"They're almost through the King's Gate Lord Loren!"
"Ladders are at the walls in the south!"
"A ram is approaching the Lion's Gate!"
"Fires block the Street of Steel!"
"The Muddy Way is blocked by peasants!"
"The men at the crossroads have abandoned their posts!"
It was all falling apart. He was about to lose the city. The last of his sorties were pulling back inside the city at the return of the Baratheon Fleet. Ser Balon's had lost more than half it's men, and the Hound fared even worse, having to cut through more enemies to get back inside the city.
All around him gold cloaks were asking where the king was, why wasn't he here to help them?
They must fight, he knew that much, if he could get the gold cloaks fighting, the battle would continue, no knight worth his spurs, no warrior worth his sword could consider fleeing the field while green men stood their ground.
"Enemy on the walls!" A voice cried from the west.
"Shit!" He cursed. The wailing of men in the thick of the slaughter were getting closer by every heartbeat. One man dropped his spear, another sat down on a barrel and put his head between his legs.
"They're getting closer!"
"We're all going to die!"
"Not if you kill them first!" He roared, stepping onto the first step up to the battlements. "If you want to protect your homes and loved ones, if you want to hold this place and say that you stood taller than the coward of a king who abandoned you, then get up on those walls, fight with me and kill the whoresons who want to take your city!" He saw a few men get to their feet and follow him, then more, soon he had two dozen followers. It would be enough, the rest would follow out of loyalty or shame.
The wall was slick with mud and bloody corpses, a fallen gold cloak lay against the wall, an arrow sticking from his chest. This was what they were bringing to the city, mood from the riverbank and blood from his men. He gripped his sword tighter. Up ahead Lord Stannis' forces were swarming off ladders, fighting the last of the desperate archers on the walls, the men at arms spreading out with sword and shield as archers strung their bows to start raining death down from the walls. "HOME!" He roared as they charged. He tucked in his shoulder and smashed past two men at arms, driving his sword through the leather armour of an archer, ripping through the guts beneath. He pushed forwards driving the man with him as he slammed into another archer, sending him twisting and spinning off the wall with a fading scream. He drew his sword from the archer in time to catch the axe of one of Stannis' men. He pulled back, pulling the axeman into him and sinking his metal fist into the man's face, feeling bone and cartilage shatter beneath it.
He felt the bite of a blade on his helmet and staggered forwards, turning to face his foe, a man of the Marches. They locked blades and pushed against each other. This one was stocky and strong and was slowly pushing Loren back further and further.
A mass of metal slammed into his attacker and drove him away, raising a longaxe and sinking it into his chest. The bloodstained warrior turned and nodded to Loren, who nodded back. But then he pointed behind him and Loren spun in time to face his attacker. The next man was a footman in mail wielding a mace in his armoured fist.
He leapt forward, seized his attacker's right hand with his left and slammed the pommel of his sword into his face. Warm blood spurted across his face as the man's nose exploded in a fountain of blood. He raised the sword and brought it down again, bursting his left eye into a stream of viscous fluid like an overripe grape had been burst. He stepped back and thrust the point of his sword into his attacker's face. The man spun wildly, his mace ringing off the battlements and shattering the skull of an archer before he fell to the battlements, dead.
The enemy were still coming up the ladders. He charged at one about to emerge, barging past combatants on both sides. He rammed his blade up underneath the metal skirts of the man's armour, ramming home hard and true. The man clutched at the metal before collapsing to the ground. He pulled at his blade, but it had stuck on bone, and another was already coming. He released his grip on the sword handle and brought his fist back. He punched the next man's helmet, driving his metal fist onto it again and again. He raised a hand to try and stem the barrage of blows, and Loren felt his finger's cry out in agony under his gauntlet, but he gave one last punch to the man's gorget and he jerked back, his other hand slipping from the ladder, flailed in mid air before falling to the ground.
He screamed his triumph at the foe. They were abandoning these ladders. The calls of home were rolling over him like waves, crashing out to Stannis' army on the beaches. The army on the beaches was in disarray, far more so than just from a landing on them. He narrowed his eyes. There were boats coming in with no soldiers on them. What are you doing, Stannis, what's your plan? He looked up and down the wall. He could hear the sounds of a ram, beating like a drum on one of the gates, and there were still ladders affixed to the walls, and some men at arms rushing to them, holding shields up against the deluge of arrows and stones from the walls. Still his trebuchets were flinging pots of wildfire against the enemy, but with fewer archers on fewer sections of wall than before, there were some that were just shattering and spilling their fluid. The enemy were learning to avoid these patches of wild fire, some were even clearing the area then setting it alight to burn itself out. Those that landed in the water bobbed up and down helplessly, twisting and turning.
Across the river, Stannis' army was in disarray. All throughout the battle they had been arrayed in neat formation, ready to file onto boats and cross the rush to flow into any breach made by the vanguard. Even the Company would have been proud. But now... now they were a mess, men were walking in circles, banners moving to and fro, like a headless centipede, it's hundred legs skittering wildly over the muddy bank without aim or direction.
Casting his eyes back to the beach, the empty boats were leaving with soldiers, but even still, the enemy still attacked them, pressing home what they thought was an advantage. But something else was happening here. Why were the enemy stopping? All they had to do was keep pushing, and Lord Stannis knows that. Why is he stopping? What are you thinking Stannis?
Whatever he was thinking the masses of wood in the Rush would be able to overwhelm him, unless... He turned over the battlements to look down at the wounded and bedraggled men from the sorties gathered before the gate. "Mount up! Everyone with a horse get back on it, those without, prepare to follow up behind."
"My lord," Ser Balon stepped up to see him, he was worn out from the battle, his Morningstar crusted with blood. "The men are exhausted, we can't fight this."
Loren pointed out over the beach. "The enemy are in disarray, and look at the walls," half his archers were dead or no longer capable of holding a bow, he could thin out other sections of the wall, but if he did they would be overwhelmed, and he had no idea what was happening in the north. "We have this one chance, while the enemy longboats are coming in, we surge out, take the beach, fire the boats, keep Stannis away."
"You're risking everything," said one of his gold cloak captains.
"I am risking everything because I know that if I don't, we've lost. I need you all," he implored the men below. "This is it, one last charge, we can break the enemy here. One more, that is all I can ask of you, all anyone could ever ask of you. Please, I need you."
"Bugger that," cried one soldier.
"My home is in here!"
"This is the only way. One more, one more charge, if it fails... you are all released from your service, if it works, you will be heroes. Either way, you win, give me one more attack, and I will give you your lives." Some were wavering, but he had to move, no more time for waiting, if he did, they might decide to be released before the attack even happened. "Bring me my horse!"
He made no eye contact as he strode over to his horse, which Tyland brought over, barded and ready for war. His own retinue were formed up behind him and they weren't alone for long, Gerold came over with the battered riders of his own sortie, while Ser Balon swung himself back onto his horse and took up the royal standard. In twos and threes men in red and gold came up to stand behind the horsemen and squires took up weapons to fight alongside their knights.
Soon enough he had a sword ready to thrust out of the gate. "Open the gate!"
He drew his sword as the wooden gate swung open, green and gold flickering in the plain beyond. "Charge!" He roared and put his spurs to his horse.
They streamed out of the gate, a flying lance of knights. Before them, the enemy were disorganised, huddled under shields for protection from darting arrows, some were pulling longboats ashore, half filled with men half filling up with them, serjeants at arms barked orders and tried to get them to brace for the last unexpected charge. He saw the greatest knot of men clustered near the shore and turned his horse to them. His steeds hoofs slipped on the blood soaked earth but the skilled beast kept racing. He raised his sword to lead the men where he needed them, green fire kissing the blade as the sound of trumpets and battle cries raced past him. Then they were amongst the enemy, he felt spears break on the armour of his horse and heard screams of terror as he brought his sword down on the head of the nearest man at arms, the skull shattering under the blow, he took another head and an arm before his horse was dancing amidst the red running water. It was soon joined by his fellows as his lance punched through the cluster of Baratheon men. Many were dead, more were scattering. "Keep moving!" He ordered, a line of archers were notching arrows to their bows, but they were unguarded. "Charge!" He led the way again, some falling in step behind him, but others splitting off to go after other enemies. He saw Ser Balon, Morningstar spinning, tear through another dozen men trying to get a ladder to the walls. The archers before him didn't buckle though, instead they calmly raised their bows and loosed a swarm of arrows. The arrows rung off his horse's armour, but the knight next to him wasn't so lucky, one arrow clipped it's leg and the beast fell on top of the man. He heard more knights falling behind him. But that was all they got, he was among them and they scattered before the lion. "Fight me you bastards!" He roared, carving this way and that, striking hard and fast. It was done.
They were breaking all along the beach. More soldiers had followed him, gold and red cloaked infantry forming up with dismounted knights and men at arms to set themselves upon the enemy on the beaches. Only half the enemy were fighting, the rest were hauling themselves back onto ships, on the southern bank, Stannis' host was slithering away, banners and men marching into the Rainwood and out of sight. Had he given up, but hundreds of men were still on boats. Some weren't even escaping that way, fuelled on anger and vengeance, the city's defenders were dragging men at arms from boats that hadn't made it fast enough away and slaughtering those inside, he saw the occupants beg for mercy before the knives fell. Others had found themselves generous defenders and were being bound in rope and chains, some were already being dragged into the city; and all along the beach the men were crying out in victory. The charge had been successful, they had driven lord Stannis' host into the sea. "Lord Loren!" The cry was taken up and soon the army was cheering his name for the triumph. But they hadn't won, not yet.
"Everyone, back in the city, take what you can and get back behind the walls, they could come back. And there are still the enemies to the north to deal with."
He let the word spread before returning behind the city walls.
Letting the captains at the gate handle the organisation of the returning forces, he rode with his retinue to the north.
There, the attack continued, the enemy inching closer and closer to the walls, one ram had reached the Dragon Gate where boiling pitch and flame had seen to it, but another two were prepared and marching towards the walls. "Hold them back!" He ordered. He didn't have the men here to launch another attack outside the walls, and these foes were organised, it would be a slaughter. Surprise and the disorganisation had made up for the lack of experience of his army in the south, neither would help here.
"My lord, a new force approaches from the west!"
"What!?" Had Stannis' ships landed another host far to the west, but why? What purpose would that serve?
"An army comes from the west my lord."
"Shit! Captain, hold the wall."
He rushed down to his horse and put his spurs to its flank.
They rode past knots of celebrating soldiers, soldiers telling the people that they had driven off the enemy, that the battle was won. "We haven't won yet, return to your posts!" He yelled as he passed, citizens and soldiers rushing out of his way.
The west wall hadn't seen any battle and the few men on it clutched bows and spears tightly. He saw it too. A great mass of men and horses were flying towards the city, miniscule banners fluttering over their heads, but he couldn't make them out. "Stand ready," he urged the men, don't waver. How do I beat that as well?
But as they got closer he saw the banners. They were red. Red and gold. The colours of Lannister. The host split, most still poured towards the site of his victory, but another detachment turned their mounts north, riding hard towards the gates in the north, where the enemy still assaulted the city.
It was over, the battle was won.
