Jaime Lannister wrapped his blanket tighter around him. For the past week, he'd suffered from a fever and was getting worse. His escorts suggested they make camp until he recovered, but Jaime refused. Better to risk continued travel to King's Landing than be caught by the Northmen. From what he'd been told, the objective was to kill him, not recapture him.
"My Lord, you need to stop," one of his escorts pleaded. "Or else you're like to catch your death of flu."
"I'll die before that happens," Jaime responded. At least the constant rain had stopped. With winter so close upon them, such weather would only become more common. Sick or not, he could still use a sword.
It's only another day to King's Landing, At least if he remembered correctly. Jaime kept the strongest grip on the reins he could, trying to ignore his pounding headache. Another day before he could see Cersei again. She'd been the only thing keeping him from giving up.
The ground was still damp, forcing them to slow their pace. Jaime wished to travel the Kingsroad, but the others argued it was too much of a risk and so he reluctantly conceded. With ten thousand gold dragons offered for his corpse, no one could afford to be complacent.
That night, Jaime laid down to sleep, shivering and moaning. Now that he no longer had to appear strong to his men, he could afford to lower his guard a little. He laughed at the bitter irony he could end up dying of disease after all the battles he'd participated in. Jaime could stand against a dozen knights without fear, he could match even the likes of Barristan Selmy, but against disease, he was helpless.
The next morning, Jaime found himself barely able to breathe, let alone stand. Each breath Jaime took sent sharp stabs of pain through his body. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to get to his feet. "We're almost. . ." Jaime stopped speaking, erupting into a coughing fit. Each one only amplified his pain.
"You can ride behind me; you're in no shape to ride on your own," one of his men declared.
"I'll manage." With a determined hold, Jaime climbed onto the back of his horse. Or he tried to; Jaime's muscles failed him, his legs shaking from the effort it took to stand. Two men had to assist him onto his horse. No matter what, Jaime refused to ride clutching one of his men.
Jaime opened and shut his eyes, doing his best not to breathe hard. Sweat poured down his forehead, shivering every few moments. Even small breaths sent sharp pain into his body, but it was the best he could accomplish. He hoped they would succeed in evading their enemies, for even Jaime had to concede that he was in no shape to fight.
The remainder of their journey was a blur. All the streams, hills, and villages blurred together. Jaime was forced to rely on his subordinates for directions. He let out small gasps of pain despite his best attempts to hold them back. Just a little more. I'll get to King's Landing and I can rest.
Blinking his eyes, Jaime made out the city. With what little remained of his strength, he spurred his horse to gallop faster. Tears obstructed his vision, Jaime's body burning up. His grip on the reins loosened. All of Jaime's strength and willpower would not allow him to continue.
The last thing he noticed before losing consciousness was a pair of small feet.
XXXXXXXXXX
We've got a great opportunity here, so long as we don't waste it. "It seems we find ourselves on the same side, Stannis."
"For the time being," Stannis reminded. He didn't yet appear convinced. "Stark will not distinguish between his foes and any quarrel between us will lead to our deaths."
"Precisely what I was thinking." Matthew nodded. "I'll get my men ready and check the walls for any weak points. Wasn't especially impressed with them when I saw them. How many guards does Duskendale have?"
"Around 200, though few are experienced troops."
"He hasn't done much pillaging, else they would not have been able to sneak up on us. Whether it is Robb or a subordinate, their food supplies amount to what they brought with us. Any reports of destroyed villages you did not seek to enlighten me about?" Stannis shook his head.
"If I expected a battle, I would have delayed our negotiations."
"Tywin could march up here within two weeks, not nearly enough time to starve us out," Matthew announced. "We can also do great harm to them in that time period. I think there's something deeper here. In either case, we need to prepare for the worst." Matthew had learned enough not to take victory for granted. Ending their meeting, he marched outside the main keep to evaluate their defenses.
Most of the smallfolk inside appeared curious but nothing more. Matthew opted not to panic them until there was no avoiding it. He approached a group of guards, whispering the situation and ordering them up to the walls. "What kind of defenses do we have?" Matthew questioned. "I need to know what I've working with."
"A few trebuchets, some scorpions, and barrels of boiling oil. We never anticipated being under attack."
People love to stick their heads in the sand, even in Westeros. With the guards and his own men marching to the wall, the smallfolk began to look nervous. Matthew declined to say anything was going on, his mind focused on his task.
Matthew almost preferred a good battle to the constant political bickering. Here at least he knew what to do. If they stormed the castle, Matthew could cut them down like wheat. An attempt to lay siege. . . it wouldn't be the first night attack he launched.
Once on the walls, Matthew could better evaluate their defenses. Duskendale was had little in the way of natural defenses. South of the castle were cliffs, so no one would dare attack in that direction. He was outnumbered, but not nearly as badly as during the Blackwater battle.
"All right, men, this is our moment of truth!" Matthew announced to his soldiers. "We've got the Starks marching toward us! We're going to hold them by the nose and kick them in the ass! Are you with me?"
"Yes, Your Grace!" They responded. Matthew realized there was little time to get everything ready, but if he played it correctly, their attempts at stealth could end up backfiring on the Northmen.
Unfortunately, I didn't see any chokepoints we can use to slow the enemy down. So perhaps not a good idea to engage them outside the walls after all. Matthew looked up at the sun while shielding himself with his arm. By the time the Northmen arrive, it's likely to be dark.
"We're not going to be able to hold the field, not when we're outnumbered three to one," Matthew announced to Stannis when he returned. "No natural obstacles we can use, only the walls."
"They won't be able to starve us out, not with my ships controlling the seas," Stannis reminded. "The North possesses a minimal navy, perhaps forty warships in all."
"So why are they launching a battle they know they can't win?" Matthew wondered. "Melisandre, can you see who's in charge of this offensive?"
"The Lord of Light does not give me information on command," Melisandre refuted.
"He's not commanding you; I am."
"To kill us, but especially you," Stannis suggested. "You're falsely considered the King of the Seven Kingdoms and Stark has sworn to take your throne. Too large of a host and we would have abandoned our meeting. Too small and victory will be impossible."
"That. . . makes more sense than I would like, but I don't intend to give them what they want. Nor am I content to let them rest. If they'll be here by nightfall, we can hit them in the dark. Most will be exhausted and exhausted men make mistakes. We can take advantage of that."
"I cannot see who is commanding, only a serpent," Melisandre informed.
Sounds like Bolton. If he's commanding, things just got a whole lot more interesting. If Bolton abandoned Robb's cause like he did in canon, he'd do everything he could to weaken Stark. "Melisandre, do you have any methods of ensuring we won't be detected?" Matthew wasn't above using her abilities to his advantage.
"I cannot shadow an entire army, but I can keep you concealed."
"Well, it's a risk, but everything in war is. I'm aware you're not much of a frontline general, Stannis, but it's a wonder for morale."
"And what guarantee do I have that you won't attempt to dispose of me and blame it on the enemy?" Stannis demanded.
"I'd swear it on my honor, though I know you won't believe it. How about this: if we fail here, we both die, so best to cooperate with one another, correct? Keep in mind I have just as little reason to trust you." Stannis and Matthew argued out the details of the plan.
"Many of your troops are still green. Is it wise to expend them so callously?" Stannis inquired.
"Interesting; many in your position wouldn't give a damn," Matthew commented. "They're unbloodied, but I brought along the most promising of my army. Lannister bannermen will provide an additional buffer. Besides, I don't intend to send everyone out there; that would be impossible to conceal. Just enough to prevent them from getting any sleep, and hopefully destroy a few supplies in the process."
After more arguing, Matthew and Stannis decided to send out 100 of each of their men. The sun set in the sky, warning both the time for battle was nearly upon them.
"Your Grace, the Northmen have arrived outside the walls," Davos informed with a bow.
"And which of us are you calling 'Your Grace?'" Matthew smirked. As Davos stammered, he cut him off. "Doesn't matter; what banners do you see?"
"I made out Karstark banners, Glover, Hornwood and many others I couldn't identify." Davos responded.
"Did you make out the flayed man?" Matthew inquired.
"No, Your Grace," Davos denied.
Bolton's got a hand in this. I'm sure of it. "If they're exhausted, we've got an opening. Even those meant to stand guard may end up succumbing to slumber."
"It would be safer to wait for reinforcements and let disease take them in the meantime," Stannis reminded. "Your grandfather has doubtless learned of the attack and Tywin will not allow his family to be insulted in such a fashion."
"We'll be able to reduce casualties if we keep them off-balance," Matthew countered. "I don't intend to give my enemy the initiative. We don't have to beat them, just leave them weakened enough to where my reinforcements can win with minimal losses. What would you do in their situation?"
"I wouldn't be fighting this battle," Stannis responded. "I know better than to leave my men so vulnerable. As you are asking under this situation, I'd search for covert ways to enter the city. Perhaps bribe a few guards to let us in."
"All the more reason I don't intend to let them relax. Give it another hour or so, let them fall asleep, and we'll hit them." I would much rather be doing this with a gun. Sneaking around with just a Warhammer wasn't his favorite way to fight.
Time before they were due to attack passed quickly. Matthew double-checked his armor, Stannis prepared his, and both gave numerous speeches of encouragement, albeit quiet ones. "Can you see anything about the outcome of this battle?" Matthew inquired of Melisandre.
"Only chaos and blood," Melisandre answered. She stood between Stannis and Matthew, as trust was not yet fully established.
"I trust you'll be able to keep any enemies from reaching me," Matthew ordered his Kingsguard.
"No one will lay a hand on you while I draw breath, Your Grace," Barristan promised.
No time like the present. . . Slowly, quietly, guards opened the gate and extinguished the torches to prevent any nearby enemies from seeing them. Outside the castle, Matthew found himself unable to see more than a few feet in front of him.
Stannis moved on the ground silently despite his armor. Matthew did the same, no one speaking a word. With them were thirty Lannister and Baratheon men-at-arms, trying to hide their fearful expressions. Barristan and Mandon Moore stayed in front of Matthew, swords drawn.
Matthew listened intently for any sounds. Each footstep echoed through his ears, his heartbeat quickening. Melisandre promised to shield their presence, but Matthew refused to rely on such a thing alone. In the enemy lines, Matthew spotted numerous torches, particularly on the left side of their camp.
Just have to take out the sentries. . . Matthew searched for shadows within the darkness. With few natural obstacles, both sides would find it difficult to hide. He clutched his hammer and steadied his breathing.
Gasps uttered from his men upon a shadow spotted. Matthew moved to one of his crossbowmen and whispered: "Hit him in the throat. Quickly, before he spots us!" Two bolts rang out in the shadow's direction. A crash to the ground informed Matthew who they spotted was genuine.
Screams rang out among the rear of the northern lines. Stannis grabbed Matthew's arm. Flames lit up the night sky, providing light to ally and enemy alike. Matthew hoped his forces would get away in time. Based on his position, they were perhaps a hundred yards away from the nearest camp. "This way," Melisandre pointed. Matthew looked up at her, uncertain.
"You can trust in her judgment," Stannis whispered.
"Are you certain you should be trusting her?" Barristan worried. "Those who follow the Lord of Light are known to be fanatics."
"Right now, I don't have much choice," Matthew held the same unease. He heard the clashing of swords at the back, and screams waking up those who were still asleep. Matthew's mind went on autopilot, putting one foot in front of the other. Soon the moment would be upon him.
A sentry spotted Matthew's group and ran to inform the others. Three crossbow bolts disappeared into the dark, Matthew uncertain whether they hit their marks. "I thought your powers were supposed to conceal us," Matthew griped to Melisandre.
"They are less effective when you're standing right in front of him," Melisandre admitted. Gurgles from a few dozen feet away indicated at least one of the bolts hit its mark. Stannis moved forward, heedless of Melisandre's worried look.
Expecting Stannis intended for them to follow, Matthew did so. With less than a hundred feet between him and the camps, adrenaline flowed through his veins. The screams from the back of the camp subsided, but the enemy was likely alert and ready now.
Between the tents, Matthew made out guardsmen huddling together for protection. Armor was minimal, save for a breastplate and helmet. "Now," Matthew gave the order. A spear caught one in the throat, a second fell to a crossbow bolt, but the third deflected it with his shield.
"Raiders!" he screamed. A fourth bolt rang out but it too missed.
"Come on, we're not going to have much time!" Matthew sent his men ahead while he brought up the rear. Melisandre whispered in a language he couldn't understand, setting nearby tents on fire. Multiple men ran out, covered in flames, pleading to be put out.
Lannister and Baratheon men cheered, an act that made Matthew and Stannis cringe. Nearby Northern were slaughtered if they were unable to retreat. One man and his squires fell in the middle of putting his armor on.
Matthew's adrenaline screamed of him to join the battle but he held back. No need to risk his life unless it proved to be necessary. His men ripped open every tent within range and killed those who resided inside. Men, women, child. . . it made no difference to them.
"Retreat!" Matthew called out to them. Nobody could afford to stay in one place long. The northmen were taken by surprise, but they would soon rally. Raising his voice as loud as he dared, Matthew screamed: "Fall back!"
Those who still held enough discipline followed orders and ran out to their previous location. Others were caught in the battle fever, swords and spears aiming at any human target they could find.
"We can't make them see sense, nor can we linger," Stannis pointed out.
"You're right." Matthew sighed. He hated leaving his men behind, but they refused to see sense. "Get back to Duskendale while we still can!" All men who regained control of themselves sprinted back to the city walls. Four men charged towards Matthew, shouting their location.
Matthew raised his hammer, only for Barristan and Mandon to intercept them. All four were killed with a handful of strokes before they got within fifteen feet of him.
As they retreated, Matthew caught a few glimpses of his troops being slaughtered. He shook his head; there was nothing that could be done for them. Only his old instincts kept him from fleeing into the night. Matthew kept his face stoic, knowing he needed to display strength to his men.
"They're out there! Find them!" A cry went up. Melisandre whispered to herself, though Matthew could not make out what she was saying. Enemy soldiers searched on all directions, nor daring to use torches for fear of being too easily spotted.
Matthew' men fell back by groups, with him bringing up the rear. Melisandre gave him a reproachful look, reminding him that he couldn't behave as if he was any other soldier. His heart rate elevated, body anticipating being struck by arrows and clubs at any moment.
In the confusion, northmen soldiers and their allies occasionally killed one another. Those closest to the gate sprinted behind the safety it provided, Matthew increasing his pace, although his body struggled to run in armor. Come on, keep moving! He encouraged himself.
Matthew was ready to vomit by the time he reached the gate. A line of pikemen assembled behind, intent on intercepting any enemies who attempted to rush forward. "Close those. . . close the gates," Matthew panted after a couple minutes. Stray soldiers ran inside in a panic, several soiling themselves in the process.
` Despite losses, the raid had been a spectacular success. Nearly 100 enemy men-at-arms had been killed for an exchange of less than 20 Lannisters. Matthew had his armor removed and collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to put on his usual chain mail.
The next morning, however, Matthew woke up with confidence. Maybe I'll get lucky and they're already turning on each other. Joffrey laughed in approval, Matthew wishing he didn't have to deal with the little bastard inside his head. It's when he starts approving that I worry.
After a small breakfast, Matthew marched up to the city walls to witness his handiwork. His nostrils picked up the faint smell of smoke. Squinting, he could just make out destroyed tents and supplies. The Northmen had moved closer in the night, with their encampments just a few hundred yards away.
"All right, they've learned I'm not someone to be trifled with." Matthew announced to his men. Now that they'd seen some action, his soldiers appeared far more confident than before. Spears and swords went up, the men cheering. "They're ready to shit themselves out there! We can hit them anytime, anywhere, until they beg for mercy."
"All hail the King!" the cry went up. Matthew chose his best guards to stand alongside Barristan. Despite it being a siege, he had no intention of being idle.
He spotted half a dozen trebuchets ready for action. "They'll do nicely." Wheel them into the courtyard." The city guard hastened to obey his orders, placing each one less than fifty yards from the walls.
"What do you have in mind, Your Grace?" A guard inquired.
"I'm going to have them eat shit: literally," Matthew announced to the city guard. "Start emptying chamber pots into the trebuchets and launch them at the enemy. Any animal dung as well. Let's see how long they last plagued by disease." Should give shit-slinging a whole new meaning.
Hundreds of smallfolk lined up with the contents of their chamber pots. Matthew did his best not to curl his nose. The northmen were out of effective range, but at least some of the filth would be out of the city. Far as he could see, Duskendale possessed no waste disposal system.
"And. . . fire!" Matthew stepped back to make sure none of it spilled on him. All five launched their payload hundreds of yards. "Reload!" The process continued until all the smallfolk's contents were rained down upon his enemy.
"Any animals or people die during the siege, launch them over; let the northmen choke on it." Those operating the trebuchets nodded in understanding. Matthew didn't expect them to try storming the city, not unless they were suicidal, but preparations had to be made for it.
"Strange to see a King who behaves the way you do," Melisandre commented.
"Shouldn't you be hovering around— and sleeping with— Azor Azai up there?" Matthew pointed in the castle's direction.
"I go where I am needed, Matthew," Melisandre reminded. "And I wish to learn more of you."
"Can't you see it in the flames? I'll admit, your conjuring was useful, but I'm definitely not going to be relying on your concealment abilities in the future."
"The flames tell me little of you, save for that you are not of this world. Prophecy gives me little information as well."
"Word of advice about prophecies: they never mean what you think they do." Matthew had read enough fiction to understand that. "Reinforcements should arrive within two weeks, perhaps less if the weather holds. Course, I intend to ensure by that point, they'll be in no position to fight."
"You should not risk your life so cavalierly, Matthew," Melisandre stared. "In my presence, you are in little danger, but when I am away, I can do little."
"Stop calling me that; we're in public." Matthew lowered his voice. The day was spent inspiring his troops and working on his hammer skills. While Matthew had vastly improved from his first day in Westeros, he was still mediocre at best. Memories of his battle with Loras entered Matthew's mind.
That night, he launched more raids, this time deciding not to participate. I've already inspired my troops enough and they've seen I can hold my own. As before, orders were given to ignore Bolton formations. Yet he could not stop himself from watching the proceedings, asking how many of his men would not return.
It would not catch them by surprise again, but he hoped his enemies would still be disrupted. Matthew wanted them unbalanced, angry, more prone toward making mistakes. Outraged cries followed his men, the gate shut as soon as Matthew was reasonably sure all survivors were inside.
"Looks like they've got the same idea." Matthew wasn't positive but doubtless his opponents would attempt the same tactic. He heard two arrows impact against the wall, deciding not to tempt fate any longer. And so it went for another four days. Raids against their camps, raids on the wall, with an attempt to subvert the gates ending in an execution.
"We can conclude our negotiations once the battle is won," Matthew declared during their next meeting.
"That's not likely to be far off," Matthew pointed out. "Bolton's practically throwing them in our direction. And since we're undergoing siege, we have plenty of time to work out the details. You've seen enough of my character."
"All you've wanted to show me, at least," Stannis countered. "You cannot judge a man solely by a few meetings."
"Tell me, why do you believe in the threat beyond the Wall? If I mentioned it to anyone in King's Landing, they would think me mad?"
"I did not believe at first." Stannis sat down with a sigh. "In the beginning, my goal was to take the Iron Throne. Melisandre changed that. What she revealed. . . I have no words to describe it. It made me realize our trivial our struggles are. I wished to believe it was nothing but a spell, yet I was eventually convinced. Under my banner, we can unite Westeros against them."
"Under mine, you mean. What good can you do on your own? The Tyrells will never support you, many of the Storm lords still do not. Neither will Dorne rise to your cause."
"I can admit to respecting your military prowess, if inferior to my own. What makes you think you can unite Westeros?"
"I'm accustomed to a very different form of warfare." Matthew shrugged. "And maybe I can't. I've hated every moment of being King, but I'm also the only one who knows what's about to happen. Maybe it's destiny after all."
"The easiest thing would be to kill you now," Stannis considered. "So long as you live, you are a threat, and right now, you are in no position to protect yourself. Even if you overcome me, Melisandre has abilities you can only guess at." He paused for a moment. "Yet. . . the threat we face will require unpleasant decisions."
"Do we have an agreement, then?" Matthew pushed Stannis. He was beginning to think all his efforts would be for nothing.
"Only with the greatest reluctance, Matthew. But I will not accept being Hand of the King."
"Why?" Matthew's suspicions peaked.
"I will not work alongside Tywin Lannister, or any Lannister, for they will ensure our doom in the war to come," Stannis announced. "I will work alongside you and you alone, but I accept no position in King's Landing."
"If you refuse my offer, why are you still willing to work with me?"
"Because you are one but of a handful who recognizes the threat we face. I am only making this agreement with the knowledge of who you really are. As I have no other choice in the matter, I will rescind claims of your bastardy."
"I'm aware they're true, unfortunately. I find the prospect no more pleasant than you."
"And because you're still a threat, or more precisely, Joffrey is." Stannis ground his teeth. "I won't allow someone like him to assume the throne and I remain skeptical of your promises that he will not regain control. Should that occur, I will end your life, heedless of the consequences to me."
"So do we have an agreement?" Matthew extended his hand. Stannis gripped his elbow instead, unhappy but resigned to the arrangement.