the air.

Cursing, he wheeled his horse around to regroup.

Behind him Jorys was parrying a mounted axemen's attacks, turning away two of the man's attacks before opening him from neck to navel in a savage downwards hack.

Jon Penrose was faring equally well, and Orys saw the Lord of Parchments stick a lance through Daven Swyfts neck, sending a spray of blood throughout the melee.

A knight in heavy plate armor with a longsword riding at Orys was enough to remind him he was more than a spectator to the battle.

Orys urged his destrier forward, avoiding the knights strike.

The knight tried another slash at his stomach, but Orys, once again spurred his horse forward, raising his shield in the air, crashing into the man, though both managed to keep their balance and the melee quickly turned into a close quarters brawl.

Orys slashed his sword down at the mans legs, his blade cutting into the plate armor but failing to draw blood, he quickly slashed upwards, hoping to surprise the man but the knight managed to  push his shield in front of his neck at the last moment though the force of the blow cut the leather straps and caused it to clatter to the ground.

The Lord of Storm's End kept up the attack, using his larger frame to force the man into the defensive and block a flurry of savage attacks.

The knight desperately tried to regain the offensive and to his credit it was a fine strike, his longsword traveling in a lightning fast arc all the way from behind his shoulder  towards Orys own shoulder, a cut that would have cleaved Orys from shoulder to torso, but the Lord of Storm's End brought his own longsword in a ferocious hack towards the coming sword in a deafening clash, and his strength won out, pushing the blade back as his own sword caught the Cornfield knight right between the eyes with a meaty thunk, ending the duel.

Ours is the Fury Orys thought to himself, breathing heavily.

The exhaustion slowly came upon him then, but he did not have much time to rest as the young knight that had been named Ser Simon Boldrooster caught sight of him and thundered towards him at a breakneck gallop, a look of determination in his eyes.

Orys caught the first strike on his shield, as well as the second, thrusting his sword forward in a counterattack but Boldrooster was quick and pulled his horse to the side, out of range of the strike.

They exchanged strikes once more, Ser Simon blocking one with his shield, while Orys turned away one with his longsword, and the deadly dance continued.

Ignoring his aching muscles Orys forced himself to launch several hacking strikes at the man, but the young Westerlander was quick, and made good use of his shield, before a darting thrust forced Orys to abandon his own shield, which looked more like a tree stump than a kite shield at this point.

Orys sensed the situation was growing dire, he was already fatigued from his previous fight and his one good eye was fast becoming filled with sweat.

Down to just his longsword he turned away two strikes and attacked, hitting the young knight in the leg, leaving a long slash mark in the plate but otherwise doing nothing, while his followup attack sent flakes of plate from the mens gorget on his neck.

I have him Orys thought to himself, feeling the momentum change.

The Boldrooster sensed it too and wildly thrust his sword forward in a last ditch attempt to stop the ferocious attack. As fate would have it the strike would pass by Orys’s blind eye and the Lord of Storm's End would not see it until it was too late, his own sword raised high, prepared to deal a killing blow.

The Westerlanders sword took him in his good eye through the slit in his greathelm. Orys bellowed a roar of pain as his sight filled first with bright red crimson then nothing.

He tumbled from his horse onto the hard ground with a thud. He raised his arms into the darkness, but he never saw the Boldrooster dismount and thrust downwards his sword into his neck, sending his mind to darkness as well as his eyes.

Orys’s forces would send the Westerlanders into a full retreat, but their celebration was short lived as they would discover the body of Orys Baratheon on the grassy plains of Cornfield, the man who had served as hand of the King for near 3 decades and the most trusted companion of the late King Aegon was dead.