As Stannis stood atop the gatehouse, he felt dread. Watching long lines of shining armor glistening in the sun. In the distance, erecting great tents and catapults, banner colors of every shade flapping under the strong Stormland wind.
To his eyes, they seemed as ants.
If only they were.
The might of the largest army in Westeros at his walls. 80,000 Knights, Archers, and men-at-arms here to smother the bare garrison of 1500 with 10,000 small-folk sheltering in the thick walls of Storm's End.
He must hold this Fortress for as long as possible. Even unto death. As long as the Tyrell host was here, they were not attacking Robert. It was his duty to his family and his house. He would not skirt duty nor fate.
No surrender.
A head-ache started to form in his skull. The stress of watching the Tyrells set camp must be the cause.
Knowing how short the rations will be for this is enough alone. He thought.
His vision begins to blur.
Bile builds in his throat.
Sick runs down the walls of Storm's End as he clutches his throat, gasping.
Chuckles sound from below signal the guards opinion on their Commander's stomach with a view of the enemy before them.
The Stannis that wiped his mouth and looked over crenelations of the gatehouse was not the same as before.
His scowl had smoothed for the first time since watching his parents drown.
He raised his hands in front of his face and clenched them. He drew his sword and looked at it. A smile formed on his face as he sheathed it.
Death at 51 one second and a 18 year old lord the next.
His sons were well suited to succeeding the throne of Norway after him. His wives would be missed. Rakna's Mead would be sorely missed though. As would his beautiful dragon-ship.
(One Month Later)
"Push!" I yelled into the orator cone.
The shirtless pushed their shields as one to create a gap for third rank of the shield wall to bring their blunt spears to bear for a thrust.
The shirts vs. the shirtless were training in the phalanx equipment and shield wall formation. They were slow to get the Idea, put quick once they started practicing all day, every day.
Some were tapped on the shoulder by referees once they were 'fatally' struck. They dropped to the ground and were dragged out of formation by their teammates to simulate their deaths or injury.
They were no Varangian Guard, but, they were learning.
The winning team's double rations made this a very intense and serious affair for them. Large round shields and 7-9 foot spears in the first five ranks, archers behind them. Cloth tipped arrows and sweat littered the courtyard below.
The army outside the walls firing useless catapult stones into the meters thick walls was ignored. The walls were too high for ladders or arrows to have any effect. There were a few watchmen on the walls, but, only to wait for another messenger with the reply to another Tyrell offer of surrender.
My first offer was this.
To the Oaf, Mace Tyrell.
I will spare the life of your family and lords if you come to the gates of Storm's End with all the gold you own in this life presented to me as a gift. You must strip yourself of clothes and crawl on your knees before me and beg for the life of your family.
If you beg well enough, I will allow you to live in my Kennel with my dogs and feed you the same.
Stannis Baratheon.
The messenger never returned alive. He didn't need to, My meaning was clear to the fool. The messenger was sent back into the wall at High speed and splattered over a few meters in every direction on the wall.
Maester Cressen would be mourned after this siege was over.
5,000 Knights, all the Reach has to field move forward into the gates. The Fortress was too small to fit all of my army inside. 20,000 men marched after the knights.
No quarter?
Indeed.
The walls have no archers on them. No Catapults are fired now and never have out of the fortress during the siege. Nothing has been heard from within but shouts and screaming for months now, until this morning. A few guards move along the wall every once in awhile let us know they were still in there, alive.
To the Oaf,
The gate is open.
We are waiting.
No quarter shall be given.
No quarter will be asked for.
We will not starve.
Come and fight.
Come and die.
Stannis
The audacity of the younger Baratheon was upsetting. He would be given to King Aerys as Justice. No clean death for him. He stood no chance against my army.
A few thousand starving fools versus the might of the reach.
Lord Tarly was first through the gate. Lance lowered and at full gallop, armor shining. 4.999 behind him.
I would not miss out on this glory. I rode in the vanguard, behind the fastest horses into the gate.
Crushing the rebels.
It was glorious to see.
(Stannis)
The men stood motionless ans silent. I have been in close enclosed spaces with men and entertained, trained sported and commanded men for as long as I have had hair on my face. Thirty-eight years experience commanding battles.
Losing or winning, I kept the morale high.
Making the men believe in something greater than themselves was the first step. God, Lord, King, Fate.
Teamwork was learned in the battle-field.
Losing the civil war in my teen-hood. Fleeing to Sweden and Kiev. Fifteen years working for as many Emperors and Empresses as a mercenary commander in countless battles from one end of the world to the other, enforcing Byzantine rule.
Becoming King. Securing the throne. Vengeance.
Dying on the ground with a arrow in my throat, life gushing from me in spurts of red. A meaningless bridge, a lucky archer.
Fate.
I begged the Lord to grant me another chance.
The Lord has always shown favor to the mighty.
I had brought the word of the Lord with me to My Homeland. Built churches and converted masses of pagans to the word of the one true Lord. This was his gift to me for my hard work.
Another chance to be mighty and spread his word once more.
"While it may be true that some of us may die today" I paused.
Frowns and muttering started in the silence.
"Our families Will not!" I yelled. Holding my great-ax in one hand and shield in the other, neck to toe clad in steel, I was imposing.
"For every dead of us, We will make them bleed thousands. If we stay in here and let them starve us as we hide behind these walls, we will all die. Our families will die. We will not be remembered. We will be dust! Gone forever! That murdering rapist Targaryen bastard will win! Do you want that?"
"No!" Was the overwhelming reply.
"Our arms are strong! Stronger than any other! Our bellies are full and our spears sharp. No one can break the wall of shields that are held by free men. We have the opportunity to taste true freedom! To rise against the Mad King and triumph as Free Men! We are not slaves to be burned meekly at the alter of a mad-man's glory! You can't expect freedom to come to you!
Raise your shields!
Raise your spears!
Freedom is coming through that gate any moment!
Stay together and fight for the ones beside you and behind you!
Take your freedom with Me!"
As fifteen hundred men pounded their shields and hollered, the ground started to shake.
Feet beyond counting were coming. Horns and drums in the distance getting nearer by the second.
"Shield Wall!"
Around the gate we waited.
No choice in the matter. We have eaten all our stores this morning.
Starve or fight.
No offer for terms had come from Tyrell. None would. The men knew this.
Measter Cressen's corpse made that clear to all of them. Training all day for three months on limited rations, these men were leaner and harder than they ever were before or ever would be again.
Starve or fight.
A desperate situation that makes men go to lengths that they normally never would.
The first knight came through the gate and others after, charging straight into the spears before them.
Pretty sure attempting to jam thousands of mounted knights through a choke point into an enclosed space filled with spearmen is a horrible strategy regardless of what era it is.
The First Horse-man pulled his horse to a stop before riding into the spears and started to turn around before a crossbow bolt entered the side of his helmet.
As dust kicked up from the first charge, Coltraps were thrown. Visibility was limited from where I was atop the gatehouse. Crossbowmen sat along the inside of the wall, out of sight from the other side. A narrow staircase was the only way up the wall. Stones and hot sand were poured down the steps and through the murder-holes above the stairs.
I recognized the Oaf as he went charging through the gate.
Hundreds more poured through the gate after him. Some tried to turn away from the spears. Coltraps littered the ground as horses went down screaming high pitched neighs. Most could not stop because of the men behind them. The press coming through the gate forced the knights into the spears.
Dust was like a sand-storm. The stench of blood was heavy. The screams blocked anything The Oaf could order to his men.
Chaos.
Scores of men dashed through the gate. Between barricaded stone buildings stood walls of steel. Crossbows from the roofs and windows, fired and withdrew to allow another loaded weapon to come to bare.
As they pushed their way through the gate they had no choice but to go forward.
Time passed in flashes of violence.
My ax took the head off a frenzied man running up the stairs, screaming from the sand cooking him in his armor.
They continued through the gate.
Continued to crush themselves into the fortress.
Into hell.
The dust blew away under the wind as blood soaked the ground. Gore built waist high. I remember the wet sucking sounds of boots sloshing through muddy viscera of man and beast.
Eventually, the bolts ran out.
As the sun set, no more came through the gate.
The Gate door dropped shut.
The shield wall moved forward.
Men too packed to breath died by their comrade's swords as often as the spear in the end.
No quarter.
Headless bodies were thrown over the wall by tired men, bellies full and bloated with horse meat. Women and children butchered thousands of horses. stuffed into barrels with salt or into empty smokehouses.
Food for ages.
A mountain of skulls to be boiled and cleaned of flesh. Put upon the crenelations to decorate the walls forever more.
I cleaned the Oaf's skull myself and ate the most delicious horse stew I had ever tasted.
Food is never as sweet as from the skull of your enemy.
Armor and weapons aplenty. I gave every man his pick armor. All the gold in the saddlebags and pouches was claimed by me.
How we feasted.
Nothing could be better than the thin horse stew and water as we sung and danced. Made stories of heroism and valor as 1,000 men bested 25,000 with the skulls and swords as evidence.
I gave the most popular of men golden coins and elaborate plate armors. I hosted the feast in a new mans honor every night. All survivors were knighted. They had the arms for it now. Full plate and sword. More expensive than most men men could ever dream of owning.
The Tyrell banner-men remain outside the walls. Holding us in the impenetrable fortress.
Nearly a year we feasted and continued to sport in the little space we had.
Morale was high.
We told stories, mine were very popular.
We gamboled, I invented dice.
We sang, danced, and feasted.
"My Lord, A raven" A voice interrupted my story of Xenophon's journey.
To Stannis,
King's landing is taken, We come to your aid.
Robert Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men.
The King glared at me. "While you were letting the dragon-spawn escape, I arranged a betrothal to make peace with the Reach Lords." He took a large bite out of his turkey leg, chewed in silence as I stared across the table from him. He seemed to calm down after a swig of his wine. We were having our fare in his quarters in the Red Keep.
I had seen warrior Kings like this before. Seen them rise and fall. Men like him were easy to fool. Too sure of themselves to ever learn from their mistakes, much less admit them. They let others push them around because they are too stupid to see the shoves.
"You killed half male lines of a hundred noble houses in a single battle despite being outnumbered thirty to one. I'm proud of you for that. I had doubts about you as a child, but you put them to rest. You are Baratheon though and though. You left me with a problem though. Other than the Tyrells, only one house in the Reach can claim any male heirs and have ancestry back to the old kings of the Reach."
I continued to stare at him silence.
He stared back.
I am sure he meant for me to ask who, but I had already heard this idiocy from his mouth moments before.
The Florents.
"I refuse." I said calmly. I cut my lamb slowly and and savored every bit.
You get so sick of horse and onions.
A tinge of pink had entered his cheeks.
"Why do you refuse your King?" he inquired.
The calm before the storm.
"Because its a stupid decision." I continued before the storm could come to a down-pour. "The Florents greased some palms with gold and made some big claims, everyone does once in awhile. They then spread some more gold to get a few members of your court to come and make a few statements in the right people's ears. These people then brought it up to Lord Arryn over and over, offering gift after gift. Eventually what was started with a golden rumor became fact. Everyone knows that if all the Lords are speaking it, it must be true. When Lord Arryn brings it to you, believing with all his heart that something must be done, you trust his word. Marry off your brother to them or the whole Reach will rebel he tells you the golden lie." I finished and watched the show begin.
His face went from red to a royal purple. He stood up and over-turned his chair as he rose. His fists clenched as he saw the deception unfold in his mind's eye.
Those copper counting lying traitors buying lies in his court! Trying to trick him out of his own brother.
He stormed out the door of his dining room ready to strangle them all.
Down below in the courtyard Jamie was tossed aside by my good-brother's shield as if he were a child. I winced as a shield boss collided with his face in a wet smack and ended the spar.
Hatred Burned
The small-folk and others called him the 'Warrior Reborn'.
As if the Warrior had ever been born.
He was as contemptuous of the title, as my lover was of his. Which I found very humorous. Anything that got under his skin made me feel a little better.
He was Dangerous.
Not dangerous because of his skill at arms, but for his skill with words.
Dangerous for how he made his elder brother, my husband, dance to his tune. I had seen him whisper a few words into his ear and make him do anything he desired. No one else had that power, not even the Hand of the King.
Such power in the wrong hands had to be stopped.
I am the only one who should have that power.
Hatred and Jealousy
I had tried everything up to outright Assassination.
The Faceless were too expensive.
He was apparently immune to seduction attempts.
His guards were too loyal or too numerous to bribe.
No spouse or loved ones to kidnap or threaten.
No vices I was able to exploit.
No vices of his anyway.
I was down to my last recourse.
The High Septon.
(Robert)
I took a drink of watered arbor gold as I caught my breath.
I watched him hand the Kingslayer his own ass on a silver platter.
My brother's new great ax and shield boss were of Dragonsteel.
Formerly, they were the the Ancestral blade of the Tarlys.
I don't know where he became so skilled with the uncommon weapon. No masters of the great ax ever trained in Storm's End to my knowledge. It was more of a northern weapon.
A rare one at that.
He was far different than the grim little brat I remembered as a child. As if he were not the same person anymore. His features had not changed and he often spoke of things from the past before I left as a ward to Jon Arryn. No impostor would know the things we spoke of.
He was different though... in a good way.
I burst out laughing as Stannis ended his spar with the Kingslayer's face.
Mine was with Ser Barriston and had ended moments ago with a blunted sword at my neck with blinding speed. I may not be skilled enough to crack 'The Bold's' skull, at least I know I can best my little brother.
The Warrior Reborn my bleeding ass
I rose to my feet and moved in front of my brother.
"My turn." I grinned as I brought my shield up and hefted my hammer into a high ready stance.
He smiled and stayed silent other than his panting breath.
I took the offense and swung the hammer with monstrous force.
He blocked with his shield. It struck so hard my hand shook. The Dragonsteel boss took the force out of the blow.
Before I had the chance to bring the hammer around for another swing, his ax hooked onto my shield. He jerked my shield arm away from my center.
His strength was greater than mine.
Out lashed a leg that slammed into my chest-plate. I felt the wind leave me in a rush as my ribs cracked and groaned.
The world tilted fast as I hit the ground with a crash.
His strength was greater than mine.
I felt numb at first.
I couldn't breath.
I coughed at last and felt my chest flare in pain as fractured bones rinded together.
His strength was greater than mine.
I had never been bettered by him before.
The Greatjon doesn't kick like that.
His smiling face came into view above me.
"Maybe you should get off your ass before you turn to jelly, brother." He laughed as he held a hand down to help me to my feet.
Barriston and the Kingslayer came running over.
I slapped his hand away.
"Your grace. Are you alright?" Barriston asked as he and the Kingslayer helped me to my feet.
"You are no brother of mine." I rasped through pained breaths.
The smile slid from his face and I saw a hard look I had never seen before.
I relaxed as much as I could in the thick plate armor my paranoia forced me to wear at all times. In my quarters of the 'Hydra' my personal war-galley and flagship of the Westrosi war fleet, I was as safe as could be.It didn't stop the felling of powerlessness that invaded my waking and sleeping hours.
I thought about the past and what would come next.
When I first came to King's Landing as a child, I had formed an opinion of the city. That opinion made me overlook the things that bothered me now. I was sickened by this city that neared the population of the ancient city of Rome.
I had seen the sickness of old and ancient Rome.
The depravity and moral disregard coupled with starvation of the poor and the rich's over-opulence.
This was worse than Rome. There were not sewers. Waste was thrown into the streets. Not one public thermae on the entire continent. Even their priests are corrupt and perverse.
Orphans and poor starve in the streets. Crime is rampant. It was one of the worst large cities I had ever seen. I did what I could with such a corrupt system in place in this country and Robert's court. I used my position to station many a cabin boy and girl onto every ship owing fealty to me come into King's Landing.
Around 2,000 had left that way. Especially when it became known that I would pay a silver in apprentice fee to each of the captains for every recruit from King's landing of my men or I's choice of orphans.
Robert is going to die.
He will be in much pain from the wrapped ribs. His breath will become more and more shallow. He will begin to cough green slime and then blood. He will waste away slowly over a couple of weeks. Too many ribs were broken for the King to survive.
He had fathered no living legitimate heir as of last week when Cersei had a still-born son. I was sure she had not recovered enough for the quickening to occur again as of yet. She was attractive and had seemed like a good wife before her wedding. Robert made the woman cruel. Perhaps she could be redeemed. It would be expected for me to marry her soon.
It was custom to marry a brother's widow. Especially if she is a Queen.
Ten of the Baratheon ships from Storm's End of my own ownership had made their way to King's Landing at my order last year.
They were under-crewed fishing ships.
Not under-crewed for long.
I heard the foundlings were were working well and getting skilled with net and sail. The fish were sold at low price to lower the price of food further in King's Landing.
Some nobles try to feed the poor with free food.
They don't understand that it only makes the problem worse.
I used the fish mongering money to buy more ships over the last year. Nearly Identical, they were the last years product of the ship-wrights in King's Landing. Eight triple masted trade galleys. I had sent them to Tyrosh and Lys, full of trade goods for weapons and wine.
I was visited by the Stranger last night" He finished solemnly to the grubby little snotty faces trying to catch a peek at his Holiness. High hat and gold glistening on all fingers.
A robust and healthy specimen of humanity. Covered in the finest silks and richest jewels humanity may offer.
Shocked gasps and soft squeaks rang out.
The sun is nearing it's end for the day. The shimmering cream clouds fade to pink as the sky shifts to orange.
Atop the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor stood the Servant of the Faith, Protector of Truth and Justice, Savior of the Faithful, The Most Holy High Septon. He continued the speech.
"He gave me warning..." he trailed off and looked around at the crowd with a sad expression.
"Dire Warning!"
Babies started crying as the gasps and shouts rang out louder. The sun finished It's cycle as the orange shifted into dark blue and then to gray.
"A great and powerful evil is among us, bringing about the end of the world."
The torches lining the steps of the Holy place cast a giant glowing figure of the High Septon onto the Sept behind him. As the flames cast their light upon him they portrayed him differently than in the sun.
As the flames flicked over his figure sinister figure on the top step, his blue eyes glowed.
-----------------------------------
Blue eyes led the mob into the twilight.
Coercing and enticing it's way through the streets, the mob grew.
Thousands uncountable made their way to the harbor.
"Get your arms!" I yelled down below as I climbed the stairs to the top deck of the Hydra. Ax and shield in hand, helmet tied to waist. I shouted the command often for pirate drills.
The meaning is obvious.
"FIGHT!"
The screams and shouts were louder up here. I beheld before me the greatest fear of Rome or any other city. A seething writhing mass of countless frenzied lunatics.
A mob.
An angry one.
Excrement splattered on my chest-plate. Harder objects were also being gifted at high speed. The boarding ramp was being overrun. The long board was never meant to hold the hundreds that tried to swarm up it like ants.
"Fire!"
We are riding high in the water right now with light cargo. Larder is always stocked and the only real weight on the Hydra were me, my men, their sons and nephews(foundlings). Too high to be stormed effectively, They were using other means to escalate the disorder.
Torches.
Luckily, few had used oil as of yet. Difficult to smother quickly, the heat remains smoldering.
"Cut ropes, More sail!" I shouted another couple of orders.
I shifted to the side as a wooden torch nearly caved my chest-plate in.
A cracking sound beside me.
"Arruouu" Came another sound like a hoarse dog giving a chocked, wounded squeal. I heard it even over the racket of the mob.
I stood transfixed to the sight before me.
A neph.
My nephew had dropped his bucket as the torch struck him on the head. The water flowed over the the torch, extinguishing it. Spreading from there, it brought out the color of my nephew's blood into a puddle around him.
He was looking at me with wide confused eyes and blinking away building tears in the corners of his eyes. A pink and red slurry began to leak from his shattered little skull.
I had found him behind a brothel where truly awful things were bought from starving children. I helped him get honest work here on this ship. I remembered him. Thousands of others had died like this in front of me. Thousands more would. I treated him like any other little ship-runt. Go get this, tell them that, ect.
In my minds eye, I saw my son's face contort in an expression of agony I cannot describe. His little body began to twitch and shake as his guts gave out the last sickness. His little twisted face started gnawing at the air and his eyes rolled back.
My boot came down with a splatter onto his broken face.
No need to make him suffer more.
The helmet at my waist was upon my head and buckled by the time I reached the first boarder.
His guts showered my feet with gore.
The next lost his head as he stepped up to the top of the ramp.
Hissing sounds as boys and men cut ropes quickly.
I took the arm off another man before the main sail dropped.
TOO SOON!
Horrible fucking sailors do guards make.
The ship jerked as the sail caught wind and pulled the anchoring ropes to the dock tight.
I was in the thick of fighting.
The men in front of me bent and broke like twigs before me as a large rope snapped.
In flashes I see the images of men cut in half in an instant. The feeling of pain around my abdomen and chest.
Red stinging in my eyes as blood clouded my vision with the spots floating above me.
