"Giddy up! Giddy up!"
Eddard Karstark lashed his mount, pushing the horse to its limit. The cobblestones blurred beneath them, buildings flashing past like shadowed sentinels. Doors and windows were tightly shuttered, leaving only darkness behind him. The citizens cowered inside their homes, likely clutching each other in fear as the thunder of hooves echoed through the city streets.
The Red Keep atop Aegon's High Hill grew nearer under the starlit sky. Earlier that afternoon, Eddard had spotted House Royce's banner—an orange field with a pile of black pebbles framed by runes—flying over the walls of King's Landing. That single sight had confirmed his suspicions: the city's gates could be opened, and King's Landing could be seized without the slow, cumbersome methods of siege towers or battering engines. He could emulate Tywin Lannister's swift strategy from Robert's Rebellion—trick the gates open and storm the city.
This city was steeped in filth. Even if the snow of the far North were brought to cleanse it, the darkness within would remain. Even if it melted into icy, bone-chilling slush, it could only wash the surface.
Eddard had ample reason to convince Lord Royce to side with him. King Tommen I, product of incest, held no legitimate claim. The Red Keep housed officials implicated in Jon Arryn's murder. Bronze Yohn had justification to act: to avenge a murdered liege lord.
And the matter also involved Lysa Tully and Petyr Baelish. Once their guilt was proven, both faced execution, freeing the Vale lords from subjugation. Robert Arryn, heir to the Eyrie, would become orphaned—its custody, and the attendant power, falling to those who could claim it. Jon Royce, one of the Vale's most powerful lords, would not let this opportunity slip. All of these reasons justified risking everything to change the balance of power in King's Landing and restore Stark influence.
Karas Snow raised the Twin River City banner high, the golden sun gleaming in firelight. Behind him, nearly seven hundred cavalry surged forward, hooves drumming the dark streets with thunderous intensity. The Red Keep's gates loomed ahead.
An arrow whizzed past Eddard's ear. Twenty or thirty knights in mixed armor clashed fiercely with enemies several times their number, their weapons—longswords, shields, spears, spiked maces—cutting through the chaos. Dozens lay dead, blood pooling around their bodies, their colors obscured in crimson.
"Clear the way! Clear the way!"
Eddard leveled his lance, piercing a Red Keep guard in a lion-emblazoned helmet. Blood spattered as the spear emerged from the man's back. Releasing it, he drew Heartbreaker and slashed at the red-cloaked soldiers around him. Every swing of Valyrian steel ended a life with precision: helmets split, heads, necks, and torsos bisected in a deadly dance.
Once the path was clear, Eddard spurred his mount toward the Hand's Tower. He had never been inside the Red Keep, yet in this chaos, he moved with the confidence of a man who had mastered battlefield improvisation. Karas Snow and the banner followed closely, his personal guard cutting a swath through anyone attempting to resist. Behind them, Twin River City's First and Second Guards Corps gradually flooded the streets, golden and red banners billowing amidst the roar of battle.
---
Adam Marbrand ascended the city walls, torches lighting the chaos below. Countless lights surged through the gates, cavalry moving faster than he could comprehend. By the time he processed what was happening, a thousand fast-moving riders had stormed into the city through Gods Gate, scattering defenders like leaves before a storm. Outside, three times that number waited, forming tight, dark squares—not a chaotic attack, but a disciplined military display under the gods' gaze.
The shouts of battle echoed everywhere. Axes tore through armor, maces crushed skulls, and lances pierced through chests. The Golden Cloaks scattered like terrified dogs, only to be struck down in the streets. Not a single door or window offered shelter for them.
"Counterattack! Organize immediately!" Marbrand roared, grabbing his adjutant. "Send word to the barracks! Retake the gates!"
The adjutant's face was pale. "It's over, my lord. Everything is lost!"
Marbrand cursed, raising his spyglass. Over two hundred giants, more than three meters tall, charged with unstoppable momentum. Their shields alone dwarfed men, and elite soldiers were flung aside like rag dolls. Archers' arrows bounced off their thick armor. Corpses were lifted and thrown back, adding to the chaos.
"Where are the Vale soldiers?!" Marbrand demanded.
"They… they opened the gates and let the enemy in," the adjutant stammered.
Marbrand's blood boiled. "Traitors! All of them!" He drew his sword, pressing it to the adjutant's throat. The cold steel sent a jolt of fear down the man's spine.
"Remember, ten thousand Vale soldiers await at Bronze Gate Town!" the adjutant whispered.
Marbrand sheathed his blade and swung onto his horse. Gritting his teeth, he shouted, "Move out!"
---
Back at the Hand's Tower, a dozen red-cloaked guards hammered a massive log against the oak doors. "Thud! Again! Quick, for Lannister, for Ser Kevan!"
The sound of battlehorses galloping echoed, followed by the flash of Valyrian steel tracing in the firelight. Eddard swung Heartbreaker, severing spears and limbs alike, cutting down anyone in his path. He dismounted, plunging the sword into another soldier's throat, while Karas Snow and the personal guard carved a path forward, charging the red-cloaked defenders in a coordinated strike.
Silver-white boots squelched in the blood-soaked streets as Eddard ascended the steps, reaching the Hand's Tower doors. He patted the dilapidated wood and called, "I am Eddard Karstark, Regent of the Riverlands. Inform Lord Royce that our combined forces have entered the city. If all goes as planned, this battle will be over before dawn."
Hurried footsteps approached. The doors opened to reveal Andar Royce, Lord Royce's eldest son, clad in silver runed armor, reddish-brown beard neatly trimmed, and gray eyes alight with amusement.
"Lord Eddard, it is a pleasure," Andar said, ushering him inside. "The plan proceeds smoothly."
Eddard surveyed the chaos. "Has Lord Royce discovered the truth?"
Andar's expression darkened. "The Red Keep's court is filthier than we imagined. Father waits with Archmaester Pycelle, Varys, and Ser Kevan."
Together, they ascended to the study. Eddard had never been in the Red Keep and marveled at its labyrinthine halls.
Inside, Ser Kevan sat, grim and silent, recalling past humiliation. Pycelle slouched nearby, old and lecherous. And Varys, the Master of Whisperers, watched with a calculating glare.
Eddard smiled faintly. "Varys, I've heard much about you. Later, we must have a good conversation."
The stage was set. The battle for King's Landing had begun in earnest, and the city trembled under the force of determined northern and riverland steel.
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