The Bloodless Siege

Aerys looked down at the Dornishmen from his seat atop the Iron Throne. His face twisted into something ugly - the appearance of the King was closer to that of a demon from the scriptures of the Seven rather than the regal personage deserving of his position. He pointed at Oberyn Martell and screeched in anger.

"Traitor, you dare insult your King! I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, blood of Old Valyria! Robert, Rhaegar, my court, my city... my kingdom! All of you covet what is MINE! I should've done away with you years ago. But you will feel my wrath now, Dornishman! I will burn you all!"

He took a step forward down the Iron Throne, still pointing his bony finger at the Dornishmen.

"Once the flames have claimed your evil souls, I will-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!"

Aerys slipped on his dirty robe and fell forward. Prince Oberyn and his men watched as the Mad King helplessly fell head-first down the massive throne, screaming all the way. He landed upon the blades of the Iron Throne, a dozen still-sharp swords piercing his gaunt body. He writhed in pain as blood began soaking his clothes and trickled down on the floor. The crown of Aerys the Mad, originally for Aegon the Unworthy, hit the floor and rolled a few feet towards Oberyn. The Red Viper could hear the last gasp of air from the King as he struggled to speak.

"B-burn... them... a-all...

Thus ended the reign of the Mad King.

Raymar Lefford

Like everyone in the city, Raymar turned to face the direction of the Dragonpit upon hearing the explosion, and saw the sickly green cloud rising from it. He muttered a quiet thanks to the Seven that the army had broken into the city from the Mud Gate rather than the Dragon Gate, as it meant almost the entire force was between Visenya's and Aegon's Hill, away from the initial explosion. The army would likely emerge somewhat unscathed if they acted fast.

"Out! Out of the city!" Raymar shouted to his fellows, breaking into a run back towards the Mud Gate. Soon the streets would be clogged with those fleeing the encroaching fires: the smallfolk knew little of Wildfire, it was a matter only really Maesters or those blessed with something of an education in matters of court, like the aristocracy, would have heard much of. Thus, Raymar had precious time to cover distance before the streets got too crowded, before people decided it was better to flee the city than hide from a sacking army.

"Move, move, move! Out of the city! Back to the Mud Gate!" he yelled as he ran. Every group of Westermen he passed he shouted his warning to. "That's wildfire, you fools! The city will be engulfed entire! Get back to the camp!"

By the time Raymar had reached the Mud Gate, it was already a scene of barely-organised chaos. Some enterprising Lord had organised some sort of filtration, using spearmen to enforce some order on a rapidly swelling crowd, ensuring - for now - a somewhat orderly rush through the gate.

Donnel Lefford

Donnel had joined the effort to maintain order around the Mud Gate, helping give depth and weight to the spearwalls being used to channel people towards the gate, using the flat of his sword to strike those who got too rowdy or pushy.

"Back, damn you! Order! Panic dooms us all!" he shouted as he punched a large man in the face with his sword pommel, who had just pushed his way through the crowd and attempted the same to the Westerlands troops, hoping to short-cut his way directly to the gate. The fires were nowhere near the Mud Gate as yet, as this gate was about as far as one could get in the city from the Dragonpit, but already the light from the flames could be seen as a glow on the horizon, and the sky darkened with smoke tinged a deadly green. Already more and more people were arriving at the tipping point of deciding that staying hidden was more risky than trying their luck getting out of the walls.

"FATHER!" Donnel yelled as he saw a large group of Westerman Knights burst out of a side street, making a beeline towards the spear wall. "Open a gap, let them through! That is Ser Raymar Lefford and with him are our Knights! Give them passage!"

A narrow gap was created through the spear wall, allowing Raymar's party to slide through before it closed up again. Raymar embraced his boy.

"Donnel, I am glad to see you unharmed, but we must talk later. Who is in command here?"

"I don't know, this effort was underway when I arrived. I made myself useful."

"Do not linger if the fire draws close, we will not sacrifice ourselves or our troops. Do you understand?"

Donnel nodded, and Raymar set off through the crowds to get into the gatehouse. He made his way to the roof and watched the approaching fires, determined to remain here and signal to the troops below when the fires reached the gap between Visenya's and Aegon's hill. He'd call for the Westerlands troops themselves to quit the city when it reached there, hopefully ensuring they were all out long before the fires channeled their way down to the gate itself.[/i]

Rhaegar’s eyes were drawn to the sudden explosion of green on Rhaenys’ Hill, then widened in a pained flash of understanding. King’s Landing was to be his father’s funeral pyre.

”Everyone, to the River Gate!” He bellowed, gritting his teeth as he kicked his palfrey to a gallop towards the Keep. Lonmouth had brought a boy to Dragonstone, but they could not sneak out Rhaenys.

I’m coming, little Dragon.

He would not have long. Green smoke was clouding overhead as the flames spread in all directions. It would devour Flea Bottom first. He considered that the Keep might be safe, high as it was above the rest of the city proper. A few shapes had gathered there for refuge under the Sun and Spear of Prince Martell. A part of him knew it to be a fool’s hope. 

Dozens were swarming in the opposite direction. Nay, hundreds. He was riding against the current, twisting and turning his palfrey through a sea of screaming men and women. None were mad enough to turn and follow him, though they stared agape at the Prince of the Realm rushing madly up the slopes of Aegon’s Hill towards the Holdfast. He could see the shapes clearly, now. Men in cloaks and scales, holding spears of steel and bronze. Oberyn.

More screams. The Prince turned in his saddle halfway up the slope, a vantage point from which a man could see the whole city arrayed below. Gone was the entire north wall, the green flame having surmounted it to feed upon the lands beyond. But that was not what gripped his stomachs in an iron vice.

“By the Father above. Save us.”

A man dropped beside him to his knees, weeping softly. The great green beast has reared its head on Visenya’s Hill, too, swallowing the Sept of Blessed Baelor in emerald. Colour was eaten away from the stone, the polished white marble cracking and blackening like cooked meat. 

That only made him gallop harder up the slopes, hooves clattering through the empty courtyard into the Holdfast. A swarm of Dornishmen were now leaving in a panicked stampede, leaving their banners in the dust.

“ELIA! RHAENYS! OBERYN!”

No man seemed to dare look at him as he finally rode through the opened gates of his father’s hall. 

The Prince entered as the Dornish party were leaving the upper levels, his gaze hardened at the sight of both the White Bull’s battered corpse and the impaled body of his father, speared on the blades of the Iron Throne itself.
With difficulty, he dismounted, and leaned down to pick up the crown of Unworthy Aegon that had rolled down from the throne’s steps. He still held it in one hand as Lewyn approached.

“Rhaenys.” His heart soared at the sight of her even as it pained him to see her wide eyed and frightened. It took an effort for his voice to remain steady as he hobbled into an embrace. ”It will be alright, little dragon. We are leaving now.”

His purple eyes flitted to Elia, full of the concern he hid from their daughter. ”Come. Baelor’s Sept is burning now. We haven’t much time. I can take Rhaenys with me.” He gestures to his horse behind him. ”The River Gate is our best hope of escape.” There were of course the tunnels below the Keep, but not even he truly knew where all of those passages led. Not even his father had, for all his paranoia.

”If we are to ride down those who do not move, so be it. It is treason to hinder our path.”

Rhaegar answered harshly, anger bubbling in him as his gaze lingered on the corpse of his father. With a grunt he lifted Rhaenys into the saddle, then followed her.

”Let us ride.” Rhaegar spurred his horse onwards, out of the Keep and into the smoking city. It was in the Gods hands now.