The Battle of Summerhall would be sung of in the Stormlands for generations. In truth, it was three swift, brutal engagements in a single day, all won by Robert Baratheon's relentless aggression. While Robert's name led the songs, our contribution was in the shadows—my men and I eliminated the enemy scouts, providing the precise intelligence that allowed Robert to fall upon each loyalist host before they could unite. We struck Lords Grandison, Cafferen, and Fell individually, shattering their coordination and their will.
The reputation of our company grew. They began calling me the 'White Eagle' knight, I was told, for the sigil on my shield and the swift, decisive strikes we were known for.
The loyalist lords had planned to merge their forces at Summerhall and march on Storm's End. Robert, learning of their plans from the coerced Conningtons, denied them that chance. Lord Fell died in the fighting, and his son, the knight called Silveraxe, was captured alongside Lords Grandison and Cafferen. After a period of reflection in the dungeons of Storm's End, their pragmatism overcame their loyalty, and they bent the knee. With this victory, Robert had consolidated the Stormlands. His rear was secure.
It was a masterstroke, but it came with a cost. The Crown could no longer dismiss us as a regional nuisance. We were a true rebellion now, and the other kingdoms would be forced to choose sides.
A tense preparation period followed at Storm's End. Robert feasted his new bannermen daily, a display of confidence that Lord Stannis watched with silent disapproval. The lords who arrived brought only half their levies—a cautious move to hedge their bets should the rebellion fail. I saw the sense in it, but it left us with a host of green boys and older men, their morale as thin as their armor.
I went to Robert and Stannis with a proposal. "These young lads will break at the first charge of a Reachman knight," I stated bluntly. "They will consume supplies and achieve nothing but a grave. Send them home to tend the harvests. We will keep the experienced men, those over five-and-twenty, and equip them with the arms and armor from Gulltown."
Stannis, for once, agreed with me. Robert, though he grumbled about numbers, saw the wisdom. We forged a core of hardened, well-equipped infantry, discarding the chaff.
Three months later, Robert called his war council. "My lords!" he boomed, his voice filling the chamber. "Tomorrow we march! We will drive into the Reach and scatter those flower-boys before Lord Tyrell can finish his leisurely breakfast! To victory!"
The hall erupted in cheers. My blood ran cold. This was the folly I remembered. I stood, drawing every eye.
"My lord," I began, my voice cutting through the noise. "Your plan is bold, but we must consider the full board. Ravens confirm Lord Tully has joined our cause. Our path to victory lies in uniting with the Stark and Arryn hosts in the Riverlands, not in a solo charge into the heart of the Reach."
Lord Gulian Swann, a proud marcher lord, shot to his feet. "You overstep, foreigner! We are Stormlanders! We do not need a mercenary to lecture us on how to fight our neighbors!"
A chorus of agreement rose from the lords who had always viewed me with suspicion.
Before I could respond, Robert slammed his fist onto the table, splintering the heavy oak. The hall fell silent.
"Enough!" he roared. "Ser Julius has shed more blood for my cause than some of you have in your entire lives! You will hear him out!"
I nodded my thanks to Robert and turned back to the lords, my tone measured and logical. "I do not speak from fear, Lord Swann, but from strategy. Our strength is our heavy horse. A swift campaign is our friend; a long one is our enemy. If we take nine thousand foot into the Reach, we become slow, predictable, and a drain on our supplies. Meanwhile, a host from the Crownlands could descend on a nearly undefended Storm's End."
I let that grim possibility hang in the air before offering my solution. "Split the force. Let Lord Robert take the knights and all our cavalry to harry the Reach. Speed and shock will be his allies. But let the infantry march north to join Lords Stark and Arryn. This secures our alliance, protects our home, and ensures that even if one arm of our strategy is checked, the rebellion continues."
After hours of heated debate, this was the plan we settled upon. Robert would lead six thousand cavalry to probe the Reach's defenses. To my surprise, and the clear displeasure of many lords, Robert gave me command of the infantry host to lead them north.
Stannis was ordered to hold Storm's End, a duty he accepted with grim resignation.
I knew I could not dissuade Robert from his course. A Baratheon, once set on a path, is like the storm itself—impossible to turn. My task was now to minimize the fallout. The lords were content; I was being sent away with the peasants, leaving the glory of the cavalry charge to them.
As I looked over the maps, a cold certainty settled in my gut. Robert was riding toward Ashford. And I knew, with a clarity that felt like a vision, that the Reach would not break as easily as the Stormlands had. They were heading for a defeat. My only consolation was that I would not be leading good men to die in it. My duty was to get these foot soldiers to the Riverlands, to the real war.