"Hearts beat in time to the sound of the drums. Men chat to themselves, desperate not to show weakness. To show weakness is to have yourself questioned. To have yourself questioned is to lose purpose, to lose face. To lose face, is to be cast into dishonour. Shame on your family, and your parents. That is a crime worse than anything else. When one is shamed, one can never return. The depths of the seven hells will open. That is the fate that awaits boys as they march to war."
Brandon Stark
They were on horses that seemed more accustomed to war than Bran was. Well he supposed that was only to be expected, he had never ridden to war, this horse had been his uncle Brandon's, and had been ridden in the field against rebellious tribes. It was his now, and had been for a year. They were working together, and the horse was keeping Bran calm. His nerves were all over the place, if he thought about them for too long, he knew he wouldn't be able to stay straight. He kept his head down and allowed the horse to do the work, guiding them toward the field. They were going to be fighting today, they had more men than anyone else out there, but it was still nerve wracking. Father was at the head of the army, commanding with great dignity. Bran was most definitely in awe of his father now.
They pass a great trench, made of mud and bone. He shudders at the sight, but keeps his head focused on the task at hand. They will need to move as quickly as possible. The Freys are in the Twins, making their plans. The weapons of siege warfare trundle with them, preparing for the assault to come. This is not what was mentioned in the songs. But as he is quickly learning, life is not like a song. In it a song, he'd have fallen in love with a beautiful maiden, not a Prince. It was all so very strange, he had Tommen's favour attached to his armour, and he wore it every time. They were moving quickly now. The horse galloping, to keep up with the rest. Drums were pounding somewhere, distant. The Freys were celebrating their victory, already. Convinced they had won. Robb and Jon and the northern army should be somewhere close at hand, on the northern side. Preparing for the assault. They find themselves stopping. Father is there, Summer also. They stand and watch, as the weapons begin their work. The northern army is battering north, they batter south. They watch as the castle defences falter, to the great rocks and boulders they throw.
Bran watches spellbound as the rocks destroy battlements, the cries of enemy men echoing in the vast chamber that becomes the sky. He sees his Father murmuring something under his breath, neither of them wear helms just now, there is no need. They are a safe distance away from the rocks and the fighting, away from arrow range. Somewhere on the other side, the northern army is doing the same. The Twins looks as though it might well collapse soon enough. Leaving them with little to do but watch. Bran sees men fall down, or rather he sees the outline of men fall down, breaking themselves against the crush of power and press. It is a brutal sight, not something the songs mentioned either. It leaves him feeling hollow, this is not glorious, this is nothing like what he thought it would be. This is simply cold; this is cold and brutal. He hates it. He sees more rocks being thrown, more and more. The chaos continues. He sees it all, the stones fly and break, and men die. Eventually, Father raises a hand and the firing stops. Roughly at the same time, the same happens in the north. Father looks at him and nods, putting on his helm. Bran does the same. He watches Father move away, leading the race to the Twins. Bran waits a breath then does the same.
They ride forward, and find chaos all around them. The castle walls are broken in and caved. People are lying under rocks, bleeding, their guts on the floor. There are men somewhere else in the castle, trying desperately to fight their way out. Bran does not know where, he hears, but does not see them. His father is riding around barking commands, orders for what to do with any of those who are alive, where they are. Bran watches with a stunned sort of awe. This is war then. This is what war really is. Not frilly fights between good and bad, but between reason and ineptitude. He stops his horse, when he sees a woman her head is caved in, her brain is spilling out, and in her hands, oh gods! In her hands is a babe, the baby is black and blue, more guts than flesh. He sees this through his helm and closes his eyes. Summer moves towards the woman and her babe and sniffs briefly before whining and moving away. Bran watches as the rest of the army move around, looking and assessing, seeing who needs to be removed. Very few people are alive. They are all dead or dying. Bran feels lost. He does not know what to think or feel. This is not what he was thinking would happen, not at all.
He sees his Father move towards another room, and he goes to follow, but finds that there is someone, or several someones in his way. He shakes a little, he had not been expecting this to happen. He wants to ask them to move, but his voice has gone, his throat is dry, so very dry. He draws his sword, and waves it a little. That does nothing to them, the figures move closer. Summer leaps to his defence, bringing down one man, then another man. Bran finally moves, he swings his sword, and brings down one man, Summer killing the man before he can get back up. Then a woman comes toward him, with red hair, and he swings. The blade cuts through the woman. She moans and falls down, she does not get back up again. Shaken, Bran moves toward where his father is, wanting to escape.
"Destruction of lives, that is what this is. Tyranny, and chaos."
