While the right flank advanced with force and the battle raged around them, a select group stood out in the chaos of war: the personal escorts of the two leaders, clashing in close combat in a duel that would decide far more than just their honor.
Lord Peake, a man of regal bearing and notable martial skill, advanced with five of his best soldiers, forming a tight formation around him. His shining armor reflected the sun as he wielded a halberd with precision and dexterity. In front of him, Halys's escort consisted of a band of seasoned warriors: Halys Hornwood himself, flanked by Thorrent Flint, Eddard Hornwood, Hoter Umber, Lord Flint of Flint's Finger, and Lord Medger Cerwyn. Together they formed a wall of steel and determination.
The clash was immediate and brutal. Halberds and swords collided in a whirlwind of metal and fury. Lord Peake moved with agility, blocking and countering with ferocity, while his five soldiers guarded his flanks with steady spears and shields.
Thorrent Flint, wielding a heavy mace, was the first to strike one of Peake's men, crushing his shield and sending him to the ground. Eddard Hornwood seized the opening to deliver a precise slash that took another enemy out of the fight.
Meanwhile, Hoter Umber and Lord Medger Cerwyn held off the remaining three soldiers, their movements coordinated as if they'd trained together for years. Hoter blocked a thrust aimed at Halys, deflecting the spear with his reinforced shield, and Medger countered with a sword strike that forced one of the foes to retreat.
Lord Peake, seeing his men fall one by one, charged directly at Halys for a one-on-one duel. His halberd clashed against Halys's claymore, the noise of their blows ringing out over the general din of the battle.
Halys maneuvered deftly, using the antlers on his helmet to unbalance Peake, then landed a blow that shattered the halberd in two. Peake took a step back but didn't falter, counterattacking with a swift thrust that Halys barely dodged.
The duel continued, both warriors showing why they were commanders and leaders, but finally, Halys found an opening. With an agile and powerful move, he spun his claymore and struck hard, knocking Lord Peake to the ground and forcing his surrender.
Peake's escort, demoralized and without their leader, quickly scattered, and Halys's escort gathered around him, breathing heavily but victorious.
The battle continued, but that personal victory lifted the spirits of the rebel troops, who saw in Halys not just a commander, but an indomitable warrior. The roar of war filled the valley like an ocean of iron and blood. From the eastern hills, the rebel trumpets blared triumphantly: Halys Hornwood's right flank had smashed through the forces of the Reach, Lord Peake's men fleeing or falling beneath northern steel. No mercy, no rest. And no ceasefire until the crown fell.
Halys, bloodstained to the elbows, his brown armor torn in several places, still stood tall like a bull amid the chaos. He raised his longsword—the Stag's Claymore—toward the sky. Around him, Thorrent Flint, Lord Medger Cerwyn, Hoter Umber, and his brother Eddard Hornwood stood guard, forming the tip of a new advance.
"Forward! To the enemy center! For the North, for Robert, for justice!" Halys roared.
Behind him, 25,000 men echoed the war cry, banging their weapons against their shields. Like a torrent of steel, horses, pikes, and swords surged downhill, crushing what remained of the Reach's resistance and splitting the royal army in two.
In the heart of the field, near the Trident ford, the red dragon banner still waved over a hill guarded by the royal guard. And there, like a figure out of legend, stood Barristan Selmy, the White Knight, his cloak billowing in the wind and his sword drawn.
Halys recognized him instantly. It could be no other.
"That man is a wall," Thorrent growled. "Let us help you."
"No," Halys replied. "He's mine."
The light cavalry flanked to either side. Halys dismounted furiously, stabbing his claymore into the mud before lifting it again with one hand. He stepped forward. Barristan mirrored him.
"Hornwood," said Barristan. "I've heard you're strong. Let's see if the rumors are true."
"Selmy," Halys replied. "You're the last thing between Rhaegar and defeat. You will fall."
Both men launched forward like lightning.
The first clash made the field tremble. Selmy's sword, fast as lightning, met the brute force of Halys. One was a dance. The other, a storm. Barristan dodged gracefully, striking precise thrusts at the weak points in Halys's armor. But Halys, though wounded in the side and left arm, did not stop. He roared with every blow. He charged like a wild elk.
At one moment, Halys used his antlered helmet to deflect a slash and lunged head-on, driving Selmy back five steps. Then the royal knight realized this was no brash noble. He was a leader forged in battle.
The next five minutes felt eternal. Rain began to fall, washing the blood from their faces. Around them, soldiers paused, forming a circle from both armies, stunned by the spectacle. It was a duel of legend.
And as Halys and Selmy measured each other, not far away, at the center of the field, destiny thundered: Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targaryen stood face to face amid the wreckage of a decimated regiment. The warhammer and black stag armor faced the prince's gleaming ruby-studded plate.
History was being written on two fronts.
Halys, gasping for breath, found an opening and slammed into Barristan with his shoulder, knocking him against a fallen log. The royal knight, still steady, raised his sword, but Halys parried it and, with a swift spin, disarmed him. He pointed his claymore at the knight's throat.
"Do you yield?"
Barristan took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.
"I fought for my prince. My duty is done."
And he dropped his shield.
Halys nodded.
"I honor you, Barristan Selmy. Live to tell the tale."
The rebels erupted in cheers as Halys raised the claymore to the sky. And at that moment, across the battlefield, a warhammer struck a royal chest, and rubies scattered into the air like petrified blood.
The Battle of the Trident was not yet over.
But for the first time, victory seemed close.