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The siege had come to an end for the day. King Renly Baratheon's grand army, after leaving behind the corpses of nearly two thousand men, retreated in frustration and bitter silence.
In truth, throughout today's battle, they had charged up onto the city walls of King's Landing countless times.
For quite a long while, the crowned stag banners and the golden rose flags had fluttered proudly above the towering gates of the city, standing tall over the mighty Lion Gate.
But in the end, it was still just short… agonizingly short… they had come so close!
Originally, King Renly Baratheon and the lords sworn to his banners had all believed the downfall of House Lannister was already written on their faces. They thought the lions were merely hanging on by their last desperate breath. After all, they had no path left to retreat.
However, after a full day of brutal fighting, the strength of these Westerland soldiers seemed to have returned to what it once was — or perhaps, they were even fiercer than before.
The armies from the Stormlands and the Reach, under the command of Lord Randyll Tarly, carried within them the lofty noble conviction that once this battle was won, they could finally return home. Fueled by that determination, they launched wave after wave of reckless assaults, caring little for their own casualties.
This was an all-out offensive!
Renly's forces attacked from six directions at once. Their hastily assembled siege engines were also dragged to the front lines. It could be said they had thrown everything they had onto the battlefield.
And yet… the outcome was thoroughly disappointing.
Two thousand men died on the spot, and over six thousand more suffered injuries of varying degrees.
The fortunate ones escaped with only shallow cuts and minor wounds. But the unlucky ones? Severed limbs, shattered bones, torn flesh — internal injuries so common they no longer shocked anyone.
With the medical skills of Renly's camp healers, for those gravely wounded, the only real hope was to send them to the septons of the Seven… let the gods decide their fate.
Thus, after this disastrous day of battle, Renly had effectively lost nearly ten thousand men.
Though his army still numbered over eighty thousand on paper, after losing ten thousand in a single clash, and factoring in the casualties from the previous assaults as well, the situation was far less optimistic than it appeared.
At present, the number of men King Renly Baratheon could actually rally onto the battlefield was just over forty thousand.
And of course, not every person within an army was a battle-hardened soldier. A considerable portion of those numbers was made up of supporting units — supply convoys, stablehands, countless logistics personnel following the army wherever it marched. Together, they made up no small portion of the total force.
King Renly Baratheon, who had always been so composed, so elegant in his bearing, finally lost his temper in front of his gathered lords after hearing the latest battle report.
His face flushed an angry red as he roared at them inside his grand tent draped with beast pelts:
"Ten thousand men! Ten thousand! My army sacrificed ten thousand lives… and yet we still haven't managed to slaughter even one Lannister. What are they made of, iron?"
No one dared to lift their heads. Even Lord Randyll Tarly, who normally never missed a chance to challenge him, stood there cold-faced, saying nothing. As the overall commander of the battlefield, he couldn't escape responsibility for this humiliating defeat.
Renly paced back and forth inside the wide tent, his boots thudding heavily against the thick beast pelts beneath his feet. A chill crept up his spine, faint but undeniable.
Perhaps… he could not afford to keep hammering away at this city like this.
He had never actually stepped onto the battlefield himself. Day after day, he simply strolled through the camps, inspecting the units, making sure every living soldier got a good look at what their king looked like.
Renly had always been good with words, and he rather enjoyed delivering passionate, morale-boosting speeches on the spot. But over the past couple of days… things had started to change.
The soldiers' morale was collapsing at an alarming rate.
Words that once stirred the crowds, drawing thunderous applause like crashing waves, now earned only scattered, half-hearted responses. Renly understood all too well — the few reluctant claps that still echoed through the camp now… were likely given not for him… but for that golden crown glittering atop his head.
It was during one of those routine inspections that Renly happened to overhear a dying old soldier whispering what might be his final words to a young recruit beside him — likely his nephew:
"Little Norrison… when His Grace summons you… keep your head down… do what you must to survive… this… this isn't our war…"
In that moment, Renly understood everything. He raised a hand to stop the Rainbow Guard who had been ready to rush over, then simply sighed and turned away.
That old soldier had belonged to House Tyrell's banners, dragged to this battlefield by his liege lord's summons… and now, without even knowing how, he was dying here.
Afterwards, his corpse would be buried in the woods beside the army camp, left to the worms and ants.
This… was Renly's war. It was House Baratheon's war. It was a war for the Stormland nobles… and perhaps even for all the nobility of the Stormlands. But one thing it was not… it was never the war of that old man — a simple farmer from the Reach.
When Northerners and Westerlanders go to war, beyond their natural contempt for each other, there is always something else… plunder.
That has always been a driving force. But what could these Reach farmers, who already lived comfortably with full bellies, possibly gain from this?
They were fighting for Renly Baratheon, to take King's Landing for him. And if they succeeded… King's Landing would naturally become the capital of King Renly's realm. How could they possibly be allowed to plunder their own capital?
The Stormlanders were allies. King's Landing was off limits. What then? Were they supposed to sail all the way to Dragonstone and rob that filthy rock covered in bird droppings?
So, when it came down to it… no matter how this war ended, these soldiers from the Reach would gain nothing. If they won, there would be no spoils. If they lost, they would pay with their lives.
All for Renly Baratheon's ambition.
And given the choice… what do you think they would decide?
And this defeat today had dealt a blow to the morale of Renly's army so severe it was practically fatal, like the final, labored breath of a man teetering on the brink of death. It was still there… but only just.
But now… with the blood of ten thousand men staining the fields, even that last, fragile breath had been shattered.
After that helpless, furious outburst, Renly —rarely seen like this — took his wife, though nothing had ever actually happened between them, Margaery Tyrell, and quietly made his way to a deserted campfire.
Margaery Tyrell, the rose of Highgarden, the one most favored by the Queen of Thorns herself, was far from naive.
She understood the current situation all too well.
She wisely chose not to speak meaningless words of comfort. Instead, she simply stayed by Renly's side, watching him gulp down mouthful after mouthful of wine, the deep red liquid running down his slender adam's apple like blood.
Renly exhaled heavily, his eyes lingering on Margaery for a moment before he spoke in a low voice: "Do you know… Tyrell girl… your army might not be willing to fight for me anymore."
Margaery pressed her lips together, remaining silent for a while before finally answering in a soft, almost inaudible voice:
"Your Grace… if you were willing to let them… take a little something from the defeated once they breach the city… I believe… they would feel honored to fight for you."
Hearing those words, Renly looked at Margaery Tyrell's face — the flawless, porcelain-like skin still glowing pale in the light of the fire — and smiled faintly, saying nothing more.
From House Tyrell's perspective, of course they would be delighted to see Renly Baratheon open the city to plunder after his victory. After all, King's Landing would be Renly's capital, not theirs.
And besides… if Renly truly took the throne, a weak, half-crippled king would be the best king.
The Tyrells had gone all in this time, sending sixty thousand men to bolster Renly's army. It was a heavy gamble, but what they sought… was nothing less than the political influence House Lannister had held during King Robert Baratheon's reign.
Such was the bitter fruit left behind after the fall of House Targaryen.
Every great house had its eyes on that chair —the Iron Throne — and whenever a chance arose, they spared no effort, no underhanded trick, to slip their own influence into the cracks of the realm.
Everyone knew… that throne was nothing but a terrifying vortex that devoured lives endlessly. And yet, they all still threw themselves in headfirst.
"Your Grace… no matter what happens… we cannot afford to lose," Margaery Tyrell's voice was quiet, but filled with clarity and warning. "Whether it's that fool sitting on the Iron Throne now, or your cold-blooded brother… neither of them will ever spare us."
Realizing she had nearly misspoken, Margaery quickly tried to steer the conversation away.
But before she could say another word, one of Renly's Rainbow Guard, Brienne of Tarth, approached in a hurry, her polished armor gleaming under the flickering firelight.
Renly Baratheon sensed at once that something had happened. He left Margaery's side, rising from the campfire, and stood waiting as the tall female knight strode toward him.
"Your Grace… urgent news!"
Brienne didn't even give her king a chance to speak. She blurted the words out the moment she reached him.
Renly Baratheon instinctively raised his hand, motioning for the blue-cloaked Rainbow Guard to catch her breath before speaking.
Brienne took a moment, then finally reported with urgency:
"Your Grace… scouts just brought word… your brother Stannis's army… it looks like… they've entered the city… from the direction of the Mud Gate."
To be completely honest, Renly was confused… he stared blankly at the female knight, as if she had just told a joke, saying nothing at all.
Then, in the next instant, he suddenly jumped to his feet, roaring at the top of his lungs. All that princely elegance, all that calm demeanor… gone without a trace, as though it had never existed.
"Impossible! How could he possibly enter the city?! With his army of ten thousand fishermen… you expect me to believe they managed to storm Tywin Lannister's city gates?!"
Both Brienne of Tarth and Margaery Tyrell were startled by Renly's sudden outburst. Brienne braced herself and replied stiffly:
"Your Grace, the scouts reported… it was the Lannisters… they opened the gates and… let Stannis's army inside."
What greeted her words… was Renly Baratheon's even more frenzied, hysterical howl:
"Madmen! Tywin Lannister has gone completely mad! Has he no concern for the precious throne beneath his darling grandson's arse?!"
No one answered him. Every guard and attendant nearby who witnessed this scene quietly backed away, keeping their distance. They even blocked off anyone else approaching from further down the path.
No one wanted to get caught in the storm of their king's fury.
It was unclear how long it took… but eventually, Renly calmed down, at least on the surface. Yet even now, he still couldn't wrap his head around why Tywin Lannister would open the gates for his brother. He even began to suspect this was the doing of the city guards themselves, acting without their lord's orders.
But no matter what the truth was… what mattered now… was stopping Stannis from successfully entering the city smoothly!
The moment that thought crystallized in his mind, he turned sharply to Brienne, who stood nearby as still and composed as a statue, and barked his orders:
"Quick, send word to Randyll Tarly. Tell him to take all our cavalry at once and charge toward the Mud Gate. No matter what it takes… we must stop Stannis's army from entering King's Landing!"
"I understand, Your Grace. I'll see to it immediately."
"And another thing… order the entire army to prepare for battle. Wake everyone, make them put on their armor. I have a feeling… a great battle is coming tonight."
Brienne hurried off without another word, rushing to carry out Renly's commands.
Left standing by his side, Margaery Tyrell, sharp-eyed as ever, couldn't help but notice that her husband's body… was faintly trembling. A complicated expression flickered across her face. She opened her mouth, hesitated… but in the end, the words never came.
She wanted to persuade Renly not to mobilize the troops so rashly. They had just suffered a crushing defeat today. To hastily rally the army again now… anyone with even a scrap of military sense could see how disastrous that would be.
But those words, she couldn't bring herself to say aloud. Because deep down, she understood all too well. If by any chance that sly old fox Tywin Lannister really had struck some secret bargain with Stannis… and Stannis's ten thousand fresh troops made it inside the city… then the entire situation would truly be turned upside down.
Within this army, up and down the ranks, there were plenty of noble lords who could afford to lose. At worst, they would suffer defeat, lose a bit of their forces, and simply turn around to pledge loyalty to the new master. Whether it was Tywin or Stannis, neither of them would hold it against them.
But for them… the notorious, high-profile leaders of this rebellion… their fate likely wouldn't be so pleasant. As for Renly… well, he was Stannis's own younger brother. Maybe Stannis wouldn't kill him, but spending the rest of his life locked away, never seeing the sunlight again… that sounded perfectly normal.
And the Tyrells… well, everyone still remembered how, back in the days of the Reach King Mern IX, the mighty Gardener family had been ripped out by the roots, replaced entirely by House Tyrell. For the past few centuries, there had never been a shortage of people eyeing that seat of power the Tyrells now occupied.
Which meant… they couldn't afford to lose. Not tonight. Tonight… they had to gamble everything.
A sharp, jarring bell rang out across the vast camp sprawling like a small city. Soldiers who had barely just lain down were rudely kicked awake by their commanders, cursing and grumbling as they scrambled to put on their armor.
Many of them spat on the ground, swearing under their breath at King Renly for not letting them sleep.
Normally… words like that were enough to lose your head. But tonight… the officers nearby merely shot them a cold glance, and said nothing at all.
It took Randyll Tarly nearly an hour to gather all the cavalry forces that had been scattered across the six city gates. Only then, leading these cavalrymen, who had no idea what was even happening, did he charge toward the direction of the Mud Gate.
It wasn't because he was rigid or slow to act… but if he didn't gather enough cavalry and simply sent them in wave after wave, trying to break through Stannis's infantry formation… that would be nothing more than piecemeal suicide. A clear-cut, losing trade.
But by the time the sound of galloping hooves thundered along the banks of the Blackwater River… by the time Randyll Tarly finally laid eyes on Stannis's army, they were already more than halfway through the city gates…
The hardened, ruthless commander could only close his eyes in bitter frustration. He understood… no matter how fast he came… he was still too late.
At this point… what else was there to say? They were already here. What man would turn back without at least putting up a fight?
And so, Randyll Tarly's cavalry charged… slamming straight into the tail of Stannis's army with brutal force.
———————————————————
While battle broke out outside the city, Stannis Baratheon himself… could no longer contain the excitement boiling within his chest, and was already making his way swiftly toward the Red Keep.
Taking the shortcut through Hook street, Stannis led a thousand of his fiercest, most imposing cavalrymen, thundering close behind him.
Truth be told… even Stannis hadn't truly believed that Tywin Lannister would keep his word and actually open the gates of King's Landing for him.
He had been fully prepared for Tywin to play some trick or set some ambush… but when he really stepped through the gates of King's Landing… when his soldiers had completely taken control of the Mud Gate… only then did Stannis finally start to believe what stood before him… was real.
The scouts he had sent ahead came back with news — the gates of the Red Keep… they were also wide open. The Lannister guards had disappeared completely, and from a distance… it even looked like the lights in the Throne Room were still on.
Stannis Baratheon thought for a moment, then made his decision. He would take his thousand finest cavalrymen and head straight for the Throne Room. After all… the streets of King's Landing were wide. If anything seemed off… as long as his men still held the Mud Gate, he would always have a way to escape.
Tonight… Tywin Lannister really had kept his word. The old lion truly did send people to open the Mud Gate for Stannis Baratheon.
It seemed… the lion occasionally had some sense of honor.
The problem was… sure, he opened the gates… but perhaps he opened a few too many. Tywin never planned to meet Stannis face to face at all.
His entire army had quietly withdrawn from the city gates… and… he opened every single gate… in the whole city.
After all… how could Tywin Lannister ever truly kneel to Stannis Baratheon?
A tree withers when it stays in place, a man survives when he moves. If King's Landing was destined to become a giant grave… then Tywin Lannister intended to step right out of that grave.
Since the two Baratheon brothers both seemed so fond of this city… well, he might as well hand it to them.
See? How considerate of me… I even opened all the gates for you. Saves you the trouble of climbing over the walls.
And so… the roaring lion banners of House Lannister… appeared at the Dragon Gate, where Renly's forces were thinnest.
It seemed this night was destined to descend into even deeper chaos.
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[Chapter End's]
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