Reborn a a dragonlord

by Mi414622

Dragonlord pre doom si

3. 1

Fandom AH

ASOIAF A Song of Coin and Lamellar

Thread startervon Adler Start dateAug 26, 2016 Tags asoiaf game of thrones isot oc characters

First

Prev

6 of 8

Next

Last

New

Ignore thread

Watch

•••

Threadmarks

Oct 12, 2018

Add bookmark

189

#1,732

Threadmarks Story 100

von Adler

The Riverlands, second week of the second moon, 299 AL.

Alexios.

"Fire cares not for noble blood." Captain Alexios Andreios.

1SjHFMj.jpg

Captain Alexios Andreios.

He watched as enemy archers aproached, double-quick but still taking their time to get into formation to be able to loose arrows as they were intended - indirectly, as a unit. The Westerlands used the longbow rather than the recurved bow - as did the North, the Riverlands and the Iron Islands. Most of the archers were yeomen - Smallfolk tenants or free farmers rather than serfs, that as part of their feudal contract provided their service as a fedual levyman - be it an archer or a light infantryman or skirmisher (which was rare) for a smaller farm, or an armoured infantryman or even a hobilar for a larger one, in lieu of land rents or corvee labour. A substantial part of the archers were from the various garrisons of Westerland noblemen - they called up their levy and brought their personal retuny - which included archers intended to man the walls of their castles - with them when Lord Tywin called his banners. The Dornish made use of recurved bows, while the Stormlands and the Reach used a mix of crossbows and recuved bows. The Summer Islanders, the Dothraki and the Wildlings in the north mostly made use of composite bows - the latter mostly with stone or bone arrow tips, reducing the effectiveness of their bows.

The Westerlands were rich in mineral wealth and decently fertile, and most if not all of the archers wore open iron or even decent steel helmets, a padded wool (or in a few cases pressed linen) gambeson and braces of hardened leather. A few wore less than that - a padded wool cap and some braces, while others wore a bit more - a chainmail shirt and pauldrons of hardened leather strips reinforced by iron studs.

While the archers aproached, the Condottieri fixed their veils of chainmail and rushed to cover the horses and mules with prepared large swathes of wicker while the Equites and his servants and Ser Barristan and his protegées were installed in a cart under similar protection.

He studied the field as the Lannister archers aproached. To their front (and west) they had a strong force of dismounted knights, most of them in half or full plate, with Lords and Landed Knights as well as the Lannister household knights in excellent steel full plate. They seemed to wield mostly swords, as their lances were too unwieldy to use on foot, but the odd mace, axe and battlepick could also be spotted. Forming into a tight line four ranks deep they remained stationary. They were Lord Tywin's anvil, to hold them from their escape route to the west.

To their flanks and behind them marched feudal levies of the Westerlands. Bannermen and yeomen of Lord Tywin's vassals, wearing coat of plates and in some cases half-plate of good iron, open-faced helmets, chainmail coifs, leather gauntlets with chainmail reinforcements, chainmail pauldrons and tassets and good reinforced leather boots along with iron-studded leather braces, all with a good padded gambeson under it. Someone had done some thinking, and the front ranks seemed to wield short boarspears, heavy axes, battlepicks, maces, halberds and other weapons decently well-suited to fight heavily armoured men such as the Condottieri, while the ranks behind them wielded longer spears. He could even see a formation of pikemen - probably Lannister redcloak household troops - further back. Even further back were hundreds of knights and even more light cavalry - lancers and hobilars, mostly, as well as more infantry. It seemed however like Lord Tywin inded to hold them, shower them with projectiles and then crush them by weight of numbers from all sides with his infantry.

He pondered for a moment and then nodded towards his staff.

"The formation will turn an eight of a full revolution, to have the corner point at the enemy dismounted knights to our front. We'll make an impromptu pig's snout." he nodded.

Decarchos Snow, who was heading the staff today nodded and started sending out runners - good, the order was too complex for signals and getting the formation into disarray at this point would be suicide.

"A question, Strategos?" Decarchos Snow said.

"You may ask." he replied, watching as the Lannister archers, behind a thin screen of infantry, started putting arros in the ground in front of them.

"Manouvering while under enemy projectiles seem risky."

"Well observed, Decarchos Snow." he replied. "Better ready your shield."

The young Condottieri did as ordered, but eyed him for a moment before continuing. "Yet that did not answer my question."

"You did not ask a question, you made a statement." he replied with a short, coarse laugh, causing the young man to blush a bit.

"Why is it worth the risk, Strategos?" the lad finally said.

"Now, that is a proper question." he said. "A pig's snout, as you know, is better for breaking through a line. We really need to break through, or we will all die here. We need to maintain the castle formation, but also need to breal through. Rotating the formation while under missiles will be tough, but doable. Turning a corner of the square against the enemy line will give us the same effects as a pig's snout. It is worth the casualties we will take manouvering since it increases the chance that we will break through and thus save the majority of our lives. Clear?"

The lad nodded. "Arrows, Strategos." the lad said and raised his shield. He did the same and felt the familiar thuds of multiple arrows loosed at them drilling into the dense wood of the shield. All around them arrows seemingly sprouted from the ground with audible thumps, intermingled with the heavier thuds of arrows getting stuck in shields and the metallic ringing of arrows glancing off lamellar armour and the odd yelp and cry when an arrow penetrated armour. A mule cried out in panick-stricken pain as its protecting wicker failed from multiple hits.

Thus it continued for several minutes, as they rotated the formation and then kept going forwards, only ending as they finally made contact with the dismounted knights as the Lannister archers stopped loosing arrows out of fear of hitting their own men. At the same time the feudal levies to their flanks and rear started advancing to add their weight to the ensuing melee.

He threw a glance at one of the carts, where young Arya nursed a red cheek. "You hit me!" she complained.

"The Sebastokrator's damnation, yes I did! The battlefield is no place for children, and if you are not listening, I will slap you all the way to Winterfell if needed!" the Equites said, a rare fiery red from anger on his cheeks.

"I just wanted to take a peek." Arya whined.

"A peek that would have you sprout an arrow from your forehead like a unicorn, stupid child." the Equites said. "What do you think your mother or brother would do to me if I brought you back to them dead?"

"You did not have to hit me."

"Yes, I did, and I will again if you don't SHUT UP AND SIT STILL!"

"Ser Barristan!" Arya appealed.

"I would obey the Equites if I were you." the old knight said. "If he does not spank you properly, I will."

Arya shut her mouth at that and sat down under the shield the old knight held aloft again.

Children. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the battle.

Iron bolts from the polyboloses had made their effect on the centre of the dismounted knights, killing many of them - casualties on both sides could be counted in the dozens already, even before the melee had been joined. However, they were starting to run out of bolts - two battles in which they had loosed as much as they could and no resupply in between had taken its toll on the supply. The corner of the castle formation pushed into the line of dismounted knights, making some headway before stopping. A push, and they forced their way in a bit more, and another push for another yard advanced. But killing plate-armoured men was hard, and these men were among the best the Lannisters had, and they knew their duty as the anvil in Lord Tywin's plan and gave very, very little. They had to fight for every foot of ground.

And then suddenly, the Lannisters were upon them, pressing on the flanks and the rear. The Condottieri fought well, using the guards of their swordspears to pull men's knees out from under them and stabbing them in the tigh or groin while down, but like others, the Lannisters quickly learned and started propping their comrades up.

The lines buckled and bent under the weight of the Lannister onslaught as multiple rank of armoured levymen added their weight to the Lannister push. For a moment it looked like the Condottieri lines would be pushed beyond the breaking point, especially to their right, as the Lannisters pushed hard from the north. The sound of weapons against shields and armour, intersected by the cries of the wounded and the dying, the smell of sweat, blood and warm leather filled the air. The sweet sensations of battle, the one thing besides a good, hairy muscular man screaming in passion to make his blood run faster and hotter.

"Decarchos Snow will be ready to order fire when the enemy pulls back for a breather." he said, eying the far off Lannister force and Lord Tywin himself on the ridge far off. Calm and collected, an assurance to his men that all was going according to plan. And a decent plan it was, too. He could respect Lord Tywin's ability.

But Lord Tywin and his men had most likely not experienced fire-siphons and siege pots before.

The lines held, barely. They would hold again, but who knew for how long? In the end, Lord Tywin had enough men to keep pushing until the Condottieri succumbed. The Lannister knew as well as he did that the real killing started once the formations broke down.

Then the Lannisters stopped pushing and withdrew a few paces. Had this been a line battle, he would have ordered the advance, but they could not push hard to tumble over an enemy line when they had enemies to their rear and flanks - the square had to be maintained at all costs.

"Order fire." he said, and Decarchos Snow did so. A trumpeter blew a short signal, and men in the wedge facing the dismounted knights to the west shuffled as men with siphons advanced to the front ranks and flint was knocked on steel to light wicks on the siege pots. And suddenly dozens of thin clay pots filled with naphta was thrown into the ranks of the dismounted knights, exploding into balls of fire, spreading burning liquid in all directions and they cracked. The cries of pain, agony and surprise sounded over the battlefield. Panicked shrieks of men on fire, flailing desperately in fruitless attempts to get away from the burning pain filled the air along with the sickening smell of burning flesh. In an instant, the front ranks of the dismounted knights shied away frm the fire, those that were lucky not willing to stay to test that luck further.

With that the Condottieri advanced, slowly, with siphons pumping fire to keep the enemy formation at a distance. The flanks and rear of the castle formation marched sideways or backwards, keeping in formation by shuffling along.

In front of them, the force of Lannister dismounted knighs parted as none were willing to brave the wall of fire produced by the siphons, and little by little the Condottieri started to push the knights further back and to their flanks as they corner of the castle formation advanced. To their rear and flanks, the Lannisters advanced again, driven on by angry noblemen well aware of Lord Tywin's wrath if they had not seemed diligent enough in the battle -men reluctant to advance, seeing how fire had been used against their betters (and what chance did they then have to escpae similar or worse) were spurred on with curses, strikes and promises that once in melee, the Condottieri would not be able to use fire and soon the lines joined again. Men fell where they were struck down, wounded dragged themselves back to the rear of their formations and the loud sound of weapons bashing repeatedly against shields almost drowned out the hoarse battlecries, curses and rage-filled shouts.

Little by little the castle formation broke itself out, attacked on three sides and itself attacking on the fourth, it was like a sharp wooden spade cutting throuhg peat - it was slow and heavy going, but it got there.

As they started to emerge, Lord Tywin could be seen gesturing up on the ridge, and soon a large part of the Lannister cavalry started moving, rounding their own forces on the right flank of the Condottieri, picking up speed as they turned.

"All siphons will move to the right flank. Move the archers to shore up the right flank. The right flank is to brace for a cavalry charge." he ordered. This was what would make or break this escape. They could not form a laager now, they could not goad arrogant and stupid men into charging into a fortified position and they were nearly or even completely out of bolts for the Polyboloses. The Lannister infantry stopped their push on the rear and right flank, leaving room for the cavalry to properly charge.

Decarchos Snow seemed worried, glancing towards the moving cavalry, but did as ordered. The archers, having fled into the castle formation as the Lannisters attacked it rushed to shore up the right flank, adding their weight to that of the men there. The formatiomn shuffled as siphon-wielders ran breathlessly to the front. The ground shook and their ears filled with the thunder of hooves as hundreds of heavy horse bore down on them, picking up speed from trot to a gallop as they aproached, lances leveled at them. A few pots were thrown, and the spiphons spewed out a wall of fire at the cavalry as they aproached, but this was a properly conducted charge by a large force of heavy cavalry with little in the way of physical objects in their path to slow them down - horses shrieked in panic as they burned, but from behind them came the next rank, and they could not be stopped, their speed and momentum toop great and they crashed into the ranks of spearpoints presented at them by the Condottieri.

In a moment, everything was a confusing mess as horses and heavily armoured men crashed into the Condottieri formation, tumbling over Condottieri and Lannister men alike. Horses and men died and were wounded, lances and swordspear shafts shattered, spreading splinters in all directions as the entire Condottieri formation reeled and was pushed back, back and even further back, to the extent that the archers had their backs to the supply carts.

But there the high tide of the cavalry charge reached its zenith and started receding. Knights were pulled off their horses by dazed Condottieri using the guards on their swordspears. Siphons pumped burning liquid into the formations of lighter cavalry trying to support the charge of their heavier brethren. Horses died by the dozens in mere minutes, adding high-pitched shrieks and neighs to the base sound of heavy melee fighting. High-born knights died by the hand of low-born Condottieri, no hostages taken and no mercy shown, and finally the Lannister cavalry realised the futility of the fight as their charge had failed to break the Condottieri, and withdrew mostly unmolested save for the odd arrow from the Condottieri archers.

"Signal the formation to move double-quick." he said to Decarchios Snow, who obeyed immediately. After a full day of marching and fighting, the men would be tired, but could take another night and day of marching. The same could not be said for the Lannister host, which was in dissaray and with large parts exhausted and Lord Tywin evidently being unwilling to separate his forces and let his fresh troops pursue while his exhausted ones rested - they were pursued by cavalry and kept under tabs by outriders, but neither seemed especially willing to get close and into battle, and after another day, the Lannister horse seemed to turn on the countryside to loot, plunder, burn, murder and rape rather than pursue the Condottieri.

They had gotten out, but it had costed a fifth of the Condottieri in dead or seriously wounded. While he expected that the Lannister force has suffered the same, or maybe just a bit more, it would be fit for another fight soon enough - it was minor losses to a force that large. The Condottieri on the other hands were out of bolts for the polyboloses and had severly depleted their supply of naphta, not even speaking of casualties that would need to be replaced, which would disrupt unit cohesion and discipline until absorbed properly.

Still, they had survived to fight another day, and that was a victory under the circumstances.

--

Images by my good friend John.

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Oct 16, 2018

Add bookmark

186

#1,782

Threadmarks Story 101

von Adler

The Riverlands, third week of the second moon, 299 AL.

Lysander.

"Savor the fine moments. They'll be few and far between." Equites Lysander Asimachos.

HBsqKBi.jpg

Equites Lysander Asimachos.

The Strategos had been worried about pursuing Lannister forces due to their precarious supply situation, but after the Lannister outriders and scouts had turned on the countryside, none had materialised. They fought and defeated a raiding party and two small parties of Lannister stragglers, evidently from the forces that had been laying siege to Riverrun - the rumours seemed to be true. Young Robb Stark had fallen like a hungry wolf upon the Lannister siege camps with the Northern cavalry, supported by what forces the Riverlands had been able to muster and had not lost to the Lannister invasion as well as a strong Frey contignent.

They avoided a roughly 4 000 men strong Lannister detachment retreating at a quick pace in the opposite direction, using their superior mobility to get out of the way as the Lannisters made for Harrenhall to join Lord Tywin and his forces there - it seemed to be the main force of the survivors of the battle outside Riverrun, and they seemed a bit worse for wear. The Strategos considered engaging them, but decided against it. The Condottieri had fought three battles in as many weeks and had marched hard between them, especially after the life-and-death battle north-northwest of Harrenhall. The men were tired, the supply of naphta was almost completely exhausted and there was not a single polybolos bolt left.

So they marched on, and soon the scouts started report outriders of different coat of arms than spotted earlier - with the aid of Ser Barristan Selmy they could identify them as Mallister along with more recognisable Stark, Tully and Manderly tabards. Evidently Riverlands and Northern outriders were keeping a tab on the retreating Lannister troops.

It seemed the Riverland and Northern outriders were on edge and nearly mistook clipper-mounted Condottieri scouts for Lannister raiders and it took some serious shouting before both sides were convinced to bring someone with a bit more clout to the next encounter. So here he sat on top of his own horse, a docile and strong mare with legs just a tiny bit longer than those of the shaggy clippers that were common in these lands, watching a party with a Tully banner aproach. No, not a Tully banner. The trout was black. Ah, the infamous Ser Brynden, then.

He bowed in the saddle with a smile. "Ser Brynden Tully, brother of Lord Paramount Hoster Tully, I presume?" he greeted the steel grey-haired man on a large and strong but well-controlled destrier, observing him as he did. Tall, lean and holding himself with a good posture - a strong and unbent back that spoke of a strong and unbent will. A weathered but controlled face, piercing blue eyes and a natural scowl that spoke of experience and a military, almost rehal air surrounded the man.

The older man bowed in the saddle, not very deep, but not unpolitely so. Reserved, but not hostile, perhaps. "I am. And who do I have the please of meeting?" Ser Brynden replied.

"I am Equites Lysander Asimachos, at your service. I hope I am not too forward, but it was my impression that you served as The Knight of the Gate in the Vale?"

"Ah, I have... Heard of you and your... is it General now?" the older man's gaze seemed to penetrate him, sending a small shiver down his spine. "I did, until recently. The current conflict left me in disagreement with the Dowager Lady of the Vale, and I left to serve my family."

"Family first. I can understand that." he said, nodding his approval, as much as that could mean to the man opposite him.

"Now, you come here with a strong military force, and my duties require me to ask your business in my brother's lands." Ser Brynden asked.

"Of course." he waved a small group behind the few mounted Condottieri behind him forwards. "I come escorting some children away from war and other problematic nastiness and was hoping to bring them to Riverrun and safety." he said.

"Riverrun was under siege up until a week ago, if you are escorting children, Equites, there could be better places to..." the old knight suddenly grew silent and his eyes quite a bit wider as the children threw back their hoods.

"Hello uncle!" Arya said, waving.

There was a short moment of stunned silence as Nymeria, seemingly unphased by the tension among the horses and many of the men she caused trotted on huge paws out from behind a tree to sniff Ser Brynden curiously. He savored every second of it. He may be a man of logic and reasoning, but you did not spend your life playing roles and wearing masks without gaining a certain appreciation for the dramatic.

"I thought it fair to bring them back to their family. Family first, after all, Ser Brynden?" he said with a broad smile.

"Quite." the old knight replied with a rare and short but still warm smile. "I better bring you to Riverrun."

--

Note: Images by my good friend John.

Last edited: Oct 16, 2018

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Oct 17, 2018

Add bookmark

184

#1,803

Threadmarks Story 102

von Adler

The Riverlands, third week of the second moon, 299 AL.

Lysander.

"Always listen. There's good information to be had when people talk." Equites Lysander Asimachos.

HBsqKBi.jpg

Equites Lysander Asimachos.

As they travelled to Riverrun, Ser Brynden Tully told of what had happened in the Riverlands so far. Ser Edmure had sent two of his father's vassals, Lords Vance and Piper, to guard the pass and had seen them brushed aside by Lord Tywin's forces. The Westerland host had assaulted some smaller and barely manned castles, encircled most, bluffed or bribed others to surrender (aided by Lord Tywin's reputation from Tarbeck Hall and Castamere) and had avanced quickly through the Riverlands to defeat Ser Edmure's gathered forces not far from Riverrun. Part of the Riverlands cavalry had sacrificed themselves in a gallant charge against the advancing Westerlands forces, the kind that would live forever in songs but was in the end foolish and wasted important recources as the rest of the Riverlands host retreated into Riverrun along with a wounded Ser Edmure or northwards.

Robb Stark, in the name of his father had called the Northern banners and had marched south with the stated intention to free his father and his siblings from the grasp of 'King' Joffrey. His Winterfell household troops had spearheaded the advance, marching further and preparing camps to the rest of the army every day, which had, according to Ser Brynden, sped up the march quite a bit compared to what was normal. After negotiating the passage with the Freys at the Twins, erecting huge trebuchets to 'encourage' Lord Frey to relent in some of his demands but still agreeing to marry Lord Frey's daughter, the young Lady Roslin. Lord Roose Bolton had marched most of the Northern infantry southeastwards, north of the Green Fork. Lord Tywin took the bait and had seen fit to copy Lord Bolton's moves and they had met and skirmished inconclusively at the ford at Harroway's Town, neither side willing to cross the Trident to engage the other and Lord Tywin probably thinking time worked in his favour - as long as the Northern host was north of both the Green Fork and the Trident, they could not relieve the siege of Riverrun and the Westerlander forces were living off the land of their enemies. Ser Brynden Tully had bested the Westerlander outriders, leaving Lord Tywin in the dark of the movement of the Northern cavalry, which had absorbed the Frey levies, some remnant Riverlander forces that had not made it into Riverrun and the mostly intact Blackwood and Mallister levies and advanced south with some of the Winterfell and Last Hearth volunteer longbowmen militiamen. Robb Stark had then goaded Ser Jaime Lannister into a trap, capturing him and removing the leadership of the Lannister siege and then assaulted the camps in a brilliant night attack. Of the roughly 12 000 Westerlander men, only about 5 000 had made it out alive, mostly from the third camp, which had time to get their act together as the first two were devastated. The Strategos had listened intently to the description of the movements and nodded approvingly at Ser Brynden's telling of besting the Westerlander outriders and keeping their enemy in the dark. A short 'well done', which was as much of an approval as you would ever get from the Strategos escaped the man as the story was told.

The strong Northern-Riverland force at Riverrun was probably why Lord Tywin had decided to abandon his position at Harroway's Town and move to Harrenhall - to avoid being flanked and to meet up with the remnants of Ser Jaime's force and absorb them before deciding on his next move.

Ser Brynden Tully had been chasing Westerlander men turned to banditry, looting, raping and burning as well as keeping tabs on the men from the third camp retreating towards Harrenhall when they had met.

In return, he and the Strategos told of their flight from King's Landing, the three battles and their intentions to bring the children to their family.

"Wait, you met the main force of Lord Tywin?" Ser Brynden asked.

"I expect we met a third to half of it." the Strategos said. "The rest probably marched in another column further to the east."

"Still, you met and fought, successfully, the best of the Westerlands at four to one?"

The Strategos shrugged. "We survived. We did not rout Lord Tywin."

Ser Brynden shook his head. "You were surrounded and fought your way out, keeping an entirely infantry force together in the face of superior numbers, and an enemy with missile troops and both light and heavy cavalry. That is impressive."

"Thankyou for your compliment, Ser Brynden." the Strategos said. "But I have good troops. Your actions against the Westerland outriders are what I would call both impressive and decisive."

"Are you saying our troops are not good?"

"Yes."

"Hrm, maybe we should switch the subject?" he interjected before the Strategos' bluntness and lack of diplomatic ability caused Ser Brynden to turn from a slightly annoyed ally to a reluctant one or even an enemy. "Are we close to Riverrun?"

"Just over the next ridge." Ser Brynden replied. "I will make sure they know you are coming." he continued and spurred his fine destrier onwards, ending the conversation.

"You really need to know when to stop talking, Strategos." he said to the thick-headed man marching alongside his horse.

"Hmph." was the gruff reply.

"Just let me handle talking to the Northerners, alright?"

"As you wish, Equites." was the curt reply.

They were greeted at the gates of Riverrun by Ser Edmure Tully, the son and hier of Lord Paramount Hoster Tully who, it seemed, was indisposed due to illness. Ser Edmure was strongly built, slightly above average height and with a fierce auburn hair and beard and stunning blue eyes only partially marred by dark cirkles under them, probably related to his arm being in a sling and the recent siege.

Lady Catelyn Stark, stunning as always, regal in her posture and with a badly hidden scowl in her face also greeted them, a head lower than her brother and half a step behind him, as was proper. It seemed his lecture on the relevance of the threat of bastards compared to fostered trueborn brothers when they visited Winterfell was still fresh in her mind.

They recieved bread and salt and exchanged formal greetings before the question was asked.

"What brings you here, Equites Asimachos?" Lady Catelyn asked.

"I owed your husband a favour, and I decided to make good on my debt." he said with a smile and gestured, at which a veritable stampede of childrens' feet and paws came around the corner.

"MOTHER!!!" three young voices rang out as the children nearly tackled their mother to the floor as excited young direwolves danced, jumped and even howled around them, evidently understanding the importance of this re-uniting of the pack.

He watched the whole thing, the inaudible sobs of relief, the streaming tears and sheer, umarred joy and happiness with a stiff smile. The bitterness ate the sweetness within him as he watched the joyus, extatic reforging of a family. While he was happy for the children and even for their mother, two young faces passed for his inner eye and the world - or even more - that separated him from them filled him with dread, blackness and sadness that not even the incoherent babbling retelling of things that had happened, interrupted by one child, then the other, then the third could dispel.

"Equites Asimachos, I understand from my uncle that you met Lord Tywin's main force. Perhaps you and your Strategos would care to join me and Robb Stark to retell that story, and perhaps partake in the discussion between the Riverlords and Northern Lords on our next step?" Ser Edmure said after a moment of them awkwardly standing to watch the re-union happening before them.

"That sounds... Excellent, Ser Edmure. Please, lead the way." he said and forced a smile, taking control of himself, his feelings and his face and what it showed again.

--

Note: Images by my good friend John.

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Oct 19, 2018

Add bookmark

165

#1,851

Threadmarks Story 103

von Adler

Riverrun, third week of the second moon, 299 AL.

Lysander.

"Preparations are nearly as good as cheating." Equites Lysander Asimachos.

HBsqKBi.jpg

Equites Lysander Asimachos.

He and the Strategos, with a couple of Condottieri in escort - not that they were worried, not after returning the children to their mother, but it was proper for great men to have retainers and escorts here - made way following the wounded Ser Edmure through corridors and up stairs to what was evidently one of the main halls of Riverrun, where Riverlords and Northmen were gathered and lively debating the next step in the campaign against the Lannisters.

They stood just behind the door as the debate raged on, before more and more eyes were fixed on them, and the voices one by one grew silent, until finally Robb Stark, taller and stronger than last time they saw each other, but still yet to fully grow, but with a fizzy red beard on his chins held up a hand to silence the last voices.

"Ser Edmure. Equites Asimachos." Robb greeted them. "I must thank you for bringing my brother and sisters back here." he said with a smile and a nod, to an assenting murmur from the gathered Northern Lords. He saw Ser Brynden to the back and deducted the reason word had moved so fast.

He bowed low, respectfully, but still flamboyantly as was his style. "The pleasure was all mine, Master Stark." he said. "As I told your uncle, while I am who I am, I can still see the value of family - mine or others."

Robb Stark replied with a bow of his own - a respectful one, but not quite so low. There were a difference in ranks between them, after all. He seemed to want to continue, as he opened his mouth to say something, but Strategos Andreios stepped forward with intent, interrupting whatever was to be said.

"I should return this. It belongs to your family." he said, handing over a cloth bundle to the evidently suprised Robb Stark, who took it and unwrapped it. There was a gasp through the hall as he drew Ice, the smoky dazzled metal reflecting the evening sun falling through the windows of the great hall as Robb Stark liften the sword high above his head.

"THE NORTH!!!" came the booming voice of Lord Jon Umber as the huge man raised a meaty clenched fist into the air. With hisses and scrapes the gathered Northern and Riverland Lords drew their swords to raise them in salute.

"The North! The North! The North! THE NORTH!!!" they chanted in unison, joined in by several of the Riverland Lords, although some of them were chanting "Riverrun!", "The Trident!" or "The Riverlands!" instead, but were in general drowned out.

"Command us!" Lord Umber cried out, falling on one knee in front of Lord Stark and soon being mimiced by the other Lords of the room, until only he, Strategos Andreios and Ser Edmure remained standing. Such drama, and they had stepped right into it. He raised an eyebrow, watching the spontaneous outpouring of loyalty and pledge of fealty to the young boy who seemed a bit hesitant and perhaps not entirely sure what he was supposed to do in this situation. Yet the lad walked up to the kneeling Lord Umber, who was almost as tall as the lad himself, despite kneeling, and placed a hand upon the giant Lord's shoulder.

"Please tell us to be done with Southron treachery, that the North shall be free of viper's nests, backstabbers and vile southern lies!" the kneeling Lord exclaimed.

"Thankyou for your loyalty, Lord Umber." Robb Stark replied. "You are a true Northerner, all of you are. True Northerners, true Riverlords. I shall command you, I promise. We shall free my father!" he said, his voice carrying far and wide in the tense atmosphere in the hall, belying his still small stature. "Please rise, Lord Umber. Join me in my quest."

And with that the Lords rose as a man, once again thrusting their swords in the air. "Ned, Ned, NED!!!" came the chants, intersected with a few "Robb!" here and there.

He noted that while this was all certainly re-assuring, they were back right at where they had started - debating the next step again. As the various Lords were arguing back and forth, he watched Robb Stark inquire Strategos Andreios about Ice.

"Thankyou." the young Lordling said and smiled. "You were never tempted to keep it?"

"No, not really." the Strategos replied with a shrug as Robb Stark absent-mindedsly stroke the smoky metal with one hand.

"Not at all?"

"No. To you it is a hierloom, a symbol of Stark power and strenght..." Robb Stark nodded. "To me, it is a sword. A good one perhaps, but still just a sword. Now, what is far more important that a lump of metal is your next move. Why are you here discussing it instead of executing it?"

Robb Stark and a few of the closest Lords watched the Strategos with mouths agape. He groaned silently to himself. The higher the Strategos rose, the more important people he dealt with beynd Kaisar, the more it became evident the man did not have a shred of diplomacy in him. The question had most likely not even been intended as malicious by the Strategos, but it certainly came out that way. He had to step in.

"My apologies for the bluntness of the Strategos' words, but I feel they carry some significance. The Lannisters will not rest, and neither should you - or we. We have a common enemy, and perhaps a common cause. Perhaps I and Strategos Andreios can aid you?"

The silence among the midst of them seemed to have attracted the attention of most of the Lords in the hall as Ser Brynden made his way to them.

"Strategos Andreios fought Lord Tywin between Harroway's Town and Harrenhall and he and his men live to tell about it." he said matter-of-factly and at that the room exploded into a flurry of questions and statements of amazement until Robb Stark silenced the gathered Lords with a raised hand.

"Will you swear me fealty, Equites Asimachos?" the lad asked.

"I cannot." he shook his head. "My fealty belongs to Kasiar Leonides, of House Toarias." he repeated his oft stated loyalty, despite the man himself being worlds or even more away. "But I can offer something else. Strategos?" he nodded towards the scarred Condottieri, who silently nodded in response and stepped forward to present a small box of polished hardwood to Robb Stark, kneeling while doing so.

A bit confused the young Lordling accepted the box and opened it, finding first a strand of vanilla wrapped in a piece of blood-red silk, about as big as a handkerchief. The lad raised his eyes towards him, with two eyebrows slightly raised in a question.

"It is not our tradition to use coat of arms. But for hundreds of years the House of Toarias have produced the best spices and the best coloured silk far and wide. The combination is known to be the symbol of the House." he said. Robb Stark seemed to understand the siginficance and lifted the silk away to reveal what was underneath. A small pece of bread, a small bag of salt, a Karastovlian silver stavraton, with the profile of the Emperor clearly visible in his gold diadem mimicing a laurel wreath, and a small glass bottle, clear as spring water, filled with a red fluid.

"I offer the friendship and allegiance of House Toarias to House Stark." he said with a smile. Our bread, to signify that if you starve, we will provide. Our salt, to signify that we will care to keep what is yours, our coin, to signify that if you need it, our wealth may be yours, our blood, to signify that we will shed it to protect you." he said, using his best speechvoice to add dramatic flair to it as Robb Stark picked up the small glass bottle with its red content.

"Oh, it is not real blood. It is red ink - the promise is still there, and real blood is sticky. Nowadays it is considered gauche to use real blood." he said with a short laugh and then extended a hand towards the young Lordling.

"Will House Stark accept the friendship of House Toarias?" he asked as the young man smiled and took his in a firm grip. "House Stark will." to the assent of the gathered Lords.

--

Note: Images by my good friend John.

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Oct 31, 2018

Add bookmark

175

#1,876

Threadmarks Story 104

von Adler

Riverrun, third week of the second moon, 299 AL.

Lysander.

"Did I say preparations could be nearly as good as cheating? Preparations can be better than cheating." Equites Lysander Asimachos.

HBsqKBi.jpg

Equites Lysander Asimachos.

He took a couple of deep breaths as the room cheered the new alliance and then waved to the servants at the door while cracking his fingers in his mind. Time to work the room and get this rabble of warlords thinking in the long-term.

"It is the tradition of my people to drink to a new alliance being forged." he announced the collected gathering of the most high and raised of the North and the Riverlands as Riverrun servants, organsied by Tomas rolled in several barrels of wine. Oak-barrel aged fine wine, even by Karastovlian standards. Somer of the southern Riverlands had excellent wineyards, and he had made sure to tax farm them and get some of the better vintage onto good barrels that were stored in lime-heavy castles' and manors' cellars for the best boquet this region could bring.

"Please allow me." he said as the Strategos broke the barrels open by casually breaking the lids with a single punch - both to signify the generosity and opulence of House Toarias - the barrel was not to be re-sealed, but drunk here and now, and all of its contents were freely available and to start the impromptu party with a bang. As the servants passed out filled goblets, he used to commotion to step out for a second to meet Tomas in a doorway.

"Did you find what I need in the kitchens?"

The lad nodded and handled him a large goblet. He sniffed the contents, nodded and then drank it in a single draw.

"Thankyou." he handed the goblet back and stepped into the hall to fetch his own goblet filled with wine, a simple one of tin, banged and scratched.

"It is our tradition to have the first toast to the Emperor, and to then throw the goblet as high as ever possible, for the hights for the Emperor and the Empire to reach!" there was some laughter at that, as the collected Lords suddenly realised why they had been provided second-rate goblets. He rasied his goblet.

"To his Imperial Majesty, Ioannes the Ninth, of the House Toarias. Long may he reign!" he said, loudly and clearly and then emptied his gobled of the strong, fine-tasting wine and then threw his goblet high, not quite hitting the vaulted ceiling, but not far behind either and watched goblets fly as the the Northern and Riverland nobility mimicked him - he noted that one or two actually managed to hit the ceiling. Excellent. For a short while they cowered and laughed as it rained copper, bronze and tin goblets over them, before the servants returned with finer pieces of drinkingware, many of silver, to fill up at the wine barrels and pass around the noblemen.

"The next toast, which should probably not be tossed..." there was some laughter at that. The prospect of a lot of wine and the merry sentiment that the new alliance and the recent victory against the Lannisters had spread seemed to have put the rooom in a good mood. Even more excellent. "...to the North, and to the Riverlands!" cheering and toasting, and then heavy drinking. Warlords and nobility liked their drink, in that his home and this world did not differ - he suspected that all worlds were the same in that regard. After all, the Emperor was a drunkard and his eldest son had drank himself to death. The proletariat of the city, the urban poor had but one silver lining to their ever-grey cloud. The wine dole, served up every day by the green-clad city workers as thick, almost tar-like purple fluid to be drunk without mixing water in it. It tasted of resin and was badly filtered, forcing you to drink it through your teeth if you wished to avoid the remnants of wine stocks and grape skins. But it was strong and would let you forget the drudgery of every day as you drank it, and the prolerariat was fiercly protective of their daily ration.

As the drinking commenced, he mingled with the various Lords in the hall, getting a feeling for who was influential and who was powerful. Most seemed to defer to Robb Stark - the young Northerner had earned his respect by beating Ser Jaime Lannister and relieved the siege of Riverrun while losing very few men in the process, others, but far fewer and mostly Riverlanders held to Ser Edmure and Ser Brynden. However, he soon realised the key to controlling the men in the room was none of these men, but rather the huge and boisterous Lord Jon 'Greatjon' Umber. The man had a presence in the room not only due to his enormous size, but also due to his strong opinions, his willingness to express them and his confidence in being absolutely correct. The Strategos would have loved to teach that man a thing or three in more private circumstances, he was sure.

He gravitated towards the monster of a man, listening in to the conversation.

"...yes, I've said it before, and I've said it again. We should go to King's Landing, purge that vipers' nest in a second Hour of the Wolf, get Ned out, go back home, proclaim him King in the North and be done with all these southron treachery and black intrigue!" Lord Umber said, waving his goblet around, nearly spilling some of its contents before drinking deeply from it. There were nods of assent and agreement from the various Northern and Riverlands Lords gathered around the giant - mostly Northerners, but a fair share of the Riverlanders too.

"Decisive, if nothing else, Lord Umber." he said with a smile, careful to hide any hint of sarcasm from his tone and voice.

"Action is needed!" Lord Umber agreed, taking another swig after raising the goblet in recognition of his entrance into the conversation. He answered the gesture and took a swig himself.

"So, smash Lord Tywin at Harrenhall, pursue his forces, deal with any Lannister reinforcements that may be brought against us, then lay siege to King's Landing." he counted off on his long fingers. "Do we have enough men? And what about the castles in Lannister hands here in the Riverlands?" he asked. Some of the Riverlords seemed to nod assentment at that, especially the last point.

"Bah, Northern fury will carry us to victory. For Ned!" Lord Umber asserted in response, the last point casuing cheering and toasting.

"I'd be more comfortable if we planned it in more detail." he said, provoking the big man just a tiny bit with the tone in his voice.

"And what do you, a foreigner, know about the North?" Lord Umber challenged in response.

"I do know you claim to be the strongest drinkers." he replied with a wide smile, at which the huge man in front of him burst out in a short, barking laughter.

"That is true, Equites!" he boasted.

"So, why don't we sit down, have a drink and talk about it, Lord Umber?" he said, with an eyebrow raised just enough to give the invitation the tone of the challenge it was.

"You wish to drink with the Greajon?" lord Umber said, stabbing a huge meaty finger towards him. They were almost equal in height, but the huge Lord probably had twice or even three times his weight.

"I have heard the stories. We Karastovlians do like a challenge." he replied and there was some ooh-ing and aah-ing at that.

"Very well!" Lord Umber said and pulled up a chair to seat himself at a nearby table, grabbing a heavy seat with one meaty hand like it was a toy and more or less tossing it to the other side of the table. "Have a seat, Equites, and we'll talk business."

"It would be my pleasure." he said with a smile as the humongous man simply stretched out a long and thick arm to drag a wine barrel over to them.

"Last man concious supports the other's position for the full day tomorrow, fair?" Lord Umber said with a laugh and filled both of their goblets up and placed on the table, raising his own thereafter in a toast.

"Fair, Lord Umber." he replied and rasied his own goblet. "To House Umber and the Last Hearth!" he toasted and they both emptied their goblets in a single draw.

The impromptu challenge and drinking contest casued the hall to gravitate towards them in a general buzz of exitement. He thought he could hear some bets being made, most of them against him. He heard the Strategos both deny an offered goblet and a bet, but stating that had he been a gambling man he would have bet on himself and not Lord Umber.

As so it went on, goblet after goblet, as the Lords around them drank and watched the show. They toasted to the North, to the Riverlands, to various Houses present and old heroes and Lords, to men present and absent, to lady wives and fine women waiting at home, to brave men and strong traditions, to the deat of the Ironborn and the Lannisters, to the Empire and the Emperor, to Kaisar and Kaisara, to Doux Angethemos and his wife, Princess Theodora, the sister of Kaisar, to the memory of Kaisar's brother, to the end of House Komnos, to Moraos and Massenia, to the Katafraktoi and the Siphonatores. And then they started all over again.

Day turned to night and some of the Lords dropped off, leaving for comfortable beds and silent sleeping quarters as the drinking continued. He had drank with worse drinkers, he could just quite not remember when. He could see at least three Lord Umbers sharing the goblet in front of him, which occured to him was not quite fair. His head was spinning, his throat filled up with wine and even the Karastovlian uncuenchable thirst seemed to get close to saturated as he concentrated really, really hard to not spill his goblet. He was a Karastovlian damn it! They said of them that once they had tried to drown a Karastovlian envoy in a wine barrel, giving up after the third barrel, to the envoy's dissapointment.

Lord Umber was swaying back and forth in his chair, slurring his words, laughing at things that did not exist and trying to count his fingers and failing over and over again.

It went on for another few goblets, with more content ending up on the table and their clothes than in their throats, if one was to be fair.

Then Lord Umber raised a finger, as if to make a point, got a confused look in his eyes as he lost the thought he had. Trying to find it, he rolled his eyes, which then glazed over as he belched loudly and fell forwards, snoring before his massive forehead even hit the table with an audible thump.

He leaned back in his chair with a smile, emptied the last of the goblet and then rose, ever so slowly, desperatly trying to keep the floor, table, chair and everything else from spinning so fast.

"I trust..." he belched loudly, to increasing cheering from the remaining nobility, all of them also quite drunk by now. "...you will help Lord Umber to his quarters? I am not quite ca..." hiccup "...capable of doing so." he bowed, fell over, got up and bowed again, this time barely being able to right himself (no less than four times back and forth) before he fell over. "My Lords, I trust we'll talk tomorrow? Good night." he said with a smile of wine-coloured teeth and then ever so slowly, one step at a time, navigated the wildly moving floor as he made his way towards a servant who no doubt had prepared a room for him. Tomorrow would surely prove... Interesting. Whoppeedoo, raydeeray, two times two is six, six minus six is four and a half...

--

Note: Images by my good friend John.

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Dec 10, 2018

Add bookmark

165

#1,912

Threadmarks Story 105

von Adler

Riverrun, third week of the second moon, 299 AL.

Lysander.

"Today's cheer will always be paid with tomorrow's sorrows." Equites Lysander Asimachos.

HBsqKBi.jpg

Equites Lysander Asimachos.

The tone in the room was far more... Somber the next day, as could be expected.

And none were more somber than himself. In fact, 'somber' might be an understatement. He had spent the night alternating betwen a delerious sleep-like trance and throwing up so much that it felt like he was about to puke his guts out. Pale as a sheet and barely washed, he resented Riverrun and its lack of magical energies - he could not even make himself feel a tiny bit better with his odd assorted talents. Not even a fresh sets of spectacular clothes could make him feel better.

Still, he steeled himself. Yesterday had been building respect, today would be using it to steer this collection of warriors towards a sustainable path. He reflected on how he ended up in this mess - actually taking sides in a civil war. War could be good for business, if it was ridicously one-sided or if you stayed on the side-lines, but usually stability was the best. People tended to hold on to their coins if things were uncertain. 'Never know when you may need it worse' was a common sentiment, which often left people dead and their treasure buried to be found two hundred years later by chance by a farm hand plowing a field extra deep for some turnips.

In for a nummi, in for a solidos. He was in, and considering that trying to not get involved had not helped him avoid it, going all in seemed like a good idea. He had built an Empire, wealth, status (well, somewhat, aided by a lot of coin), even friends here. But this place did not hold what he really wanted, beside coin, then. Two persons. So risking his wealth, status, even his life did not seem that bad. Perhaps, if he died, he would return to where he came from, and things would be back to normal? In the end, he realised that he did not risk anything that REALLY meant anything to him. That piece of self-awareness had surprised him. That all his greed, all his love for coin, business, playing the political game, outwitting, verbally sparring and generally behaving like a husk void of scruples and moral did not give him any real satisfaction if it was not for some interesting end goal. Like two persons' future.

Oh, well.

He stepped deeper into the room, noticing that the Strategos was already there, keeping to himself at a wall, but immediately showing up at his side when he made his entrance. A show of loyalty and of power - his power to command the Strategos and his men, to remind the many high and mighty that he did indeed have military power. The Strategos may not play the game, but he knew the basics of it, and his role in it and would play it.

He was dressed in fine but practical clothes. A dark grey padded doublet that could be mistaken for a gambeson if you squinted a bit and have him a bit of a military aura, even if the engraved silver buttons gave it a bit more flair. Parised with dark grey fine and wide woollen trouses with the legs stuck into polished black short-shafted leather boots it id give him a slightly more bulked look than the normal tight trousers and silk or velvet doublets he wore. He had elected to wear a bronze diadem of his rank as Equites today, shaped like a laurel wreath as was the tradition of his homeland. Together it gave him both a look of authority and one of a warrior, something he believed he would need trying to convince this room full of Northern and Riverlands warriors and noblemen.

The debate was already going on what to do next. Just like yesterday it had no direction and no focus, and petered out and restarted again, building no consensus and inspiring no-one. And Robb Stark, while obviously a fine warrior, lacked the experience and the basic training in ethos, pathos and logos to steer the debate in a proper direction.

"Gentlemen." he called out, his voice hoarse and strained, but still quite audible when he wanted it to be. Much of the room turned to watch him, and a lot of the conversations died out.

"Ser Edmure, Lord Robb, if I may?" he asked rhetorically, but it usally paid off to be respectful to the highest authorities in the room, even if they were not exercising that authority at the moment. Alienating them could cause them, and those that followed them closely, to resist anything you said on pure principle. Principled people were dangerous, after all. After he got a nod from both young men he continued.

"I listened yesterday, Gentlemen, and I have listened today. A great many opinions, many valid aproaches and many important actions have been advocated. I'd like to try to help you, and if possible honour our new alliance by advising Lord Robb." he said. There was some assent at that, but muted. They still considered him an outsider.

"Gentlemen, I think we need to form a short-term plan, and a long-term plan. In the short term, we have recently won a set of important victories. Lord Bolton held Lord Tywin's forces at the ford at Harroway's Town." that was a bit of a stretch. As he understood it, the leech lord had been unwilling to engage, wisely so, considering the superiority in cavalry the Westerland army held. "And at Whispering Wood, and at the Camps, Lord Robb routed the enemy and captured their commander, Ser Jaime Lannister." there was some cheering at that.

"Don't forget that you cut through Tywin's main force, under the command of Lord Gold-shitter himself, like a hot knife through butter!" exclaimed Lord Blackwood, to a cheer from the collected Lords.

"It was a tad bit more dfficult than that." he repleid with a slightly pained smile, accompanied with a grim-faced and stern short nod from the Strategos, which muted the cheering a bit. "We survived to fight another day, which was in itself a victory, but we did not rout the Westermen." he continued and willed down a beclh that would surely turn into a wretched session of puking up nothing at all.

"However, at Harrenhall, Lord Tywin still commands some 25 000 men, more if he can raise sell-swords and gather the men routed at the Camps, a siginficant force. And he still holds many important castles in the Riverlands." the last part earned him some shouts from various Riverland Lords who advocated re-taking their homes. "Even with the combined strength of the North and the Riverlands - and the Condottieri, the Lannister forces cannot be ignored." he had to strain himself to make himself heard, and not a new debate errupted, completely drowning his own voice. The somber room suddenly turned petty, prickly and heated as the hung over nobles let their feelings, fed by headaches and queasy stomachs get the better of them.

Shit. He had hoped to give them a speech, but this was not going well.

"SILENCE!!!" came the defeaning roar of the Greatjon, aided by a fist slammed into a heavy oaken table, still causing the table and the mostly untouched tankards and plates of breakfast food to jump and clatter. The great man, pale and with a damp cloth pressed against his pounding head rose and gestured wide with a long, heavy arm. "This man met Tywin's best and survived. This man brought back Bran, Sansa and Arya whole and safe, and returned Ice to Lord Robb. You will shut up and LISTEN to what he has to say. No-one has to agree, but you will LISTEN, or I will break each of your heads in turn, personally." the great man said, groaned slightly and sat down on a chair that groaned equally under his great weight.

With the room turned silent under the roar of the great man, he could continue.

"However, before thinking what we need to do next, we need to consider our long-term goals - and those of our enemies. At the moment, Stannis Baratheon has gathered the Royal Fleet and his own Banners at Dragonstone, and is rumoured to head towards Storm's End, where a few Houses of the Stormlands and a scarce few, including the Florents, of the Reach loyal to him. In the meantime, Renly Baratheon has wed Maergary Tyrell and proclaimed himself King at Highgarden, and is marching with some 90 000 Stormlanders and Reachmen towards King's Landing, but may head to Storm's End to deal with his brother before taking the capital." he headed over to a map draped over one of the larger rooms in the table, with the eyes of the room on him, mostly due to the Greatjon. If nothing, the man was true to his word.

"Ned declared for Stannis. Stannis is our King." the fat Ser Wylis Manderly said, to quite some agreement in the room. He raised his hand.

"Yes, quite so. But at the moment, he is not able to help us. But he is a threat to the Lannisters, as is Renly." he said. "And they will need to deal with it. We can aid by delaying that and weakening Lord Tywin." He did not say it, as it would not fall on fertile soil, but Renly had the bigger army and the heavier purse with his Tyrell alliance and most of the Stormlands behind him. He suspected the younger of the Baratheons would come out on top - and then it could be a liability to have sworn for the loser. It was better to have been of service to the crown by fighting the Lannister - regardless of whom placed that crown upon his head, the older or the younger brother.

"I agree with Lord Robb here. We need to bring the fight to the Westerlands, while still keeping Lord Tywin engaged. Let the Westermen pay restitution for what they have wrought on the Riverlands. It will weaken Lord Tywin's hold on his bannermen, especially if we hold him at Harrenhall and make sure he cannot aid his homeland. It will weaken the Lannisters over-all." and hopefully have them defeated by either Stannis, or more likely Renly.

"In the meantime, we can offer to exchange Ser Jaime for Ned and perhaps, as Lady Stark suggests, send her and possibly Ser Brynden to the Eyrie to gain the aid of Lady-Regent Lysa Arryn."

"I doubt it will work, I tried to have the Lady see reason." Ser Brynden replied with a grim face. "I still think we should attempt to draw Lord Tywin out of Harrenhall by raiding the Westerlands, let him pass and then crush him between our forces before he reaches the Golden Tooth."

The Strategos shook his head. "Too risky." he said. "You don't have the communication to make sure you all arrive at the same time. Lord Tywin could possibly defeat us in detail and trap any raiding forces in the Westerlands. And that is if he even takes the bait to pursue any raiding forces instead of marching southeast to reinforce King's Landing." the Strategos said, gesturing along the road on the map. "After all, Casterly Rock won't be taken quickly or easily, and Lord Tywin can afford his bannermen's temper, at least for a while. King's Landing is the real prize here - and Lord Tywin is smart enough to know it." the Strategos paused and looked around the room. "In fact, I think that Lord Tywin is your main enemy. The Queen Regent and her bastard are not as skilled as they think they are. Ser Jaime may be a fighter, but considering how Lord Robb outwitted him him like a fox a rabbit, he's not much of a General." there were some chuckles there from the gathered Lords. "If we removed Lord Tywin from the equation, things would be quite a bit smoother."

"Easier said than done." Ser Edmure said with a shake of his head.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." the Strategos said, turned and stepped over to one of the Tully household men that guarded the door.

"Master H'gar, I have a name for you. Lord Tywin Lannister."

The Tully guardsman nodded. "A man has a name. In time, the name will be given to the stranger, and a man will return for another." and with that, he opened the door, stepped through it and vanished as if in thin air, to the collected astonishment of the gathered Lords in the hall.

And that would prove to be probably the worst mistake they ever did.

--

Note: Images by my good friend John.

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Jan 10, 2019

Add bookmark

133

#1,953

Threadmarks Story 106

von Adler

Intermissions.

"From drunkards and children you will get an honest opinion. From fools the truths all fear." Emperor Leonides II of the House Lassarias.

Dragonstone, fourth week of the second moon, 299 AL.

Dragonstone had gone from cold and lonely to quite lively as all the bannermen of her father had gathered, together with Captains of he Royal Fleet and some sell-swords from Essos. Shireen had mostly kept away, knowing well not to meddle in the business of grown-ups unless asked to. While she was only a child, she also knew that she was a mere girl, and that her greyscale caused even further problems for her father - for while her father was the true King, a King needed an hier, and none wanted to be reminded that it was her, especially now that her uncle had married a Tyrell and was gathering the strength of the Stormlands and the Reach to challenge both the bastard and her father.

And then Dragonstone was quiet again, as her father and all his men left on the ships of the Royal Navy, sailing for Storm's End. She had asked why, and father had patiently, as he always did, said that he needed some place to land his men,and Storm's End was theirs by right, and that once it was taken he would take her there to see the place of her forefathers. She knew he was serious, he always was, but worried nevertheless, even if Ser Davos had promised that he would make sure nothing happened to the father of his 'little princess'.

And now she stood on the beach of black sand as her mother and the Lady Melisandre prayed to the Red God for fortune in her father's quest, urging her to partake, burning statues of the Seven now that those that could tell them not to had left the island. As always, Patchface stayed close behind her, and while she at times pitied and at times worried about him, she could not help but feel a slight tinge of guilty satsifaction at how the fool's presence seemed to bother the Lady Melisande. She knew her mother held the Lady Melisandre's faith and beliefs for truth and wished for her to do so too, but she also listened to Master Cressen, who told her that she needed to keep the Faith of the Seven, for no follower of the Red God could rule a land where the Seven were omnipresent - she liked that word and looked forward to using it with Ser Davos and see his confusion and then get to explain it to him and have him thank 'his princess' for teaching him something, she liked being useful and teaching, especially Ser Davos. Her father also told both mother and Lady Melisandre in no uncertain terms that she, like all Westerosi, had the right to choose for herself, just like the Northerners had the right to continue to worship their trees.

As mother and the Lady Melisandre chanted the prayers to R'Hollor, she stood silent, watching the fires in the dark evening as Patchface walked back and forth behind her, muttering something that boke the cadence of the chanting in her ears, causing her confusion.

"You should join us, dear." mother said with a warm smile. "You know Lady Melisande leaves at dawn to join your father and advice him of the plans and wishes of R'Hollor, so we all may follow the path of light."

She opened her mouth while thinking of how to refuse politely, but had no time before Patchface danced in front of both of them.

"Oh, oh, oh! The spark will leave, the spark will leave!" he sang, his eyes unfocused. "The spark will see, oh, oh, oh, this I know. Oh, how I know."

"What are you saying, Patchface? Do you want to play tag?" she asked with a smile. His strange little songs were usually the prelude to some fun game, and it could mean a chance to run off from this boring ceremony and mother's insistence at partaking in it.

"Light casts shadows, oh so dark. Blood and darkness, oh, oh, oh." the fool continued, dancing around them, causing even the Lady Melisande to stop with annoyance and perhaps a tiny bit of fear in her youthful face.

"The spark will meet the flame, oh, I know. How I know." the fool continued, all eyes now on him as he danced between the Lady Melisande, mother and herself. The smattering of converts that had been watching the fire also silent.

"Fool, be silent!" the Lady Melisande commanded, but Patchface could not be dissuaded it seemed.

"The spark will try to extinguish the flame, but you cannot fight fire with fire, this I know, oh, oh, oh!" a wide smile appeared in the chequered face of the fool as he pressed on, even as mother signalled to a couple of guardsmen to remove the disruption to the ceremony.

"On land, men fall down, under water, men fall up. Fire sings, ice sings, water sings, but none listen to all, oh, oh, oh. Stormy seas make men fall upp faster, this I know, oh, oh, oh!" the fool laughed as the gaurdsmen grabbed him. "Spark, tree, black boar, grasshopper, flame, none know the song of the sea, but I know, oh, oh, oh!"

"Don't hurt him!" she exclaimed as the guardsmen dragged the fool away, the man still singing his odd little verses. She rushed after them, concerned for her friend and making sure he was alright. Thus it was only she and the guardsmen that heard the last verse.

"Under the sea are crabs, on land are hard shells and warm, soft innards. Crabs change their shell, oh, oh, oh, will hard shells be lost?"

--

Note: Images by my good friend John.

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Jan 10, 2019

Add bookmark

164

#1,956

Threadmarks Story 107

von Adler

Intermissions.

"The Wildland sea raiders can teach us many lessons, but most important is this - rage is more than good enough a replacement for courage." Strategos Konstantinos 'mud-baron' Denidrakos.

The Riverlands, fourth week of the second moon, 299 AL.

He was a smith, not a warrior. Or so he had told himself. He had not understood why high-born and important men, one after the other, had come to see him instead of his Master at the Street of Steel, and he had not bothered to inquire either - his Master was skilled, but also strong and punished disobedience harshly an quickly. Thus he had kept his head down and continued working. The hammer sung on the iron or the steel, the sounds of metal on metal, with the bellows rythmically sounding in the background could sound like racket or clatter to others, but to him it was soothing. It set him in a fine, even mood, far away from the raging frustration he could experience in other settings when he failed at what he had set forth in doing. Once the chrery-red steel was on the anvil and a hammer in his hand, nothing else needed to exist and nothing could bother him as he forged the hard metal to what he pleased it to be. It was a victory over the world and over himself and he found it satisfying to the extent that he could imagine living out the rest of his life in a forge, especially if no high-born and important men came to watch him and cause never-ending problems.

Someone, he knew not who, had arranged for him to go from King's Landing with the Wandering Crow, but now Yoren and his men were dead, and only by hiding in the forest had he, Hot Pie and Lommy managed to escape the fate that befell the recruits for the Night's Watch. He was the oldest, so he had led them first east and then north after greedily (and gratefully) taking the supplies left behind by the soldiers who came just after the battle. They had consctructed a make-shift raft to cross the Trident, avoiding the many Lannister men in the area. Then they had ended up at the Inn at the Crossroad, and finally found peace among the milling men and camp followers of Lord Roose Bolton's Northerners. Hot Pie found his home in the kitchens, baking to his heart's desire, and always stopping by to 'let him have a taste of something new he tries', but Gendry knew that it was the lad's way of saying thanks for saving their lives. He accepted the cookies, pies, breads and cakes witha a simple 'thank-you' and smiled and complimented the taste, which always made the lad beam with pride. It seemed his popularity among the Northern bannermen, the Innkeepet Masha Heddle herself and even some Northern Lords did not quite satisfy the lad as much as a simple compliment from him. He knew not why.

He found himself at ease in a makeshift forge in the stables of the inn - here he scrounged, traded and worked for equipment enough to serve the many soldiers of the Northern army, even at one occassion making new horseshoes for Lord Roose Bolton's own destrier as the silent and pale-eyed Lord semed to study him the whole time, making him uneasy. There were still enough work to do - making pots, the odd dagger or axe and repairing the tools of local Smallfolk that he could make a living at the Inn even after Lord Roose's men left for the west as the Lannister army moved south.

But of course, men came to cause problems again. Lommy had found work at the Inn, mostly as a stablehand, but also as a spitboy turning the big iron spit when larger pieces of meat were grilled in the great hearth of the Inn, and as such he needed a new crank and Gendry needed some more details on how Lommy wanted it. So with his leather apron still on and the hammer still in his hand - he always felt better with it in his hand - he headed over to the stable to talk to Lommy.

In the stable he found a gruesome scene. Three men had Lommy gagged and bound, and quite dead, considering the amount of blood.

"You shitheads! You were supposed to get some Seven-damned answers before you killed him. Now how will we know where the bastard is?" one of them exclaimed at the other two with a raspy voice. They looked like brigands or bandits, maybe deserters with chainmail armour upon dirty gambesons, leather bracers and an odd collection of helmets on their heads, unshaved cheeks and yellowed teeth. As he stepped into the stable three pairs of eyes - one of them quite crossed - turned to him and eyes went wide.

"If it aint our lucky day, he comes to us!" the first man said with a wicked smile that lacked a couple of teeth and pulled a shortsword from a scabbard. "Now, lad, just be quiet and cooperative, and this will all be over with quickly and painlessly."

The man lunged forward with his sword, and Gendry noted that it had stains of rust on the blade and was not a very well-smithed work from the start, and the lack of proper care had not improved it. It made him angry to see such sloppy work. So angry. He sidestepped as the brigand lunged forwards and he could feel all that rage, hotter than good cheery-red steel rise within him and without thinking he swung his hammer, connecting at the temple of the man with the shortsword, caving the skullbone in, seding a spatter of blood and brain matter to stain the white-washed stable wall as the head whipped to an unnatural angle.

There was a moment of silence as the next two men watched him, before finding their courage. "Kill him!" one of them yelled as they advanced on him with brandishing long, wicked daggers. He took another step to the side and one backwards, putting them one behind the other as they advanced on him. The second man reached out with his dagger, moving forward towards him as he stopped and then took a step forward. The point of the dagger reaching his leather apron and getting stuck there as his hammer connected with the elbow of the man, curshing it with a sickening sound and bending it in the wrong direction. A howl of poin was shortly cut off as he knocked off the helmet of the man with a short stroke from the front, as if he was nudging a heavy long ingot of iron forwards on the anvil, and then he buried the hammerhead to the shaft into the man's skull. Blood spattered over himself and the man behind, who seemed far less interested in fighting now, turning to run instead.

Gendry threw his hammer, hitting the man square in the back, causing him to tumble forwards with a pained groan. He steped forward, grabbed the hammer and with a succession of many more than needed well-aimed strikes turned the helmet into scrap iron and the head under it to mush as the man at first desperately tried to get up, then crawl away and finally lying still in an increasingly large pool of his own blood.

Gendry panted heavily, backed until his back hit a wall and then sank down in a sitting position there and met the wide eyes of Hot Pie at the other side of the stable, holding a freshly baked loaf of bread clasped to his heaving chest.

"Shit."

--

Note: Images by my good friend John.

Last edited: Jan 10, 2019

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Jan 13, 2019

Add bookmark

151

#1,972

Threadmarks Story 108

von Adler

Intermissions.

"The rabble-rouser may think he has the proletariat in his hand, but at the toss of a coin, it will turn against him. Always fear the rabble." Prinkipas Demetrios Komnos.

King's Landing, fourth week of the second moon, 299 AL.

Syrio Forel, former first sword of Braavos and (mostly) former teacher of high-born in the fine art of water-dancing absent-mindedly wiped blood from the fine steel blade of his light Braavosi sword, inspected the blade for any imperfections, quickly turning it over in his hand, letting the early morning sun glance of the immaculately maintained polished steel before sheating the blade in one smooth move. He corrected his doublet a bit, brushing off some invisible dust from his collar and then stepped out of the alley, leaving the corpses of three ruffians where they had fallen - not far at all from where they had confronted him. It seemed to him like the someone trying to pry information about anti-Lannister sentiments in the city had either gotten desperate, or had been replaced by someone with less skill - it seemed like throwing whatever dregs they could round up with the promise of ale, sour wine and some silver at every kind of lead had become the modus operandi. He sighed a bit and wished for some more skill among the men confronting him now and then, since it was known he had been sparring with the Equites. While the brawls were exiting, they were usually short and not very... Satisfying.

He took a left and walked down a cobblestone street and closed his eyes, feeling the uneven street beneath his boots, keeping his step light. It was an interesting form of training that the so-called 'school of the light sword' included, according to the Equites. But sudenly he was not alone. He had a man on each side, matching his pace. He suspected there would be threats to be quiet and follow them into an alley soon enough, where things would repeat themselves, yet again. He opened his eyes and studied either man, giving each of them a nod. Both at first tried to avoid his gaze, clumsily. These were not men apt at the game of the streets, but both were strongly built under brown wool cloth and with faces that spoke that they were either high-born or in service of high-born, not having suffered starvation during the winters, and knowing how to bathe and clean their clothes. Things like these were easy to spot for him who had seen the difference between a prized feline and a street cat.

"Now, gentlemen. Your charade is not very effective, why don't we talk? I suspect it is not my charms that have you follow me like this."

Both men were silent. Oh, well.

"Anguy the Master Archer, winner of the archery of the Tourney of the Hand and waster of ten thousand gold dragons and Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven. Both prominent men of the 'Botherhood of the Landing'." both men threw him guillty glances at that. "Now, you have become famous for fighting the Mountain's men and then the King's men seeking vengeance for real and imagined slights..."

"The incest-bastard." Anguy corrected him, as if on a reflex.

He smiled at that and continued to walk. "Very well, the incest-bastard's men." he corrected himself. "And now that Ser Kevan Lannister have clamped down on such things and have restored order, you have switched to recruiting and perhaps probing weaknesses of the Red Keep, hoping to perhaps free Lord Stark, or at least be very useful once King Renly or King Stannis lay siege to the city, intermixed with the odd raid on loyalist Goldcloaks and Lannister men stiffening them."

"Perhaps we should continue this conversation in an alley?" Lord Dondarrion asked.

"I think not." he replied. "We're not being followed at the moment, and anyone hearing what we say will only get a tiny bit as we walk past. Stopping in an alley draws interest, and will make people watch, and listen." he said, continuing striding forwards, lifting a plumed hat, revealing his bald head and nodding a polite greeting to a youg woman carrying a wicker basket of apples. The young Miss blushed a bit and curtsied before hurrying onwards.

The Lord beside him chewed silently for a short while. The archer remained silent, letting the higher born man do the talking, as was usual in Westeros.

"Very well." the Lord finally said. "You are right in many things. We have seen you about, drawing the attention of street brawlers and ruffians, yet we never see you with a scratch."

"A fine compliment." Syrio replied with a nod and a smile.

"And well, recruiting." the Lord continued.

"I see." Syrio said and was silent for a short while, mulling the whole thing over. "Unfortunately, I am currently gainfully employed and would have to refuse your generous offer." he said, holding up a hand and making a circling motion. "My employer is most likely unkown to you, but a good friend of someone you do know."

"The hostage stealer." the archer said with a smile that seemed wider than the Blackwater, before averting his eyes and closing his mouth at the angry stare of the Lord on his other side.

"I would not know anything of anything like that." Syrio said with a wink and a small smile. "That said, I do think my employer and your group have some mutual interests, and some mutual enemies, and I don't see why we could not work together from time to time?"

They walked along the narrow street, over uneven cobblestone and beween street peddlers, drunkards, day labourers and all the other people who inhabited this great city.

"That seems like the next best thing." the Lord agreed after chewing it over for a while.

They stopped, shook hands and then went their separate ways.

Syrio continued to a certain part of the city, where he found a group of Goldcloaks.

"Lieutenant Eduar Storm, how fortunate." he said with a smile, and the swarthy, curly-haired Goldcloak offcer nodded a greeting.

"Master Forel." he replied and took the small pouch of coin discreetely as they shook hands.

"I'm afraid there's been a fight over in Fishtail Alley. Three men dead. I'm sure it is the doing of the trechearous so-called 'Brotherhood' I've heard you've been ordered to investigate."

"Is that so?"

"Very much so. Being first there would show your diligence in doing your duties as ordered, would it not?" Syrio said, bowing slightly and then heading onwards. Time for a mug of ale and some breakfast, was it not?

Behind him the Lieutenant and his men started off in the opposite direction, double-quick.

"Why are we off on a goose chase?" one of the Goldcloaks asked.

"Trust the Lieutenant and his contacts." another said. "You still have your eyes thanks to him. All that quicklime behind every hatch and door for those that tried to loot that Seven-Damned residence!"

The rest was no longer audible as the men rounded a corner, and Syrio continued on his way to his usual establishment - it had comely serving girls, good ale and at this time usually both scrambled eggs and fried smoked ham. Frequenting the same place usually let him have better service and an extra spoon of eggs, but also made it easy for those that wanted to find hm to do so. If he was lucky, some would be waiting for him when he exited. Nothing like some exercise after a good meal, no?

Unless his reputation had gotten too hot by now. Considering how the quality of the attackers had gone down lately, that could very much be the case. Oh well, win some, lose some.

Last edited: Jan 29, 2019

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Jan 29, 2019

Add bookmark

152

#1,981

Threadmarks Story 109

von Adler

Riverrun, first week of the third moon, 299 AL.

Alexios.

"An army is never complete without a cadre to replace it as it dies - and all armies die, quickly or slowly." Captain Alexios Andreios.

1SjHFMj.jpg

Captain Alexios Andreios.

It had taken far too long, and had included far, far too much talking for his liking, but such were the ways of highborn men. It had also taken most if not all of the considerable diplomatic and rhetorical ability of the Equites to hammer something together - first getting all the high-born to simply let go of their distaste of faceless men (and a substantial amount of fear, part of which came out as anger) and assassination as a concept, then to agree to a semblance of a strategy and a plan to execute it, and finally to have himself placed in command of part of it. He knew to shut up most of the time in such circumstances - his lack of skill in diplomacy was well-known to everyone who had a passing knowledge of him - which of course included himself.

He had taken the scars to his face as a result of following a twat into battle and had sworn to never do it again. And he bluntly said so, in front of all the high-born that were so easily insulted - and insulted they were. The fact that he commanded the single largest contignent of troops had to be pressed into them, which actually made an impression, especially as the Equites managed to secure the support of Lord Jon Umber and Ser Brynden Tully for it and started talking about how getting himself out of his hair would allow him to work on logistics and money. While the Lords of these lands despised trade and craftsmanship, viewing it as below them, the prospect of their men being adequately supplied and paid, with less of it coming from their own rapidly emptying pckets spoke to them.

And so the plan was drawn up. Ser Brynden Tully and Lady Catelyn Stark would travel to the Eyrie to make another attempt to gain the support of Lady Lysa Arryn and the Knights of the Vale. Lord Robb Stark would take the majority of the cavalry available and attemtp to bypass the Golden Tooth and raid the Westerlands, hopefully goading Lord Tywin Lannister to move from Harrenhall, where he was currently holed up while his outriders burned and looted the countryside. The Equites and the wounded Ser Edmure Tully would remain at Riverrun, organising reinforcements and logistics, making sure any Lannister forces that slipped past himself would not cross the rivers and cause problems in the northern Riverlands. Young Master Theon Greyjoy was sent to his homeland and father to argue for the Stark cause, hopefully gaining the allegiance of the Iron Islands and their budding fleet. Ironborn raids on the rich Westerlands would further compromise the hold Lord Tywin held on his vassals.

The Equites and Ser Edmure Tully would, advised by Lord Hoster Tully, attempt to contact both Baratheon Kings, discreetely, to sound the ground for cooperation against the Lannisters. Most seemed to think the younger brother had the advantage - with both the Reach and the Stormlands behind him, he commanded an army of some 80 000 men, but seemed to hardly be moving as he was making his way from Highgarden towards King's Landing, while Stannis had around 20 000 plus whatever he could use from the Royal Fleet and rumours had it that there were relatives of his wife moving towards the Stormlands to join up with Houses that preferred the older brother to the younger, despite the latter's gregarious charm. He had met both of them, Stannis on Dragonstone and Renly when he visisted the Equites in King's Landing and he held that Stannis was the more forceful leader. Superiority in numbers and even quality mattered little if you could not apply it, and he doubted that Renly had the decisiveness in him to do that. It remained to be seen if he was wise enough to realise that and leave command to competent subordinates. It was one of Kaisar's best trait - he knew what he was good at, and more importantly what he was not good at, and how to leave those things to competent servants.

In the end, he would take the Condottieri, parts of the Riveland forces that were still available and not needed and join up with the Northern forces commanded by Lord Roose Bolton and then head for Harrenhall to ensue that Lord Tywin Lannister did not come north - and do whatever he found suitable to thwart Lord Tywin Lannister.

But before that, he needed to restock on supplies - both naphta and bolts for the Polyboloses as well as food and sugeon's supplies. The wounded needed care arranged, and he needed to detach a set of Condottieri to build new formations from volunteers in the Riverlands to replace the losses and hopefully expand the formations in the future. All this was busy work, and he kept himself at it. At the moment, he was inspecting half-a-dozen mules that a horse merchant was willing to part with - probably for a good price - quickly to get out of the warzone without an obviously attractive and very visible loot tagging along.

"Strategos, can I talk to you?"

He lowered his eyes to see young Bran Stark looking up at him, with Ser Barristan Selmy not far behind. It seemed like the old knight had accepted a heart-felt plea from the children's mother to escort them all the way to Winterfell, and thus he remained their shadow.

"If you can keep up." he replied with a nod and shook the hand of the horse merchant as a bag of coin changed hands and Condottieri took over the care of the mules. With that he marched over to his next task, ensuring that enough canvas was available for tents both for the men left behind and those that would follow him as they marched to confront Lord Tywin Lannister. Bran Stark struggled to keep up and talk at the same time.

"I need training." the lad said.

"Perhaps." he replid. "You are the son of a Lord Paramount. You can get it from many sources." he glanced towards Ser Barristan Selmy. "Perhaps from 'the Bold' himself." he said with a smile. The old knigth nodded and smiled a short smile at that.

"No, you don't understand. You must train me." the lad said.

"No, I don't." he replied with a short laughter.

"But I must have it!" the lad exlaimed, clearly upset and frustated at not getting what he wanted.

"Perhaps. But I am in no way compelled by that." he said, walking off and leaving a perplexed Ser Barristan Selmy and a very frustrated young Stark behind.

It took a day before the lad was back.

"Strategos, may I have a word with you?"

"Certainly, as long as it does not disrupt my lesson." he replied. He was showing a few new recruits how to make lamellar armour, with wide-eyed serf sons desperately trying to keep up with his stiffer, but much more well-trained fingers.

"I would like to request to have training from you." the lad said.

"I don't think I have time for that." he replied.

"I can offer something in return." the lad insisted.

"Oh?" he asked, not quite convinced.

"Yes. You wish to recruit more men. I can talk to my mother, my uncle and my brother to have them approve of your recruitment. That should make it easier." the lad said, looking very hopeful.

"That might not make much of a difference." he countered.

"And it might make some. Training me will not be that much more effort as you train others at the same time." the lad continued with a wide smile, only slightly marred by the dark circles under his eyes.

He paused a bit and took a look at the lad and the clearly amused Ser Barristan Selmy behind him.

"Been talking to the Equites about this, hm?" he said.

"Yes!" the lad confessed, with the enthusiasm of a child not understanding that somethings should be kept secret, or at least not offered freely. "He is teaching me about logos, ethos and pathos and convincing people, for just owing him a favour!"

He smiled a bit at that. The lad had no idea what he was getting himself into. Or maybe he did. But he had gone through a lot of effort, and he was right. It might help with recruitment.

"Very well. Show up at dawn tomorrow, and we'll see about training." he said, with the lad bouncing up and down in enthusiasm. He suspected that such entusiasm would be worn off quickly.

"It seems you have visitors, young Bran Stark." he said, noticing the two red-haired children that were watching from afar. The lad turned his eyes and nodded, and got nods back. It seemed like they knew each other already, but the slightly surprised look on the face of the old knight said otherwise. Interesting, but not something he had time for right now. It was time to make the new recruits run in their slopply assembled armour. The abrasions and blisters from the chafing would teach them to make it properly next time.

--

Images by my good friend John.

Last edited: Jan 29, 2019

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Feb 10, 2019

Add bookmark

175

#2,004

Threadmarks Story 110

von Adler

The Riverlands, fourth week of the third moon, 299 AL.

Alexios.

"A commander can never broke insubordination." Captain Alexios Andreios.

1SjHFMj.jpg

Captain Alexios Andreios.

After a further two weeks of rest and resupply, setting up a cadre at Riverrun and then organising the Northern and Riverlander forces he would command he had marched southwards with close to 10 000 men, forcing himself to work with the prickly Lords and Sers of the Riverlands, as they provided much of the army's eyes and ears as outriders (themselves, their hobilars, their retainers and family and other light cavalry kept in feudal service). He wished he had Ser Brynden Tully and his ability to both scout and obviously manage to insane levels of bickering and cock-measuring that happened every night as various self-important noblemen and knights jockeyed for the favoured position and questioned each others' motives, bravery and willingness to fight the enemy. It seemed that to command a force of noblemen was akin to hed cats. Not that he had not seen similar before, but to be honest, he had not been in command of such an august gathering before. He found that it tried his patience and wore it thin, oh so thin.

"To put Ser Prescott ahead of me is a grave insult!" argued the red-faced Lord of some holdfast somewhere he could not remember at the moment.

"It is not. It is a question of rested horses." he replied.

"I shall not stand for this!"

"You shall, or you shall hang for treason - which insubordination in war is."

"You would never!"

"I would, I could and I will."

"I am a knight and a Lord!"

"Yes, so far. However, you have a sworn and oath to your liege that you are skirting dangerously close to breaking. If you do, you are no longer a knight nor a Lord and can be hung like the bandits we hung yesterday!"

"Lord Edmure will hear of this!"

"Of course. Until then, obey orders. And get out of my tent!" he was close to raising his voice over mere battlefield command level at the end there. It had taken a full week for this steady stream of insulted Sers and Lords to slow down to a trickle as the message got out - he cared not for their petty feuds and jockeying for position. To say that he was unpopular among the nobility was an understatement. On the other hand, he had achieved some popularity with the men of the various Riverlander feudal levies. Inititally the high pace of the march and the strict code of conduct when in friendly lands had been unpopular, but the camps made by the Condottieri marching ahead, the comfortable privies, the well-cooked and timely delivered food and his and his officers constant inspections that all men had tents, hot food and knew their place and their orders had instilled a sense in the men that he cared for them. Which he did, of sorts. He cared about them getting to the next battlefield alive and killing for him.

They marched southeastwards, skirting north of High Hearth, but not without checking the strategic position for Lannister elements, of which none were found. Instead the outriders reported on a stooped old woman, short as few, who told them strange things of dreams of a black boar from far away, feeding on death and gorging on man and beast alike, yet willingly being shackled and directed north to feast on the already dead. They also reported on this strange woman speaking of dreams of a beanstalk of gold reaching ever-higher and a flame of fury never before seen in the land making the beanstalk shudder, shiver and writhe, yet still grow towards it until they met where darkness met light.

"That is very well, men, but prophecies are the rantings of madmen and old fools most of the time. The time they are not, little can be done about them. Best is to ignore them and continue to work towards what is at hand. Understood?"

The men nodded, still pale-faced and obviously affected by what they had heard. That old woman must spin quite the tale to be able to enchant men so. Interesting, if he had the time. Which he did not. Instead he had to intervene as two high-and-mighty knights were near to come to blows.

"Sers! There will be no duelling in my army. I need both of you to face the Lannisters who has turned your land to soot and ash. You can spill each others' guts as much as you like once that is over. Both of you will be better off hung as an example to the rest than duelling, is that clear?" he roared at two young idiots that evidently got into a spat over something completely irrelevant. He suddenly had a bit more understanding on why Kaisar and Equites Asimachos were frustrated so often. This was worse than herding cats or trying to reason with nomads. This place urgently needed some mob justice with the people killing off most of the nobility and leaving the rest cowering or at least upholding a front of being benovelent and caring about justice for all.

And then it got worse.

They met up as planned with the Northern force commanded by Lord Roose Bolton, marching west from the ford at Lord Harroway's Town. He met and shook hands with the pale-eyed Lord.

"Strategos Andreios. I have heard much of you." Lord Bolton said with a small smirk.

"And I of you." he replied.

"You will of course turn over command of the joint host to me." the pale-eyed Lord continued with the natural authority of someone who is used to being obeyed at all parts throughout their life.

"No." he replied. He had suspected something like this would happen, and since he could not really threaten to kill such an important Lord, he had to actually think beyond violence. Which was rough on him. Intrigue was Kaisar's and the Equites' business, not his.

"Surely, you see that I command two thirds of our numbers. It is only natural that command should go to me." the soft-spoken Lord said.

"No." he replied.

"I have experience both from the Trident and Pyke."

This time he did not reply at all and just stared at the man in front of him. They were of equal height, but he was far more powerfully built than the Northern Lord. Their eyes met, but his told mostly of disinterest in the whole thing, which seemed to surprise the Lord in front of him.

"I am from the North and know how to command Northmen." Lord Roose Bolton then said as the silence grew long.

Again he did not reply, despite some murmurs from various bannermen sworn to Bolton or other Northern Houses that had accompanied Lord Bolton to this meeting.

"I am sure you will agree that..." Lord Bolton said, but did not get far before he interruped the pale-eyed man.

"Now that we have settled that, I want your men to make two columns to march to the northeast of my Riverlanders and Condottieri."

Lord Bolton tried to speak, but he simply spoke over him, his strong battlefield voice easily trouncing the soft and low voice of the pale-eyed Lord. "Master Woodhand, I suppose you command the Winterfell contignent."

"I do, Strategos." the brown-bearded strong man replied with a nod. Lord Bolton tried to talk again, but he continued to talk over the man.

"Good. I want you and Master Petroell to organise the logistics and marching of these two colums that Lord Bolton commands. I will send you some of my officers to assist you with camp plans and marching schedules."

One by one he adressed the various Northern Lords, Masters and bannermen that had accompanied Lord Roose Bolton, giving them orders and sending them on the way - each being easier than the first, which is why he had started with the Winterfell man, as he would most likely be compliant. There might have been a hint of a smile from Ser Wylis Manderly and perhaps also from Harrion Karstark as they left, but he could not be entirely certain.

"Now, Lord Bolton, you must be tired and we have a long day of march in front of us tomorrow. I shall not keep you from your duties any longer." he said with a short bow, still talking over the pale-eyed Lord and could se a hint of fury in those pale eyes. He turned his back towards the man and started to tend to his own duties, not recognising anything else said in that alluring soft tone of Lord Bolton, until the man finally gave up and left. He had made an enemy today. He was fine with that.

--

Images by my good friend John.

Last edited: Feb 11, 2019

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Feb 11, 2019

Add bookmark

200

#2,018

Threadmarks Story 111

von Adler

The Riverlands, first week of the fourth moon, 299 AL.

Sandor.

"I have heard some say there are sheep, and there are lions. But where you find sheep, you find sheepdogs, ready to tear lions limb from limb." Captain Sandor 'Sheepdog' Clegane.

Q4soNc7.jpg

Lions tore apart the Riverlands. In order to hinder their movement and disrupt their ability to forage, supply and perhaps even recruit, it seemed like the high esteemed shit-heap from the Westerlands Lord Tywin Lannister had sent his worst - and that said a lot - to loot, pillage, rape and burn the Riverlands from the Trident to the God's Eye. Everywhere he went, he met with smoldering villages, the cries of the few who had been quick enough to hide far away enough and the blood of those that had been too slow, or had tried to put up a desperate fight. He held those men, and the occasional woman, in especially high regard. With nothing but the clothes on their back, a cudgel, a sharpened pole, a hoe or an iron-rimmed wooden shovel they fought armoured knights and died trying. In some cases it was evident that their death had meant something - loved ones had time to escape or hide. They found a suckling babe barely alive under the corpse of a young woman, barely more than a girl herself, the sticky and bloody evidence of multiple rapes still dripping out of her - she must have remained in place, hiding the babe throughout it all. In other cases it was evident these so-called 'knights' had enjoyed dragging women and children out of their hiding holes in front of the wounded brave to torture the families together in a macabre travesty of family unity.

The Strategos' words from that fateful day in the cellar, when he learned to control his fear of fire through pain and panic echoed through his mind. 'Only when you feel fear can you be brave. Courage is not the absence of fear, it is to overcome it, control it!'

They found men, women and children burned in a collapsed Sept, having sought refuge in their faith and the vain hope that those that did this would respect a simple rural Septon and his command that the Gods' place would not be disturbed. The Septon's dead face was a convoluted mask of fear, pain and shock, made even worse by the fact that they had torn him limb from limb, decapitated him and then parted his torso to leave him in seven pieces. Fitting, he supposed, in the twisted logic of these wolves.

'Lions care not for the opinion of sheep!' he had heard Lord Tywin Lannister exclaim more than once when he was brought to visit as the vassals of Casterly Rock paraded and groweled in front of their liege Lord under the towering shadow of Casterly Rock, all hoping to avoid the fate of the Reynes and the Tarbecks. And sheep were his parents, and his sister, and the wives and then mistresses of his brother, all murdered by the beast. And no-one cared. No-one investigated. No-one looked the monster in the eye and questioned why his hands smelled of blood.

But there were sheepdogs. And he was one of them. He had brought much deserved justice on his brother. He would bring much deserved justice on these men. And he would find others like him, like the Condottieri and treasure the gift of discipline. Like the Equites treasured gold. Make it grow, expand and spread. Until every sheep was a sheepdog.

And then Lord Tywin Lannister would find that the sheep were very, very opiniated indeed. And then he would crap his smallclothes full of gold. Sandor Clegane, in theory his vassal, would make the man see his dynasty, his family, his legacy, his everything vanish before he put red-hot irons through the man's eyes so he could see nothing after that. Oh, he would.

He could feel the hate surge through him. Give him strength, push him onwards, tempered by discipline and the dreams of a world where his kind was not needed but feared and shunned rather than respected or even revered.

"Rid me of them, Lieutenant Clegane. Your discretion." the Strategos had commanded. His heart had jumped at the last two words, but his reply had been the ever-steadfast 'Yes, Strategos.'

He had his pick of the best of the Condottieri, the most fit men of them all. Lean, hungry sheepdogs, most of them with long legs, other with stamina that seemed beyond that of normal men. All with a burning desire to put a stop to what was happening around them. And as the outriders and inept knights and useless noblemen of the combined Riverlander-Northern-Condottieri host barely managed to hem the raiders into a generic area, he and his men went on the hunt. Relentless sheepdogs, drooling, howling for their feline prey. It seemed like most of the lions turned from predator into cowering prey at the first whiff of proper soldiers.

The first party they caught were quick to get on their horses and ride away, laughing at their pursuers running after them. They were not laughting half a day later when they had to do the same thing again. And then again. The fourth time, the horses were exhausted carrying heavily armoured men - the Westerland cavalry was almost uniformly heavily armoured, knight, outrider, hobilar, squire and hedge knight alike - and loot, and started collapsing. The battle was short and sweet, and twenty Lannister raiders paid for what they had done. Far too quickly and far too easily for his tastes, but the Strategos was right - duty before pleasure. They did not engage in personal indulgence unless they had the luxury of both time and power.

He did not remember saying it, but supposed he must have said the word at some time and soon the entire outfit called themselves the Sheepdogs. And then it spread. They moved fast, but rumour spread faster, it seemed. A bare-legged shepherder's boy, a lean redhead with a face full of freckles and eyes even fuller of hate had caught up with them at one occassion. The lad managed to keep their pace as they ran - they had no shepherding dogs, so he had always ran to gather the sheep before bad weathers or for shearing or lambing, he told. Tough lad. The boy had informed them of a party of raiders, a dozen or so, which had raided his village and killed his mother after a very long time of drawing it out. They were not far off, it seemed.

"Give me your belt, lad." he had said, holding out his hand.

"It is just a rope, Sheepdog." the lad had replied. The respect, almost reverence that the title carried in the mouth of the lad was a stark contrast to what others would put in the name.

"I know. I will make use of it." he had said with a wicked smile. The lad was bright and understood, untied the rope and handed it to him.

They ran over gentily sloping hills covered with the rotting carcasses of sheep pricked by lances.

They did catch that raiding party at dusk and simply charged them as they were making camp, tumbling over the surprised Westerlander raiders.

By the time the lad caught up with them again, holding his short trousers up with one hand, the high and mighty knights were gently swinging back and forth in the foul-smelling breeze. Their leader, a hedge knight in service of House Marbrand, if his memory served him right, had his noose fashioned from a short stretch of rope recently acquired.

The lad smiled and sat down tailor style to watch the body move in its soothing way to the creaking of the oak branch from which it was hung.

He presented the lad with a single lamellar plate, to the boy's confusion.

"If you don't have any family to care for lad, and wish to become what I am, go to Riverrun and present this to Sergeant Ellis Baker and give him my regards." he said, patted the lad's head as the boy clutched the small steel lamelle to his chest like it was made of pure gold.

After a day of rest they continued, pursuing what must have been a larger party of raiders. They found a horseshoe that spoke of a knightly destrier from the sheer size of the lump of metal. He kneeled over some horse droppings, feeling them. Cold, but still soft and moist as he rubbed them between his fingers. Less than half a day off, probably. This tracking business that the Strategos had taught him was effective in the field. When you watched, smelled and touched, the terrain told you so much. So many relied only on seeing the enemy. Foolish lions.

They caught up with the larger party at dusk and quickly smeared themselves with mud and rotting leaves at a closeby creek and spend the few hours before nightfall eating cold rations and resting before they slowly crept up to the encampment made by the raiders ahead. It seemed like an argument was in full bloom in the encampent and several of the posted guards continiously turned to watch the main combattans instead of watching the darkness - ruining their night vision as they watched the fires. Sloppy, but all the better for them.

"We need to head back to Harrenhall. This area is crawling with those accursed foreigner soldiers!" a hedge knight exclaimed, gesturing wildly. "And that is not even speaking of Lord Blackwood's outriders."

"Our orders come from Lord Tywin Lannister himself." came the reply from a strongly built man on the other side of the fire.

He narrowed his eyes to peer at the red tabard of the man. Something black, but what?

"Ser Lorch..." the hedge knight started, but was interrupted. Still, Sandor thanked the man in his mind, as he saved him having to ruin his night vision by staring towards the fire. It seemed like they had finally encountered the leader of this whole sordid affair.

"Enough. The Condottieri are off on a goose chase after small horsed parties, running themselves ragged, and we are good Westerlander men. We'll give those Riverlander tree lovers a good slip." there was some laughter at that, and it seemed like Ser Amory Lorch had won this round. Not that it would make him much good. His men were well-trained, and two guards had their throats slit durign the laughter, any sound they made in their death drowned out by the merry sound. Macabre, but effective. They were not as lucky with the third guard, with him making a muffled and pained cry before dying, alerting the men in the camp. Oh well, they had gotten close enough.

"Loose!" he roared, and as one twenty Condottieri stood and loosed crossbow bolts into the confused mass of Westerlander knights.

"Charge!" he roared, even louder as the Westerlanders acted surprisingly quickly - not quite as sloppy as he would have liked them, he supposed. Some fell to the crossbow bolts, others were merely wounded. About half drew swords and other weapons and made to create a line of sorts, while the rest made off for the horses to get mounted, their one advantage. However, they had foreseen that, and the horse guard had been the first to die, the horses had their reins cut and were driven off in panic by slashes to their hinds. The Westerlanders tried to run after their horses and were mercilessly picked off, unable to see in the darkness, confused and dazed among panicked horses.

Those that had remained formed a circle, but was quickly surrounded. Wounded men were picked off by swordspears, unable to respond to the longer reach of the Condottieri weapons and to bolts from reloaded crossbows. They put up a strong fight before the first cries of 'Yield!' was heard. Soon the remaining men had surrendered.

"Curse this day." said a knight in a tabard he could not quite place. "My ransom will be swift and generous, should I be treated well." the man said as he was disarmed.

"What makes you think you will be ransomed?" he growled.

"I am an anointed Knight of the Seven!" the man exclaimed, as if he had japed.

"No. You were charged in the name of the Maid to protect women and you were charged in the name of the Mother to defend the young and innocent. And in the name of the Father to be just." he threw a telling glance towards the distance and the still smoldering embers of the most recently raided village, which could be seen in the dark distance.

"Things happen in war..." the knight started with a shrug and a smile, but got no further before he stabbed the man in the groin, lifting the man from the ground. He let the dagger dig around until he was sure he had separated both cock and balls and tore sack and rod out from under the man before letting him down again. The man shrieked and collapsed in a quicly expanding pool of his own blood, desperatly rolling over, pressing his hands towards his maimed crotch trying to stem the flood of blood and failing in that. He watched the man bleed out in less than a minute and then turned to the rest of the knights that were not quite a bit paler.

"Hang them all." he said to the shouted protests of the prisoners, pleads for mercy and promises of ransoms, all of which fell on deaf ears.

"I am a knight. If I am to be executed, I demand to be decapitated with a sword!" Ser Amory Lorch said, cluthing is bleeding side where a crossbow bolt protrouded, still defiant.

"No. You violated your oath, and like the rapist there..." he gestured towards the bled-out man on the ground with bloody hands, spattering blood over the fine tabards of the knights in front of him. "...you are no longer knights. You are mere bandits, murderers, rapists, arsonists, looters and thieves. And as such you will hang." he said as his men tied the hands of the men and then slung nooses over their necks.

"Lord Tywin will hear of this!" Ser Amory Lorch said, a last defiant sentence before he was hauled from his feet, kicking and gurgling.

"I certainly hope so." he said with a smile, closing in on the bluing face of the landed knight sworn to Casterly Rock. Despite being almost a foot off the ground, the face of the hanging man was level with his own.

"Give my brother my regards in the Seven Hells and tell them to make room for more."

He sighed a bit after they were all dead. He hated it, but in one sense the landed knights last wish would be fulfilled as he carved the man's head off and put it in a small keg of salt.

--

Images by my good friend John.

Last edited: Feb 23, 2019

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Feb 18, 2019

Add bookmark

184

#2,053

Threadmarks Story 112

von Adler

Harrenhall, second week of the fourth moon, 299 AL.

Bronn.

"Loyalty? Why yes, pay me and I'll be loyal. Unless you are an arse that is also losing." Bronn.

XVjzez3.jpg

After walking northwest for several days, stealing food and some other things along the way he had started to question his decision to head this way - originally, he had throught the recently flared up war in the Riverlands would give ample opportunities for a man of his abilities and inclination. However, the looted and ravaged countryside proved hard to 'forage' from, and he was very hungry indeed once a mounted Lannister patrol found him. Fortunately for him, the Lannisters had suffered immense casualties against the Stark-Tully forces and were quite eager for a new recruit, especially one with some experience like himself. He found himself well fed and equipped with armour and weapons that had probably belonged to a levyman of one of the Lannister bannermen that had succumbed to some disease or other and in charge of a set of raw recruits of varying willingness to serve. Bandits, Riverland serfs force-conscripted by their enemies, adventurers and runaways. They ranged in ability from mediocre to disastrous and in willingness from sullen slow compliance to open defiance. His luck seemed to never run out.

But at least they had three hearthy meals a day, courtesy of the late Lady Whent and the fertile lands around Harrenhall and ten years of summer. He suspected that the Smallfolk around Harrenhall would starve come winter, considering the rate at which the Lannister host went through the stores. He noted that the rate at which loot was coming in was steadily dwindling too. Vargo Hoat and his Brave Companions left, boasting of all the ill deeds they were about to commit and all the loot they would bring back, and never returned. Likewise various hedge knights, hobilars and unsavory adventurers - basically any man with a lack of morals and a horse were sent out, and either returned wide-eyed, stammering and sweating or not at all. It was evident that Lord Tywin's host was being hemmed in. And he knew enough of fighting and warfare to know that this was not a good thing.

He assumed that Lord Tywin had some 25 000 men - good troops, heavily armoured as all Westerlanders, with a sizable component of heavy cavalry but lacking a bit in archers and light cavalry. Gossiping with those that returned after raiding told many things. The main Lannister host had faced the Condottieri in battle and had completely surrounded them, poured arrows over them, blocked them in, battered them with heavy infantry and then executed a near perfect charge of heavy cavalry - all of which had failed to break the foreigner's odd army. Added to his own experience he decided that he did not want to face those men again if he could avoid it. Being alive beat most things, including Lannister gold.

The Stark cavalry had trashed the men laying siege to Riverrun and captured Ser Jaime Lannister and a decisive Lannister superiority had turned into parity, or even Riverlander-Northern-Condottieri superiority.

Fuck.

So when he and his make-shift command of men were ordered out to scout and forage, and if possible raid and loot, he was less than enthusiastic. Sure, he played the part of the sell-sword looking forward to having his way with the Smallfolk still around Harrenhall, but he knew that he and his men were being sacrificed to delay the enemy as he closed in on Harrenhall. The men knew it as well, and a third deserted during the first night, including what he had thought been a reliable man taking the first watch.

"Hey, theres a village up ahead!" one of the less savory men that remained grinned as they marched in a loose order towards the northeast.

"We'll scout and remain hidden."

"We have orders to burn the countryside." the man said, onbiously eager for some 'fun' times.

"Don't be daft, man." he hissed, but suspected it was to deaf ears. The wind had turned a bit chilly, foreboding autumn after the long summer, and as they neared the village they passed through a copse of trees, in which men he recognised as Bave Companions gently rocked back and forth, accompanied only by the wind and the slight creaking of the trees as the bodies hung were they had been strung up. He surpressed a shiver that went down his spine.

"Hah, they've been here and left. Time for some fun, lads!" the unsavory man said, evidently interpreting the hung men completely differently. He surpressed a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes. There was no cure for being a cunt, especially not a stupid cunt.

"Allright Hedric, you take half the lads and go ahead. We'll keep watch and cover you." he finally said.

"Missing out on the fun, eh?" the man laughed and quickly picked out his set of men.

"We get half of the loot." he said, making the whole thing more believable.

"Maybe if I feel generous." Hedric replied and marched over to the village, eagerly watching the thin stacks of smoke that rose from the tatched roofs of the houses and huts of the village, betraying the fact that the locals were still in residence.

Of course it was a trap. Hedric and his boys were dead the minute they entered the village, killed by men wearing simple Smallfolk outfits over heavy armour.

he put down the spear and shotsword he had and removed his helmet and urged the other lads to do the same as the enemy neared them.

"If they want us dead, we're dead, lads. Hopefully they'll let us surrender." he said to the nervous recruits clutching swords, shields and spears as they were surrounded. Slowly man after man threw down his arms and followed their leader in raising their hands above their heads.

"I suppose you plan to ask to be ransomed?" came a gravely voice from a huge monster of a man with an impossibly scarred face.

"Nah." he said with a shake of his head. "None of us are knights or Lords. Just force-conscripted Smallfolk." he lied. Most of the men left had joined willingly, looking for aventure, gold or just a reliable supply of warm food every day. But all the lads were smart enough to nod and shut up and not contradict him.

"I'll hang you then." the huge man said and glanced towards the Brave Companions already arranged in the trees.

"We're not bandits." he protested.

"Oh? You attempted to raid the village."

"No, they did." he nodded towards the bloody corpses of Hedric and his men being dragged out of the village as the enemies dug shallow but adequate graves for the dead.

"You're rapists." the big man said.

"I prefer my cunt willing, even if I have to pay for it." he countered.

The large man snorted. "Why should I keep you alive?"

"I can give you information on the Lannister host?" he tried, desperately. If it ended here, he supposed he had a decent run with some bad luck at the end.

The huge man looked at him for a few heartbeats.

"Alright, tell me." he finally said.

Bronn breathed out a small sigh of relief and started talking.

--

Images by my good friend John.

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Feb 24, 2019

Add bookmark

119

#2,085

Threadmarks Story 113

von Adler

The Riverlands Campaign.

"A map brings order to chaos, certainity to doubt and focus to dithering." Comes and Natural Philosopher Heraklios Lassarias of the Cartographer Department of the Imperial Academy.

CEWIePK.png

As the Condottieri fight two battles on their way to the Riverlands, Lord Tywin Lannister routs the scouting force opposing him at the end of the pass of the Golden Tooth, splits his force, with Ser Jaime Lannnister taking on and defeating the hastily assembled Riverlords just outside Riverrun. Ser Edmure Tully is wounded in the battle, but Lord Tytos Blackwood assumes command and manages to retreat into Riverrun with a large part of the Riverland force.

Lord Tywin Lannister captures Pinkmaiden and Acorn Hall and lays siege to numerous smaller castles and holdfasts, shattering whatever resistance he encounters as the southern Riverlords are unable to concetrate their forces to oppose him.

In the meantime, Lord Robb Stark arrives at the Twins, negotiatis a crossing and soaks up the Frey troops, sending Lord Roose Bolton with most of the infantry along the Kingsroad to fix Lord Tywin Lannister in place while Lord Robb Stark himself relieves Riverrun.

Lord Tywin Lannister captures Harrenhall, leaves a small garrison and marches north to Lord Harroway's Town and the fords over the Trident there, meeting the Northern force under Lord Roose Bolton and skirmishing with it, with neither party willing to risk crossing the Trident in force in the face of the substantial enemy force.

Lord Robb Stark crosses at the Twins, soaks up some of the Mallister troops (primarily cavalry) at Seagard and then heads south. Ser Brynden Tully's outriders keep Ser Jaime Lannister in the dark and the Kingsguard is lured into a trap at Whispering Wood, where his horse is shot out from under him by a Winterfell volunteer longbow militiaman, but not before he slays Lord Torrhen Karstark.

The ensuing Battle of the Camps outside Riverrun is a devastating Northern-Riverland victory, with two thirds of Ser Jaime Lannister's army killed or captured, and only around 5 000 stragglers under Ser Forley Prester managing to escape to flee to Harrenhall.

Lord Tywin, upon learning of the defeat at Riverrun first turns to aid his son, but as he learns the extense of the diastrous defeat, he decides to regroup at Harrenhall. Dividing his force into three columns to forage wide and burn the land behind him to prevent the catious Lord Roose Bolton from pursuing, two of the columns encounter the Condottieri under Strategos Alexios Andreios, but fail to break them in a running battle, despite huge numerical superiority.

At Harrenhall, Lord Tywin Lannister merges with the mem Ser Forley Prester has managed to salvage from the Battle of the Camps and attempts to bolster his numbers by force-conscripting Riverlander and Crownlander serfs, of which most of the former desert at the earliest opportunity and promising gold beyond compare to encite hedge knights, sellswords, adventurers and other riffraff to join the Lannister force.

--

In this case, map by me.

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Mar 26, 2019

Add bookmark

140

#2,101

Threadmarks Story 114

von Adler

The Riverlands, fourth week of the fourth moon, 299 AL.

Alexios.

"Decisiveness is paramount in war." Captain Alexios Andreios.

1SjHFMj.jpg

Captain Alexios Andreios.

Organising the aproach to Harrenhall proved an extensive nightmare. The supply situation was decent, as the Equites in Riverrun made sure that a steady flow of ox-carta loaded with food and the other essentials of an army arrived to make sure they had what they needed. Coordinating such a large forcer, with several unwilling or just plain stupid sub-commanders he could not easily remove proved a headache he had not experienced before. The feudal levies moved slowly and with an extensive train of camp followers close behind to care for the needs of the soldiers - from simple washing, cooking and tent pitching all the way to gambling, drinking, whoring and trading. Soldiers sold their loot and spent the coin gained from it. A few saved up, and some of them were robbed or even murdered for their heavy purses by others who had far lighter ditos. Maintaining discipline was almost impossible, and maintaining cohesion completely out of the question. More than once he had to resist the urge to simply order the Condottieri and perhaps what little cavalry they had and the Winterfell contignent to detach and send the rest home to their fields. But alas, he needed the bodies for this campaign. He had met Lord Tywin Lannister when the Lord's forces were dispersed and with a clear target for their march - next time he would most likely not be as lucky, and with time and superior numbers, any semi-decent commander could wear a larger force down.

While Captain Clegane and his 'sheepdogs' were clearing the various raiders, bandits and other riffraff out of the way, Lord Tywin Lannister was not content sitting in Harrenhall and awaiting the coming siege. Lannister cavalry sallied frequently and attempted to catch them unawares - at times they managed to over-run small and isolated detachments or drove his scouting screen back - according to a prisoner that had joined the Northern host soon after, Lord Tywin had some 7 000 cavalry, a large part of them heavy knights and thus a strong punch should he choose to commit them.

It seemed like the Lannisters were running out of raiders, because the cavalry sent out were not trying to raid, but rather scout and attack any weaker target they could find, and of course best his own outriders, which they largerly were able to do, due to their larger numbers. The fact that Lord Robb Stark had taken most of the Northern and Riverlander cavalry towards the Golden Tooth to raid the Westerlands meant that his force was mostly infantry. He had enough cavalry for scouting and messengers, and a very small reserve to counter enemy charges, but if the Lannister cavalry came out in force, he could not prevent them from dominating the field. While he had almost 25 000 infantry, he had only 2 000 cavalry while the Lannister force counted some 14 000 infantry and 7 000 cavalry. Some worried that the Queen Regent would be able to raise Crownlander forces to reinforce her Lord father, but with both Baratheon brothers still in the field and King's Landing weakly defended, he suspected such forces would be needed to garrison the capital. But nothing was certain in war.

It took them more than a moon to march from Riverrun to close to Harrenhall. The ruined castle was a monstrosity, and even with his large force, he suspected he would have a hard time laying siege to it all - he did not want to risk his force being dealt the same defeat the Lannister forces laying siege to Riverrun had - being defeated in detail was always a real risk, and the calculated risk of dispersing your forces to ease supply and reduce the toll disease took and risking having them defeated before you could march to their aid and taking the increased supply and attrition of keeping them concentrated was one of the oldest problems of warfare.

For now, he opted to keep his force concentrated northwest of the castle, seeing if he could goad the Lannister forces into attacking him. Lord Tywin Lannister proved less than co-operative in that though, so he started constructing siege works - a double earth wall crowned by pallisades and intersected by forts to hold the Lannister forces inside the ruined castle soon started snaking its way east and south - as the works finished, he sent forces to hold the open areas, and soon the trap would close. He suspected that Lord Tywin Lannister would make his move before that. Thus he placed the Riverlander forces to the south and the Northern host to the east, with the Condottieri and the Winterfell contignent as well has his cavalry in the north between them, able to respond to any threat and support either flank.

He was abruptly awoken in the middle of the night as the Riverlanders reported being under assault by numerous Lannister infantry forces. Lord Tytos Blackwood was no fool and reported dismounted knights to the rear of the enemy force - it seemed like the Lannisters intended to over-run the Riverlanders with a heavy infantry charge before support could arrive. He dispatched a messenger to the Northern host, still led by the less than co-operative Lord Roose Bolton to be aware in case this proved to be a distraction and then took the Condottieri south, leaving the Winterfell contignent and cavalry in reserve in case they were needed.

This proved to be a mistake. Once he arrived to join the Riverlanders, the Lannister attack was already petering out. While the Riverlanders cheered their victory as the Lannister tide receded, taunting their enemies to come and try them again, he found Lord Tytos Blackwood in the frontline after having to search far too long. How did the noblemen of this place not understand that a commander needed to be easily reachable with messages?

"Lord Blackwood. How goes things?"

"Strategos Andreios." the Lord replied back. While mired in the culture of his peers, Lord Blackwood was at least not a prickly fool like most of the nobility of the Riverlands. "We repelled their attack. It seemed like a serious assault at first, with men attacking as if dragons were behind them, but after driving us back a bit, the assault petered out, and the dismounted knights behind the first ranks retreated quickly." the Lord reported and brushing at a small dent in his yellow armour, evident of having fighted in the first rank.

He nodded and stepped ahead to a fallen Redcloak. "Light, please." he said, and a man rushed up with a lit torch. He turned the man over.

"He's short-legged and wears no armour." he noted. "This is a force-conscripted serf." he continued.

"He has a red cloak and a Lannister Lion-emblazed shield." Lord Blackwood countered. "And a good covered helmet of the kind the Redcloaks use."

"Deception. Men-at-arms eat well and do not suffer the starvation that can cause stumped growth and short legs." he said. He rose.

"We've been had. The dismounted knights were driving these force-conscripted peasants into your ranks and left as soon as the fodder was spent." he said grimly. "Hold the line, but I doubt you will be attacked further tonight, Lord Blackwood." he said, bowing shortly and then running to take the Condottieri north again. A deception here probably meant that Lord Bolton was under attack.

And that was the case. As it dawned, it became obvious that Lord Bolton had given ground, losing many men in the process to heavy cavalry charges, even suffering some high-born taken prisoners by the Lannisters. Lord Bolton himself claimed to have been prudent in preserving his force, giving way and allowing the Lannisters to escape and also claimed to have sent messengers for reinforcements, none of which had reached the cavalry and Winterfell contignent. It took a lot of discipline to not kill Lord Bolton there and then.

Instead he left the pale-eyed useless bastard with his own Dreadfort men to lay siege to Harrenhall and the some 500 Lannister men left there while he took the main force to pursue the Lannisters that were now heading towards the Golden Tooth. Lord Tywin Lannister seemed intent on giving them the slip and going after Lord Robb Stark's men raiding his homeland.

--

Images by my good friend John.

Last edited: Mar 26, 2019

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

May 22, 2019

Add bookmark

160

#2,121

Threadmarks Story 115

von Adler

Braavos, third week of the fourth moon, 299 AL.

Tyrion.

"If you owe the Iron Bank a thousand gold dragons, you have a problem. If you owe the Iron Bank a million gold dragons, the Iron Bank has a problem." Lord Tyrion Lannister.

0ky8nIc.jpg

Tyrion Lannister.

The journey from King's Landing had been eventful - he thanked the Seven that Stannis' fleet had not been part of of those events. The Swiftsure had been a merchant vessel (or more likely, a smuggler) from Driftmark that had found itself seized by the Crown after Driftmark and Lord Monford Velaryon had answered Stannis' call for his banners after the imprisonment of Lord Stark. The ship was fast and handled easily in both strong and weak winds and cruised almost effortlessly against the wind. The crew was new and nervous, but seemed to work hard under the eyes of a small but wicked man named skipper of the ship. They had skirted the coast, rounding Massey's Hook and sailed south from Sharp Point, wishing to place as much distance between themselves and the Royal Fleet at Dragonstone - that was now Stannis' Fleet, he supposed. Stannis had named himself King, but calling him anything other than a rebel or something even more derogatory in the Red Keep would soon earn you the enmity of the young King and his Queen Regent - not that they did not despise him already. They had spotted a ship at distance, a large one from what they could see, but the Switfsure easily outpaced the lumbering vessel and left it behind the horizon.

After that they had sailed south, all the way to the Stepstones to meet with the self-styled Prince of the Narrow Sea, Salladhor Saan. He dressed in his best, made sure Haddar and Leith looked both polished and menacing and stepped aboard the flagship of the pirate prince, the Valyrian. The man himself, a lean, mean man that hid his intentions behind a gregarious smile and a generous greeting that bordered opulence. The captain's cabin of the Valyrian smelled of myrrh and insence. The deckboards were covered in thick Myrish carpets, the walls decorated with gilded wooden sculptures of decidedly decadent scenes from the Lyseni brothels while draperies of silk hung from the walls between led-fitted clear glass windows. An intricate design allowed someone outside the cabin to pull a rope to keep a board moving to prevent the hot air in the late Summer evening from going stale or even stifling. If the cabin had not been so cramped and the deck above their heads so low that even he could probably reach it if he stretched far enough, he could have been forgiven for thinking they were in a palace rather than aboard a ship.

"Lord Tyrion Lannister." the pirate greeted him, all smiles and boisterous hospitality.

"Prince Salladhor Saan. I have heard much of your exploits." he replied with a smile, bowing in return and accepting a glass - clear glass, of course - of dark Lyseni wine of a fine vintage and toasting to the health and wealth of his host.

"All good things, I hope?" the pirate replied with a smile that seemed almost predatory.

"To be honest? A mixed bag. Some fear you." he nodded and tipped his glass a tiny bit to underline that. The flattery seemed to find its mark, even if he could tell that the pirate prince would not be that easily persuaded or moved in one direction or another. As they sat down on large and comfortable pillows on the deck, they conversed a bit on mundane topics, politely complimenting each other before getting down to business.

"As you may be aware, Westeros is at war."

"So I have heard. Is that why you seek me out?" the pirate prince replied and sipped his own wine.

"It is indeed." he confessed. "Unfortunately, the brother of the late King controls most of the former Royal Fleet as well as the ships of the rebellious Houses sworn to Dragonstone."

"You paint a bleak picture for your cause - at least at sea. Why would I have a stake in this dolorous situation?" Saan said with his eyebrows slightly raised.

"Because you are a man of ambition." he replied with a smile.

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes." he continued. "I could offer you gold, everyone knows that my House have plenty of it." he made a sweeping gesture around the cabin and the opulence displayed within it. "But we both know that you are not lacking for gold. More is always nice, but no, you want something else."

"I do?" the pirate prince asked, clearly amused, perhaps even intrigued. 'Pathos is to speak to the feelings of the listeners. Tug at their desires!' he remembered from his conversations with the Equites. It had resonated well with what he had already divined himself from studying people.

"Yes. You are the Prince of the Narrow Sea, but few recognise this. We can change that." he said, tipping his glass again, before letting the silence do the talking. He could see the wheels spin in the head of the pirate prince.

"I am intrigued. Please continue." Saan finally said after he had let the silence last long enough.

"King Joffrey can send you a letter as a brother, equal and fellow monarch, which would legitimize your rule over the Stepstones. Perhaps we could also find you a suitable high-born Westerosi Lady to marry to sire proper heirs for your Princedom. Or, if you would prefer, broker something in Lys or Tyrosh. When Lord Tywin Lannister comes beckoning for nubile young ladies of proper blood, I am sure few if any doors will be closed. My Prince." he but some extra emphasis on the last word. "We could sweeten the deal with some reduced tarriffs for merchants and... others wishing to trade goods in King's Landing as well as piles of gold, of course. But we both know that a proper Prince cares little for such base things, don't we?"

"We do, Lord Tyrion. We do." the pirate prince said with a smile. Ha, got him!

They discussed the details after that, while drinking wine and toasting the new alliance between Westeros and the Princedom of the Narrow Sea, clasped hands and saw each other off. He did not trust the pirate turned sellsail turned Prince, but he trusted the man's ambition. And that was good enough. They would soon meet again, outside Pentos.

They sailed northeast and made brief landfall in Tyrosh to let the locals know that the Lannisters were looking for sellswords. After that, they continued north and did the same thing in Pentos, before heading for Braavos itself. He spent his idle time with books and writings, trying to get a better picture of the factions of Braavos and the general power structure of Essos overall. He was sure the librarian of the Red Keep would eventually notice the books were missing, but neither his sister nor his nephew were especially bookish, and Uncle Kevan would have other things on his plate, so none would actually bother with what he had taken but him.

The weather going north was fair, and apart from a short squall they experienced no problems and made good way. Soon the Titan of Braavos made his appearance over the horizon, and they sailed into the busiest and richest port of the known world.

He did not delay in asking for a meeting with certain influential key-holders of the Iron Bank, and was not surprised when the replies were non-commital or even initially negative. They expected him to come to beg, and were flaunting their power by making him wait. It was to be expected in such a situation and he spent the time carousing, drinking and whoring at many of the excellent establishments Braavos could offer a weary traveller of some means. The wine was excellent, the women superb at faking their interest and then pleasure - had he not known better, he might have suspected they were actually enthusiastic. Ah, what hedonism gold could buy!

After a few days he was suddenly invited to an early morning meeting with some of the key-holders and replied that he would be there two hours after dawn. No need to rush, they had plenty of time before, did they not?

Once the day arrived, he did make sure to turn up an hour late, being properly hung over but dressed to kill, with Haddar and Leith equally polished. The key-holders looked annoyed and bored where they sat in high chairs behind a huge dark hardwood table, He was offered a lone seat at the middle of the mosaic floor - one so low that one could suspect that it had been procured for his visit alone, but he knew better. They wanted him to feel small - smaller than he already was - for this. But he would not oblige.

"Lord Tyrion Lannister." he was announced by a halberd-wielding guard in an ornate breastplate and velvet high-socks and a beret so wide he could be suspected to be an umbrella rather than a sentinel.

"Lord Tyrion. Please have a seat." one the key-holders said. Most likely the one lowest in rank - they would make him work his way up to the most influential one, of course. He sighed a bit inwardly - this was such a load of peacocking and strutting around. One could even learn to like the blunt and dour style of King Stannis - at least the time between an accusation and him being a head shorter (a substantial and essential part of his height, unfortunately) would be short and to the point.

"Thankyou, Masters Key-Holders, however, I have some issues with a knee, so I will stand if you so allow."

There was a short silence at that before one of the key-holders nodded his assent as the others threw glances back and forth. Ah, there was the most influential one, the one he needed to focus on.

"We understand you come representing King Joffrey and ask for yet another loan, and perhaps also our generosity with the installments on the previous ones?" the first key-holder said in a semi-condescending tone.

He shrugged a bit and waited for a few moments in silence, as annoyance set in on the faces of the key-holders. All except the one that had nodded. Indeed.

"Partially right, Master Key-Holder." he replied with a short bow. "The King is in need of sellswords to put down the usurpation of his uncles, and to transport gold over the Narrow Sea would be dangerous right now. So he asks the Iron Bank to provide me with the gold needed to hire the men."

"And the payments on the previous loans? It has been... a while since they were last made." the first key-holder inquired with the same tone as earlier.

"They will resume as soon as transporting such amounts of gold over the Narrow Sea is safe again." he replied with a short bow.

"One could note that they have been less than forthcoming even before the... usurpation." the tone of the last word held the pregnant promise of perhaps bringing up the rumours of incest and that it would make Prince Stannis the rightful King of Westeros.

"Mere oversights. My Lord father, as you all know, are good for more gold than the total royal debt. He will not allow his grandson to go bankrupt. Besides, a Lannister always pays his debts." he retorted. There was some mumbling among the key-holders at that.

"And Lord Tywin Lannister would simply let go of his gold out of the kindness of his heart?" the first key-holder said mockingly.

"No. He would demand it all back, eventually. The Tarbecks and the Reynes can attest to what happens when you don't pay your debts to my Lord Father." he said with a short smile. Again there was some mumbling.

"Now, I know that you are worried about your gold. And above that, your reputation. The Iron Bank always gets its due, but if the Iron Throne does not pay what it owes, how emboldened will others be, hm?" he said, going on the offensive. There was no immediate reply, but more glances towards the still stone-faced man who had nodded. He moved his fingers just barely, and immediately servants sprung forth serving Arbour Gold in gilded chalices. Excellent, now they were actually negotiating.

"We do get our due. Perhaps we should support Prince Renly in order to ensure payment?"

He snorted. "Perhaps you should. But if we, or Stannis win, we will tell you to go ask Renly for your gold. He might be buried in some nice clothes - he does like them nice - which might be worth a dragon or two." he said, earning him a short guffaw from an anonymous key-holder. Ah, a potential ally. The man was however silenced by a look from the stone-faced man and the talk resumed. He started pacing back and forth in front of the low chair.

"You could also support Stannis, I suppose. But will he actually honour to pay back what his brother spent on frivolous, unmoral and downright decadent things? We all know Stannis as a dour and principled man. And if Renly or we win, then you are still out of luck." he continued, smirking a bit.

"Is it wise to change horses mid-race, Master Key-Holders? My Lord Father has an experienced, well-equipped army and is raising another and I will bring him reinforcements. We hold King's Landing and the Iron Throne. While Renly has the support of both the Stormlands and the Reach, he's not a commander and even if he won, he would have to placate Lord Mace Tyrell and the Reach Lords for their support, which would cost the Iron Throne quite a bit in tax income. Could he pay, even if he wanted to?" he asked, rhetorically. The key-holders were watching him now.

"The Baratheon brothers will fight each other, and we will defeat whomever comes out of top, weakened by the fighting. And then peace and order will return to Westeros, and with it regular payments of the interest - including any that have unfortunately backed up due to the situation." he offered. "You just need to hold out for a bit, and the Lannisters will pay their debts." he finished.

The stone-faced key-holder finally spokle for the first time.

"Your terms?" he said with a gravelly voice.

"100 000 gold dragons now. A reduction of the interest from one fifth yearly to one twentieth, and a reduction of the debt to three fifths." he said.

"Prepostrous!" the first key-holder exclaimed.

"No, not really. I have done the calculations, Masters Key-Holders." he retorted. "You have already made almost as much in interests as the original sums lent. This is not about gold, it is about your reputation. And we, I, are your best bet at preserving it." he said, studying the men and lone woman in turn, meeting the gaze of the stone-faced key-holder the longest.

"80 000. One tenth, and four fifths." the key-holder finally said.

"Deal." he replied with a sunny smile, exhaling just a tiny bit and sighing deeply inwards. Phew, it worked. He had not even dared hope for these terms.

Time to sail for Pentos.

--

Note: Images by my good friend John.

Last edited: May 22, 2019

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Dec 26, 2019

Add bookmark

142

#2,165

Threadmarks Story 116

von Adler

The Riverlands, second week of the fifth moon, 299 AL.

Alexios.

"War is about endurance. Don't blow your wind chasing something that is out of your reach." Captain Alexios Andreios.

1SjHFMj.jpg

Captain Alexios Andreios.

As he had suspected, Lord Tywin Lannister and his host headed west in order to pass through the pass of the Golden Tooth and chase after Lord Robb Stark and his Northern and Riverland cavalry that were raiding the Westerlands with impunity. He marched his men hard, using his own Condottieri and the Winterfell contignent, that was the next best thing (not nrealy good enough, but still head and shoulder above the rest of the feudal levy) to march head, make camps and forts and in general enforce a strict marching discipline. He probably lost a tenth of his infantry as stragglers during the march, and at least half of the camp followers, at which there was endless bleating and complaining among the troops, which he ignored. He could collect them later - the royalist force under Lord Tywin were on a focused march westward and did not leave raiders or even regular cavalry behind to loot the countryside - they fought some outriders and scouts, mostly Westerland hobilars - heavily armoured men on strong but unarmoured clipper horses - but Lord Tywin evidently saw fit to keep most of his cavalry close at hand to execute feigned attacks and manouvres at his force. He was not that easily startled and if the Westerlanders had intended to cause them to form into immobile schiltroms at the mere sight of knights, buying the main host of Lord Tywin time, they were sorely mistaken. He overtook the Lannister force during a nightly march and then blocked their march in the foothills not far from Acorn Hall. However, Lord Tywin saw the folly of trying to break through a numerically superior force, even with his strong cavalry and instead turned north, threatening Riverrun. However, Lord Edmure conducted a very good defence along the fords of the rivers, using skilled Riverland longbowmen and hastily conscripted peasants that had fled to Riverrun itself to construct simple defensive works of stakes and pallisades, guarded by longbowmen and peasants armed with simple halberds, spears or pikes. It was not a strong defence, but strong enough to delay the Westerlanders at each ford long enough for Lord Edmure to rush his few bannermen and feudal levymen to the threatened ford.

Lord Tywin assaulted no less than three different fords before realising he could not breach the defences and conducted a skillful retreat eastward, back towards Harrenhall. And suddenly Lord Roose Bolton found his ability to scout and call for assistance and buggered out of the way of Lord Tywins host right proper quick. He noted that when it was his own and his own mens' lives that were at stake, Lord Roose Bolton apperanty had skill enough to conduct a fighting retreat.

Had he had a sense for such things, he might even appreciate the irony that they were back where they started, with a full fourth of his army spread out all over the southern Riverlands along with most of the camp followers, which continued to cause endless complaints among those that had actually managed to keep pace with his Condottieri - and he had kept the pace low and allowed the better troops to march ahead and build camps and break them in the morning, affording the levies more time for rest

Lord Tywin Lannister, however, had another surprise in store for them. Rather than pursue Lord Roose Bolton and his men, he collected his garrison in Harrenhall, set what he could of the ruined castle on fire and abandoned it, marching east into the Crownlands. He considered pursuing, but his force was strung out on the roads and the worsening autumn rains were turning the terrain into mud. He needed to gather his forces, collect supplies and see to the training of his replacements at Riverrun. Besides, he would need to deal with, or have the Equites deal with the political fallout of making an enemy of Lord Roose Bolton and the man's action after that.

Making war with men you did not train and control yourself was an endless headache. He really wondered how Doux Alexandros Angethemos, Kaisar's brother in law, did it.

He collected his men, the stragglers, all the camp followers and headed towards Riverrun.

--

Images by my good friend John.

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Dec 26, 2019

Add bookmark

149

#2,168

Threadmarks Story 117

von Adler

Duskendale, third week of the fifth moon, 299 AL.

Tyrion.

"My Lord father taught me many things I disregard, but one thing stands out - if the greater prize is in danger, never be afraid to abandon the lesser ones to save it." Lord Tyrion Lannister.

Lord Tyrion Lannister.

0ky8nIc.jpg

Tyrion Lannister.

The journey back from Essos had been eventful. Way, way too eventful. He had recruited some 6 000 sellswords around Pentos, including 500 light lancers and 500 mounted crossbowmen, neither of which would stand up to Westerosi knights, but could be useful for foraging, recoinnasance and pursuit. Saan had done what he could, luring part of Stannis' former Royal Fleet southwards by attacking coastal settlements in the Stormlands, making off with little loot by angering pretty much every-one. Unfortunately, they had encountered a squadron of the fleet not far from Crackclaw Point as they were entering the Bay of Crabs. Several ships had been rammed and sunk before the combination of a sudden squall and every man pulling an oar - including himself - like his life depended on it (which, to be honest, it did) had allowed them to escape. It seemed like Stannis' ships had not bothered to pursue beyond that. Which probaby meant they had bigger fish to fry - which worried him. He composed himself, though. As The Equites' Captain liked to say 'If you can do something about it, do, if not, why fret?'.

They landed at Maidenpool. The town had already been sacked by his father's forces earlier and did not resist. While the castle still flew the banner of Lord Mooton, it seemed the forces in it either had no inclination or no strength to control the town.

They marched south, towards King's Landing at a forced pace and he maintained strict discipline, both on the march and in the camp. It made sense to keep things clean and keep disease away, to save men to actually bleed. The lack of plunder and rape and the frequent beatings for tardiness, straggling and lack of discipline saw him become less and less popular among the sellswords though and it would soon come to a confrontation. The captains of the various companies were smarter than to openly rebel though - instead they allowed a few of the lower officers to confront him in camp one night. The discussion slowly turned more and more heated, and he realised that it would not be solved without violence.

"Strong men don't need this 'cleanliness', only the weak perish from disease!" one of the sergeants of the Strong Spears said, to laughter from many of the collected men in front of his open tent. He was seated on a folding chair slowly swinging his short legs as they did not reach the ground, nursing a goblet of decent Crownland wine 'requisitioned' from the lands of whatever Lord of this or that they had just passed through. He stared at the fire gayily dancing in front of him, largely ignoring the complainer, to the clear frustration of the man.

"Perhaps only misshapen midgets need it to survive?" the man taunted, getting closer and jabbing a pointed, fleshy finger towards him. He raised his gaze towards the man and raised an eyebrow a bit further.

"Really?" he asked, almost laizily.

"Really!" the man exclaimed. "In fact, I think..." the sellsword did not get much further as he gestured towards Haddar, who quickly nodded and then beheaded the man with one swift stroke from his two-handed axe. The silence was suddenly stark and crisp and only the soft breeze of the wind, the crackling of the fire and a distant neigh from one of the horses could be heard as the head rolled to a stop and the body collapsed where it had stood.

"Now, Gentlemen, you will discuss this no further. Obey orders, fight well, get your coin and I promise you will have your fun and plunder." he said, getting off the chair and stretching a bit. "Lannisters always pay their debts." he continued with a grin, the double meaning being evident for all the lower officers.

"Now, clean this up and let us open another barrel of wine and then rest until we resume the march tomorrow." he said with a dismissing hand gesture towards the body and head on the ground. There was a bit of a silence, and he counted his heat beats, before two of the lower officers grabbed the body's arms and one the head to drag them away for a shallow grave beside the road. Men of violence respect only violence.

A few days later they reached Duskendale, meeting the outriders of his father's host and soon he found himself in his father's tent.

"Tyrion." his father said, his face stern as usual, but also weathered.

"Father." he replied with a bow, as stylish as he could make it with his stunted legs. His father kept his silence, but poured them each a small clear glass vessel of wine and handed him one. It was a rare showing of respect, which he savoured. His father kept his silence for a while longer, and for a while they both stood in silence, each watching the other. His father knew how to use silence, make others talk and reveal too much. Usually a very strong tactic, but after handling rebellious sellswords, he found that his father's silence was less stressful than he used to think it was.

"Renly and Stannis both declared themselves Kings." his father filled him in without further ado. He nodded, but kept his silence. "Stannis laid siege to Storm's End, with some of the Stormlords rallying to his side due to Lord Stark's infernal declaration in front of the Sept of Baelor."

"Why did Ceseri and Joffrey allow that?" he asked.

"The Seven Knows. I have sent Kevan to deal with that mess."

He nodded. Kevan was a good man, utterly loyal and competent. If anyone could bring order in a place where the only way to keep people in line was to bury them in a row it was Kevan.

"Renly rushed with most of his cavalry to relieve Storm's End, but it seems those summer knights could not stand up to Stannis' men. There are rumours of treachery in Renly's ranks, Stormlords and Florents switching sides in the middle of the battle and about dark magic. The end result remain the same - Renly was captured, his men scattered or switching side en masse and on the next day, Stannis presided over a trial where Renly was sentenced to death for revolt and sedition against the Crown. Renly's execution was carried out on the next hour."

He swallowed. This was a disaster even worse than the defeats in the Riverlands.

"So now Stannis commands Renly's army?"

"Only parts of it. But enough to outnumber us. Most of Renly's army dispersed, only his wife's relatives and most of the Stormlords switched sides, and the infantry at Bitterbridge disbanded and went home along with the Queen of Thorns and the Fat Flower. But Stannis have laid siege to King's Landing and Kevan doubts he can hold for long. You will take command of your sellswords and any Crownlanders we can forcibly raise as we march south and form the west wing of the army. You will then command it, and do it well."

So, you are giving me command of the most unreliable and unwilling part of the army, he thought.

"No thanks for bringing reinforcements?" he asked.

"A single success does not make up for a lifetime of debauchery and depravation. Nor your failure to put the interests of your family before your friendship with troublesome foreigners." his father said, draining his wine and turning his back indicating that the conversation was over.

--

Note: Images by my good friend John.

Last edited: Dec 27, 2019

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Dec 28, 2019

Add bookmark

160

#2,176

Threadmarks Story 118

von Adler

Intermissions.

Storm's End, first week of the fifth moon, 299 AL.

"When the beating on the drum matches the beating of your heart, march forwards to victory." Strategos Demetrios Lassarias.

They had a string of luck, for so long that Davos had supected something was wrong. Things never worked out so well for so long in the real world. As King Robert had died, King Stannis had tried to sail to the aid of Lord Stark in King's Landing, but had been driven off by the harbour defences - why was evident when they returned to Dragonstone. Lord Stark had been arrested and a purge of men loyal to him and the true King had been enacted. But Lord Stark had a couple of weighted dice in his pocket yet, when he announced publically that Joffrey Waters was a bastard born of incest and then actually won his trial of combat - not that the helped the northerner much, he was still the 'guest' of the double Lannister incest spawn and his mother and regent in King's Landing. When King Stannis then sent out his missive, it was not an usurpers attempt at shoring up support, it was a second noble man known for his honour, honesty and not mincing words confirming the same thing. Even he, who was a mere babe among elders in the art of political intrigue saw how it helped King Stannis' cause.

The Royal Fleet had been all too happy to swear for the true King, only a handful of ships docked in King's Landing had been lost to the enemy. And with the fleet in hand, Stannis had been able to visit all the Houses sworn to Dragonstone in force, having their fealty and support - while some were coerced, most seemed to eager at the chance. They would be among the first to support the King and profitable positions, fertile lands, prestigous titles and other boons would most likely be rewarded for enthusiastic and early support, even from the niggardly and harsh King Stannis.

With some sell-swords from Essos they sailed for Storm's End and met up with several minor Houses of the Stormlands, who had held back when 'King' Renly called his banners as Lord of the Stormlands. These were loyal to the true King, and swore him fealty there and then, further swelling his army. At Storm's End, however, the Castellan Ser Courtnay Penrose refused to surrender the castle to King Stannis, claiming to have sworn an oath to 'King' Renly. They had laid siege to the formidable castle, and were making good progress despite the defences - the combination of his knowledge of the seas just outside the castle and King Stannis' knowledge of the defences and the (few, but still) weak spots they had let them take one of the tower and the outer harbour along with parts of the castle's food storage and one of the wells when 'King' Renly showed up, evidently egged on by Ser Courtnay Penrose's ravens as his previous movement had remained a barely moving end-less party of feasts, jousts and tournaments, with all sorts of entertainment.

The negotiations had been a disaster. King Stannis had been merciful, even offering to make 'King' Renly his hier and letting him keep Storm's End, with Renly throwing the generosity in King Stannis' face, smirking about the almost 20 000 knights, retainers, hedge knights and hobilars he had with him, all of which would easily over-run King Stannis' force of some 18 000, mostly infantry. The ensuing battle had been glorious. King Stannis had prepared the battlefield well, positioning his army on a slope otherwise grazed by sheep, anchoring his right flank on a small forest of gnarly, low trees bent by the many storms and strong winds in these lands. Sharpened stakes were driven into the ground to protect the left flank, funelling the enemy towards the centre, where the best of King Stannis' men were placed, under the banners of the Houses sworn to Dragonstone.

The result had been magnificient. The Summer Knights of the Reach, supported by the Stormlords loyal to 'King' Renly had lined up in a awestriking line of splendor - polished plate armour, silk tabards, heavy destriers and war horses, splendid banners from all over the Reach. It had been as if wealth, splendor and arrogance had lined up to thunder down on discipline, poverty and resolve. The wave of heavy cavalry had aimed for the centre, no doubt wishing to avoid the forest on their left flank and the sharpened stakes on their right but also enticed by the banners proclaiming the position of many rich and important noblemen. To the Summer Knights of the Reach, war was a game. A dangerous one, certainly, but still a game. The losing side was captured, forfeiting armour and horses to the winners and then being taken prisoner to be treated like a pampered guest, with feasts and hunts until their families could come up with the ransom. Then you returned home, all in good honour and sporting spirit. Or the roles were reversed, and you made a name and a fortune on the battlefield taking enemy knights or Lords prisoner. Regardless, it was the serfs and the levies that did the work, the bleeding and the dying, not the knights.

First the rolling, thundering wave of knights had hit hidden traps of pits with sharpened stakes in the bottom, dehorsing many a proud nobleman. Then they hit the caltrops, causing further confusion. Finally, the marines on the right flank loosed a volley from their crossbows and conscripted slingers from Dragonstone, used to hunting sea fowl let the knights feel the small rocks from up above while bannermen bowmen did their best to add to the confusion. It was then that the Red Priestess, ever claiming that their luck was due to the Lord of Light's favour, released a dark cloud that blew in the face of the charging knights, disorienting them and their horses, causing confusion and the loss of cohesion in the charge just as it hit King Stannis' well-prepared pike line. In places, the charge still had momentum, crashing into the pikemen, shattering staffs and toppling men over to bre crushed under steel-shod hooves, but even there the charge soon floundered against the deep lines of men with pikes. He had been towards the back, holding a pike like many of the other noblemen and indeed King Stannis himself. The noblemen had grumbled about it, but King Stannis had brokered no argument - all the best armoured men would hold a pike and risk the charge, commoner, knight and nobleman alike. He had been placed towards the back himself only due to the fingertips he lacked on his left hand, making him unable to take the full brunt of a charging knight on his pike.

He had seen King Stannis being rasied out of the ranks, standing on the shoulders of two men, looking around and surveying the situation before raising a pike with his banner high and waving it in the air. The signal. As King Stannis was lowered to the ground again, the drums started a slow beat, a dolorous, omnious sound matched by their feet stamping into the ground almost as one as they started to slowly descending down the slope, driving the now immobile cavalry before them, wounding, maiming and killing. Right foot, left foot. Short steps, make sure to not get ahead or behind the men to your left or right, do not step into the man to your front, don't let the man to your rear bump into you. Slowly, slowly, they descended. Just like they had trained. 'The Slow Storm', as unrelenting as the winds of the Stormlands they called it. Some of Renly's army attempted to reform and charge again, and he saw a large contignent detach, under the Huntsman banner of House Tarly, riding to circumvent the sharpened stakes and flank them and the main body of knights working to reform.

Then the knights were charged from behind, by their own reserves, under the banners of House Florent and several of the minor Houses of the Stormlands. A setback turned into a disaster for Renly's men, pressed on by the steadily and slowly marching pikemen on their front, and attacked in their rear by their own reserves, they dissolved into a confused mass of individuals trying to fight or flee, and often trampling over their own unhorsed men in the process. In the end, only the timely charge by Lord Tarly had allowed parts of the Reachmen host to retreat - 'King' Renly himself was dehorsed and captured, despite the valiant defence of his 'Rainbow Guard' especially the large knight who after being wounded and captured turned out to be Brienne of Tarth, a woman!

The trapped remnants, mostly Stormlords, were quick to surrender, and then turn their coats, often claiming to have served only under coercion from Renly's Reachmen allies.

King Stannis took the time to try and execute his brother, who died weeping, begging for mercy and re-organising his army before presenting Renly's head to Ser Courtnay Penrose, who nodded his head, surrendered Storm's End and took the Black, despite King Stannis offering him to turn to the true King. "I am no turncoat, unlike some others. I did my duty, and it is now fulfilled." the man said, which King Stannis seemed to have respected.

With that, they marched towards King's Landing. The Royal Fleet already had the city blocked off from the sea. They took oaths of fealty and soaked up local levies and large parts of the Stormlander infantry that had been encamped at Bitterbridge when informed of the defeat by Lord Tarly and his men. The march went to King's Landing.

--

Last edited: Jan 3, 2020

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

Jan 7, 2020

Add bookmark

154

#2,196

Threadmarks Story 119

von Adler

Intermissions.

King's Landing, first week of the sixth moon, 299 AL.

"Battle is chaos. You can only be methodical in where, when and with whom, never how." Strategos Demetrios Lassarias.

Davos had snucked through siege lines before, and partook in the siege of Storm's End before Renly arrived to attempt to relieve it. But laying siege to a city the size of King's Landing was another matter entirely.

It turned out to be an... interesting affair. The city had impressive defences, and it seemed like Ser Kevan Lannister, who was in command of the defence had worked most diligently to improve them. The walls and towers were lined with heavy arbalests and ballistas to shoot at siege tents, siege walls and even at siege towers. The chain blocking the access to the Blackwater Rush for the Royal Fleet was in good order. The houses, hovels, inns, warehouses and docks outside the Mud Gate and in Fish Market had been torn down or torched in order to not provide protection for an advancing force. Likewise had happened to the more scarce construction along the roads outside the main gates. Food and serfs had been stripped from the Crownlands in the vincinity of the city, providing Ser Kevan with supplies and a labour force far less inclined to slowness, intentional stupidity and actual sabotage than the inhabitants of the actual city while denying the same supplies and labour to King Stannis and his army. Not that King Stannis would be shy about forcing his bannermen to actually dig mines or trenches themselves and even grabbing a shovel himself to partake in his duty.

Worse was that Ser Kevan had anticipating them quickly taking the southern winch tower and lowering the chain blocking the entrance to the Blackwater Rush. They quickly did, and a couple of galleys of the Royal Fleet attempted to row up the river past the city walls, reinforced by temporary wooden walls to resist protectiles shot at them. However, they soon encountered the small squadron of the Royal Fleet that had been at King's Landing when the rest of the fleet swore for the true King - and Ser Kevan employed them better than Davos would have thought the man would - laden with stone and sunk at the bottom of the river sideways, creating an effective barrier for the larger vessels of the Royal Fleet. The smaller vessels could pass, but would be ill suited to resist the many ballista bolts shot from the walls of the city. King Stannis still had a dozen pass, half of them being lost in the process in order to clear the river upstream from any Lannister forces.

Ser Kevan had also stripped both the southern Crownlands of anything that could float - fishing boats, ferries, barges, row boats, dinghies and even material - sawmills were stripped and torched, lumber lying to dry shipped off, torched or chopped to firewood size. Davos was actually slightly impressed at the precaution taken by the Lannister household knight. It seemed the man had the same cunning as his brother, albeit probably with less of the cruel indifference and malice.

However, while Ser Kevan Lannister was a diligent man, so was King Stannis, and many of his servants, incuding Davos himself. The Royal Fleet shipped parts of the army across Blackwater Bay to surround the city from all sides, and men soon went to work with axes and saws in the Kingswood to provide rolling logs as several large galleys of the Royal Fleet was dragged over land, out of reach of the ballistas and other weapons on top of the walls of the city. Rowing upstream, the vessels were tied together and laden with fresh wood to provide an ad-hoc floating bridge to allow supplies to reach the army from the interior of the Stormlands and some of the army to pass quickly from north to south and back again, which they did as King Stannis and his men observed the movement of the forces within the city to respond, using Myrish far-eyes from the top of the highest masts of the Royal Fleet and two rickety wooden observation towers built for the purpose west and north of the city walls.

As Davos was inspecting the southern walls of the city from the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush, looking for weaknesses or anything that Ser Kevan might have missed, he was aproached by a fisherman.

"A copper star for a boatless fisherman, milord?" the fisherman begged. Davos observed the man and then pulled his sword.

"Sieze him!" he commanded, and was quickly obeyed by the mix of Stormlander bannermen and Royal Fleet crewmen that accompanied him.

"Milord? Have I offended you?" the fisherman tried begging and meekly struggling against his captors.

"You are no fisherman." Davos said with a short smile. "Those shoulders belong to someone well fed and those hands have not pulled nets. I know fishermen." he continued, pointing at the face of the fisherman. "So what are you? Assassin? Spy?"

The 'fisherman' sagged his massive shoulders and shook his slightly. "I swear I told him, but no 'I can't trust anyone else!'." he mumbled. "I am a spy." he admitted. "But not for the incest-bastard or his bitch-in-regency."

Davos narrowed his eyes. "Who are you, and what are your business?"

"I am Anguy the Archer, and come bearing a message from Lord Beric Dondarrion and the Brotherhood of the Landing. We offer our allegiance to the King."

Davos thought quickly for a short moment.

"Alright, speak." he finally said.

They talked for some time and Anguy was released at dusk to swim across the Blackwater Rush in the cover of darkness and then make it into the city again - Davos supposed it took a bowman and his strong shoulders to be able to swim across the streams and not drown. Of course he met up with some fishermen and old contacts that had been displaced by the scorching of Fish Market and were none too pleased with the Lannisters to confirm a thing or two.

He was not late as such to the war council in King Stannis tent', but he was nevertheless the last to arrive - the Stormlords had quickly learned that King Stannis did not tolerate tardiness.

"Kind of you to accompany us, Ser Davos." Stannis said with a acidic tone.

"Pardon me, Your Grace. Less of my contacts were available than I expected, so it took some time."

"Fewer." Stannis replied.

"Your Grace?" he asked.

"Fewer of your contacts. Please use proper language Ser Davos. Now, join us."

Davos knew better than to argue the issue, bowed slightly and walked over to a free spot at the table, ignoring the stink eyes he got from high and exalted Storm Lords. The Lords sworn to Dragonstone were used to his presence and no longer scoffed at the presence of a jumped-up smuggler and pet knight of Stannis. He noticed a large map of King's Landing and the surrounding Crownlands.

"As far as we know, Ser Kevan Lannister commands roughly 6 000 men - 2 000 of them Crownlander and Lannister bannermen or Redcloaks and roughly 4 000 Goldcloaks." Stannis began.

"The Goldcloaks are no fighting force, not even on walls." a Stormlord said with a derisive tone and a gesture to accompany it. "Corrupt to the core, the best of them at most good at chasng pickpockets and breaking up drunken brawls."

"Perhaps a few years ago, but it seems Ser Roonis Lowhill, a Marbrand bannerman have whipped them into shape after he replaced 'Lord' Janos Slynt after the latter's disappearance." Stannis said, firmly placing four pieces carved to look like Goldcloaks on the map. "Ser Kevan is neither stupid nor lazy, and will have improved their training and equipment further. We shall not underestimate our enemy." he continued, his strong gaze sweeping the room, brokering no protests.

"The Lord of Light will provide us with victory regardless." came a voice from a corner of the tent and Davos noticed Lady Melisandre with resentment.

To his credit, Stannis merely nodded in that direction and returned to the discussion at hand. The Essosi sourceress and zealot did not have the influence over the King she wanted to have, fortunately. And as long as things were going Stannis' way, it seemed it would remain so, to the frustration of the Red Priestess.

"The siege tents and walls are ready. We'll assault all gates simultaneously to force them to spread out their forces and keep most of the army in reserve to exploit any breakthrough." Stannis said and pointed at the map. "Davos, you will lead the assault on the River Gate. I understand you know the area quite well?"

"Your Grace!" Lord Celtigar interjected. "Is it advisable to make a direct assault? The fortifications are formidable."

Stannis nodded. "While the Starks, Tullys and Andreios seem to be bouncing Tywin and his host between them after the initial surprise, we can't discount Tywin coming southeast, or the Tyrells pulling something. And while having no love for the Lannisters, Dorne and the Vale are both unaccounted for. We can't be put in between a rock and a hard place having King's Landing in front of us and a hostile army to our rear." Stannis proclaimed and then continued. "No, we will take King's Landing, I will take my throne and we will dictate terms for everyeone else to bend the knee from there."

Davos nodded, both to Stannis' order for him to take the Mud Gate and the answer to Lord Celtigar. The meeting went on for a bit with each Lord getting his assigned force and a gate and told to make all necessary preparations.

He started his own attack long beforw dawn - he knew Stannis hard ordered a concentrated attack at dawn, but he wanted some preparations. They shipped siege walls across the Blackwater Rush, starting below the Red Keep and slowly lining them up to create a pallisade all the way to close to the Mud Gate. They had painted them with tar to make the fresh wood less visible in the knight and it worked - it was not until the sun started to rise that the Lannisters on the walls discovered what they were doing and started showering them with projectiles as they started to pull a ram forwards, strugglgin with the heavy wheeled and roofed contraption over the uneven ground next to the Red Keep and then over the soft ground and rubble-strewn chaos that once was Fish Market. Then they suffered boiling water and sand, ballista and arbalest bolts, thrown rocks and logs and other debris - in one place they seemed to have boiling excrement poured over them. The assault stalled, even as they got the ram in place and they withdrew behind the siege walls for a breather and something to drink, to the loud cheers of the men on the walls.

However, the cheers soon turned into surprised yells and curses. Davos smiled.

"This is it, lads! We're getting help from witin, it is now or never! FOR STANNIS!"

"FOR THE KING!" the men cheered and they assaulted again. The Mud Gate had been the most weakly defended, with Ser Kevan anticipating less of an attack here as Stannis' army could not cross the Blackwater Rush in force and the defending force proved incapable of handling an attack from both the front and the rear and soon the gate belonged to Stannis men. He took the time to stop and shake hands with Lord Beric Dondarrion and Anguy the Archer, the former wounded but still capable and the latter with a heavy composite bow in one hand and three arrows ready in the other.

"They'll be coming to take the gate back." Lord Dondarrion said. Davis nodded and urged his men onwards - crossbowmen and archers, many of them from the Royal Fleet and lightly armoured, to take place in the captured towards, men to clear the walls and barr the gates to the neighbouring towers and the rest to form a shield wall.

Word spread fast, and soon a strong force of Lannister Redcloaks and Crownlander bannermen were approaching, pelted by bricks and roof tiles from the less than pleased residents of River Row and the southern part of the Muddy Road. The clash was harsh, but brief. Pelted from above, shot at from the towards and even at times struck at from the alleys and side streets by the Brotherhood of the Landind, the counter-attack faltered and then retreated.

The city was theirs.

However, not all was well. The force attacking the Mud Gate had been to small to quickly occupy the city and reinforcements could not be brought across quick enough to exploit the breach fully. Ser Kevan Lannister had also accounted for a gate falling, and with great speed, but obviously pre-planned skill more than half of his forces managed to retreat back into the Red Keep, which had been reinforced to resist a siege. The battle was not over yet, it seemed.

King Stannis made his official entry into the city two days later. By then his army had harshly but not curelly restored order - including putting a quick stop to any looting or any inclination of sacking the city and a large throng of people had turned out to watch their King make his entrance.

"Long live the King!" came a single cry as they neared the centre of the city.

"LONG LIVE THE KING!" came a roaring reply from the troops escorting them.

"YOURS IS THE FURY! LONG LIVE THE KING! STANN-IS! STANN-IS! STANN-IS!" the crowd started chanting, louder and louder as some started to throw flower petals at the hooves of their horses or about their shoulders. Stannis looked decidedly uncomfortable but still forced a smile and raied a hand to wave to the crowd.

"Why do they cheer?" he asked.

"You have liberated them, Your Grace." Davos replied.

"From our perspective, yes. From theirs? Hardly." Stannis replied through gritted teeth bared by the forced smile.

"Well, you did put a stop to any sack. They are grateful for that."

"Which spares us riots and thrown roof tiles. It does not earn this." Stannis insisted.

Davos shurgged. "The Lannisters have put down several revolts harshly and are not popular, to say the least..."

"And?" Stannis pressed on.

"Well, since your late brother proclaimed himself King, the normal grain trade from the Reach have been cut off. Ser Kevan's work to strip the Crownlands bare have worsened the situation. These people were starving." Davos said, shifting in his saddle. He would never really get fully used to riding. He was too old for that.

"What did you do?"

"I made a floating dock and had some of the surplus supplies we captured from your late brother brought in and distributed. It did much to relieve the situation. They are happy." he said, smiled and waved as a little girl threw a handful of petals at him.

"You did this without consulting with me beforehand?" Stannis said with a dangerously low tone and gritted teeth.

Davos realised he was on thin ice. "It is the duty of a King to ensure the welfare of his subjects. And it is the duty of the men of the King to ensure that this happens even if the King is busy with war." he said. "Your Grace." he added at the end.

Stannis sat silent on his horse for a while.

"When we have taken the red keep, Ser Davos, I will appoint you my Hand."

"Y-your Grace?" Davos stammered.

"You heard me. I will need men devoted to their and my duty and not afraid of taking action when it is needed, and be honest and take responsibility for what they did, rather than perfumed sycophants." Stannis said, raising a hand to wave again.

"It is a great honour, Your Grace. But I must remind you, I used to be of the smallfolk. Many of your highborn vassals will be offended."

"Most of them rode eagerly with Renly instead of their true King. I care little for their offended senses."

And with that, it was decided, and they rode onwards to organsie the siege of the Red Keep, where Ser Kevan Lannister, 'King' Joffrey and Queen-Regent Cersei still refused to surrender.

--

Last edited: Jan 7, 2020

A song of coin and lamellar: Original characters in King's Landing.

Doublecross at the crossroads of worlds: Crossover between the Blacks, the Greens and the Reds and a song of coin and lamellar.

Like Reply Report

Add bookmark

First

Prev

6 of 8

Next

Last

Threadmarks

Top

Bold

Italic

More options…

Insert link

Insert image

More options…

Undo

More options…

Preview

Font size

Text color

Font family

List

Alignment

Align left

Align center

Align right

Justify text

Paragraph format

Strike-through

Underline

Inline spoiler

Inline code

Smilies

Quote

Media

Insert table

Insert horizontal line

Spoiler

Code

Redo

Toggle BB code

Remove formatting

Drafts

Write your reply...

Post reply

Attach files

Share

Fandom AH

Light Grey

Contact usTerms and rulesPrivacy policyHelpRSS

Community platform by XenForo © 2010-2021 XenForo Ltd.

Some of the add-ons on this site are powered by XenConcept ©2017-2023 XenConcept Ltd. (Details)