ASOIAF: A different song.

[Mortis Nuntius]

Prologue​

"Enjoyed the stroll boy? Not cold are you? Not tired?" Raek asked mockingly. "Only four more hours left until dawn you're a third way there." The Saergent encouraged with biting sarcasm. "'Mind you I be thinking that some time with the spear and bow might be just the thing to start the day....course we need some more firewood too now that the beacon's piled up you did a good job of that might as well send you to finish it."

Olyvar tied his mouth back in a grimace and looked anywhere but the ugly clod-brained Saergent, he was an ugly skut; broken nosed, boiled and with hair that clung to his head in patches though he was not yet thirty years. His eyes were stolen from weasel or mayhaps a rat, beady and hateful. Olyvar had known him to be a villain long before he donned the mail and orange-black cloak Lord Prestor's guards. They both were born and bred in the fishing village below and rarely had a night gone by without some brawl or row with Raek at the heart of it, becoming a guardsman had done nothing to balance his humours. Of course none of that had been a bad thing when Olyvar's father had pressed the pieces of silver into Raek's hairy palm and Olyvar got stood up before the captain of the fortress and had his virtues laid out whether earned or not. Raek's vouching had won Olyvar the soft living of a guard, soft compared to fishing or mining as most things were, but it also had won him the unending hate of the older man when he'd been caught stealing. Only a few coins some cloth to fix his tunic nothing worth more than a beating were it not Ser Alyn who caught him and had Rake list every virtue once again before every man more hate in each word. It was no surprise to be fined or to become the tree that Raek scratched, pissed and burned every chance that came, no surprise but still an eight kind of hell.

"I've stood every watch tonight Raek...I've cleaned the barracks twice...I've prepared the beacon right and proper, oiled and dried it too, first sight of those Ironborn that came by fair isle and they'll see the blaze in King's Landing... I should never have gone stealing Raek, and twice that never should have got caught." Apologising to a Pillock was not something that sat right in his gut but his gut was not on verge of falling off the side of his wall.

Raek savoured the moment as he looked off into the distance contemplatively, cocking an ear just like a hound. Olyvar tried not to show his impatience instead following his gaze. The fort's Western curtain wall was broke by two square towers at its edges so he could not see the village, much of the gulf of Lions or Feastfires further North, that left a long thin bay mostly hidden by the night although the moon helped his tired eyes. There was a ship anchored a ways away, barely visible save for its lights and unnatural shape it held Raek's attention.

"Raek..." he prompted when the wait was too much of a bane.

"Shut your mouth." Raek snarled straring across the waters.

"I jus-"

"Mouth shut. Ears open lackwit! That's a bell ringing...and look the ship's drifting...there's a fire!"

Olyvar looked again and saw it true the ship was moving and the light from it was growing and if he listened he could hear the metal bell hammering over the waves.

"Seven hells...we need to wake Ser Alyn...he'll send boats out and pull in anyone still breathing..." he began before being silenced a third time.

"A whore's head for sending boats out, anyone left alive is coming to us! To arms! Ships approaching! To Arms!" Raek roared at the top of lungs drawing a shout from the other posts along the walls.

Yet again Raek's eyes or mind had been sharper. There were now three boats approaching swift as horses and black as the stranger only betrayed by moonlight. Olyvar found himself repeating the shout, tiredness forgotten. Nobody sailed at night save smugglers and raiders and the only raiders brave enough to attack so close to a fort meant to take it. Soon enough dozens of half dressed men and bleary eyed were emerging from the keep, some had the sense to arm but most did not yet and Ser Alyn looked more than half enraged as he stormed up the wall.

"Raek, Olyvar you slattern born louts! What in seven hells are you shouting about!"

"Ser! Ironborn. Approaching fast!" Raek reported, sword pointed towards the approaching ships. The fat knight given his due was quick to nod and turn to bellow down to the courtyard.

"Man the walls, every man in mail! Ten to each wall. Aerys keep ten in the keep ready to fight fires and fill gaps. Lively now!"

Olyvar grasped his spear tightly, eyes on the approaching Longboats, larger than he recalled seeing before and likely packed with armed men. It took a moment to realise now the orders were aimed at him.

"-Light the bloody beacon!"

He felt slow then, of course if the Ironborn were here the other forts and settlements strung out along the coast needed warning, the fleet at Lannisport as well if they could arrive in time. He strode along the battlements, near running as he made his way to the tower that marked the Southern end of the fort, it took a moment to force the stout ironwood door with both of them groaning at the effort. Then he was within the tower, surprisingly cramped given its size due to the thickness of the walls, there was a ladder coming through the floor and up on to the roof, the only way from the ground to the parapet and down again. Up above there was a giant crossbow called Jeyne twin to the one on the second tower but it was down not up where his duty lay for now he hurriedly descended, rattling and akward thanks to his mail and weapons.

He passed through a braizer room where guards would drink and warm themselves before a watch, then was the entrance which he rushed through nearly colliding with Dagern a dark, lanky man with untied boots and a crooked helm with a spear, and sheild and sword all in his arms. He swore in the same breath at Olyvar and just as angirly, louder and more wroth after Olyvar shoved him aside and ran across the courtyard still filled with men, most now armed and armoured to variying degrees.

"Move! I have to light the beacon! The beacon!" He yelled realising too late that he was in as much of a clumsy panic as Dagern.

He tried to but some order to his steps but still looked half a deserter as he entered the Keep. Tall and stout with no windows on the lower two floors and just arrow slits on the next two above and a gallery on the last it held the armoury, barracks and more importantly a tower on its Southeastern side near as tall again as the keep below and home to the beacon. Olyvar had wounded himself a thousand times with splinters and drowned in sweat as he assembled the pile only the day before one armful at a time but now it seemed effort well spent as he ascended straight to the top. The giant oil soaked pile of wood naturally dominated but whilst he rooted for the flint and rags he could not help but glance around the fort. Most of the garrison was spread around the walls, some already yelling war cries and loosing shafts and throwing spears at unseen enemies, his heart sank as he saw that the defenders landward and eastern walls were as busy as the Western one from which he had seen the Ironborn come from, the fort must have been surrounded. A sudden light to the west drew his eye and he released a moan of fear and sorrow at the sight of his village, thatched roofs aflame and dozens, hundreds even, of dark figures swarming. Just how many Ironborn could there be in the world? At last there was a spark, soon nursed to flame before he tentatively threw it on the pile and stepped back before the whole structure was alight with a great whoompfing noise and a wave of searing hot air. Duty called him back to the wall but his fear kept him rooted until at last he saw lights on the horizon as one by one new fires were lit. Telling himself help would come he made his way back to his post.

The keep and was empty now and the troops in the courtyard prepared yet nervous. There were sounds of fighting on all sides now and screams ominously from the West wall. He forced himself to move as quickly too danger as he had from it and all too soon he was on the battlements again, ten men stood armed with spears and swords with a few archers amongst them two men lay sprawled upon the floor one still moving and screaming as he clawed at the air and the arrow in his belly.Olyvar took his place on the wall squatting behind a battlement before glancing around the side only to snap his head back as an arrow whistled by.

His brief look had been enough to reveal that the three longboats and landed and disgorged hundreds of men and worse still half a dozen ladders. A metalic clang echoed in his ear and he turned in surprise to see a grappling hook just as it was pulled taut by the weight of a man. Panicking he dropped his spear and ripped his sword from his sheet hastily cutting through the the rope rewarded with a scream that seemed far closer than it should have, his mind playing tricks mayhaps. Either way he had no time for relief as he heard a shout to his right, Dagern was wrestling with an Ironborn ladder trying to heave it away from the wall.

"Help me! They're coming up" He was yelling over and over again.

Olyvar rushed to his side and together they put all their strength to tilting it. Just as it seemed to give way a man's hands became visible. Olyvar panicked and dropped the ladder drawing his sword once again. The Ironborn was quicker however and in the same motion of pulling himself up punched his dagger through Dagern's neck who was thrown back bleeding and making noises no man should make. Olyvar had time to make out a bearded face beneath a helm before it was battered down by his blows as he hacked wildly succeeding in killing or stunning the reaver who fell silently from the wall but already Olyvar could hear the grunts of the next climber. This time he was ready and kept a safe distance until the last moment before rushing forwards like a madman screaming.

"Feastfires! Feastfires!" He repeated with each blow.

He killed three more men before the Ironborn gained the wall towards the centre clearing a path through the defenders and allowing more men to scale all along the wall. Ser Alyn rushed forwards bravely and bravely he was felled by an axe. As foes climbed over the ladder to his front Olyvar's courage left him and he fled towards the tower leaving anyone left alive to be swept side by the tide pouring over the wall. He closed and barred the door behind him already hearing the blows from outside as he descended below. The courtyard was near deserted once he emerged, three wounded men lay in the doorway to the keep, of the reserve there was no sign but the sounds of fighting came from all sides and two men emerged from the far the tower at the other end of the South wall, one felled by an arrow before he was half way across. There was an ear-splitting crash from the North which could only be the gate giving way.

"To the keep!" Roared Raek

But it could not be Raek because he was dead on the wall for certain, dead or no Olyvar obeyed and sprinted across the deadly open ground even as arrows came from all sides and other survivors made their own way. Ironborn were now pouring through from the West pursuing a handful of men and the sound of slaughter grew briefly louder as any men cut off from the keep were cut down. In the end only a dozen men barricaded themselves within the keep and of them most carried wounds including Olyvar who had a cut down his thigh that had pierced mail, leather and flesh yet had gone unnoticed. Raek seemed the only man left alive to order them to move what furnishings they could to form a second barricade. It seemed nothing compared to the gate that had already fallen but if it held there was now way to burn or scale the keep and a dozen men could hold it just about. There would be aid coming. From Feastfires from Lannisport, from everywhere. The ram pounding at the Keep's gate would not break through...their second barricade would hold....he'd make it to the staircase...they'd make a stand there...they would hold. Help was coming. Olyvar shrieked as he felt something piece his back. His legs died under him and he tumbled down the steps he had half climbed. He saw Raek again or his head anyway, he was crying, from pain, from fear for no reason at all. Weeping like a babe. He saw a shadow over him and a dim face that came closer as a man bent down, rough hands pushed and pulled and caressed eventually withdrawing with his dagger and the pouch of coins he kept with him always. He begged for mercy whatever form it came in but was ignored and left there on the bloodied floor with the other bodies as the Ironborn moved too and fro yelling to each other; boasting and barking orders. His eyes turned from the blood and corpses and focused on the torch, his vision failed and distorted until the flames died out leaving only night.

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Victarion​

The horn blew a final harrowing cry calling the reavers back to the boats. They made their way slowly halting from time to timse to finish of wounded, whilst gathering up those taken as thralls. The village had been home to a few hundred, like many towns in the Westerlands it's buildings were well made and orderly based around straight lines and built in similar styles most were now burning as figures with torchs and other's sacks of loot joined the throng heading towards shore.

The fight had been short and utterly onesided as his crews swept aside the sleeping village folk like so many lambs. Only a handful of the greenlanders had tried to do more than flee and he doubted they had slain a single man, still Victarion gave them their due there were few men who would have fought at all against near a thousand Ironborn appearing without warning in the night. These fisherfolk spent their lives at sea, he thought that he would see at least some of them in the Drowned God's watery halls below the sea.
He turned and made his own way towards the sea pausing to look West to note the fort's beacon alight with a slight frown. It did not sit right with Victarion to allow the enemy to know ahead of time but Balon's plan required it, the Ironfleet needed its full strength for the battles ahead yet couldn't hope to travel unseen even going far out to sea during the day and sailing close to the coast only at night against every instinct and at cost they had needed to send ships away to steal attention. Some near Fair Isle, some Kayce and others further South never attacking just threatening another risk in a plan full of them yet Victarion obeyed and would find out tonight whether he was right. The Iron Fleet would gather here at the mouth to the bay of Lions using their own beacons and villages to light their way Euron and Balon had both laughed at that notion whilst Victarion had sat scowling uncomprehending not for the first time though it felt no better for it, still Euron may have been born with a sly mind and silver tongue but it was not Euron who had been entrusted with the strongest fleet ever to sail, it was not Euron who had the gift of command to hold together one hundred ships sailing at night nor Euron who had struck the first blow of the war. Victarion smiled grimly as he made his way back to the ships. Win or die the songs would be sung of him in the years to come and he had never failed before he may not have the gift for words but others could drown out Euron's lies and scorn for him.

His feet touched sand now and the ships loomed in the fire-lit night. His own Iron Victory had been the first to touch the shore, besides it nine other vessals were similarly beached, each was part of his Iron Fleet, three times the length and and close to twice the size of the longships of his youth and bristling with weapons that would never have fit on the narrower decks and the crews were the finest fighters and sailors in the Iron Islands drawn from every house. Victarion had been given a weapon better forged than any Valyrian blade. His own ship was naturally the swiftest and sturdiest and its Kracken's prow stretched out armoured limbs to greet him as he strode up the gangplank. Urek Ironmaker approached as soon as his boots landed upon the sand roughened fighting deck, built like a warhammer, tall and strong with a large belly,and a great axe slung across his back over shining mail and a pale seal fur cloak. He had a oxen's face if not half the wits but Balon had placed him at Victarion's side and Victarion had obeyed as ever, it was not a great chore Urek was a competent sailor and fierce warior and rarely spoke as if words were a great effort Vicatarion had come to approve of his unchosen first mate, he had little use for clever men of many words give him always a warrior who spoke with his axe and deeds.

"Ten ships sighted Lord Captain." Urek spoke, his voice a low rumble and sounding near slurred though there was no smell of drink on him beyond the usual.

Victarion nodded. His fleet near doubled and sooner than planned, a good start although there was no telling which group it would be. Lord Farywnd was closest but unless he had fallen over the side and met the Drowned God early his group would not be first. Qollen Harlaw was as far North as Crakehall so least likely to arrive at all his brother Haron was closer and the Knight closer still Denys Drumm had boasted that he would sail past the Farman port to shorten his route, if he had succeeded he would be swift, then there was Toron Blacktyde, Waldon Lynch and Germund Boatly who would reave elsewhere. All the Captains had been told to raid and gain their bearings so as to at least provide a distraction or be of some use if they could not find the other ships but Victarion had no means of discerning what ships would be his until they arrived, there was little to do but wait and attack as soon as he had enough ships and men, five and twenty ships and five and twenty hundred men would be enough for a raid but Euron's scheme needed twice that to have a hope, he would have to leave a ship behind to send the others onwards, he would only need to hold a few days at most before the men he needed arrived...mayhaps he should give the order to sail at once, it would carry less risk than waiting for more men and meeting a foe prepared. He frowned, risky or no he had sworn to follow his brother's commands and had been given them, he would wait and attack with all the ships he could muster.

The ships were close now and he could see silver shining in the moonlight on the lead ship's sails. He thought it must be the Harlaw Scythes. He decided to find out which one for himself and bellowed commands to put out to sea. Soon Iron Victory was free from the land and cutting through the waves towards the approaching squadron who were now clear enough to be Longships and nothing else.

"Captain, one of Maron's ships is breaking away from the fort." Urek called out before returning to silence.

So Balon's welp was curious or had something to boast of. Victarion cared little for his second nephew, he lacked the strenght and skill of Rodrick and was a half a boy still yet had the pride of man and the tongue of a woman. He reminded him of Euron as boy, always mischieve and Victarion only needed to see his lips move to tell there was a lie in the air. At least Euron could fight. Still Maron was Balon's and Balon wished him blooded and to have held command and Victarion would not go against the wish of his King of his brother. It would be Stormslayer moving from the fort he knew, four feet shorter, seven feet wider than the Iron Victory. Its figurehead was a woman turned on her head with legs spread wide and mouth wide open, typical of Maron's humour but one couldnt walk more than a dozen strides down any port in the Iron Islands without seeing worse and often not in wood. He was far more interested in what visage headed the ship stealing through the entrance to the bay, he knew every ship in the fleet by sight and the men who crewed them but even he could not tell one ship from another cloaked in dark and distance even with the bright of the moon and Lantern light. Dawnstealer had come in along their starboard side and together the two Longships closed withing bowshot of the newcomer still unsure of its Captain, they were less than an axe throw away when Victarion named the ship Reaper, Haron Harlaw's ship, long and lean with a spear-ram to its front draped with a Scythe wielding Mermaid draped in flickering shadows.

"Harron of the Reaper, tis I Victarion of the Iron Victory. I seek to come aboard." Victorian bellowed across the water, Lord Captain he may be, brother of Balon too but at sea and with their own deck beneath their feet every Captain was a King and no man could board without their say unless he had steel to pay the Iron Price for the right.

"Victorian of the Iron Victory, board you may," came the expected reply.

With practiced easy the Longships shipped oars and closed within yards of each other before an anchor was dropped and a plank set between them. The ships swayed in the water and on either side was the danger of a bone breaking fall but Victarion strode across without a glance as Haron granted the same Maron the same permission across his shoulder, his eyes on Victarion from a narrow face with a weak chin and slim frame yet one in mail and with a bloodied cloth across his arm.

"Lord Captain." He greeted formally, "an honour to share a deck." From another man it would be flattery or sarcasm but the Reader's sons had always been well mannered and this one had been the first to come and the bloody binding proved he had not flinched from reaving along the way so Victarion nodded though wasted no words himself as the Stormslayer came alongside.

"Where did you sight land?"

"Twenty miles up the coast, a town's lights guided us safely, we surprised them and put the place to torch and took thirty thralls, the best have been put aside for our tithe to your brother. One I freed to guide us along the shore and give us knowledge we can use. All the fighting men have already left, they are mustering at the Rock itself. He says there are thousands there though could not give a better count....they would be within an hour's march of the city at best." Haron informed him dutifully.

Victarion frowned at the news, if there was any number of foes ready to reinforce the city their plan was doomed. They would be outnumbered as it stood, perhaps badly. He would order the attack whatever would come and would take the city even every soldier in Westeros defended it but it would be harder.

"I will speak to this turncloak of yours." Victarion decided.

"Yes Lord Captain." Haron said bidding a man to go below deck.

Victorian turned his attention to the Portside of the ship where his nephew was crossing between the ships with grace. He hopped down and flashed a smile with teeth too white and too cold.

"Nuncle!" He greeted ignoring Haron for the moment. "My father has new fort in his kingdom and a near a hundred Knights are dead or fled with not a word to say about it. We have a new ship to sail to Lannisport also, a trade cog filled with lemons from Dorne."

Victarion wondered if there had been even hundred men men present and if even a handful of them had been knights and the Reaper's crew were sending dark looks to his nephew who dared ignore their captain to boast of lemons.

"How many of your own were lost? How many will be left to man the fort?"

Maron frowned. "A score at most, I didn't count. Another score could hold the place, its walls are strong enough and the gate can be repaired soon enough. The Lions will have greater concerns than taking it back and Kayce and Feastfires will need their troops close to home."

Victarion found himself in agreement, a rare thing, and inclined his head half an inch before turning to Haron who seemed unwilling to rebuke the boy though his face was a tight line.

"Haron too has taken the fight to the foe and learned that they will have thousands at Casterly Rock to meet us, you will have the chance to prove yourself a second time." He informed him, disgusted at the look of naked fear that crossed Maron's features briefly.

"Thousands? But there are three thousand guards in Lannisport alone." He said biting back further complaints, wisely as Victarion had no stomach for a craven and his hand itched to strike some boldness into his nephew.

"And we have thousands of our own and each one worth three Greenlanders." He growled in reprimand.

Haron coughed, "Lord Captain, Prince Maron." He said gaining their attention before pointing out a newcomer. "My freedman and new and leal servant to King Balon. Tyran, the man who aided us in arriving so swiftly. He is a merchant by trade and often finds himself in Lannisport, he knows the lands here well."

"The turncloak?" Victarion asked bluntly looking the man up and down and not liking what he saw.

The turncloak was everything that could be expected of his kind, short, fat, bald, small eyed and mouthed with a rank stench of fear clinging to him along with the sweat and urine. He was dressed in clothes that must have been fine before he soiled them and Victarion felt the urge to kill him there and then but instead spoke to the creature.

"Yes Lord Captain." Haron confirmed.

"You said the levies left for Casterly Rock. When did they leave?"

"Ju-just before noon yesterday m'lord." The man's voice was high and girlish.

Better than Victarion expected, they would not arrive in time to make a difference if they did not return to their lands.

"How do you know there are already men at the Rock?"

"I was in Lannisport, just two days past Mi'lord, I sailed out just as men from the Banefort arrived, he was the first Lord not sworn to the Rock to come."

Better still, there could yet only be a fraction of the West's might present, Victarion pressed for more, sigals spotted, who was present in the city, what condition its walls were in, whether there was any efforts to organise its defences that the Merchant noted and any detail that could possibly be wrung from the man. The first light of predawn was creeping into before he was finished, wiser and more confident than before, better still a lookout's yell brought word that six ships had been sighted. They had closed silently and brought brief moments of panic but a second call named them Longships and there were cheers across the decks. Victarion did not cheer but was pleased. Six hundred new men was a welcome boon even if four ships missing was a blow to dwell on later. For now he had the beginnings of a plan although it would involve delay and the greater risks that came with it but could be their best hope.

A cough, a true one as he doubted the man had the courage to prompt him, reminded Victarion of the turncloak's presense. He was about to give the command to throw him over the side when he reconsidered. The man had been useful and may yet prove to be more so. He knew Lannisport and its environs better than Victarion and if he intended to hold the city that could be a powerful advantage to have. Besides if he sent such a wretch to the Drowned God they would likely find themsleves left to the Storm God's care. No Tyren the turncloak would sail with them to Lannisport, he decided. They would kill him on the greenland once his use was done.
__________________

 

[Mojo]

"if the could" -> "if they could"

"ominously one from" -> "ominously came from"

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

"if the could" -> "if they could"

"ominously one from" -> "ominously came from"

Click to shrink...

Thank you fixed.

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Jaime
​

Jaime woke to a cacophony of alarm. Bells, horns and the shouts of men and wailing of children. No strangers there but the place was wrong, he'd never heard these sounds in his own bed. Besides him his wife stirred.

"What in the name of the Gods is all that noise! Husband silence them! Silence them right now!" She demanded so shrilly that he was in awe that she was rubbing her eyes and yawning moments before and after.

"Yes my Lady," he said dutifully.

"Don't just lay there! They'll wake the-" She began too late even in her haste to chide.

There must have been half a hundred bells ringing, half that again in shouts and great horns from the harbour to the walls all combining to make enough of a racket wake the Others beyond the wall but somehow his infant son who had also woken somehow managed to drown it all out with his squalling Jaime groaned in tired agony at the noise and rose from his bed half torn between the need to find out just what in seven hells was happening, tending his son and just giving up and falling back to sleep. Laziness was never a vice of his however and he began making his way to the door even as his wife rose quick as lightning to rush over to the cradle at the far end of the room, hushing, shushing and cooing and kissing and rocking and a dozen other things that Jaime felt took more concentration and speed than besting three swordsmen at once. He paused at the door as somehow she silenced the babe in mere moments and looked down at him with such adoration that for just a moment she looked as beautiful as both their sisters combined. Then she scowled at him.

"Well what holds you here! Go bring quiet!"

Jaime sighed and pushed through the doorway, it had been a nice moment short as it was. He made his way into the marble corridors, the walls carved to painstaking detail, Lions of course, but also battles and tourneys and less interesting things. The Lannisport Lannisters had never held half the glory of the branch that held the Rock and they consoled themselves with luxuries instead and of course showing off to those self same kin. Kin like Jaime. Sent to rule by a father despairing of his indifference to the Lannister legacy and kept there by a wife far too fond of the pampering, luxuries and style involved in residing in Gerion's castle, a palace in truth it could never hold off a determined foe, and at least she did not complain half so much as when confined to the rock. If not for the twins and the heir she had carried in her belly Jaime doubted his father would have held off giving her reason to complain, as was neither Lion could deny that shrewish as she could be that she hadn't power over them through her children.

His mixed thinking was interrupted by the sight of his cousin Daven and uncle Stafford.

"Did your brother burn down another whorehouse?" Daven asked with a smile.

Jaime laughed. "Lord Gerold never proved a thing and I shall not spread scandal where my brother is concerned, he does enough of that himself." Although if he did he can face my wife, it should be punishment enough, he mused.

"Someone will be punished for this!" Stafford threatened.

Jaime ignored him with practised ease as did Daven. The pair moved off together leaving the older Knight to follow, soon enough they were in the courtyard, stone Nymphs, Dolphins, Bears and of course Lions upon Lions made it appear even more crowded than it was. Dozens of men stood listlessly waiting for some explanation. Finally Lord Gerold, Lord of Gerion's Castle and sometime representative of the Shield of Lannisport made an appearance, tall and with fiery red hair streaked with grey around comely face, he carried himself well but for a slight limp earned during Robert's rebellion by a Willum spear, by his side a road stained man with long dark hair and manic light in his dark bagged eyes.

"Ser Jaime. Join me if you would." Gerold requested, for once not letting his annoyance at Jaime's presence in what he perceived to be his city show.

Jaime crossed the courtyard followed by Daven, uncle Dolt still tailing behind.

"Lord Gerold." He greeted. "I do not recall asking for a waking call but I must say you have a great talent for the task."

"This is no time for japes Ser." Gerold growled. "Ironborn have been sighted."

"Again you mean?" Jaime probed having been disappointed with the appearance of just three ships the day before soon chased off by a squadron of galleys that had pursued them beyond sight."

"Aye again only this time hundreds strong! Bah listen to this man, and waste no more of my breath." Gerold growled.

Jaime dutifully turned to face the man, grinning like a boy at the thought of fighting to be had.

"Well then, do not leave me in suspense. Who are you and what prompted you to waking three hundred thousand souls?" He prompted.

"My lord, I rode from Smoulder, a village twenty five mile south as the raven flies. We saw them my lord, hundreds and hundreds of ships all filled with all the Ironborn in the world and surrounded by birds and fish and I don't doubt spirits of a foul nature also." He babbled somewhat. "I have a horse and am famed in my parts for my skill at riding them so I was sent to warn the other villages and kept getting sent on and on and on until I ended up here and I tell the gate guards and bless his soul the gate captain takes my word for true!"

Jaime doubted he would have taken the man's word for true and wondered at the spine of the gate captain in question to panic and wake the entire city with alarms. Doubtless this was the first number of warships and warriors the small folk man had ever seen, there were not many hundreds of longships to be found in all the Iron Islands, still the man had seen enough to terrify him and Jaime was too pleased at the prospect of a battle to let the dubiousness of the report get him down.

"You've done well....?" Jaime hesitated not knowing his name.

"Garrison my Lord."

"Garrison then, go rest and come to me tomorrow for a new horse, yours is doubtless blown and lame after such a ride." Jaime offered generously. "We'll sort out these Ironborn tomorrow."


Gerold spoke up then dirtying his washed hands.

"There is something else, Not one ship from the West has arrived this past day and three signal fires have been lit since dark....whatever their true number the Ironborn may well be on the approach in great number. I would keep the guard on the walls and send out picket ships...with your permission." He asked grudgingly but he was conscience of his duty whether he liked it or not and duty place him under Jaime.

Jaime himself didnt think duty would ever make him timid when something needed doing but he didnt correct the other man and nodded his asscent.

"Arm all your retainers and have every knight, guardsman, bodyguard and sellsword in the city report to the square outside this palace, armed and armoured. Myself and mine own retainers will do likewise. We shall stand watches and be ready for what comes. Send a rider to Casterly rock and have another ready should we hear any more of Balon's ten thousand ships." He instructed remembering his talks with his steward on the defence of the city if it ever came need such. Unlikely as it was his brother was ever eager to fulfil his role and Jaime humoured him. He smiled at that not the joke he had finished with but it brought some confidence to the men listening he noticed. "Have four hundred Watchmen man stationed near the port. A thousand to the North and Southern walls and six hundred to the Eastern Wall."

"Yes Ser Jaime," Gerold instructed, clearly impressed.

Tyrion would be unbearably smug if he was here. Jaime mused wondering where his brother had gotten to and simultaneously deciding against ordering a search of every brothel in the city. He chuckled again at that.

"Come on then cousin, we had best prepare for our meal."

"Oh?" Asked Daven amused.

"Aye, Lions have a love of squid did you not know and any fools mad enough to attack our den tonight will be nothing but fresh meat." Jaime smiled savagely and there were approving laughs from all around.

Men liked to follow killers who could joke and smile and show no fear, it gave them example to follow and if nothing else men liked to follow. His father's words, a comfort of their own in their way not that Jaime needed comfort. He was praying to Gods he did not believe in to send foes to him tonight. He had second thoughts upon his wife finding him and his squire just as they finished armouring him in full plate.

"What is happening? Why has nobody told me anything, what in seven hells are you doing! The girls have been terribly upset and no wonder with all this dreadful noise!"

Just one Longship of Ironborn, all I ask. I'll fight them all myself just for a moment's escape.

"This nothing my Lady, just some small folk getting spooked by a handful of Longships, try to sleep as best you can I will return in the morning." He tried in vain to defuse her, instead sending her to slap him, wroth growing when he caught the hand without thinking.

"Do not say tis nothing whilst you desert me!" She shrieked.

One reaver, I'll fight one reaver with my hands chained and I'll start believing in you. He pledged.

"I'm not deserting you. I'm protecting you my love." He said defensively.

"You would rather you spent all your days protecting me so long as it kept you far away."

"That is not true!" Jaime protested hurt by the accusation and guiltily realising it held some truth. More than some.

"Is it not?" She asked bitterly.

"It is not." He denied.

"Well then stay here with me and leave playing the Warrior to the soldiers."
"I can't do that! I am Shield of Lannisport, Shield! If I do not protect this city nobody can be asked to do so. Its my duty!"

"Then go do the duty you love best and leave me alone!" She sobbed.
He was wordless with guilt and anger.

"Go! Go! Leave!" She raged.

He turned and fled.

"Wait!"

He stopped not because of the strenght of the word but because of its weakness, so quiet, so different. He turned to face his wife. Looking into her tearful blue eyes. Pretty eyes those. Hurt ones too. Jaime found a hand on his heart clenching, guilt again but a joy as well. He moved forwards until he had to lower his head so he could kiss her softly for the first time since they had made their son. He knew not why but it felt right and she embraced him tightly so she must have felt so also.

"I will come back to you. I swear." He said, the words sounded finer and truer than he felt and he held her for some time before leaving.

He would do better upon his return he resolved for now he could already hear the song of swords and knew, just knew that there would be killing tonight and when there was killing he felt half a God. He was a God. His head was high as he entered the courtyard and his place once again. He nodded to old friends, faithful servants and men he had never known but who seemed to stand taller under his gaze. Addam Marbrand was there, Forley Prester and of course his relations, there were a dozen Lannister knights and handful more of their friends and retainers and with the guards of the palace there were near a hundred fighting men gathered. Jaime lead them out into the main square and was a mix of dismayed and surprised by what Lannisport had to offer. Forty knights and squires. Sixty sellswords, two score of townsfolk armed with pikes and surprisingly a company of thirty Myrish crossbowmen en route to fufil a contract in the Riverlands. All in all over two hundred men to add to three thousand watchmen hurrying through the streets. For now Jaime kept them close to him deciding they would serve as reserve until he knew a better place to put them. Leaving Daven to command Jaime took Gerold with him to tour the walls wondering whether putting the town on war footing was a mistake. He did not truly see a raid coming this close to the heart of the Westerlands not in his head but it would reduce panic and give him an idea of the forces he could take against the Ironborn wherever they truly did reave and he willed them, to break themselves on the walls of his city.

The inspection of the walls did much to dampen his enthusiasm, the men were as far as he could tell sober and at their postings, impressive given the suddenness of the call up and the lateness of the hour, their weapons and armour were well kept and they seemed more frustrated with being awoken that fearful of the enemy, many even bitterly promising retribution on whoever dared attack their city at such a poor time and of course the alternative curse aimed at their officers for waking them for no reason. Jaime mused that he would be less loved than was usual, he would just have to survive with their dislike, somehow he would. The true concern was not the men but the weapons. There was a dire shortage of arrows, stones, hot sand and boiling water. All the weapons of cravens in truth but he didn't doubt that it would have given any raider pause for thought and the cisterns for fighting fires were running low and glacius and counter glacius needed to prepare for siege equipment simply did not exist and the sprawl of dwellings, inns, merchants' houses, guilds and all the other signs of a great city stretched far outside the walls and even to them in some places providing cover and material for any besieger. Jaime doubted that an attacker would dare attempt to take Lannisport but if they did they would find an easy target. Fortunately with his Lord Father just miles away at Casterly Rock with thousands of men Jaime doubted a siege was in the offing for any length of time.

In the end Jaime finished his inspection at the Westernmost tower of the Southern wall noting a growing swell of anger amongst the watchmen and his own irritation at himself for overeating. The Ironborn were not coming. So when at the third hour he found himself at the Rose-road gate with the order to send half them men to bed on his lips when at last the first sign of the Ironborn appeared. Naturally it was a frightened stampede of smallfolk, men, women, children, animals, carts pets and possessions all fighting for every inch closer to the safety of the gates. More than once Jaime saw people fall under screaming as the great living tide drowned them with hundreds of trampling boots and hooves.

Jaime beckoned to the Commander of the Watch, a man named Valar. "Open the gates and organise a sortie. We need to end this madness before we kill more of ourselves than the Ironborn could. The man left to do his duty and Jaime tersely watched his people with some contempt. It was not long however before they were all but forgotten as Valar returned.

"My Lord. I had some of the lads took a few of the small folk aside and persuaded them to calm down and talk." There was blood on his face. "They say thousands of Ironborn are landing across the shoreline!" Panic lit in his eyes.

Jaime nodded as if this was exactly what he had been expecting. "I didn't truly think that the Gods loved us so much. The Warrior has given us the chance to kill our foes and return to bed instead of hunting them down for days" The arrogance was effected but Jaime found men grinning and joking. Sometimes a Lion need only roar, purr even for men to win its battles.

"Send a party out to warn us if the Ironborn close. I will go let the ladies know they may dance tonight after all." He ordered before turning to leave.

He made his way down the wall again, informed by runners of the Ironborn closing and guess of their numbers, thousands at least, and spent his time joking, advising and once inspiring a hearty chorus of 'Rains of Castamere' which soon spread all along the wall and echoed within the city itself. Jaime laughed at that and let it continue though he did not join. His song was different. By the time he returned to the Gate his mood was a mix of elated and vengeful as the first fires spread through Lannisports suburbs ahead of the Ironborn that were surely coming. Closing on his city.

"They burn but we will bury." Gerold said grimly and Jaime nodded swearing to throw the first torch on Balon's flagship when this was done even as the Rains of Castamere rang out again causing him to smile in anticipation as he drew his sword from its sheathe, its rasp the first sound of his own song.

 

[Guilliman]

Nicely written so far, but somehow the pacing on Victarion's and Jaime's Chapter are a bit off

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Nicely written so far, but somehow the pacing on Victarion's and Jaime's Chapter are a bit off

Click to shrink...

Thank you.

As for the pacing, I'm sorry to hear that, any suggestions? A lot of this is prewritten on another site but I am considering redoing some of the chapters to work better as an actual story as I'm not quite happy with them. Thanks again for the feedback.

 

[Guilliman]

I think you should perhaps slow down the pace and sprinkle more commas

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

I think you should perhaps slow down the pace and sprinkle more commas

Click to shrink...

Cheers, good to know.

 

[Guilliman]

Cheers, good to know.

Click to shrink...

No problem

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

The Princess​

Shouts, screams, mad laughter filled a world discoloured as if under a green sea. Men of metal strode through the deserted halls, blood flooding from the the joints in their metal flesh, weeping wolves prowling at their side. She ran from them all, most paid her no mind but some followed relentless and bringing new dread to the world with each step. Eventually she found herself before a once sturdy looking door shattered from a dozen axe blows. Seeing no one beyond and desperate she ran through the gap screaming for help. Beyond was a room that she could not once recall entering before. Her grandmother sat in a bed of blood with a babe at her shrivelled breasts drinking the life from her. Dead lips parted to speak.

"You must go sweetling, go my brave King go forth and bring fire and blood upon the ursurper dog! Keep your sister safe and never forget the knives will be behind you always but one day the dragon shall wake and you will meet them with ten thousand swords!" The ruined woman commanded as the flesh stripped from bone sending her granddaughter once again into flight.

She ran onwards then carried by instinct as much as nothing else. Once she saw a wolf and stag with broken antlers snarling and moving too and fro. Then she came upon the Dragon. It had three heads and her father's eyes though they were closed and sleeping. Rusted chains hung around its immense form curled around a child, still and unmoving. She screamed as strong arms swept her from her feet and carried her away as if she was a sack, she hammered with bruising force against unyielding plate and begged the Dragon to save her but it slept on its broken chest moving gently expanding and retracting in rhythm with her helpless fists. She was carried through ruined halls and all around her were the metal men and their beasts all heading towards the hall where she had played with uncle Vis in amongst the Skulls and tables.

Grandfather's throne was occupied by a shadow and before them a handsome man made ugly argued furiously with the most beautiful woman in the world. Both stopped and turned to her.

"Dragonspawn," hissed the man. "Dragonspawn, dragonspawn, dragonspawn" he repeated over and over again growing uglier by the moment until the shadow rose from the throne and stepped into him. The woman however approached looking sad and wrathful and the metal man broke apart under a fearsome gaze and she found found herself in arms as comforting as her mother's though with far more strength to them and staring into sad disks of grey. The woman moved to say something before the far wall shattered and a river of blood washed her words and all else away.

Rhaenys woke shrieking in terror. Dreams, memories and the waking dark of her room waging war within her. She thrashed her way out of the covers and rolled onto the hard cold ground gasping as if she could not breath. Eventually she was gathered enough to merely lie still shivering. The room was draughty and its barren stone seemed to suck away any warmth that might have been save that around her waist. She glumly picked herself from the floor wondering what was so much to ask in a sleep from dusk to dawn.

She miserably waited for the maid to enter, looking tired, surly and as disinterested as ever in conversation. She firmly took her by the shoulder and guided her out to the room that housed the bath, past the grim faced Ser Jaecan at the door. Both must have been well used to her night terrors and their consequences by now. She had had them near every night for half a decade after all, she thought that the pair of them would loath her whatever the state of her sheets or the hour of her waking. She stripped and stepped into the bath, roughly cleaned by the maid and drawing some comfort from its heat and the company even miserly.

"My thanks the bath kind lady." She said meekly, she didn't think the maid was a lady, maids often weren't but she thought all women wanted to be ladies and she could not afford to upset the handful of gaolers who had been near enough her only companions beyond the occasional maester for the greater part of her life. They held the power to punish her but also offer glimpses of the world she had lost, just glimpses that hurt like cuts but they were precious none the less. A doll, an old dress...a mention of her brother. For that she would call the bitter maid Queen if she wished.

The bath finished and she was dried, again roughly, by the maid before being returned to her bed, thanking the 'lady' each time and trying to be invisible otherwise, perhaps for her manners a fire was lit as the bedsheets were replaced and Rhaenys knew a measure of comfort. Her thanks for that at least were sincere.

With clean sheets, body and warmth and a rare act of kindness on her maid's part Rhaenys drifted off to a contented sleep almost as soon as she slipped under the quilts. She woke almost refreshed some time after dawn and when her day maid entered she had already made her bed and dressed. The maid charged with her care in the mornings was two decades younger than her counterpart, barely a decade older than Rhaenys herself in fact and bright and cheerful in manner if with a certain sad grace around Rhaenys who enjoyed her presence even if she was just as prone to long silences as the others. She smiled at the sight of the made bed and simple dress and Rhaenys' felt her face form a fragile smile at pleasing her. It was a rare thing for anyone to show approval of her and as the morn continued its simple and unchanging routine she drew some comfort from her task. Breaking fast, sewing, reading the Seven Pointed star more from memory than from putting the meanings to words, one thing she had won from her years in the Traitor's Walk was a joy in simple things and if nothing else there was simplicity in abundance in her routine. By noon it was time for prayers so she dutifully, eagerly, rose and donned her veiled cloak reducing the world to a dimmed haze through the mesh. Ser Meryn Trant waited at the entrance to march her to the sept. She sometimes wondered if all knights in her presence were sworn by vows of silence but at least his scowling face showed more than Ser Ilyn or Ser Mandon either of whom could have been carved from iron coated in frost.

The walk to the Sept was a short one but their pace was slow and it offered her a chance to be amongst different faces and voices, a precious gift well worth a veil. In the night she was allowed roam the Godswood but there was never a face strange to her there. She could never watch boy rolling a barrel that matched his size, never see an old man carrying buckets or various retainers conversing and jesting with each other with laughter sweet as birdsong placing a hidden smile to Rhaenys' lips. The sept itself was always less of a joy than the journey too it. It was empty save for ghosts of happier times, seven shades of light shining down on the squalling little babe that Rhaeneys could stare at with wide eyes and cooing voice for hours at her mother's side. That had been the last time she had been in this sept whilst free. She felt tears come unbidden to her eyes, her brother she saw barely twice a moon if blessed and was such a solemn and strange creature that she had wondered if he had ever been taught to speak since their imprisonment and when he did speak he often stopped mid sentence as if hearing his thoughts aloud were an agony. Of her mother she had no knowledge having not laid eyes on her since being sent to Traitor's walk, she was unsure if she was alive or dead and wondered if she would ever be told.Her tears were silent waterfalls by the time she was on her knees before the alter, the image of supplication.

'Gentle Mother, I pray to you that the mother who birthed me is safe, she was always kind and loved her little children so I know her to be in your care. Strong Smith, fixer of broken things I pray to you that my brother will be whole again. Crone to you I pray for light of knowledge, I would pay any price just to know my mother's fate and beg you to let them have some small part of your wisdom and know that I love them both for I cannot do so myself.'

Her prayer had changed over the years, more directed and grander in tone. She may have disliked the sept but the Gods were something else, something kinder and with more hope in them. Even visiting their house offered rewards that she could never otherwise gain, the sight of people other than those of Traitor's Walk, a change of scenery from the endless monotony of the tower that only came once again a day and of course approval from her morning maid. Sareth was a pious woman Rhaenys new and heartily approved of spending as much time as possible in prayer, especially in the sept. The pair of them could kneel for an hour, longer once or twice and Rhaenys treasured the sole activity she could share with another even if no words were spoken. She had spoken a few times to the Septon but he was too nervous to be truly stimulating, nervous of her!

She giggled, a rare noise and inappropriate in a sept yet her maid seemed more shocked at the rare sound than angry.

"What amuses you?" She asked.

Rhaenys became nervous. "N-nothing."

Her maid shook her head but Rhaenys caught the ghost of a smile and pulled it close to her heart.

"We should be returning. Are your prayers done?"

"Yes my Lady."

"I'm no Lady."

"I-I could not call you maid."

"Sareth has served well so far."

Rhaenys was smiling under her veil all the way to the tower. Once there she was allowed to play and read, there want much else to do. It all got so tedious after a while but she would not complain and doing so would do no good if she did. After an hour her maid left and returned revealing a hot bun from within her dress hidden from prying eyes. Rhaenys' own eyes turned to saucers at the unprecedented treat and she struggled to savour every single bite gushing over it. It was bread laced with honey and soft and crumbly and without a doubt wonderful.

"My thanks Sareth! This...this is..." she found herself weeping although she didnt know why.

Sareth looked stunned and shushed her urgently before the knight outside investigated. Then she asked whatever could be the matter not understanding.

"I...have not eaten one of these since before..." Rhaenys explained and got a pitying look.

Sareth left soon after, Rhaenys felt terrible for scaring her off and the rest of her day passed slowly. She found herself thinking of all the things she missed, her mother of course and her old happy and ever present brother too. But then there were things like cakes, her cat Balerion, her dolls and of course kindness on the faces of every one she crossed paths with, freedom to roam far wider and a sense of home. All left her more despondent than ever and she did not notice the night maid returning and bluntly telling her it was time for her walk in the Godswood. If she noticed Rhaenys melancholy she showed it not.

The evening walks did not require a veil unless it was light and the keep still busy, as it was dark and deceptively empty Rhaenys was allowed to walk through the courtyard in open air, shivering slightly at the chill and wondering if she had frightened of Sareth's affections for good. It would be terrible to have lost her...friend? Terrible, tears returned but were hidden by the night and her maid's inattention. The Godswood was pleasant upon the eye and held many thousand memories for her yet Rhaenys could not enjoy it tonight and loneliness ate at her as she was lead upon the same path as always. However this night there was great puddle of mud before them so her maid, grumbling about turning back instead lead her another path, one Rhaenys half remembered from a lesson with her mother a lifetime before.

"Heart." She whispered too quiet for her maid to hear or mayhap quiet enough to ignore.

Sure enough she soon found herself facing the bearded face of the great oak her mother had solemnly explained was how the Old Gods saw the world she looked as it as they walked past right until a branch that must have stood a hundred years if a day fell drawing a shriek from her and her maid both and there was a rustling from behind, Rhaenys whirled around to see a woman shrouded in a grey riding cloak emerge from the dark taking note of the branch and the two women before her.

"Your grace!" Gasped the maid at the woman who certainly wasn't Rhaenys' mother.

"It seems the Gods grew tired of waiting for my courage." The beautiful woman from the nightmare said strangely.

Rhaenys could not tear her eyes from the her, the moon light had broken through the clouds to give her an unearthly beauty as if she was a ghost or mayhaps a God herself. Her grey eyes shone near as bright as the Wolf's broach on her cloak and all stole Rhaenys breath.

"Its past time we spoke little princess. Past time a lot of things were done."

 

[Guilliman]

Let's see
First paragraph the laughter screams need an and or a comma then for Rhaenys's prayers i think it needs a quoyation sign ?? Also just some general needs for commas.

Other than that it's absolutely fine and good, Kudos Mortis.

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Let's see
First paragraph the laughter screams need an and or a comma then for Rhaenys's prayers i think it needs a quoyation sign ?? Also just some general needs for commas.

Other than that it's absolutely fine and good, Kudos Mortis.

Click to shrink...

Thanks for the catches. I am pretty poor at correctly and consistently using punctuation I fear. Also the world's worst proof-reader.

And thank you for the praise, it means a lot.

 

[Guilliman]

Thanks for the catches. I am pretty poor at correctly and consistently using punctuation I fear. Also the world's worst proof-reader.

And thank you for the praise, it means a lot.

Click to shrink...

No problem man, also a question is your lack use of timestamp deliberate to create some sense of vagueness ??

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

No problem man, also a question is your lack use of timestamp deliberate to create some sense of vagueness ??

Click to shrink...

Indeed well spotted.

One thing I found interesting in the books is the often subtle divergence in the time stream so things do not always happen exactly chronologically so we get to see consequences, build up and background at the same time and are never quite sure exactly what is happening or how different events and plans will be influenced by what we just read.

I hope to achieve a similar effect before the "main" story starts so that the divergences from canon make sense.

 

[Guilliman]

So from what i've seen the divergences are
1.Rhaenys survived the sack of Kings Landing
2.Jaime is the Lord of house Lannister and he has a wife !?

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

So from what i've seen the divergences are
1.Rhaenys survived the sack of Kings Landing
2.Jaime is the Lord of house Lannister and he has a wife !?

Click to shrink...

1. Yes she has, so has her brother. The Sack went very differently.
2. Jaime never became Kingsguard and so is heir to Casterly Rock. Tywin being Tywin decided to make him shield of Lannisport and place him above the Lannisport Lannisters so he gets a taste for ruling. He is married yes and has twin daughters and an infant son.

 

[Guilliman]

So i think it's 15-16 years after the sack ??

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

So i think it's 15-16 years after the sack ??

Click to shrink...

Closer to seven in the later stream. Rhaenys is nine in her strand.

 

[Guilliman]

Closer to seven in the later stream. Rhaenys is nine in her strand.

Click to shrink...

Nine !? Welp i think i must have gotten the wrong impression then cause what i get is that Rhaenys is at least in her 15's

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Nine !? Welp i think i must have gotten the wrong impression then cause what i get is that Rhaenys is at least in her 15's

Click to shrink...

Heh it seems you did. But don't worry it will be clear just how young she is later (provided I don't tear apart the old updates second time through)

 

[néocorvinus]

Interesting, there arent enough fics about AU for game of Thrones

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Interesting, there arent enough fics about AU for game of Thrones

Click to shrink...

Glad you think so.

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Victarion​

The the grainstore at last gave way with a mortal shriek. Shards of wood cut the air, white hot, launched by the same scorching air that carried forwards ten thousand embers. The maelstrom blasted forwards tearing at the flesh and lungs of the men close to it. Most had the sense to cover their faces but whilst that kept them safe from shrapnel it did nothing to ease their searing breaths. Many flinched and cowered away from the heat and one man screamed in agony, blinded and burned, but the damage done by the shards was nothing compared to the threat of the embers blown by an evil wind relentlessly towards the ships lashed together along the shoreline.

Two ships were burning already, their masts splintering crosses of fire, many more were at risk. Men worked frantically aboard and ashore to save the fleet from the flames. Hundreds of men toiled with desperate energy hauling buckets of seawater along great living chains to quench the closest blazes or dampen vulnerable ships. Hundreds more worked with axe and grapple pulling down those taverns, banks, jewellers, smiths, stables and homes that still stood in the slim hope of breaking the path of the flames to the ships.

Victarion was at the heart of the chaos, roaring orders and sometimes throwing men bodily to their places, trying to bring some order and energy to the fight. He knew only too well what the fires could do to his fleet and even if they succeeded in saving the ships if the attack stalled much longer they could not hope to take the city. Each hour meant more swords against them and stronger defences to defeat. So far the flames had consumed an hour of precious time and no end seemed in sight. Victarion knew that if they failed he would have to pull back the ships and make another landing further up the shore, who knew how long it would take to find a suitable point and regain order?

The setbacks were all the more infuriating for springing from such promising beginnings. Tyran had gifted them with good sites to land large numbers of men and form quickly and the two and sixty ships of the Iron fleet that had managed to regroup had disgorged thousands of warriors into the very outskirts of Lannisport. There were no more than some half trained milita to slow them and they had killed or seized dozens and sent thousands into flight towards the temporary safety of the walls. Maron and that half wit Farywind had gathered five hundred men each and set off on their quests to block the roads to Lannisport, if Lord Lannister was to reinforce his city he would come by the Gold or Riveroad with the latter more likely. Five hundred men in the dark with streets to aid them would give even thousands pause though Victarion doubted that they would make the difference alone. There were two thousand Ironborn preparing to storm the port itself by sea leaving him just three thousand to storm the walls. If not for the fire he would be already atop the walls and fighting yet fate had cheated him when fools, now feed for the crows, had let their lust for gold overcome their sense and set about looting whilst their comrades fought, somewhere in the confusion a fire had started and now victory was turning to smoke before his eyes.

Victarion felt a cold rage building but also...not fear...but disquiet for certain, he knew that he could not return to Pyke with a defeat inflicted entirely by his own men. Men would laugh at him for the rest of his days no matter how many he slew, Balon and Euron worst of all...no he would not return a failure. He could not, that left...

His thoughts were broken by the sight of Tyran standing nearby, looking nervously at the approaching fires, so very out of place standing still and fat amongst the straining men about him. Victarion had forgotten the little man existed. He wondered if a sacrifice would bring fortune back to their cause. Some rodent like instinct warned the turncloak of being in Victarion's gaze and he scurried forwards.

"My Lord? How may I can be of service?" He squeaked.

"I ask you." Victarion grated harshly. A drowning might save the attack.

"W-well I wouldn't d-dare suggest that I know bet-urk!" Tyran stuttered before being caught by the throat in a vice like grip.

"Worthless." He said as he began to squeeze.

"No!" He coughed, bladder breaking. "S-safe place! From the fire!" He choked out starting to go purple, eyes bulging, his words earning him a reprieve to crumple to the floor.

"Th-thank you master! Oh merciful Lord!" Babbled the the craven.

Victarion kicked him in disgust.

"What safe place did you speak of?"

"To the South, half a mile to the South there is a bay, the wind always blows away from it and there are bogs. Lannister bogs...They are undrained."

Victarion swore at another delay to move the whole cursed fleet half a mile on the word of the creature but the damp marsh might be their only hope of saving the ships and staying close enough to reach Lannisport in time to take the walls. He called his captains to him; Haran Harlaw; Fernir Sunderly a kinsman of Victarion's mother grey beared but harder than men half his age and still nimble with a wicked maul; Donnar Saltclife, Euron's creature, pasty faced and with dead eyes but a skilled sailor and finally there was Harras the hangedpriest, for his practice of hanging himself over the sea in a noose of seaweed. A Drowned man through and through his godliness would bring luck it was hoped.

"We're moving the ships to save them from the fire but cannot afford to lose more time. Haran take twenty men from each crew and take the rams and ladders. Position them and begin the attack. Fenrir you have ten men from each and will feint against the far Eastern tower. I shall bring the main force and finish the task or begin it as new as needed." Victarion instructed leaving no place or invitation for questions.

Both men nodded and soon the brief council was ended but for the blessing. Victarion's reputation and the closing fires doing much to hasten things doubtless.

"The Storm God shall not save his greenlander bastards from the flood of Iron and blood and the Drowned God shall reclaim his gift of fire and turn it to our foes." Intoned the Hangedpriest.

"What is dead may never die." Chanted Victarion followed in a heartbeat by Fernir and then by the others a moment late.

"What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger." Finished Harras solemenly.

Victarion bowed his head and then strode off bellowing orders, every moment's delay weighed heavily upon him. Sorting the men into the vanguard and those who would man the ships, pushing out to sea, watching in bitter frustration as the Wrathful ran afoul of some submerged rocks and the flames surged forwards without the fire parties to hold them back, Crow Hulk fell victim to the conflagration and Vicatrion could see men throwing themselves into the water, preferring to drown in their mail than burn. The only good was the sight of the Vanguard making steady progress along the Roseroad. The night and angle made it seem as if they were marching through fire itself their steel shining like torches.

Hasty though their departure was the squadron soon formed a rough formation and sailed along the coast desperately searching for the promised safe harbour. It took precious time to discover the bog and then came a new challenge in fitting the ships amongst it. Giving it up as a hopeless effort Victarion ordered the ships lashed together, much as the smaller Longships used to do in the battles of the old songs, it was difficult work but well done and soon the night air was filled with splashes and sucking as his reavers, weighed down by their mail and weariness crossed decks and onto the deceptive ground soon sinking up to their knees if they were lucky, their chests if not.

There was not a hope of formation in the bog, it was every man's own battle and millions of insects added to the hell. Time lost meaning and there was no end to the marsh. Each step was a new battle, many men stopped to search for boots and gave up the task as hopeless. Some men needed saving from drowning, not all received the aid they needed. Victarion swore to kill the turncloak for sending them into this hell but the little wretch was no place to be found. Eventually all things ended save the sea and so to did the bog and its end came in the form of the Rose Road, wide and firm and blessed.

Victarion had felt less relieved at surviving battles than leaving that wretched place, no place for an army and whilst one had gone in only a mob came out. Victarion waited until his thousands were formed again and set off at a killing pace. Weaker men fell behind but he cared not, if the Lion Lord had come to the aid of his city then the battle was lost. He lead the column at near a run, in full plate he was heavier than most of the men but he was stronger also and refused to let the pain flowing from his tired legs and lungs give him a moment's pause he did not halt until the fires loomed and only then to set men to mark the road on either side of the column, if the Ironborn closed to the centre of the road then they would crush themselves as if the flames were not already a danger. Three men abreast was safest but he placed five to speed their journey. Soon they were storming through the fire much like Harlaw's column before them. Some men fainted from the smoke or heat and even Victorian had to slow and gasp his way through. When they were at last through the worst and approaching the walls he forced him self to halt and stand and let the men collapse all around whilst others pressed forwards in disorderly tangle of bodies.

Ahead of them Victarion saw a group of hundreds of Ironborn standing listlessly, well within bow shot of the walls but making no move forwards. He judged there to be some four hundred ahead, the road before the gate itself was strewn with dozens of bodies of all kind but as many wore crimson cloaks as mail, at the sight of Vicatrion's host the Vanguard gave a roar of triumph and started hammering their shields... yet still did not attack. Victarion painfully strode forwards until a man with Harlaw scythes on his shield approached him.

"Why are you standing here like girls dipping their toes into the winter sea?" He asked forcing the strain from his voice.

The Harlaw man panted out explanations sometimes pointing or waving his arms as if to make his words mean more. Victarion nearly struck him. Fenrir and Donnar had found the walls manned but thrown themselves into the attacks. There was much cover and few arrows so they had reached the walls without incident, often scaling buildings to shorten the climb, meanwhile the Ram made its steady approach. Then things went wrong, the ram was too light to do more than scar the heavy city gates and the Lannister soldiers on the walls fought like demons, three times were the Ironborn to scale the wall only to be thrown back with heavy loss. The third time they had found the gates opened and Jaime Lannister leading a charge sweeping them hundreds of yards before Ironborn fell on them from the flanks and forced them back with heavy loss. Fenrir himself had been slain. his cloak was hung over the gatehouse now torn and stained with the Lannister Lion above it. The sight fed Victarion's rage, he would not be bested by a cub. He would hang Ser Jaime by his pretty hair over those same gates.

Still not all news was grim, Donnar Saltcliffe had gained control of the far tower and the Lions could not drive him out and there was sounds of fighting echoing from the harbour which would like tie down many men. Finally though there was no sign of fighting to the East or so the runner sent from Saltcliffe's tower claimed so Lord Tywin was not yet there. Victarion still had the best part of two thousand men who had not yet fought even if many were exhausted from the fires and marshes. A plan formed slowly in his mind. He'd leave six hundred at the gates under Harran along with those of Fenrir's men that remained, a thousand men in all they would take the walls where Fenrir had failed. Victarion himself would take six hundred more and attack closer to the sea, the last three towers would serve, furthest from the previous battles and unlikely to have been reinforced given the threats at other sections of the wall. Two hundred more would reinforce Saltcliffe. The hundreds not committed would wait for whatever breech presented itself all would share out the ladders and grapples that they had carried with them since leaving Pike.

Victarion set a far less punishing pace this time, in fact slowing down his men and having them filter through the buildings and avoid any streets in view from the walls so that if Drowned God favoured them they would surprise the Lannister men and take the walls before reserves could be moved to meet them, it took some time to shift the men and Victarion was unsure if they had surprise or not he did not even know how his own men were positioned never mind the foe. Night fighting was the hardest kind of fighting to control, no commander could see through night as well as day and too often he planned with guesses and hopes or fears. Night was a raider's friend and the greatest foe to any plan and tonight Victarion was not raiding. It took longer than it should have to position the ladders and form the men into ship's parties for the attack and there was definitely movement on the walls betrayed by torchlight. Too late.

Victarion roared the command to advance and followed the first ladder all the way to the walls. Arrows whistled in the dark but either missed ot struck too far behind for Victarion to hear. The roar of many hundreds echoed back towards him adding to the building battle rage. He saw a man before him struck by an arrorw that pierced his arm. He swore, snatched at it and broke the shaft without even pausing. The hasty bombardment soon included as many stones and pots as arrows and none broke the charge. Now grapples were soaring high many falling down again, in one case braining one of the throwers, but some found purchase and as the ladder came to rest against the wall and the Ironborn began their assault, dozens of men scrambling up the walls hundreds mayhap Victorian did not count for he was the third man up his own ladder, somewhere to the left a ladder fell with screams and a crash but he climbed higher. Even when the man above him fell scattering blood as he went Victarion roared the cry of his house.

"Pike!" He shouted as he pulled himself up swinging his axe in the same motion burying it into a fat man's helm.

Then Victarion was on the battlements, there were two men before him, one with a spear the other a sword. He hacked the spear in twain before leaping towards the swordsman, knocking him from his feet and smashing the axe butt into his face shattering tooth and skull in the first blow, before turning once again to the spearman who had thrown aside his ruined weapon and drawn a dagger which Victarion allowed to glance of his armour as he aimed a swing of his axe which did not glance off. Behind him there were already two more Ironborn on the walls.behind Victarion and each slew men who tried to rush him. Victarion stood shoulder to shoulder with them defending the ladder as more men scaled the battlements.

The Watchmen lacked the courage to save themselves and hung back rather than overwhelm the toehold before too many Ironborn arrived. By the time they moved to meet the Ironborn the numbers were against them and the half dozen surviving defenders were soon swept aside allowing the Ironborn to pour along the walls into the towers that lead down to the streets below however the elation that filled them was torn away in moments as half a dozen spears fell amongst them, four drawing screams. Below them lined near a hundred watchmen each moving to block one of the tower entrances. Victarion swore, for just a moment there had been a chance of taking the city then and there instead they were trapped for the moment. They had the numbers to break through but the narrow spaces of the tower doors favoured the foe.

"Archers! Archers on the wall." He roared, hearing the command echoed soon after.

Now they had the advantage of the highground at least and they had the arrows to make a difference. They would thin out the foe further and break into the city. Before any more troops arrived. In the meantime Victarion peered out across the city on both sides of the wall and tried to learn the fate of the other attacks. The ones further to the East were out of sight but he could still see the Rose Road and the reserve remained where he had left it so no other force could have taken the walls yet on the landward side. He turned his attention North towards the harbour, he had a good view of part of the bay from the captured section of the wall and saw burning ships but they were further out far from the shore and there were what looked to be Lannister soldiers along the shore. The fighting had either not yet truly entered the harbour or had been defeated. Victarion felt his jaw clench in grimace but forced his attention elsewhere he could see a party of at least a hundred men marching from the centre of the city. Even as he watched they seemed to change direction, towards him, closer the men below were moving carts and crates to form crude barricades and offer protection from the walls and towers held by the Ironborn. He turned to see the first first archers forming on the wall.

"Take what shots come to you." He growled before gathering men about him, Urek Ironmaker amongst them.

"We have no time to waste to thin them with arrows, We shall clear them aside with axe and sword." He told them bluntly before sending word down the wall they held to attack from each tower at once. Ducking beneath a poorly aimed spear.

He wished nothing more than to join them but sense told him otherwise. He would have no way to guide the battle inside one of the cramped towers and even his skills would do little against a barricade. He was forced by duty to crouch behind one of the few shields brought up to the wall and watch the battle unfold below him infuriatingly beyond his power to influence. The Ironborn archers had more arrows and better aim and no shortage of targets, again and again a scream would echo below even after the Westerlanders formed a shield wall and dragged more carts into place. The fight was not one-sided however, the archers had no cover on the walls and were silhouetted by the looming fire behind them. One man fell screaming, a spear through his guts, another stumbled around clutching an arrow in his eye. The toll for both sides rose swiftly and the Ironborn had nowhere to move their wounded. Below the barricades were proving too strong to take and the space to cramped. Victarion grimaced in frustration. There was no way forwards and Tywin Lannister could arrive at any time, worse he could feel the heat from his back and many archers were choking. The inferno they had left behind was closing fast. Soon the reserve could be cut off from them making the fight here pointless and there were still hundreds of his men waiting for their turn to ascend the walls already nervously edging back from the flames.

If they did not break into the city proper soon they would be destroyed. Victarion realised, the moment that decided the battle was here. He came to a decision then. One last desperate trick.

"Grapples, raise the grapples!" He coughed.

They could not breach the barricades but mayhaps the could go around them, it could not be more dangerous than climbing up the wall or waiting for the fire to burn them out. This time Victarion lead the way once again, he had had too much of standing and watching. The Lannisters were slow to react and Victarion was near the ground when the first man fell screaming an arrow in the small of his back. Then suddenly there were dozens of Lannister men hacking and stabbing at the descdening Ironborn before they fully reached the ground. Victarion saved himself by letting go of the rope and crashing to the floor rolling away from the mass of foes. Before him was a foot, he severed it from the leg with a swing before lunging upwards so he could fight on his feet. Another Ironborn followed his example and jumped, screaming loudly as his ankles broke and he was hacked apart helplessly on the ground. Victarion threw himself into the fight, killing men left from right trusting his armour and skill to preserve him. He had no shortage of foes and soon three men were dead at his feet before three more rushed him as one, two with shields. Victarion found himself forced back until he was near touching the wall. One of his foes was stunned by an arrow glancing off his helm, Victarion brained him and hurtled forwards clattering into the second man but keeping his footing so he could whirl and decapitate the third. The man he had tackled however was canny enough to swing for Victarion's leg rather than try to rise. The armour held firm, Victarion's leg did not. As he fell to one knee he struck the other man twice in the groin and watched him clutch the bloody mess in agony before being finished with a strike to the chest.

By now other Ironborn had managed to form small knots of men fighting against their more numerous foes who near matched them for reckless fury. The archers above sent shaft after shaft into the Westerlanders killing near twice as many as had fallen by sword and Victarion could see a break however costly forming as his men continued to land and join the fray. The entire street was a mass of fighting men, hacking stabbing and screaming in rage or agony. Eventually the Ironborn managed to carve enough bloody space to dismantle the barricades even if they left a dozen men at each doorway. More Ironborn flooded in and soon there were too many to dislodge. Victarion tried to stand but though he could fight the agony he could not make the leg work fully, he was reduced to shameful limping until Urek Ironmaker, bleeding from half a dozen wounds sent a man to assist him. He raged against them and himself as he was carried through a tower along with the other wounded and given a vantage point high above the killing to watch as his Ironborn pushed the Lannisters further and further back into their city but he judged that the last hour of fighting alone had cost him over a hundred men and he doubted he had two thirds of his strength left and many of them were spent by fighting or still on the other side of the wall and sapped by the heat that he was beginning to notice in full. The reserve would need to be sent for to exploit their work he judged. He had had hoped to drive along until the gate could be seized but he doubted he had the strength for it now. He turned his eyes away from the fighting in the city, reaching for his horn to call the reserve to finish his work when he stopped dead with rage and no little dread as he saw all his efforts laid low and worthless. The inferno had caught up with them. Two hundred paces away and advancing like an army of devils, his men below were already scattering. Victarion could do nothing but watch as his triumph turned to smoke spiralling into the crimson sky.