Lord Roboute Tyrell

Apologies for the confusion. I don't see chapter- and paragraph comments. So I thought something went wrong. That's why I deleted and reuploaded the chapter. 

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- 260 AC -

The war had barely begun when Westeros already bled. The landing on Bloodstone was swift, organised, and the bards would surely call it glorious. The banners of the kingdoms flapped in the wind as the first soldiers stepped onto the Stepstones. Among them strode the mighty Ormund Baratheon, Hand of the King, proud and grim with his sword in hand and ready for bloodshed and death. He carried the burden of the realm on his back.

As it turned out, he did not carry it long.

After their initial victory on Bloodstone, where they clashed with the Golden Company for the first time, the month that followed wasn't very pleasant. They had underestimated the Band of Nine and their capabilities. The Golden Company saw Maelys the Monstrous as the Blackfyre that the Targaryens feared him to be. One day, towards the end of the first month of the war, the sky turned orange one evening. Smoke curled up from the western ridge of Bloodstone, screams echoed from a forward encampment. Maelys had arrived himself. The Monstrous, they called him, and that night, the name was truly earned. Followed by the battle-hardened, brutal men of the Golden Company as well as pirates and mercenaries from around Essos, he waded through Westerosi knights as if they were made of straw, cleaving them apart with a longsword. Thinking that there was no other way, Lord Ormund challenged him to a duel, hoping to end the biggest threat against Westeros in one brutal clash. It didn't work. 

Maelys slew Ormund Baratheon with brutal strikes, letting him bleed out and putting fear into the Westerosi hearts.

Steffon Baratheon wept, bloody and screaming, as Gerold Hightower, the White Bull of the Kingsguard, pulled him away. The day after that, command fell to Ser Hightower, and while the experienced Kingsguard managed to pull the forces back together, the damage had already been done. A war for the Stepstones had begun with an early death of King Jaehaerys' right hand. And it wouldn't become easier after that. 

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They laughed at first. The pirates, mercenaries, killers, rapists and all kinds of scum laughed when they saw it. A child of 13 with boats and blue banners and armour thought he could fight in this war. Little did they know that this 'child' was out for all of them, with brutal and cold efficiency and logic. While the rest of the realm trembled at the sight and thought of Maelys, Roboute Tyrell did not.

Two longships, one hundred men, orders known and minds sharp. The pirates who waited there, drunk on past victories, never saw it coming. The defeat of Narro Saan was a shock to the Band of Nine and lifted the spirits of the rest of the Westerosi forces, even if only slightly. 

The victory was only the first of many as well. Roboute turned out to be different compared to the other commanders during the war. Not only did he fail to meet with the rest of the Westeros hosts to fight on Bloodstone, but he also lacked the number of soldiers that the other kingdoms had. The support and fresh soldiers of the Reach did indeed arrive, but the total number of soldiers arriving from the Reach to fight never exceeded 500, and that was something Roboute had ordered and was strict about. Why would he do that? The Reach had access to roughly 100'000 men, and yet he only brought 500? The short answer was simple, because he could. This was merely the first month of the war, and all of his plans needed time to bear fruit. 

And bear fruit they did. 

While other lords scrambled for glory on Bloodstone or at sea, Roboute and the workers he had shipped to the island he had conquered built. He mapped the terrain, he dug trenches, freed the slaves, then turned them into scribes and workers or even soldiers, prisoners into porters, and warriors into engineers. No one was ever idle, no one. Being a soldier under Roboute's command at this time meant being adaptable and willing to adjust to the moment. 

After their initial island had been secured, the defences built, the hierarchy established, the workers settled and the soldiers fed and prepared for another battle, Roboute took another island at the start of the second month. The Drowned Widow had been redone to suit the Ultramarine theme and Roboute's needs, adding their 'fleet' up to three. Keep that number in mind, because it will get important later on. The enemy had barely stirred before the Tyrell and Ultramarine banners were already seen at their beach, marching towards them. It wasn't even a battle—it was a massacre. With their forces increased, Roboute gave command over smaller squads to Randyll Tarly and Mathis Rowan, to flank the enemy and pinch them from different sides. 

After the annexation of the second island under Reach, or rather Ultramarine rule, the same process started as it did on the first island. The filth was cleared out, pirates and enemies were killed, while the slaves were given the choice to leave or join. Roboute looked every slave in the eyes to spot potential spies or subterfuge. His words were law, and those he demanded were killed after they had an official trial. No matter who it was, be that a soldier of other kingdoms, an enemy on the battlefield who had surrendered or even one of the Reach men, everyone was under the same rules. 

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- 261 AC -

Not all were as fortunate as the Reach host, however. During the fourth month of the war, on Bloodstone, the 'Dragon front' as Roboute called it, because Targaryen and Blackfyre were doing battle, was in full swing. Ser Jason Lannister led his knights inland, searching for places to remain and rest as well as prepare for further clashes. He found it in the form of an ambush, which was to be expected since the enemy knew Bloodstone better than anyone. Golden Company archers painted Jason Lannister's gold red with his blood, and his cries were the last to echo through the forest before silence claimed it.

The Westerland forces were shaken. Lord Roger Reyne, red-haired and cold-eyed, assumed command. He struck back hard, leading the Westermen to three victories against the Golden Company in a fortnight. But where he fought with rage, seeking revenge, the Golden Company pulled back, not letting them be defeated just yet. Because they knew that not all cards had been played just yet. There were still more parties at play who hadn't shown their hands. 

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Fear has many names and faces. And in the fifth month, it was called Achilles.

A warlord of noble birth from Myr and leader of 20 ships full of black-armored Myrmidons, Achilles was ferocity and unpredictability incarnate. He was one of the Band of Nine, and he proved why that was the case. His reason for joining the Band of Nine was differnet from those of the others. He didn't truly care about kingdoms, and was more interested in having his name last through the ages. Because of it, he sought the next battle. The one battle he would be known for in thousands of years. The speed and strategic mind of his allowed the Myrmidons to use both hit-and-run tactics, but also direct confrontation, to hurt the Westerosi forces all over the Stepstones. 

He struck at night, burned ships, and vanished before retaliation or retaliation. At least at first. Then he looked for battles at night, so he would be recognised and remembered. And he did. Lords and soldiers of Westeros began whispering his name as though it were a curse. It was Achilles who was the subject of discussion in the major war tent, where the most important men and nobles, as well as one royal, were present. 

The tent was quiet but tense. War maps lay unrolled across the long table, anchored by knives and goblets, with the men standing around it and looking at the current situation. The air smelled of salt, sweat, and wine. A brazier hissed faintly in the corner, cooking something that was said to be edible, but no one could say for sure.

Crown Prince Aerys, heir to the throne of Westeros, stood at the head of the table, elegant in embroidered black. His eyes were sharp and restless, darting around the maps from one place to the other. His fingers drummed on the hilt of his sword. Next to him stood Tywin Lannister, who had a cold and stern expression on his face. The two had become friends during the war. Aerys valued Tywin's intelligence and anger about their fathers. Tywin hated his father's incompetence and lack of teeth, while Aerys hated that he had to marry his sister and anger another noble house. 

"Three more ships burned in the last confrontation, and no survivors. This is not a problematic group, these Myrmidons. It will hold up our war effort at this rate," Aerys said. 

"Achilles and his Myrmidons. The noble sellsword fights and commands like a Braavosi regiment, like a wolf pack. He seems to be utterly without fear," Reyne added. 

"I can't have my men march in smaller groups anymore. They call him the Shadow's General. Some think he's not real," the young Steffon Baratheon said. 

"He's real. My outriders found him and never returned. After I went to check, they were killed and arranged in orderly fashion. As if intent on sending a message," Brynden Tully said. 

No one said anything for a moment. Tywin Lannister leaned forward, calculating, voice cold as steel.

"This is what happens when one tries to fight a war with pride instead of planning. We're being flanked by fewer than two hundred men. It's embarrassing and unacceptable."

"You're right, Tywin. We have to change something, somehow," Aerys said. 

Then came a powerful voice from the entrance; calm and deep. Roboute stepped into the tent, as if he didn't care who it belonged to. 

"You're all approaching this wrong," he stated. 

All heads turned. Roboute stood across from the prince, not hunched, arrogant, or deferential, but upright, his arms behind his back, like the future lord he was and the impeccable general who saw everything before others did. His blue cloak was unstained and held the upside-down omega sign of the Ultramarines. His eyes were like knives, capable of cutting down anyone who stared too long. 

"Ah. The boy general speaks. I was beginning to wonder when you'd break your vow of silence," Aerys smirked. 

"I speak when necessary. And now, it is."

Aerys gestured with his hand. 

"Very well. Enlighten us."

"Achilles is using the terrain, the tides, and your assumptions. He attacks only when he knows the response will be scattered, too slow, or he can deal with them by himself. He moves through known channels, reef-passes, and signal hills. You're reacting like foreigners, while he is agile."

"So what's your solution, boy? Pray for clearer skies?" Reyne frowned.

"Bait," Roboute said and then paused for a moment. "We leak a rumour. A weakness in our north-eastern lines. I send two longships which are light, fast and half-crewed. One sails visible, while the other trails silently behind. They head toward the reef bend southeast of the Bone Shoal, which, as we have gathered, is Achilles' favourite hunting spot."

"You intend to trap him at sea? From what he has shown, he is no fool," Brynden Tully sneered.

"He is not. Which is why we don't set the trap. He will assume a trap, but he will walk into it anyway," Roboute said. 

"You've considered the currents?" Tywin asked. 

"I measured them yesterday. The tide will pull him northeast at dawn. I intend to pull him to the south and then sharply north towards the coast of the Disputed Lands and engage him on land. That's what he will prefer."

"You plan to ambush the most dangerous commander in Essos with two boats and good timing?" Aerys raised his eyebrows. 

"It is a simple matter. Achilles is not doing all of this for power or greed. He seeks a worthy challenge and a fight that will make the world remember his name. And none of you can give him that," Roboute declared. 

There was silence in the tent. Paxter Redwyne, seated behind, gave a barely contained smirk. Randyll Tarly said nothing as usual, but his eyes observed everyone present.

"Tell me, young lord... what do you wager that this works?" Aerys asked. 

"Only the war."

"Hahahahahahaha..."

Aerys laughed all of a sudden. He knew Roboute, of course. He had married the woman, who was supposed to marry him. And while no one would ever understand how little Roboute cared for Rhaella, it was still a slight to House Tyrell's honour. 

"Gods, you're either mad or brilliant. Maybe both... Very well. You have your chance. I am interested to see whether you will make it," Aerys said. 

He turned to the others.

"Let the Tyrell do what he thinks is best. If he fails, it's his embarrassment. If he wins... we may need to listen more closely."

Tywin watched Roboute calculatively. There was almost no expression seen on his face, but something flickered in his eyes: respect, or perhaps recognition. Either way, his attention was piqued. 

"Don't waste your opportunity, Lord Tyrell," Tywin said. 

"I never do."

He turned and left the tent; his men rose to follow him without a word. The war... would change course.