A/N: This is just one final reminder that you should not expect good writing or even decent fighting scenes. Before you begin to read you'll need to lower whatever expectations you may have for this story and the events to come because of my quality as a writer in certain areas.

Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign

By Spectre4hire

Ten

Kevan:

He was on the wall when it happened.

The thundering hooves of a ferocious charge as Renly's men and knights rode down like a fierce storm through the gap. Their armor was glinting in the sun while the colorful banners sputtered in the wind displaying the might of the Reach and Stormlands. They bellowed battlecries as they rode, but all of it was silenced by the deafening WHOOSH.

Kevan looked away with the opening flash being near blinding. He could hear the curdling screams and the roaring flames. He didn't know how many were out there, but it had to be thousands. He heard the whooping of his own men who had gathered to watch it. Seconds ago they looked on with trepidation at what approached them, but now they were openly cheering while watching men being burned alive.

He turned to see a raging river of green flames snake its way through Renly's forces, slicing through its ranks while searing flesh, leaving behind a swath of smoldering destruction. Even at this distance he could feel the sudden swell of heat. This was not all of them, he knew, the tip of the spear, he would guess. Renly's vanguard, perhaps? He didn't know just like he didn't know which lords and knights were lost in that sudden burst of wildfire.

The screams of the men who were not given the mercy of a quick immolation were terrible to hear. They felt like daggers piercing through his flesh to prick at his very bones. The men were crying out in pain, screaming and pleading for mercy or help. As awful as the sound of burning men were, it was a terrible anguish to hear the horses whinnying with such frantic torment as they burned, wounded and terrified. It was harrowing in the painful noises so many of the horses made. It was a dreadful chorus of agonizing sounds, mixture of man and animal, flesh burning, pitiful screams and unholy whines.

Kevan Lannister shuddered. The men on the wall cheered while they burned.

He didn't join in. He didn't have it in him. "Settle down," He told them, quieting their celebrations in his clipped tone, "Prepare yourself because they'll be more." He looked out at the carnage and the green flames. They'll want death for this. He knew from those on Renly's side who just watched their brothers and fathers and sons ride into that. Death begets more death.

It was all different now. He could not see battle in the way he saw it when he was younger. These days, these weeks all in preparations and despite his worries and the uncertainty, he did what he was told. He thought the nerves would settle. The wait for the fight could be worse then the fight itself when your belly was filled with cold dread.

It's not the same, the cries hadn't quieted, groans of agony lingered in the air while the uncontrollable wildfire went on consuming all in its wake. The youthful confidence that carried him through the war of the Ninepenny Kings and the Reyne Rebellion melted away to fatherly worry. It no longer mattered if he lived or died, it was the thought of what he could lose but still survive that was too terrible to ignore.

Lancel, His son's name came to him when a distant call cried up. He's in the Red Keep. He's safe there. The words seemed to blow away like ashes in the wind unable to stick to his heart. There is no safe.

He suddenly felt weary. Kevan kept his focus on his men who were being put in their paces by a Lannister knight, but even now through the thick smoke and glowing fire that Renly's forces were preparing their next strike. "Ser Kevan."

He turned to the runner whose face was already flush. "Yes?"

"From the King's Gate, ser," the messenger relayed, "Renly's men were spotted coming out of the Kingswood by the hundreds," He said over the muttering voices of the men.

Kevan silenced his men with a look. "We'll repel them." They were between the Lion Gate and the Gate of the Gods. He imagined another runner had already been sent to the closer Lion Gate. He withdrew his sword, "Come men, we have a city to defend!"

The enemy was already swelling up from their ladders when they arrived.

Kevan urged his men forward hoping it was the thrill of battle and not the shiver of fear that gripped their hearts. They answered his commands with a roar and charged their enemy. "Bring down the ladders!" He cried over the din of battle. It was distracting to hear so many different harrowing sounds including the loud clatter of steel and the blood gurgling cries of the wounded and dying. He glanced to see two others were with him while a mixture of gold cloaks and Lannister soldiers did their best to contain those who had already climbed up.

One of his men moved too closely to the ladder without checking so he never saw the axe that cleaved through his head, puncturing the skull like a crushed grapefruit. The dead man toppled over the wall and out of sight. Before the killer could advance up the rungs, Kevan plunged his sword through the man's throat. There was a spray of red. He lost his balance, falling down the ladder like a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut, knocking down two others below him.

He saw some of the gold cloaks pouring hot tar onto another ladder sending all those who had been climbing it spiraling towards the ground, burning and screaming. He oversaw the removal of another ladder. His heart was pounding hard into his chest. Battle created an overwhelming feeling that could burn through your blood.

"Ser Kevan! It's the Lion Gate," A haggard man in Lannister red was near panting, "its been breached!"

Fear spiked in his chest, pushing the guard out of his way so he could look in that direction. There not more than ten meters away was Renly's banner, waving in the breeze, a jeering taunt. Impossible!
He couldn't believe it. They had the men with plenty of gold cloaks to watch and defend it.

"The doors," the messenger was saying, "They were opened!"

Betrayal, cold claws raked across his heart at this treachery. He tried to push it down while this new terrible truth was threatening to crush him. They were about to be surrounded on both sides by Renly's men, squeezed in a bloody grip. He made the only choice he thought he could make.

"Retreat," he said it so softly, he wasn't sure the word even slipped out of his mouth. He felt numb and his fingers were trembling against his sword's hilt, "RETREAT!" He said it again. This gate won't hold now that the closest one has fallen. They had to retreat and try to rally elsewhere. That's what he told himself. Tywin would understand. The mention of his brother made him wonder if he was still alive in all this bloody bedlam. His men followed him while the enemy were swarming up their ladders like ants out of an anthill.

He could see the Red Keep was looming in the distance. He thought of Lancel and prayed for him.

It was worse than he feared.

With the gold cloaks unexpected betrayal and now the surge of Renly's soldiers it became terribly difficult to navigate through King's Landing. They had to abandon the walls and the gates, fleeing deeper into the city to try to find somewhere to hold up that couldn't be enveloped by their enemies so easily. The streets in the city were twisted and narrow. He didn't even have a dozen men with him.

A rush of men-at-arms and knights bearing the red apple of House Fossoway came up from one of the alleys. It was fight or die. He was proud at how they fought back, pushing them away. Like lions, he thought as the wall of red held its ground. One of the remaining men-at-arms charged him and instincts guided Kevan's sword to deflect the strike before his sword punctured through the flimsy armor.

It was when the haze of battle lifted did Kevan see that it was a boy looking back at him. His eyes glistening and lips trembling. The boy fell to the ground with a whimper. Kevan felt himself rooted where he stood. No older than Willem, was the thought that passed over him when the boy finally stilled at his feet. His belly was painfully tight as if being squeezed by pincers. Willem, he thought again, but this time the boy had Willem's face. His stomach rumbled violently, but despite its burning protesting, he didn't retch.

He brought two fingers to his face to try to swipe away some of the sweat. It was in that motion that he saw a flicker of red flash before him- Myrcella's favor . It was still tied to his wrist, dirty and torn, but it couldn't mar the princess's embroidery. The golden lion still looked proud against the red and he brought a finger to tuck it back away but not before taking another second to admire it.

He dispelled a breath, gathering his wits after those few heartbeats of silence and sickness. He looked to see two of his men lay dead, and another three were missing. Fled, it didn't need to be said. Despite the initial anger that churned in his chest, he found it dispersed by the direness of their fleeting endeavor.

Young and doomed, he survived his battles. He was able to marry and start a family, raise his children and watch them grow. He took in the few survivors who remained with him, all of whom dirtied, bloodied, sweaty, injured, and the oldest couldn't be more than ten and eight. They'll experience none of it.

He heard approaching footsteps. "Together men," He urged the survivors while watching as two of the three alleys that surrounded them at this intersection were being filled by enemy forces. He recognized the liveries of the Reach Houses Ambrose, Oakheart, and Beesbury. Their faces were concealed, but not all by steel some wore dark visages that could only be brought down during battle when the blood was up. Men become beasts.

They didn't stop. They didn't wait. They just charged.

He couldn't even parry the first strike when he felt the burst of pain in his leg, a lance had pierced him from behind. His knee crumpled beneath him. He didn't need to see it to know it was a bloody ruin. He gritted his teeth at the pain that seared from the wound. He dropped his sword to catch himself from falling. Cries and thuds surrounded him and he knew it was of his remaining men. His heartbeat seemed so loud. It pounded again and again, thundering beneath his chest.

"Nice armor," Someone to his left said.

"Back off," A warning came from behind him.

My killer, he thought numbly. He felt a hand against the back of his neck, before the harsh push that sent his head cracking against stone. It was a muffled grunt followed by pain, feeling as if someone took a hammer and hit the side of his face. It was agony. He was dizzy, pressed against the stone, he saw little, except for darkness. A copper taste filled his mouth and he tried his best to spit out the blood and what he was certain were parts of his teeth. He then felt hands grab him and push him, pinning him to the ground. He let out a weak groan, but they didn't seem to have heard him.

"Who ya reckon he is?"

"Who cares."

"Could be rich."

"Could be," It was more than a few voices, but between the pain and dizziness he couldn't tell them apart.

A foot nudged him, "ya practically broke his skull," a guffaw followed, "I ain't carrying some walking corpse because he might be a Lannister."

"We don't need all of him. We can just bring back his head." There was jeering and laughter.

"They deserve it after the wildfire," Someone spat, "I lost my brother to those fucking flames." The voice darkened and a footstep moved closer to him. "I'm killing him." No one argued.

He was expecting the killing stroke, but instead he felt someone wrench his arm upwards in a painful tug, "plenty of value here." They took the ring along with his finger.

Then there were more greedy fingers grasping at him, peeling away his armor the best they could. They were stripping him of all the wealth he carried. He didn't budge. He couldn't budge. He was wheezing, like a dying fish cruelly plucked from the water. His strength was leaving him, draining away, as he lay in a growing pool of his own blood.

The ground was cold against his cheek, but he could feel the warmth of the sun beating at the back of his neck. It was almost soothing as was the gentle breeze that followed tickling against his exposed skin.

A shadow stepped over him when they finished, leaving him nearly naked. He wouldn't try to get a look at his killer. Kevan thought about his family, and it was their precious faces that he saw when he heard the blade come down.

Cersei:

Fools, fools, they're all a pack of fools!

She had tried to warn them, but they wouldn't listen. The gods mock me, she thought, such a curse to be smart, but never heard. With Robert gone, and Joffrey still too young, it should've fallen to her. It didn't. They stole what should've been mine and then silenced me too.

Look at what their folly brought us. When she heard their gates had been open she knew who had betrayed them. Valonqar , the word sent a shiver through her despite her attempts to suppress it. She had thought for so long that it would be Tyrion, the one who'd betray her and then kill her. He was a monster, she thought it all so obvious, but these past few weeks she began to realize it was someone else. Uncle Kevan, it made the only sense. The little brother to her father, who was the greatest of all the lions. And I'm the most like him. What else could explain this disaster? Nothing.

She had already seen Joffrey off. He'll avenge me. She knew it, he was hers to use. The eldest and greatest of her children. Invested in power that was unfairly denied her, but he'd use it to make them all pay. He'll do it for me. She was certain of it. A Lannister pays their debts. Father had against those traitorous bannermen and Joffrey would too against these usurpers.

Her footsteps were loud in the empty Great Hall. She had to escape the other ladies, who bleated like sheep. She needed silence. Wine could only do so much. She would not be one of them, turning into a weeping, babbling mess. Nor would she allow herself to be led into some gilded cage to be paraded for all to see.

I'll not be denied it now. She paused in its shadow. It's waiting for me. To think for so many years the fat oaf was allowed to disgrace this seat, but not her. No, never her. Let them now come into this room and be forced to look up at me. The conjured image excited her. A lasting impression they'll never forget, a Queen of such beauty and splendor. She eagerly began to climb its steps.

The beautiful and brave lioness who refused to bow to a usurper. Her fingers were holding tightly to a small vial. Soon, she told herself. If only they had listened to me! It was their fault. I'm to be dragged down with them. Her angry thoughts stilled when she climbed the last of the steps and took her seat atop the Iron Throne. In the vast silence of the Great Hall, she reigned like the Queen she should've been.

She rested her arms atop the seat, but a sudden prick made her wince and draw her arm back. She looked down to see her sleeve had been ripped, drops of red were spilling from a small cut. Cersei pressed her hand against it before it could dribble down to further mar her skin. A scratch, she had been distracted. It was careless, but hardly her fault. So many problems weighing me down I can't do everything!

Cersei looked to see the crimson streak against her palm from the bleeding. She then turned to examine the wound, satisfied that it stopped, she put her blood stained hand carefully back to where it was resting. She adjusted herself atop the Iron Throne. It was difficult to find the right spot for her. She wasn't like Robert, who was fat and drunk and didn't care about the seat, too into his cups to feel any pain that the Iron Throne should've caused him. Another struggle she was forced to handle, but eventually she succeeded. Perched carefully atop it, she was sure she would look magnificent, a marvel to any who saw her. Now, she just had to wait.

They'll come. He'll come.

Finally, she thought when she heard the sound of armored footfalls. His armor was dirty and marred, his hair disheveled. He chose to represent our family in our last battle together.

He didn't wait to be within sight of the throne before speaking. "The city is lost."

"Joffrey will avenge us," She knew he would and the thought of his future victories made her smirk. I put him on the path to save our family, to give him those victories.

"So he's gone?"

She could not see her brother's face at his question in the dimly lit hall. "Yes," She chose not to gloat at how she had made the plans and contingencies to save their family and no one else.

"We need to leave," He was holding his helmet under his arm, "Father is dead." His fingers tapping at the metal impatiently, "We can still escape the Red Keep, but Renly's army will soon be besieging it."

She wouldn't let father's death show in her expression. She couldn't. "We have men to defend it," She didn't like the look he made at her observation. She may not have been taught to use a sword, but she understood more than her brother would give her, more than any in her family would give her.

"I wouldn't trust their loyalty."

"So you'd have us flee like thieves in the night?" Cersei demanded, coward, she wanted to sneer down at him.

"I'd have us live," He corrected her, taking a few steps closer to stand on the dais of the Iron Throne. "We can finally be together."

Cersei would rather die a Queen then live like some poor maid in the Free Cities, skulking in the dark and in the dirt. It was unworthy of her. If only I was the heir and him the broodmare, how much greater our family would've been for it. "We can," She agreed with him, hiding her lie behind one of her sweet smiles that made him so easy to control.

It worked. There was relief in his green eyes. He started to climb the steps towards her.

He was smiling like a fool, she didn't let her intentions be known, standing up from the Iron Throne. My time was too short, she despised the unfairness of it. This was it, she met him down the steps, embracing him. He was surprised, but soon his arms greedily wrapped around hers, and she could feel the kisses he pressed into her neck. She let out a happy moan to know his attention was appreciative.

Cersei wouldn't let this ecstasy cloud her mind. Carefully, she slipped the dagger from his sheath, "Together," she whispered, plunging the dagger deep into his side.

He jerked backwards with a surprised shout. His movement pulled and twisted her forward making her lose her balance. Helplessly flailing as she spiraled downwards, hitting the first step on her way down. It was a sharp jab of pain to her side. She let out a noise, and fell down another. This time it was a pang in her thigh. The next bounce made her vision a dizzying blur as she hit the side of her head, a grunt followed the pain.

One word rattled in her mind- valonqar . Each fall was a hit that made her feel like she was being stabbed by a searing blade. She was coughing and grunting, unable to stop herself. Tumbling down the last steps, she blearily looked to see the distance between where she rolled off and the floor that was rushing to meet her.

The last thing she heard was a loud crack and then darkness.

A/N:

So many things are likely wrong with this chapter so please no need to list them. I'm aware of how poorly this chapter was put together.

Next chapter will cover the aftermath so we'll get a better idea of a few things since its a bit murky with this chapter being solely from the Lannisters' perspective.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire

P.S: I'm sad no one picked out the little Jurassic Park easter egg from the last chapter.