Chromitez: That's the kind of review that really keeps me wanting to write this story. Thanks so much!
His fleet had lost the Rush. His flagship, King Robert's Hammer, had been boarded from two sides and taken, the twinned lion and stag pulled down. But the other vessels were also succumbing. Several were drifting beneath the water, the commandeered ships were being sunk, boarded, trampled or were pulling down their own banners in surrender. The last few loyal vessels were retreating west along the Rush as the majority of the enemy ships began to pursue them. Good, he thought. Keep pulling them away, give me more time here. Stannis' host was prepared for battle. They were lined up in columns, banners fluttering, the sun glinting off steel tipped lances and lacquered breastplates. His fingers gripped the wall tightly. "This is it," he muttered. "Ready the Whores!" He called. The men cheered as they began loading the barrels onto the trebuchets. He now had to make the journey as perilous as possible for the Baratheon host. "Archers, notch arrows!" His men put their arrows to their bows, all tipped with flame.
"What about me?" His king asked. The boy was part terrified, part exhilarated, and it would likely remain that way as long as the wall was not under threat.
"Stay by the arrow slits," he said. "And get that crossbow ready, greet your uncle's men with it."
Joff nodded gleefully and picked up his crossbow. Loren turned to Ser Mandon. "Make sure he keeps his head down, the last thing we need is the king with an arrow through his face." He marched along the wall, not looking at the Kingsguard or the king. Men were mounting horses by the gates to the city, two great parties led by Ser Balon and the Hound, hundreds of men, knights and squires ready to harry the enemy as they came ashore. These were his best hope of stopping Stannis now that the Rush had fallen. He had to hammer the longboats, delay them as long as possible before bringing his full strength to bear on the enemy approaching from the north. This battle would not end in a total Lannister victory, but he could make Stannis retreat and that would be enough.
Several of Stannis' ships from the rear of his fleet were turning now, most heading for the southern bank to pick up some of Baratheon's men, but a few came close to the city, skiffs were being lowered, archers and spearmen on board to land on the northern bank.
"Lord Loren! The Whore's are ready."
"Archers draw. Release the Catapults!" He roared at the top of his voice. With cheers, the three trebuchets sent their barrels high into the air, twisting and turning, flailing as they rose. "Archers loose!" He called and an arc of flaming arrows soared like phoenixes into the sky. He hoped he had timed it right. He had. All three barrels were struck by at least one arrow, the others falling down onto the beach, some in the Rush itself. The barrels continued to spin and turn, but then the first of them exploded in a great green flash. He blinked out the afterimage burned onto his eyes and watched at lapping tongued of great green flame rained down on the Rush. The battle on the Rush had left many floating hulks of most commandeered ships and the fires caught several of these as they travelled along the disrupted currents of water, spinning lazily. The second barrel wasn't so lucky, the flames landed on the open water. They didn't extinguish, they floated on the water like puddles of liquid emerald, burning brightly. Like slugs and barnacles, the flames might latch onto ships that passed by. Larger vessels might push them underwater where, completely submerged, they would be snuffed out. But longboats and skiffs would be devastated were they to pick up the flames. The third barrel was the luckiest of them all, it exploded right over one of Stannis Baratheon's ships, the flames raining down on rigging and mast and sail, sending them up in flame. That one made the men on the wall cheer. "Load the trebuchets again," he ordered.
Still they slunk across the Rush like hounds of war, the first boats packed to bursting with men at arms and spearmen. "Archers, not the rush, aim for the men, weaken them for the charge! Gates, open!"
His archers loosed their arrows at a lower angle, the shafts flying straight and true towards the nearest boats. He saw a shaft catch an armoured man in the shoulder, it bounced off but the man fell, flailing into the Rush.
Right now his fleet was still peeling west, pulling eight of every ten ships from Stannis' fleet with them in a desperate pursuit. Whoever was commanding that fleet had not tasted command before, if he had, he would likely well have known to turn his ships around, use perhaps twenty to form and unbreakable wall for the rest of his fleet, then used the rest to rush Stannis' army across the river. The battle would have been over in hours. But those ships would return, he had to make a bloody ruin of what he could before they did.
With a great roar and blaring trumpets, two columns of riders charged out of the gates, his two main war parties led by the Hound and Ser Balon. He had one left in reserve, commanded by Ser Gerold, but until they were needed, he wouldn't commit them. "We must break each one of them, one successful landing will give Stannis the beach."
"My Lord, enemy forces attack the north gates!"
"Shit it all!" He cursed, turning his attention from the battle outside. "Are they not dealing with it there?"
The messenger was red faced on top of his horse. "Half the sellswords flatly refuse to go and attack them, the rest won't go alone!"
He slammed his armoured fist into the stone of the wall. "Gerold, you have command here, commit if necessary, if not, hold back! Ser Jacelyn, I need your gold cloaks, one in three, guardsmen, mount up!"
The men followed his commands, Jacelyn gathering a large contingent of mostly green gold cloaks to join him while his personal guard moved to their horses.
He had little time so set off before they were fully ready, they would have to keep up as best they could.
They met no resistance along the streets, he'd ordered them kept clear to allow his men to get swiftly where they needed to go. The sounds of battle died away to the south but were replaced by the same from the north.
Just inside the Dragon Gate a battle raged. It's over, they're inside. But no, he saw that no banners flew and the gate itself was still shut, the archers on the walls still loosing arrows at the outside. The sellswords were fighting within the city walls. "Men, forward, break this up!"
His men charged in as lions among sheep, the sellswords who had been fighting with fists broke apart and were caught by the gold cloaks, forced to the ground and held fast, those that had drawn steel attempted to fight and were cut down, at least a score of them, four gold cloaks and two of his guardsmen lay dead or dying in the streets, but order had been restored, the rest of them submitted.
He pulled his horse up before the sellswords held fast by his gold cloaks. "What in the name of the gods happened here?"
"Some of them thought we couldn't win," one sellsword said, nodding at the corpses over the knife at his throat. "We disagreed, they decided to defect, and we all drew our swords."
Damn and shit. He knew the sellswords would be fickle, but they were also among his best fighters. He needed them, but he couldn't let them threaten a gate like this again. "Split them into three equal groups," he commanded his men, dismounting his horse and scaling the wall. Thankfully Lord Stannis' northern commander was coming slowly. They had fashioned a crude ram from a tree trunk but it lay discarded just south of the clusters of houses, bodies pincushioned with arrows around it. Hendry Waters, commander of the Dragon Gate, sent a hail of arrows out at anyone who attempted to retrieve it and advance again. "Good work men," he told them, walking the wall. "How are you doing for arrows?"
Hendry glanced at him. "We have plenty for now, my lord at this rate the arrows can last until dark, but with... that," he jerked his head back at the bloody mess beneath the gate, "I'm not sure if we can last that long."
He nodded grimly. "Don't worry, I'm taking them with me and leaving you more gold cloaks. They're green, but not half as likely to betray you."
"Better them than the sellswords, thank you, my lord."
"Lord Loren!" He turned to look down to where another messenger was riding up to the wall, or was it the same one as before? "The enemy advance in the south, we need you!"
"Hell's teeth, captain, keep it up." He took the steps two at a time and pulled himself onto his horse. He pointed at two of the groups of sellswords. "You miserable lot are coming with me, the rest of you, stay here, gold cloaks, you too, captain Hendry will see to you."
He put his spurs to his horse and raced back to the south.
Back at the south men were clustered beneath the walls, many panting with spent energy. On the walls archers were crying out for arrows and spears. "Ladders!" He heard one cry. He saw his men whimpering in fear, this was a lost battle to them. He dismounts and rushes up the wall. Still things held, a few toeholds had been made by the Baratheons, but his men had thrown the rest into the sea, the cries were premature, Ser Balon charged, white cloak gleaming and Morningstar flailing as he tore through a single file of infantry trying to carry a ladder to the walls. On the opposite banks rank upon rank of Stannis' infantry were waiting to be boarded onto the boats and ferried across the Rush, while more wildfire carpeted the river itself, making the journey all the more perilous.
He let out a slight breath, the men here still had things under control, they hadn't needed to rush to him, Gerold should have been able to handle them, why had they rushed across the city?"
"Where is Gerold?" He demanded of anyone who would listen. He may well need the third sortie to launch at this rate.
"The enemy landed west of the city," one of his men said. "Several hundred men attacked the King's Gate and a ram was brought up as well, Ser Gerold went to repel them with his mounted strength."
He nodded, good, the Kings Gate was directly down the river street, if the enemy had broken through there they'd have a straight path to him and this position. "Get the men back on the walls once they've rested."
"My lord... they may not come."
"What?"
It was his squire who spoke. "My lord, not all men like the taste of battle, we must let them vomit it out before sending them back again."
"Don't quote me at me boy, there is a time for that, but not when our backs are to our own bloody walls."
One of his gold cloak officers spoke up. "My lord, they have lost their fire, it left them when the king... he..."
"What about Joffrey?" Then a dread feeling crawled up his spine. He was here, right here! He glanced up and down the line, desperate to catch sight of the twin lion-stag banner, or the white cloak of the Kingsguard. "Where is he?" He whispered. Then he roared, "where is the King!?"
