Chapter 14 - The City of Fire and Blood
Robb
The blood-red light of the setting sun poured over the capital, illuminating the Red Keep's already crimson bricks into a blazing display of deep reds and glowing golds. It was beautiful, but it also felt like an omen. “The gods know blood will be shed this day” Olyvar had said when he was dressing Robb for battle “and if the gods are merciful, it will be lion blood the covers King's Landing.” Talk of lions and blood brought back memories of his meeting with the Kingslayer back at Riverrun, of his both his taunts and his warnings. Jaime Lannister was destroyed that day, the look on his face when the topic came up made that abundantly clear. All that was left for him was the Kingslayer, a rotten husk of a man who profaned his sword with Aerys Targaryen's blood, and perhaps the blood of the Targaryen babes as well.
Robb and House Stark had no love for the Targaryens, the Mad King had murdered his grandfather and uncle, Prince Rhaegar kidnapped Robb's aunt and proceeded to rape and kill her. However, the acts of a father or a grandfather should not damn their sons or daughters. Little Rhaenys and Aegon were as innocent as Bran and Rickon are to Robb's actions, though Tywin Lannister did not care and neither did King Robert. The reason Stannis had Dragonstone, to begin with, was because he was sent by his brother to capture both the island and the two remaining “dragonspawn”, Viserys and his mother Queen Rhaella. Rhaella would die after birthing a baby girl, and little eight-year-old Viserys had to flee across the Narrow Sea with his newborn sister in his arms.
The Beggar King he became known as the last male dragon was forced to sell all his valuables to feed both himself and his sister. Many in the Seven Kingdoms painted him a fool, but Robb felt pity for him, for the boy who was forced to flee his home and beg for the rest of his life. It was nearly a year ago when the news arrived that Viserys Targaryen has been killed in the Dothraki Sea, his head reportedly crowned with molten gold by a Dothraki Horselord. With both his death and the escalation of the war, people forgot about the Targaryens and so did Robb. That was until this morning when news arrived of a Targaryen Princess who had sacked the slave city Astapor. This Daenerys
Stormborn apparently had eight-thousand unsullied warriors at her back and a small Khalasar. The Myrish sellsword captain who had told Robb this claimed she also had three dragons and swore up and down that they were as large as Balerion and Vhagar. Foreign embellishments, Robb knew, though if even half of what he said was true, the dragon princess could well become a threat to Westeros.
Four newly arrived trebuchets had been pounding the city walls for nearly half a day when the siege ladders were finally ready, and now the venerable walls of King's Landing were pock-marked with impact craters. Each of the trebuchets had received a names by the men who operated them, near the Dragon Gate was
Ned's Wrath, the one bombarding the Gate of the Gods was called
She Wolf, the trebuchet tasked with attacking the Lion Gate was called
Cersei's Cunt, and the one placed near Robb's pavilion close to the King's Gate was called
Lionsbane. The siege engines had become almost like landmarks, their large wooden structures acting as compasses for troops to orient themselves on.
Tully bowman and Lannister crossbows had been trading shots at each other ever since the trebuchets started their work, and every so often a loud cheer would sound when someone finally got a hit. The mood in the camp was palpable, it was a mixture of excitement, fear, and weariness. Many of the Northern soldiers in Robb's army had served with him from the very beginning, from Whispering Wood to the Camps, to Oxcross, the Crag, and Harrenhal. The Rivermen had been fighting for even longer than that before Robb called his banners and marched south. Everyone was ready for the war to end, all they had to do was take King's Landing.
Once Olyvar had fitted his armour, Robb summoned the four Northern lords who had remained with him in the south. They had sided with him from the very beginning, following Robb to at first free his father, and then to win the independence from the Iron Throne. In Robb's eyes, he owed them a debt that needed to be repaid. When Lords Karstark, Bolton, Umber, and Tallhart had entered, Robb began his speech.
“My Lords, I want to take this moment before battle to thank you personally, for both your bravery and loyalty. When I marched against the Lannisters, you could have ignored my command to raise your men, you could have waited in your holdfasts as Tywin Lannister marched his men North. But you did not, and I thank you for that.” When Robb finished he motioned to Olyvar, who handed each of the lords a scroll with a seal. “The documents my squire has just given you contain royal favour, in recompense for your deeds during the war. You may ask of me anything that you want, within reason of course.” Each of the four lords opened the scrolls and read its contents, probably to make sure they weren't dreaming.
The Greatjon walked over to Robb and held out his scroll “Thank you, Your Grace, but I must decline. At first, I followed you because you were Ned Stark's son, then I followed you because you proved yourself in battle, and now I follow you because you are my king, now and always. I will follow you to the bottom of the Seven Hells if I have to.”
Robb had never felt such pride in himself, nor seen such loyalty from a lord. “Lord Umber, I must give you something in return for your dutiful service to my family.”
For a moment the Greatjon pondered, looking around the pavilion as if he was looking for something. His eyes finally rested on the rolled up standing next to Olyvar. “I ask for the honour to carry your standard into battle, to fight beside you as we charge down the city streets, and to plant it on the highest tower of the Red Keep.”
Robb patted his loyal friend on the shoulder “of course, I can think of no one better.” The Greatjon grinned from ear-to-ear and bowed his head in thanks. When he walked back to his original position, Robb turned to Lord Karstark. “What would you have, my Lord?”
Unlike Lord Umber's joyousness, Lord Karstark looked weary, his eyes a mixture of anger and grief. “Vengeance,” said Lord Rickard quietly “vengeance for my two boys murdered by the Kingslayer.” Torrhen and Eddard Karstark were killed protecting Robb from Jaime Lannister at Whispering Wood, and ever since Lord Rickard had bayed for his blood.
“You will have him” answered Robb “once the war is over.”
Lord Karstark nodded “that's all I ask for, Your Grace.”
With Karstark dealt with, Robb turned to Lord Roose. Before he could say anything, the pale lord spoke pre-empted him “Your Grace, I would ask you to legitimise my bastard, Ramsay Snow. My marriage to Walda Frey has not produced a child so far, and if I die in battle today there will be no heir to my lands. House Bolton has ruled the Dreadfort for as long as it has stood, yet it now sits on a precipice of destruction.” Coming from the mouth of any other man, his words would have been passionate and heart wrenching, but like always Roose remained quiet and composed.
Robb stroked his small developing stubble on his chin as he pondered Roose's request as it was not one to be taken lightly. Perhaps it was due to his bastard's nature, Ramsay Snow was infamous in the North as a cruel and savage man with an alleged appetite to hunt young women with dogs. Some claim, though never within earshot of Roose, that he killed his half-brother and trueborn heir to the Dreadfort, Domeric Bolton. If the rumours were true, Robb would be handing the second most powerful seat in the North to a madman. However, Robb knew he had little choice to accept, refusing it would be an affront to Roose and House Bolton, something Robb could ill afford to do just before a battle.
“I agree to your proposal, My Lord,” said Robb as he motioned to Olyvar to pass him some parchment and a quill. Once he had written his royal grant of legitimisation of Ramsay, he rolled it up, melted the wax onto the folds, and pressed his sigil on it. When it had dried, he passed it to Roose “give this to the army's maester, tell him to send it on my orders.”
For the first time, Roose let out what Robb would call a genuine smile of happiness “thank you, Your Grace.”
A smiling Lord Helman Tallhart put his arm around Roose's shoulders “Congratulations, you now have a trueborn heir to House Bolton.”
Roose's smile disappeared “and what will be your demand for the King?”
The jovial lord turned to Robb, his arm still around Roose's shoulders “all I want, Your Grace, is a slightly larger share of the booty than I was allotted, and perhaps a dragon skull from the Keep's dungeons. Not a big one like Balerion or Meleys, one of the mid-sized ones would be enough for me, one that a few of my men can carry back to Torrhen's Square.”
“You can take your pick” Robb replied, “Targaryen trinkets interest me none.”
Though perhaps Bran would like a skull for a gift Robb
thought perhaps a baby one?
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The stars were out and the moonlight was flooding across the battlements of the city walls when the army was ready, it had taken nearly half a day to assemble the troops and construct the ladders needed for the assault. All the while the trebuchet's had continued their bombardment of the walls, and their results were clear to see. The hoardings on the King's Gate and the Lion Gate were destroyed, and the top of walls close to the Mud Gate was crumbling. Ammunition for the trebuchets was now getting low, with
Lionsbane having only three rocks to release. It was not an issue though, the siege engines would have had to stop when the assault began anyway, so they had fulfilled their purpose.
“Lords Tytos and Jason are assembled by the Old Gate,” said a messenger dressed in a red and black jerkin of House Blackwood.”
“Good” replied Robb as he placed his sword in his scabbard “you may return to your lord and tell him my thanks.” The messenger bowed and quickly rode off on his scrawny palfrey, leaving a cloud of dry dust in his wake. Robb turned to the Greatjon, who was finishing off a roast chicken leg whilst dressed in full battle armour. “With Lords Blackwood and Mallister ready, we are ready for the attack.”
The Greatjon let out a hearty belch and stood up “finally, Your Grace, at this rate I thought we were going to let that inbred bastard live for another day!” the men around him laughed at his insult towards Joffrey. Seeing fully grown men joke about killing a boy the same age as Sansa made Robb feel uneasy. The bastard was as cruel and malicious as Mad King some said, but he was only a boy. Did Robb really have the right to cut his life so short before he had time to grow, a time to see his mistakes and correct them?
Robb turned to his squire, who was fastening his pauldron to his shoulder. “Olyvar, remind me who commands each gate”.
The loyal squire looked up, his face weary from both a day of work and fear of the upcoming battle. “Erm...let me check the ledger.” Putting his pauldron on the floor, Olyvar went into the pavilion to retrieve the ledger. When he came out he was already reading through it. “Ser Edmure and Ser Brynden are commanding Tully forces near the Mud Gate, Lord Bolton, Karstark, and Tallhart are at the Lion Gate. Ser Marq Piper and Lord Jonos Bracken lead forces opposite the Gate of the Gods, Lord Blackwood and Lord Mallister command forces at the Old Gate, and my cousin Ser Walder and my brother Ser Merrett lead Frey forces at the Dragon Gate.”
The Greatjon grunted, “Your Grace, you and I lead the forces at the King's Gate.”
“We will make short work of them then” replied Robb “an army marching under the banner of the direwolf and the giant will never fall.” Though his words were inspirational, Robb doubted himself.
Rhaegar marched under the banner of a dragon, yet a stag impaled his antlers into the drake's throat. Banners mean nothing.
Eventually, Robb, the Greatjon, and Olyvar mounted their horses and rode to the front-line. The men assembled around
Lionsbane cheered as Robb rode past, and Robb waved in return. “The men are confident” announced the Greatjon “as am I, there is no way the Lannisters can escape our grip.” When Robb didn't reply, the Greatjon turned to look at him. Despite attempts to hide his concern, Robb couldn't. “What is wrong, Your Grace.”
Robb sighed “truth be told, I'm not so sure of victory, my lord.”
“Why? We have the city surrounded, we outnumber the defenders massively, and Tywin Lannister flees to Casterly Rock with what remains of his army.”
“And who defeated Tywin?”
Stumped, the Greatjon thought as they slowly trotted to their destination. “I believe it was Lord Tarly.”
“That's correct, and do you know where he is now?”
“The Bramsfort, it was my own scouts that spotted 'em”
“That is correct as well. Now, do you know how many men he commands?”
The giant lord shook his head “no I do not, Your Grace.”
“Nearly twenty-thousand men, according to Lord Bolton's reports.”
Almost instantly, the Greatjon replied in his overconfident manner “every Northerner is worth ten Southron soldiers. Even with Rivermen by our side, you will smash the glorified farmers into the dirt!”
“Randyll Tarly's army is not the only one in the Crownlands” Robb continued “Stokeworth is currently under siege by soldiers lead by Stannis Baratheon.”
“I know, Your Grace, I was in the war council.”
“Yes you were, do you know how many men he has?” Once again the clueless Lord Umber shook his head. “fifteen-thousand men, and I hear rumours that he has five-thousand sellswords on the way. Stannis has the men to crush both us and the Lannisters in one fell swoop which is why we need to be clever. Overconfidence will only serve to destroy us.”
Humbled, the Greatjon solemnly nodded “of course, you are right Your Grace.” The sight of an archer and a flaming pit signalled that they had reached their destination. All around them were ladders and soldiers, all ready to do their part to take the capital. But first, Robb had to begin the attack.
On his signal, an archer fired a flaming arrow into the night sky, which was answered by another and then another, until Robb could see no further. The flaming arrow was the signal for attack and it had now been delivered. There was no going back now. Unsheathing his sword, Robb pointed it towards the gate in front of him. “Attack!” he screamed. All at once the men charged forwards, screaming obscenities, battle cries, and prayers as they headed towards the gate. Raising their shields high to stop the arrows and quarrels that were descending on them, they quickly reached the walls and begun to beckon the ladder-bearers forward. As they slowly carried the ladder forwards, the bearers began to be picked off one by one, but as one fell another nearby soldier took their place. Under the cover of archer fire, the first of the ladders reached the walls.
“They've got there, Your Grace.” Shouted an exuberant Greatjon.
Robb didn't reply, his attention too attracted to the ongoing battle. The struggling ladder-bearers finally hoisted the first of ladders upwards and onto the walls, and soldiers quickly began to ascend them. The beleaguered Lannister defenders were quickly swatted aside by the northern troops, and soon the entire defending force was retreating from the walls and the gate.
“Your Grace!” screamed Olyvar as he pointed to the top of the gate. When he turned, Robb saw the direwolf banner flying above the King's Gate. He could scarcely believe it, the battle was barely half an hour in and a gate had finally fallen. When Robb looked over to the left, the nearby Lion Gate was also in Northern hands.
“The Lannisters are broken” the Greatjon proudly declared “all we need to do now is-”
Lord Umber's speech was suddenly cut off when a large bright green light suddenly appeared in front of them. For a moment Robb was blinded, seeing only hues of white and green. Seconds later the air went from hot to scorching as a strong gust of air hit them from the front. It was quickly followed with the sounds of screams, interspersed with cracking and crumbling noises. When his eyes adjusted, Robb was greeted with a horrendous sight. A massive pile of rubble and green flames stood where the King's Gate once stood, and on the walls burning men plunged to their deaths as they desperately tried to put themselves out. The flames had spread too, to nearby soldiers waiting to ascend the ladders. When Robb turned to see how his other forces were doing he was met with the same sight. The Lion Gate was also engulfed in green flame, and in the distance behind Visenya's Hill was a green tint, a clear sign that the Old Gate was also suffering the same fate. Panic was rife, and it looked like the army was close to collapse.
“Wildfire” screamed an incensed Greatjon “they have fucking wildfire!” Robb adorned his helm, dismounted from his horse, and armed himself with his sword and shield. Grey Wind quickly joined his side, raring to go. “Where are you going, Your Grace? Asked the Greatjon”
“To battle” replied Robb “if we have any hope of winning, I need to rally them.”
Olyvar, who had dismounted his horse to attend to his king, quickly panicked “but Your Grace, they have wildfire.”
“Yes, and they have trebuchets of their own. If they have wildfire they could-”
“Fire it at us” finished a stunned Greatjon. When he realised what that meant, the Greatjon dismounted from his horse and armed himself with a longsword and the king's personal banner. Around them gathered the personal royal vanguard, all of whom were finally ready to get stuck into the fight. As Robb led the force through the surviving northern troops near the burning rubble, the Greatjon shouted “Your king is here, fight for him! Fight for the son of Ned Stark!” The weary soldiers quickly assembled around Robb, all of them tinged by the heat of the wildfire explosion.
“You have fought bravely for me since I called the banners two years ago. Each of you has shown loyalty to me and my House time and time again, and I thank you for that. But despite all the battles, we have one more ahead of us.”
A serjeant dressed in Umber colours wiped the blood from a weeping wound on his cheek and spoke “Your Grace, we have lost over half of our men. We have no ladders neither, there is no way to get through.”
When Robb found no answer for the serjeant, Olyvar spoke up “we may not have any ladders, but we do have
Lionsbane.” The confused looks from everyone around him forced Olyvar to point to the wall above them. “It's cracked see, one rock slung from a trebuchet will knock it straight out.”
The Greatjon began to smile “aye, that might work...” he quickly grabbed the serjeant by the collar and pulled him close “make your self useful man and go to the trebuchet. Tell them exactly what Ser Olyvar told us.” The fearful serjeant nodded and scurried off towards the trebuchet.
Whilst the serjeant was gone, Robb began to draw the city streets into the dry dirt beneath them. “When we enter we must move rapidly, we cannot afford to be kettled in and trapped. We will fight our way to the Mud Gate and allow the Tully forces to enter the city. With our forces augmented with theirs, we will fight towards the Red Keep.”
“What about Lannister traps?” a soldier asked.
Robb looked at Grey Wind “don't worry, he will sniff out the bastards.” A howl of approval from the direwolf caused the soldiers to smile. The sound of a boulder flying through the air caused everyone to run for cover. When it made contact with the wall it punched straight through, causing it to collapse into a heap of rubble. For a moment they stood there stunned as dust clouds engulfed them. Robb felt his eyes tear up as the particles of pulverised stone played irritated them. After a moment Robb felt a sudden urge to run and charged forward, with Grey Wind following at his side.
When The Greatjon saw him run, he raised the royal banner upwards and screamed “the King in the North!” the soldiers followed suit and charged forward, each of them clambering up the fallen stones and into the city.
The Lannister and Gold Cloak soldiers on the other side of the wall were caught completely unawares, with some drinking from wineskins whilst others had taken their helms off and reclined on chairs. The first few soldiers did not grab their arms and armour quick enough and were slain easily. When the Stark soldiers arrived, they quickly overcame the overconfident defenders, who scrambled to escape as the rabid Northmen wetted their blades with blood. With the main courtyard around the destroyed gate captured, Robb and his forces began to charge down River Row, a street that connected the King's Gate to the Mud Gate. The Lannister forces were in turmoil as Robb and his Northerners cut a bloody swath through their forces. The sight of Grey Wind was enough for some of the less experienced Gold Cloaks to run for their lives, whilst the might of a crazed Greatjon and his Umber men cleaved through those stupid enough to stand in their way. By the time they had reached the Mud Gate, Tully soldiers had begun the fight for the walls around it. The Lannister soldiers defending the gate were caught by surprise, and Robb's charge into their unprotected flank broke them almost immediately.
“Open the gate!” Robb cried to his men “let the Rivermen through!”
When the portcullis lifted and the gates flung open the Tully bannermen poured through, cutting down those stuck between them and the Starks. The Northern and Riverlander soldiers exchanged excited greetings, and a wave of cheers passed through the bloodied and tired soldiers. Eventually, Ser Edmure appeared, accompanied by his banner bearer.
“Your Grace?” said the confused Edmure “How did you get-”
“The Lannisters thought they could blow us up with wildfire” replied Robb “though they ended up cracking their own walls. When it fell we flooded in and headed straight here.”
A surprised Edmure began to smile “the Lannister's arrogance finally bit them in the arse, eh?” the Tully soldiers began to laugh, and Edmure lightly chuckled with them.
Ser Olyvar, his once shining armour and clean tabard now covered in armour, shuffled through the crown and found Robb. “Your Grace, we have received a messenger from Lord Roose.” Before Robb could ask how a messenger got to them so quickly, a man dressed in Bolton armour appeared from behind Olyvar. He had a scruffy beard, scars across his face, and a mean scowl that made clear his cut-throat tendencies.
“Your Grace,” said the messenger in a low growl “my name is Locke, I have been sent by Lord Bolton to tell you that he has led his and Lord Karstark's forces through the breach next to the King's Gate. As we speak our forces swarm through King's Landing.” Locke's wry smile revealed a sorry fate for any smallfolk caught by Bolton forces.
Robb removed the glove from one of his hands and used it to wipe away a fresh sheen of sweat that had formed on his forehead. “Has he had any word from the other gates?”
“Ser Marq Piper is struggling to breach the Gate of the Gods, and after being subjected to wildfire, Lords Blackwood and Mallister have joined Ser Walder Frey and are storming the Dragon Gate.” When Locke finished his report he looked up at the Red Keep, it's red brick towers and walls casting a long shadow over them. “I suppose you mean to storm it now, Your Grace?”
Robb nodded “I do. Send word to your master and tell him to help Ser Marq take the Gate of the Gods, and then to secure the rest of the city.” When Locke turned to leave, Robb grabbed him by the shoulder and looked into his eyes. “And make sure you tell Lord Roose that I do want the city sacked. We will not repeat the actions of Tywin Lannister.” Almost disappointed, Locke nodded and then walked away.
“What would you have us do, Your Grace?” asked Edmure.
Robb looked up at the Red Keep, his eyes burning with determination. “I say we pay the king a visit.”
