In 299 AC, a bloody battle raged around King's Landing and the Blackwater Rush, lasting from dawn until nightfall.
The Battle of the Blackwater became the largest conflict of the Westerosi civil war, made even more chaotic by the intervention of the Free Cities of Volantis, Lys, and Yunkai.
The lower Blackwater Rush flowed swiftly beneath dark waters, while its surface burned with crimson flames. The sky glowed red, orange, and eerie green as thick smoke rose into the air.
A grotesque bridge of shattered ships stretched across the river. Soldiers were forced to cross unstable gunwales, oars, and tilted decks stained with blood and burning wildfire to reach King's Landing. Every step was perilous. Some vessels slowly sank beneath the weight of men, while others burned fiercely. The entire bridge groaned and shifted, threatening to collapse at any moment, yet brave—or desperate—warriors continued forward.
Arrows screamed through the air.
Some flew overhead.
Others glanced harmlessly off armor.
The lightly armored Yunkai slave soldiers suffered the heaviest casualties.
"Long live the Harpy!"
"Long live the Three-Headed God!"
"Long live King Joffrey!"
Spearmen advanced with leveled longspears while Lysene swordsmen fought with elegant longswords. Warriors leaped from ship to ship, climbed over railings, and pursued fleeing enemies across the unstable floating bridge.
Warhorses neighed in agony.
Some had shattered legs and screamed horribly before their masters mercifully slit their throats, sending crimson blood pouring across the decks.
Then came another loud crack.
The fragile bridge of ships finally began to break apart.
Bound vessels drifted apart as the current tore them loose, while flames spread across both the upper and lower Blackwater Rush.
Panic erupted.
Everyone still standing on the collapsing bridge leaped into the freezing river.
Some wore the emblem of the Lysene Goddess of Love.
Others bore the mark of the Three-Headed God.
Still others carried King Joffrey's crowned stag and lion banners beside ranks of green-clad spearmen.
The lucky managed to grab floating planks or broken ropes.
The unlucky disappeared beneath the current.
"The Tyrells!"
"Highgarden has joined the battle!"
Terrified cries spread across the battlefield.
The defenders of King's Landing fell even deeper into despair.
Although they couldn't clearly see the fighting across the river, the advancing green-clad spearmen and the golden rose banners left little doubt.
---
"Why?"
Standing atop the bridge of ships, Tyrion Lannister stared in disbelief at Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard.
They had fought side by side throughout the entire battle.
He had never imagined that Mandon would try to kill him at the very end.
Only now did Tyrion understand what Jaime had once meant.
Apart from Jaime himself, Mandon Moore was the most dangerous member of the Kingsguard.
His face never betrayed emotion, and no one could ever guess what he was thinking.
"No reason," Mandon replied coldly, his lifeless eyes fixed on Tyrion.
Before he could strike again, Tyrion's squire, Podrick Payne, plunged a dagger into his back and shoved him overboard.
Encased in heavy Kingsguard armor, Mandon immediately sank beneath the river.
"Who ordered you?" Tyrion shouted as he dropped to one knee, his body trembling from pain and exhaustion.
His face burned from the deep slash that had nearly severed his nose.
Only then did he remember the arrow lodged between his shoulder and breastplate.
"There wasn't just one employer," Mandon said as he disappeared beneath the dark waters.
"I can accept gold from several people."
Then he vanished forever.
Tyrion clenched his fist as blood dripped onto the deck.
Who had wanted him dead?
Cersei?
Varys?
Littlefinger?
Or had Mandon simply acted on his own hatred as a knight from the Vale?
"My lord, you're badly wounded," Podrick said anxiously.
"I'm already a dwarf."
Tyrion laughed bitterly.
"Now I'm crippled as well."
"My lord, we have to leave. We've lost. The king has fled, and the Northmen have entered the city."
"Run?"
Tyrion barked back.
"No. First, we reach the Mud Gate."
Looking around, he saw chaos everywhere.
To the north, banners disappeared within a sea of fighting men.
Shield walls formed only to collapse moments later.
Green-cloaked knights thundered through smoke, mud, blood, and dust, smashing into the broken defenders.
To the south, the Red Keep stood atop Aegon's High Hill, hurling blazing fireballs into the battlefield.
Podrick somehow found another horse.
Together they rode toward the Mud Gate.
Along the way they encountered Ser Balon Swann and several surviving knights retreating toward the city, making their escape considerably safer.
"Where is Ser Mandon?" Balon asked.
"He fell into the river and drowned."
Balon simply nodded.
"Hurry! The king has fled!"
The terrified cries echoed across King's Landing's walls.
Morale collapsed instantly.
As Joffrey rode back into the city, hundreds of Gold Cloaks threw down their spears and deserted.
Tyrion watched the crowned stag-and-lion banners being pulled down from the city walls.
Everything was over.
"It's finished," Tyrion murmured before galloping toward the Mud Gate.
---
"Cousin... you're alive."
Tyrion looked at Lancel Lannister in surprise.
Lancel's arm was badly wounded, and blood soaked through his clothing.
A handful of soldiers remained around him, but they were nowhere near enough to defend the gate.
"So are you," Lancel replied, relieved until he noticed Tyrion's injuries.
"Where's Ser Jacelyn?"
"Dead."
Lancel lowered his head.
"When King Joffrey abandoned the gate and retreated to the Red Keep, the Gold Cloaks believed they'd been forsaken."
"Ser Jacelyn rode before them, ordering them back into formation."
"They almost obeyed..."
"But then an arrow struck him in the neck."
"He was dragged from his horse and killed where he fell."
Tyrion gritted his teeth.
Cersei had ruined everything.
Ser Jacelyn was dead.
The Gold Cloaks had scattered.
"Has Joffrey reached the Red Keep?"
"He should have... but everything is chaos now."
"The Northmen and the southern armies have arrived."
"We've lost, Tyrion."
Lancel slowly sank to the ground.
"Even if the Stormlanders defeat Volantis..."
"...Highgarden, Crackclaw Point, and the North together will crush us."
Then Tyrion looked north.
"The Old Gate..."
His face changed.
Wildfire had blasted open the Old Gate, creating the perfect breach.
War drums thundered through the streets.
Hoofbeats echoed across the ruined city.
Upon the shattered remains of the Old Gate, new banners now flew proudly.
Golden stags.
Three-headed dragons.
The combined armies of the North and Crackclaw Point poured through the breach like a tidal wave.
Alongside them marched soldiers from Maidenpool, Rosby, and other Crownlands settlements.
"Count William Mooton."
Roose Bolton issued his orders calmly.
"You and Count Ryford Lyke will secure the Old Gate."
"The Crownlands soldiers from Rosby and Maidenpool are under your command."
"Yes, my lord."
The overweight count bowed immediately.
Nearby, Count Jak Crakehall smiled grimly.
"I intend to kill several Lannisters today."
"We once fought together on the Trident."
"Strange how times change, Lord Roose."
"They do indeed."
Roose Bolton nodded quietly.
He wore dark gray plate armor beneath a blood-red leather doublet, with a faded pink cloak stained by countless old bloodstains.
His armor was decorated with grotesque human faces twisted in silent agony.
Despite decades of warfare, his pale face remained almost unnaturally smooth.
No scars.
Few wrinkles.
His thin lips rarely moved.
His calmness was almost unsettling.
"I've heard His Grace is still fighting south of the Blackwater."
"I pray he wins a glorious victory."
"Our victory here is already certain," Roose answered softly.
"But victory belongs to the king."
Just then a scout galloped over.
"My lord."
"King's Landing has erupted into riots."
"Mobs are blocking the streets."
"There are also rumors..."
"...that King Joffrey is dead."
Roose's eyes widened slightly.
"What?"
"The king was returning to the Red Keep when he encountered rioters."
"Increase our pace," Roose ordered immediately.
"We must surround the Red Keep."
"But we brought few siege engines," Count Jak pointed out.
"It won't matter."
"If Joffrey is truly dead, the defenders have already lost heart."
"Our banners alone may be enough to secure victory."
Jak nodded.
"The men of Crackclaw Point are exhausted."
"But this isn't the time to rest."
Roose raised his voice.
"Pass down my orders."
"Advance immediately."
"Once the curfew horn sounds..."
"Kill and plunder every rioter who blocks our path."
"Some tasks should never stain the king's hands."
"Agreed."
Jak smiled coldly.
"Move!"
"Anyone still on the streets after curfew is no innocent."
Trumpets sounded once again.
War drums thundered.
The wolves of the North and the warriors of Crackclaw Point surged through King's Landing like an unstoppable tide.
---
The city burned.
Rioters roamed the streets in gangs, indulging themselves before the conquerors arrived.
Homes were set ablaze.
Women were assaulted.
The wealthy were robbed.
Among them were thieves, rapists, deserters from the Gold Cloaks, and self-proclaimed prophets preaching in the streets.
Some fled toward the Red Keep.
Others continued looting.
Whenever the Northmen encountered them, justice came swiftly.
Longspears.
Greatswords.
Battle axes.
Flails.
Meteor hammers.
The starving mobs stood no chance against disciplined soldiers.
In one narrow alley, several thugs laughed as they assaulted a young girl.
Northern soldiers burst into the passage carrying burning torches.
"In the name of the Old Gods..."
"In the name of House Stark..."
"You are sentenced to death."
Their longspears struck together.
Blood sprayed across the walls.
One after another, the criminals fell.
Soon, the streets of King's Landing flowed red with blood.
Roose Bolton watched silently.
"A peaceful people."
"A peaceful land."
"That is proper rule."
"These rioters make governing King's Landing far more difficult."
He felt no hesitation.
As a Northman, he neither sought office in King's Landing nor feared its people's resentment.
He simply wished to perform the unpleasant tasks that would spare the new king from dirtying his own hands.
"Robert should have executed Varys and Pycelle years ago," Roose said quietly.
"Some pests should never be allowed to survive."
Count Jak nodded.
"Then this time..."
"We'll finish the job properly."
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