Chapter 16 Capitulation

Boom, boom, boom, the ram went.

'Hold fast!' Hallis Mollen, commander of the Stark Household Guard roared to his men, sword in hand. The Lannisters were going at the doors of the Great Keep with a ram.

Clouds of sawdust rose from the groaning doors. Planks splintered before the force of the attackers. Suddenly with a great roar, the doors gave away, as the Lannisters charged in.

They poured into the Great Hall in a tide of iron, the gates blasting open with a gust of cold wind. Several were ahorse, but most were dismounted for indoors combat. 'Fire!' He roared. Stark soldiers on the second story opened fire towards the Lannisters in lower levels, firing on them from all directions, turning the hall into a killing-yard of sorts. The soldiers screamed as they were gunned down by bolts raining down at them.

Several Lannisters made a dash for the staircases, charging up sword in hand, as a line of Stark defenders fought them back on the high ground. A sea of enemies swarmed up towards them, engulfing the thin line of Stark spearmen, charging out of the hall onto the second floor, where most of the defenders were.

The defenders stood side by side and formed a crude shield wall. The Lannisters crashed into them, struggling to gain ground but unable to advance beyond the line of men. But with sheer force they pushed them back several feet. One Lannister made a suicide charge and crashed into their lines, instantly being impaled on a spear but sending two men reeling, breaking a gap through their lines. The others seized the opportunity and poured through.

The Lannisters both outnumbered them and were better armed. Soon the woolen carped was soaked with Northern blood. They would only die if they held fast.

'Abandon positions!' He screamed to his men, deciding to retreat to the nearby Broken Tower.

There was a long wooden bridge connecting the two towers at the third story, he chose to retreat over there. The pavement below was swarming with Lannister horses.

As they retreated across the bridge between the Broken Tower and the Great Keep, Hal turned and saw Ser Daven Lannister, easily recognizable with his fierce golden mane had scaled the roof of the Keep. With a savage hack of his battle-axe Lannister cut off the Stark standard atop the keep and planted down the Lannister flag he had on his back. The golden lion roared over Winterfell.

'Hear me roar!' He could hear Lannister bellowing atop the roof. Crowds of enemy soldiers cheered in the occupied yard below. Hal wished bitterly he had a crossbow.

Ser Jaime Lannister was riding through the lane below, sword in hand, charging down a small group of Northmen. A horde of Lannisters kicked open the entrance to the Bridgeway and charged at them. After a confused fight, the six Lannisters or so that had chased them through the Keep were all slew, their bodies flung off the bridge to crash into the pavement below.

Hal glanced at his remaining companions. Only fifteen or so remained, of the score of guards in the Great Keep, bloody and bruised to a man. 'We head for the bunkers,' he commanded, 'Ser Brynden must be reported of the situation.'

The walk to the bunkers was not an easy one. He knew Winterfell as well as any Northman but the ways through the ruins were tricky and perilous. They climbed down the Broken Tower's ruined staircase, slaying several Lannisters they had chanced to meet upon along the way. Crows circled the high tower, screaming 'corn, corn, corn.'

Every street was a battlefield, every building a stronghold. Small catapults and scorpions had been erected by Lannisters, bombarding the sections under Stark control constantly. Lannister cavalry roared through the streets in huge hordes, riding down any defenders chance met.

Around the entrance of the bunker a heavy battle was raging on. The bunker's entrance was a small gardened yard well hidden amidst the stone forest of Winterfell, with only one archway under the inner wall allowing entrance. The iron portcullis had been destroyed. There was a line of defense there, built of sacks of stone and sand and corpses, poorly manned, withstanding charge after charge of Lannisters. They hastily raised a gap to allow Hal and his men to pass.

'Where are the backups!' Hal screamed to their leader once they scrambled into safety.

'No backups! We're the last ones!' The commander of the defenses, a portly knight shouted back, raising his voice to make himself heard over the rumble of the battle. 'The rest are either dead or yielded.' He pointed at the further end of the pavement outside, a small band of ragged men. 'Those, they used to be mine, chose to yield. Bloody bastards.'

When Hal arrived at the entrance the doors hastily swung open allowing them to enter. 'The bunker's under attack,' Hal informed the guards within, 'bar the gates.'

After said he strode down the staircase into the bunker complex. It was almost entirely empty, save for a few Riverlords who had chosen to remain in the subterranean safety. He saw Lord Edmure Tully, and Lord Mallister, and Ser Brynden Tully. They all sat silent in the war conference room, waiting for the last.

'My Lord, Commander Hal Mollen has come with his divisions,' the Blackfish's squire Olyvar Frey whispered to him.

The Blackfish rose and greeted him. Hal saluted.

'How many men have died outside, Commander Mollen?' Tully asked him.

Hal did not expect that question. 'At least three thousand today.'

Tully nodded gravely. 'I'll have no more further need of you, Hallis Mollen.' Ser Brynden Tully smiled sadly. 'The game is over.' He was wearing a set of fine black armour, a longsword on his belt.

'My Lord…' Hallis Mollen made to say something, but was halted.

'I will have no more brave blood shed at my command.' The Blackfish strided away, towards his own modest chambers in the bunker. Olyvar Frey, previous squire of Robb followed him.

'What do we do now?' Fat Tom, one of the older guards asked him.

'Go deeper into the bunker. We make a last stand for the North.' Hal commanded to his men. Fat Tom, Poxy Tym and the dozen more companions followed him through a doorway, down a winding staircase into a series of deep dark corridors a hundred feet beneath the castle. That place was as fine a place to die as any, Hal supposed. And the corridor had a good defensive position. He could bring down twice his number of Lannisters.

The corridors were deep and sweltering, only poorly furnished, an occasional lamp burning here or there, giving a dull yellow light. He and his men winded through the walkways, all silent.

Somewhere around the dark walkways beneath the castle they saw Lord Flint, him too with a small band of resistance. Two dozen, maybe, Hal estimated, but only twenty or so fit enough to fight. They wore battered armour, held broken spears and bloody swords, covered with dust and gore. They had torches, a pool of light in this dull darkness. 'Lord Flint!' Hal saluted him, so did his men. 'Hallis Mollen, Commander of the Royal Household Guard.'

Flint returned the salute. Flint was short and lithe, with a sharp grey beard and sharper grey eyes. 'Commander Mollen. My divisions were fighting around the Glass Gardens. The Lannisters overwhelmed us with a mass cavalry charge. We are the sole survivors of that section.'

'We were fighting in the Great Keep. A dozen remain of the score of defenders. The Lannisters stormed the keep, and that damn Ser Daven planted their bloody lion standard above the roof.'

'In the Lannister opinion, the Great Keep is the symbol of the Northern power, similar to their Red Keep. It is not surprising the Lannister would concentrate their forces to storm the place.' Lord Flint savagely kicked away a rat chewing at his boot. 'How is the situation above?'

Hal grimaced. 'Not good. The Lannisters have slew all the men outside the doors. It's only a matter of time before they storm the bunker. Some of the guards outside were yielding.'

'Yielding?' Flint said, aghast, as if he did not understand what he was saying.

'Aye, some yielded. The Lannisters were evacuating those who surrendered outside. Only a handful of guards remain there now, against a sea of Lannisters.'

'If the door gives away the bunker complex will not last an hour.'

'Aye.' Hal agreed. 'What do we do?'

Lord Flint was sitting on a low table. He stood up. 'I'll need to ask your opinion about this,' he demanded to the soldiers,' what do you say we do? Do we yield as some do, or fight?'

'We fight!' Poxy Tym shouted. 'We cannot yield unconditionally. That would be shameful.'

'What are you suggesting?' asked Lord Flint.

'We all stay here together, and wait for the Lannisters to come. Then we fight with everything we've got, fight to the last man and bring down as many damn Lannisters as we can.'

'Is this the only alternative?' Lord Flint asked. 'Would you all choose death over life?'

'You can do what you want, My Lord, but we are of the Stark Household Guard. We all swore an oath to the Young Wolf and his father before him. It is rightful we should accompany him to death.'

'If anyone agrees with him, raise your hand.' Lord Flint looked around.

Fat Tom rose his hand. So did all of Lord Flint's men, Lync Rivers, Sam, Daymon, Fred, and many others. Hal rose his hand. After some pause, Lord Flint raised his hand also.

'Very fine then.' Lord Flint shook his head. 'We stay here and fight.'

The time went by slowly, as they waited alone in the darkness. The place was dark, but it was a fine place to make a last stand, he thought. They chose a small damp dead end down in the bunkers, deep down Winterfell and sweltering hot. His soldiers were steaming with sweat under their furs, but all held to their swords, waiting for their last fight. Above them they could hear screaming and shouting, iron clashing on iron as the Lannister soldiers attacked the bunker. They could hear their footsteps from above. They were all waiting for the Lannisters to come.

Some were lying on the rough chairs set on the sides of the corridors, trying to get some rest before the last fight. Hal was pacing restlessly across the walkway. He slowly counted his heartbeats, trying to make the time passing a bit faster.

'Commander Mollen. Can you honor me with a talk?' Lord Flint called to him, gesturing at two small chairs at one corner.

'I would be honored.' Hal went over and sat down.

Lord Flint sat down, groaning slightly. That was when Hal noticed the Lord had a wound on his calf. 'Some Lannister got me with a spear. I've grown old and careless.'

Hal sat down. 'I have a small bottle of Myrish Fire,' he offered, 'you ought to care your wound.'

Lord Flint managed a hard smile. 'I will die today, one more unhealed wound makes no difference.'

He wished he had Flint's courage before the face of death. He said so to Flint.

'I fear… I have no alternative other than death.' Flint reached for a small glass bottle in his belt. 'His Grace gave this to me the day before he killed himself. Sweetsleep. He commanded me to commit suicide if the war was lost, or if I was took captive by the Lannisters.'

Hal was both horrified and envious. He wished he had some Sweetsleep too. 'I…'

Before he could find a reply, a shout broke their conversation. 'They're coming!' Someone shouted.

Flint and Hal both rose and unsheathed their swords, so did the rest of the small band of soldiers. He could hear them, he could hear footsteps winding down the staircase towards them. But he only heard one set of footsteps. Who was coming?

When the source of the footsteps appeared, the saw it was no Lannister. It was Olyvar Frey, one-time squire to Robb Stark. He held a white sheet of cloth in one hand.

'Hold your fire! I fight for the North.' Olyvar entered with both hands raised. Slowly, the defenders sheathed their swords. Olyvar looked pale and one the verge of collapsing.

'The Lord Protector Brynden Tully has just declared total capitulation of the kingdom,' said Frey. 'He… he has committed suicide. But before his death he commanded all defenders of Winterfell to lay down arms and yield to the Lannisters.'

Hal looked at Olyvar incredulously. He could not believe it. They had surrendered?

'It is over now. The war is lost.' Olyvar Frey said slowly.

Olyvar Frey's lips were still moving, but Hallis Mollen did not care what he said next. His King was gone, his Country was gone, his family was gone. All was lost.

Behind him, he heard Lord Flint gulp down something and collapse instantly. Several more thumps followed, as several more soldiers shoved their daggers into their chests.

'Gods forgive me,' Hal whispered, as he drove his sword right into his heart.