Month 6 282 AL
(Stannis)
As Stannis stood atop the gatehouse, he felt dread. Watching long lines of shining armor glistening in the sun. In the distance, erecting great tents and catapults, banner colors of every shade flapping under the strong Stormland wind.
To his eyes, they seemed as ants.
If only they were.
The might of the largest army in Westeros at his walls. 80,000 Knights, Archers, and men-at-arms here to smother the bare garrison of 1500 with 10,000 small-folk sheltering in the thick walls of Storm's End.
He must hold this Fortress for as long as possible. Even unto death. As long as the Tyrell host was here, they were not attacking Robert. It was his duty to his family and his house. He would not skirt duty nor fate.
No surrender.
A head-ache started to form in his skull. The stress of watching the Tyrells set camp must be the cause.
Knowing how short the rations will be for this is enough alone. He thought.
His vision begins to blur.
Bile builds in his throat.
Sick runs down the walls of Storm's End as he clutches his throat, gasping.
Chuckles sound from below signal the guards opinion on their Commander's stomach with a view of the enemy before them.
The Stannis that wiped his mouth and looked over crenelations of the gatehouse was not the same as before.
His scowl had smoothed for the first time since watching his parents drown.
He raised his hands in front of his face and clenched them. He drew his sword and looked at it. A smile formed on his face as he sheathed it.
Death at 51 one second and a 18 year old lord the next.
His sons were well suited to succeeding the throne of Norway after him. His wives would be missed. Rakna's Mead would be sorely missed though. As would his beautiful dragon-ship.
(One Month Later)
"Push!" I yelled into the orator cone.
The shirtless pushed their shields as one to create a gap for third rank of the shield wall to bring their blunt spears to bear for a thrust.
The shirts vs. the shirtless were training in the phalanx equipment and shield wall formation. They were slow to get the Idea, put quick once they started practicing all day, every day.
Some were tapped on the shoulder by referees once they were 'fatally' struck. They dropped to the ground and were dragged out of formation by their teammates to simulate their deaths or injury.
They were no Varangian Guard, but, they were learning.
The winning team's double rations made this a very intense and serious affair for them. Large round shields and 7-9 foot spears in the first five ranks, archers behind them. Cloth tipped arrows and sweat littered the courtyard below.
The army outside the walls firing useless catapult stones into the meters thick walls was ignored. The walls were too high for ladders or arrows to have any effect. There were a few watchmen on the walls, but, only to wait for another messenger with the reply to another Tyrell offer of surrender.
My first offer was this. I will spare the life of your family and lords if you come to the gates of Storm's End with all the gold you own in this life presented to me as a gift. You must strip yourself of clothes and crawl on your knees before me and beg for the life of your family. If you beg well enough, I will allow you to live in my Kennel with my dogs and feed you the same. Stannis Baratheon.
To the Oaf, Mace Tyrell.
The messenger never returned alive. He didn't need to, My meaning was clear to the fool. The messenger was sent back into the wall at High speed and splattered over a few meters in every direction on the wall.
Maester Cressen would be mourned after this siege was over.
Which would be soon.
One way or another.
I would not be contained here.