The walls of the city towered over the army. The shadows from the sunrise enveloped the first assault lines and Loras Tyrell could almost smell their nervousness.
That wouldn't do.
"Siege ladders!" He raised his sword. "Forward!"
The crews moved fast, but not fast enough.
"His Grace promised a lordship to the first man to reach the top of the walls!" He hadn't, but Renly would smile, accept and commend him all the same. "For the King! For Renly!"
"For the King!"
The crews moved faster, the archers not far behind.
It was enough. For now, that is.
With the first wave sent, Loras turned his gaze to the hill his king was occupying and smiled.
He was given a task of utmost importance. Renly would never say it out loud, but the boy king needed to die today. It was obvious, it was clear. It was fate.
Everyone knew a boy couldn't command… well, most boys couldn't command. The Starks were exceptional in that respect. That much he could admit.
But Joffrey was not Robb Stark, and it showed.
The archers atop the walls had started shooting before time, and wasted arrows by the hundreds. The slingers that gave them so much grief in previous assaults were a non factor now. And the most egregious mistake of them all: a formation stationed before the gate.
The boy truly was his own worst enemy it seemed— If Cersei Lannister didn't exist, Loras reminded himself. The Starks may have crushed the Lannister's armies in the Riverlands, but it was Cersei's actions what pushed both great houses into war.
A war that only delayed the inevitable. For there was no one better or more deserving of the throne than Renly.
The sunlight blinded him for a second before he saw it.
A ladder to the right was able to latch to the wall. Before Loras could order reinforcements, the defenders broke the ladder with axes and rocks.
That was… unexpected.
And pointless.
King's Landing was falling today, no matter what. "Don't falter!"
His men didn't need to be told twice.
Soon enough a second ladder latched, and then a third. And yet, it wasn't enough.
Some people would say a victory is a victory. They were fools.
A victory needed to be majestic, needed to be worthy of songs.
Renly didn't want a simple victory, his dynasty needed to show how strong it was right here and now. Aegon's city had to fall.
Luckily for his king, Loras was here.
A bitter fight broke in the walls. His time had come.
"To me!" he called his knights. "King's Landing is ripe for the taking!"
The wind made his seven-colored cloak flutter and his heart race. He wasn't as smart as Willas, or as strong as Garlan, but he had something they did not.
Someone to fight for. Hopefully, that would be enough.
No.
It would be enough. It had to be.
With a leap he dismounted his horse after the short gallop and got himself into the ladder.
The sound of screams and steel on steel accompanied his climb. Other men would've felt the jitters of battle, but not Loras. His fingers twitched and his senses sharpened with every rung his feet carried him past. Until, with a final push, he found himself atop the walls.
Instantly, his hand raised his sword. "Forward!" he roared.
A stab made a gold cloak gurgle his last breath, a swing cut the arm of another, and a mailed fist stunned his opponent long enough for Loras to reach for his dagger and finish him.
Men hollered in terror, men screamed in anguish; men killed, men died, and through it all, Loras knew this was his place.
He dodged a spear aiming for his head. "For Renly!" he roared and delivered death.
Something hit his shoulder. An arrow, most like. He went low and pierced a knight from under his helmet. "King Renly!" he roared and found cover behind the armored corpse.
Arrows struck his improvised shield and Loras took this moment of respite to look around him. They were winning, but it was barely noticeable. The blood in the walls was as much theirs as it was of the defenders.
It wouldn't do.
"Renly!"
He pulled his sword. With a fluid movement he cut the hamstrings of the man in front.
He moved forward. Always forward. His king was counting on him, he wouldn't disappoint him.
Step by step. Swing by swing. Even if Tywin sent the entirety of King's Landing against him, Loras knew he would prevail. Come hail or storm, he would fight it all and be the last one standing. No one could stop him, not a man and not these godforsaken walls.
The blood made his feet unstable, so he gritted his teeth and kept moving ahead.
For every man he slew, one of his men fell. For every soldier the Lannisters lost, two more raced to occupy the fallen's place.
It felt like an endless battle.
It felt as if he was thrown in the midst of the Mander with his armor weighing him down and told to swim.
It was great.
He stopped feeling wind on the gaps of his armor. He stopped hearing the screams of the men around him, only the sound of steel remained. His eyes didn't recognize faces anymore, it was only his men, and his enemies now. From one moment to the next, his armor became his skin, he couldn't remember a time not wearing it.
And his sword… there was no sword. One of his arms was longer and had an edge.
The world became clear. Truthful.
There was only Loras and the enemy in front of him and only one of them was smiling.
A thud at his feet broke the spell and returned him to reality.
The royal banner, half a lion and half a stag was merely thirty yards in front of him. He was close.
He allowed himself a heartbeat to catch his breath. The squire whose death woke him from his trance lay at a Kingsguard's feet. Alyn Ambrose had done well to follow him thus far, and for that, Loras would make sure to tell his story.
The Kingsguard raised his longsword and put himself in front of his king.
"Surrender your arms, Ser Arys," Loras said, his voice ragged. "King Renly is merciful to his former enemies."
"You should follow your own advice, ser," the Kingsguard said.
A scream made him look from the corner of his eyes. His men were being pushed back.
"They fight for their king," Ser Arys said.
"Renly is ten times the king Joffrey will ever be," Loras responded.
"Oh? And yet His Grace is here commanding his soldiers from the front, just like his father used to do." His faceplate settled on Loras. He could almost feel his gaze directly. "Just like Renly is afraid of doing."
Loras was on him in an instant. A shield met his sword and something crashed into his ribs driving the air out of his lungs.
Instinct took over and Loras pushed to the side in an attempt to flank Ser Arys. In normal circumstances, it would've been the correct movement, but the walls of King's Landing didn't offer the space needed.
Realizing his mistake, he jumped back with everything he had and was able to reposition himself. His side was bruised, the heat climbing ever so slowly on that side.
His sword hand moved on its own to redirect a heavy swing to the side. Next, Loras was able to take a shallow breath once again.
"The truth angers you?" Ser Arys said. "I guess I can't expect anything else from one of the usurper's followers."
"Shut up!" Loras roared.
This time he dodged the shield and went for Ser Arys' sword hand, only to meet his sword instead. Quickly, he pulled back.
"What's the matter boy?" the Kingsguard spat.
Loras attacked again. And once again he crashed into the wall that was Ser Arys Oakheart.
There was something he noticed, however. His opponent never took the lead. He was injured, Loras could see it now. A path to victory opened before him, all he needed to do was to grasp it.
He moved in and out of the Kingsguard's range. From the left and from the right. Prodding open his defenses for a final cut.
It was hard, it was tiring. It was great.
Little by little his left side stopped hurting, and the sounds from around him stopped. All that mattered was him and the knight in front.
A parry to the right, half a step to the left, a low swing to the legs.
Every action and reaction; every attack and counter… Loras saw it. The world had never been so clear before.
Half a step forward meant death. Half an inch to the right meant losing his hand. Half a heartbeat earlier meant victory.
Tangled in a deadly dance of two injured knights, Loras saw his opening.
Ser Arys was protecting his left leg with everything he had. It was a faint, his real injury was the left side of his chest. His shield movements became slower by every exchange, and Loras found the way to kill a wall.
An attack to the shield, a faint to the left and a stab to the neck—
Eh?
He was looking at the sky. Something warm was drenching his face.
It was blood. His blood.
His sword hand was stomped and his sword kicked away from him.
He tried to pick his dagger, he tried to kick, but it was all in vain.
Soon enough he was tied and on his feet.
Ser Arys tricked him. He wasn't injured, it was all an act.
He failed. Renly trusted in him, and he failed.
Behind him, Ser Arys Oakheart stood tall.
"Lord Commander!" someone called frantically from below. "Lord Stannis breached the River Gate!"
Hearing that made everything hurt even more.
###
Deep in his cups, his father used to say that when the gods were bored, they toyed with men. That sitting high in their thrones, they see us men like their fools. "They play with us!" his father repeated in his drunken dreams.
Mayhaps that was the reason Davos was never a devout man. Or perhaps it was seeing how fat the High Septon was while his stomach had been empty for days.
He smothered the bitter laugh that thought brought him. The captain of a ship couldn't be seen laughing, Not at the sea, and much less at the hour of the wolf.
The cold breeze of the sea caressed his face like an old lover. His hands gripped the rudder harder. They were close. He knew this waters well, he had been navigating them for decades at this point. First as a smuggler, then as a knight, and now as a knightly smuggler.
His father was right about something at least. The gods liked their japes.
Davos preferred the bitter truth no matter what, and the truth was that he was a mediocre knight.
He couldn't read. He couldn't win against other knights, not even against the knights' squires. But smuggling? He knew a thing or two.
It was amusing in a way, how he couldn't help his king as a knight, but could do so as a smuggler. He had already done so twice so far.
He wet his lips. "Prepare to disembark," he ordered.
His galley was close to the beach, if this were anywhere else, he would have stopped before.
But this was King's Landing.
He earned his living in this waters for decades. He knew this place better than he knew his own scars.
The galley his king had given him reached the shallows Davos felt confident navigating and still pushed forward. Just a little bit more.
They stopped and boats were lowered. This was where his task ended.
Knights, real ones this time, had their own task in front.
Stannis ordered them to secure Aegon's Hill. More precisely, he tasked them to secure the entrance to the Blackwater for the planned assault to succeed.
How did his king knew about the Lannisters guarding the beaches was a mystery for most, but after their taking of Storm's End no one dared to question him.
The memory made him shiver.
The red woman always spoke of R'hllor as a benevolent god of light. There was nothing benevolent of the horror that killed Ser Cortnay Penrose.
The boats started rowing ahead. The sound grounded him in the present, and the fact that he was delivering death one more time.
At least this battle is of men.
The first boats reached the beach. Davos closed his eyes, and hoped.
Minutes passed filling him and his crew with doubt.
Stannis' plan was to attack the River Gate. "Renly will tangle the defenders far from us," he said. "While the armies of the usurpers clash, the rightful king will take the city from them."
Admittedly, Davos knew little of strategy, but he could see how it could go the way his liege said. The only problem was the first step, going through the river's mouth without the Lannisters noticing was impossible according to Lord Florent. With a grunt, his king pointed at Davos and declared, "He'll make it possible."
The weight of those words were almost enough to crush him on the spot. And at the same time, the way Stannis said them made it clear he was confident on his success.
"Father, look!" His son tapped him from the side. "They did it."
A boat was in flames. His shoulders sagged in relief when he saw the signal. He hadn't failed his liege.
He turned to his men. "Send the raven," he ordered. "The entrance to the Blackwater is ours!"
They would need to ferry more men through the Blackwater to fully secure the beach. But it was done. Once again, the gods were smiling upon Stannis.
Soon enough, dawn was upon them.
The ships his king had carefully hidden beyond the horizon went through the Blackwater's mouth.
The last man they could carry boarded the galley and Davos knew what came next. He clutched the pouch around his neck, and took a deep breath.
"The River Gate won't fall by itself. Forward!"
His king entrusted them all with this. They wouldn't fail.
###
Well, shit.
I had Cerati on scout duty when dawn was upon us, and, well… when it rains it pours I guess.
Huddling in a back alley, waiting for Jeyne to find her legs again, our party had the flimsiest of hopes of escaping by pretending to be fishermen.
Seems my luck has run dry. There was no other explanation.
First, the Lannister men in Aegon's High Hill blocked our most viable exit. Next, Sansa kidnapping Robert's children. Then, Renly attacking the gates with everything he had.
And now… "Stannis is about to attack the River Gate," I said.
"Well, shit," Dacey muttered.
That summed up the party's general mood.
We could wait for Renly to finally crack King's Landing defenses, surrender to him and hope for him to be a decent, well meaning man to allow us to keep our freedom. Which was completely unrealistic with him claiming the Iron Throne and my brother being the king of the North and Riverlands.
Besides, Sansa would probably oppose to that. What with her kidnappees.
Surrendering ourselves to the other Baratheon presented similar problems.
Waiting it out was an option, but we would be the most wanted fugitives for all parties in the middle of a famished city. Waiting it out wasn't looking great.
I turned to the only man who had a plan.
"Oberyn." It came with a big problem, of course. I couldn't bring myself to trust on his crazy plan. "We'll do it your way."
But no matter how crazy his explanation was, it was a way out.
"Oh?" Oberyn smiled impishly. "I knew you'd come around. Tywin will love our little present." He pushed off the wall and handed me his spear. "Keep moving forward, don't get too close to the walls. You'll know when it's time."
The prince sauntered away from the alley, right before exiting to the street, he turned his head. "Unbowed, unbent, unbroken."
His words fell like a blanket over our party.
"Let's go," I said. "We have to be prepared."
His plan, as crazy and unrealistic as it was, had one major benefit. It didn't need the party's commitment until it was halfway through.
We started moving. Somehow, someway I knew Oberyn would pull through. His eyes had a manic look on them.
His conviction was a flame ready to consume it all.
Tywin would never know what hit him until it was already too late. Of that, I had no doubt.
###
A/N: Davos is a bit OOC I think.
Any speculation on what crazy stunt is Oberyn going to try and pull off?
Small notice: I'm most likely posting Saturdays from now on.
You can read two chapters ahead: p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / yorud