Iron among the walls
Posted on Sun Jan 2nd, 2022 @ 8:37pm by Ser Alixander Hightower & Ser Renn Baratheon & Lord Jonah Tully & Queen Joanna Velaryon & Ser Luthor Mullendore
Mission:
The Iron Price
Location: King's Landing
Jon had roused his house guard. "To arms!" He shouted as he stepped into the barracks room. "Armour up and grab your weapons! Rally at the main gate." The Lord of the Crossing was followed by two young squires as he exited the barracks and into his private rooms. "Come on Tim. Grab the armour. We haven't the time!" Tim Mallister, squire to Lord Jon jumped to the chest that held the Riverlord's plain steel plate armour as Jevan stepped into the chambers.
Stepping fully into the charged atmosphere of Jon's private room, Jevan's gaze took in less than his intuition had already surmised. Something serious was clearly going down. "We headed to war, Jon?" He asked tensely, picking up on the older man's urgency and all the attention focused on that particular chest. "What's happening?"
"Get your armour on. Those Iron Bastards are attacking the city." Jon's nice doublet was pulled off his chest by his squire. In its place came a thick padded jacket. "Aethan has charged me with killing them. You're coming with."
That information sunk swiftly into Jevan's brain, the process colouring his features for a moment before his face steeled and his jaw tensed. "Yes sir," he said with the brightness of a task that needed doing and a determination that showed in his white-knuckled fists. "I'll be ready." It wouldn't take long, but Jevan stepped back into the hallway, quick footed and utterly focused. They'd meet again outside, literally dressed to kill.
Meanwhile Thommas Blackrush stormed into castle barracks bellowing them to their arms and armour. The old knight got into words with a tired sergeant claiming that his men needed rest. But the large White Cloak convinced the sergeant to put that idea aside with stern words and a reminder they were soldiers.
The column of a hundred Rivermen marched out from the tower Tully occupied roughly thirty minutes later. At its head were three fully armoured knights. Lord Jonah Tully, Ser Jevan Darry, and Ser Joffrey the Green. Jon had his sword, Crossroads, on his belt. On his left arm was a large round shield of oak, banded with iron. Painted on it was the trout jumping over the bridge of the twins. In his right hand was a fierce looking morning star.
In all his armour, surrounded by his fellow Rivermen and his adoptive father, Jevan currently felt invincible. At his belt, a short-handed axe in a leather loop to the left and a tuck sword to his right, while held with confidence in his right hand was a good solid mace. Tully colours adorned Jevan's heater shield which was held just above the bent elbow of his left arm to protect his off-side.
Just over a hundred men at arms in Red Keep livery marched in unison. They were garbed in leather jerkins with metal plates bolted to them, chainmail under it. Some carried new shields with Royal Velaryon seahorses painted upon them. Others still carried the sigil of the old Royal Lynderly upon it, no time having been found to repaint. At the head of its column was Lord Commander Thommas Blackrush. The old man was clad in his white-enameled steel plate armour. His well-worn steel blade was in its sheath. On his arm was his heater-shaped shield. Emblazoned on it was the coat of arms of the Kingsguard, a white field with a crown in the middle with seven swords pointing away from it.
A sea of burnished bronze color and flows of black and yellow mixed with the individual crests of the Baratheon banners called into the Stag's Guard. Brannis was lightly armored in brigandine and a bronze chest plate whilst his little brother Renn had donned the chain, leather and chevron ribbed plate of the Stags around them. "You will lead," Brannis said to his brother, whose eyes were upon an unusually curved sword. Renn was a creature of speed, not brute strength. And in this moment, Brannis worried that hiring some Water Dancer from Braavos to teach his younger kin swordplay had been a monumental failure on the part of their father.
Renn double glanced at Brannis. "The Kingdom is under attack, and you won't war?" Renn said with a tense growl.
Brannis towered his broadness over the slender one, "I am preparing our fleets, younger brother. You will lead the Stag Guard." Before he could say more, a young boy burst in, and in his fingers was a curl of parchment. "Milords," he said with a bow and promptly handed the slip to Brannis. Brannis read it and passed it to Renn. "Get this message to Tully."
Renn, dumbfoundedly, looked at the parchment and fought the blood to stay in his face. It was nebulous, with little detail- and scrawled in a hasty Maester's script. When he moved to speak, Brannis was already out the door. "Gods dammit..." he muttered. He pulled his sword. "We go to war for our new King!" He bellowed in a voice that seemed odd from such a slight person. Yet it felt strange. He was Kingsguard now, but hadn't had the time allotted to have his armor fitting some to fruition. He was going to war in his Baratheon armor, with a King's Guard cloak.
At Renn's direction, they moved out and joined the mustering forces within King's Landing. The fires that consumed the entirety of Flea Bottom cast thick, noxious black smoke across the entire capital. And worse, perhaps most terrifying, the smoke tasted of the blood and iron of those consumed in the flames already.
"Ser Renn, Ser Thommas." Jon greeted the two other men with nods as he approached. His facemask was still up. "We've a sizeable number of men at arms, but few knights a horse. In my experience that isn't a problem fighting in the street, but if we are forced to march out beyond the gate it can well be the death of us. The fighting is thickest in Flea Bottom, so that is where we'll head first. That will lead us near a lot of the houses owned by the visiting Lords. We'll move through that neighbourhood before sweeping into Flea Bottom. Questions?"
Renn stepped forward and passed Lord Tully the curl of parchment. "No questions, just a new reason to end this fast, Lord Tully." He stepped back and squared his shoulders, eyes dropped in deference to privacy. The parchment read in a shaky script.
"Seagard is sacked and its townships burning. Ironborn sighted in the woods and sailing up the rivers. They have set the woods and fields alight. Pray, send aid with great haste."
"No!" Came the short yelp of protest from Jevan as he heard those words. Imagery of his homelands aflame shifted his mood and tensed every fibre of his being as he stood tall and looked straight to Jon.
The wooden handle of Jon's morning star creaking as his grip tensed. His face clouded in a moment of anger before he gained control of his emotions. "Nobody speaks of this until after the fighting is done. I will not have our men worried about their home while we are out there." And his shield arm gestured to the city. He looked at Jevan, "And especially not to Tim. There is a time for grief and fear, but it is not now."
Grief and fear had almost instantly shifted to fury and a need for focused violence, though Jevan let those emotions rush through his veins as Jon spoke. He wanted to leave, to fight for home, but there was a battle that needed to be fought here first. A brutal task that would take strength and coordination to survive. A mailed fist tapped against breastplate right above his heart as Jevan nodded. "Until the fighting here is done," he echoed with a surety of purpose and loyalty.
Turning back to the other knights, Jon continued. "Ser Thommas, take the garrison and lead. You have the pikemen so use them. Ser Renn, you'll take up the rear. If our column gets bogged down, use the side streets and come into their flanks. I'll take the middle and utilise any openings Ser Thommas makes. Ser Jevan and Ser Joffrey will take twenty of my men each if they find someone that needs to be escorted back to the castle." He made eye contact with all three men. "Questions?"
"Do we seek anyone in particular?" Jevan asked, considering who might need that rescue and escort. His heart beat fast in anticipation, but he was ready, heart and soul, for this fight. He had no questions as to Jon's tactics or methods, those he knew well enough already.
Renn understood and acknowledged with a nod and a tap of his agile, curved sword against his shield.
Ser Thommas looked conflicted. The older knight was used to leading the men, but he had also heard his new King command Lord Tully to lead. In the end he schooled his features and answered the young Tully knight. "Lady Hightower is out in the city. She must be returned to the King."
"As is Lady Allisan, my cousin." Jon added. "Now go to your men and get them in formation. We're leaving."
The large group leaving the castle quickly entered the tight corridors of King's Landing. Houses three or four stories tall lined the streets. Those streets were vacant, everybody with half a brain having fled into their homes. Ser Thommas lead them, walking just a rank behind his pikemen to direct them to the streets of the well to-do. As they turned a corner a house was torched to their left and a dozen men with drunk and violent expressions stared at the clanking column.
A grizzled young man with strange pink froth on the frames of his mouth issued a soul-churning scream. He raised a crude piece of iron, cylindrical and lit it. He threw it into the fray around Ser Thommas while a strange eruption of nonsensical screams echoed in the narrow walk. It erupted from the wood, waddle and daub halftimber structures around them. And the first arrows began to whistle and sing into Thommas' brood.
The old knight's face contorted into anger as flames spread slowly between their feet. "Forward, on the double!" Ser Thommas commanded as he drew his sword. As two of his men fell behind him another order came "Shields overhead!" and showed good form by doing it himself. Hard thuds landed upon them as arrows rammed themselves into the shields. The first pikemen, shields covering them in an orderly formation stepped forward, pikes leading them.
"Stags to the alleys!" Jon ordered as he marched after Thommas, his own shield catching three arrows to punctuate his words. Close next to him Jevan marched with a determined scowl.
Renn's flinch was momentary as an arrow pierced his shield near his cheek. "Stags! On me!" He bellowed in a voice that seemed stronger than his frame. The golds and blacks broke into the alleyways, pouring but- from an eruptions of battle cries and the meeting of metal, it sounded like they met opposition.
As the pikemen closed in on the first Iron Born their long polearms started jabbing out, trying to find soft tissue and cracks in armour.
Contact was made. The first sounds of metal on metal, metal on wood. The cagier of the Ironborn sidestepped and drop their weapons down on the wood of pikes, or else meant to drive their fierce, serrated blades into the King's vassals. With a howl- and then an eerie cackle- a Pikeman drove a pike into an Ironborn. The Ironborn's throat issued blood and laughter- and then man literally pushed further into the spear and then rammed his sword straight through the pikeman's throat.
As the first few pikemen fell they took three steps back and opened a breach. From the opening surged Jon Tully, Jevan Darry, and Geoffrey the Green in full plate. Following them was a dozen Tully guards in good mail. The Tully morningstar found target with its first swing, braining an Ironborn and dropping him to the ground. Jon caught a second attacker on his shield, pushed him back with it and then Jevan's mace turned the Ironborn's iron cap into a bowl. In quick succession a dozen Ironborn died, and another half dozen were maimed until they were no more threat.
The Baratheon Stags returned, blood and gore spattered and three men short of what they'd gone in with. At least a pair of them were injured and needed to withdraw while the majority had nicks and near-miss scathing- including the young Stag at their lead. "They're fighting like demons," Renn acknowledged, shaken, "I've never seen men do this... fight with no concern over their own safety."
"Let's turn right here." Jon gestured a street up ahead. "That should get us to the first manses."
Ser Thommas nodded grimly. His armour was splattered in blood but none seemed to come from inside. "Red Keep, forward!" the Lord Commander bellowed and pushed towards the turn of the street.
The Baratheon Stags nodded solidarity to the Tully Lord and Ser Thommas.
Lord Fletcher and four of his men at arms stepped out into the streets, surveying the flames. Another two men headed back towards the Red Keep with his wife. They were not the only men doing so on their street, populated mostly by elegant houses bought or rented by visiting lords not powerful enough to have a strong independent establishment as such but not merely travelling in the retinue of their liege either. Most of them had trained as knights, had sons so trained, and had brought a man or two sworn to their service. However, there were only a handful in each house, sworn to different greater lords and strangers to one another. Most were escorting family towards the Red Keep or seeking to connect with a larger and more organized force.
Twenty wide pikemen stepped into the path of the small group of men at arms. "Halt!" shouted Ser Thommas from their head, stepping out from beyond his pikemen and facing the first of the opposing warriors. "Name your lord and your destination!" the man commanded with absolute authority and the tip of his sword pointed at them.
Lord Fletcher lowered his sword. "I am Lord..."
Then there was a roar. It was the roar of... madness. Madness of bloodlust. And new, stinking, sweating, smoke-drenched bodies began to pour into the zone. Their sounds were... blood curdling.
Beacon Hall stood near the River Gate, one of only a few nicer manses in that part of the city and largely walled off from the surrounding neighborhoods. Lady Joanna's great-grandfather had bought it from a Tyrell cousin before the last of that ill-fated family had launched a rebellion to reclaim the Reach only to be easily defeated and executed by Lord Bron when no other House from the Reach would join them. The only reason old Lord Theodore Hightower ever gave for the purchase is that it was so near the spot where thirteen House Hightower knights and a hundred men-at-arms had held the gate for eight hours from attacks from within and without after the city had fallen during the Dance of the Dragons. What Joanna wouldn't give to have thirteen knights and a hundred men-at-arms now. The manse could not comfortably accommodate them and it had seemed presumptuous to bring too large a retinue. She had two knights and sixteen men-at-arms, and four archers. The archers were positioned on the roof, the men at every entrance. She herself was in her front hall with her knights, Ser Luthor and Ser Alixander. She turned grimly to them "I imagine they'll be coming here."
Ser Luthor nodded. "I imagine so."
Alixander agreed. He was well armored in his jazeraint and plate, embossed on his chestplate was the High Tower. He rested his hand on the pommel of his longsword. "Any minute now I figure." His eyes turned toward the rest of the district that held the other Manses of the Westerosi kingdoms. How insane, how nihilistic, did one need to be to destroy one's own Manse? Alix didn't understand the metaphor the Ironborn had presented, nor the mindset it took. Yet that bone-white monstrosity burned and smelled like a funeral pyre. From it, the Ironborn had poured like demons, laying waste to everything they contacted. Even now it was easy to look from road and passage- the flicker of torches in the night was like a slim, snaking serpent. And where it went, more of King's Landing went up in flame.
"Should we help them?" Alixander asked back. It was evident that the Baratheon and Lannister manses had come under attack. A wave of dread hopelessness was like a smothering blanket- and in no small measure of of the thick black, obscuring smoke that covered the entirety of the Capitol.
"If we could get to their manses, we could help them. In the street, I fear we would gain little with our deaths," Ser Luthor said grimly.
"There are many manses in the city with only one or two guardsmen and the lord's own family," Joanna said. "If we..."
It was then that the sounds of swords and arrows came near and there was a crashing outside the door. Ser Luthor drew his sword. "I suggest you withdraw to your chambers, my lady," he said. It was phrased as a request. He served her, not the other way around. But there was an insistence to it.
"Go cousin," Alix agreed with a note of cold somberness he'd not uttered before. "Stay safe and pray for us."
"Send the wounded to me," Joanna insisted before withdrawing.
Ser Luthor drew his sword. He heard the ring of swords clashing outside. "Hold," he said to Ser Alixander and the men-at-arms inside the door. Waiting was agony but he didn't intend to open the door for the enemy just to get into the fighting sooner.
His hand tensing on the handle of his blade, the young Hightower gave a nod to Ser Luthor, his face drawing a grim line. Alix could feel a cold shake in his lower spine, the sprouting of equally cold sweat from all over.
Ser Luthor was waiting for the inevitable bursting down of the door when he heard a much worse cry. "Fire!"
"Seven hells!" Ser Luthor snarled. He looked to Alix. "Ser Alixander, I'd like you to take half of the men-at-arms and your cousin and try to escape over the rear wall. I will take the rest out the front."
Alix's hesitation was the rashness of youth, the sense of invincibility. "But..." staggered out of his lips as he swayed, ready to fight a foe he couldn't win against. His breath hitched and quickened. He fought through the resistance. "Yes, Ser," he said with rage- directed at fire, at Ironborn, at discipline. "With me!" He called to his men. They pulled back.
