Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon
Throughout history, every single tactic, every elaborate maneuver… in the end, they all lead to the same conclusion. Hmph, I was right all along.
The moment the gates of the Dragon Gate swung wide open, the Lannister vanguard cavalry charged out like a crimson tide, catching Renly's forces stationed outside the city completely off guard.
Tywin Lannister never intended to give up the Iron Throne. That was something the Lannister family had been scheming toward for decades, pouring in immeasurable resources and blood to seize it. How could he possibly let it slip through his fingers now?
But looking at King's Landing… it was clear this city couldn't be held for much longer. And Tywin Lannister was no rigid fool, the kind of commander who only knew how to fight mindlessly. If I can't feed this pack of half-starved, desperate rioters in King's Landing… then fine, let someone else take over that burden.
And so, he devised this so-called "Open Gate" tactic. Lure Stannis Baratheon into the city first, let him claim the throne room they had deliberately left behind for him. After that, throw open every city gate and invite Renly's army into King's Landing as well.
As for himself… he would lead his family and troops in a breakout through the Dragon Gate, leaving King's Landing behind for now.
Once they were gone, those two Baratheon brothers would inevitably clash in a vicious battle. And that battle… would be fought right here, in the streets of King's Landing. No matter who emerged victorious, the starving, resentful mobs of the city would despise the stag banner of House Baratheon with a vengeance by the end of it.
And when that time came? If the Lannisters returned in force… perhaps these very same mobs, battered and furious, might just welcome House Lannister back with open arms to "liberate" King's Landing. Maybe… they would even obediently kneel to Joffrey once more, accepting him as their rightful king.
Atop his horse, the fleeing King Joffrey Baratheon turned his head, his face twisted with fury, and cast a venomous glare back toward the high tower of the throne room in the distance.
Cersei Lannister had been pursuing him for gods knew how long, exhausting every ounce of her patience trying to convince him to abandon his beloved throne. She made promises, offered sweet words, tried everything she could think of, but none of it worked. That fool simply refused to leave.
In Joffrey's eyes, first it had been his "uncle" Jaime Lannister, and now his grandfather Tywin Lannister. One after another, they were all useless cowards.
If they weren't useless, how could he, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, end up trapped like a rat inside King's Landing, unable to break free from the rebels' siege? Other than roaring at his courtiers and barking about hanging every last traitor, there was nothing else he could do.
That feeling of helplessness gnawed at Joffrey's pride, wounded it so deeply that when he was finally asked to leave the throne… no, when he was told to leave King's Landing entirely — he clung to that throne as if it were life itself, refusing to let go even if it killed him.
In the end, it was Tywin Lannister who lost all patience. With a cold flick of his eyes, he signaled one of the Kingsguard.
The Kingsguard hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth and, with practiced force, delivered a brutal strike to the side of King Joffrey's neck.
The young king collapsed onto the cold throne like a sack of useless flesh, his screaming echoing in the chamber until his body hit the ground with a dull thud, limp as wet mud.
Beneath the furious, venomous glare of Cersei Lannister, the Kingsguard soldier forced himself to remain calm. With stiff arms, he scooped up the unconscious king's body and carried him out of the throne room.
Tywin Lannister stood there, watching his devastated daughter with eyes as cold and lifeless as frozen steel, his face like a mask carved from ice.
Of all my children… the one with the sharpest mind… is still that dwarf… the very one I've already given up on.
This was the punishment the gods had chosen for him. Punishment for that moment, the most critical moment of all, when he had betrayed the king he once served with such devotion.
"It's done. We should leave now. Don't worry, Joffrey… it won't be long before we return."
Cersei, who by now had fully grasped her father's true plan, used what she believed was the gentlest, most comforting tone she could manage to soothe her son. But Joffrey only shook her hand off with a vicious glare, his face twisted with rage.
In his eyes, his mother, his uncle, his grandfather… the entire Lannister family were nothing but cowardly deserters. And for him, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, to be forced into such disgrace because of them… it was utterly unacceptable.
If not for the cold, humiliating reality that he could not command a single soldier to his name, their heads would have long since been rolling across the ground, turned into toys for the crowds to kick about like common street games.
———————————————————
After a brutal, bloody skirmish, the Renly soldiers blocking the Dragon Gate were finally broken apart by Tywin Lannister's desperate army. The Lannister forces managed to carve a bloody path through the chaos and escape the city.
Their boots splashed through the blood-soaked, muddy earth as the last of the Lannister infantry filed out through the archway of the Dragon Gate. And at that very moment, Randyll Tarly, who had just torn Stannis's rear guard to pieces, finally, and somewhat unwillingly, called off his charge.
Stannis's army had practically already entered the city. The gates of the Mud Gate were firmly shut, sealing off those unfortunate few hundred infantrymen left stranded beneath the city walls. Frankly, Randyll Tarly couldn't muster the slightest interest in wasting time hunting down those doomed stragglers.
Just then, the man Randyll Tarly despised most — the "Knight of Flowers," Loras Tyrell — appeared right in front of him, clad in his flamboyant silver-white armor, leading a small group of cavalry directly to his side.
"Boy, you'd best speak quickly if you've got something to say. A battlefield isn't the place for delicate little flowers like you lot."
Randyll Tarly's tone was sharp and unfriendly, his words dripping with open contempt. The sting of defeat earlier that day had already left him under immense pressure, and now, after that chaotic, pointless night assault that had achieved nothing, his frustration was boiling over.
This whole messy situation was driving him up the wall, yet there was nowhere to vent his anger. And now, the one person who irritated him more than anyone — Loras Tyrell — had appeared before him, practically inviting his scorn.
The Knight of Flowers, of course, caught the insult buried in Randyll Tarly's words at once. Calling someone a "delicate little flower"… sure, when it came to his sister, Margaery, there was nothing wrong with that. But when directed at him, it was nothing but a blatant provocation.
But now was hardly the time to trade insults. Loras shot Randyll Tarly a cold, hateful glare, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth nearly cracked as he forced the words out between them.
"Lord Randyll, His Grace has given the order. Your troops are to turn around immediately and enter the city through the King's Gate."
Randyll Tarly froze for a moment, convinced he must have misheard. His grayish eyebrows knitted together as he asked again, his voice low, flat, and laced with skepticism.
"Boy… I didn't hear you wrong, did I? Enter the city… through the King's Gate? The Lannister garrison…"
His words trailed off mid-sentence as a sudden realization struck him. His sharp eyes locked onto the silver-armored Knight of Flowers, his voice heavy with suspicion.
"If I'm not mistaken… right now, the King's Gate, the Lion Gate, and the Gate of the Gods… they've all fallen under His Grace's control, haven't they? The Lannisters… they've abandoned their defense of those gates."
Though he didn't want to admit it, Loras Tyrell had to acknowledge the old man's terrifying battlefield instincts. This news had only just arrived; there was no way Randyll Tarly could have known in advance.
Which meant… he had deduced it entirely on his own, just from the current situation. And Loras… well, even he had to admit that he himself lacked that kind of sharpness.
"Yes, Lord Tarly, you are correct. His Grace's vanguard is already preparing to enter the city. The Lion Gate and the Gate of the Gods are both ours now. Your cavalry is perfectly positioned to enter through the King's Gate and head straight for Stannis."
The moment those words left his mouth, Randyll Tarly understood. Once again… they had fallen right into Tywin Lannister's trap.
First, Tywin opened the gates for Stannis, ensuring that he would be the first to enter the city. And Stannis, with his eyes fixed on the Iron Throne, upon finding the city empty, would do the only thing that made sense — rush to seize the Red Keep and claim the throne room.
After that… Tywin, calm and collected as always, would throw open every other gate of King's Landing. Now, imagine it — Renly Baratheon, eyes bloodshot, tongue practically burned raw from barking orders all night, finally seeing this scene unfold… what would he do?
And so, Tywin Lannister had played his hand perfectly, seizing that brief window of time when morale on their side was at its lowest, when their scouts had grown slack and inattentive, to orchestrate his retreat.
By now… this war, at least for the Lannisters, was effectively over. Randyll Tarly understood that well enough.
What lay ahead now… was nothing but a brutal gamble between the two Baratheon brothers, with the whole of King's Landing as the prize, and every last chip they held placed on the table for a single, decisive throw of the dice.
"Damn it… we've let that old lion slip away!"
Randyll Tarly cursed through clenched teeth, then raised his riding crop and struck his mount's flank hard, spurring it forward. His entire cavalry force followed close behind, galloping west toward the King's Gate, ready to enter the city.
At the same time, Renly Baratheon, who had noticed the city gates swinging wide open even earlier than Randyll Tarly, had already issued his orders to the infantry. They were to rally as many men as they could, no matter how disorganized the formation, no matter if they lacked proper equipment. What mattered now was speed. They had to seize those undefended gates before it was too late.
They had already been one step too slow today. If they hesitated for even a moment longer, if Stannis reached the city and managed to seize control of the gates… Renly's side would be in real trouble.
His vassals might be willing to forgive their king for making mistakes—once, perhaps twice—but a third time? Especially a mistake that directly jeopardized his claim to the Iron Throne? That… that was the kind of mistake that got kings killed.
After all, Stannis was a Baratheon too. And not just any Baratheon — he was the elder brother, with a far stronger claim to the throne than Renly.
What was more, Stannis had previously been granted the title Lord of Dragonstone. And in the three hundred years of Targaryen rule, the Lord/Prince of Dragonstone had always been regarded as the next in line for the crown—the heir apparent to the Iron Throne.
If Renly failed to bring his army to bear in time, if he couldn't press a sword to Stannis's throat and force the issue, there was a very real chance his own Stormlands bannermen might quietly turn on him, bind him up under cover of darkness, and deliver him straight into Stannis's hands.
Fortunately, this time, luck had finally taken his side. Stannis received word much later than he did. With his mind entirely consumed by the Iron Throne, by the time Stannis heard that every city gate lay undefended… it was already too late.
The reinforcements Stannis had dispatched along the city's main roads hadn't even made it far before they discovered that Renly's forces had already entered King's Landing. With no other option, Stannis was forced to order his army to fall back and fortify Aegon's Hill, the site of the Red Keep, while doing everything he could to hold onto the Mud Gate.
Meanwhile, Renly, knowing full well he had seized the advantage, showed no mercy to his older brother. In the span of just one exhausting night, he secured control of nearly the entire city of King's Landing — everything except for the southwest corner.
———————————————————
The next day, the sun shone stubbornly and defiantly over the Seven Kingdoms' capital, casting its light over a city steeped in tense silence and the sharp scent of blood.
Whether it was Stannis Baratheon, seated upon the Iron Throne, conferring with his men on how to repel Renly's assault, or Renly Baratheon himself, holding court in the Great Sept of Baelor, drinking and laughing with the High Septon — both brothers understood one simple truth.
Only one banner… only one of their banners… would walk proudly out of King's Landing when this was over.
"His High Holiness, would you be so kind as to go and speak with my foolish, stubborn brother?" Renly's tone was gentle, almost coaxing, as he swirled the wine in his goblet. "His army is completely surrounded by mine now. I truly do not wish to stain my hands with his blood."
The High Septon, so bloated he resembled an overfed pig, sat in his gemstone-studded robes, his many chins and folds of fat quivering faintly at Renly's words.
His face twisted into an expression even uglier than if he'd started crying, and his voice trembled as he forced a nervous, flattering smile.
"Your Grace… please, you must show a little compassion for this old man, who has served the Seven for so many years… Stannis, that traitor, is surrounded by nothing but savages and desperate men. I still have a duty to devote myself to the Seven… surely, you see how it is…"
Renly nodded slightly, but didn't bother responding to the High Septon's pitiful excuses. Instead, he smiled faintly and asked a question of his own.
"His High Holiness… there's something I've never quite understood. How is it that you, living here in this holy sept, have managed to accumulate such… astonishing wealth? Hmm… if my dear brother Robert were still alive, that pile of coin you've got stashed away could've cleared the Iron Bank's debt, interest and all."
As he spoke, Renly drew a dagger from his waist, its hilt inlaid with glittering green gems. From the table that separated the two of them, he picked up a bright red apple and began peeling it with practiced ease.
At those words, the High Septon's expression darkened visibly, his face turning an ugly shade that was hard to miss. But almost immediately, he forced himself to swallow the reaction, plastering a look of solemn determination across his bloated features.
"Your Grace, I have seen the light. I understand now… I should go. They say your brother has turned his back on the glory of the Seven. As Their chosen voice, it is my duty to guide him back from the shadows and into the light of the Seven once more. I cannot allow your noble House to be shamed."
Clever man… or to be more precise, a clever man who loves his gold.
Renly smiled faintly, placing the peeled apple gently into the High Septon's pudgy palm. Then he stood, patted the man's shoulder — where the thick folds of fat made it impossible to feel any trace of bone — and walked out of the room.
———————————————————
"So… you've come to negotiate terms of surrender on behalf of that traitor, have you?"
Seated high upon the Iron Throne, wearing a crown of gold adorned with stag antlers, its edges etched with patterns of flame, Stannis Baratheon listened to the High Septon's words with quiet patience before asking this simple question.
The High Septon rolled his eyes inwardly. Either this King Stannis hadn't been listening at all to what he had just said, or the man was doing it on purpose, twisting his words just to make him squirm.
Surrounded by watchful, intimidating guards, the High Septon could feel the pressure mounting. But what choice did he have? Renly still had his hands wrapped tightly around the vast fortune the High Septon had spent over a decade siphoning from the people of King's Landing. That treasure was worth more than his life.
So, with a resigned shrug — which, thanks to his size, was barely noticeable beneath the layers of fat — the High Septon forced a smile onto his face.
"Your Grace, the Faith has no desire to involve itself in this quarrel between you and your brother. To speak plainly, the wounds your predecessor, the cruel Maegor, inflicted upon the Faith have yet to fully heal, even after all these years."
"Oh? Then, His High Holiness … you shouldn't be standing here at all."
From his position just below the Iron Throne, to Stannis's right, Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight, spoke up without the slightest attempt to soften his words. His tone was laced with mockery, sharp as a dagger.
It didn't land well, but the High Septon was skilled at hiding discomfort. His awkward expression lasted less than half a second before disappearing into the layers of sagging flesh on his face.
Stannis lost all interest in this pointless exchange. His thoughts drifted to something else entirely — he had realized a troubling truth.
His brother Renly's strength… might be far weaker than he had originally believed.
Otherwise, with an army of that size at his disposal, why hadn't Renly launched a full assault already?
What exactly was going on here?
**
**
[IMAGE]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Chapter End's]
🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍
Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:
https://www.patreon.com/Night_FrOst
Extra Content Already Available