If you're enjoying these stories, consider leaving a comment, review, or vote.
You can also visit the Pat** on at: CaveLeather
The Stormlands archers figured this fight was already won.
They had thirty thousand men.
Sure, Lord Renly had taken half with him, but the ten thousand left were more than enough to smash Stannis's battered remnants and the cowards hiding behind King's Landing's walls.
Once the whole army crossed the Blackwater and formed up on the north bank, they'd crush Stannis first, then storm the city. In minutes they'd have the heads of that royal whore and her bastard son.
After that Renly would become regent and Protector of the Realm, and the rewards would flow. Gold from the royal treasury, plus all the pretty girls inside the city.
They'd seen it clearly these past few days.
Stannis's so-called elite from Dragonstone and his pirate cutthroats had broken and run after just a couple volleys.
As for King's Landing's defenders?
They hadn't dared stick their noses outside the walls once.
A bunch of weak, useless rabbits.
Not a real fighter among them…
"Aaaaah—!"
What the hell was that sound?
The Stormlands archers turned toward the noise.
A line of knights was thundering straight at them.
"Spears! Where are the spearmen?!"
But there were no spearmen.
Only four thousand of them had crossed so far. Most had hit the shore, grabbed their gear, and rushed straight into the melee with Stannis's men.
They'd planned to wait until more arrived, but Griffin's Roost had been too eager for glory and dragged everyone into the fight.
The archers tried to fall back and realized they had nowhere to go.
Behind them was the Blackwater. The men still on the river had no idea what was happening and kept rowing hard for the north bank.
To the west stretched open fields.
Two legs couldn't outrun four.
In the blur of motion, Joffrey's cavalry closed the distance.
"Raise shields!"
The enemy bowmen panicked. Some ran, others uselessly tried to nock and loose. Arrows hissed past, clanging off plate armor and bouncing away harmlessly.
The knights, trusting their steel, simply lowered their heads and charged straight through. Those with shields only bothered to cover their faces.
The difference between longbows and crossbows showed in an instant.
Joffrey had learned from Jaime's mistake. This time he carried sword and shield instead of a lance.
But the worry proved unnecessary.
First, Westerosi arrowheads were never made to punch through good plate anyway. Smiths spent their lives trying to defeat padded jacks and leather, not noble armor. Anyone who actually invented a bodkin that could pierce lordly plate would lose his head before the design ever spread.
Second, Joffrey wasn't even at the front eating arrows.
His horse was fast, but the others were faster.
Over a hundred knights surged ahead and formed a living wall in front of him. Three Kingsguard riders boxed him tightly in the center.
Jaime's right arm still wasn't healed, but he refused to sit out. The fool had taken the role of standard-bearer instead. He gripped the crowned-stag banner with his left hand, pole pointed skyward, the flag snapping as they galloped.
Fifty yards to the enemy.
Joffrey slashed his sword forward.
"Charge!"
Cold steel lances and spears leveled. Iron hooves thundered.
Heavy cavalry slamming into bowmen armed only with short swords and daggers was like a hot knife through butter. They carved straight through.
Blades punched into chests and backs. Stronger knights drove their points clean through a man, then wrenched upward to rip the body open before riding on to the next.
Screams filled the air. Blood and black mud churned under the hooves.
Joffrey didn't let them linger.
"Wheel! Reform!"
After one devastating pass he led them out the far side and swung the formation around.
"Wedge! One more time!"
The men who hadn't drawn blood on the first pass took the front rank, long spears ready to punch holes. Everyone else drew swords or maces and plunged into the chaos, hacking and smashing.
Joffrey picked his target, cut sideways across a man's belly. The wound gaped open. The soldier screamed, clutched his guts, and sank to his knees as blood poured between his fingers.
Someone flung a dagger. Joffrey swayed aside. The blade buried itself uselessly in the dirt three yards away.
He spurred forward, using the horse's momentum to drive his sword through a man's chest. The point punched out the back. He flicked his wrist and a spray of blood arced through the air.
Three hundred horsemen tore through the bowmen like a hurricane. The thousand archers broke, screaming, with nowhere to run.
They fled toward the river, desperate for the protection of their own lines.
"Re-form!" Joffrey ordered.
"Re-form!" the knights roared back.
Killing with a crossbow was simple. Just aim, pull the trigger, and someone fell.
Killing with a sword felt completely different.
Inside his helmet Joffrey's world narrowed to a narrow slit. All he saw was the man in front of him and a sliver of blood-red chaos.
Every technique he'd ever learned vanished. All that remained were the simplest motions: lift, strike.
Lift.
Strike.
Another life ended.
In the eyes that met his he saw only raw terror.
"Hahahaha!"
Tyrion was laughing like a madman nearby, swinging his double-bladed steel axe. Blood coated the blade and both his arms, shining brighter than his red plate in the sunlight.
"The Hand's infantry is almost here," Jaime called out.
Somehow the Kingslayer was the calmest man on the field.
Joffrey glanced around. At some point the Blackwater had ended up on his right. King's Landing and the oncoming foot soldiers were on his left.
The Gold Cloaks in full armor led with sword and shield. Fresh levies followed with spears. The sellswords and Celtigar's troops formed the wings.
Eddard had them in a rough line, pushing toward the fight.
But the formation was already falling apart. The front was too fast, the back too slow, and the middle didn't know whether to run or wait. Eddard had to halt them and try to dress ranks again.
Joffrey looked forward.
Most of the Stormlands archers had already reached the riverbank. The rest were scattering. Chasing them would waste time.
Ahead, Stannis's men and Renly's foot soldiers were still locked in savage combat, steel ringing, shouts shaking the air.
A lot of backs were exposed.
Joffrey lifted his sword.
"Everyone—follow me and fuck them right in the ass!"