The oppressive aura of Casterly Rock was unlike any ordinary castle. Carved from a colossal stone hill by the Sunset Sea, the fortress and the rock were one, like a titanic statue sculpted by the gods themselves.
To escape the coming war, the towns surrounding the Rock had been abandoned. But for this impregnable fortress, emptiness meant nothing. The faces living on this land had changed thousands of times, and the sun had set into the western sea millions of times.
Casterly Rock stood as the anchor of it all, immutable and eternal.
Yet, facing this god-like monument of stone, someone had come to throw a noose around its neck and pull it down.
Jon's army of twenty thousand had been at the gates of Casterly Rock for over half a month. His lightning-fast strike—like a black tiger tearing out a heart—had caught Tywin off guard. The main Lannister host in the south could not return in time. In fact, they didn't even know Jon was there, as every raven Tywin sent had been intercepted. This allowed Jon to calmly prepare his siege.
Earthworks and trenches now surrounded the Rock. Today, the horn of attack sounded, waking the sleeping giant.
Jon ordered his soldiers to advance behind massive siege shields, each over ten feet tall and requiring five horses to move.
He had prepared over three hundred of these "tortoise" shield carts.
Behind each cart marched about twenty soldiers. Under the cover of the thick wood and iron, they crept toward the walls.
From above, they looked like a herd of giant tortoises, crawling slowly but determinedly forward.
"What are those things?"
"Who knows? Wait for orders."
The soldiers of Casterly Rock had never seen such strange siege engines, though some veterans could guess their purpose.
"My Lord, the bastard intends to use those to approach the walls," Addam Marbrand said, standing beside Tywin.
Tywin Lannister peered through a Myrish lens, silent and unsmiling.
Wooden carts, he thought. If only I had wildfire.
Jon had used wildfire to burn his brother, Kevan. Tywin wished to return the favor.
"Order the archers. Light their arrows before they loose," Tywin commanded coldly.
The armory of Casterly Rock was well-stocked, including ample supplies of pitch and oil for fire arrows.
Braziers were lit along the battlements. The archers dipped their arrowheads, set them aflame, and waited.
The shield carts continued to advance. A few ranging shots with bright yellow fletching flew from the walls, marking the distance.
These yellow-feathered arrows formed a dotted line on the ground below. Once the carts crossed it, they would be in killing range.
The soldiers behind the shields knew this well.
"Draw!"
At the officers' command, the bowstrings of Casterly Rock creaked in unison, a sound to set teeth on edge.
"Loose!!!"
A rain of fire descended like locusts, striking the shield carts. But the soldiers behind them did not burn. The carts had been plastered with a thick layer of wet mud.
The fire arrows bounced off harmlessly like hail, and casualties were minimal.
Tywin watched this with indifference. Casterly Rock had more than just arrows.
Soon, the defenders showed the attackers why the castle was called impregnable.
A dozen trebuchets fired simultaneously. Hundreds of stones, each the size of a man's head—grapeshot—rained down on the advancing tortoise formation. Though most missed, those that hit displayed terrifying power.
The stones smashed into the wooden shields, biting out huge chunks of timber. Sunlight streamed through the cracks, illuminating the panicked eyes of the soldiers behind. Some stones embedded themselves directly into the wood.
Beyond the trebuchets, Jon witnessed the terrifying range of the scorpions. When the carts got close, the massive bolts punched straight through the thick wood, their cold steel tips gleaming on the other side.
This was why Jon hadn't ordered the Tyrell archers to provide covering fire. The scorpions were too dangerous.
If he used standard tactics, his archers would do little damage to the defenders on the high walls, while he would waste lives for nothing.
"Eighty yards! Keep pushing!"
The screaming officer was a Riverlander, one of the first militiamen to join Jon. He had marched from King's Landing to the Golden Tooth, witnessing fields burned to ash, homes looted, and women violated.
The Rivermen held a deep, bone-deep hatred for the Westerlands.
In Jon's army, friction occasionally sparked between these Rivermen and the surrendered Westerlands soldiers Jon had absorbed.
Even the brutal "decimation" punishment Jon had enacted at the Dragonpit hadn't fully erased the tension.
Jon knew the only way to truly unite them was to drag Tywin out, hold a "public trial," and execute him.
Otherwise, it would be a slow grind.
If Jon hadn't kept a tight leash on them, the Riverlands troops would have already turned their blades on the innocent civilians of the West.
"Faster! Push!"
"Heave! Heave!"
The shield carts, slowed by the impact, picked up speed again. But a second wave of stones was already whistling through the air.
Closer to the walls now, the barrage was more accurate. Half of the carts were damaged. Two were smashed apart entirely, crushing the soldiers hiding behind them.
"Forty yards! Push!"
"Push! Push!"
"Wooooo—"
Horns blared, urging the men forward.
Fortunately, they were now too close for the trebuchets to aim effectively, and even the scorpions needed time to adjust their angles.
Seizing the moment, soldiers burst out from behind the shields, charging the low outer wall.
The Westerlands defenders on the low wall were fierce. Tywin had told them Jon and his Rivermen would slaughter them all. Driven by fear and hatred—and a limitless supply of ammunition—they inflicted heavy casualties before Jon's men could even reach the wall.
The remaining shield carts pushed as close as they could, practically ramming the wall before stopping.
With superior numbers, Jon's troops breached the low wall. But they didn't try to hold it. Their target was behind it: the wells and springs.
Rotting carcasses of sheep, crawling with maggots, were thrown into the wells. Then, the army retreated rapidly.
"How foolish. My Lord, it seems the bastard doesn't know our water comes from cisterns and rain," Addam laughed, watching from above.
Tywin breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared some devilry, but if Jon had wasted so much effort just to poison a few wells, the boy was desperate.
Since this bastard had appeared, he had been a ghost, turning defeat into victory with impossible tricks.
But Casterly Rock was solid.
"Addam Marbrand."
"My Lord." Addam smiled. Since being legitimized by Tywin, he loved hearing his full name.
"Go to the bastard's camp tonight. Deliver a message."
Go to Jon's camp?! Addam's heart skipped a beat. He felt a sudden chill.
What if Jon, frustrated by the failed attack, decided to kill the messenger?
But he had no choice. In Casterly Rock, Tywin's word was law.
"As you command, my Lord."
---
Back in Jon's camp, the mood was grim. The nobles and officers were shaken. They had never seen a castle so heavily defended. Taking a mere low wall—not even seven feet high—had cost them dearly. And that was just the outer perimeter.
The retreating soldiers were demoralized. The Rock seemed insurmountable.
Inside Jon's command tent, the atmosphere was heavy.
Jon might be a genius in the field, but Casterly Rock was no ordinary fortress. If it couldn't be taken, it couldn't be taken.
"Lord Jon, perhaps we could try wildfire?" Brynden Tully suggested.
Before Jon could answer, Loras Tyrell cut in impatiently. "Wildfire? You'd have to throw it onto Tywin's head first. It burns ships and men well enough, but stone? You think it will burn down a mountain?"
"Loras!" Garlan hissed, warning his brother to be polite.
Brynden didn't get angry. He knew Loras wasn't really attacking him; he was trying to discourage Jon.
Loras wanted Jon to fail, to feel ashamed, and to voluntarily break the betrothal to Margaery so his sister wouldn't have to marry a bastard.
But breaking the engagement was impossible. Not in this lifetime.
Jon knew that to rebuild the West quickly, he needed the wealth of Highgarden. And that help could only come through Margaery.
Superpowers were great, but money was a superpower too.
Jon ignored Loras's provocation. He was seventeen, but he had learned restraint. A single glance from him was enough to make the Knight of Flowers shut his mouth.
"Ser Brynden, I have a use for the wildfire, but not for the assault."
"Then when do you plan to use it?"
Before Jon could reply, Robert Frey entered the tent. "My Lord, Tywin has sent an envoy. He asks to see you."
"Let him in."