Sansa had spent the morning praying alongside Jeyne ever since they learned battle was imminent. The sept had never been so full of people.
Wives and daughters saying good-bye to their husbands, knowing many of them would not return. Prayers for victory, prayers for their loved ones, even prayers for glory.
She spotted King Joffrey on a mount, surrounded by the surviving Kingsguard. Sansa felt a sudden rush of reassurance seeing him preparing himself for battle. With him, they would surely be victorious.
To his right was the Imp riding a pony, looking much less enthused. He took little notice of all the people saying their Good-byes. Meryn Trant looked ready to soil himself. Balon Swann and Barristan Selmy possessed determined faces, having faced many similar scenarios in the past.
Joffrey spotted her and turned his horse in Sansa's direction. "Lady Sansa, it's good to see you here," he smiled, opening his visor. "I trust my mother has invited you to where the other noble ladies are waiting."
"She has, Your Grace," Sansa blushed. "But I. . ." She looked over at Jeyne. "Jeyne has not been allowed and I do not wish to leave my friend alone."
"By order of the King, Lady Jeyne will be allowed to remain where it is safest," Joffrey declared. "Even my mother knows better than to refuse a direct order."
"You are most kind, Your Grace," Sansa smiled. She feared the worst for Jeyne. Evil men had already hurt her once and she'd learned enough to realize it could happen a second time.
Joffrey dismounted from his horse, looking Sansa in the eye. "There's also something else I need you to do when you're in the Red Keep. This is important, so. . . I want you to do everything in your power to keep the spirits of the other women up."
"I won't fail you, Your Grace," Sansa promised.
"I don't envy you having to endure my sweet sister's company," Tyrion interjected, giving her a respectful nod. "Regardless, it will still be preferable to being in the streets during the middle of the battle."
"I have every confidence in you, along with Tyrion. Uncle Renly appears powerful, but his strength is an illusion. Tyrion, despite his admittedly short appearance, has a brain that's worth any five of us."
"You're getting soft, nephew," Tyrion japed.
"Perhaps, but my words are true. However, we do need to keep our morale up, lest all our preparations be for nothing. Although you do not carry a sword in your hand, your role is no less vital, Lady Sansa."
Sansa responded by kissing him, despite no longer being betrothed to Joffrey. She held her lips on him for several seconds before he gently ended things. "Thank you for your concern, Lady Sansa." He gave out a slight chuckle, looking embarrassed. "I almost forgot: you might be needing this."
Joffrey handed Sansa a dagger with a jewel-covered hilt from his armor, presenting it to her and nodding. "Keep this close to you, just in case the worst happens."
"He means if you end up being raped," Jeyne spoke. Even after so much time, Sansa had difficulty adjusting to the real world.
"Yes," Joffrey coughed, having preferred to mention it in more diplomatic terms. "I'm confident in my men, but no plan survives contact with the enemy. Keep it close to you, hide it against your leg. . . better to have and not need it than need it and not have it."
"However touching the sentiment is, we do have a battle to win," Tyrion reminded.
"May the Gods have mercy on us all," Sansa whispered.
"Gods are seldom merciful, as I'm sure you've found," Joffrey sighed. "Now go meet my mother and work towards keeping the women and children calm. No doubt they're just as frightened as my men, and without the ability to change what happens."
Joffrey, Tyrion, and the Kingsguard departed, leaving Sansa and Jeyne by themselves. As ordered, they journeyed to the Red Keep, listening to the constant prayers around them.
"I wish I had one of those when I was taken," Jeyne remarked. "Gods, I'd like to have one now."
"Nothing's going to happen to us," Sansa promised, but kept the knife close at hand. Jeyne's experience warned her that many were not true knights, but brutes who wore armor.
The drawbridge was raised, leaving the commoners to fend for themselves should the city fall. Sansa felt a slight amount of guilt, but mostly relief for not being in their position.
Joffrey won't let anything happen to them, Sansa justified. He'd already done more for them than anything else, despite their lack of gratitude. He was a living example of a true knight.
The Queen's Ballroom was barely a tenth the size of the great hall, but hundreds of people were still packed inside. The torches burned twice as bright as they did anywhere else, allowing Sansa and Jeyne to maneuver through the frightened crowd.
A couple dozen guards could be seen wearing Lannister colors, but in truth, they were merely sellswords. The way Sansa spotted one of them staring at her and Jeyne made her devoutly grateful she possessed her dagger.
In the center of it all was Cersei, seemingly paying little attention to her surroundings. A wine cup in one hand, she held a falsely confident smile.
And this is to be my good-mother, Sansa gave a mental shudder. Much as she loved Joffrey, she could not manage such a decent man being raised by a woman like her.
"Be welcome, Lady Sansa," Cersei mocked. She pointed to Jeyne and declared. "She, however, will be seated at the table, near all the boys too young to fight. I won't permit a defiled woman near me."
Sansa spoke up to protest, but Jeyne responded: "As you wish, my Queen." She shrugged, having expected nothing else.
"Is your red flower still blooming, Sansa?" Cersei inquired, finishing off her glass of wine and pouring a second one.
"Why is Ser Ilyn here?" Sansa pointed to the King's Justice.
"I'm likely to have need of him before the night's out. Tell me, do you know what happens when a city is sacked? No, I expect you don't; they don't talk about that in the songs."
Sansa tried to tune her out, but Cersei's words spoke to her greatest fears. The queen was terrified, for all her attempts at appearing otherwise. Jesters told jokes and provided entertainment to distract them, but no one could stop themselves from wondering if they would survive the night.
Remembering Joffrey's words, Sansa approached a group of young women, intended to give them what support she could.
XXXXXXXXXX
"As I have said numerous times, Your Grace, the Mud Gate will be the ideal location to attack," Randall Tarly suggested. "We will not be able to sustain a long siege, so we must end this quickly."
"You worry too much, Lord Tarly," Renly dismissed with a laugh. "I have all the power of Highgarden behind me, and all the bastard possesses is a barely-trained town guard who will turn on him the moment things look hopeless."
"As you wish, Your Grace," Tarly conceded, but he was not convinced.
Loras Tyrell was no less confident of victory. He had dreamed of battle since he was a young child and now the moment was upon him. Even with city walls, victory was close at hand. He knew he was the greatest swordsman in Westeros, save for his older brother Garlan, who was bringing up the rear.
Riding alongside Loras Baratheon, they were less than a league away from King's Landing. Loras looked around on all sides, seeing more than 60,000 bannermen, smallfolk, and sellswords assembled for the battle.
"The city and the Iron Throne will be yours by nightfall, Your Grace," Loras promised, giving Renly a lovestruck look that he hoped nobody else noticed.
"I have every confidence in your abilities, Ser Loras," Renly laughed. "As I do yours, Lord Tarly. There's little to worry about, not when facing so little opposition."
The plan was simple: Imry Florent's navy would seize control of Blackwater Bay. Their ships would allow the infantry to cross, while the Gold Cloaks they bribed to open the gates would kill their comrades, allowing them to seize the city and the Iron Throne with minimal bloodshed.
Even among Tyrell bannermen, Loras could not openly show true affection for his love. Westeros would never accept their union, although he was certain his father's closest bannermen already knew. Rumors of their love had convinced many of the storm lords to turn their backs on Renly.
By Renly's side rode his wife and Loras' sister, Margaery. She wore a polite smile, revealing no fear, but Loras knew his sister well enough to see the unease beneath the mask.
In an aside to Renly, Loras whispered: "Do you really think it was a good idea to bring her along?" However much he loved Renly, he did not wish to see his sister in danger.
"You don't need to worry about her safety," Renly japed. This was one thing Loras did find infuriating about the man; belief in his own invincibility. "Lady Margaery insisted on coming along, and I've never been able to refuse a beautiful woman anything." He spoke the last words for the benefit of whoever might be listening in.
Renly's Rainbow Guard surrounded him, including Brienne of Tarth. Loras hid his scowl at the thought of the woman joining his love. Her feelings for him were plain to see. He'd been relieved to discover Renly considered Brienne disgusting in private, but recognized her worth as a warrior.
It's long past time we had a King worthy of the Iron Throne. This time, Loras did not hide his admiration for Renly. His entire life, Westeros was ruled by either a monster born of incest, or a drunken King with no interest in running the realm. Before him was Aerys the Mad.
He would help Renly gain the Iron Throne, and Margaery would help him keep it. Although his King was in love with him, Loras was certain he would be able to sire an heir given the proper motivation.
It didn't matter to Loras Renly was the younger brother. He was far more suitable to the Throne than Stannis, who had so far refused to leave Dragonstone. Rumors persisted that he was considering supporting Joffrey despite being an abomination, but Loras dismissed them. Even Stannis was not so mad.
The walls of King's Landing had been strengthened, with trebuchets becoming visible as they moved closer. Imry Florent's first ships entered Blackwater Bay, the sails removed to prevent enemy defenses from crippling them.
Sounds in the distance informed him the enemy fleet had been located and was being engaged. Loras didn't expect there to be much difficulty. Victory would have been certain had the Redwynes chose to join Renly's case, but they remained stubbornly neutral despite possessing the greatest navy of any individual house in the Seven Kingdoms.
Renly and his Rainbow Guard halted just fifty yards away from the river. Rowboats were brought in case the worst happened and the fleet was destroyed, but it was an extremely risky tactic.
Loras observed the preparations the city had made in anticipation of a siege. The river was only 200 meters wide at its narrowest point, although still a sufficient distance to protect them from enemy bolts The walls were strengthened and his eyes were sharp enough to make out numerous trebuchets and scorpion, along with something new he couldn't recognize.
XXXXXXXXXX
Matthew observed his outnumbered fleet engage Imry Florent's, with arrows and scorpion bolts being exchanged. He gripped the stone walls tightly, forced to rely on his men rather than his own instincts.
He would have suspected a trap if I didn't risk at least part of my fleet, Matthew justified. Even from his vantage, he could hear the screams of rage and pain. Forty ships facing eighty. Not the odds he preferred, but at least Renly's relatively small navy was his Achilles' Heel. Matthew gave a small smile seeing a few of his ships crippled.
He extended his hand, nonverbally ordering his troops to hold fire with the cannons. Based on his tests, Matthew was reasonably sure they could have fired far enough to hit Renly's forces waiting across the river, but didn't intend to reveal his trump card until the crucial moment.
The afternoon sun threatened to blind him, forcing Matthew to use his arm as a visor. Tyrion had to all but stand on his tiptoes to spot what was going on.
Matthew's eyes widened at the size of the host facing them. Walls and the river gave him significant advantages, but he was still massively outnumbered. It would be all down to this moment. If anything went wrong, all his careful planning would be for nothing. "Why were you so insistent on splitting your fleet, nephew?" Tyrion inquired.
"They weren't supposed to be engaging," Matthew groaned, cursing the stupidity of his subordinates. It was meant to be a token fight only, lasting a few minutes before they retreated, convincing the enemy victory was at hand. He didn't expect Imry to pursue, instead either deciding they weren't a threat or fearing a trap.
No plan survives contact with the enemy, Matthew reminded himself. And he had to admit, his subordinates were doing better than he'd initially anticipated. Several of Renly's ships had already been crippled and left adrift, in exchange for perhaps three of his.
If he possessed a radio, Matthew would have ordered them to retreat, but he was instead forced to rely on primitive technology. He didn't even have a telescope that would allow him a clear visual of how the naval battle was progressing.
A few scorpions were launched against his orders out of panic, making Matthew curse. He turned to Bywater and reminded: "My orders are clear: hold fire until they begin crossing the river." At least those operating his cannons held more discipline.
"I will remind them, Your Grace," Jacelyn nodded, rushing off to carry out his instructions.
In the distance, Matthew's fleet began to retreat, rowing back at full speed. Crippled ships were left behind, to be either destroyed by the enemy or ignored in favor of more rewarding targets.
He made out flames on some of the ships, both his and Renly's. The admiral had done his job and harmed the enemy enough to make the enemy believe this was his defensive plan. It was difficult to distinguish between friendly and enemy ships, although as the two fleets separated, it became easier to make them out. Irmy Florent chose to ignore the crippled ships, deciding that they would be no threat to the war effort.
"Don't put the barrels and rowboats into the water until all the enemy ships are in the river," Matthew instructed. "We're only going to get one chance at this." It would have been easier with a chain, but at a minimum, it would hamper Renly's fleet.
The fleet rowed into the river, with no visible sails on the mast. Had Imry used them, it would have much easier to cripple the enemy vessels using trebuchets. Fortunately, he chose to enter the river rather than pursue and destroy the smaller fleet.
If he'd done that, we'd probably be screwed in the long run. Matthew was counting on his experience to see such a retreat as a trap. It would allow him a small number of ships to keep the city open during a siege.
As the ships moved closer, their numbers became easier to make out. Sixty-six ships, including thirty carrying two hundred oarsmen, rowed into the bay. Assuming a count of eighty, we've already done a decent amount of damage to them.
Matthew's heart threatened to rip out of his chest, waiting for the perfect moment to launch the barrels. The current would carry them down to the unaware vessels, turning them into giant infernos.
"Launch the barrels, launch the rowboats," Matthew decided the time had come, slapping a subordinate on the shoulder. "Tell them to get their asses moving."
"Don't you think it's a bit early to spring your trap, nephew?" Tyrion cautioned. "I believe our enemy thinks something is up."
"Won't do him any good," Matthew dismissed, seeing a few of the enemy ships waiting at the mouth of the bay in case his retreating fleet attempted a counterattack.
Hundreds of barrels, thousands of pots of wildfire. Matthew knew not all or even most would hit their targets, but he hoped it would do damage through the sheer quantity alone.
The enemy ships began separating, several of them moving towards the opposite shore to pick up enemy soldiers and bring them across. Neither barrels nor rowboats were visible from such a distance, meaning the first sign of their effectiveness would be eruptions of flame.
Matthew received such a sign a few minutes later, witnessing two of Renly's vessels impacted by wildfire. The effects were immediate, entire bows of the ships turning into an inferno. The crews desperately tried to put the flames out, to no avail. More ships soon suffered the same fate and realized they were under attack. The fleet separated, attempting to make itself a smaller target, disrupting its previous formation.
Orange and red flames lit up the afternoon sky and Matthew could not help but feel sympathetic to the men down below. Hundreds, perhaps thousands would burn to death, and all at his design.
Cheers from his men erupted with each ship being impacted by wildfire. They raised their swords and spears, screaming taunts despite the fact the enemy was far too distant to hear them.
Matthew listened to the screams down in the bay, wincing even though he knew it was necessary. In the midst of the flames, it was extremely difficult to make out individual men attempting to straggle onto shore. Even more were being swept underneath by the current.
Not all of Renly's fleet was so affected. Other ships succeeded in evading the barrels, although rowboats carried enough wildfire to obliterate any vessel unfortunate enough to run into them.
He estimated at least half of Renly's fleet were goners, perhaps even more. Some barrels drifted harmlessly out to sea, where they could prove a potential obstacle for his own allies. Three of the ships the enemy Admiral left to cover the entrance of the bay were similarly hit.
Witnessing the flames threatened to blind Matthew, forcing him to lower his visor to drown it out. Plumes of fire flew out as high as fifty feet, puddles of wildfire burning on the water, consuming any sailor unfortunate enough to swim near them.
Matthew's fleet was largely spared, but the majority of Renly's was now either finished or dying. It's your own damned fault, you ambitious son of a bitch. Matthew cursed Renly for forcing such a bloody battle upon him. Part of him grinned at the idea of seeing the look on Renly's face when he saw his ambitions in ruins, but most of him was somber.
"That'll teach that traitorous battle to defy us! A message to all our enemies!" Matthew shook his head, forcing himself to ignore the voice. He didn't have time to deal with the possibilities right now.
"I told you: the battle will be ours!" Matthew screamed for the benefit of his men. Their morale was high, seeing most of Renly's ships gone.
However, twenty had survived the onslaught and were regrouping. Sailors were pulled out of the water when feasible, coughing and choking. Through the flames, Matthew spotted the second half of his fleet moving to engage, with the intent to wipe out any rowboats that struggled to get ashore. "I must admit, I had a few doubts about your plan, but Renly isn't going to easily get across the river now." Tyrion spoke.
Long as the men feel hopeful, we'll win this battle. Several of the destroyed enemy ships turned to their sides, providing a natural barrier for his own fleet. They covered almost the entire bay, with only minimal gaps for the ships to get through.
And no seasoned sailor would take the risk, not with the probability of burning to death themselves. This could pose a problem.
XXXXXXXXXX
Loras felt ready to vomit at the scent of burning flesh. All his previous confidence had been shattered, watching so much of their fleet wiped out without even a chance to defend themselves.
"Bastards!" Renly swore, open-mouthed in horror.
"Your Grace. . . we need to get my sister away from the battlefield," Loras spoke slowly as to not reveal the extent of his horror. He wasn't going to allow Margaery to face such danger.
Renly was too shocked to argue. "Yes, we can keep her safe until after the victory."
What kind of victory are we going to have now? Loras couldn't help but ask himself. If not for the fact the burning ships provided an obstacle to Joffrey's forces as well, they would be well and truly fucked.
Their men lowered their swords, mesmerized by the flames. They looked at each other, some of whom were on the verge of fleeing.
"This fight isn't over yet!" Renly exclaimed, getting everyone's attention. "We still have ships and the dwarf has played his little trick! He can only play it once. Their fleets are trapped and we still have enough vessels of our own to make it across. I swear, by the old Gods and the New, that I will be the first one on shore and the last one to leave! Come with me and kill these bastards!"
Loras had to admit, Renly had a gift for speeches. Seeing him willing to fight alongside them gave men the courage to continue on. Along with the rest of the Rainbow Guard, Loras surrounded Renly, refusing to allow him to face any unnecessary danger. Rowboats were prepared and what remained of the fleet prepared to take on passengers.
Only seventeen ships. Far fewer than Loras hoped for, but it would have to be enough. The bay was almost completely sealed off now, almost providing a walkway for them to cross should it prove necessary.
However, their first priority was saving whatever men they could. Most of those who straggled on shore were weak and shaking, having lost whatever weapons they carried in their haste to survive.
"I will see to the survivors, Your Grace," Randall declared. "After a brief rest, they will be prepared to join the second wave of attack."
At least a couple thousand were dead, exchanged for few to none of Joffrey's forces. Loras cursed himself for thinking this would be easy.
The next phase would take time. The men would have to recover from seeing so many burned alive and more dragged underneath the waves.
Enemy trebuchets flung stones into the river, aiming for the remaining ships. Only a handful managed to hit their target and those that did caused only limited damage. Rowboats were brought to the front, Renly preparing a mass assault. Despite pleas from both Loras and Randall, he insisted on fighting at the front. "Are you sure about this?" Loras whispered. No matter what, he would fight by his King's side.
"I have to make sure they follow me," Renly argued, looking uncertain for the first time. Their boats would not be the first across, allowing the frontline troops to establish a secure foothold before their King joined the field.
Flames in the river slowly died down. Even wildfire did not burn forever and once it subsided, their travel would be clear. Trebuchets were still a danger, but Loras would vastly prefer to face them than the wildfire.
Renly rode from one side of the line to the other, encouraging his soldiers to fight on. Loras and the rest of his guards remained silent, lowering their visors to hide any private doubts they might have possessed.
As the recovering men marched into the remaining ships, and the first of the rowboats were launched, Loras spotted enormous splashes in the river, some of the water going as high as forty feet. He knew no trebuchet possessed that kind of ability.
It wasn't until he saw the wood splitting apart on the vessels, more men being torn to pieces, that he realized Joffrey had not yet pulled out all his cards.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Aim for the ships! Tear them apart!" Matthew ordered, revealing the cannons at last. They were of limited use hitting enemies across the river, but when crossing, the ships would prove little more than a sitting duck.
Would be easier if I had more cannons. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time to mass produce them, not when they were completely new to Westeros. Nor was he entirely confident they would work the way he hoped.
Renly's remaining vessels moved across the river, as did a swarm of rowboats. "Send the knights out there immediately; we can't allow them to get onshore!" Tyrion ordered.
Already Gold Cloaks and knights led by Sandor Clegane charged out to slaughter any enemy forces that made it across the river. A cannonball took out one of the rowboats, killing all its occupants. Near misses by trebuchets caused more boats to capsize.
Matthew opened his mouth to shut an order to use the scorpions but the four-foot bolts were already being launched, aimed at center mass. Most fell harmlessly into the river, only a handful succeeding in doing any damage.
Morale's already starting to sink. Matthew worried. If the men broke and started running, they would never stop, for all the encouragement he attempted to give them. The battle needed to stay smooth from start to finish.
Yet the first of the boats were already landing on shore. Matthew could only just make out his soldiers rushing to intercept them, Sandor slaughtering each one whether they were armored or not.
But for each boat intercepted, two more succeeded in landing. His cannons were focused on the larger ships, cutting down every man on the deck. Matthew would have given anything for a few canisters of grapeshot.
Upon moving to the other side, more of the larger vessels were crippled, but not before they succeeded in dropping troops near the river. Matthew shouted orders, demanding the enemy be intercepted, although the time it took to carry out his orders hampered him.
More of Renly's men landed on the opposite side of the city, charging forward with little opposition. One of the gold cloaks rushed to Matthew and warned that battering rams were being deployed. Shit! Matthew swore to himself. If he remembered correctly, it was the Mud Gate, the weakest of the seven entrances inside the city. He'd placed pots of wildfire immediately above the gates, but there was no guarantee those manning the catapults wouldn't just burn themselves alive.
He could no longer count on assassinating Renly to end the battle and at this point, it didn't seem very likely anyway. "I'm going out there myself," Matthew declared, hardly believing those words came out of his mouth.
Tyrion looked at him with horror, shaking his head. "Your Grace. . . we can't risk your life, certainly not so early into the battle."
"They've got battering rams ready!" Matthew insisted, hiding his fear. His skill was still marginal, but ready or not, he was forced to fight. He looked around at his Kingsguard and declared: "Make sure everyone around us sees the King's banner." A risk, but his men needed the inspiration.
Wounded and frightened, those still fighting outside began to withdraw. Sandor held the rear, him and the few experienced knights covering the rear to ensure Renly could not rush the gates.
Matthew mounted his horse and galloped down to the Mud Gate, where nearly two hundred gold cloaks and mercenaries were awaiting him. Most were barely holding onto their weapons, their hopeless eyes staring at the gates. Above them, smallfolk were ready to rain hell on anyone who broke into King's Landing.
"I know what I'm asking of all of you!" Matthew proclaimed, attempting a speech. "But remember: you're not fighting for me. You're not fighting for glory or riches! Fight for those depending on you! Your wives, your children, your city! Follow me and kill these bastards!"
Not everyone was convinced, but nobody wished to look weak in front of the King. Barristan whispered in his ear: "An excellent motivating speech, Your Grace."
"Thank you," Matthew acknowledged. This wasn't his first experience with combat, far from it, but it was the first time he'd fought in such a style. You'll survive. You've got the best armor available and the Kingsguard to protect you. Those who possessed horses climbed onto them, steeling themselves for the inevitable.
"Keep the wildfire as a last resort," Matthew gave one final order, although he expected it would indeed come to that.
Feeling ready to soil himself, Matthew and the Kingsguard charged forward the instant the gates were open. Being surrounded, he could only just make out the situation outside.
Those carrying the battering rams and the turtles to protect them from incoming projectiles were caught off-guard, allowing Matthew's forces to ride through them with little difficulty. Adrenaline pumped through Matthew's veins, his arms swinging his war hammer with all his strength. His vision was impaired and it was difficult to make out friend from foe, but he saw enough to recognize that the enemy was breaking.
Quarter was not asked or given. On foot, few of Renly's men stood a chance. Some recognized that fleeing was futile, so they chose to make a stand.
Encouraged by his actions, more gold cloaks and mercenaries began pouring out of the gate. Matthew swung his hammer around again and again, although Barristan and Balon kept most enemies from getting anywhere near his presence.
Those who broke were hunted down, while the enemies that stood their ground lasted longer. More boats were heading towards shore, except for two that the cannons succeeded in destroying, taking its occupants with them.
Matthew heard, rather than felt, a pair of crossbow bolts impact his breastplate. Balon killed both before they could either fire a second shot or flee out of danger. Despite the situation, he broke into hysterics, seeing his enemy flee before him.
"Joffrey! Joffrey! Joffrey!" Matthew heard the chant grow louder. With their blood up, the men felt as if nothing could challenge them. Matthew knew it was untrue, but was encouraged regardless.
Seeing a pair of crossbow bolts insufficient to even slow him down, Matthew rode into the fray, shouting at his men to fight on. The familiar experience of battle being fought in slow-motion entered his mind. His fear, apprehension, and exhaustion all faded.
People kept coming at him, mostly sellswords that had chosen Renly's cause. Few managed to get anywhere near him, being either wounded or killed by the Kingsguard. Only on a handful of occasions did Matthew have to use his Warhammer.
Perhaps he'd underestimated the progress he made, having been capable of storming through his opponents. Matthew laughed at the absurdity, watching an enemy formation twice his size scatter with minimal friendly losses.
Yet they did not dare stay out for long. Renly's host was for the moment beaten back, but already their venture had caught attention. Most of Sandor's forces were inside the gates, save for those who were overwhelmed.
"Sound the retreat!" Matthew ordered, shaking himself out of the battle fever. Fresh enemy troops were already landing on the riverbank. A few of his men had their horses killed from under them, being pinned underneath. "We've done our job!" For the moment.
He regretted leaving the wounded men behind, but there was nothing to be done for them. Renly's attack was broken, which Matthew hoped would give them pause.
For all the danger involved, and even though the battle was far from won, Matthew had accomplished what he set out to do. Those who followed him possessed hope, no matter how overwhelming the odds were.
XXXXXXXXXX
Loras climbed into the boat alongside Renly, their Rainbow Guard rowing at full speed across the river. The current had sped up, forcing them to fight to keep themselves in a steady direction.
At least from what he could see near King's Landing, the enemy was in retreat, but the battle was far from won. Water flew into his eyes from rocks impacting into the river from trebuchets.
Loras shook his head, wanting all the vision he could manage. But Trebuchets didn't worry him, at least not in comparison to the wildfire and the other weapons he'd never encountered before.
"I'll be eating dinner in the Red Keep this time tomorrow!" Renly japed, regaining his confidence. Neither Loras nor Randall considered it a good idea to have him join the battle, though he chose to ignore the advice.
The King's banner could be seen a couple hundred yards better, his collection of goons slaughtering those who attempted to breach the gates. Unfortunately, they only possessed battering rams to get inside the city.
More men rushed across the crippled boats that allowed a bridge across the river. While they did not have to face wildfire, Joffrey's remaining ships used them as target practice, arrows and scorpions taking down many who attempted the journey.
Loras lowered his visor as they got closer. His mind dimly registered the fact the sun was setting, obstructing his vision further. He unsheathed his sword at fifty yards from shore.
An iron ball hit the center of the boat adjacent to Renly's, killing all those unfortunate enough to be aboard. Loras could not turn his head away, knowing how easily it could have been them.
He and Brienne shared a look of terror. However much he couldn't stand the woman, Loras found himself relating to her. While he was among the best swordsmen in Westeros, he had never experienced real combat. It's nothing like the songs, he realized. They didn't speak about the sight of blood, or the smell of burning and decayed flesh. Loras prayed the Lannisters possessed no more wildfire.
He and Renly climbed out of the boat the instant they touched land, not wanting to give them a stationery target to shoot at. Loras pushed for the others to get in formation quickly. The larger vessels, of which barely a dozen remained, made landfill, deploying hundreds of knights for a renewed offensive. Only a handful of Renly's remaining forces were still on the other side of the river.
Joffrey's remaining ships traveled up the bay, having allowed enough time to pass for the barrels of wildfire to drift out to sea. Outnumbered two to one, what remained of their fleet wasn't likely to last long.
Loras spotted the enemy retreating behind the walls of the city. Now that they were onshore, they were within effective range of the scorpions.
Renly ordered the men into formation, with turtles being thrown over those who would batter down the gates. Much to Loras' relief, he was unwilling to be in the thick of the fighting. Even if he had encouraged his love to take the throne for himself, he wasn't going to allow Renly to be in any more danger than necessary.
"Follow me, men!" Renly raised his sword. "They're falling behind the walls! This is our chance! Come with me and take this city!"
Despite the enthusiasm, everyone was disciplined enough to keep formation and not charge forward. Longbowmen moved within range of those on the walls, picking off a few of the defenders manning catapults.
"Focus on those manning the. . . whatever those things are!" Loras ordered, briefly moving from his position. Despite screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice only carried a dozen feet.
Loras spotted black smoke from the locations of the weapons, obstructing the sight of the operators. Archers kept themselves low to the ground, not wishing to draw any attention to themselves.
Perhaps we should have resorted to a siege after all. Loras mused, watching everyone who attempted to storm the gates get themselves slaughtered. However, there was no turning back, not with the enemy fleet cutting them off from those who remained on the other side of the river.
Joffrey's forces were cleared from the field, with those too wounded to join their comrades butchered. Commoner or noble, it made no difference. After suffering such losses, the knights wanted revenge.
Renly's forces spread out, moving across three of the gates. Tens of thousands of men, while providing an excellent morale booster, also provided a target-rich environment to the enemy. "All right, we hit all the gates at the same time, force them to spread their men out." Renly ordered. "They can't have many left, not after the beating they took on the field." His subordinates moved to relay his instructions.
A couple arrows hit Loras' armor, but he was at such a distance that he did not so much as feel the impacts. Despite that, he made sure to keep his visor down, refusing to risk a lucky shot.
Bit by bit, the scorpion operators were wounded or killed, with the men inside the walls too frightened to attempt replacing them. King's Landing was surrounded by the time night fell, Loras having seized the initiative from the enemy.
Torches were extinguished in the city, forcing both sides to fight blind. The few on the field who attempted to light them were swiftly rebuked by their comrades. Loras found he could barely make out Renly standing a mere few feet away, let alone how the battle was progressing.
Sounds of the new weapon almost felt like they were mocking the efforts to silence them, screams in the dark warning that at least some of the balls hit their mark. Those who remained spread out further, having difficulty spotting the gates in the darkness.
Red and orange fire lit up the night sky near the Lion's gate, burning men running around in a panic. Enemy soldiers on the battlements fortunately put them out of their misery with a hailstorm of arrows.
"Wildfire!" Loras cursed, revealing more fear than he intended. For just a brief moment, he felt his muscles freeze. Facing an archer or enemy man-at-arms was one thing; the prospect of burning alive quite another.
Their battering ram, turtle, and soldiers went up at once, sparking an immediate retreat from the gates. Loras would have berated them for their cowardice had he not felt the same way.
Similar scenes rang out across the gate, the Lannisters proving to possess even more wildfire than anyone gave them credit for. Those near the gates fled in a panic, only a few bothering to even cover the retreat.
"There's no turning back now," Renly whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. "We're cut off from the river and. . ."
"We'll break through, Your Grace," Loras promised, praying he would be able to stay true to his words. The idea of conceding defeat wasn't something his pride would allow him to accept.
"The darkness is as big a problem for them as it is for us," Renly considered, consciously ignoring the arrows and bolts near them. Those manning them on the walls would not spot their location, so long as they refused to use torches and kept their voices quiet. "We can distract them at. . ." A scorpion bolt slammed into Renly's breastplate, exiting out the other side and killing the king instantly.
Loras dived to his knees, cradling Renly in his arms, sobbing. He felt around for any sign of life, hoping the armor he wore would make a difference. Feeling the giant bolt inside him, however, dashed that hope.
Brienne tried to provide support, only for Loras to roughly push her away. What have I done? His suggestion for Renly to take the throne led to the death of the only man he would ever love. Someone who would have been a far better king than anyone who came before.
"My Lord. . . we can't stay here," Brienne insisted, although she was sobbing just as much.
Loras' grief was replaced by more rage than he'd ever imagined. Speaking with quiet fury, he spoke: "Once this is over, Renly will be buried with honor. I will cut down any man or woman who disrespects his body." He pushed himself to his feet, sword clutched in his hand.
Joffrey would suffer for what he'd done, no matter what it took. "Storm the gates, kill them all. We'll turn King's Landing into their tomb." For Renly! Loras charged forth, no longer caring if he lived or died.