Chapter 55 - The Kingslayer and the Revenant (Or the War for Cersei's C*nt) the 30th day of January, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
It took only a minute before Jaime heard the sound of the gate being unbarred.
Both wooden doors swung back. A crowd of men came through, walking cautiously, weapons raised. Jaime ordered his men back, and they retreated a hundred feet or so from the gate. A score or more of Baratheon men-at-arms were followed by several kingsguard. Ser Barristan marched to the front. He paused ten feet in front of Jaime.
"A pity it must come to this sir."
"You believe the king a fool" Jaime replied. It was not a question.
"I believe the king is our king" Ser Barristan said simply.
Robert himself came through then. He stood half a head taller than most anyone else present, including Jaime. He was not wearing his famous antlered helm or his original suit of armor. Presumably, Cersei had fed them to the wildfire along with the rest of the contents of Maegor's. The axe was new as well, but looked just as heavy. The fresh steel gleamed in the sun. Men were cheering as he strode out.
Ser Barristan stood aside as the king approached, though the lord commander's hand remained on his hilt. He was looking around suspiciously in case any of Jaime's supporters sought to intervene. Just behind Jaime, Ser Theodan Wells seemed to have taken up the same role. "Let no man interfere!" the Captain of the Warrior's Sons was shouting. "Let these two be judged in the sight of gods and men!" Between them they had soon cleared a space a good twenty feet across. Without being prompted, the Westerling boy ran up and handed him his shield, a golden lion emblazoned on red.
Opposite, one of Robert's own squires did the same, the wood painted with the black stag on gold. Jaime considered his opponent. The armor was full plate, matching his own. His own sword had greater reach, but the axe could bite deeper. He would need to find his way around the armor. Jaime took a stance, holding the hilt up high by his shoulder, the blade's tip pointed right at his opponent. Robert stopped ten feet in front of him. His brothers had remained up on the battlements, beside the rest of the kingsguard, still holding the heads of his kin on spikes. Jaime was determined not to look at them. He focused solely on his opponent. His helm was a slit, limiting his vision, but the same was true of the king. Robert was laughing again. Both axe and shield were held down by his side, his grip almost casual.
"Well kingslayer, lets see if you can do it twice."
"I'll show you."
Jaime stepped forward, light, cautious steps, each taking him a foot or so closer to Robert. The king did not move, or even raise a shield. Was he a complete fool? Five feet away Jaime lunged, the blade going for the gorget. Robert raised his shield then. The blade struck the solid oak, chipping at the stag but then bouncing off. Jaime took a couple of steps back, then lunged again. Robert again raised the shield almost lazily.
They repeated this motion a few times, almost a sort of dance. Jaime's was panting with the effort, though he could hear the king doing the same. He's tired Jaime thought. He's older, wear him out, then cut him open. Robert had still not tried to strike him, his axe held by his side. "Is that all Kingslayer?" He shouted at one point, to the jeers of the Stormlanders above. "Is that all?"
Jaime grunted, he made to strike high, but at the last minute turned the sword low. He aimed below the armpit, where the plate would give way to mail. Robert managed to parry this however, still laughing. Jaime lunged again. Robert blocked with his shield, but this time brought the axe up as well. Jaime saw it, moving as if in slow motion. He raised his own shield. There was a great thud as the axe bit deep, opening a split six inches long. His shoulder ached with the force of the blow. For a moment the axe seemed to be stuck, before Robert wrenched it free. Jaime tried to land a blow somewhere. He hit Robert's other arm by the elbow, but the plate did not give way. The two separated, backing off another six feet or so. The crowd around them was screaming. Ser Barristan, Ser Theodan and a handful of other knights held them back.
Robert came at him this time, swinging the axe wildly. Jaime dodged with this shield, getting only a glancing blow. His sword struck Robert's armor, then again and again, but the heavy plate remained impenetrable. I need to find a gap he thought, frustrated. The armpits, the groin, the neck or knees. He struck several more times, succeeding only in blunting the edge of his blade. Robert continued to laugh. The axe came up again. Robert seemed to be actively aiming for the shield now. He struck it again, full on, and a piece of oak the size of a dinner plate flew off into the crowd.
Jaime backed off again. A press of men was behind him. He heard Ser Theodan trying to force them back further. For a moment he was almost back to back with the Captain of the Warrior's Sons, before Jaime managed to sidestep right into clear space. He and Robert circled for a while, before coming together again. Both of them were puffing with exertion. Jaime watched for the swing of the axe. He caught it with the flat of his blade and twisted it back. Robert's shield was on the wrong side, his right was open. Jaime thrust forward at the rerebrace, above the elbow. The tip struck with a satisfying thunk. The steel dented, but did not break. Robert backed away, grunting.
The axe came up again. Jaime continued to dodge, until he found himself up against another press of bystanders. Voices were shouting. He had to bring the shield up. Robert landed a direct blow, then another. He struck a few more times and Jaime found his shield being rapidly reduced to splinters. He found a gap and stepped sideways again. He glanced at the ruined shield and tossed it aside, both hands now clutching his own blade. Now or never.
He pressed the attack, striking so quickly Robert couldn't bring up his own shield to block. He struck the king's armor twice, then thrice, more dents but no lethal blow. Robert was grunting with effort. Suddenly he was leaping forward, running at Jaime behind his own shield. Jaime dodged sideways but held out a foot. Robert stumbled over it, almost falling but somehow managed to keep his balance. The two of them circled again. Jaime thought of his other weapon, the dirk on his belt, but he kept it there for now. The crowd was screaming. Everywhere there were shouts of "Kill him! Finish him!" though which party they referred to was quite impossible to tell.
Robert came at him again, the shield coming first. Again Jaime ducked sideways, away from the king's axe, but Robert mirrored him. The shield collided first. Jaime couldn't get his sword clear. He was shoved back into a mass of screaming bodies. His sword was held uselessly against Robert's shield, but the king couldn't bring his axe around either. For a moment they seemed paralyzed like this amid the press of men, then he heard a thump and something impacted with the side of Jaime's jaw. He fell sideways, momentarily dazed. When he looked back at his opponent, he saw only the shield. Robert had dropped the axe and hit him with a gauntleted fist instead. He felt blood welling up in his mouth, but nothing seemed broken yet. Jaime spat, finding clear space again. Robert paused. Ser Barristan rushed over and handed him back his axe, then with a grunt the king was advancing on him again. He's tired Jaime thought. Finish him. He stepped sideways once more, again keeping a leg out to trip the king.
This time it worked. Jaime felt the impact, saw as Robert started to fall. Only the king was still holding his shield by his side. The oak rectangle collided with Jaime heavily. He had no time to correct his footing, and next thing he knew they were falling down together.
They both crashed into the dust, Jaime's sword between them. He tried to bring it up for a killing blow, but Robert had let go of his shield now. Before Jaime could do anything else a fat, gauntleted hand had shot out and grasped the end of his own blade. Jaime tried to wrench it free but the king's grip was unshakable. For a moment they wrestled like this, kicking up the dust of the Kingsroad around them.
Then Robert's other hand was coming up, ready to bring down the axe. Jaime saw the steel glinting in the sunlight as it swung down towards him. The weapon was beautifully crafted. Was it Tobho Mott's work? It was an insane thought, but somehow the whole world seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Jaime's mind had long moments to wander. He thought of Cersei, of her eyes, her hair, her smile. He thought of the golden-haired children they'd had. Should he regret it all? Should he regret any of it?
Jaime had no shield. His sword was immobilized. He was down in the dirt, encased in heavy armor, unable to move away in time. A part of him might have been close to panic, but years of training kept his instincts strong. In one smooth movement he managed to grasp the dirk with his free hand. He would have gone for the face but his arm was pinned at the elbow. He lacked the reach. He pulled it from his belt and thrust upwards anyway, desperately, at Robert's side. He felt the momentary resistance of mail, of the chain links pulling apart, then something soft and fleshy. But a moment later there was another blow to the side of his face, much greater than before.
For a moment he didn't quite register it, then a wave of red-hot pain was radiating out from his jaw. He tried to scream but his voice seemed to have been robbed of him. He tasted blood again, but now there was a whole river of it, bitter on his tongue. Dully, he sensed that the metal of his helm had given way. The axe had bit deep, but how deep?
Through the sweat and blood and the slit of his helm, his vision was starting to blur. He heard shouting, then hands were grabbing for him. Dimly, he felt himself being pulled away. A voice was roaring in anger and pain, it might have been Robert's, but he wasn't sure. His legs were being dragged over the dusty ground, half a dozen hands holding him. Then there was more noise, more than just the nearby din of shouting and screaming men. Before he blacked out, in the distance, he could have sworn he heard the sound of horns…
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Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West and Hand of the King, trotted forward on his destrier, looking magnificent in his shining crimson armor.
Ser Kevan rode beside him, alongside Lords Lefford and Lydden, Ser Harys Swyft and a score of other great bannermen of the west. Lords Renfred Rykker and Guncer Sunglass, Ser Balman Byrch and a number of others represented the Crownlands, their respective hosts having joined the day before. Several prominent Warriors's Sons and Vale Clan leaders rounded out Tywin's entourage.
Turning the last bend in the road, the walls of King's Landing came into view a mile or two ahead of them. The battlements were seen to be crowded with men, while below a mass had gathered outside the corner into which was carved the Gate of the Gods. From this distance Jaime's host was a great uneven carpet of red and gold, like a pile of autumn leaves raked up against a doorway.
A pair of riders raced back up the Kingsroad. They came to a halt beside Tywin and his personal guard, shouting their pardons. Tywin demanded what news from the city. Beside him, Kevan listened with mounting unease at their report, not that he let any of this show on his face.
"Does my son live?" Tywin said, his voice showing no hint of worry at the answer.
"He is badly wounded my lord, but he wounded the king also."
"The king?" Tywin thundered. The scout winced at the rebuke.
"Pardon my lord, Robert Baratheon. He is here, my lord. We saw him fighting. They dragged him back into the city."
"Tommen is our king now" Tywin declared, looking around at his gathered bannermen as if daring anyone to contradict him. No one did. "My other grandchildren must live, if their heads are not on spikes beside their brother." He turned back to the scouts. "Find Ser Addam. Confirm he has command of all the riders. Lord Crakehall can assume leadership of Jaime's host. Tell them to secure the Blackwater before Mace Tyrell can cross in force. Cut down any man who makes the north riverbank. Tell Ser Addam I put Tyrion's clansmen at his disposal as well, about time they made themselves of use."
The scouts turned and galloped off. Tywin addressed his bannermen again.
"Half a dozen rams on each city gate, as discussed. Lord Rykker will take the Iron Gate, Lord Lefford the Dragon, Lydden, the Old Gate, Ser Harys, the Lion…" He went over again the order of battle they had discussed the night before. "Pound them until they break my lords. Once inside, we must find Tommen and Myrcella. It has the highest priority. Ser Kevan, you will make for the Great Sept and relieve his holiness. I will head for the Red Keep. My daughter may be lost to us, but we will free the queen regent if we can. Robert, Stannis, Renly…kill any Baratheon supporters without quarter."
The assembled lords and knights shouted their assent, dispersing to their various tasks. "The Seven will save us, my lord, as they always have before!" Lord Sunglass said confidently, delicately touching the moonstone necklace at his throat, before trotting off after Lord Rykker. Calls of "Long live the king!" spread down the column. Kevan matched eyes with his brother and gave a curt nod.
"Long live the king, my lord."
"Long live the king, Ser."
"Godspeed brother."
Tywin paused. "And to you, Ser" he replied, with something that might have approached affection.
Ser Kevan cantered his mount forward, the Lannisport levies following behind him. Further back a great mass of red and gold stretched for miles, snaking its way down the Kingsroad. Horns were blowing, drums were beating, flags were flying. Five and twenty thousand of the west's finest, and their allies, cheering and shouting and singing and baying for blood. Soon a great call went up, as news of the events at the Red Keep spread.
"Long live the king! The king! King TOMMEN! LONG LIVE THE KING!"
