(Stannis)
The First Horse-man pulled his horse to a stop before riding into the spears and started to turn around before a crossbow bolt entered the side of his helmet.
As dust kicked up from the first charge, Coltraps were thrown. Visibility was limited from where I was atop the gatehouse. Crossbowmen sat along the inside of the wall, out of sight from the other side. A narrow staircase was the only way up the wall. Stones and hot sand were poured down the steps and through the murder-holes above the stairs.
I recognized the Oaf as he went charging through the gate.
Hundreds more poured through the gate after him. Some tried to turn away from the spears. Coltraps littered the ground as horses went down screaming high pitched neighs. Most could not stop because of the men behind them. The press coming through the gate forced the knights into the spears.
Dust was like a sand-storm. The stench of blood was heavy. The screams blocked anything The Oaf could order to his men.
Chaos.
Scores of men dashed through the gate. Between barricaded stone buildings stood walls of steel. Crossbows from the roofs and windows, fired and withdrew to allow another loaded weapon to come to bare.
As they pushed their way through the gate they had no choice but to go forward.
Time passed in flashes of violence.
My ax took the head off a frenzied man running up the stairs, screaming from the sand cooking him in his armor.
They continued through the gate.
Continued to crush themselves into the fortress.
Into hell.
The dust blew away under the wind as blood soaked the ground. Gore built waist high. I remember the wet sucking sounds of boots sloshing through muddy viscera of man and beast.
Eventually, the bolts ran out.
As the sun set, no more came through the gate.
The Gate door dropped shut.
The shield wall moved forward.
Men too packed to breath died by their comrade's swords as often as the spear in the end.
No quarter.
Headless bodies were thrown over the wall by tired men, bellies full and bloated with horse meat. Women and children butchered thousands of horses. stuffed into barrels with salt or into empty smokehouses.
Food for ages.
A mountain of skulls to be boiled and cleaned of flesh. Put upon the crenelations to decorate the walls forever more.
I cleaned the Oaf's skull myself and ate the most delicious horse stew I had ever tasted.
Food is never as sweet as from the skull of your enemy.