Westeros. A land soiled by bloodshed and tyranny. Where hundreds die for the will of a few. In the ancient eras, men were not the ones who ruled these lands. The Old Gods reigned supreme, and the terrible monsters that served them stalked men. Many believe that such horrors are gone from the world. They are wrong. In the east, is a forbidden land, walled by a range of insurmountable mountains. The land stretches from north of The Twins, all the way down to the Southern Seas. Most maps are without the land, for no Westerosi has set foot there for a thousand years. Yet despite this, men still thrived. In the land of monsters, war stirs, and the eyes of the Lannisters turn to Bretonnia...
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Along the mud track the horses trotted. Around them fires crackled, men rushing about. Tents were erected in orderly lines, their owners setting up the camp. Many saw the two men riding, nodding and shouting their respects to them. One rider ignored them completely, whilst the other returned the nods, smiling at the men.
"My lords!" A man in plate armour approached them. "Were you not here soon, I would have sent a party out to search for you!"
"You must forgive us," one of them smiled. "Our journey was delayed, as we had to pursue some bandits harassing a local hamlet!"
"What I'm wondering is why the camp is still being established," grunted the second rider. "You've been here for two days, and the camp still hasn't been established! Where were the palisades and watchtowers? If you had been attacked, you'd be dead where you stood! This is a disgrace!"
"Forgive me, Baudouin," the man bowed. "Our army has only stopped arriving not an hour before your arrival."
"It is alright," the other man dismounted his horse, passing the reigns of his horse to a squire. "What is the situation?"
"Lord Duschane has betrayed your father by taking Castle Artois." Louen and Baudouin were brothers, the sons of Charlemagne Leoncoeur, the King of Bretonnia. Lord Duschane was the baron of one of the neighbouring provinces, but attacking and occupying anything outside of his fiefdom was treachery.
"How big is his army?" Baudouin also dismounted his steed, chainmail clinking as the three of them trudged through the mud.
"Not many, two hundred at most." General Moreau answered.
"Anything skyward?" Louen piped up. Out of the two brothers, Baudouin was the soldier. Louen was a skilled diplomat, and learned in many things. His brother, on the other hand, was a natural commander. It was as if he had been born in the heat of battle. Baudouin was a master tactician and fearless to charge into enemy lines. Together the brothers symbolised everything great that Bretonnia had to offer.
"Doubt it," Baudouin answered. "Duschane's land was too far from any eyries, plus he was never wealthy enough to afford any kind of mount."
"Always expect the unexpected, dear brother," Louen smiled, gazing towards the walled city. "What about the citizens inside?"
"Who cares?" Baudouin snorted. "They're just peasants." Baudouin retorted. "General! I want the river that flows through the town blockaded on both ends, Lord Duschane must not escape! At dusk, we begin our assault!"
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"…And may the Lady hold me always," Louen mumbled, kneeling in his tent. "Should I fall this day, may She gather me in Her embrace, and fill me with the flame to live again." Now fully rested and wearing his armour, Louen exited into the afternoon air. The camp was more raucous, than ever. The men sharpening weapons, oiling bows, fucking the whores before one last time. Louen's ever-patient squire stood waiting at the lip of the tent. By his side was the prince's horse, now covered in a thick coat and metal plating.
"What do you think?" Louen asked. "Do you think that we should just simply storm the castle and kill all inside? What do the Knight's Vows and Code of Chivalry say?" The Bretonnian Vows and Code were much the same as the code that a Westerosi knight lived by, only it was much stricter, and one must live by them at all times, not when it suited them.
"The Vows that Lord Duschane took means that he must never betray his Royarch, lest he face the retribution."
"And what of the Code?"
"The Code states that one must be just, but merciful." Louen nodded, ruffling the lad's hair. "What do you plan, sire?"
"Fetch me a white flag, I plan to parlay with the Lord." Several standards were dotted around the camp. The sigils of various knights and nobles, House Leoncoeur, and, though few and far, white standards of surrender. Antön, Louen's squire, handed his master a lance, the banner tied to the top. At the edge of the rise, the siege engines that Baudouin had ordered be constructed were well underway. Huge portable shields that would shield the soldiers from whatever bolts and arrows would try to strike them down. Holding the lance above his head, Lord Louen Leoncoeur made his way down the hill towards the castle. The soldiers on the battlements readied their bows, aiming at the lone horsemen.
"Lord Tael Duschane!" Louen shouted towards the castle. "I seek your audience!" Louen's horse shifted uncomfortably, aware of the situation they were in. Bretonnian horses were intelligent creatures. Many horses that the Lords and Ladies owned were descended from the Pegasus, a creature that most thought extinct.
"The son of Charlemagne Leoncoeur dare approach me?" An armoured, aging man looked over the ramparts, glaring at the prince. "You sit on that hill with your army, then come cowering before me!"
"Lord Tael, your father and I were good friends!" Louen started, ignoring the insults. "Invading and occupying Castle Artois is an act of war! Why do this?" From the corner of his eye, Louen could spy his brother's trebuchets rolling to the hill, stones being sought as ammunition. This talk would have to be quick, lest Louen be shot by Duschane's archers.
"Why do this?" Lord Duschane barked, almost laughing. "Your father is too old to rule! Yet still he reigns! House Leoncoeur has not the power that they once had! Everyday, the Greyjoys pillage our coasts, and the Lannisters try to cross the Blue Mountains to conquer Bretonnia!"
"And how does starting a civil war stop any of that!?" Louen snapped. An arrow thudded into the mud a foot away from his horse, spooking the poor beast. A warning shot or no, Louen had to be careful with his choice of words.
"Lord Tael, the citizens in Castle Artois still support the Royarch. Our siege would surely see them put in danger! Sortie your troops so that none may be harmed!" several laughs could be heard from the battlements. Most Lords and soldiers in Bretonnia, and Westeros saw the common citizen as lesser beings, a means to an end. Louen saw more than that. They were people, just like him and his brother, the only difference was the amount of coin in his wallet.
"They're nothing but peasants! They can all die for all I care."
"And your family?" The man's face tightened. "While you've brought all your knights and soldiers here, who's left to defend your home? What is to stop the Royarch's army from razing Taelia, your ancestral home? Who will protect your family from slavery, or the gallows?" Lord Tael's tightened scowl turned to a roar. Snatching a bow from one of the archers.
"Give me a good reason not to kill you!" Louen instinctively raised the shield on his arm to defend himself. Had he crossed the line? Was this negotiation even going to have a peaceful resolution in the first place?
"You can walk away from this! Surrender peacefully and no one shall be-"
"WATCH OUT!" An archer shouted, mere moments before the tower nearby exploded. Rocks and shrapnel hailed in all directions, pelleting all in the vicinity. Louen would have been knocked from his steed, or had his skull cracked open, if not for his shield. Wrenching on the reins, the horse spun around and bolted towards the advancing army. Seeing the colours the man and horse wore, they let Louen slip past the ram and portable shields up to the lip of the hill, where a line of mounted knights await him.
"What in Seven Hells were you doing!?" Baudouin barked. "Why did you go and negotiate with him?"
"Me?" Louen snapped. "What about you! That trebuchet volley could have killed me!" As if to emphasise that, the sound of a tower crumbling rumbled in front of them.
"Lords, please," General Moreau interrupted, positioning himself between the pair. "There is a battle ahead of us. Bicker once you return to that fancy palace you call home!" The brothers couldn't help but give each other a grin. It was not often that they fought, and to do so in such a situation would shake the morale of the army.
"By your lead," Louen gestured to the castle. Baudouin rode along the line of soldiers, who looked up at their prince.
"Soldiers!" Baudouin barked. "Knights of the Grail! The Lady smile upon us this day! The men in that castle are traitors! Tael Duschane swore the Oath, took his Vows, and chose to spend his life serving his Royarch. The day he stepped into Castle Artois is the day he signed himself a traitor!" The men roared a warrior's cry, beating their weapons against their chest plates and shields. The battering ram was at the walls, and began to pound at the barred gate.
"The citizens of that castle are still loyal!" Louen continued, joining his brother. "Remember your Vows, and kill only those you must!"
"Whomever brings me Duschane's head will have his place as a Duke!" Baudouin roared, drawing his sword. "For the Lady!"
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The what was once a grassy hill was turned to mud under the might of three hundred thundering horses and five hundred hardy warriors. The gates shattered open just as the knights rushed in. 1the gatehouse was often a chokepoint, one of the best places to defend. Not today. The knights of Bretonnia cut a swathe through the line of troops. Louen's sword rose and fell, blood dripping from the steel edge.
"Push forward!" General Moreau yelled over the chaos. "If they hold us here we're done for!" Baudouin was see hacking like a barbarian, slaughtering all who stood to oppose him.
"How are we doing?" Louen asked, barging his way through the crowd.
"You tell me!" his brother replied, driving his sword through the neck of a man-at-arms. "Should you not have observed the battlefield?" Several spearmen threw themselves at Louen, piercing his horse's armour and flesh. The beast cried out in agony before toppling, pining his rider beneath him. Louen could barely grunt in pain as the air was crushed from his lungs. The soldiers who felled his steed aimed their spears at the prince, who used his shield as best he could to protect himself.
'Lady,' Louen thought. 'Should I die this night, make my passing a painless one.' All of a sudden the blows stopped. Louen peered from his shied to see that General Moreau was there, cutting them down.
"To Lord Louen!" he barked. "Aid you prince!" Knights wearing House Leoncoeur's colours circled him, lifting the dead horse up and dragging the young Lord out from underneath.
"Are you alright?" one of them asked, his helmet red with blood.
"I think my leg is dislocated." Louen winced, limping away from the combat.
"Your father should never have sent you to fight," another remarked, supporting the prince. "You are still a child!"
"Fourteen years is when any Lord sees his first battle!" Louen retorted, slumping down on a crate.
"That is true, my lord." General Moreau trotted his horse over to the wounded prince. "However they only see the battle as a standard bearer, or a drummer, not leading the charge!"
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The battle raged long into the night. Though Lord Duschane's army was heavily outnumbered, they all but halted the progress of their enemy by using clever tactics. The major roads were blockaded and small side streets were blocked by shield walls and phalanxes of pikes. The army led by Louen and Baudouin Leoncoeur was launched several assaults on the walled of squares and roads, peppering the enemy with archer fire and then having the infantry scale the barricades and pull them apart.
"Status report," Baudouin barked, sliding of his horse.
"The city is almost completely under our control," General Moreau answered, limping towards him. "There are only a few pockets of resistance. Lord Duschane and his remaining forces are holed up in the keep." On a large solitary hill lay the keep, the centre of all power in this fief.
"Any reports of looting and raiding?" Louen asked, his shield still held over his head. From their position, archers could easily pick them off.
"None, my lord." Louen smiled at the news. Castle Artois' residents were still loyal to Royarch Charlemagne. To loot and pillage them would be an insult, and make their loyalty waver. "These men follow the Code, even the ones who haven't been knighted." As the sun rose over the city, there was not a better time to attack.
"You feeling okay?" Baudouin asked, approaching his younger brother. "I'm sorry about Neige, she was a fine horse."
"It happens." Louen answered, shrugging the sad fact away. Louen, like all Bretonnian knights, had raised their steed from a young age, forming a lifelong bond with the creature.
"My lords," Moreau interrupted. "We must press our attack. The longer we delay, the greater the chance that Tael has of escaping."
"His head is mine!" Baudouin roared, drawing his bastard sword
"No!" Louen grabbed his older brother by the arm. "Royarch Charlemagne demanded that he be brought back alive, so that he face trial before the Fey Enchantress!" Such was tradition in Bretonnia. A knight or a lord who betrayed his king would face trial before the Fey Enchantress, the head of the Bretonnian faith. Baudouin only grunted in acknowledgment, his lust for blood having taken him over.
"Horses won't do in this attack," Moreau said. "The gate is too small for cavalry to charge through. We attack on foot!" and with that, the assault on the keep began.
"Shields up, lads!" Moreau shouted as arrows were loosed at the advancing horde. The projectiles thudded into their heater shields, only a few slipping through the cracks and bringing down the poor men. Baudouin and Louen thudded against the wall, taking shelter from the raining arrows. The knights of House Leoncoeur brought ladders and a portable ram to the walls, using every tactic they knew to surpass the wall.
"Heave!" A knight shouted, the ram swinging into the wooden gate. The doors thudded and hinges creaked.
"I'm going over!" Baudouin shouted, shaking his brother's shoulder. "Good luck, little cub!" the older of the pair swung onto a rising ladder, bracing as the structure crashed against the wall. "For the Lady!" Baudouin leapt onto an archer, his longsword cleaving through his leather armour as if it were no thicker than parchment. A swipe from a spear almost caught him off guard. Baudouin grabbed the shaft of the weapon and sliced it in two, before driving his blade into the man's heart.
"Heave!" Again, the ram crashed into the gate. It began to crack and inch open. Louen tried to look up and see where his brother was, but he had advanced down the battlements, fighting his way through the last of the resistance. "Heave!" the gate exploded inwards, the men holding it shut being thrown aside. "Charge!" General Moreau bellowed, as Louen and the other knights pushed through the gap. A man with an axe in one hand and a mace in the other sprinted straight for Louen, as if his only purpose in life was to bring him down. Louen braced as the axe smashed into his shield, parrying the mace away on the other side. Louen lunged with his blade, but the attack hit thin air as the man had spun away. At the end of the spin the crazed soldier brought both axe and mace crashing down into Louen's back. The blow would have killed him, had he not brought his shield around at the last second. The wooden barrier on his arm exploded into shards, knocking the prince down. For most men, this would have spelled their demise. This might have been the first time Louen set foot on a battlefield, but he had been training in swordsmanship for years. As the man approached, Louen turned onto his side and kicked his legs out, spinning in a tight circle. The man was felled by Louen's boot cracking into the back of his knee, and the momentum allowed the prince to quickly find his feet. Before Louen could bring his sword into the man's face, his comrades charged through, trampling him. Louen picked up a shield that was held by a severed arm, charging back onto the fray. As he engaged with another soldier, a militiaman charged at the prince.
"DIE!" he screamed, swinging his cudgel like it were a battle-axe. As cudgel man lunged, Louen sidestepped, pushing his blade through his throat. The other man winded back for a swing, leaving his chest exposed. Louen took advantage, pressing his sword through his mail. The man gasped in pain, dropping his weapon and shield. Louen kicked him in the gut, but still he advanced, using his weight as a weapon against the lad. Louen hacked again, tacking his left arm clean of. Another spinning slash across the chest and a shield punch sent him flying.
"Fight on men!" A raspy voice boomed over the chaos. "No surrender!" Louen looked to see three mounted knights circle the crowd, cutting down those who approached. The man in the centre was Tael Duschane, making his last stand. The steed he sat upon was no ordinary one. Snow white in pelt, and pillowing tail. It's legs were covered in hair that might as well have been feathers, by their texture. On the beast's back, aside from the rider, it boasted a pair of mighty wings.
"By the Lady," Louen gasped. "He's riding a pegasus!"