PART III: A City This Darkness Can't Hide
The Old Gate
300 AC
The northern forest had lit afire with cheers and roaring laughter.
By the time Jon Stark had ridden back to the Old Gate from the Dragon Gate, he knew that Aegon's army had already mobilized into action and that soon enough, they would be doing their utmost to breach the city gates.
His men were nervously camped in the streets, readying their weapons and equipment for the long night ahead of them. Most of them, he noted as he passed by them, had uncertainty written along their faces.
It was the very same affliction that had nearly taken him, the one his uncle had warned him about back in the throne room.
These men, not just of the North, but of the West, the Riverlands, and of King's Landing, had to defend against an army that trounced their own forces. Fifty thousand strong against barely ten thousand. The men on the walls heard the cheering in the distance, the brevity of an army that had come to rape, loot, and pillage this city bare.
Well, Jon thought to himself as he jumped from his horse's saddle, you're up, Stark.
He all but climbed the stone stairway up to the archway of the Old Gate, "Men!" He shouted. Some of them looked. "Men!"
"Men of the North!" His voice whipped from the top of the wall like the crack of thunder. "Men of the West, the Riverlands, and King's Landing!"
He'd gotten their attention. They gathered just before him in the large courtyard between the Old Gate and the rest of the city. The only line of defense protecting the hundreds of thousands of men, women, children, and old folk. "On this day, we are no longer separated by our oaths and beginnings! On this day we become brothers bound in blood!"
Jon pointed far behind him, back toward the treeline that lay hundreds of feet away from the walls of King's Landing. "We are the shield that protects our women and children from this foreign pretender! We are the sword that drives back his armies! We are the spear that breaks the dragon's heart!" He roared. Slowly, surely, he could see the hope returning to their eyes, the excitement that they'd win this battle and get to go home to their families and loved ones. "Men of Westeros! My brothers!" He drew Sunwolf with a resounding ring from his scabbard. "Let's throw these fuckers back whence they came!"
"YAH!" The rattling of steel swords and wooden bows was drowned out by the deafening roar that came from the collective of men who would die standing with him. They continued to cheer and scream as they thrust their weapons into the air.
HURAAAAAAGH! HURAAAAAAGH! HURAAAAAAAAAGH!
The sound of a distant horn blowing drew Jon's attention away from the men cheering his name, and back to the northern forest. It was about to begin.
"Archers! On the walls!" Jon shouted, barely hearing his own voice over the clamping footsteps that sprinted up the stone steps. Somehow they'd heard him, though. And that was enough. The men began to line up on top of the walls with their bows and quivers full of arrows.
"Catapults!" Jon looked to the men standing on the watchtowers looking for him to give the order. "Load!"
Right away, the men got set to loading the catapults with pitch, hot tar, and great heaving stones.
Far on the other side of the gap between the slums along the outer walls and the edge of the treeline, Jon watched as the enemy had come sprinting out of the trees. Holding swords, spears, axes, and crossbows. So many men with so many different banners and symbols, sellsword companies, he figured. Aegon wouldn't waste the men who were loyal to him because of his blood. He'd let the mercenaries have a crack at the city first.
Jon already knew this first hit was just to soften them up, to get an idea of how prepared the city was with regard to its defenses. That, and the sellswords would certainly attempt to climb the wall via the slums. Best to keep them at arm's length.
"Archers! Ready your bows! Nock!"
Gauntleted hands found arrows in their quivers. The enemy soldiers were already halfway towards the slums.
"Mark!"
The sellswords were almost to the edge of the city.
"Draw!"
The men drew back their bowstrings unanimously, raising their arrows high enough for their oncoming targets.
"Loose!"
In one swift hiss, the choir of iron-tipped arrows flung out from the bowstrings of the hundreds of men who lined the walls of King's Landing. Jon Stark watched as they soared high into the air and back down again, raining upon the hoard of enemy soldiers in unison.
Jon forced himself not to wince as he heard the resulting blood-curdling screams of men. They made their own choices, he told himself.
By his estimation, a good fifty of the men who first charged had been killed, and plenty more wounded. Some, however, had made it behind some semblance of shelter in front of the walls. By the trees, more and more soldiers came out in droves and packs. They would need to be dealt with.
"Nock!"
The cycle repeated itself once more as the men nocked their arrows.
"Draw!"
The accompanying wheeze had brushed against Jon's cheeks.
"Loose!"
Once more, the iron-tipped bolts had shot out from the top of the walls and across the fields and homes below them, all the way to the enemy vanguard. Jon saw those men from across the Narrow Sea stop right in their tracks as an arrow entered his belly, knee, or chest. The scream was silent, as there were so many other noises to drown it out. But Jon could see them open their mouths and howl to the bloody afternoon sun as they fell to the snow.
That would've been enough to demoralize the enemy camp, to see tens and dozens of their men fall in but a few moments. Now came the ones close enough to the wall.
"Archers! Shoot at will!" Jon commanded, pointing to the enemy soldiers moving between the abandoned outer homes and huts before the walls of the city.
There wasn't any particular building or house on the outside that was as tall as the walls, yet Jon knew that giving them even that slightest bit of ground would embolden them to create a ladder or something of the sort to climb up the battlements and disrupt what they could.
Or worse yet, get into the city.
Jon then looked to the tree line. More men were filing out of the trees, though less than before. His tactic had worked. Time to give them something else to think about.
"Catapults!" He looked up to the men managing the siege weapons. "Fire!"
Another man's voice roared on the wind in compliance with his own. "Fire!"
With a hissing snap, the metal bowls filled with pitch, stones, and hot tar flung upwards, releasing their cargo and flinging it into the air. Jon watched as the contents rained down upon the mercenaries attempting to make their way out of the forest. One of the catapult stones had hit a man square in his torso, blasting him back against one of the tall oak trees behind him. Even from the other side of the field, Jon had managed to feel the sickening crunch of pulp, bone, and blood.
The hot tar and pitch, while previously having been balled up into thick clumps, had soon shifted into a wide slimy liquid curtain of shimmering scalding death that rained down upon the enemy soldiers, covering them and burning them horribly as they ran right into the snow on the ground, rolling wildly and flailing their arms and legs.
The floor of the field steamed as the tar and snow combated each other, ultimately resulting in the snow being melted underneath the sticky black substance.
Then, suddenly, out of the forest came a bolting host of men. Jon widened his eyes as he saw them holding a large wooden log of oak held up by thick bundles of rope as they sprinted as fast as they could.
Battering ram. Jon thought coldly. Must've already had it prepared days in advance.
"Ballistae!" He thrust his blade directly at the oncoming battering ram and the men wielding it. "I want that battering ram stopped cold in the snow! Do you understand!"
The scores of men tending to the machines had begun their process. Jon looked to the vast line of archers as he marched back down the western wall all the way to the twin entrances of the Old Gate. Now the battering ram was directly ahead of him, yet he'd quickly seen large bolts of wood and steel sail right into the mix of the rows of men holding the ram itself.
Scores of enemy soldiers flew backward into the snow as a great tuft of earth and dust exploded underneath the battering ram. Jon all but grinned as the front half of the battering ram skidded to a halt in the snow while the other was still being held upright.
More and more arrows hailed down upon the mercenaries towards the back, and soon enough, they decided to abandon the battering ram altogether. The pointed wooden log fell to the snow with a loud thump! And the mercenaries who were still standing on both feet made a mad dash back into the woods behind them.
All around him, both up and down the walls, the men cheered and chorused together their early victory over their enemies. The ones closest to Jon had turned to look at him, raising their bows as they grinned and howled underneath their helmets.
"White Wolf! White Wolf! White Wolf! White Wolf! White Wolf!" They cheered and shouted all around him. Part of Jon was embarrassed for the sudden brush of attention, and the other part of him swelled with pride. Hadn't he once watched as Arthur and Starag led men into battle, and heard men cheer as his uncles charged from the front?
Enough of that, Stark, Jon shook it off. He needed to be ice-cold for this siege.
They weren't quite out of the woods yet.
Jon drew back his head as he down the last few dregs of his coffee, then poured himself another mug of the bitter black liquid until there was nothing left in the clay jug that had been afforded to him in the main watchtower by the Old Gate.
Once more, he looked over the wide paper map that he had of the entire city and went over what he did know what was going on.
After the initial attack on the Old Gate, Jon had decided to set up his command outpost inside the main watchtower. Though the lone cot wasn't nearly as comfortable as his bed inside Maegor's Holdfast, Jon wouldn't abandon his men-some of whom were sleeping out in the cold-just so he could get a good night's rest. And it was far more convenient, besides.
Aegon's forces had since ceased in attempting to charge the gate with the battering ram, which was now laying half burnt in the middle of the field between the forest and the city walls. Some more of Aegon's sellsword had breached the abandoned huts and homes belonging to the smallfolk outside the city walls, but as those belonging to the poor, there was naught to be found except shelter. Even then, it was worse than the forest as Jon's archers were rather thorough when it came to rooting out the enemy soldiers.
Jon had also set up his post so he could quickly receive information about the siege in other parts of the city, most notably the other gates.
Oberyn was dealing with a smaller host, led by the Seconds Sons, combined with a portion of the overall fleet which was now docked in Blackwater Bay. But the Dornishman had assured Jon that he'd set their ships aflame with hot tar lit with fire arrows. Oberyn had then said that as he once served with the Second Sons only for a year, he was able to pick them apart and halt their advance. While the northern host was still at large, they were scattered and regrouping.
Word from the other commanders had more or less been the same. Kevan Lannister had initially dealt with the brunt of the invading force but had successfully managed to push them back after they tried to knock down the gates with a battering ram. He poured his barrels of hot oil on their heads and lit them ablaze. The remaining enemy forces shied away from the pile of burning corpses and scorching flesh. Jaime likewise, had also faced an assault led by the mercenary company known as the Brave Companions, which had attempted to build a sort of ladder-scaffold hybrid to climb the walls. They'd almost succeeded, as they were building it atop a much poorer sept. Thankfully, Jaime had led a sortie out through a passage by the base of Rhaenys' Hill and put the mercenary company to the sword, having slain their leader, Vargo Hoat, during the sally. Once they'd accomplished their objective, they burned the scaffold and collapsed the tunnel back into the city behind them, preventing the enemy from following them.
Lord Blackwood appeared to have the least difficult time of them all, having held off small portions and batches of the enemy army with only his archers and catapults. It seemed that Aegon did not plan to pressure the Gate of the Gods.
It was the King's Gate and the River Gate that made Jon pause and reflect. Both Averey Boddenbruck and Starag had mentioned that more and more of Aegon's forces poured in as the days went by attempting to gain ground within the fish market inside the harbor.
They want to get rid of our blockade, Jon realized, otherwise Aegon's fleet is just sitting there throwing stones at the castle walls. They want a beachhead. But-
Thud! Thud! Thud! "My lord!" It was Jory who had knocked on his door.
"Come in," Jon said as he stood up. Even though he was sleep deprived, he still had enough energy to keep going.
Jory came inside and bowed. "My lord, there's word from the River Gate. Lord Mormont says that the enemy is rerouting for an assault on the blockade."
That was enough for Jon Stark. If they destroyed the blockade, or worse yet commandeered the ships in the blockade, Aegon's forces would fly in, pound the southeastern wall, and control the river. It wouldn't mean instant defeat, but Jon and his forces would certainly be at a massive disadvantage.
Jon came to a decision. "Jory, you're in charge of the Old Gate. Send word to the other commanders that I'll be at the River Gate putting together a sortie with Lord Mormont. We can't let them take the blockade."
Jory nodded sternly and bowed again. "At once, my lord."
Jon walked briskly by his trusted household guard and took Sunwolf from its place against the wall, buckling it to his belt as he strode out the door and down the stairs to the base of the tower. Behind him, he felt a slight brush of wind as Ghost trotted down the stairs at his side.
Coming with me to the end of the world, he thought as he looked into the blood-red eyes of his direwolf.
Naturally, Ghost seemed to say to him.
They marched out the door to the main watchtower and onto the Street of Jewels. Jon quickly found his horse in the nearby stable and mounted up. As he looked up into the early morning dark blue sky, men around him stirred awake, while others had already been looking to their commander atop his mount.
"Men!" He shouted. "Those of you up for a sortie, follow me!"
With that, Jon shot down the Street of Jewels, hearing the scuttling of feet against the ground as men found other horses and galloped after him in the pale moonlight.
By the time he'd arrived at the River Gate on the other side of the city, he'd looked back behind to see far more than he expected.
Over five dozen riders had flocked behind them, some of them still freshly awakened from his announcement, yet they'd chosen to follow him nonetheless.
Looking back to the River Gate, Jon rode by several scores of men sleeping in the streets and corners, holding to what warmth they could from the blistering cold. Far above them, up on the top of the wall, Jon made out the abnormally tall figure of Starag giving orders and pointing at something on the other side of the wall.
Jon dismounted his horse and made his way up the ramparts to the top of the wall.
Starag had seen him just as quickly. His beard looked rather disheveled, and his lightning-blue eye had a bag underneath it, but otherwise, his uncle looked more or less at home. "Jon! Shouldn't you be at the Old Gate?"
"I put Jory in charge," Jon said. "You sent word of Aegon's host rerouting to the fish market and the back of the blockade. Do you have a plan?"
"As a matter of fact, I do…" His uncle said. "But it's going to be risky. I was thinking of a sortie, a counterattack for when they charge up. We'll be there to meet them and surprise them."
Jon simply grinned knowingly at the much taller man. His uncle groaned in protest. "Blazes, I won't be able to stop you, will I?"
"Not a chance."
Starag pinched the bridge of his nose angrily. "Fine." He said, then giving a wide glance at the men on either side of the gate. "If you lads are dying to swing a sword, now's your chance! Follow me!"
"YAGH!" Jon smiled as the Manderly men-at-arms cheered for his uncle. A good portion of them-about two score perhaps-had tossed down their bows and followed Starag as he descended from the catwalk. Jon went with him, his own riders having dismounted and following him on foot.
Starag explained as they went. "One of Boddenbruck's lads mentioned something about a passage out to the north end of the harbor. That's where we'll charge out and meet the bastards head-on." He looked down at Jon. "Our ships have arrows and ballistae, but they are more or less manned by skeleton crews. Besides, they're focused on the enemy fleet. It'll be the men on the wall that'll give us the support we need."
"How many did you see from the wall?" Jon asked.
"Probably five hundred or so." His uncle mused. "Likely more. As I said, it's risky. We've got about a fraction of that, but these sellswords aren't used to fighting in the cold. Freezes up their blood. We're in our element." He stopped before a small guardhouse by the eastern corner of Fishmonger's Square. "This is the place,"
Starag looked back to the men who had been gathered. Just over a hundred or so. Not just Manderly men-at-arms, but some also bore the proud lion of House Lannister or the leaping trout of House Tully. There were even a few gold cloaks among them. "Now, I don't need to tell you, boys, that this'll be a risky maneuver!" He suddenly grinned. "But I suppose that's precisely why you signed up for it!"
There was a round of chuckles that spread throughout the ranks. Starag continued. "Keep those bloody sellswords away from our lads in the blockade. The man who cuts down the enemy commander will be made a Knight! Is that understood!"
"YAAAAH!" Another round of cheers echoed from the men inside Fishmonger's Square.
Starag drew both Longclaw and Tempest, dual-wielding them. "Time to make your ancestors proud, boys! Let's go!"
His uncle kicked open the door and went inside. Jon followed Starag as he soon found the tunnel leading out to the harbor, and down the darkened and damp hallway.
Eventually, Jon smelt the salt breath of the Narrow Sea, and soon the overwhelming stench of old fish wafted into his nose. We're close alright.
Starag set aside Tempest and drew back the wide metal door covered in stones. He thrust it open and retrieved his weapon. They entered into some kind of hidden jetty that was protected by the wall of seastone that was blocked off from view of the sea. Thankfully, it led out alongside the middle of the blockade. Some of the men waved their torches at the crews on the ships. The friendly Manderly men-at-arms had waved their lights back.
His uncle left behind a handful of men to stay at the passageway, meanwhile, they continued their haunt through the edge of the fish market, sticking along the walls and out of sight of the moonlight. Jon held Sunwolf tight and felt Ghosts' presence at his side and all of the hundred or so men behind him.
Once they'd gotten past the market stalls, he got a good look at the root of the problem.
The harbor of King's Landing, while not as well protected as say the stone walls which lined the perimeter of the city, still had a fairly strong wooden palisade kept around it. Normally it would've been enough to keep out a mercenary company, but against an army, there wasn't much of a chance.
At the southern border of the harbor, the palisade wall had literally been split apart. Probably by a combination of battering ram and fire. Now, enemy soldiers from the host at the King's Gate had been pouring in and setting up headquarters in shelters that were difficult to penetrate from the men atop the walls.
"We've got to eliminate this host," Starag said in front of him. "And bottleneck that breach. You take half our men and hit their flank by surprise. I'll attack them head-on and snatch their attention. Understand?"
"Yes," Jon said. "Luck in battle, uncle."
Starag grinned. "Luck in battle, Jon."
Jon turned back to his men, put his finger to his mouth, and gestured for them to follow. They did so, quietly. Once his group was split away from Starag's, he heard his uncle blow his horn, HUUUUAAAAAAGH!
Jon made his way to the southeastern end of the fish market, maneuvering around abandoned market stalls and desecrated homes that had once been lived in only a few weeks prior. Then, once he'd heard the clashing of steel, Jon knew it was time.
Ahead of him, several soldiers were stirring awake, jumping to their feet due to his uncle's host attacking them. Jon gripped his blade tight and sprinted dead ahead, knowing their attention was elsewhere.
Ghost quickly overtook him, bounding forwards. The great white direwolf had leaped from a tossed-over cart onto one of the soldiers-a man-at-arms from House Crabb-and tore open his throat with a vicious, tearing bite. The man screamed and howled as the direwolf's mouth was soon turned scarlet red.
Jon's own men behind him had charged with, and as Ghost snarled at the next soldier beside him, they too had decided to let out their accompanying roars of nervous excitement. The righteous fury of their ancestors flowed through their blood as they held up their blades and spears to finally end the accursed invaders.
The enemy had not been ready to be pinned between two separate forces, even if they had fewer numbers. Besides, the act of the counterattack itself was unexpected. Aegon's men had likely thought Jon's forces would stay behind the city walls.
Jon swerved to his left as an iron spearhead came directly for his throat. The man on the other end of the spear had been one of the first to react to his charge. Jon deftly stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and rendering the longer-ranged weapon ineffective, aiming his blade directly at the sellsword's hand.
Sunwolf, with just the right amount of pressure applied from Jon, had cut through flesh and bone in one swift motion as if running a knife through clean water. The sellsword's hand fell to the ground, plomp!
The other man didn't have time to gasp, as Jon swiftly raised his blade and cut his throat. With only one remaining hand, the sellsword clutched at his neck, which was a waterfall of blood and pulp, as he fell to his knees and then, the snow.
The next man was a man-at-arms of House Buckwell. He held a sword and a shield, yet for Jon, that wasn't much of an obstacle. A shield would've allowed a trained opponent to be more aggressive. Jon decided instead to take the initiative away from him.
He pressed forward and feinted a lunge to the man's immediate right. The Buckwell man bought it and made to block with his shield. Then, with the deftness of a cat, Jon brought his Valyrian Steel blade back sharply and jabbed at the small crack of cloth underneath the man's shoulder, aiming directly for the heart.
"Arrrrrrgh!" The Buckwell man dropped and rolled to the ground letting out a howl of unimaginable pain, likely with the knowledge that he'd bleed out in a few moments.
Jon decided to end his suffering and raised his blade over the Buckwell man's neck, bringing it down into the soft fleshy area where his throat had been severed.
He forced himself to be ice-cold. He could think about the man's intolerable screams later. Right now he had a battle to win.
The third opponent he faced also had a spear. Yet Jon saw the determined look in his eyes which told him that this sellsword (he carried no banner) was well-trained with his weapon of choice.
Jon instinctively reverted to the low-hanging guard, so the spearman could not quickly jab at his legs, and so he could bait the spearman into attacking him. He's got a dagger, too. I'll need to be fast.
Sure enough, the attack came. The spearman thrust his weapon forward at Jon's neck. With lightning-fast reflexes, Jon swung his blade up and caught the spearhead, knocking it aside. Then, Jon pushed his aggressive advance getting far too close for comfort, out of range of the spear.
Jon had seen the dagger even before it was to be drawn. With his free left hand, Jon caught the spearman's wrist and kicked the man hard in the chest, knocking the breath out of his opponent, and wrenching the steel dagger away.
As the sellsword crumpled to the ground, he held up his hands so as to stop Jon. Yet Jon knew full well, that if he did let the man go, he'd simply regroup with his allies and attack again. No, Jon could not let that happen.
He marched up and ignored the man's pleas. "No! No! Wait-Aaaagh!" His voice had been cut out the moment Jon drove Sunwolf into his chest, bypassing the gambeson underneath.
Jon pushed down the guilt he felt in his chest and looked away. Cheers began erupting from his and his uncle's men as the invaders were being driven back out of the open palisade wall back to their allies by the King's Gate. They disappeared into the black veil of the night, while Jon's own men thrust their blades into the air and howled like a pack of wolves.
Starag jumped atop the bulwark of the remains of a market stall. He too now sported a fresh splattering of blood across his brow and cuirass. "That's how we do things in the North, lads!"
"YAAAAARRGHH!" All the men chorused back. The shared energy between them all was so infectious that even the southerners cheered along with them.
Then the men along the walls joined in, and the chanting began.
"MORMONT! MORMONT! MORMONT! MORMONT!"
And those around Jon?
"WHITE WOLF! WHITE WOLF! WHITE WOLF! WHITE WOLF!"
Jon gave a faint smile. The siege wasn't over yet, but even he recognized the need to celebrate. These men had been stressed out of their minds for days, and they've not only been successful in holding back a great army but successfully counterattacked them as well.
Was this all Aegon had? An army of sellswords and Crownlands houses that could not breach a city of over five hundred thousand?
Or had Jon simply done his job to the letter and then some? His strategy seemed to have worked, at least for now.
He put those questions out of his mind as he tossed aside the dagger he'd taken from the dead sellsword. Jon marched over to his uncle, who was standing over the corpse of the dead commander.
"Looks like-" Jon stopped himself from speaking as he heard it.
Starag glanced at him. "What is it?" He asked. "Something on my face?"
No. Jon felt it in his bones. In the wind, and in the air. Something was going terribly terribly wrong.
There was a low whistling hiss in the air, a howling lap that made itself known to Jon as it approached. It was an instinct, calling to him in the dragonblood that flowed through his veins.
He looked to Starag as his uncle also recognized the sound. Jon felt his heart pound in his chest. Dragon.
Nothing was said between either of them. They both understood exactly what to do. Jon turned to the men. "Back to the passage! Back behind the gates! Now!"
The men were understandably exhausted, but they began moving out in droves back the way they came. Meanwhile, Starag looked frantically to the sky, his single lightning-blue eye was wide like a madman's.
"How many dragons does he have? One?" Starag asked, his voice controlled.
"One," Jon answered. "As far as I know."
Even though Bronzie and Snowfyre were both his dragons, only the latter actually answered to him. Bronzie belonged to Rhaenys, and Starag by extension. So only one of Daenerys' dragons was theoretically under Aegon's control.
But neither of them were here.
Jon felt the terror deep in his core as a shadow passed underneath the moon, only momentarily covering them both in darkness. Then it was gone.
And the howling got louder.
The flapping of wings soon was heard over the cheering of soldiers. It was getting closer, and closer, and closer…
That was precisely when the sky lit up with flames.
FWWWWOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHHHH!
Crimson, orange, and gold sparked forth before Jon's eyes. Even in the heart of winter, even from so far away, he could feel the blast of warmth against his numbing cheeks.
A thunderous rumble shook the ground beneath his feet, and it inspired the dwelling fear that raced within his heart. And as he saw the King's Gate being engulfed into the fiery inferno, and green-scaled shadow that flew high above it. Jon knew that the end had come.
As he and Starag ran for the River Gate, all noise drowned out around him. Except perhaps, for just one thing…
All he could hear were the screams.
Author's Notes:
WHEW!
Spent quite a while cooking up that battle-very enjoyable if I say so myself.
Next up, Starag pulls off a fucking miracle
See you then.
BIRD0FHERMES: I appreciate your kind words, G.
I see what you mean, though. Even though a character may learn from their mistakes, they might still give you that feeling of incompetence.
If you have your character make a mistake (that makes sense with regards to their character) against an opponent who is clearly superior to them in some way, you'll be able to pull it off. That's my experience, at the least.
branphillips001: I never heard that call to arms before I wrote the chapter.
But then I searched it up and heard it a few times. Total G call to arms. I decided to change up Jon's call as a result.
TheScottishLegend: 😎
See you next time ladies and gents!