Robert
The trumpets made a brazen blare, and cut the still blue air of dusk. Gendry was on his feet at once, scrambling for his hammer and dagger.
The boy has good instincts. Maybe he has not made a mistake by bringing him to war like he thought he was. His wife would tell him otherwise. The way she objected to his intent, he had thought that she was sure that he was taking the boy away from her to kill him. Even the boy's own wife hadn't objected as much. Jon's daughter sent Gendry away with a long hug and a longer kiss. "Enemies in cover don't blow trumpets to herald their arrival," Robert told him. "You don't need your weapon now. That'll be our allies"
The riders were dismounting when he emerged from his tent; half a dozen knights, and twoscore mounted archers and men-at-arms. "Lord Robert," said a tall man clad in a blue mailcoat and a fox-fur cloak. "Hope we are not so late."
"Not at all," Robert said. Lord Selwyn Tarth climbed down his horse and took off his helm. The tangled yellow thicket atop his head was matted down by the helm he was removing. His cheeks were smooth and clear, clean shaven like Robert had once been long before when Ned was still alive. Below the long, yellow eyebrows a pair of lively blue eyes as clear as sapphires watched the camp surrounding him closely. "Did you have any trouble on your way?"
"Nothing but the usual." For a man who looked so tall and hard, Selwyn Tarth sounded oddly gentle. Even his gaze was gentle. "The sea was a bit rough as it is always in autumn." He handed his helm to a squire and pushed his fingers through his hair where the weight of the steel had crushed it down. "But nothing that we haven't seen before." He clasped Robert by the arms. Behind him was a knight is blue steel armor, a bit taller than Robert himself. His steel was a deep cobalt, his mount barded in the quartered sun-and-moon heraldry of House Tarth. The Evenstar took a step back and bid the knight come closer. "My lord, my daughter, Brienne."
The knight in the blue armor took her helm off and bowed her head. "Lord Robert," she said, her broad homely face showing no emotions. The hair beneath the helm was a squirrel's nest of dirty straw. Robert nodded. A big strong woman to look at her, dressed in mail and plate and wears longsword and dagger, he had not expected to see someone like her there. So this is the girl, Renly spoke so much of. A thousand freckles speckled her cheeks and brow, and her nose had been broken more than once. Back when Robert had been in the Eyrie with Jon and Ned, a singer had once told them that all maids looked lovely in silks. He pictured her in one of Cersei's silken gowns in place of her blue steel armor but somehow she looked awkward in that unlike the armor. The woman seemed more comfortable in her armor than he thought she would. Robert watched her eyes. Pretty eyes, he thought, and calm. He could hear the murmuring of the men all around him.
"Well met, Lady Brienne," he replied, his voice carrying over the camp. He could see that calling her a lady was making her uncomfortable. "My brother spoke of your skill and valor."
He never knew if what Renly spoke of her was true or not, but to wear a armor and carry a sword against men that act itself deserved respect. Looking at the woman, Robert idly remembered his own daughter. Argella might've worn a sword if Cersei was not so deadbeat on taking it away from her. But even as a girl his daughter preferred her bow over swords or other heavy weapon. He was sure that she would like this Lady Tarth without a doubt. Where other women might look down upon Brienne for her lack of beauty, Robert could not think of a reason why his daughter might do so. She might not, he thought, not his daughter, not the girl who begged him so hard to knight her and passed her knightly trials by clearing all the crabapples from the biggest tree in his woods with her arrows before any his harvesters could clear off the other smaller trees with each tree serviced by four of them. She is likely to ride with Brienne and take that road for her life.
By then his lords had all come from their tents. All greeted Lord Selwyn with a smile but most of them only had scowls and glares for his daughter but none dared to say anything about the matter when their lord himself had welcomed her to their camp. "Lets go inside," he said. "We need to talk."
Inside the brazier was already lit and the cook was mulling wine for them, stirring the kettle with a spoon. "I need to know what I can expect to find at Griffin's Roost," Robert asked.
Guyard Morrigan shrugged. It was him who held the command here before Robert relieved him of it. "Connington has sent the letters all throughout our lands. It is the Hand's doing. He hoped that we would answer his call to come against you. Our scouts say that Ronald sits inside the castle, probably has a good host around him." Robert seated himself upon a camp stool and his lords followed him. "He must have no idea that we've camped up here. If we attacked them by the night we can take them unawares."
"Is that wine hot yet?" Robert asked the cook.
"Yes, m'lord." The cook replied and served the wine on a golden platter, another one of Cersei's bloody things in my warcamp. Damn that woman. Robert pulled off his gloves and took a cup. The platter circled the tent and when everyone had taken one it returned back. Gendry denied his cup and the one was returned by the cook.
Robert lifted his own cup and took a swallow. The warmth spread through his chest. "And Jon Connington?"
"The lord Hand is enjoying the privelages of being the Hand of the King more than he does as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands," said Lord Ralph Buckler. "He is too busy doing his grace's work that he could not even come home to gather his army."
"More like he is afraid to do so," Bryce Caron replied.
"Ronald is not as stern as Jon Connington," said Lord Fell. "Why don't we try to treat with him?"
"Ah, it'll be a waste of time," replied Lord Gulian Swann. "Ronald Connington has barred the gates ever since word from the north came to him. He'll not yield. He thinks the dragons will come to his rescue if we betrayed him."
"Have you tried to treat with him?" Robert asked.
"Lord Fell did. Rode up to the castle gates under the peace banner and your own standard," Bryce Caron said. "Ronnet Connington appeared on the ramparts long enough to say that he would not waste his words on lesser beings when he has dragons guarding his back."
"Very well, then. I'll treat with them," said Robert. "If that doesn't goes to plan we storm the castle." If he could end this thing as quick as possible, he could march north soon enough.
"You are welcome to try, my lord, but I doubt that words will win the day," Caron said. "We need to storm the castle."
There had been a time, not so long ago, when Robert would doubtless have urged the same course. But he knew he could not sit here for two years to starve the castle out. "Whatever we do needs to be done quickly," he told his lords. "The quicker Connington is dealt with the better so we can march north."
"I cannot waste any time," Robert said. "Tyrell is pushing his army forth to the Riverlands, if he should turn east and block the stormroad for us, we'll get stuck here. And I cannot march north leaving Connington unchecked in my rear. Griffin's Roost must be dealt with before we can march north and it must be done soon."
"Ronnet Connington is the true power holding the Connington army," said Lord Wylde. "We take him and his army down, Griffin's Roost is done with it."
"But we try to take it down without a fight," Robert said. "If that doesn't work, then we'll storm the castle." That put an end to their war council. As soon as they were done with the council, Robert led his army south towards the ancestral seat of the Conningtons.
The last part of their journey to Griffin's Roost was cold and gusty with the smell of rain in the air. The wind rattled amongst the branches in the wide green woods and let the soft murmur of the brooks here and there, clear as a crystal, rode forth along with it. It was late afternoon when they sighted Grifin's Roost. The castle rose from the shores of Cape Wrath, on a lofty crag of dark red stone surrounded on three sides by the surging waters of Shipbreaker Bay. Its only approach was defended by a gatehouse, behind which lay the long bare ridge the Conningtons called the griffin's throat. To force the throat could be a bloody business, since the ridge exposed the attackers to the spears, stones, and arrows of defenders in the two round towers that flanked the castle's main gates.
"Set camps surrounding the castle," Robert said. "No one is to leave."
"Lord Selwyn," he called, "They will try to send out ravens," he told the Evenstar. "Watch the maester's tower. Here." He pointed to the tower on the castle. "Bring down every bird that leaves the castle."
"Aye, my lord," he said.
Their camps surrounded the castle from all three sides, only leaving the shores of Cape Wrath free for any man inside the castle to dare cross the treacherous waters of the narrow sea. Robert split his host into three great camps sealing the castle away from any help through the land.
"My lord," Newt asked, "where do you want your tent?"
"There, upon that rise." He pointed with his right hand. "Baggage there, horse lines there. We'll use the land and woods to our advantage. Noye, inspect our perimeter with an eye for any weaknesses." Robert did not anticipate an attack, but he had not forgotten the dragons as well.
Robert beckoned to Stefon Staedmon. "Shake out a peace banner and bear a message to the castle. Inform Ronald Connington that I would have words with him, as evening falls over his castle today. I will come to his gates and meet him on his gatehouse."
At dusk, when there camp was set around, Silveraxe Fell blew the warhorn to announce their arrival to the castle folk. The sound of the warhorn brought a griffin to the gatehouse but it was not the one Robert has wanted to parley with. It was Ronnet Connington who came to the gatehouse to parley with him not his father Ronald.
His armor was red and polished to a high sheen that it shone in the dying evening light. Robert did not know if he was called as Red Ronnet because of the red armor or the equally bright red hair and beard. Over it he covered himself in a hooded red cloak as he waited in his gatehouse flanked by dozens of archers.
Jon Connington had no love for Robert, he knew that. But this Ronnet or the father in whose place he was here were only holding the castle hoping that the dragons will come and save them. Robert himself brought only his son to treat with Connington while the bulk of the force stood yards behind waiting, knights in their shining armors and a dozen banners flapping hoping to tell Connington that there was no hope.
He drew up a yard from the gatehouse, and looked up to Connington. "Lord Robert," said Red Ronnet.
"Ser Ronnet," he responded politely.
"I assume you have come to honor your duty to House Connington," Ronnet said. "As I recall, you and those men you've brought with you were the vassals of Griffin's Roost."
"I hope not," Robert said. "Trust and oaths mean little more than shit to your king as he proved it in Starfall. Why should I honor them?"
"Pity. Do you wish to betray your king again, my lord? Have you forgotten what happened to your dear friend."
Don't you bring him up, you bastard. "I have not forgotten it and never will I," Robert said. "I intent to say that to your king as well."
"You best make it quick, my lord lest you never get your chance."
Oh, I will get my chance or else I will make mine own. Don't you worry about it. "I came to speak of the loyalty of your castle and father, not of what is mine to the king."
"Why then, you have wasted your time." Beneath his red brows, Connington's eyes were watching for any threats. "My father holds this castle for our cousin, the lord Hand Jon. Our fealties extend to our overlord and House Targaryen unlike those traitors who stand behind you."
You are a bloody fool. The moment that I'm done with you here those dragons will not even pay you a second look. "We don't have to cause any more bloodshed in our own lands," Robert said. "We can prevent our men from dying . . ."
"If we yield our castle to you," Connington gave a sly smile, "if we turned traitors and oathbreakers like those lords who stand with you. If we became a rebel and an outlaw like you and your friend."
Robert did not allow himself to be provoked. "Rhaegar gave me no choice but to choose between a block or the black. I'm giving you a better bargain than you could have hoped for."
Ronnet Connington smiled a sly smile. "You do not lack for gall, my lord. You should have known better than to take up arms against the king if you do not wish to end up like your friend."
I know what choice they gave for Ned, you stupid. "I don't want more bloodshed on my lands. Strike your banners and open your gates and I'll grant your men their lives. If you wish to remain at Griffin's Roost you may do so. I will not have you taking up arms against me or any of mine."
Connington narrowed his eyes. "As much tempting as the offer is, I think I'll pass. When the dragons come sweeping over you, all that would be left of you are char and ash."
Damn the bloody stupid. "There is a quicker way to decide the matter. A single combat. You against me but if you're not brave enough to cross paths with me send me your champion."
"Why would I do that?" Red Ronnet laughed. "I'm here safe behind the walls of my castle. Why should I come out to face you when all I need is to wait for dragon to come and burn you all alive."
"Oh, you don't have to wait that long," Robert reminded him. "If you will not yield the castle, I must storm it. Hundreds will die."
"Hundreds of mine. Thousands of yours. Good luck trying to get past the Griffin's throat," Ronnet said. "You might have twenty times the men I have, my lord. But twenty times the men require twenty times the food. How well are you provisioned, my lord?"
"Well enough to sit here till the end of days if need be, whilst you starve inside your walls." He told the lie as boldly as he could and hoped his face did not betray him. Let him think I'm going to sit here for a siege.
"As you say, my lord," replied Connington. "Our own supplies are ample, though I fear we did not leave much in the fields for visitors."
"So be it," Robert said. "When the sun sets, your castle shall fall." He did not wait for a reply and turned his horse's head about for the long ride back to his camp.
"Should we prepare for the siege father?" asked his son.
"No," Robert said. "I meant it. Griffin's Roost will fall this night and a siege is not going to do that. Assemble a war council. You should get your hammer now."
They gathered quickly. Lord Fell and Grandison and Cafferan and Estermont and Errol and Wylde and Swann and Caron and Tarth and Staedmon and Selmy and Buckler and the others came to his tent at once. Even the lady Brienne accompanied her father in dressed in her blue steel armor.
"Connington will not give up the castle," Robert said. "So we have a castle to win before we can march north. Connington believes that I will sit here forever in siege but I plan to storm the castle."
"Storm the castle at once," urged Lord Bryce Caron. "That will teach him a lesson, it may move the garrison to yield."
"We need some rams and other things." said his grandfather, old lord Estermont, the Lord of Greenstone. "Griffin's Roost is small, but strong."
Gulian Swann inclined his head to look at the map on the table. "We have to storm the walls before they could even know we're there. We have a ram to break the gate, some scaling ladders, take that gate down and Griffin's Roost is ours."
"Storming the walls will be a bloody business," Robert said. "Especially when doing it through the Griffin's Throat. Surprise is our asset here. Connington thinks I'm going to sit and starve him out so he will not expect an attack coming. I will lead the attack. We take the ram, break the gates down, destroy Connington's army and take the castle."
"But, my lord, the defenders from the throat," hesitated Lord Staedmon.
"We'll use shields to cover our heads," Robert said. "The best of the archers from the marches and the Sapphire Isle will fall in with the main host. When the defenders stop to reload, we open our shields and make way for the archers to clear them. I want someone to take command of the ram, to keep it safe until its purpose is done."
"I will do it," Gendry said at once and all the eyes in the tent turned to look at his son.
"My lord, its too dangerous," said Gulian Swann. "Let me send one of my sons. It will. . ."
"It will not make it any less dangerous," replied his son. He turned to him. "Let me take command of the ram, father."
"I'll accompany Lord Gendry," Lady Brienne volunteered.
"So will I," said Ser Balon Swann, the younger son of Lord Gulian.
Robert looked down at the map once again. "As you wish," he said at last. "Check your armor and weapons, you'll be meeting with resistance. We attack at night."
As the last light of the sun faded, Red Ronnet's men stared into the gathering darkness, clutching their spears and crossbows. Robert led the bulk of the forces towards the gatehouse, arranged five men for each row, each carrying a shield to protect themselves and the formation of their army from the defenders above. The sentries were the first to fall, his archers making quick work of them. Whatever bow the archers from the marches carried, all of them were sharp-eyed, as skilled using it as his daughter was. They proved it at Griffin's Roost. All the arrows that took flight from his men found a target at the men on the walls.
The gatehouse where he had parleyed with Ser Ronnet earlier that day was the first to fall. And it fell within minutes. Before them went the rolling ram; a tree trunk with a fire-hardened point suspended on chains beneath a wooden roof. Robert could see his son flanked by Lady Brienne and Ser Balon Swann and his company of forty to guard the ram moving close with it.
His men were halfway up the throat before a warhorn sounded the alarum from the castle proper.
The first raven took flight as their grapnels were arcing above the curtain wall and their ladders were taking stand all along the walls, the second a few moments later. Neither bird had flown a hundred yards before an arrow took it down. Soon guards emerged from both the towers flanking the main gate and then arrows and brick and all the other kind of things flew onto them.
"Shields up," Robert's voice carried through to the long column of his army.
Together as if it was one long arm, his men locked shields over their head. A dozen things thudded against their cover but none managed to penetrate. When he could feel nothing for a moment he saw that this was his chance. "Archers," he shouted and his men opened their shields to make way for the archers. Dozens of arrows took flight as one, their thrum echoed by the sound of men dying.
"Back to formation," Robert said again and their shields fell back to lock into the places. The main gate proved harder to break than the outer one. For a moment Robert thought to climb onto the walls through a ladder a open the gates from the inside. He might want to clear the towers though else that will leave his army exposed. Suddenly he saw Gendry climbing one of the ladders with Lady Brienne and Ser Balon following closely behind him. His men were putting up other ladders as well. Swords were soon ringing in half a dozen places along the battlements. The men of his son's company clambered through the merlons and raced along the wallwalks, shouting "Storm's End! Storm's End!" He spied Gendry knocking off a knight from the wall, though by the way his son's hammer caught the man's head Robert could swear that he died before his body touched the ground. Behind him, his company was overwhelming the Connington men-at-arms. Ser Balon's morningstar was finding enemies left at right. Lady Brienne for all her part was passing through grown men as if they were little children playing with sticks.
That was not enough though, Robert knew. Connington must have a big host around him inside the walls. They cannot fight them with some forty men. Just like that, the gate gave way as his men inside unbarred it. The ram took one last swing, bigger than all the ones before and wood and iron alike splintered.
"Ours is the fury," Robert roared and pushed forward. His men took up the cry and followed. He dropped the shield and took his hammer from his back. The first blow from his hammer sent a guardsman flying into the broken gate, though he could not say if he died after hitting the gate or if he died even before hitting the gate.
Inside the walls there was no end for foes. The night air was filled with the rattle of armor, the scrape of swords on scabbards, the banging of spears on shields, mingled with curses and the hoofbeats of racing horses. A torch sailed spinning above his head, trailing fingers of fire as it thumped down in the dirt of the yard.
Shouts of Baratheon and Connington swept through the air. When four men assaulted him at the gate with axes and swords, Robert fought them all at once. He smashed in the face of a man with his hammer, drove the spike through the skull of another. When the third one hacked his sword at his head, Robert blocked it haft of his hammer and kicked him hard, sending him back to the ground. He ducked beneath the axe of the other one and shattered his knee before killing him by cracking his skull. By the time he searched for the third man whom he had kicked he was lost to him in the commotion.
All around him, steel shadows were running through the castle, firelight shining off mail and blades but Robert only had eyes for Red Ronnet Connington on his horse in the far end of the yard fending of two men and running his horse through one. The night rang to the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded and dying. He knocked the helm off a knight before breaking his face with his hammer.
His men were overwhelming the defenders of Griffin's Roost. Robert pushed for Connington. His hammer broke bones and armor alike as he smashed his way through the Connington men. He found Red Ronnet still on his horse hacking his sword wildly at anyone who comes near him. Robert slung his hammer behind his back and drew the hunting knife Jon had given him as a boy. He charged into Connington's flank, stabbing his mount through the ribs into its lungs.
The horse gave a harsh whinny and reared sending Connington to the ground and dropped down dead on the ground. When Red Ronnet Connington looked up at him from the ground the battle was all done around them. What guards remained had thrown down their weapons. Red Ronnet gave one last try to slay him and raised his sword up. Robert brought his hammer in backhanded swing and sent the sword flying from his grasp. Connington fell down again, clutching his forearm to his chest. "I yield," he said, scared. "Mercy, my lord."
Robert brought the hammer down and the castle yard was filled with the victory cry of his men all around him. And quick as that, the day was theirs.
"Ser Braendan," he said after the wounded were taken to the maester's tower and the dead were cleared, "go through the keep and kitchens and roust out everyone you find. Noye, do the same with the maester's tower and the armory. Ser Deacon, the stables, sept, and barracks. Bring them out into the yard, and try not to kill anyone who does not insist on dying. I will not have more blood shed in the stormlands."
"Consider it done, my lord," said Ser Braendan Wylde.
Robert watched them dash off, then beckoned to Rippert Errol. "Take charge of the rookery and the maester. I'll have messages to send out tonight."
He saw Gendry walking towards him with a man with the same red hair of Red Ronnet. The gold and black armor of his son was stained with blood. Brienne of Tarth and Balon Swann flanked him and the others followed. It looked as if he had not even lost a single man in the company he had taken inside the castle to open the gates for them.
Even Robert himself was impressed by his victory. Ronnet Connington had promised that thousands of his men would die before taking Griffin's Roost but Robert had done it with the loss of less than thirty men. He had promised Connington that his castle will fall tonight and he was glad he kept his promise unlike Red Ronnet.
"Father," Gendry announced, "the castellan of Griffin's Roost."
"My lord," Ronald Connington fell to his knees.
"Do you swear your fealty and sword to me now, my lord?" he asked.
"I do," Ronald said. "My lord."
"Get up," Robert said, "as lord of Griffin's Roost then. Jon Connington is nothing to me, no more than Rhaegar is. You are no longer the castellan but the lord of this castle. As a penalty for your defiance certain lands will be taken away from you. If you accept my proposal then we can enter the castle together as allies."
Ronald Connington looked confused for a moment. Then he took a step back. "Griffin's Roost is yours, my lord of Storm's End," he said at last. Robert smiled knowing that he had secured the Stormlands once and for all.
A/N: A look at Stormlands and how things are standing there. Robert Baratheon is back in the game. He is planning to march north now that Griffin's Roost is dealt with. I hope you guys like it. Please leave a review and let me kno what you guys think. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for sparing your time to read my story and have a nice day.