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My name is Chloe Jane and (in case you were wondering) there are only seventy-two more days until season seven starts! WHAT?
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Glory, Power, Birth, and Moonblood
Catelyn
She sent him another flagon of wine in the morning. After the night before she hoped that he would trust her not to poison the wine. She intended him to be very drunk by the time she visited him again after midnight.
It had been very hard not to poison his new flagon of wine. After he had so casually admitted to throwing her son out a tower window she had wanted little more than to wrap her hands around the man's throat and strangle him. Her girls that one thought had stilled her hands when little else would have been able to calm her down. If Jaime Lannister died she would lose any hope that her daughters would ever be returned to her.
And with the exception of Robb, who was a man grown now and hardly seemed to have need of his mother, the girls were all she had left.
He was waiting for her this night, his back leaning against the wall, his knees bent and pulled in close to his chest. He had not opened the flagon of wine, but he did so as she entered his cell, he poured some of the wine into the glass and held it up to her, silently toasting her, as if he were a gentleman before he took a sip.
"Good evening, Lady Stark," he drawled, shaking his head slightly to move his dirty golden hair out of his eyes. She hated to admit it, but even dirty and unkempt it was still hard to deny the beauty of the man in front of her. When she was younger, early after Robert's Rebellion she had heard that Jaime Lannister was the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms. Robert himself had complained about it, angry that he was the king, but that all the maidens loved to stare at Jaime Lannister.
Ned had joked with him, he had told him that he was lucky then, to have the one woman in the Seven Kingdoms that did not want the Kingslayer. He had been talking about Cersei and now it still seemed unthinkable how wrong Ned had been about the golden haired Lannister daughter. Of all the women in Westeros it seemed that Cersei wanted Jaime more than the rest, and that she was the only one to get him.
It disgusted her to think about the two of them. But she was more disgusted when she thought of what he had done to her son. What kind of knight, what kind of man could throw an innocent child from a tower window?
A monster, that was the kind of man.
Jaime Lannister was as beautiful as an angel and as terrible as a monster.
She did not greet him, he did not deserve her pleasantries or her courtesies. She had more questions that she wanted the answers to and he would give them to her. "You threw my son from a tower," she told him, her voice hard and cold. "You wanted him to die." They had already been through this the day before, but she needed to hear it from him again.
He rolled his eyes, as if bored by her repeated question, "Yes," he told her, "I threw your boy from a tower. For listening to a conversation I had with my sister. And I meant for him to die from his injuries."
"And when he did not you knew you were in more danger than you had been before so you gave a man a bag of silver to make certain Bran would never wake." It was not a question, it was an assumption. She knew that he had. She was certain of it, Petyr had practically told her that the Lannister brothers were at fault for everything that had happened to Bran.
Jaime raised his eyebrows and shook his hair out of his eyes again, "Did I now?" he asked her, his voice almost teasing. "Lenora accused me of the same thing. I will tell you what I would have told her if she had given the time: I thought about it."
"Thought about it?" Catelyn echoed. He had promised her that he would be truthful the day before. She had assumed that the promise stood tonight as well, but now she was uncertain. She should have made him promise honesty before she asked.
Jaime nodded, "I won't deny it. Cersei and I spoke of it. But you were with the boy night and day. Your maester, your Lord Husband, Lenora, your other children attended him often as well. The boy was never alone. There were guards and those damned direwolves ... it would have required cutting my way through half of Winterfell. And why would I bother with all that when the boy seemed so likely to die on his own?"
"If you lie to me I will leave now," Catelyn warned him. "I will not answer any of your questions." She held her hands out to him, letting the torchlight shine on the scars on her fingers and palms. "The man who came to slit Bran's throat gave me these scars," she told him. "You swear you had no part in sending him?"
"On my honor as a Lannister," Jaime told her, barely sparing a look at her scars as he finished his glass of wine and poured himself another.
"You honor as a Lannister is worth less than this," Catelyn growled at him, suddenly angry that he still denied having any part in the second attempt on Bran's life. She moved across the cell quickly and kicked over his waste pail. Foul-smelling brown ooze crept across the floor of the cell, soaking into the straw.
Jaime frowned at it and backed away from the spill as far as his chains would allow. "They only give me fresh straw once a week, My Lady," he told her, his tone almost regretful. "It will be another five days before they come to change this." She did not feel any sympathy for him. He waited another minute, watching the spill to make sure that it would not spread any closer to him before he lifted his green eyes to her face. "I may indeed have shit for honor," he told her, "I won't deny it. But I have never hired anyone to do my killing. Believe what you will of me, Lady Stark, but if I had wanted your Bran dead I would have slain him myself."
Catelyn stared at him and felt her anger abating a bit. As much as she wanted to hold onto it she could see the truth in his words. Jaime Lannister was one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, he would never send someone else to do his dirty work. "Your sister then," she bit out. "Or the Imp."
Again Jaime shook his head, "Cersei would have told me if she had," he promised her. "And I, in turn, would have been obliged to do it myself. As for Tyrion, he is as innocent as your son in this." He smiled, ruefully, "My little brother has always been soft when it came to cripples and broken things, he would not harm your boy."
"Then why did the assassin have his dagger?" Catelyn asked, grasping at straws now.
"What dagger is this?" Jaime asked her, raising his eyebrows. Catelyn described the dagger to him and told him that the Imp had won it in a wager.
Jaime poured more wine, drank, and then poured some more. "I seem to remember that dagger, now that you describe it," he told her, staring down into his wine glass. "Won it, you say? How?"
"Wagering against you when you tilted against the Knight of the Flowers," she told him, though the words tasted bitter on their way out of her mouth. That was how Petyr had told her it had happened, but it felt wrong now that she said it. "Now, was it the other way?" she asked.
Jaime shook his head, "The only time Tyrion has ever bet against me was when I sparred against Lenora," he told her. "And he always backs me in the lists, but that day Ser Loras unhorsed me. A mischance, I took the boy too lightly, but no matter. Whatever my brother wagered, he lost ... but that dagger did change hands, I recall it now. Robert showed it to me that night at the feast. His Grace loved to salt my wounds, especially when drunk. And when was he not drunk?"
She wanted to argue, to discredit him. But what he said was along the same lines as what the Imp had told her as they rode through the Mountains of the Moon. The two brothers had not seen each other since they left Winterfell. If they told the same story, it would be because it was the truth. But Petyr had sworn to her ...
"Are you trying to deceive me?" she asked, almost wishing that there was a trap there somewhere.
"I've already admitted to shoving your precious son out a window, what would it gain me to lie about this knife?" Jaime asked her. He tossed back another glass of wine. "Believe what you will, but I am past caring what anyone will say of me."
"Except Lenora," Catelyn interjected, wanting to hurt the man before her as much as she was hurting.
He looked up at her sharply, "It's my turn," he told her. "Where are Robb and Lenora now?"
"The Crag," Catelyn told him honestly. "They have taken it. Lenora helped during the storming. She fought and was injured."
Something crossed the man's eyes, a darkness. His jaw clenched and he nodded. "But she is alright?" he asked.
Catelyn nodded, "She is healed. All reports say that she perfectly well."
He was quiet for a moment, staring at his wine. "You got more answers than I did yesterday," he reminded her, like a child playing games. "I am owed another answer. Have Robert's brothers taken the field?"
"They have," Catelyn told him.
Jaime smirked at her, "That's a niggardly response," he told her. "Give me more than that or your next answer will be as poor."
Catelyn sighed, loathe as she was to admit, he had been very honest with her. "Stannis marches against King's Landing," she told him. "Renly is dead, murdered at Bitterbridge by his brother, through some dark art I do not understand."
"A pity," Jaime told her with a shrug. "I rather liked Renly, though Stannis is quite another tale. What side have the Tyrells taken?"
She could see his mind working behind his eyes. He was an intelligent man with a mind for battle, the same mind as his niece. Even here in this shit-filled cell he would get all the information he could to guess which way the war would turn. "Renly at first," she told him. "Now, I could not say."
"Your boy must be feeling lonely," Jaime observed with a scoff.
"Robb is a man grown and a King," Cersei snapped at him, still defensive. "He's won every battle he's fought."
"He hasn't faced my father yet, has he?" Jaime asked, getting to the truth of the matter quickly.
"And when he does he will defeat him, same as he did you."
"He took me unawares," Jaime pointed out. "A craven's trick. A true knight would have met me in open battle."
"How can you still count yourself a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore?" Catelyn asked. She had not meant for that to be her next question, but there was a part of her that needed to know the answer, with it she might have a better understanding of the man who sat before her.
He poured the last of the wine in his glass. She was sure that at one time the man would have been able to drink more than a flagon of wine without getting drunk, but after so many months of only having water his tolerance had lessened. He seemed quite drunk now.
"So many vows ... they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep is secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the Gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other." He took a large sip from his glass and leaned back, his head against the wall behind him as he stared up at the ceiling above, "I was the youngest man to ever wear the white cloak," he told her, a bit of pride slipping into his tone.
"And the youngest to betray all it stood for, Kingslayer," Catelyn reminded him, hoping to destroy his pride.
"Kingslayer," he pronounced slowly, carefully, glancing down at the wine still left in his cup. The right corner of his lips tugged up in a half smile and his eyes closed as if he were remembering something. He swallowed and opened his eyes, "And what a King he was!" he told her, his voice biting and sarcastic as he lifted his glass to the ceiling in a mock toast. "To Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protecter of the Realm. And to the sword that opened his throat. A golden sword, don't you know. Until his blood ran red down the blade. Those are the Lannister colors, red and gold." He lowered his glass to his lips and took a large sip.
"Only a man like you would be proud of such an act," Catelyn told him softly.
"There are no men like me," Jaime told her, smiling ruefully. "Tell me, Lady Stark, did your Ned ever tell you the manner of his father's death? Or his brother's?"
Catelyn shrugged her shoulders, "They strangled Brandon while his father watched and then killed Lord Rickard as well," she told him.
Jaime shook his head, "No doubt Ned wished to spare you," he told her, his tone almost sympathetic. "But I was there. It was not that simple."
Catelyn wanted to tell him that no man's death was simple. And that she did not care how Brandon and Lord Rickard had died. Dead was dead and it had been so many years ago. But he was talking again, telling her the story. And despite herself she listened.
He told her how after Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped Lyanna Stark, her brother Brandon and his men had rode to King's Landing to demand that Rhaegar die for his crime. Aerys sent his guards to arrest the young men for plotting his son's deaths and then kept them as ransom as he ordered their fathers to come to King's Landing and answer the charge. Then he killed them, fathers and sons both.
"Murdered them," Catelyn agreed with him. "Without trial."
Jaime had smirked at her, "There were trials," he told her. "Of a sort." He told her how Lord Rickard had demanded a trial by combat, how the older Lord's eyes had landed on young Jaime, no doubt thinking that he would be Aerys' champion. "But fire was the champion of House Targaryen," he told her before he explained how Lord Rickard was suspended from the rafters of the throne room while two of Aery's pyromancers kindled a blaze beneath him. "All Lord Rickard needed to do to prove himself and his son innocent of treason was ... well, not burn."
He told her that once the fire was blazing Brandon was brought in. His hands were chained behind his back and there was a wet leathern cord tied around his neck that was then attached to a device the king had brought from Tyrosh. His legs were left free and his longsword was placed on the floor before him, just out of reach. As Lord Rickard was roasted slowly before his son's eyes Brandon struggled to reach his sword, all he had to do was set his father free. But the more he struggled the tighter the cord around his neck got. He strangled himself while his father cooked in his armor.
"I must have looked away at some point," he told her with a shrug as he finished his wine. "Because afterwards Ser Gerold Hightower himself took me aside and said to me, 'You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.' That was the White Bull, loyal to the end and a better man than me, all agree."
"Aerys," Catelyn told him, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. "Aerys was mad, the whole realm knew it, but if you would have me believe that you slew him to avenge Brandon Stark ..."
"I made no such claim," Jaime interrupted her. "The Starks were nothing to me. I will say, I think it passing odd that I am loved by only one, and reviled by so many for my finest act." Catelyn could tell by the soft look on his face that the one was Lenora. She wondered what Jaime had told her of the day he killed the Mad King. Jaime continued, "As for your Ned, he should have kissed the hand that slew Aerys, but he preferred to scorn the ass he found sitting on Robert's throne. I think Ned Stark loved Robert better than he ever loved his brother or his father ... or even you, My Lady. He was never unfaithful to Robert, was he?" Jaime laughed at her, "Come, Lady Stark, you must find this all terribly amusing?"
"I find nothing about you amusing, Kingslayer," Catelyn growled.
"That name again," Jaime told her, pointing at her. "You know, I've never lain with any woman but Cersei. In my own way, I have been truer than your Ned ever was. Poor old dead Ned. So who has shit for honor now, I ask you? What was the name of that bastard he fathered?"
Catelyn took a step backward, toward the door. "Brienne," she called out.
Jaime shook his head, "No that wasn't it. Snow, that was the one. Such a white name ... like the pretty cloaks they give us in the Kingsguard when we swear our pretty oaths."
Catelyn ignored him as Brienne walked into the cell, "You called, My Lady?" the girl asked, not sparing a look for the man on the floor before them.
"Give me your sword," Catelyn ordered, holding out her hand.
-.-.-.-.-
Tyrion
Tyrion was nervous, he was not too proud to admit that. He was not his brother. And he was not his father. He had no mind for battle. He had a plan and he hoped that it was a good one, but he could not be sure until he saw it in action.
He meant to lure Stannis into a false sense of security. He meant for Stannis' entire fleet to sail up the river toward King's Landing. He wanted them to taste victory before he put his plan into action. There were many parts to this plan, some of them were already in play.
As soon as Stannis' flagship passed under the Red Keep one of Bronn's men had set the oxen to work. The smiths of King's Landing had all done their work and they had done it well. The chain was heavy, and the great winches turned slowly, creaking and rumbling as they moved. By the time the chain was visible under the water the entirety of Stannis' fleet would have entered the river, and then with the chain in place two or three feet above the water the ships would have no where to go.
But from here, inside the city walls no one could see the chain. It made the men nervous to see Stannis' fleet sailing so far up the river, their drums beating threateningly. "Where's our fleet?" Lancel asked, sounding alarmed as he, Joffrey, and Tyrion stared out over the water, watching as Stannis' ships sailed in without any fight from the king's fleet.
"Away," Tyrion told his cousin, rolling his eyes.
"Why isn't it here now?" Joffrey asked, impatiently. "They're coming." When Tyrion did not answer him right away Joffrey became more irritated, "Ser Meryn," he called to his white-cloaked guard behind him. "Tell the Hand that his King has asked him a question."
"The king has asked you a question, Imp," Ser Meryn growled.
Tyrion did not look away from the water before them, he was hoping that he would catch sight of the chain. Only once it was up would he enact the second part of his plan. "Lancel," he called out, playing the king's game without turning toward his young nephew. "Tell Ser Meryn to tell the king that the Hand is extremely busy."
And Lancel, Gods bless him, tried his best, "The Hand of the King would like me to tell you to tell the king that -" he stuttered out.
Joffrey did not have time for it though, the next time he spoke he addressed Tyrion, "If I tell Ser Meryn to cut you in half he will do it without a second thought," the boy practically screamed.
This time Tyrion turned from the river, for just a moment to look at his nephew, "That would make me the quarter man," he told the boy before he turned back to the river. "That just does not have the same ring to it. Cut me in half and I won't be able to give the signal. No signal, no plan. No plan and Stannis Baratheon sacks this city, takes the Iron Throne, and puts your pinched little head atop a gate somewhere."
Joffrey took a step toward him, but Tyrion was too worried about the battle to be concerned with his insolent nephew. "It might be quite amusing," he admitted, "except that my head would be up there too. I rather like my head and do not wish to see it removed from my body just yet."
He waited, a moment later he saw it, not the gleam of the chain, but the fire down by the mouth of the Blackwater Rush that Bronn had told him would mean that the chain was in place. He turned his gaze up river, the small fire was not for him, but for someone else. It took a few minutes, but soon, out of the darkness, one of Joffrey's ships came into view.
He heard Joffrey sigh with relief for a moment before he realized that there were no others. Just the one. "There's only one ship, where are the rest of them?" he asked, his voice just a whisper. When Tyrion did not answer right away he yelled, "Where are the rest of them?"
He waited, watching as the single ship made its way down the river, moving slowly between Stannis's ships. Many of them moved to attack the ship, to run into it, but their confusion seemed to hold them back. This ship was purposefully empty; no soldiers, no archers, only a skeleton crew rowing it down the river. It did not even have a captain.
Tyrion turned to his right and reached out blindly, waiting for the torch. He had promised the head pyromancer that he could come outside to witness the battle and he could practically feel the old man's excitement as he handed Tyrion the torch. Tyrion did not share his joy, he stared at the flames for a moment, completely terrified of what he planned to do. But there was no going back now, whatever monster this made him, he meant to keep King's Landing safe. "Gods have mercy on us all," he whispered as he turned forward, and threw the torch off the wall.
That was the signal.
Somewhere outside the city gates Bronn stood waiting in the dark for the signal. He lit his arrow on fire and took aim, loosing it over the river. The sellsword's aim was true, his shot was good. The single fiery arrow sailed over many of Stannis' ships, an omen to what was to come though none of them knew it, and landed in the water. They would expect it to fizzle out. What they did not expect was that in less than a heartbeat, with the roar of a thousand lions, the water and Joffrey's ship would burst into jade green flames.
In the initial explosion the wildfire ate Joffrey's boat, it danced across the water where the extremely flammable liquid had been leaked and attacked any of Stannis' ships that were close to it. Splitting them in half, burning men where they stood. The explosion was so bright that Tyrion was blinded by it when for a brief second the entire city of King's Landing seemed to be lit with a glowing green light.
The light lessened a bit, allowing Tyrion to uncover his face and to look out over the river. It was still on fire. The wildfire would continue to burn until there was absolutely nothing left. Until every ship and man it came into contact with was burned. It was still roaring, loud and fierce but over top of the roar of the fire he could hear the screams of Stannis' men as they drowned, as they burned, as perhaps, they did a little of both.
It was oddly beautiful, all the wreckage and the flames. If he ignored the screams of dying men he could almost understand why the pyromancers loved the wildfire so much. There was a beauty in its devastating heat. But he could not ignore the screams and he could not ignore the battle. Many of Stannis' large fleet had gotten by unscathed, either too far up the river or too far down and he had another trick up his sleeve, one more.
He grabbed another torch and sent it flying over the wall. And as many of Stannis' ships turned, or backed up, attempting to exit the Blackwater Rush and finding it impossible because of the chain Tyrion had raised he sent another of Joffrey's ships into the fray, this one manned with a crew. He watched, smiling as one of Stannis' ships, the captain no doubt eager to prove that he was not coward enough to be afraid of the fire moved in on Joffrey's ship, quickening its speed so that it could ram it.
This would sink the ship, but the Gods were good to Tyrion tonight. The ship that attacked Joffrey's Seaflower, was aflame. It took just a heartbeat before the normal yellow and red flames touched the Seaflower's deck and then a second eruption of wildfire lit up the night sky. This one was closer inland, it was closer to where Stannis foot soldiers had camped on the edge of the river. If the first explosion had not terrified them, Tyrion was sure the second one would. They would think twice, maybe even three times before they tried to cross the burning river now.
Which was good, Tyrion wanted them scared. He had no more wildfire, he was all out. He had played his trick and laid his plan. But there was still a battle to fight. Between the two explosions the main channel was aflame, but a good many of Stannis' men had made for the South bank and looked to escape unscathed. And at least eight ships had made it to the North bank and landed under the city walls. Landed or wrecked, but it came to the same thing, Stannis had men ashore.
Tyrion squinted and he could see dark shapes moving through the charred ruins of the riverfront wharfs. It would be time for another sortie, he realized. Men were never so vulnerable as when they first staggered ashore. He would not give them time to form up on the North Bank.
He scrambled down from the box they had put him on so that he could see above the wall. "Tell Ser Jacelyn Bywater that we've got enemy on the riverfront," he told one of the runners Bywater had assigned him. He would have much rathered send Lancel, just to get the young man out of his hair, but Cersei had claimed their cousin for her own messenger.
He turned to a second runner, "Bring my compliments to Ser Arneld and ask him to swing the catapults thirty degrees west." The angle would allow them to throw further.
He frowned when he turned to lay his eyes on Joffrey, his nephew had lifted the visor on his helm again, the better to see the flames. There was a psychotic grin resting on the boy's lips. It made him feel sick to his stomach. But the last thing he needed was his nephew taking an arrow to the eye. He reached up and clanged the visor shut, "Keep that closed, Your Grace," he ordered, "your sweet person is precious to us all."
Stannis' men were boarding rafts now, they meant to move across the river and attack the city walls. Tyrion's archers and his catapults were doing damage to Stannis' host, but there were so many men that they did not do enough. At some pointLancel had left Tyrion's side and run for the Red Keep, no doubt to tell Cersei how the battle was going. Tyrion would not fault the boy for it, it was his job, after all, but he thought the young knight a coward, hadn't he wanted to do something important during the battle.
A runner approached him, "My Lord, Hurry," the young man gasped. "They've landed men on the tourney grounds. Hundreds! They're bringing a ram up to the King's Gate."
Tyrion cursed and turned toward Joffrey, "Are you ready to battle, My King?" he asked the boy. He nodded behind his helm and Tyrion gestured that he should lead the way. Ser Meryn and Ser Osmund Kettleback moved in to follow their King. Tyrion reached out for Ser Osmund and caught him by the wrist, "Whatever happens, keep him safe. Do you understand?" he ordered.
The knight nodded, "As you command," he told him with an almost amiable smile.
Tyrion nodded and let go of the man's wrist before they followed the king toward the King's Gate. It was amazing, Joffrey's effect on the men as they moved past them. All around them men were fighting and shooting arrows, and screaming, and dying. But their spirits seemed stronger, and they fought harder once they caught sight of their King.
For perhaps the first time in his life Tyrion was grateful for his nephew.
They made quick work of the distance between where the Mud Gate and the King's Gate. Tyrion had ordered that the roads of King's Landing be empty so that the soldiers could travel freely throughout the city. Even so, by the time they reached the gate he could hear the booming crash of wood on wood that told him that the battering ram had been brought into play.
The groaning of the great hinges sounded like the moans of a dying giant. And the square on the inside of the gate was littered with wounded and dying men. But there were unharmed horses, and sellswords, and gold cloaks, enough of them to form a strong column. "Form up!" he shouted to them as the gate groaned and buckled a bit under another blow. "Who commands here? You're going out!"
"No," he heard from the shadows behind him. A man stepped out of them, a tall one. Sandor Clegane lifted his helm off his head and threw the metal to the ground at Tyrion's feet. The steel was scorched and dented and the left ear of the snarling hound had been sheared off. There was a bleeding cut above his left eye.
He glared at Tyrion before he turned to one of the squires, "Someone bring me a drink," he growled.
It was a gold cloak that handed him a cup. He took a swallow of it and spit it out, flinging the cup away. "Water? Fuck your water. Bring me wine." A squire ran forward and thrust a flagon of wine at him. He quickly tore out the cork and drank half the flagon in one long pull.
Tyrion glared at him, "Can I get you some iced milk and a bowl of raspberries too?" Tyrion asked him sarcastically.
"Eat shit, dwarf," the Hound growled at him.
"You're on the wrong side of the wall," Tyrion told him, hoping to shame the man into following orders.
"The Blackwater's on fire," the Hound told him, his voice cracking a bit in fear. "I've lost half my men. Horse as well. I'm not taking more into that fire."
"Dog!" Joffrey yelled out, lifting his visor so that he could yell at the man in front of him. "I command you to go back out there and fight."
"You're Kingsguard, Clegane," Tyrion told him, his voice calm. "It is your job to beat them back if they mean to take this city. Your King's city."
The Hound took another sip of wine, contemplating Joffrey and Tyrion in front of him before he growled, "Fuck the Kingsguard. Fuck the city. And fuck the king." And then, without glancing backwards at them he strode away through the wounded men and disappeared into the dark.
They were losing time, more of Stannis' men were landing on the bank and storming the city wall. A sortie needed to be led. Tyrion looked around him, wondering who he could trust to do it. Certainly not Ser Meryn or Ser Mandon.
It was then that Lancel returned, running toward them, "Your Grace," he called out to Joffrey, "The Queen has sent me to ask you to return to the Red Keep."
Tyrion shook his head, quickly turning to his nephew in hopes that he would be able to convince the boy to stay with him. "If you won't defend your city why should they?" he growled at the boy.
To Joffrey's credit he looked confused, and to Tyrion's surprise he turned to him, "What would you have me do?" he asked.
"Lead them," Tyrion gave his advice. Get down there and lead your people against the invaders that want to kill them."
Joffrey turned to Lancel, "What did my mother say exactly?" he asked. "Did she have urgent business with me?"
"She did not say, Your Grace," Lancel told him, inclining his head and refusing to make eye contact with Tyrion as he glared at him.
Tyrion turned to stare at his nephew and willed him to make the right decision. Joffrey sighed and turned toward his guards, "Ser Osmund, Ser Mandon, stay with my uncle and represent the king on the field of battle," he ordered and then with one ashamed look at Tyrion he brushed past him and walked through the courtyard, Ser Meryn and Ser Lancel following behind him.
Tyrion watched as the soldiers in the yard turned to see their King leave. They were afraid now and felt as though their King had abandoned them. Pod approached him, carrying his helm in his hands, his eyebrows knit together.
"I'll lead the attack," Tyrion announced, quietly to himself. He paused for a moment, second guessing the words that had slipped off his tongue. But he knew they were the right ones. The next time he spoke it was louder, more sure of himself. "I will lead the attack," he yelled to the men around him. "Pod, my helm," he ordered, reaching out for it before he turned to Ser Mandon. "Ser Mandon, you will bear the king's banner. Men form up!"
No one seemed to listen to him, some even laughed before they turned from the gate to move further into the city after their King, ready to turn tail and hide. "They say I am half a man," Tyrion yelled out at them. "But then, what does that make the lot of you?"
That shamed them enough to turn around and look at him. A handful of men formed a line. Then a knight, mounted and helmetless. A few sellswords after him. Then some more. His force was growing before his very eyes. He had them trapped, if the dwarf fought they had to as well.
"You won't hear me shout Joffrey's name," he yelled to them. "And you will not hear me yell for Casterly Rock either. Don't fight for your king! And don't fight for his kingdoms! Don't fight for honor! Don't fight for glory! Don't fight for riches because you won't get any! But this is your city Stannis means to sack. And it's your gate he's ramming. And if he gets in it's your houses he burns. Your gold he steals. And your women he will rape. Those are brave men knocking at our door, let's go kill them!"
They cheered then, and when he mounted his horse and began to ride toward the gate, he felt them as much as he heard them behind him.
-.-.-.-.-
Sansa
The torches bathed the Queen's Ballroom in silver light and musicians played as the second course was brought out to the women, a salad of apples, nuts, and raisons. It might have all made for a delicious meal and a pleasant evening at any other time if it weren't for the fact that the food was also flavored with fear. Sansa was not the only one who did not seem to have an appetite. Shae barely ate at her table below the dais, Tommen ate a few bites before he pushed his plate away from him, and one young girl - a new bride to one of the knights wept uncontrollably.
Cersei had the Maester bring her, and any other woman who cried, some dream wine and put her to bed. "Tears," she had sneered to Sansa as she drank another sip of wine. "The woman's weapon, my Lady Mother used to call them. The man's weapon is a sword. And that tells us all you need to know, doesn't it?"
The queen was drinking a lot that evening, Sansa noted, though it made her look prettier, her cheeks coloring more with each glass. "Men must be very brave, though," Sansa told her. "To ride out and face swords and axes, everyone trying to kill you ..."
"Jaime told me once that he only feels truly alive in battle and in bed," Cersei confessed as Sansa stared at her, the queen was more drunk than she thought. The entire reason the kingdoms were at war was because Stannis believed that Jaime had been in the queen's bed. And now she was talking about it. Cersei lifted her cup and took a long swallow, "I would sooner face any number of swords than sit helpless like this," she told Sansa, shaking her head, "pretending to enjoy the company of this flock of frightened hens."
"You asked them here, Your Grace," Sansa reminded her.
"Because it was expected of me," Cersei bit out. "And it will be expected of you should you ever wed Joffrey." She took another sip of her wine. "Do you know what they're calling my daughter?" she asked.
A bastard, was on the tip of her tongue, thinking of Myrcella, but Sansa was not stupid enough to say it. "No, Your Grace," she said instead.
"Lenora, the Black Lioness, that's what they call her. They say that she's a Warrior Queen, that your brother has asked her to ride beside him, to fight beside him. They say that the most inspiring part of your brother's storming of the Crag was watching Lenora tear her way through several Westerling archers. My daughter doesn't use tears, my daughter uses a sword. Jaime did her a favor when he put one in her hand. And your brother did her a favor when he gave her the freedom to use it. If she were here she would never find herself locked in this holdfast with these crying hens. She would be out there, inspiring the men. Leading them. Fighting with them."
And yet, your ordered Ser Lancel to bring Joffrey back to the Red Keep, Sansa thought. Joffrey could have inspired the men too.
Cersei turned away from her, holding her glass out for more wine. Once it had been refilled she turned back to Sansa, "Of themselves, the hens are nothing," she told her, nodding toward the women in front of them. "But their cocks are important for one reason or another, and some may survive this battle. So it behooves me to give their women my protection. If my wretched dwarf brother should somehow manage to prevail, they will return to their husbands and fathers and brothers full of tales about how brave I was, how my courage inspired them and lifted their spirits, how I never doubted our victory even for a moment."
"And if the castle should fall?" Sansa asked. Cersei had alluded to what happened when a city was sacked, but she had not told Sansa anything. She wanted to know what would happen.
Cersei turned to her, "You'd like that wouldn't you," she accused her, a smirk on her lips. "If I'm not betrayed by my own guards, I may be able to hold here for a time. Then I can go to the walls and offer to yield to Lord Stannis in person. That will spare us the worst. But if Maegor's Holdfast should fall before Stannis can come up, why then, most of my guests are in for a bit of a rape, I'd say. And you should never rule out mutilation, torture, and murder at times like these."
Sansa gasped, she had not expected that. She turned wide eyes on the queen beside her, "But these are women, unarmed, and gently born."
Cersei nodded, "Their birth protects them," she admitted. "Though not as much as you might think. Each one's worth a good ransom, but when a man's blood is up anything with tits looks good." She nodded down toward Sansa's belly, "You will be glad of your red flower then," she told her. "A precious little thing like you will look very, very good. A slice of cake just waiting to be eaten."
She took another sip of wine and turned toward one of the curtained windows. "Were it anyone else outside the gates, I might hope to beguile him. But this is Stannis Baratheon. I'd have a better chance of seducing his horse." She laughed at the shocked look on Sansa's face. "Have I shocked you, My Lady?" she asked, teasing. "You little fool. Tears are not a woman's only weapon. You've got another one between your legs, and you'd best learn to use it."
Sansa took a long sip of wine, thankfully spared from answering when a runner from the battle arrived to give the queen more news of what was going on in the city. When he left Cersei had moved on to other subjects.
"When we were little," she started, finishing another glass of wine and holding it out to be refilled. "Jaime and I were so much alike that even our Lord Father could not tell us apart. Sometimes as a lark we would dress in each other's clothes and spend whole day each as the other. Yet even so, when Jaime was given his first sword, there was none for me. I wanted one too. We were so much alike that I could not understand why they treated us so differently. Jaime was taught to fight with sword and lance and mace and I was taught to smile and sing and please. Jaime was heir to Casterly Rock while I was sold to a stranger like a horse, to be ridden whenever he liked, beaten whenever he liked, and cast aside in time for a younger filly. Jaime's lot was to be glory and power, while mine was birth and moonblood."
She drank more wine and shook her head, "Yet another thing that Jaime managed for Lenora that he never managed for me," she told Sansa, almost bitterly. "My daughter may have married your brother, but if she goes to his bed it will be willingly. He will never force himself on her."
Sansa stared at her, surprised. "You were Robert's Queen," she told her, trying to understand why Cersei misliked that so much.
Cersei held her hands out to the sides and inclined her head, "And you will be Joffrey's," she sneered, lifting her wine glass to her lips. "Enjoy."
She was quiet for a minute, her eyes looking over the women in front of them. They landed on Ser Ilyn Payne and a smirk made its way onto her lips, "When you asked about Ser Ilyn earlier, I lied to you. Would you like to know the truth, Sansa? Would you truly like to know why he is here?" She waited for a moment before she whispered, "He's here for us. Stannis may take the city and he may take the throne, but I will not suffer him to judge me. I do not mean for him to have us alive."
"Us?" Sansa asked, wondering why the queen included her.
"You heard me," Cersei told her with a nod. "So perhaps you should pray some new prayers, Sweetling. The Starks will have no joy from the fall of House Lannister, I promise you that." Then she reached out, and under the pretense of brushing some of Sansa's hair back from her face, the queen's cold fingers brushed against her neck, just where Ser Ilyn's blade would strike if Stannis sacked the city and the headsman came for her.
Author's Note:
No Robb and Lenora in this chapter, but I didn't want there to be any. I was really excited about the Battle of the Blackwater. And I hope you guys were too.
If you enjoyed it there will be more in the next chapter (But Robb and Lenora will be there too!).
Anyway, if you liked this chapter do me a solid and go write a little review in that lovely empty box down there. I love hearing from you guys. Seriously, I do. It's like magic that makes me excited to update again.
RHatch89: I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you liked this chapter as well. Don't worry ... I'm also rooting for Robb and Lenora.
Viesc: Hello! Welcome friend! I'm so glad that you found this story and that you're enjoying it. And I'm really glad that you caught up. We're at like 250,000 words at the moment so that's pretty awesome to read in a week! Thank you for stopping by and reviewing!
Thank you for telling me that you didn't get an update email. I was wondering why like no one reviewed on the last chapter at first. I think it might have something to do with why it didn't publish the first time I tried. Maybe fanfiction is glitching a bit. Though if that's the case they really should fix it.
Stannisfan: Thank you for your constructive criticism. I'm glad that I'm glad that the style and the descriptions work for you. I know that so far the story has stuck very close to cannon and that was intentional. This is my first GoT story and I was a little nervous when I started it so I wanted to stick close to what I knew. That being said, I didn't just write 250,000 words for the sake of adding another character in there. Lenora is going to change things quite a bit and she's going to do it pretty soon.
Hopefully you stick around for it!
That's all I've got for now.
Did anyone see the Cavs game last night? This Cleveland girl's heart was full. (Even more full when my husband surprised me with tickets to Sunday afternoon's game. I fly up on Saturday night, see the game with my dad on Sunday, and fly home late Sunday night for work on Monday. It's going to make Monday a pain in the ass, but it'll be worth it.)
See you here tomorrow?
Chloe Jane.