The Great Siege

Massey stood in the siege tower's top level with the first storming party as it lumbered toward the walls of the capital, one hand on his sword while a young squire followed him with shield in hand. All that needed to be said, had been said; now it was time for action. Arrows audibly whizzed around and above them, and rocks were thrown as they drew close, but the knight was unconcerned. This tower was made of stiff wood, layered atop one another, and could comfortably withstand anything short of a burst of wildfire, which he certainly hoped the defenders of King's Landing didn't have. The rest of his five thousand men, trailing behind said tower, had more to fear from the defense's missiles, but as long as they remembered to keep their helmets on and shields up, Justin was reasonably certain that the fighting force would be able to reach the walls in good order and with few losses.

"Have no fear lads, the Red God's with us today." Massey cheerfully said to assure the greener-looking (some literally, from nerves and nausea) troops with him as they came close enough to start hearing the curses and frantic orders of the defenders. "And to those of you who still hold to the Seven, well. I can't tell you if your gods are with you or not, but know that you're doing the right thing, and that King Stannis isn't here to burn down the Great Sept or any such nonsense. That's just what our enemies want you to think, and I trust you all know better than to let the Dragon's spies pour poison into your ears." He himself knew, from the war council, that Stannis was not charitably disposed toward the so-called High Sparrow and his mob of zealots. But, any Seveners in his ranks didn't need to know that, and in any case Massey had already received orders not to smite anyone who wasn't offering resistance, which he took to include septons, septas, begging brothers and even Warrior's Sons or Poor Fellows who threw down their arms. "Now..." With a great rumble, the tower finally stopped, and the only unarmed men in the platform turned great wheels to drop its bridge right onto the city wall while Massey himself drew in and exhaled a deep breath.

With that, Justin let out a loud whistle before pulling his visor down, taking his shield from the squire and drawing his steel. "It's time, boys! For the King! Stannis - Stannis - STANNIS!" Chanting their king's name, as they had when they charged Mance Rayder's horde beneath the Wall, the Baratheon soldiers and their commanding knight streamed up the stairs and across the bridge onto the walls beneath their stag and fiery-heart standards, to do battle with any who still stood to oppose their advance.

Willas shrugged at the king's question.

"Only my own life I'm afraid, your Grace. Ser Devan Lannister told me plainly that he has no intention of surrendering, so the city will only fall to the man who claims it by right of conquest. However, with me comes House Tyrell and the Reach. 60,000 men to fly your banners. However, I have a few requests before I can surrender. First, since Lady Greyjoy is sworn to you, the Ironborn are to leave all Reach territory, including the Shields and the Arbor. Second, I request that Mathis Rowan and Randyll Tarly be handed over to me for judgement."

The defenders at the Old Gate were hard pressed by Templeton's men, for even as the arrows fell among them they pressed forwards towards the enemy. Within a few moments, ladders were at the walls, and the finest knights of the Vale were leaping over the parapets to cut down any who stood in their way. Down below, the Knight of Ninestars' men had brought the ram all the way to the gatehouse, and were beginning to batter down the doors of oak and iron. Soon the enemy would be through them and into the streets, unless Kettleblack was able to muster some kind of response to prevent the Valesmen from entering the city.

--

Here at the Gate of the Gods the fighting began in earnest, with Ser Albar leading those on the ladders over the ramparts to cut a bloody swathe into the ranks of the Golden Company that held the walls. Lord Arryn's ram was pushed towards the gate with only a little resistance, and horns sounded as Gorys Edoren ordered a sally from the city gates. A few hundred horsemen and footsoldiers came out to defend the largest entrance to the city, but Harry's men were ploughing through them, pushing them back towards the gatehouse. Dozens clad in golden mail were being left in the dirt as the Arryn banners drew closer and closer.



Tully's men at the Iron Gate followed their lord towards the walls, the storm of projectiles only serving to slow the heavily armoured knights of the Riverlands as they pushed towards the city. Ladders went up, and Tully men followed them, quickly swarming onto the walls even as Lord Edmure's ram was being pushed towards the gates. Devan's Red Cloaks were holding those who approached the Dragon Gate at bay rather effectively, with the ladders pushed from the walls and arrows preventing the ram's advance. However, Tully's success at the Iron Gate would pose a problem to the Commander of the Goldcloaks, as his defence would surely crumble if it should fall to the enemy.

"Forward! Stark! Winterfell! Winter!"

Clamored Jon, wearing good plain plate, under the battlebanner of his house. Ghost this time would remain beyond the battlelines, a siege wasn't place for a wolf.

"Snow! Snow!"

Answered the men, yelling and roaring, sounding horns. The crossbowmen, covered by the heavy oaken pavises with the Flayed Man of Bolton painted on it, loose their bolts that go flying to the battlements, with more than a few finding flesh and bone to pierce and break. The men march under the cover of wooden mantlets, under the rain of bolts delivered by the skilled men of the Dreadfort. The defenders returned in kind, arrow by arrow, and a score of men fell yelling, but Jon, sword in hand, covered by shields held by his bodyguard, pushed the men forward. Hundreds ran to the walls, carrying ladders and dozens of Snow's own bodyguard were equipped with hooks and roops.

"Hooks! Climb! Cover these men! Loose!"

He yelled at the top of his lungs, his orders rellied by go-in-betweens. An arrow passed close to Jon's face, yet he remained unfazed, some more pierced the oaken surface of the held shields. Bolts and arrows flew, slaughtering the defenders as the wildlings released their hooks, starting the climb up the red walls, in their least defended and weakest spot, while strongly armored men-at-arms tried to assault the gate and ladders were raised to get sections of the defenses by the assault.

---

They're too many

Said Kettleback, sword in hand, as he watched the men of Baratheon swarn to the walls. They were everywhere, the field filled by many banners, trouts, falcons, wolves, stags and a whole forest of colorful cloths wavering in the cold air.

We're fucked. Fucked.

He was on top the Iron Gate, commanding the men as best as he could, but he could see them, ladders in hand, covering the whole horizon with their numbers. Osney pushed the wavering men forward, put them in place and led them as the first waves hit the walls, like the Storm God trying to reclaim Storm's End. The Goldcloaks were still ill-prepared for such an assault, but under pressure they held their ground as best as they could.

A face appeared through two merlons, bearded and ruddy and Kettleback stabbed it through the mouth with the longsword.

"Kill them, kill the bastards! A stag for every soldier you kill, men! Whoever performs better shall come whoring with me!"

The battlements were soon flooded, with men fighting in close spaces. Kettleback unsheathed the dagger and started fighting, as dirty as his brother did, using the good steel in his advantage. He even exchanged blows with a knight in armor, a Valesman by the looks of it, with lips on his surcoat, but like many before he fell when the smaller blade went through visor, eye and brain. Kettleback grunted as he released the dagger from the man's skull and turned when a glancing blow impacted his shoulder's armor.

Oh, you asshole!

---

Davos looked from his ship as men were carried to the other shore.

"You there, loose those arrows, offer these men some cover!"

"Loose!"

The men in the ship's rear and frontal castles released arrows, the projectiles trailing in the morning sky. The Baratheon soldiery was landing on the shore, crossed over by Seaworth's ships. He wore mail, like he rarely did, and commanded everything from his flagship.

"Good luck lads, good luck. Smith and Warrior be with you"

He said between teeth to himself. Unconsciously he tried to reach for his missing fingertips but his hand grabbed air. Davos found nothing and grunted. He then looked to the scene unfolding before him, with the hovels groveling at the walls' feet already a burning hell. Men were hurrying to the mud gate, many carrying large axes and two battle-rams to wreck and cut down the smallest of King's Landing's accesses. The largest warships were hurling large stones and heavy bolts to harass and wreck the defenders atop the walls.

When the gate opened, and the sounds of horns came forth, Harrold rushed forward with his knights galloping behind him.

FORM UP!! PREPARE TO REPULSE THE BASTARDS!!

The voice of Lord Arryn bellowed as his men moved forward to protect the ram, forming a line as the Golden Company sallied forth from the Gate of the Gods. The sally and the defending Valemen met in a display of spears, men screaming, and horses falling to the wayside. The mercenaries shoved hard, but Arryn's men shoved back harder. Corpses mounted as the glittering gold armored soldiers fell where they stood. The sally was all for naught in the end as Gorys ordered his men to withdraw.

Harrold slashed down one of the retreating soldiers, seeing the gate ahead of them. He points his sword.

Continue the advance! Get that ram to the gate and bring it down!

The infantry reformed and began to push the ram forward once more.



Devan moves along the way, cutting down Riverlanders as he moved from position to position at the Dragon Gate. He even moved up and kicked a ladder down that had just been planted. His men were holding firm here, however... as he got up into the gatehouse to survey Kettleback's position, it looked a bit more dire. He curses under his breath and finds a soldier.

You!

The Lord Commander bellows.

Go to our reserve and draw up a thousand more men to reinforce Kettleback's position! Draw up an additional five hundred to be placed closer to the wall as a reserve for either of our positions.

The soldier nods and runs off. Another was picked up.

Get me reports from the other positions! I need to know what's going on!

The next soldier descended, grabbing a horse and riding off. Devan looks towards the Sept of Baelor quietly before his hand tightened upon the hilt. A third soldier was grabbed.

Go to the High Sparrow and tell him of what's going on! His men are needed at the walls more than in the streets! Tell him that if the walls cannot be held, the whole city will be at the mercy of Stannis Baratheon! His men will either die in a blaze of glory or die as they are run down by Baratheon's knights!!!

A third left to attempt, once more, in convincing the High Septon of the situation they were in. If Baratheon's men got through, there would be nothing to stop them.

===================

Soon enough, a thousand fresh men come forth to reinforce Kettleback's position as another five hundred remain below, ready to reinforce either position. A thousand men remain, as the reserve force, within the city.

Snow cursed behind teeth when the sortie came up, getting his men unprepared. He could send a group of pykemen under Whitehill himself to rout them and push them back to the city, but the field was littered with good men's bodies. They would be honored. At least they got footholds on the battlements.

"Winterfell! To me! For the North! Lords of the North! Forward!"

A score of lords grouped around him, including the she-bears in leather, furs and mail and the rescued Karstark, with plain plate and a sun in splendor over his chest, Glover with a steel fist on the helm, Woolfield with ram horns. He rallied the men around them, the heads of many noble lines, the armored bulk of the North, lords big and small, retainers and men-at-arms wealthy enough to afford the best armor in the North. The cream of White Harbor's Seven-worshipper knights, unmounted, swords, mace and axe. And they went to the walls were the North was holding up, a flood of steel, the surcoats of many houses over their chests, all concentrated in two spots, banners over their heads. And Snow guarded by the Harle twins, bow and spear in deadly unison. Longclaw led the charge, Valyrian steel glimmering under the sun.

"Break them! Throw them from the walls!"

Now or never.

The man thought a bastard by all was almost at a prancing sprint as the great timber gate closed behind him. His men were panting, wolves and bears and tigers eager now that the mist spray of blood and victory was on them. They had bought time, paid for by Stannis' men. If that had been the day then Eldred might have kissed the bloodied cloaks they wore. But alas, as his grin spread so wide that his muscles went numb, he heard a cry.

A flag, his eyes told his jubulent conscious. The wrong flag, his mind corrected.

The knight allowed only a second to see that the gate was still manned, before taking lead once more, rushing towards this new foe. I will have what is owed, he swore. But debts were tricky things to get anyone to agree on. Perhaps they were beyond his understanding. He was a simple man. Clear the walls. Clear the walls. Clear the walls