The battle of the Blackwater was won. While the nobles celebrated in the keep, the soldiers filled the city streets. The ale flowed like a river, tankards clashing together in victory. The Sarsfield mounted horse archers occupied the Wild Mare tavern, celebrating their victory with laughter and song. Myrielle Hill sat among her fellow archers and a few Reachmen who had joined them.

She took a long swig from her tankard, wiping the froth from her lips with the back of her hand. "To the blood on the Blackwater," *The captain toasted, raising his drink high. "And to our new friends from the Reach!"

Laughter erupted around the table, a Tarly skirmisher beside her slamming his cup against the wood. "To wildfire and drowning traitor lot like rats!"

Myrielle smirked, leaning back in her chair, feeling the warmth of drink and victory settle in her bones. For now, they could revel. Soon they would join Randyll Tarly in moving up to Duskendale.