More and more men filed into the camp that the first host to depart Gallowsgrey had left several moons ago. Penrose, Errol, Wensington, Buckler, Peasebury… the banners collected overhead, the motley colors hung proudly over the expanding sea of tents. Several thousand men camped here, now, with Lords Wylde and Tarth yet to arrive with their reinforcements.

Prince Erich’s pavilion tent sat at the center of it all, command of this host having fallen to him. It would be smaller than his brother’s, and likely would in the end find itself joined to his, but for the nonce it was his own opportunity for a little glory outside of his elder brother’s shadow.

Ah, but that cannot be my only goal, Erich thought as he stood over a map table next to the cookfire, his squire Ethan Buckler-- son of his brother’s hunting friend, Alyn-- worked to clean the mud from the Prince’s mail.

What could his other goals be? Grassy Vale? Ashford? Longtable? Cider Hall?

If it be true that the Reachmen fled deep into the Reach, half their kingdom lay open to conquest. With their focus on Durran and King Tyrion in the north, who would pay attention to the east or the south?

It all seemed to be a glorious aligning of the stars, truly. The Reach lay open, the rolling plains unguarded. They could be the third prong in a thrust towards Highgarden, swallowing half the Reach. A smirk crossed his face as he ran his hand across the map.

As night fell he ordered the preparation of some small feast, little more than ale and whatever game Durran’s host allowed to live in the forests around Gallowsgrey. Men came back carrying deer, rabbits, an assortment of birds. It was a modest feast for a modest host.

“My lords!” Prince Erich called, standing at the head of a small table around which the nobility sat. “My lords, today we dine on rabbits. It is a pithy meal, but good enough for we are hardy people. Over there--” he pointed through the dark to the west-- “those are cravens and milksops. My brother, our King, slew more than ten thousand of them. He captured female soldiers!”

He allowed the men to hear it, to react-- groans and belly laughter echoed across the field.

“Yes indeed, a woman of Tarly was captured in the brawl. It seems Gwayne Gardener has pressed women to service. So be it! We shall cut them down all the same. The Reach is a rich place, my lords, and I promise you that our next feast shall not be on such fare. We shall break open the sweetwine of the Arbor, the ciders of Cider Hall, the vast stores of the Reach, and we shall dine as Kings!”

A cheer rang out, loud and intoxicating. For a moment the Storm Prince could pretend that the cheers were less for Durran and more for him, and he laughed aloud. “Drink, my lords, drink. For within the moon we march, and bring ruin to our enemies!”

With that, Prince Erich returned to his chair and tore a ragged chunk of bread from a loaf, chewing on it eagerly. He wanted nothing more than for that long-awaited hour to arrive.