Chapter 13 The Last Fightback

Ser Garlan Flowers decided he liked the North.

Other than battle this icy cold land had given him some more earthly entertainments. He gazed at the whore before him, still refusing to believe he had the luck to find such a woman.

Her name was Sarra, a young woman of twenty years or so, the same age as he was. She was short and delicate, with fine features and honey-blonde hair. She was one of the few captives they had took from Winter Town. Garlan had claimed her as a prize of war.

He had taken her a few times. She was good.

'Milord seems troubled,' Sarra whispered to him. 'I have a fine treatment for that.'

Garlan grinned. 'I hope it's a long treatment.'

'That would depend on milord.' She smiled and slowly began to unlace his breeches.

'Sorry, My Lord, but Ser Garlan is…' he heard noises outside his tent.

'I'll show myself in,' he heard the gruff voice of Randyll Tarly answer.

Gods be good, not now… he groaned as Tarly entered. 'You could've came at a better time, Lord Tarly,' he complained as Lord Randyll strided into the tent with a gust of cold wind.

Tarly looked at Sarra, one eyebrow risen as if slightly amused. 'I was not aware you had company, Ser.' He turned to Sarra. 'Pray leave at once, My Lady.'

Sarra fled the tent, garbing herself as she went. Garlan watched her fine legs longingly.

The second she left, Tarly scowled. 'She could've been a Stark assassin, you know.'

'She slayed me well.' Garlan stretched himself. 'I had nothing to do. War is surprisingly boring.'

'You could've read.' Said Tarly, 'or anything that does not require Northmen.'

'You may enjoy to read, My Lord, but I enjoy more… earthly means to pass time.' Garlan yawned. He was aching for Sarra. 'I hope you have a good reason to come, My Lord.'

'Aye, I do. We're beginning the storming early. Three hours later.'

'What time is it? I lost track.' Sarra had a talent of making him do so.

'An hour past midnight.'

'Why are we launching an attack so soon?'

'The Kingslayer is driving in for Winterfell. We had too long of a delay waiting for Rowan. We need to take the castle now if we wish to win the race.'

'And what part do I play in the storming?'

'Tomorrow at first light you will lead our vanguard to charge into Winterfell. The Northmen seemed to have hastily filled in the damage our catapults inflicted their walls. They have used sacks of soil and gravel, even corpses,' said Tarly.

'Then how are we supposed to get through?' Garlan demanded.

'I trust you have noticed that we have several small leather sacks in the baggage train.'

'Aye. You specifically said those had to be taken extra care.'

'And they well should. Inside those sacks are Myrish Saltpetre. Ammonium Nitrate, the Maesters call it. An extremely rare substance, even across the Narrow Sea these come at a high price. Thankfully Mace Tyrell was feeling generous. Those things are like solid wildfire, except ten times more dangerous. They'll blast open at a heavy impact, destroying everything around it.' Randyll Tarly seemed rather pleased of himself. 'They couldn't blast through six foot of solid stone, but more than sufficient to clear a loose rabble of gravel and soil.'

'So… if we threw them to the walls of Winterfell, they would blast them open?'

'The South Gate has been bombarded for a day now, they would be shattered by the explosion.'

'And we could just… charge right through?' It seemed too simple for a siege.

'Of course. But take note to let your strongest men throw them. These things will not explode unless at a very hard impact.'

Garlan nodded. Tarly seemed pleased. 'Tomorrow at first light we shall storm Winterfell, before the Lannisters come. We're the victors of The Race now.'

Garlan was pleased as well. He loved his half-brother Loras, and was glad he had the honor of winning a beautiful young bride for him. He prepared eagerly and the time flew past.

He gathered his men three hours later. Two thousand horse belonging to the houses Tarly and Costayne. The grand citadel of Winterfell stood ahead of them, the south gate battered by the thousands of stones flung by their catapults but still dark and formidable. They stood at some distance from the gates, for the defenders were flinging stones at them.

He had commanded for his men to arm-wrestle with each other and choose three victors. The winners were three huge men. One was a brute, one a bully, one a bastard.

He opened the leather sacks from the baggage train and commanded each of the three to pick out one chunk of the Saltpetre. They were white, as large as his fist and the surface rough to make sure it would not slip out of hand. The three men each took one. At his command they flung them at Winterfell with all their strength behind at his command. The three small white rocks disappeared into the distance, and for an instant Garlan worried they did not reach the walls, or failed to explode.

Suddenly, a huge, deafening noise roared through the autumn air like some great dying beast, as a cascade of black smoke rose towards the skies. When the smoke cleared, a huge crater appeared in the wall, stone crumbling like stale cake. Northmen swarmed across the crater like ants, hurriedly repairing the damage with more stones and sacks and even corpses.

'Again!' Garlan commanded to the three men. They grabbed three more chunks of the Saltpetre. Three more black flowers bloomed on the walls of Winterfell, bringing down many Northmen as well, the strong current blasting men off the battlements. No more stones were thrown at them, due to the defenders all being dead. Another was fired, than another, until a gap large enough was blasted. Smoke and rubble bloomed through the sky like a deadly black flower, as stones blasted into pebbles and gravel rained on both the defenders and attackers.

'This is so much better than Wildfire,' commented Dickon Tarly at his side.

'And the Lannisters still think they're so invincible with that green piss,' said Ser Hyle.

Once the outer wall collapsed, the inner one did not last longer than its twin. Garlan called for a charge of his army. He was the first one over the blasted wall. 'Highgarden!' he roared, his sword unsheathed for all to see. 'For Highgarden!' His men cheered, streaming over the rubble, a sea of bright shining armour. Right inside Winterfell's gate was a long stone pavement leading to the yard, with tall buildings to either side. A few of them were destroyed by the explosions, but most were intact. He was not surprised to discover the Starks had fortified several of the buildings and garrisoned them with crossbowmen. He had lost a great deal of men in Winter Town's house-to-house fighting, so he simply commanded for the houses to be burned down.

The people of Winterfell fought hard, that must be admitted. Men bursted out of thin crooks and hidden doors to assault them, and in every piece of high ground bowmen were stationed. The battle was thick and confused. A knight was dragged down his horse screaming by a group of children and brutally stabbed to death. The Starks had set up long lines of chains and caltrops to stop their horses, and many of the defenders were armed with long spears.

Garlan decided for a headlong charge. Right now his army had the superiority of arms, and he decided to use that superiority to its full extent. A quick charge would break through their defenses fairly quickly, and allow the street to be freed for more men to enter the city.

There was somewhat of a defensive moat at the southern entrance to the yard, a collapsed portion of the bunkers below Winterfell that filled in with melted snow. There was a thin layer of ice on it, too perilous to pass. They took planks from the buildings beside to form some sort of a crude bridge across, as men crossed the thin moat. The moat wasn't of much use, but it certainly slowed them down. But that did not stop them entering the yard.

The Yard of Winterfell was the primary target of the storming except for the Great Keep itself. From the yard there were straight passways leading directly to the bunkers, the Godswood and most of Winterfell, both giving themselves advantage and preventing the Stark forces around the castle to aid each other. They expected heavy resistance storming the yard.

There wasn't any.

All the resistance they had met in the entrance seemed to have dissolved to mist. There was none in the yard defending, no one in the buildings beside firing at them. Had the Northmen deserted Robb Stark to a man? That seemed unlikely.

Something was wrong here, he thought. 'Fan out,' he commanded to his men, 'beware of an ambush.' He was almost expecting an ambush. He had men stationed in the street, if Robb Stark tried to attack from their rear he would pay dearly.

Come here, Robb Stark, and I'll give you a second Duskendale.

Suddenly with a groan something collapsed. He jerked his head back and saw a building behind them just collapsed, blocking the entrance to the South Gate with a mess of logs and planks. Several men and horses were crushed beneath. Garlan, and 1000 soldiers or so were trapped in the yard, cut off from all backups. Almost in an instant men popped up on the buildings all around, firing at them from above, turning the place into a killing yard.

'It's a trap!' he screamed. Dickon Tarly was still in here with him. He did not care if he himself died here, deep down he actually slightly wished to die so he could gain honor and glory a bastard could never imagine, but he could not allow Dickon Tarly, a boy and the last of Randyll Tarly's line to die. 'Find cover and send men to clear a breach through the ruins! Take those buildings!'

He never imagined Robb Stark would cut him off from his backups. He reined up his horse and charged towards the collapsed buildings. He could hear his men trying to clear out the rubble blocking them on the other side. He looked at the size of the collapsed building and despaired. They would need a ram to clear out that mess on time.

Bolts rained on them from all sides. How on earth could the Northmen still have enough recourses to attack us? He wondered, the Northmen didn't have any damn arrows! Until he saw one of the arrows lodged in a wooden pillar beside him: it was fletched with white goose feathers, only men of the Reach used such arrows. These bastards were using his own arrows he fired at them against him. He could not help but admire Stark a little more.

One of said arrows caught Ser Tommen Costayne right in his throat. Costayne gurgled and collapsed from his horse, which did not survive its master much longer. His men had managed to seize one or two of the buildings, but there were still men firing at them from other buildings.

Suddenly, a small postern gate his men were hammering at smashed open, from the inside. From within Robb Stark, the King in the North strode out himself, gaunter and paler than last time Garlan saw him but as fierce as he ever was. Beside his heels strode his wolf Grey Wind, a dark shadow at his side. Five hundred infantry followed him with heavy shields and long spears.

'Damn this man to the seven hells.' Garlan muttered. Robb Stark had caught him unawares.

They advanced into the yard. His men charged at them on horse but their horses neighed and reared before Grey Wind and refused to charge. Ser Hyle Hunt was flung off his horse but charged at Robb Stark on foot, sword in hand. Stark disarmed him after a quick flurry, kicking Ser Hyle to the floor. Grey Wind tore his throat out. The infantry behind him advanced in united formation. They seemed to be Boltons. Their chivalry wavered before their long spears.

Why are all my enemies always so brilliant? Garlan groaned to himself. He didn't dare use the Saltpetre any more. Using Saltpetre would kill Stark but would also bring down his own men.

A confused battle raged on in the yard, as the Stark soldiers closed in from west, north and east. 'Fall back to the buildings!' Garlan commanded. Dickon and he, along with a dozen men or so retreated to a stout two-story stone building. He had the doors barred, left two men to guard and dashed for the second story to have a clear view of the battle.

The Starks were having obvious advantage in the yard now. Robb Stark himself has just skewered two men with his sword. The graveled ground was red with blood. A trapped wolf is the most dangerous, he remembered his grandmother Olenna was fond of saying. That certainly was true. He glanced at the south. He could not see the rubble blocking their way but obviously his men had failed to make a breach. Right now he was hoping some would inform Randyll Tarly of their position and he would send in more backups.

Suddenly, a crunching sound filled his ears. He thought the Starks were hammering at his door, but the sound was coming from the south. Obviously someone was going at the rubble with a ram. But Tarly didn't bring rams, thought Garlan. Did Robb Stark send a second host and re-captured the gates?

But, to his joy, it was not. With a large sound the rubble collapsed, and from the other side emerged a large ram, a large mass of horse and Tyrion Lannister, a small man with a large axe, his brother the Kingslayer at his side. Never before had Garlan felt so pleased to see Lannisters. His men catched Stark unawares, and swept through the yard. The Northmen fell back.

'STAND AND FIGHT, you cowards!' he heard Stark roar. 'Stand and fight! This is our last chance to fight back!' But no, his man would not listen to him. Two spearmen grabbed Robb Stark and pulled him back to safety behind a trench before the Lannisters could get him, him roaring and cursing.

'You'll pay for this!' Robb Stark was shrieking as he was dragged away into safety, 'you traitors will pay with your own blood! I am the king! I command you to fight! Fight those damn Lannisters! Arrow them out!'

The last of the Stark men fled deeper into Winterfell, as the crimson sea of Lannisters roared into the formidable citadel.