In 299 AC, bloody fighting raged around King's Landing and the Blackwater Rush, the battle lasting from morning until nightfall.
The Battle of the Blackwater Rush was the largest engagement of the Westerosi civil war, now further complicated by the intervention of outside forces: the slave city-states of Volantis, Lys, and Yunkai.
Downstream on the Blackwater Rush, the river ran swift and black beneath the surface, while blood-red flames churned above it. The sky burned red, orange, and vivid green, thick with rising smoke.
The "ship bridge" stretched strangely across the river. Anyone crossing it had to climb over gunwales and oars, then make their way across slanting decks slick with blood and burning green flame before they could attack King's Landing. The bridge itself was extremely dangerous. Some parts were slowly sinking, others were burning, and the whole thing creaked and shifted as if it might come apart at any moment. Even so, bold men had dared to climb onto it.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Arrows flew back and forth through the air, whistling past. Some skimmed overhead, while others bounced off armor. Yunkai's slave soldiers, who disliked wearing armor, suffered heavy casualties.
"Long live the Harpy!"
"Long live the Three-Headed God!"
"Long live King Joffrey!"
Spearmen raised their Longspears and fought with practiced grace, while Lyseni swordsmen danced with their longswords. Many men chased one another from ship to ship, climbing over rails. Warhorses screamed. Some had broken legs and let out terrible cries before their masters cut their throats, blood spraying like crimson fountains and soaking arms and chests.
Crack!
More and more such sounds came. Fortunately, the dangerous ship bridge was beginning to break apart, and shattered vessels crashed together. The tangled ships slowly came loose from one another, while both upstream and downstream of the Blackwater Rush were seas of fire.
The men above scrambled to jump into the water. Some swordsmen bore the mark of Lys's Goddess of Love, others the sign of the Three-Headed God, and still others Joffrey's stag-and-lion sigil. At the rear were Green Cloak spearmen.
The lucky ones caught broken ropes or deck planks. The unlucky were swept away by the current.
"The Tyrells! Highgarden's men have joined the battle!"
The terrified roar spread across the battlefield, and the soldiers of King's Landing felt their nerve collapse further at the sound. They could not see the Volantene battle clearly on the far bank, but the green-cloaked spearmen and the gleam of the Golden Rose were unmistakable.
"Why?"
On the ship bridge, Tyrion Lannister stared at Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard in disbelief. They had fought side by side all day, yet at the final moment Mandon had tried to kill him.
Tyrion finally understood what Jaime had meant when he said this man was the most dangerous of the white knights after Jaime himself. Mandon's face was as blank as a playing card. No one could guess what was going on in his head.
"There is no why." Mandon stared at Tyrion with his dead eyes. A moment earlier, Tyrion's squire, Podrick Payne, had stabbed him in the back, then shoved him into the Blackwater Rush. The white knight's armor was too heavy, and there was little chance of escaping the water in it.
"Who ordered you?" Tyrion roared. He was half-kneeling on the deck, his body trembling with pain and exhaustion.
Tyrion was utterly worn out. Besides the pain in his face, his shoulder hurt badly as well. Only then did he remember that an arrow had struck him there, the shaft lodged in the gap between his breastplate and shoulder.
"There were too many. Why should only one person have ordered me? I could take several payments at once..." Ser Mandon's figure vanished into the raging river.
"Who was it?" Tyrion clenched his fists, blood dripping onto the deck. Was it Cersei? Varys? Littlefinger, though he was dead? Or Mandon's own anger, since he was, after all, a knight from the Vale?
"Lord, you're badly hurt," Podrick said. A long wound had opened across Tyrion's face, nearly cutting off his nose, and blood was still streaming from it.
"I was already a dwarf. Now I'm a cripple like my brother too," Tyrion said with a smile, holding back the terrible pain.
"We should go, Lord. We've lost. The king has fled, and the Northmen have entered the city," Podrick said.
"Run!" Tyrion roared back. First they had to get through the Mud Gate.
Tyrion looked around. To the north was a chaotic killing field. A sea of struggling men heaved beneath clusters of bright banners too tangled to distinguish. Shield walls formed and broke almost at once, while countless green-cloaked knights on fine horses charged into the packed crowds, cutting through dust and mud, blood and smoke. To the south, the Red Keep stood high on its hill, spitting scattered fireballs.
The squire found Tyrion another horse, and the two rode together toward the Mud Gate. On the way, they happened to meet Ser Balon Swann and his men retreating toward the castle, which made them far safer.
"Where is Ser Mandon?" Balon asked.
"He fell into the river by accident and drowned," Tyrion explained.
"Run! The king has fled!"
Panicked shouts rang from the walls of King's Landing, and morale poured away like river water. The king had returned to the city before their very eyes, and hundreds upon hundreds of Gold Cloaks had thrown down their Longspears and fled.
Tyrion watched with his own eyes as the stag-and-lion banner above King's Landing was taken down, leaving the sky empty.
"It's over. Everything is over." Tyrion let out a mournful sigh, then galloped beneath the Mud Gate.
"Cousin, you're still alive." Tyrion was startled. Lancel Lannister had been badly wounded, but he was alive.
Lancel's arm was injured, his outer clothes soaked with blood that had seeped through. At least he had gathered a few men around him, though that handful would never be enough to hold a gate.
"You're alive too." Lancel took his hand, joy on his face, but even more fear. He had seen Tyrion's wounds.
"What happened to Ser Jacelyn?" Tyrion asked.
"Dead." Lancel's eyes dimmed. "When the Gold Cloaks saw King Joffrey leave the gate and start back toward the Red Keep, they thought they had been abandoned. Ser Jacelyn stood in their way and ordered them back to their posts. He had almost rallied them when an arrow came from the side and struck him right in the neck. After he was hit, men dragged him from his horse and killed him on the spot."
"Joff. Did Joff make it to the Red Keep? Those fools." Tyrion grabbed Lancel's sleeve. Cersei had ruined the whole situation. Now Ser Jacelyn was dead as well, and the Gold Cloaks had scattered like birds.
"He should have gone to the Red Keep. But it's too chaotic now. I can't say for certain. The northerners and the southerners are here. We've lost, Tyrion." Lancel slumped to the ground and began sobbing softly. "Even if the Storm loses to Volantis, the strength of Highgarden, the Crackclaws, and the northern savages will tear us apart."
"The Old Gate! No!" Tyrion looked north and understood all at once. The Old Gate blown open by wildfire was the best breach of all. In the distance, war drums thundered, and hooves pounded through the northern streets of King's Landing.
Among the ruins of the Old Gate of King's Landing, a new golden stag-and-dragon banner had been planted.
The surging combined army of The North and Crackclaw Point widened the ruins into a clear road. Besides the descendants of the First Men, they had swept up a group of Crownlands soldiers from Duskendale, Maidenpool, and other places.
"Lord Willem Merton, you and Lord Renfred Rykker will take your men and hold the Old Gate. The soldiers from Rosby and the other places may be placed under your command as well."
"As you command, my lord." Lord Willem was a frail, weak, fat man, and he did not dare defy the orders of Crabb and Bolton.
"Just kill them, that's all. I need to slaughter a few Lannisters," Lord Jack Crabb said to Lord Roose. "I seem to recall we fought at The Trident back then, but the world changes quickly, Lord Roose."
"It does." Lord Roose Bolton nodded. Roose wore a blood-red leather padded tunic beneath black-gray plate armor, with a pink wool cloak embroidered with countless drops of blood over his shoulders. His pauldrons had been shaped into human heads, their mouths open in screams of agony.
The Lord of The Dreadfort was clean-shaven, with smooth skin and an ordinary face, neither handsome nor ugly. Years of war had left no scars on him. Though he was already past forty, there were few wrinkles on his face and little sign of age. His lips were extremely thin, nearly a line when pressed together. He seemed to possess a quiet depth and calm.
"I hear Prince Storm's battle south of the Blackwater Rush is also underway. May the Storm win a great victory."
"We have won a fine victory as well, but it seems our victory should wait for the true master. Victory should be offered to the King," Roose Bolton said to Lord Crabb.
Roose's voice was very soft, so soft one had to strain to hear it. Behind him followed a dozen warriors in gray mail and iron half-helms.
"Lord, there is a situation ahead," Roose's scout reported after returning.
"King's Landing has fallen into a great riot. Mobs are rising everywhere and blocking our path," the scout said with his head lowered. "They say the usurper Joffrey is dead."
"What?" Roose was greatly startled.
"King Joffrey was trying to return to the Red Keep, but he ran into a mob on the way."
"Advance faster," Roose said, ignoring the exhaustion of the long ride. "At the very least, we must surround the Red Keep."
"But we did not bring many siege engines," Lord Jack objected.
"Joffrey is dead, and the enemy is trembling. Once our banners appear, victory will be ours." Roose spurred his horse forward.
Lord Jack nodded. "The lads from Crackclaw Point are exhausted too, but this is no time to rest."
"Pass on my order. Advance at speed. Once the curfew horn sounds, loot any mob blocking the road and kill them all," Roose declared coldly. "Some things, I think, should not dirty the King's hands."
"That's true." Lord Jack nodded. "Lads, move faster. No need to explain yourselves to anyone blocking the way. It is curfew now. Anyone still in the streets is certainly no innocent commoner."
The sounds of warhorns and drums rose again. The Winter Wolves and Crackclaws swept through King's Landing like a surging tide.
Fires blazed high throughout the city. Mobs had formed into gangs, indulging in the final moments before the Storm arrived. They burned houses, raped women, or plundered the mansions of the wealthy.
Among them were robbers, rapists, thieves, runaway Gold Cloaks, and prophets proclaiming the truth. Some people tried to enter the Red Keep for shelter, while others turned to looting.
Thud!
When the Northmen encountered hungry mobs looting or raping, they usually answered with Longspears and greatswords, killing them on the spot.
Great axes whistled through the air and took heads clean off. Great axes, Morningstars, and flails brought shrieks of death again and again.
Ragged, furious mobs were never a match for a proper army, especially after going hungry for so long.
"Heh heh heh!"
In the alleys, thugs could still be seen taking turns abusing young girls.
"In the name of the Old Gods, and in the name of Lord Stark, you are sentenced to death!" Northern soldiers carrying torches seized the rioters who were raping girls in the alleys, and Longspears stabbed in like a forest.
Blood sprayed like fountains, and King's Landing ran red.
A quiet people and a quiet land. That is my way of ruling. These mobs in King's Landing truly are hard to manage, Roose thought.
He was a northerner. Even if he killed this filth, the people of King's Landing would not be able to find him afterward. Nor did he covet any office in King's Landing. He only wished to do some dirty work for the new king.
"King Robert should have slit Varys and Pycelle's throats back then, but he did not. Vermin like these should all be dealt with," Roose said, looking over King's Landing.
"So this time, we should handle it better," Lord Jack said with a nod.
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