The Young Lion
Act 2 Ch 20 Marching to War

Act 2 Ch 20 Marching to War

[Kingswood Forest]

Meanwhile back in Kingswood the old stag Stannis Baratheon was leading his army of thirty thousand men through the dense forest. He had split one third of his army to sail his royal fleet of two hundred ships into Blackwater Bay. His hand Ser Davos Seaworth had been chosen to lead the charge, his years as a smuggler proved vital to their success. After all he didn’t trust any of the lords that had sworn to his treacherous younger brother over him. 

The men that followed Robb Stark and called him King in the North did so because they believed in him. Even the men who follow the incestuous false king Joffrey only do so because they believe him to be the true king. But these men knew his brother Renly was wrong and chose to follow him anyway, ignoring their oaths and their duties. Though he pardoned them and didn’t hang them all, that didn’t mean he forgave them. So when they came to him to complain about taking orders from a crabber's son, it only took a few “reminders” for them to know their place.

Under the suggestion of his Hand he had decided to send his Red Priestess Melisandre back to Dragonstone along with his wife and daughter. There had been growing talks within his ranks that the foreign priestess was the real leader in the army, that she whispered orders into his ear and he obeyed.

Stannis began to think back of the last conversation he had with her.

[Flashback]

He slowly made his way to her tent with a slight nervous expression after all she had been his most devoted supporter, calling him Azor Ahai reborn, and of the war against the darkness that only he could stop. So when he arrived at her tent to inform her of his decision he had expected her to argue the point with him. Though once he stepped inside her tent he knew that wasn’t going to be the case. 

She sat wrapped in a dark red shawl and stared lifelessly into a burning brazier. The flames danced in the heater illuminating the otherwise dark room. Stannis slowly approached, afraid he might be interrupting one of her “visions” in the flames. As he drew closer Melisandre slowly turned her head to greet him.

“Your Grace.” She said respectfully with a tilt of her head.

The flames illuminated the scar she had gained from their “incident” in the tent many nights prior. It was a deep burn that ran from her right cheek down toward her right bosom. She had been very vague about what had occurred that night and what had gone wrong. The only thing she would say was that she had “disappointed” her lord and had been punished because of it. Stannis himself didn’t know what to think about the “incident” or her god’s “punishments”, but what he did know is that she hadn’t been the same since. Whatever she had seen in the pillar of fire, it had shaken something deep inside of her.

“My lady, I hope I’m not interrupting.” He said calmly.

“You interrupt nothing, your grace.” 

She responded back, turning her head again to stare into the orange flames. An awkward moment of silence filled the tent, before Stannis spoke again.

“I assume you already know why I’m here?”

“I will after you tell me.”

Clearing his throat he spoke in a stern tone.

“I will set out for Kings Landing once I’ve finished consolidating my troops, you will accompany my wife and daughter back to Dragonstone.”

Melisandre didn’t seem fazed taking in the order without her expression changing. After a brief moment of silence she finally responded.

“If that is your wish, your grace.”

Stannis found himself growing more and more frustrated with her new apathetic disposition. After all he had only begun his campaign for the crown after she insisted that he was the Prince that was Promised. He took a few breaths to calm himself before addressing her.

“I need to know, do you still see my victory when you look into the flames? Will I cast down the bastard lion and take my place on the Iron Throne?”  

Melisandre sat quietly hearing her king’s question. She let out a heavy sigh before turning her head to address him.

“My lord has shown me two possible futures for the battle that is to come.”

Her tone was calm and serene as she spoke.

“ In the first future I see you sitting atop a bloody throne with the heads of a wolf and a lion cub on spikes. At your feet lies a lion's pelt that glitters like gold.”

Stannis became visibly calmed by his priestess’s words.

“But in the other…”

She began to speak again, her tone becoming more solemn and uncertain.

“In the other I see a golden lion standing atop a pile of your bannerman’s corpses, with an emerald stag kneeling at its feet as flames burn all around them.”

Stannis' expression became more serious after hearing her second vision. Taking in her words he nodded his head before he responded.

“Which future do you believe will come true my lady?”

Melisandre took a moment to think before speaking.

“Your brother Renly is dead. I can't see the significance of the second vision.”

Stannis let himself breathe a sigh of relief, happy that his red priestess still believed in his cause.

“Then why would your lord show you a future that isn’t possible in the first place?”

“I don’t presume to know the workings of my Lord. I pray for his guidance and he shows me what he wishes.”

Seeing that the conversation wasn’t going any further and he had learned everything he needed to, Stannis decided to withdraw for the evening.

“My soldiers will come to you when the ship is ready to set sail. Until then try to get some sleep.”

“Of course. Thank you, your grace.” 

She said with a slight smile before turning to look into the flames once more. Stannis quickly exited her tent making his way back to his war council to discuss siege tactics. Once he had left, Melisandre looked even more intently into the flames.

“My lord, please bestow on me your light.” She said as she stared into the flames. “Please show me that my path is true.”

But she didn’t receive a response, the flames refusing to show her anymore than what she had already seen. The small sprout of doubt continued to bloom inside her ever since her “punishment” that she had received from her lord. That perhaps she had been mistaken in Stannis being the Lord of Light’s champion.

[Back to present]

As Stannis led his army through the thick forest the rustling of leaves and branches could be heard. It was a rather chilling sound that the bannerman had been forced to grow accustomed to. In fact, ever since his army had reached the midpoint of the Kingswood, he and his soldiers hadn’t known a single peaceful night.

Every night the sounds of whistles and horns filled the air around their encampment. Stannis had sent out multiple parties to flush out the “rats” hiding in the bushes. But not a single man ever returned, nor did the men who were sent to replace them. Whispers began to fill their ranks of evil spirits roaming the woods in search of blood. Stannis couldn’t believe his ears when he heard grown men speaking of stories a wet nurse would tell a child.

Refusing to lose anymore men, Stannis had ordered them to just deal with the noise and told them that it was just a tactic of warfare not demons or evil spirits. Though the men nodded their heads he could tell by their expressions that not all of them were convinced. A few days had passed and the noise continued and it was starting to affect his men physically as well.

They had become sleep deprived and as a result marched much slower taking even longer to get to the city. Stannis didn’t have time to waste and had begun to fear that his fleet would reach the city before his main army. As a result he was forced to push his men even harder so that they could arrive at the capital on schedule. 

Though his men strained and ached and had become worn down, it would all be worth it soon. By day's end they would arrive at the city gates, they would batter down the mud gate, and feast on ale and meat whilst their king sat himself on the iron throne. The fantasy of the food, drink, and woman had been the only thing keeping the men going. As the drew closer and closer to the city reaching the end of the forest the sounds of whistles and horns finally stopped. It was instead replaced with a rather eerie silence. The soldiers couldn’t hear anything, not whistles, not rustling of leaves, or the chirping of birds. Just utter dead silence.

As the convoy of soldiers continued to march in their four by four lines, the soldiers on the outside carried burning torches to illuminate the night. At the head of the army suddenly one of the soldiers is snatched unseen by anyone. He was pulled into the bushes and silenced before he could even yell. After one of the soldiers notices his missing compatriot he slowly walks over to the bushes to investigate. As he looked in the brush a small silhouette ran behind him cutting open his neck with a thin dagger before disappearing back inside.

More and more soldiers were attacked by the dark silhouettes. One shadow kicked the soldier’s leg out from under him before plugging their long dagger into his chest, then rolled away. Another ran by and slashed one of their throats before vanishing. As more and more soldiers fell the main force finally realized they were under attack. They drew their swords and readied their wooden round shields. One of Stannis’s officers tried to reorganize his terrified men.

“Steady! Maintain your lines!” He ordered from horseback.

The scared soldiers looked around nervously. Suddenly small darts began flying out of the bushes, many replaceing their targets embedding themselves into the bannermen’s necks and faces. The men began to yell in pain as they were pierced by the darts falling to the ground.

“Shields up!” 

The officer screamed as his men made a makeshift wall with their wooden shields trying to block the darts. After the barrage of darts finally stopped, the officer decided to go on the offensive.

“Archers!”

Multiple men stood up and readied their bows and readied their arrows.

“Loose!”

Then as one the men fired their arrows aimlessly into the dense brush hoping to hit the demons assaulting them. The arrows flew into the bushes but not a single sound could be heard. The men looked anxiously hoping to have hit the enemy. Even the officer looked anxious as well, as his horse moved back and forth.

As the men started to steady themselves a new barrage of darts came from behind. Long thin darts pierced the back of the men’s heads and necks as many fell to the ground dead. Fear began to get the better of the soldiers who started to break rank. 

“Keep your fucking formations!” 

The officer yelled trying to keep his men under control. 

“Keep your fucking..”

The officer was then struck through the eye with a dart and fell off his horse dead. With their commanding officer dead the soldiers began to break rank and ran for their lives in all directions. As the soldiers ran away they began to fall into the enemy’s bobby traps. 

As three men ran frantically into the brush the one at the lead fell into a hidden tiger pit and became impaled on multiple wooden stakes. The two remaining men look on helplessly as their friend bleeds to death on the sharpened wooden spikes. They look at each other and continue to run frantically in another direction.

Elsewhere another soldier steps on a trip wire and with a swoosh a wooden mace fitted with wooden spikes came swinging down out of the trees piercing the man’s chest. Near him a soldier stepped onto a small pit causing his leg to fall through and get pierced by wooden stakes.

His screams filled the night sky alerting the rest of the marching columns of the unfolding carnage. Stannis, who was stationed at the middle part of the convoy, understood immediately that the dwarf must have set up an ambush for him and his men. They had obviously been well thought of and prepared so there was only one way to break through.

“Set the forest aflame,” He ordered.

“Yes, your grace.” His soldiers responded without hesitation.

They began burning the trees causing a large forest fire to break out in the Kingswood.

“The rest of you push forward, we have to get out of the forest!”

“Yes sir!” His officers and men shouted.

The one’s on horseback galloped forward clearing a path for the infantrymen. With the light of the flames illuminating the dark Joffrey's shadows were exposed. They were the royal daggers, an elite unit who were made up of some of the best pickpockets and thieves that the capital had ever known. When they were brought before the king when he was cleaning up the corruption of his city they were offered a choice. Either been sent to the wall or to put their “talents” to use for the good of the kingdoms. 

Though because of their frames and size they were not suited for a shield or a lance. Instead Joffrey tapped into his Marine Corps training teaching them espionage and camouflage, how to move without being seen, and how to use the environment as a weapon. They were still a small unit only consisting of around a hundred and five personnel, but Joffrey hoped to add more in the future. Having his own eyes and ears and not having to rely on Ros or Varys.

Some still tried to assault the soldiers as they moved through the forest, but with the fire’s light exposing them, they were quickly cut down due to their lack of armor. The rest realized that it was a lost cause trying to stop them so they just retreated back deeper into the forest safely away from the flames. The Baratheon army raced forward, some even trampling their own to escape the forsaken forest. 

Up on a cliff overseeing the convoy of soldiers galloping away the rest of the Royal Daggers gathered. Each wore camouflage shozoku uniforms, with dark Balaclava masks that matched.

“Commander the old stag is escaping, should we give pursuit?” One asked.

“No.” 

The voice responded firmly. 

“Our task was to demoralize and delay them.”

“Yes sir.” 

He responded back obediently.

“Prioritize treating our wounded  and I want a tally of those that have fallen, understood?”

“Yes sir!” 

They shouted out before dispersing.

The commander was left alone on the cliff slowly removing their Balaclava mask revealing a young handsome face underneath. His name was Trion Waters and he was one of the first to pledge his knife to the king's cause. In training it had turned out that he had exceptional hand eye coordination and could infiltrate and move like a shadow on a wall. As such he had been appointed the commander of the Royal Daggers and had received the title of Jackal.

As he watched the fleeing southern army escape the forest a deep anxiety gripped his heart. 

“Your grace, Please be safe.”  

He said alone on the cliff side.

[Back In King's Landing]

The sound of bells still filled the night’s air, citizens rushed back to their homes to barricade their doors. Preparing for the storm that was to come. However in the Royal Training grounds there was utter silence. Inside each of the twenty two hundred Royal guards kneeled in straight lines. Their shield was firmly grasped in their left arms, while their right hand gripped their helmets on their knees. Their lances and polearms were laid down by their left side as they stared forward emotionlessly. 

Slowly servants dressed in a plain black robe made their way down the lines of the kneeling soldiers. In their hands they held black urns, and as they passed by the soldiers they dipped their thumbs in the ashes and marked a line down the soldiers forehead. They were marking the soldiers with the ashes of the first two hundred Royal Guards who had fallen in the battle against Robb Stark.

“May our brothers give you strength.” 

“May they shield you from harm.”

“May you honor them in battle.”

They muttered as they marked the soldiers who remained silent.

 At the top stage Jacelyn stood fully equipped and outfitted alongside Tyrion and Podrick. The comical duo seemed out of place surrounded by such impassive soldiers. As the two began to wonder why they were there exactly, Joffrey made his entrance occupied by his three Kingsguard. He was dressed in his black royal armor with a red cloak tied around his neck. At his hip he wore his hand and a half Valyrian steel royal sword. Joffrey didn’t even acknowledge his uncle or his squire as he made his way to his Vice commander to look upon his men. Seeing his troops mobilized and ready for battle Joffrey grew a confident smug smirk across his face. 

After the soldiers were finished being marked, they all simultaneously placed their helmets upon their heads, grasped their lances, and stood up and at attention. Joffrey slowly made his way down the steps along with Jaclyn and the others. Once he was on an even field with his soldiers, Jaclyn called out to them.

“Commander on the floor!” 

He shouted as all the men stood at attention. The men remained silent and stared forward, their faces focused and emotionless. As Joffrey passed back and forth in front of the lines of men the sounds of bell continued to fill the air. Finally stopping in front of the middle line of his men Joffrey finally addressed his soldiers.

“Sabers!” 

He shouted out as all the men listened intently.

“My brothers of the sword, I’d rather fight beside you men than any army of thousands.”

As one the men slammed the shaft of their spears into the ground.

“Let no man dare forget how terrifying we are! We are demons!”

The pounding of the spears increased in frequency. 

“Are you afraid of death?”

“No!”

“All men are born to die, we all know it!”

“Do you wish to rot away and die in your beds as old men?”

“No!”

“So what if the odds are against us, victory is much sweeter when it is hard won!”

“Our brothers wait for us!”

“Sadly they will have to wait a little longer!”

“So fight!”

“Fight for your king! Fight for your brothers! Fight for glory!”

The sounds of slamming began to echo throughout the stadium.

“Fight…”

“For eternity!”

The gates of the stadium then opened and the black armored soldiers in lines of four marched out of the training grounds. Joffrey was at the head of it accompanied by his vice commander, his three kingsguard, as well as his uncle and squire.  As they marched down the empty streets of the city some citizens opened their windows to watch their defenders and ruler pass by. Once the men reached the square, the soldiers split into two groups. Some headed to the King’s Gate, while the rest occupied their king to the Mud Gate.

Once they reached the gate the men began to get into their battle positions. Some lined up in single file in front of the large wooden gate, while most climbed the stone steps and readied the Hwachas, Scorpions, and crossbows. Joffrey slowly climbed the stone steps alongside his royal posse. At the top of the stone wall Joffrey could see the entire bay as well as the burning forest. 

The men stood in silence, no one made so much as a whisper as they anxiously waited for the deep plunge. As Joffrey stood listening intently the sounds of drums became louder and louder, until at the edge of bay the silhouettes of ships became more and more clear through the fog. As the number of ships in view became more and more, and the sounds of drums grew louder and louder, Joffrey gripped the stone wall with such intensity that his knuckle turned white.

Just then the sound of thunder could be heard as Tyrion and Jacelyn looked up to see thunder clouds thundering overhead. But the young king didn’t pay it any mind, the only thing he could focus on was the two paths that laid before him.

On one hand all of his planning succeeds and victory would be his.

On the other he laid dead in the streets. His head on a spike alongside his men.

Joffrey let out a cool breath trying to steady his nerves.

“So it begins.” 

He said calmly as the first rain drop fell from the sky.