Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, other than my own the original character(s) in this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so don't expect anything worthy of GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful thoughts :) feedback goes a long way to encouraging my writing.
Chapter 38: The Iron Throne
"Swear on your head, it's that I'll take."
- Prince Willam Stark
The sea was full of sound: shouts and calls, warhorns and drums and the trill of pipes, the slap of wood on water as thousands of oars rose and fell. "Sails down," Edwyn shouted out. A gust of wind tugged at his fine blue cloak. A set of boiled leather was his only armour. At sea, heavy steel was as like to cost a man his life as to save it, he believed; such was the common belief. Ser Imry and the other andal captains did not share this view; with steel glittering in the sun as they paced their decks.
It had been under Ser Imry's orders that the Wanderer and Trident remain at the rear guard alongside the other sailed ships, carracks and lumbering great cogs, and last of all Salladhor Saan in his proud Valyrian paced by the rest of his galleys with their distinctive striped hulls. The flamboyant Lyseni princeling had not been pleased to be assigned the rear guard, but it was clear that Ser Imry trusted him no more than he trusted the northmen. They were wasted in the rear, Edwyn thought with a scowl.
Lord Celtigar's Red Claw was far beyond them. To starboard of the Lady Marya were the three galleys that Stannis had seized from the unfortunate Lord Sunglass, Piety, Prayer, and Devotion, their decks crawling with archers. The Swordfish was closing, lumbering and rolling through a thickening sea under both oars and sail. A ship of that many oars ought to be much faster, Edwyn reflected with disapproval. It was that ram she carried, it was far too big, thus she has no true balance.
The wind was gusting from the south, but under oars it made no matter. They would be sweeping in on the flood tide, but the Lannisters would have the river current to their favour and the Blackwater Rush flowed strong and swift where it met the sea. The first shock would inevitably favour the foe. These southern knights were fools to meet them on the river, Edwyn thought. In any encounter on the open sea, their battle lines would envelop the enemy fleet on both flanks, driving them inward…
On the river, though, numbers and weight would count for less. They could not dress more than twenty ships abreast, lest they risk tangling their oars.
Beyond the line of warships Edwyn could see the Red Keep up on Aegon's High Hill, dark against a lemon sky, with the mouth of the Rush opening out below. Across the river the south shore was black with men and horses, stirring like angry ants as they caught sight of the approaching ships. Trumpets sounded from among them, tiny and brazen, soon swallowed by the roar of a thousand shouts. Edwyn found himself wishing his cousin hadn't tasked him to captain the Wanderer…
He'd sit at the rear – bored beyond reason – while the Fury would centre the first line of battle, flanked by the Lord Steffon and the Stag of the Sea, each of two hundred oars. On the port and starboard wings were the hundreds: Lady Harra, Brightfish, Laughing Lord, Sea Demon, Horned Honor, Ragged Jenna, Trident Three, Swift Sword, Princess Rhaenys, Dog's Nose, Sceptre, Faithful, Red Raven, Queen Alysanne, Cat, Courageous, and Dragonsbane. From every stern streamed the fiery heart of the Lord of Light, red and yellow and orange. All these and others, while The Wanderer and its allies watched from the distance alongside mere pirates. A damn waste.
"Ahooooooooooooooooooooooooo," The call rolled across whitecaps and churning oars from the forecastle of the Fury: Ser Imry was sounding the attack. "Ahoooooooooooooooooooo, ahooooooooooooooooooooo," the call sounded; summoning the fleet to battle and supposed glory.
The drum began to beat more quickly, and the strokes picked up, the blades of the oars cutting water, splash-swoosh, splash-swoosh, splash-swoosh. On deck, soldiers banged sword against shield, while archers quietly strung their bows and pulled the first arrow from the quivers at their belts.
Edwyn could see no sign of any boom; the mouth of the river was open, as if to swallow Stannis's fleet whole…
He did not know this place well – they were far from the mouth of the river too – but Edwyn could not recall seeing the squat towers of raw new stone that stood opposite one another at the mouth of the Blackwater from his last time here; when they escaped from the city. He dismissed the thought in passing.
Something flashed though, down low where the dark water swirled around the base of one tower.
It was sunlight on steel, and it told Fisher all he needed to know. Those were not mere towers without purpose.
"A chain boom," he spoke aloud as the sea air brushed through his hair. "They've not closed the river against us though..."
He could make a guess at that, but there was no time to consider the question. Ser Imry was already far gone from the rear.
A shout went up from the ships far ahead, and the warhorns blew again: the enemy was before them on the river.
Between the blinding rays of sun, Edwyn could see a thin line of galleys drawn across the river, the sun glinting off the gold paint that marked their hulls.
"Ahooooooooooooooooooooooooooo," the warhorns called. "We hold," Edwyn shouted, however reluctantly. He muttered a curse; wishing he'd stayed with Willam.
Glowering down from Aegon's High Hill, the Red Keep commanded attention. Its iron-crowned battlements, massive towers, and thick red walls gave it the aspect of a ferocious beast hunched above river and streets. The bluffs on which it crouched were steep and rocky, spotted with lichen and gnarled thorny trees.
The first line was in the river now, but the enemy galleys were backing water. They mean to draw them in. Jammed close, constricted, no way to move…
"And with the boom behind them…"
Edwyn could do little but order the rear to steer clear of the thing.
It all smelled of a trap, though from the account of the enemy's numbers – what could they possibly hope to achieve? A bluff? Simple desperation perhaps?
A flight of flickering orange birds took wing from the castle, twenty or thirty of them; pots of burning pitch, arcing out over the river trailing threads of flame. The waters ate most, but a few found the decks of galleys in the first line of battle, spreading flame when they shattered. Men-at-arms were scrambling on Queen Alysanne's deck, and rose from three different spots on Dragonsbane, nearest the bank. By then a second flight was on its way, and arrows were falling as well, hissing down from above.
Atop the Red Keep's battlements streamed the boy king's banners: the crowned stag of Baratheon on its gold field, the lion of Lannister on crimson. More pots of pitch came flying. "We should be closer," Edwyn snarled scornfully. "We could litter them with bolts… but our sails…"
The Wanderer wasn't the largest vessel in the Winter Fleet – not by far – but she'd be an easy target so close to those walls… if her sails caught light…
Beyond the castle, King's Landing rose on its hills behind the encircling walls. The riverfront was a blackened desolation; the Lannisters had burned everything and pulled back within the Mud Gate. Edwyn never saw the battle joined, but he heard it; a great rending crash as two galleys came together. He could not say which two.
Edwyn looked at the horizon to the shore, wondering how his cousin was faring in this moment. Well, he hoped; and unharmed too…
A flash of green caught his eye as a nest of writhing emerald serpents rose burning and hissing from the river.
The dread cry of "Wildfire!" rang out from the rear of the fleet. A substance that Edwyn hadn't hear of until only recently.
Ser Imry had warned them to expect a taste of the alchemists' vile substance. Fortunately, there were few true pyromancers left. They will soon run out, Ser Imry had assured them, explaining to Edwyn's men – as if they were children – how Wildfire was well-nigh unquenchable. Smother it under a cloak and the cloak took fire; slap at a fleck of it with your palm and your hand was aflame. "Piss on wildfire and your cock burns off," old seamen liked to say.
It was in light of this – ignoring Ser Imry's distrust of them – that Edwyn had reluctantly agreed to command the rear.
That wasn't a command he'd taken gladly, but what came next however made him glad for Imry's foolishness…
Unseen by him, with a grinding, splintering, tearing crash, The Swordfish had split a hulk asunder. She burst like an overripe fruit, but no fruit had ever screamed that shattering wooden scream. From inside her came the green gushing of a thousand broken jars, poison, glistening, shining, spreading across the surface of the river…
Edwyn could see it now – as could anyone within miles – as the very air seemed to shatter and snap; a swirling demon of green flame danced upon the river some fifty feet high. It had a dozen hands, in each a whip, and whatever they touched burst into fire. The rear of Stannis's fleet could do nothing but watch in horror.
"By the gods," Edwyn muttered as he watched the flames dance, as another blast of emerald flames burst up to the sky.
The Blackwater seemed to boil in its bed as burning men and pieces of broken ships filled the air.
"The chain," Edwyn spoke in a whisper, his ears ringing slightly from the blast.
They'd risen the chain ahead to prevent any hope for escape as the Blackwater Rush boiled.
The mouth of the Blackwater had turned into the mouth of hell, the very river itself seeming to take fire; shining emerald bright.
A dozen great fires raged under the city walls, where casks of burning pitch had exploded, but the wildfire reduced them to no more than candles in a burning house, their orange and scarlet pennons fluttering insignificantly against the jade holocaust. The low clouds caught the colour of the burning river and roofed the sky in shades of shifting green, eerily beautiful. A terrible beauty. Like dragonfire. Edwyn wondered if Harrenhal had once bore witness to such devastation…
Fountains of burning jade rose from the river in blasts so bright that even out in the bay men had to shield their eyes. Plumes of fire danced upon the waters, crackling and hissing. For a few moments they washed out the screams. There were hundreds in the water, drowning or burning or doing a little of both…
He hated emeralds. In raven eyes, in lion eyes, dancing in the sky; an inferno some fifty feet high – nothing good had ever come from emeralds. They watched from the north-east and any notion of words seemed lost. Three thousand riders of Stark, Greystark, Karstark, Glover, Tallhart, Mooton, Rykker and more all stood in terrifying awe.
No words came to mind. Nothing seemed quite weighty enough as they watched the sky burn.
Wraith was sat on his hind legs, watching intently with a tilted head as the fires danced in his eyes.
"We're late," Suko broke the silence without any of his usual wit or charm.
"By the gods," Harrion Karstark muttered quietly from his steed.
"Ed," Willam thought only of his cousin, a wave of dread washing over him.
The priest, Ser Thoros, sat in silence atop his stallion; no doubt questioning faith in that fiery god of his.
Edwyn however was with the fleet. It had seemed the right call then, as the son of House Fisher he was the best choice to represent House Stark without sending Aedan – who would've refused to leave his princes side – or Harrion, who knew nothing of captaining a ship nor commanding a crew; highborn or not.
It was the right choice. Willam only hoped it hadn't cost him a cousin… though if it had, they would all pay dearly…
And then there was Lady Amber, sitting on her chestnut mare dressed in chainmail and a longsword at her hip; eyes-wide at the city…
He should've sent her with Edwyn… should've kept her safe… but then, would she have agreed to go? That seemed doubtful…
Would they burn here for a king neither He nor his people cared for? He was fighting for kin, not some claim to an ugly chair.
"My Prince," Aedan alone brought him away from his worries, as he often did. "We have to move…"
Greystark was right – as he often was – there was no time to be standing idle. The longer they delayed, the greater fear gripped his men.
"Gale Redwood," Willam eyed the warg atop his chestnut mare with a great black bear at his side, pawing at the dirt impatiently; growling low at the distant fires.
"My Prince," the man bowed his head easily, swallowing the fear in his gut.
"I remember how you fought at Riverrun," Willam smiled his best smile. "At Rook's Rest too; your bravery is a testament to your kin…"
"You honor me Prince…"
The bear 'Fluffy' gave a snot in reply.
"Ser Florian!" As he rode on, Willam eyed the Mooton Knight; dressed in his steel plate atop his armoured horse.
"Prince Stark," the knight looked shaken, eyeing the flames warily.
"I saw you fight at Duskendale," Willam smirked at him. "As fine a sword as I've ever seen, for an andal…"
The northmen laughed as Ser Mooton nervously chuckled. The boy knight was afraid, but many cheered his praises from the host.
"Genrik!" Willam found the man, front and centre; atop his stallion looking stoic and fearless.
"Prince," he replied simply with a dip of his head.
"A testament to the Greycloaks, my cousin spoke highest of you at Duskendale…"
"Fisher wasn't bad himself," the old Greycloak smirked, earning a laugh from the men around him.
The flames licked at the sky above King's Landing in the distance as the drums of war sounded from Stannis's army far across the Rush.
"You've all honoured your families, your gods, and those who fight beside you!" Willam's horse kicked at the dirt beneath its hooves. "And now, we come to this distant city of dragons; turned foul to a den of lions. We come as wolves at their gates, and their pride will mean nothing with a sword through their hearts!"
"They've already burnt the city," Suko spoke loudly, as to let all hear his voice. "They've gone and done half the job for us!"
The army cheered at that, the northmen loudest of all; even as the fires grew on the horizon.
"I will be in the very thick of battle with you all, as I've always been! As I shall always be!"
The cheers of "Stark!" and "Prince!" rang out as a burst of green fire spat out from the Blackwater Rush ahead.
"We ride!" Willam drew Frostbite from its weirwood sheath, raising it up. "Ride with me now, for Ned Stark, for Stannis, for the Gods and for Winter!"
Aedan drew his steel and shouted, "Winter is Coming!"
Prince Suko yelled merely "A hundred gold for the head of every Lannister!"
"For the King!" some Mooton and Rykker Knights cheered, waving steel as Willam lead them in a charge towards the walls of King's Landing with wolves at his side.
Somewhere in the seething mass of men south of the Blackwater, the Stag King was watching, Willam knew. Like as not the man was sitting a warhorse right about now, clad in bright shiny kingly andal armour with a crown upon his head. A crown of red gold, its points fashioned in the shapes of flames.
They rode south-west, avoiding the bowmen on the city walls that threatened to fill them full of arrows; should they ride too close.
King's Landing appeared to be smoking to the south, as if the city itself were alight – yet Willam's host rode at a hurried gallop – avoiding the maw of the Dragon's Gate and the worn steel of the Old Gate to pass by the Lion Gate and further south towards the King's Gate; closer and closer to the sounds of battle.
"There's no time," the lord Seaworth had warned them cautiously against any attempted siege on any of the northern gates. There were barracks too close.
Doubtless, the Lannisters would've posted men for just such an advance, thinning their numbers… perhaps… or perhaps not? It didn't matter. The andal lord wasn't wrong, there was no time for dragging a ram halfway across the Crownlands to King's Landings walls. If they'd tried, the battle would be over before they even arrived.
Willam had wholly ignored the few grumblings among the Rykker knights, who knew all too personally the reason for their lateness to battle. Duskendale…
Stark standards streamed ice-white and black, wolves running with the wind. They went from a walk to a trot, wheeling wide before the city. Ahead now loomed the King's Gate and a surging mob of Stormlander soldiers defending a huge ram, a shaft of black oak with an iron head. Archers off the ships surrounded them, loosing their shafts at whatever defenders showed themselves on the gatehouse walls. "Charge!" Willam commanded, speeding to a canter as he rode at the head.
Arrows darted just out of range from the walls while stones spun and tumbled down, crashing blindly onto earth, steel and flesh all.
The wildfire was lashing at the walls as they arrived – riding towards a Lannister sortie like wailing demons straight from one of the andals seven hells – knights and northmen plated and mailed and armed with castle steel; lances and spears at the ready. "Winterhold!" Willam screamed as they closed upon the lions.
The ground was sodden and slippery, equal parts mud and blood as ahead Lannister men were turning, hurriedly trying to brace for the shock. Willam lifted his icy blade and shouted, "Stark!" Other voices took up the cry, and they clashed, a scream of steel and flesh, pounding hooves and sharp blades all kissed by fire.
Aedan had dropped the point of his lance at the last possible instant, driving the Stark banner through the chest of a man in Lannister crimson, lifting him full off his feet before the shaft snapped. He galloped beside Willam, slashing down at every foe they passed, cutting one spearman then another from shoulder to armpit.
Prince Willam's icy blade sheared off limbs, sliced through skulls, broke shields asunder – sparing nothing in Lannister red or gold from his reach.
Their foes were fleeing now. Willam moved his head right to left and back again but saw no sign of lions living, as Wraith ripped out the throat of a dying Goldcloak.
An arrow clattered against his helm then, sending a jolt of fear through his spine – proving why it was a fool that went to war without a helmet.
"Tear down the gate!" One man yelled out, a Stormlord by the looks it; just as a stray arrow took his life – jutting into his throat and sending him to his gods.
Willam's eyes darted across to the King's Gate, steading his horse as it shifted away from a flash of wildfire engulfing an area of men not far away.
The booming crash of wood and groaning of great hinges was muffled by the cries of burning men and horses. The Stormlanders were cheering.
"Stark, Stark, Stark," they shouted the name of their saviours over the shouts of their screaming foes and allies alike; burnt or burning.
"Bring down the fucking gate!" Willam shouted at them in reply, commanding order from chaos and hoping to the gods that it was enough.
The gate moved under the impact of another blow, groaning out like a stuck wounded giant.
Looking up now, the darkening sky was awash with sheets of green and orange light…
"Almost beautiful," some part of Willam's mind whispered. Not the time or place.
"Will," Aedan rode up beside him, his horse and cloak – once pristine – now splattered red.
"How many?" Willam asked, taking a moment to catch his breath, shifting uneasily in his saddle.
"Too many," Ashlyn came trotting over and around a scatter of corpses, her hair tied up and her chainmail bloodied.
"Ash," Willam felt some relief at seeing her safe and whole, blood or not – he knew it was not her own. "Any sign of Stannis?"
"None," she glanced southward towards the river. The Blackwater was jammed tight with the hulks of burning galleys. Patches of wildfire still floated atop the water, sending fiery green plumes swirling twenty feet into the air. They had dispersed the sotie here to be sure, but there was fighting all along the riverfront. Harrion's men, most like, or Suko's, rallying with King Stannis's men as they swarmed ashore off the burning ships desperately fleeing the flames.
In the corner of his eye Willam saw Redwood's bear, its fur half burnt; skin crisp as the beast ripped at a Goldcloaks limbs.
King Stannis was nowhere to be seen, doubtless to the south…
"Lord Stark!"
That voice he remembered…. but where…
"Look who I found!" Ser Thoros rode beside him, with unburnt ropes and not a hint of fear in his eyes despite everything.
"Lord Dondarrion," Willam regarded he man, eyes darting to his silver-haired squire who looked far less innocent than their last meeting.
"Prince Willam," the Stormlord greeted him, with an ugly looking cut across his cheek. That would scar…
"Your king," Willam asked, eyes darted about. "Where is-"
"His Grace pushes on the Mud Gate," Lord Beric informed. "We were to secure the King's Gate, but the sorties were-"
"-no longer an issue," Aedan interrupted the man with a stoic glance.
"I see that," Beric didn't seemed offended. "You've my thanks, if you hadn't arrived in time…"
"I've seen victory in the flames Beric, don't threat old friend," Thoros assured gladly, his smile never fading.
These two spoke as if the war were already won. One, out of some sense of loyalty to his liege, the other out of renewed faith…
Had he seen the wildfire in his visions? Had he seen the dead, or the screaming; or any of it? This place tasted of ashes and blood, not victory.
"His Grace can handle himself," Willam decided as the King's Gate edged on breaking. It wouldn't hold for long now.
"We should meet with the King in the city," Lord Beric offered eagerly. "Join our forces with his there, to seize the keep…"
A fine plan. There were other ways into the Red Keep too, ways that might save them a lengthy siege that they could ill-afford.
"So be it," Willam agreed after reading Aedan and Ashlyn's faces only briefly. A sound enough strategy, he'd find no arguments from them.
Lord Beric shouted, "You heard Lord Stark!" And the Stormlanders cheered. "Stark!" the men cried out in reply, and "Stannis! Stannis!"
Through the steel and padding of his helm, Willam could still hear anguished screams even now, the hungry crackle of flame, the shuddering of warhorns, and the brazen blast of trumpets. The flames were showing no sign of dying and in fact seemed to be growing stronger… feeding on anything it could touch…
A splintering crash rang across the Blackwater then as a stone the size of a horse landed square amidships on one of the galleys in the nearby river.
"Was it a Baratheon galley or a Lannister one perhaps?"
The thought was a passing one. Through the roiling smoke, he could not tell one from the other…
Men were crawling from the river still, burned and bleeding, coughing up water, staggering, most dying or wishing they would.
They were dead men all – but none of their concern – as the King's Gate buckled under a final blow of the ram to the sound of splintered wood.
"For the King!" Lord Beric rode at the head of the charge with them as the Goldcloaks inside the walls broke and fled in fear; for the walls were lose to them.
One brave spearman ran at them however, against the odds, a hero that history would never know. A brave man, but a fool. A dead fool at that.
Willam easily lopped off the head of his spear, then his hand, then his arm, trotting around him in a circle and slashing downward from his saddle.
An archer lunged too, bowless, thrusting with an arrow as if it were a knife. A brave man too… equally lost…
Aedan's destrier kicked at that brave one's thigh, sending him sprawling to the mud in agony only to be trampled.
Suko rode in behind them, away from the burning Blackwater with some Stormlanders at his rear; all cheering "Stannis!" as the imperial Prince rode past a Lannister banner and sliced the staff in two with a swing of his thin sword, as if it were made of paper. The Stormlords loved him for it too, shouting their support.
"Will!" Aedan called out as Willam raised his shield on instinct to a young knight in crimson, charging with the boy-kings name on his tongue.
He hacked at Willam's shield while screaming "Joffrey!" swinging an ornate longsword, again and again, until someone thrust a dagger under his arm.
It was Suko to do the deed, off from his horse; he pulled a thin sharp knife from the knight and sent him to the floor with a punch.
A black blur of fur and teeth leapt on the knight then, snarling and threating to rip out his throat with one swift bite – for the Direwolf was hungry.
"I yield," the young knight whimpered, his courage drained and staining his trousers. "Yield! I yield! By the gods, plea-"
The knight was a boy – in truth – his helm removed to reveal thick sandy hair with the wisp of a moustache and green eyes.
"Emeralds," Willam noted aloud, looking down at the boy just before Wraith closed his jaws around the young man's neck and RIPPED away with ease.
"A Lannister?" Suko thought aloud as the boy choked on blood, eyes wide, clawing at the chuck missing from his neck.
"A lord's son perhaps," Aedan offered with a glance at the boy's attire, now soaked in blood. "Would've been worth more alive…"
"Just a boy," Ashlyn said her peace, merely shoot a glance in her Prince's direction; as soft a look as there ever was.
"Boy or not," Suko didn't seem to care in the slightest. "It appears I owe your wolf a hundred gold, eh Stark?"
"Damn it," Willam frowned at the sight of the young dead knight, red and ruined; his throat open.
Captives were more useful than corpses at the end of things. A direwolf didn't care for such things though…
The boy had certainly been noble, once comely; with a jewelled dagger on his hip and gilded scabbard hanging from his sword belt.
"Wolf didn't take kindly to the fool trying to gut its master," Suko let his blade rest at his side, watching the boy-knight's corpse with indifference.
"Wraith," Willam looked at the direwolf sharply. "They're more useful alive…"
Wraith sniffed his prey in reply, then moved away in disgust at the scent of blood and piss, appearing to huff in disagreement.
The sky above them was red and orange and garish green now, colours and smoke dancing above like waves.
An eagle circled overhead, cawing out to them; as if in warning – or invitation… or it was simply an eagle…
"Row?" Willam wondered, squinting to see the bird circling above them through all the smoke.
It seemed unlikely. She was aboard the Wanderer; yet to wake from a sleep that she may never wake from.
There was no time to dwell on things he couldn't change. Stannis would be in the city by now, surely…
"Onward lads!" Willam shouted, taking his eyes away from the burning sky to focus on the city instead.
The King's Gate was theirs and the battle was won – at least in teaching; once a city lost its walls it wasn't keen to hold for long.
The gatehouse square was littered with wounded or dead as men pour into the city – footmen mostly – or cavalry even, having lost their mounts to one misfortune or another; few men boasted burns but fought on despite the obvious pain on their faces. Willam fought the urge to frown at the sight of it all.
"Remember your lessons," in his head the words whispered to him.
Why he thought of those words now, he couldn't quite say. They were his brother's words.
"Never hesitate," the words flooded past his ears. "Strike true and end it quickly…"
"Stark," Suko snapped him away from his thoughts.
The man had mounted his horse, sword at his side; looking at him impatiently.
"East," Willam decided, shaking away the lingering threats of a headache. "To the Mud Gate!"
They galloped down the River Row, past shuttered houses steeped in green shadow, with not a soul to get in their way; as the Goldcloaks fought elsewhere or had long since fled – the bells of the city ringing out to signal retreat – they thundered for the Mud Gate, even as emerald fires continued to whip at the city walls.
In between a heartbeat Aedan's horse had broken a leg; screaming horribly after a Goldcloak spearman drove the point of his spear up through the chest of his horse, spilling the man from his saddle. Willam hacked at the spearman's head as he flashed by, arching Frostbite to cut through air and bone as he rode past.
The blood gushed out in a scarlet fountain as Aedan found his feet again, and then he was fighting, staggering and slashing across the bloodied and muddy cobblestone street. Men in crimson and gold came at him. Some he killed, some he wounded, and some went away, but always there were more to slay.
"Grey," his Prince's voice snapped him to attention, away briefly from the carnage of battle. "Are you well, brother?"
"Aye," Aedan muttered dutifully, eyes darting about, watching as Stormlanders rushed past them atop horses; plate glinting in the green lights.
The air was thick with smoke – the wildfire clinging to anything and everything it could burn; showing no signs of dying – all while Stannis's men stormed the city.
"The city is ours," Suko came riding over, his face bloody and his long thin sword coated red in the blood of their enemy.
The Mud Gate had fallen. Stormlanders poured through the gateway, stabbing and cutting down the Lannister men as they fled; shrieking curses all the while.
Willam was sat atop his horse – looking every inch royalty – even with all the blood and dirt, Aedan thought he'd never looked more like a Stark Prince in this moment. His hair was damp with sweat when he removed the helm, throwing it aside and smiling; seeming unphased by the blood. Frostbite was pristine too, despite it all…
There were grey shadows all around them now, men and women in grey cloaks with swords at the ready even as the battle was won around them.
Flash licked at his master's hand, earning a strained smile from Aedan as he looked to the bloodied wolf fondly.
On the outskirts of the city, unannounced to them, there was a great confusion of bright banners waving above a sea of struggling men, shield walls forming and breaking, mounted knights cutting through the press, dust and mud and blood and smoke. The Red Keep still loomed high above them all on its hill, spitting fire.
A warhoon blew. Harooooooooooooooooooooo, it cried, it's voice as long and low and chilling as a cold wind from the north. Baratheon trumpets answered, da-DA da-DA da-DAAAAAAA, brazen and defiant, yet it seemed somewhat smaller, more anxious. As the horns died away, it was Suko to see them first; peaking out from the gateway.
"Well shit," he muttered, turning on his heels and shouting for his friend.
"What is it?" Willam eyed him warily, grip tightening on Frostbite's handle.
Suko managed to smile, though it was a forced thing.
"We're going to need a bigger bear…"
The horns rang out, closer now; chilling as winter winds.
"It's King Renly!" One Stormlander screamed as he darted from one side of the gatehouse to the other.
A panic filled the air; as Stormlanders shifted and Lord Beric shouted orders for them to steady, dismissing the nonsense for what it was – clearly madness.
Willam pushed past Suko and moved to the gatehouse with Wraith at his heels, shoving past Stormlander Knights flanked by Aedan and his Greycloaks; even as the fires continued to rage across the Blackwater Rush – a new terror had gripped the men. "Shit," is all that came to Willam's mind when he saw them.
Suko was right – damn it all – they'd need a far bigger bear. Banners of green and gold and red came rushing down the riverside.
"Shields!" Aedan shouted, not waiting for orders. "To the gate! Hold the gate!"
"Archers on the walls!" Suko yelled, but there would be no time for that. They were too close.
The trumpets blared again, da-DAAA da-DAAA da-DA da-DA da-DAAAAAAA.
"Who is it!?" Lord Beric asked, panicked as his knights shifted uneasily. "Is it the King!?"
A crescent of Greycloak spears had formed at the gatehouse, a double hedgehog bristling with steel, waiting behind shields marked with snarling wolves.
Green banners were the first on them, leading a wedge of armoured knights, half of whom shied at the last second, breaking their charge before the row of spears. The others died, sharp steel points ripping through their chests. "Hold the gate!" Aedan commanded, gaining a small following of brave Stormlander knights to aid them.
Willam didn't know these banners, a golden rose on a green field; lead by a knight in emerald-green armour with golden stag's antlers atop his helm.
"Tyrell," Lord Beric answered with a scowl, longsword at the ready. "What are they doing here…"
The gate wouldn't hold forever, its hinges were long shattered – so closing it was no option – nor would their wall of spears last.
The Reachmen were shying away from the gate now, but there were other ways into the city…
"The King's Gate," Willam muttered as Wraith paced back and forth, growling low and snapping at anyone who dared venture too close.
"Stark," it was Suko to snap him away from thoughts once more.
"Aye…"
"This is lost," Suko insisted darkly. "We're outmanned…"
"The King will-"
"I saw victory in the-"
"Your king is dead," Suko assumed with a snarl, uncaring. "And fuck your fires, priest – did you see This!?"
"I-" Thoros seemed conflicted, his robes red – hiding the blood he'd spilled.
"No," Suko answered for him. "Or you did, in that case; I'll gut you here and save us all the trouble of-"
"Enough!" Willam barked at them all.
Fighting among themselves would solve nothing.
"The enemy is out there," Willam snarled as Wraith grew angrier, pacing back and forth. "They'll be in here too, soon enough…"
Stannis was dead, perhaps… or perhaps not… it didn't matter. He'd seen Lannister banners among the Tyrells, but who was leading them?
"Your orders my Prince?"
Aedan was looking to him now, eyes full of worry; for his charge and never for himself.
"We can't win here," Ashlyn spoke quietly. "As much as I hate it, we-"
"The Lannister's won't be merciful," Beric argued with a frown. "And we'll not change cloaks for the boy king…"
"Secure the yard," Willam muttered in thought. "Spears up front, crossbows behind – we hold the yard and wait…"
"You heard the man!" Suko shouted out, his voice somewhat muffled by the sound of the thousand hooves outside the city walls.
The courtyard by Mud Gate was small, modest, with narrow paths to the north-east, east and west. They could hold, for a time… though not long…
As far as plans went it was a desperate one, but then Willam couldn't think of alternatives besides 'Surrender and hope the Lions are merciful' that was hardly a plan.
"Will?" Ashlyn grabbed his attention. "You need to focus…"
"I-" Willam shook his head, finding a hand holding Wraith's matted and bloodied fur.
"We're with you," she smiled at him confidently, reassuring. It was false… he could tell… but still…
"I should've sent you with Ed… or left you at Duskendale…"
"As if I'd listen," she smirked, as the sound of hooves cam storming down the cobblestone streets.
"Loose!" Aedan's voice rang out, as the Greycloaks shot bolts into the approaching horses; sending more than a few tumbling – tripping over others.
"Our luck was bound to run out sooner or later, eh?"
"Maybe," Ashlyn said with a frown. "We're not dead yet though…"
Not yet, no. The sound of wailing horses filled the air as the beasts fell from crossbow bolts; breaking their legs and crushing riders.
"Thank the Dawn for whoever made these streets," Suko remarked, watching as the Tyrell advance from the West flailed about in the muddy street.
It wouldn't last forever. The courtyard was small – though that worked to their advantage – they'd lose ground sooner or later, as Willam watched his men fall one by one to the odd arrow or lucky lunge. The enemy was being patient. Time was on their side after all, they needn't throw lives carelessly at a wall of spikes and shields.
It would take a commander without any care for his men to throw-
"BRACE!" Aedan's voice yelled out suddenly. Somewhere, the gods were laughing at them…
The knight wore tick grey-steel plate with a single slit greathelm, thundering towards the gatehouse atop a huge midnight black steed; roaring like a demon he charged straight at the wall of spears – impaling his horse upon them and tumbling to the dirt; but opened way for Lannisters to pour into the yard behind him.
"To arms!" Willam yelled, as Wraith leapt forward at one Lannister knight, knocking him clean off his saddle and ripping into flesh.
"Hold the rear!" Aedan barked orders at his men. "Crossbows!"
What men held loaded bolts turned on a dime, unloading into the oncoming Lannisters as they poured through the gateway.
The knight that broke through first had since gotten to his feet, some bolts pinging off his thick steel armour to no effect. He grunted in response, standing some eight feet tall with massive shoulders and arms thick as small tree trucks, he picked up a six-foot two-handed greatsword with just one hand.
"Casterly Roc-"
One knight ran past the giant of a man, only to fall to a bolt; sticking out of his neck as he choked in the mud.
The giant walked over the dying knight, uncaring as his steeled boot pushed the knight down, he swung the six-foot blade as if to challenge.
"Clegane," Lord Beric named him, eyes wide as he pushed his young squire safely behind him.
"Only a man," Prince Suko replied bravely in turn, testing the balance of his thin sword. "Men bleed!"
"We take him together," Willam eyed the giant of a man warily. "Speed is key to-"
"Agreed!" The imperial Prince charged the giant, uncaring as Willam shouted after him to wait; the giant swung his great sword as Suko ducked under it.
The thin imperial steel scraped and pinged off the thick grey steel as Suko ducked and weaved with the speed of a serpent, aiming to nick at the small gaps in the man's plate – but finding no such luck – the tall knight grunted and muttered "Hold Still" as he waved his massive oaken shield outward towards his foe.
It stuck Suko with a resounding *THUD* and sent him reeling backwards, only for Aedan to catch him.
The shield was rimmed in black iron, bearing the three black dogs of House Clegane.
"Fight someone your own size," Willam taunted the tall knight, standing at some eight feet – a far cry from the Prince's six.
"Stark," the Clegane grumbled in reply, turning away from Suko and Aedan and swinging his steel without a second's thought.
Willam ducked easily, slashing out with Frostbite; cutting through his grey steel plate with unnatural ease – nicking through the giant's leathers beneath.
The Mountain snarled at that, angry – as no normal blade could cut his steel like a hot knife through butter.
"You die!" The giant snarled, roaring as he swung with surprising speed for a man so massive.
As the six-foot blade stuck against Frostbite time and time again, Clegane's steel began to gather frost from his foes strange weapon…
"Hold the fuck still!" Clegane swung and swung, connecting with only Frostbite's icy blade, or the steel of Willam's shield; or simply air as he missed.
"If you're talking, you're not paying attention," Willam could only recall an old lesson taunt to him many years ago. Now was not the time for idle chatter.
Clegane pushed and pushed as the battle raged around the pair, but Willam kept dodging and blocking the giant's strikes, seeming to favour his parries and striking Clegane's sword with Frostbite – as a thin layer of frost grew on the six-foot blade. "HOLD STILL!" The giant knight screamed. "DIE!"
Just then, a cry of "For the Dawn!" came as Suko lunged, shoving his sword deep and straight into the thigh of the mountain.
"Argggh!" Clegane yelled at the sharp pain, swinging his forearm to the side; raking his sword across at whoever had dared interfere.
"Lóng!" Willam yelled, watching as Suko met Clegane's blade with his own. A grave mistake.
The thin imperial steel was forged for cutting a man to death, but it was no match for a six-foot greatsword swung with such strength.
Suko's eyes widened as his sword was carved in two before the pain jumped up and bit him, sending him to the floor into Ashlyn's arms.
"Bastard!" Willam snarled atop his lungs, discarding his badly dented steel shield and swinging Frostbite in an arch with both hands.
Clegane raised his sword to block, only for the man's six-foot sword to shatter – brittle from the gathered frost – it broke into a hundred shards. Willam slashed at the opening then, cutting the giant once, twice, three times before Clegane clenched his fist and swung, sending Willam stumbling backwards with a chough of blood.
"Now you DIE!" Clegane took a step towards the stunned Prince, intent crushing him as Aedan stepped in between them both with steel in hand.
In an instant, Clegane was knocked aside by a blur of black snarling fur; as Wraith crashed into the mountain of a man and began to bite and claw at the grey steel; bringing his maw down, smelling blood that flowed freely, he ripped frantically at flesh and chainmail; denting the great steel helm with his fangs.
The direwolf yelped as Clegane brought up his shattered sword, sticking the beast's sides with what remained of the steel.
Wraith snarled and growled and ripped despite it all, biting and ripping at the giant who threatened his master.
Flash had leapt to join too, rushing to his bigger cousin; ripping and gnawing wherever Wraith wasn't.
"GE- THE FU- OF- F- M-" Clegane screamed, his voice muffled, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing.
"Wraith!" Willam yelled, eyes wide as he stumbled forward despite the sharp stabbing pain in his chest. The direwolf was bleeding profusely.
A roar answered, even as Clegane continued to thrash frantically at the wolves set upon him; a great black bear charged – half its fur burnt away from the wildfires – it leapt onto Clegane as the limp direwolf was pushed aside. Fluffy brought his jaws down around Clegane's swordarm and PULLED with all his might.
Once, Twice, then on the third tug Fluffy ripped away the arm; roaring aloud in triumph before moving his jaws around the giant's helm.
"S- Suko-"
"Alive," came the answer from Ashlyn.
She was holding the imperial, with a great ugly gash across his face.
"Boy," Willam had moved over to the direwolf, falling to his knees and lifting up its head.
Wraith was bleeding, badly, as blood pooled from the direwolves belly; it whined and breathed lightly.
"Damn it," Willam stroked the direwolves fur, matted and bloody as it was. "Why'd you… damn it boy…"
Wraith didn't reply, whining quietly as Flash limped over and nudged his bigger cousin with a sad look.
The courtyard had fallen silent – looking around now – the fires were dimming beyond the walls; while most of the Greycloaks were dead or on their knees with swords to their throats. Redwood laid dead, his bear furiously ripping into Clegane's body without a care, blind in its rage, even stuck with bolts and bleeding as it was.
Lord Beric was among the captives, with his squire too; looking afraid and beaten.
"You have lost," came the arrogance on the wind. "It's over…"
Willam didn't need to see him to know who it was.
"Ser Jaime," he named the man with no lack of venom.
The Kingslayer was at their rear, atop his white horse and covered in blood and battle.
"Willam Stark," the lion replied, smirking at the sight. "You've fought well – my father will be quite furious at you killing his pet dog – though I suppose it was more the beasts doing than your own, was it not? Still… you should surrender now… your King is captured, and your army bested…"
"Stannis," came the mutter of Lord Beric, eyeing the Kingslayer with contempt.
"The very same," Jaime smiled over at the Stormlord, leaning casually and uncaring in his saddle.
The bear was stilling ripping away at Clegane's body, tearing at his remaining arm and having crushed his helm to a mushy mess.
"Not my king," Willam said quietly, stroking Wraith fur absently.
"What was that?" Jaime offered with a smile, pretending he didn't hear.
"Stannis," Willam growled in reply. "He was never my king – nor is your bastard son…"
Jaime's smile faltered at that; all his mirth gone in an instant.
"Foul lies," he replied with a dismissive scoff. "Stannis's ploy, an excuse for his greed…"
"I don't fucking care," Willam muttered, closing Wraith's eyes as the light faded from them.
Jaime frowned as the prince got to his feet and looked squarely at him. He couldn't find the fear he'd expected – it wasn't any to see – only a burning fury.
"I-" Willam's eyes scanned the yard briefly, looking to his captive men, then to Ashlyn; who was holding Suko in her arms – desperately trying to stop the bleeding – while Aedan looked at him pleadingly, seeing no way out of this situation. "I want your word, Ser Jaime; do you hear me?"
"My word?" Jaime raised a brow, curious.
"Your fucking word," Willam hummed, taking a step forward uncaringly.
The Lannisters raised their spears at him, only to halt at a wave from the Kingslayer.
"What is my word worth, eh?" Jaime was smirking again now, the sole knower of some grand joke. "The word of an oath breaker?"
"Your word," Willam repeated, gripping Frostbite tightly and ignoring the sharp pain in his chest.
"I'd have to hear what I'm swearing first, Stark…"
Ashlyn was muttering sweet words to a half-unconscious Suko.
Aedan was looking at him, frowning, hoping; while Flash laid by Wraith's body nudging with his nose.
Beric had a sword to his throat, alongside his squire. Thoros was on his knees too. Victory, that's what he'd claimed… damn useless fire god…
"My people," Willam spoke clearly after a moment. "My people will not be harmed. I'd have your word…"
"You have my solemn oath Stark," Jaime placed a hand above his heart; looking proud. "I swear on the gods that-"
"Swear on your head," Willam snarled at him. "It's that I'll take, if you break your oath…"
He was in no position to make threats. They could simply kill them all, here and now, but he'd not die begging.
"Have you been practicing that line Stark?" His eyes gleamed with amusement.
Fool. If he broke his word on this, one way or another, Winter would come for him.
"I swear on my head," the Kingslayer spoke mockingly. "It's a pretty one too, I'm told."
His father would come, sooner or later, with his brothers; Will knew. They would come for him.
"So be it," Willam replied coldly, sheathing Frostbite into its weirwood scabbard with a heavy heart.
Flash howled then, a chilling and mournful thing as he laid beside Wraith; nudging the dead direwolf in between whimpers.
Redwood's bear groaned when the bolts struck it – fury and sadness all in one – it fell atop Clegane's corpse, eyes pleading as it faded away.
"You swore," Willam took another step forward, only to be met with the tip of a spear to his throat.
"People," Jaime merely shrugged. "Not bears. It's small difference to you northmen, I know…"
Jaime Lannister smiled at it all as he ordered them put in chains – prisoners; just like dear old Ned was.
She'd dreamt of the clouds, the wind beneath her wings, souring through the sky without a care – though nagging thoughts assaulted her – compelling to stray; southward with the gathering host of horses and men atop them. What use were they to her? She was free, wasn't she? The skies were hers to rule over…
There was few if any competition here for one of her sizes and might. That aside, there remained the tug of memory to call her back.
"Gate," still rang in her thoughts; silent as a whisper.
The fires followed, where the very air seemed to warm – the inferno roared as every instinct scream to flee… but she couldn't…
"Gate, Gate, Gate," the accursed word tormented, egging her onward, as if scolding.
The city below was larger than her home – back to the north – it was…
Flashed assaulted her, images of the sea, a great port with a greater keep atop white cliffs far from here.
Home. That was home… but… where was it? The memories gnawed at her furiously.
The fires were dimming now, fading, even as she soured above the glowing river of fire and shattered ships.
Horses and men beyond counting had appeared not long ago, riding under in vast numbers, up from the green lands to the south-west; where she might find ample food and a fine new nest… yet the thought was fleeting… the tug pulled at those distant and dismissed them as selfish and treasonous…
"Home," the voice ushered. Pleaded. Almost begged.
It was far less demanding than she remembered…
"Back," it spoke again, as the fires faded; she saw the men on horses set up camp outside the city.
It had been a battle – she remembered them – vast numbers of men with steel and cutting, danger, blood, loss and…
"Come back," the voice spoke again, deeper, sadder…
Edwyn sat by her bedside, nursing a bottle of Arbor Red, drowning his sorrows.
"Come back lass," he muttered, eyeing the sleeping woman sadly. "Gods… how'd it come to this…"
The howls woke her in the end, long and chilling and sorrowful as they were – the wolves tugged at her very soul.
Rowana opened her eyes, blinking, finding the world fuzzy and her head pained like a hundred daggers inside her skull.
"I-" She mumbled. "W- Where am-"
"Kitten!" Edwyn flung himself at the woman, laughing and not caring as he dropped his bottle of wine to the floor with a crash.
"I-" Rowana blinked, groaning. "Where am I?"
"The Wanderer," Edwyn smirked, huffed – his smile died instantly. "You idiot!"
He slapped her arm lightly, scowling at her furiously.
"W- What-"
"I told you to be careful!"
"I don't-"
"If your bond with that damn bird wasn't so stubborn," Edwyn scolded her harshly.
"Talon… where is-"
"Don't know girl," Edwyn merely huffed. "Don't care neither…"
Her eyes adjusted, squinting as she took in the surroundings.
These were the captain's quarters. Prince Willam's quarters…
"The Prince," She blurted. "Where is Prince Willam!?"
Edwyn's face spoke volumes, his eyes diverting away from her question.
"Tell me," She said, quietly; her throat dry as sand. "Please…"
"I don't know," Edwyn spoke the silence.
"H- How long have I been…"
"Weeks," Edwyn answered with a sigh.
"I- I see…"
Warging came with its dangers. She knew that – everyone knew that – but she'd pushed herself regardless.
"My cousin asked too much of you," Edwyn scowled at her, muttering a curse.
"I-" Rowana winced at the sharp pain in her head. "I did my duty…"
"Duty," Edwyn scowled at that. "Idiot girl…"
He sighed then, picking up his wine bottle to find it empty.
"The Prince…"
"Captured," Edwyn supposed, thinking deeply. "Missing, or Dead; I don't know…"
The siege on King's Landing had gone downhill the moment that fool Ser Imry had led his king's fleet into that trap. Hindsight was a bitch, to be true, but that fool of an andal had sailed forward like nothing in the world could've ever threatened him. And then the Lannister host arrived, with countless Reachmen with them…
It was all they could do to ferry as many men back to the ships as possible, but there was only so much room – and none of them had been Stark men.
"Where are we?" Rowana asked, lifting herself up from the bed slowly; her bones tired and her body weak.
"On our way to White Harbor," Edwyn answered with a tired sigh. "After… well after the battle, we sailed to Duskendale to pick up what men we could. The last we heard the Lannisters were sending men northward – so we're off east, but not to that bloody volcanic rock and the andals Princess… or Queen… I don't know…"
Dragonstone was suggested, but Edwyn wouldn't hear of it; to hell with the andal king and his lust for that ugly looking iron heap of scrap…
"What of King Stannis?"
Edwyn shrugged, uncertain and uncaring for the man.
"Dead," He supposed easily. "Or captured perhaps, nobody knows for certain…"
"Just like the Prince…"
"Aye," Edwyn frowned. "Just like the Prince…"
They'd received no word from anyone about either man.
"He'll be fine," Edwyn decided after a moment. "He's a valuable hostage, after all…"
"What-" Rowana asked, hesitated with a hurt look. "What if he isn't though?"
Edwyn hummed in thought, recalling stories of his cousin's father – King Brandon the Bloody – and the last time the man thought his son dead. Edwyn had been too young to be present back then, but the stories his father told him as a boy were enough to keep any child awake at night.
"We'll tell the King," Edwyn vowed quietly. "And well…"
Heads, Spikes, Walls…
Drowning in barrels of blood…
"The king," Rowana agreed with a silent whisper.
Demon, they called Willam; but his wrath was a far cry from his family…
"This isn't over," Edwyn could feel it in his gut. Winter was Coming for them all, on tides of blood.
My Note(s): Que the whining about how "nothing has changed" because Tywin still shows up and kicks ass – but then, why wouldn't this happen? You have Edmure to blame for this, or arguably Robb for leaving him in charge, but ultimate the Battle of the Fords still happens (isn't any realistic reason for a change there) and Tywin is still prevented from moving into the West; thus leading to his arrival at King's Landing with the Tyrells. That said, Willam's arrival allows Stannis's men into the city and prevents sallies that otherwise were successful in canon… so they get further than in the books… but Will's barely 4/5k men are no match for the 70k+ Reachmen arriving…
Wraith is dead (he was a good boi) and Suko got an extremely nasty slash across the face from the Mountain, ending with Willam surrendering to Jaime in an effort to save the lives of what men he's got left; even if in reality Jaime could've just cut them all down at that stage and not even bothered offering terms if he felt like it.
Gregor in the books is about 8 foot tall. Willam is about 6,4 (my height :P) so the size difference isn't SO great; plus Frostbite isn't any ordinary sword.
This chapter took me awhile – sorry for the wait – took me abit to write all the fighting and exactly how I wanted it to play out n effect the future etc.
Bananabonobo547: Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying it :) I tend to have the odd typo honestly though – I've no beta reader or editor or anything of the sort – but otherwise I'm happy with how it's panning out overall n look forward to actually finishing the story one of these days. We've awhile left to go still :D
Max207: Glad you're enjoying it :) the Crownlands, yeah, I don't like to teleport my armies around too much or skip whole sections that could be flushed out n explored more. I'm not HBO :P Geography and Character Development is a thing! Westeros is kinda massive… lot of fics (and HBO) do seem to forget that.
InsaneSmirkingRevenge: The language differences weren't really noteworthy util they got to Westeros (also, again for the thousandth time, it's not YiTi) and afterwards it's a bit of a hassle to work with long term – hence the timeskip where Willam picks up Common well enough… otherwise it just wouldn't be fun to write…
246vili: Happy to hear you're enjoy it, thanks for reviewing :) hopefully next chapter won't have such a long wait, maybe, probably, we'll see.