King's Landing hugged the Blackwater, and the mudflats outside the Mud Gate formed a wide triangle that narrowed sharply from west to east.
You could spread ten thousand men across the width, but the depth only let a few hundred stand shoulder to shoulder.
Add in the defenders on the walls who kept shooting whichever side started winning just to keep the fight balanced, and both armies soon found themselves splashing knee-deep in the river.
"Oh, oh! My old friend!" the old pirate bellowed. "Salladhor's lads are about to break!"
Even while he yelled it, he jumped in and helped Davos finish the man in front of them.
Davos touched the leather pouch at his neck—his lucky charm, still carrying the finger bones they'd cut off years ago.
"His Grace hasn't ordered a retreat, so we don't retreat."
"His Grace?" Salladhor Saan's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Let me tell you something—the king is hiding in the back while Davos and old Salladhor do the dying for him!"
"Not worth it! Dead men can't spend the gold!"
He spun his curved blade and dropped another Stormlander.
"Your king promised Salladhor the little monster had no reinforcements. So where the hell did these bastards come from? Their banners are the same ones flying over the Red Keep!"
Davos twisted, knocking a spear point away from Salladhor, then hacked through the attacker's wrist and slit his throat in the same motion.
"Those are Lord Renly's men," he said. "They're not here to save King's Landing."
"I don't care if it's Renly, Greenly, or Purplely!" The old pirate shook his head, peacock feather on his wide green hat bouncing. "All Salladhor knows is they're killing us and there's more of them! This fight is finished!"
The Onion Knight opened his mouth to argue.
Then the Stormlanders ahead suddenly panicked, their lines shattering.
Hoofbeats thundered.
Horses?
How were there horses here?
They were all infantry; the little boats couldn't carry mounts. Renly's men sure as hell hadn't brought any—their rafts were already overloaded.
Unless…
Davos glanced at the river and saw the rafts turning back.
Could Velaryon and Celtigar have broken the northern gate and come to help?
"Forward! Push them back, lads!" Salladhor's face changed in an instant. "They're retreating! We've got them now!"
The pirates suddenly fought like different men. Throwing axes and javelins flew. They charged forward screaming.
After all this time, the bastards had been holding back half their weapons.
The Stormlanders had nowhere to run.
Heading for the walls meant getting turned into pincushions by crossbows, so they flung down swords and armor and jumped into the river.
Hundreds of knights had appeared out of nowhere and were cutting down the fleeing Stormlanders.
"Our men have arrived!" Salladhor grinned and moved to greet them.
The knights charged straight at them.
"They're the enemy's men," the old pirate wailed, backing up fast. "Run! Run for your lives, lads!"
The slow ones were in front.
Davos fell back across the mudflat and found his king.
"Your Grace, we should withdraw," Ser Axell Florent was saying. "I saw Celtigar's banners—that damned Red Crab betrayed us!"
"The northern siege force is finished. If we stay here we'll be caught between them. The fleet's still intact—let's pull back to Dragonstone while we can."
In the distance, the Stormlands archers who had bloodied them earlier now lay in a red smear across the ground.
The knights were still hunting down stragglers.
If not for Melisandre's ambush on the Kingslayer, those horsemen would have caused far more damage.
Upstream at the crossing, another slaughter was underway.
A disciplined force from King's Landing advanced in tight shield-wall formation.
Front-rank heavy infantry fearlessly shoved the newly landed Stormlanders back into the water. Rear-rank spearmen thrust with perfect timing.
What new recruits?
These were veteran soldiers.
They'd all been tricked by King's Landing.
The defenders had deliberately looked weak, letting Stannis and Renly tear into each other over the spoils. Then they struck and tried to wipe out both armies at once.
Big appetite.
But they could afford it.
Farther off, another thousand cavalry trotted up at an easy pace.
Grey-and-white direwolf banner, silver trout, orange-and-black stones, green-and-black broken wheel…
They moved without hurry, as if the enemy were already turtles in a jar.
"What's your opinion, Onion Knight?" his king asked.
Davos looked toward the base of the walls.
Over a thousand bodies lay outside the Mud Gate—most of them Dragonstone's own household troops, the elite they'd scraped together over fifteen years.
"Your Grace, we should withdraw," he said simply.
"We're beaten."
His king ground his teeth.
"Withdraw."
…
The enemy's small boats slowly pulled away from shore. Flaming-heart banners receded across the water.
Joffrey didn't order a pursuit.
Robb's men still hadn't recovered their fighting strength. They'd only come to make an appearance and shake the enemy's morale.
Besides, a cornered beast fights hardest. Push too hard and it could turn messy.
The pirates were already cutting each other down for the boats.
Men too slow to board jumped into the water and tried to climb the gunwales—only to meet an axe that left their hands on the deck.
The rearguard soldiers, realizing no one was behind them, simply dropped their weapons and knelt in surrender.
"Long live the king!" Cheers went up.
Joffrey flipped up his visor.
Most of the dead were Stormlanders and pirates. A few King's Landing knights had been dragged from their horses and beaten to death.
Some were still alive, wheezing.
The wounded were carried back. The hopeless received mercy.
At the base of the walls lay the largest pile of Stannis's men—the ones who had inflicted the most damage on the defenders.
"Caw—"
Black wings circled overhead.
A flock of ravens had smelled the blood and come to join the feast.
"Separate our men," Joffrey ordered. "Nobles go to the Silent Sisters. For the smallfolk…"
"See if anyone claims them. Build a common grave and bury them together."
As for the enemy dead.
Joffrey paused a moment.
"Bury them together too."
By Westerosi custom, this was already the best they would get.
Most men ended up left to rot in the open.
Especially since the battlefield sat right beside the Blackwater—some heartless commanders simply dumped bodies in the river and let the current carry them away.
Joffrey walked slowly across the mudflats.
Once the king gave the orders, Eddard and the others carried them out.
After-battle work was always the heaviest: rewards, pensions, prisoner handling… everything had to be done carefully.
A messenger ran up, boots caked in black-red mud.
"Your Grace, the Conningtons of Griffin's Roost request an audience. They say it's important."
Joffrey swung down from his horse and tossed the reins to a squire.
The man who approached had a fiery red beard but a surprisingly young voice.
He dropped to one knee. "Your Grace, I am Ronnet Connington."
"My uncle is—"
Those matters could wait. Joffrey had something more urgent.
"Where is Renly?"
Not all of Renly's men on the south bank had crossed. With those who had swum back, there were still five or six thousand there.
Five or six thousand. That was too few.
Red Ronnet blinked.
"Lord Renly has gone to attack Lord Tywin."