PART III: A City This Darkness Can't Hide
King's Landing
300 AC
The blunted steel edge of the training sword had come for him again.
Jon Stark ducked narrowly underneath it, ignoring the sweat that beaded down his forehead and eyebrows. Then, he pressed forward again as he shifted on his right leg, bringing his blade up in an efficient uppercut strike.
Starag had stepped backward, finally moving off the square he'd situated himself on at the start of their duel, and deflecting Jon's blade. Jon followed up on his advantage, this time with an overhead strike aimed for just underneath Starag's shoulder, for the exposed armpit not defended by metal plates or gambeson.
Jon had not been ready for the aggressive counter-swing coming from his left flank, which forced him to cut his advance short and retreat on his back foot. His temples pulsed in frustration as he separated from Starag in the middle of the courtyard.
"Better." His uncle had said plainly. "Much better than a few days back."
But it's not good enough, Jon thought to himself.
Despite Starag's seemingly supernatural speed, Jon would've been able to match it had he been in better shape.
Adapt to your opponents, and you'll never lose. Or so Arthur had always said to him.
Yet as his left knee continued to painfully throb in silence, Jon realized he would not be as fast as his uncle. Mobility was not his ally today, and he would need to make up for it by making more calculated aggressive plays, or by maintaining a tight, efficient defense that would wear his opponent down.
And his current opponent was practically one with the sword.
Starag's own style had always been a confusing mess of aggressive, hammering strikes combined with an (annoyingly) tight defensive map that often left Jon aggravated and exhausted. It only made sense as Starag, at one point, needed to compensate due to his size and weight. He took up more space and weighed more than anyone else Jon knew. And faster swordsmen were often better than ones who focused purely on strength alone. In this realm, Starag had to develop a tight defense that was impenetrable to anyone who wasn't faster than him, and one that would inconvenience those who were.
If you attempted an aggressive advance, Starag would simply lead you astray with a blindingly quick progression of deflecting strikes, parries, and the eventual counterattack which would be delivered precisely once you slowed just enough for it to catch you off guard.
Then, he'd hammer down on your defenses. Which more often than not, left Jon's arms sore from the sheer power behind them. Starag's blows felt more like meteor strikes than not.
This also included the occasional sharp and efficient jab, the swift action of knocking aside your blade and getting his own sword within your guard only to home in on an artery or vein.
His footwork was also something to marvel at. Jon found that the moment Starag shifted onto the defense, he'd purposefully make you exercise your legs pointlessly by going in circles around the courtyard or the battlefield. To Jon, it was significantly easy to keep up and even prevent, but to lesser trained swordsmen, it was a maneuver designed to patiently tire and isolate.
And to cap it all off, Starag would switch between dueling one-handed or two-handed, often at an infrequent pace which would throw you off course and force you to readjust your approach. For a normal swordsman, it would actually be safer to use a shield if you fought one-handed. But Starag didn't need a shield. His sword was all the defense he needed.
Jon's uncle was infuriating to duel with at times, which was probably why Arthur enjoyed it so much. Most sword duels on the battlefield generally lasted about three moves. The victor was quickly decided. So when Arthur had trained Starag and they began their early morning duels, Jon guessed that both men had found it exciting to keep up with one another in their prolonged battles.
Jon himself did not have the same advantage in physical strength as his uncle, or even Robb for that matter, who was more muscular than he was. So Jon needed to develop a way around it.
Jon's approach was more like a wolf's. He'd always been lighter on his feet than Robb since they were children and had capitalized on that edge. Focused bursts, quick lunges, aggressive pounces. Prioritizing systematic attacks so he could outlast his opponents and be effective with his energy and stamina. Hitting the enemy on multiple fronts in quick succession, far too fast for them to defend all at once. These building blocks were the foundation of Jon's own style, which had gained approval from the Sword of the Morning himself.
It was an approach that Jon also topped off with a well-rounded defense. As Jon got better, he could handle even enemy spears well enough with just his hand-and-a-half sword.
Yet, it was Jon's primary advantage of speed that had been impaired by his injuries. And that was what he was paying the price for at this current moment.
He re-engaged his offensive, making another deliberate strike for Starag's exposed right flank. The moment Starag's blade came up to parry, Jon feinted to the left, making Starag step on his back foot. This time Jon brought his blade closer to his opponent's guard and-
His sword met with resistance-Starag's own blade had fired point blank, shocking the muscles in Jon's arms as their swords clashed.
Jon attempted to separate so he could readjust and lunge again, but Starag pressed home his advantage and came forward, forcing Jon onto the defensive.
His uncle's training blade came down like a battering ram, and Jon could only do so much as his muscles strained and squeezed under the pressure, feeling as if at any moment, they would simply bulge out of his skin.
He felt the blade's hilt leave his grasp and heard the steel clatter and click against the marble floor of the courtyard just a few feet away. Starag had knocked his sword out of his palm by hitting the round pear-shaped pommel.
Jon nearly collapsed onto his knee as he inhaled and exhaled infrequently, feeling the sweat roll down his face. His whole body was screaming at him in pain.
"Much better," Starag said, offering his hand. Jon accepted it and stood uneasily back on his feet. "You'll be running circles around me again in no time at all."
Jon smiled, but inside his thoughts told a different story.
Be better, Stark.
Jon,
I've received word of an army in the Crownlands marching directly for King's Landing.
Unfortunately, I won't be able to help you when they get there, but I may be able to put together a suitable relief force while you hold out in the city.
I've been gathering men from the northern regions of the Reach. Just around nine thousand; mostly infantry with three thousand cavalry. We should be arriving in three weeks. The grain caravan will be a bit longer.
Buy as much time as you can. On the day, I'll sound the horn four times. That's when we'll pin them and cut off this invasion by the head.
Your brother,
Garlan
Jon's heart soared upon reading Garlan's words.
His decision to have the Tyrells bring grain to the city from moons earlier had paid off tenfold. Not only was the grain caravan nearing King's Landing, but so too was Garlan's host.
The Reach always had the most sizable army out of the Seven Kingdoms, so Jon didn't find it difficult to believe they could field so many men in a few moons. A relief force like that would surely shock the enemy.
But it all meant that Jon would need to hold the city for at least a week. They would need to repel the invaders long enough so the relief force could arrive.
And in order to buy the city as much time as they needed, Jon would need everyone within the city on his side.
Assembling the council hadn't taken long.
By the time everyone had been gathered inside the King's Office within Maegor's Holdfast, Jon promptly took his position at the head of the long oak table that oversaw the ornate dining hall.
Here, he figured, it was safer to communicate his plans. There was always the chance that Varys still had his little birds placed throughout the city, even within the Red Keep itself. It was better in general to ensure the opposition knew as little as possible about what Jon was about to say.
And Aegon's side of the fence was likely wondering how Jon knew about their plans and was possibly quite scared about what he potentially had up his sleeve, especially since they probably knew he called Aegon's bluff and hadn't left King's Landing.
It was an advantage that Jon would use to the hilt.
As the other high-ranking lords filed inside the office, most notably Ser Kevan Lannister and Lord Tytos Blackwood, Jon knew that he'd need everyone on his side to ensure he could effectively play his hand, and even withstand this siege altogether.
The two men had taken opposite sides of the table from one another and nodded respectfully to Jon, who nodded back.
Starag soon walked inside with Jaime Lannister and Oberyn. They took up their own seats along the table.
City Watch Commander Averey Boddenbruck had also been summoned. He sat at the opposite end of the table from Jon.
A plan had already formed in his mind about how the city's defense would carry out. He just needed the manpower to make it happen.
"Thank you all for coming here," Jon said, looking at all six of them.
"Most of you are aware of Aegon and his forces. They'll be arriving here within the fortnight. They mean to take the city with ease." He told them. "Obviously, we cannot let this come to pass. So, I ask that each of you lend me your aid and that you hear the plan I've put forth to keep these invaders out of our city."
Ser Kevan Lannister shifted in his seat. "We don't exactly have a choice, Lord Stark." He said. "My family stands in the way of this… Aegon… I will defend them to the last." He'd no longer doubted Jon's claims from days earlier.
"We will fight with you, Lord Stark." Tytos Blackwood said, finally agreeing with the Lannister man on something. "If this pretender is responsible for Baelor's Sept, then he is an enemy to all of us."
Jon smiled briefly. "Thank you, my lords."
Then he spread out a map of the city. The other men at the table gathered around while Jon began his presentation.
Starting at the Iron Gate, by the north side of the city, Jon started. "Each of us will take command over an entrance to the city. There are seven gates and seven of us. From there it is up to each of us to ensure the enemy does not breach the gates."
"Any particular strategy you'd like us to follow?" Jaime asked.
Jon shook his head. "How you each decide to defend your gate is up to you. Our only objective is to repel the enemy and keep them out of the city until a relief force arrives. Pick off their forces until there's none left standing."
"It's indeed a very loose defense…" Kevan Lannister added with a slow smile. "But it is fluid. It will be easy for us to respond appropriately to the enemy as the battle progresses. Is there a relief force? Who are they?"
"My good-family," Jon said. "Garlan Tyrell is leading a host of nine thousand men up the Roseroad and through the Kingswood. He plans to pin Aegon's army against the walls of the city and smash them."
"What of our food stores, Lord Stark?" It was Tytos Blackwood who asked the question. "How long can we withstand the enemy before we run out of supplies?"
Jon pursed his lips. "With the food we have in the city, and the roads being cut off…" He paused, calculating the figures in his head. "Roughly five moons or so."
"By the gods…" Blackwood folded through his beard. "And what about the invaders? Do we know anything about them?"
"They are sellswords," Starag elaborated. "For the most part at least. And there are houses from the Crownlands too which have converted to Aegon's side. Mostly infantry, the lot of them. And a large fleet besides." He said. "They fight for gold, so I doubt they'll be able to keep up against a prolonged siege, especially if we succeed at keeping them out."
"Lord Mormont is right," Kevan Lannister nodded in agreement. "They will lose their loyalty if they believe sieging the city to be costly." he paused briefly. "It's this fleet, though, that worries me."
Jon Stark did not have an answer for that one. The fleet was a different beast entirely. Neither did he know how many ships had been in the Royal Navy before Aegon took it from Stannis.
"I'll handle the fleet," Starag said, then looking at Jon. "I'll take half of the Manderly men we've got in our own fleet and set up a blockade on the Blackwater Rush with our ships. We could probably launch some kind of offensive attack against the enemy if they make their way to the River Gate and the King's Gate." He pointed directly at the southernmost entrance to the city and to the side completely covering the harbor. "We'll push them back out into Blackwater Bay and keep them there. They'll be cut off from their forces on land."
Jon nodded thankfully to his uncle and continued. "I'll take command of the Old Gate. I can have the other half of the Manderly force dispersed along the western wall here," He pointed to the dark line representing the western wall. "And here,"
It was relatively easy to figure out from then on. Ser Kevan would take his forces and hold the Lion Gate, while Lord Blackwood would hold the Gate of the Gods. Jaime would take split command of the Lannister forces and the City Watch and hold the Dragon Gate while Oberyn would take command of the Iron Gate. Boddenbruk agreed to hold the King's Gate, as Starag had already said he'd hold the River Gate and the harbor from the inbound fleet.
"What if they focus their attention on a particular gate?" Oberyn had asked.
Jon was ready for it, though. "Then we'll regroup on that gate. It shouldn't take us long to reorganize. As it stands, it makes sense for them to charge all seven entrances to the city at once, as they have more than enough men to do so."
"And if they get inside?" It was Jaime this time. "All it would take is one for them to spill in."
Jon placed his hand over the small area in the center of the city. "Then we'll fall back to Jaehaerys' Square and form up into ranks. It's an excellent strategic position since we can hold most of the city from there. And they cannot access the Red Keep without getting by us.
He continued, looking around the table at the other men present "If any of you require supplies or craftsmen to help fortify your defenses, you will have them. I've already enlisted the smiths from the Streets of Steel to help us in this endeavor."
Kevan Lannister nodded. "We'll be needing barrels of oil, Lord Stark. Scalding hot, in case these sellswords get the bright idea to use a battering ram or even a siege tower."
"Done," Jon said. He would have it ready for them later that day.
This was a military operation. Jon would pause and reflect on his doubts at a later time. But right now, all they could do was prepare for one of the greatest battles that Westeros would ever see, and one that would decide the fate of all their houses.
Jon took one last glance around the table and steeled himself for the days to come.
"Anything else?"
The progress on the new sept had been going swimmingly.
In a few days, the Sparrows had gotten a functional hall made of timber between Jaehaerys' Square and Aegon's Hill, made for those who lived in the city, a circular hall with rather crude wooden statues dedicated to each of the Seven. The poorest of the smallfolk would be able to take shelter there, and Jon had allowed the High Sparrow to give out a portion of the food stores, something which the old man had been incredibly thankful for.
Then Jon visited the Street of Steel. After summoning all the best and brightest blacksmiths that Westeros had to offer, he'd tasked them with helping the City Watch fortify and improve the defenses throughout the city. Most notably the walls and ramparts. How they went about it was up to them, but after informing them of the situation, and of the impending invading army, the smiths had agreed to all work together.
Tobho Mott himself had already begun to create a sort of "repeating ballista" as he referred to it and had begun constructing it with his contemporaries. Jon didn't know whether or not they'd get it done on time, but if they did, then he wondered just how well it would do against this army of sellswords.
Other blacksmiths had begun fortifying the gates with iron, particularly so battering rams would be far more ineffective. They'd also been helped by the City Watch to set up catapults along the walls and even a few trebuchets within the city limits. Meanwhile, the Gold Cloaks had been digging earthen ramps outside the city walls and the gates in particular.
The matter of food and water itself was of higher priority. Jon knew that a siege simply boiled down to food, water, and sickness.
Outside of King's Landing, Jon had ordered the surrounding farms and villages to harvest what crops they could, even unripened grain. So far the yield had been significantly fruitful for the food stores. This way, the enemy would not be able to gather food from local sources outside the city. They'd be forced to expend more resources, time, and manpower either hunting or going out and procuring more supplies.
But what Jon didn't know was whether or not Aegon's army could withstand a prolonged siege. Aegon certainly expected him to run, and for the city to fall in a single day, not to stand and fight.
His army is made up of sellsword companies and houses from the Crownlands, he recalled. It was highly unlikely it was well-organized, and while Jon had over five-hundred-thousand people who needed to be fed, Aegon had over fifty-thousand soldiers who required food and water to continue fighting.
The Crownlands lords' would be bringing the supplies, Jon figured. But how long would those supplies last?
Perhaps Aegon thought to end the siege in a day by calling upon his dragon. Perhaps…
That was a problem he'd not been able to solve. How would he deal with the dragon if it came to it? How could he knock it out of the sky without killing it? Even though Aegon was riding it, the dragon belonged to his aunt.
He tried his best to put it out of his mind. All that he could do now was pray to his gods.
The Godswood within the Red Keep was quiet.
Jon Stark walked solemnly into the wooded grove, holding his silence to himself. He took no notice of the surrounding trees of ironwood, birch, cedar, maple, and beech. Neither did he notice the rather extensive garden of once beautiful flowers that he'd once been shown by Myrcella. She claimed that she'd planted roses, violets, dandelions, and strange green flowers from Yi Ti. They bloomed quite well during the summer.
But now it was winter.
A much simpler time, it had been for all of them years ago. Arthur was still alive, watching over his newborn children and sparring with Starag in Winterfell's main courtyard. Jon was the newly-minted Lord of Queenscrown, just beginning to get a grip on his vast holdings, and learning how to properly rule the old-fashioned way.
His father had been alive then. Safe and sound back in Winterfell. Being with their family and tending to his own people…
If only Jon had known where fate would lead him and his family.
If he'd warned Arthur about Euron Greyjoy's ability to cast Valyrian magic, the Sword of the Morning might still be alive.
If he'd simply focused his efforts on Varys, and had not gotten caught up with the various other schemes in King's Landing, most notably Littlefinger's games, then perhaps Eddard Stark would still be walking and breathing amongst the living. The man who Jon had looked up to his entire life and regarded as perhaps the single greatest man he'd ever known…
And now, Jon was left all on his own.
They'll all look to you. His father's words echoed in his mind. Just as they'd done every night since Eddard Stark had died.
Who was he to take the spotlight? Who was he to take up his father's mantle? Robb was the Heir of Winterfell, yet why was the responsibility put on Jon? Jon was simply a boy who had been given a lordship.
Sure, he'd killed men before, and had not enjoyed killing them at the time. But he was only there on the sidelines while other men committed brazen acts of bravery and valor.
He'd only watched on as he saw Starag brave the storm whether it be at a highborn party, or on a hulking sailing ship that crashed against the waves of the salt sea. As Starag won a tourney against Barristan the Bold with a lame arm, or when he wrapped his mighty paws around Euron Greyjoy's throat and squeezed until the Ironborn ceased to be.
Jon had only watched every time Arthur gave out a lesson he'd never paid much attention to, or when the Sword of the Morning would marvel at them all by defeating every single man in the castle courtyard, each with only a single move with his sword.
And with his father? Jon had seen far too much for him to recall in this one moment. When his father sat upon the high throne, Jon watched as he kept his composure with each and every one of his subjects, Jon kept looking on as Eddard Stark dealt out just and fair rulings to each one of them.
Then he recalled the look on their faces. These people knew they were safe in his father's hands, they knew they could look to him for guidance and protection. It was completely assured to them. They believed in him.
It was much the same look he'd seen on the people's faces only weeks ago. The people of King's Landing had once enjoyed that same feeling of security that the people of the North had felt all their lives.
It came all back to him then.
They'll all look to you. Had his father not just meant the people? And his family? Had he also meant their ancestors? The old Kings of Winter?
And, he wondered, his descendants too?
Who was Jon Stark to take up that mantle? Who was he to change the doomed fate of his house that had started only three hundred years ago?
His opponent had three dragons and an army that trounced his own. Many things were working in his favor, and whatever happened, Jon was consoled by the fact that Aegon's rule would not last.
But it was the oncoming feeling of doom that pervaded his thoughts. It would just not go away. The dread had balled up and solidified itself within his core.
How could he protect this city? And all these people? Was his fate to die defending them?
There's so much I wanted to do… He realized. And only now had Jon Stark realized just how little time he had left. How little time he had in the first place.
He wanted to hold his newborn child in his arms, he wanted to have many children and see them each go off and conquer the world. He wanted to see Margaery again and look her in the eyes while he loved her as a man should. He wanted to grow old with her and hold her as they watched the snow fall outside their window, as they coiled up closer together by the fireplace within the Lord's Tower in Queenscrown. He wanted to see her golden brown curls splayed out all over the bed of furs on the floor, and to see the admiration and love in her twinkling doe-like brown eyes.
Jon wanted to teach his sons the ways of the sword and see them grow into more capable warriors than himself, just as Arthur and Starag had done for him. He wanted to see his daughters grow up and confess to him they'd stolen a batch of lemon cakes from the kitchens, just as he, Dyanna, and Robb had done on many an occasion.
He wanted to see Queenscrown grow. To see it become the magnificent northern star he knew it could be, to see it outgrow White Harbor or Westhelm, perhaps even to exceed King's Landing. To get those gates finished, to see proper stone granite walls replace the thick wooden palisade ones that were currently there, and if only to see the people who lived there smile gratefully at him again as he walked the streets with Ghost.
So much to do, and Jon Stark realized, that he would not get the chance to see them all again.
He was absolutely terrified that this war would be the end of him and, most importantly, his family.
His father was dead. And despite having been thrown into the ensuing chaos, Jon had not taken the time to grieve properly for Eddard Stark. He'd not gotten the chance to silently lament the fact that a man he'd once looked up to his whole life was now suddenly and violently taken away from him.
And as Jon found himself standing before the mighty oak itself, the heart tree within the Red Keep's godswood, with its blood-red face carved into that of tempestuous anger…
He didn't quite know what to say.
Jon knelt before the glaring face, feeling the dim chill as his knees brushed against the powdered snow, separated only by the thick woolen trousers he was wearing. Gently, he closed his eyes.
"I am… afraid. I believe this war will be my end." He began uneasily. "I wasted far too many days with plans of what I might do… And this… this was not among them." He dipped his head low. "I will fight on regardless, and I will protect those who need me from this foreign pretender."
He paused briefly, giving the angry tree a ghost of a smile. "All I ask is to live these next few days well."
With that, Jon Stark opened his eyes and stood before the heart tree. He gave the judgmental oak one last nod before turning around and walking back the way he came.
He passed by Myrcella's flower garden once more and peeking out among the dried frozen brush, Jon had made out a single winter rose. Just the one had managed to catch his gaze and make him stop briefly, staring at it for a few moments, before forcing himself to move on.
And far behind him, the eyes of the gigantic oak heart tree crackled to life with what could only be considered, flames.
Author's Notes:
One last chapter before the battle kicks off!
This one was a bit tougher to write initially, but I found a way to make it work.
Jon is dealing with some pretty big stuff at the moment. He's preparing to defend a city of about half-a-million people against an army of loot-hungry sellswords and Crownlands Houses along with a massive fleet.
And three dragons, of course.
I wanted to accurately portray what a young man Jon's age would be feeling like in a situation like this before effectively going to war, and going through the doubts that he should have at this time.
He's not invincible, and he's certainly been put under a tremendous amount of stress.
Will he crumble? Or will he emerge through the pressure, as a hardened, seasoned, and competent ruler and commander?
Next time, the Siege of King's Landing kicks off in full force.
See you then.