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Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising
Game of Thrones The Sun Dragon Descends
The siege tower crept forward, gouging two deep furrows in the earth.
It had already taken two direct hits from the trebuchets, yet somehow the stones had missed anything vital. The soldiers kept shoving it onward with grim determination, straight toward the walls of King's Landing.
Adrian Celtigar stood well back in the formation, shouting encouragement. Once he had been the one charging at the front, Valyrian-steel axe swinging, heads rolling in his wake. Those days were long gone. Let the glory-hunters have their moment.
He had seen true bravery before.
Prince Rhaegar, for one.
Pity he was dead.
And the Kingslayer—lucky bastard had survived more times than any man had a right to. As a sworn brother of the Kingsguard he had slit Aerys's throat and then planted his arse on the Iron Throne itself. Stannis called the act shameful, an abomination that deserved the white cloak stripped and a one-way trip to the Wall.
Adrian had thought it a fine idea.
The Usurper, however, had shrugged it off. "The boy was only a boy," Robert had said at the coronation feast. "Killing a king is no small thing. A man needs somewhere to rest his arse afterward."
Jaime had never thanked him for the mercy. After all, it was Robert who had first spread the nickname "Kingslayer" across the realm.
Still, in Stannis's presence no one dared speak the word aloud.
But the woman had dared.
The red priestess who had burned the statues of the Seven and drawn power from their ashes had told Stannis exactly where the Kingslayer would flee.
And so they had sailed north through the night, planted their shields and spears in a line north of Duskendale, and waited. When Jaime's column appeared, the hidden crossbowmen had loosed a single devastating volley. A hundred men dropped in the first heartbeat.
The woman had told them how to set the ambush. She had not told them how to finish it.
Adrian had been too slow. The Kingslayer had punched through with the remnants of his cavalry and escaped.
BOOM.
Another siege tower collapsed. A massive stone struck it square in the middle; timber exploded outward and the whole structure folded like a broken toy.
Yet one tower still reached the outer wall.
Soldiers swarmed up its ladders like ants scenting sugar, shoving and cursing, each man desperate to be first through the breach—some for glory, others for the loot they had been promised.
Adrian remembered the last time King's Landing had fallen. The city had opened its gates. The Lannisters had still put it to sack and taken hundreds of lives.
This time the defenders refused to yield.
So the rumors had begun to spread among the ranks.
When the city falls, three days of plunder.
What good would that do Adrian Celtigar?
Everyone said the Lord of Claw Isle was rich. They spoke of Myrish carpets thick enough to swallow a man's boots, golden plates, jeweled goblets, a magnificent hunting falcon, a Valyrian-steel axe, a horn that could wake sea monsters, chests of rubies, and cellars of wine that never ran dry.
Almost everything they said was true.
The horn was the only lie.
Adrian wanted for nothing in coin.
What he lacked was power and land.
Claw Isle was small. Trade had grown thin. The Celtigars had long claimed the right to rule Crackclaw Point, yet the crabmen refused to pay taxes and had murdered every collector sent their way. They boasted that they had helped Visenya Targaryen conquer the realm and therefore owed loyalty only to the Iron Throne itself.
But the Iron Throne had changed hands. Whose throne did they serve now?
"Every man's first duty is to the rightful king," Stannis had declared.
Hmph.
Adrian kept his thoughts behind his teeth.
When the Usurper raised his banners, I don't recall you rushing to swear fealty to Aerys.
Still, he had answered the same way every time:
"Very good, Your Grace."
"Lord Celtigar, you will share a table with Davos Seaworth."
Smugglers? Very good.
"Lord Celtigar, read this letter exposing Joffrey's true parentage."
Well written. Very good.
"Lord Celtigar, lead the infantry against the Iron Gate. Your warships are not needed; I will take them."
My Red Crab? Very good.
Very good, very good, very good.
Everyone thought him a dour old crab.
What use was humor when you were old and your sons were mediocre?
When Adrian died, House Celtigar would remain trapped on its little rock, slowly fading from history.
"My lord!"
A runner came sprinting up, breathless.
"His Grace commands an immediate all-out assault on both gates! No matter the cost! Once King's Landing falls, every gold dragon in the royal treasury will be divided among the troops!"
The promise of riches turned the soldiers into madmen. They scrambled up the ladders with fresh fury.
Monford Velaryon's foolish young heir was at the very front, sword flashing, cutting down spear-men left and right. Inspired, the attackers actually seized a section of the outer parapet.
Some men started forward to join the glory. Adrian stopped them with a curt gesture.
Aerys was dead. The Usurper's fate was unknown. Three stags were tearing one another apart for the throne.
Why sell your life cheaply?
Ah, Aerys… he thought. In his youth he was a brilliant man.
Barristan Selmy had once said the king only turned mad after Varys arrived. That eunuch's mind was a labyrinth no one could navigate.
Adrian remembered the day he had returned to Claw Isle to muster his men. He had walked into his own hall and found a strange man waiting in the high seat.
"Someone came looking for certain things," the man had said. "The Spider also asked me to deliver a message."
Adrian had simply answered, "Good."
A sudden cheer erupted from the wall.
Flaming-heart banners and the silver seahorse of House Velaryon now flew above the Dragon Gate.
Adrian shook his head again.
The Red Keep and Maegor's Holdfast were the true strongpoints. Those inner walls were taller and thicker; they would take months to crack. Did Stannis truly believe that capturing the outer city would make every lord in the realm kneel?
Time was against them. Northern reinforcements would arrive any—
"Awooooooo—"
A wolf's howl rolled down from the northern ridge.
Adrian spun.
On the slope stood a direwolf the size of a small horse, muzzle raised to the sky. Behind it rode a knight in full plate. Then another. Then a whole line of armored horsemen gleaming in the sunrise.
Hooves thundered like distant thunder. A grey-and-white direwolf banner snapped straight in the wind.
For a moment Adrian forgot to breathe.
"Reinforcements!"
"The enemy's reinforcements are here!"
Runners screamed and scattered. Adrian casually split the loudest one's skull with his axe.
"Form up!"
"Rally!"
The Celtigar soldiers closed ranks. They had not committed their full strength to the Iron Gate.
Because someone had offered Adrian a bargain he could not refuse.
The price had been simple: loyalty.
"Raise the banners!"
The flaming heart was ripped down and trampled. In its place a crowned stag unfurled in the wind.
"Our reinforcements have arrived," Adrian said.
The dour old Red Crab smiled for the first time in years.
As it happens, I have been King Joffrey's man for quite some time.