A Call to Arms

most wanted canons

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 A Lion Still Has Claws, Event; End Second Crone
JAIME LANNISTER
 direct link • Jul 25 2017, 05:34 pm
Quote
King of the Westerlands
the Young Lion
SWORN TO THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
THE WESTERLANDS
39 years
Ashley • she/her • 374 posts
Offline


When he had stepped foot outside the gates of Deep Den Jaime had every intention on making for the coast and buying passage to Braavos. Now that he knew where she was, and that she was once more with child, it had been all the more difficult to remain away. Fighting off Baratheon and Tyrell soldiers in King’s Landing had seemed a far more noble choice than running, but being forced to marry another woman was not something he had anticipated. Jaime’s penchant for acting first and thinking later had been the cause for this, though it had done nothing to stop him from instantly reacting to the feelings he had when reading Dany’s letter.

The sudden appearance of his cousin Tyrek on the road to Lannisport had taken him by surprise, particularly given that he was counting on Tyrek to lead their forces in the south alongside his father. His cousin brought news of Ironborn ships off the coast of the reach - though no word of raids. It was odd, but not overly troubling. Word that the Kraken’s daughter, now calling herself queen, had Willas Tyrell as a hostage had reached him, and their positioning simply meant she was likely attempting to collect on her finder’s fee. However, the letter he received from Daenerys upon reaching Lannisport did give him pause.

‘My heart aches to think about the danger they would be in without their Prince to lead them.’

Already feeling unworthy of her love and trust, the guilt settled in rather quickly. Jaime had spent his entire life as a dutiful son, doing as his father bid. But what happened when your duty to your father contradicted that to your family? So many vows...they make you swear and swear. Defend the king.Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect your family. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other. His own moral compass was questionable at best, and the urge to rush to Daenerys’s side, to chose that vow over this one, had been strong. However, knowing that she wished him here? Defending the people she had intended to rule by his side? That was enough to make him reconsider his choices.

When news of the attack on Faircastle came Jaime knew that there was no choice to be made. The Ironborn were, at least, moderately predictable, moving from Faircastle to Kayce. Anticipating that move, Jaime had been able to lead his own troops from Lannisport to deal with them rather swiftly. Once they were no longer an issue the younger lion found himself debating travel to Essos once more. Putting an end to Ironborn raids - even if only in the interim - surely fulfilled his duty to his people, did it not? But he’d already written to Daenerys and sent Tyrek on his way. He’d made a promise to defend the people of the Westerlands, and Jaime intended to keep that promise. Not to mention Tyrell forces had been spotted marching North of Old Oak, far from where the bulk of their own men were at Silverhill.

Ordering the bulk of their forces to head south to Cornfield, Jaime took a number of others with him to Crakehall by ship, hoping to maximize the time he might have to strategize with Strongboar before heading inland to meet the rest of their troops. Once there he learned that House Crakehall had sent scouts to learn of the Tyrell army’s movements. Loras was making camp at Red Lake with some fourteen thousand men - a mere fraction of the Tyrell forces. Between those he’d sent to Crakehall weeks before and the reinforcements on their way from the northern coast of the Westerlands they would have Loras and his army outnumbered. The green Prince knew nothing about commanding an army - he’d been injured at Bronzegate and then shipped off to Dorne. Mace Tyrell was an even bigger dolt than he led on.

Joining the rest of their army south of Cornfield, Jaime felt favorable about the conditions at which they were meeting the Knight of Flowers. The rocky terrain of the Westerlands had him in his element, whilst Loras had likely only over swung a sword in fields of roses, perhaps even the occasional tourney pit. He knew nothing of playing to the advantages one had on home soil. Hills and mountains concealed their position until they came upon the valley that surrounded Red Lake, engaging in a sneak attack on the Tyrell forces. The fighting waged on for a number of hours before Jaime found himself face to face with the Knight of Flowers himself.

”Tell me, Ser Loras,” he mocked, adjusting his grip on the sword in hand. ”Are you a better fighter than your brother? You ran off to Dorne rather quickly after the last battle - perhaps you don’t even know yourself. Let’s see shall we?”
MANY-FACED GOD
 direct link • Jul 25 2017, 05:34 pm
Quote
Him of Many Faces
valar morghulis
God of Death
STAFF
deity years
admin • they/them • 186 posts
Offline


Looking off to the horizon, Loras Tyrell drank in the warm breeze that blew through his dark brown curls; it was peaceful, if only for the night, but he and the men under his command were but a stone's throw away from the border between The Reach and Westerlands now, and on the morrow they would be marching right into enemy territory. He had been granted but a fraction of his House's full martial strength, but Loras knew he would need no more than what had been provided to ransack and burn every mill, farm and village that stood in his way; only ash and despair would be left afterwards, nothing more.

Red Lake had been their last bastion before the true test began, but even that proved to be a short sort of relief. The sun had been high in the sky when the Lannister troops emerged from behind the rocky hills, their crimson and gold banners flying ever defiant in the summer wind. They cascaded down into the valley like a river seemingly without end, the fighting had begun before the flow had been dammed. Loras, drawing his blade and hoisting it into the air, barked orders to the closest generals, and they barked their own orders further down the chain of command until the entirety of the Tyrell forces were ready for the battle to come.

The fighting waged on for hours, the noon sun had begun its descent by the time Loras Tyrell found himself face to face with the commander of the Westerlands' forces, the Lion Prince himself: Jaime Lannister. Scowling as his fingers tightened around the white leather grip of his sword, the young Rose's pretty features were locked within a mask of fiery wrath as he looked upon the gilded Prince, upon the man who had murdered his brother in cold blood. ”I'll see your tongue cut out before you're hanged, Lannister.” It was his father's malice that dripped from his words, he realized; apparently he'd inherited more from Mace than he realized. Picturing a noose around Jaime Lannister's neck and watching his loathsome corpse sway from the nearest tree was indeed a comforting thought and, perhaps, the closest thing Loras could get to true retribution – But both he and the Lion Prince knew that that was not the way the winds were blowing. The Tyrell forces were outnumbered nearly two to one it seemed, and each passing second pushed them ever closer to the cruel jaws of defeat: No, this was not a battle to be won, but Loras did not intend to end this skirmish without some shred of victory.

Death by blade was too quick and too kind for Jaime Lannister, but it was going to have to do.

Without another word, Loras lunged forward and clashed his sword against Jaime's, stepping further inward to force the Lion onto the defensive. Each swing seemed quicker than the last, a feat afforded to him by his youth – Was the aging Lannister Prince going to be able to keep up? The clang of steel against steel was almost entirely drowned out within the young Tyrell's ears by a sharp, piercing whine that was orchestrated by the furious cocktail of rage and anguish bubbling within his veins. He was filled with the sort of rage he'd only heard stories about, the type that drowned out anything and everything but the goal at hand.

Jaime was a better commander than him, that much could not be argued, but Loras was confident that no man alive could best him in single combat. Each swing of his sword would have put an end to any lesser knight, but Lannister kept pace with him, each blow parried with the sort of expertise reserved for swordsmen of their caliber.

He was rustier than he would have liked; had he not suffered an injury at Bronzegate he was sure this fight would've been over already, his time in Dorne had done him no favors in preparing for this moment. It was not his lack of skill that lost him the upper hand, however: A single awkward foothold on the unfamiliar terrain allowed Jaime Lannister a wide enough window to shift the momentum in his favor, leading to Loras back-stepping in an attempt to create enough separation to return to a stalemate. He parried a series of blows, but the Lion did not relent in his assault, matching each backward stride with a forward step of his own until their two locked blades, the edge of each sword grinding against the other as both men struggled for advantage. Gritting his teeth, Loras stepped inward and dropped his shoulder, but Jaime predicted the move and quickly swung to the side, the momentum carrying the Tyrell's blade a good five feet away from where he stood until it clanged uselessly onto the ground.

He would not accept this defeat – He couldn't. Fueled by desperation and lingering adrenaline, Loras vaulted forward before Jaime had the chance to square himself for another attack; he threw every ounce of himself into the Lion Prince, his arms wrapping around the older man's shoulders as the two tumbled to the ground; somewhere along the way Jaime lost his grip on the hilt of his own blade, but it remained very much within reach. Mounting up, Loras shoved a forearm into Lannister's neck as his free hand searched for that discarded blade, but he soon realized he could not hope to grab it without giving up position atop the golden Prince. As he pulled his hand back, his fingers found themselves clasped around the craggy surface of a particularly weighty stone – Perhaps it had been the one that tripped him up to begin with, that certainly would have been poetic. Clenching his fist around the rock, Loras hefted it upwards and, for just a moment, time seemed to stop. He looked down at the face of the man who murdered his brother, then to the hand that reached for the hilt of the fallen sword.

Summoning every bit of strength that resided within him, Loras brought the stone down onto the Lion's hand with a sickening crunch, his own hearing snapping back as Jaime yelled out in sudden agony – Of all the sweet songs his mother had sung to him, truly this was the sweetest song of all. Lifting it up once more, Loras looked at the indentation he'd left at the now stationary appendage, at the red liquid that seeped onto the stony ground. Jaime Lannister would suffer in his last few moments, the young Tyrell would see to that personally. Bringing his improvised weapon down once more, Loras further battered the man's hand, feeling yet more bones breaking underneath the weight of the rock. Satisfied with mess he'd made of Lannister's hand, the Tyrell Prince hefted the stone up one more time, his focus shifting to Jaime's face.

Are you watching, Garlan? Are you?


Lyle “Strongboar” Crakehall had been a few paces away in hand to hand combat with a knight of House Oakheart when he saw his Prince tackled to the ground by the Knight of Flowers. A low roar of fury rumbled deep in his chest, and he cut down his opponent with renewed vigor. He was, unfortunately, too late to save the young lion’s hand from being mangled by Ser Loras. His hand went to the back of Loras’s neck, gripping it tightly and pulling him off the Lannister Prince. But he was a fair knight and would not kill a man who was unarmed. Besides, a Prince of the Reach was useful leverage, and having a second Tyrell killed by Lannister men would do them no good.

One arm wrapped tightly around Ser Loras’s throat, Lyle called to his younger brother to bring a length of rope. The younger man would be their captive.


Thanks Louis for the lovely Loras post!
MACE TYRELL
 direct link • Jul 25 2017, 05:36 pm
Quote
King of the Reach
The KING OF CUPS
SWORN TO THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
THE REACH
50 years
Tris • he/him • 116 posts
Offline


Mace Tyrell was not a military man, or much of a warrior. He’d led hosts in no great victories, outmanoeuvred no enemy commanders and much of the time on campaign he was drunk as only king could be. That was, in part, why the King of the Reach was so baffled that whenever he was not personally on the field the armies of his kingdom kept botching it all up. The Battle of the Red Ford had ended up a costly victory, with his army both crossing the river and hanging Tywin Lannister from a tree. The host of the Westerlands had retreated in good order towards Deep Den, where trying to force the pass would wreck his army - or so Lord Tarly insisted. With ill grace he’d conceded that pursuit could not happen, and been prevailed upon to change the direction of the campaign. Tarly had been plotting to split the army - half to keep the Lannisters away from Goldengrove, using the river to defend the same way it had been used against them, and the other half to join Loras’ host in marching up the oceanroad. His war council had been confident they would be laying siege to Casterly Rock within three months.

Then the raven had come.

His youngest son had given battle south of Cornfield. Good, he’d thought. With any luck there would be a few more dead Lannisters for the tally. But then the maester had told him the seal on the parchment was of red wax, not green, and the taste had turned bitter in his mouth. Mace had given Loras nearly fifteen thousand men and told him to burn everything to the west of Red Lake. Instead the boy had blundered into a larger Lannister army, bloodied his forces before they fled the field and gotten himself captured for good measure. Only worry at the health of one of his two remaining sons tempered the flash of utter rage the king felt when he read the words. The campaign, on parchment, was not yet lost. If the Reach gathered the remnants of Loras’ host and joined them to the men Tarly wanted to take west, the Lannisters would be slightly outnumbered - and if they were beaten on the field, the path to Casterly Rock was once more open. But Mace couldn’t do that, could he? Because Jaime fucking Lannister had his son prisoner, and if the Reach marched again Loras would end up hanging from a tree like Tywin.

The turncloak who’d murdered one of his children was using another as leverage to treat. There was no real choice - Mace was not willing to let Loras die to avenge Garlan. Not when there would be opportunities to finish that work in the years to come. But for now, he journeyed to Red Lake. The seat of House Crane had yet to be besieged, though the Lannister army was but a few days’ ride away. The pace wasn’t as swift as the king would have liked, but he could no longer ride a horse and carriages could only go so fast without a proper road to go on. The last stretch of the way to the negotiations, he had to take a litter for. The Lannisters were already on the field when the Reachmen arrived, flying their fucking banners from their lesser horses. Only forty men each, that was what had been agreed on. The talks were to happen within sight of the walls of Red Lake, but not so close a sally from the keep would be able to arrive in time to tip the balance if it came to a fight. The turncloak had learned to take at least some precautions from his corpse of a father, it seemed.
Mace left the litter more quickly than he should have and his burned leg wobbled until one of the Roseguard handed him his cane and he was able to lean on it. Grimacing at the pain, the King of the Reach hobbled forward.

“Lannister,” he spat, eyeing the enemy. “Let us not waste time, I’ve no stomach for pleasantries with your kind. Name your terms.”
JAIME LANNISTER
 direct link • Jul 25 2017, 05:37 pm
Quote
King of the Westerlands
the Young Lion
SWORN TO THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
THE WESTERLANDS
39 years
Ashley • she/her • 374 posts
Offline


A phantom. It felt as if a phantom hand were still attached to his body. If he thought about it hard enough Jaime swore could still flex his fingers. But there were no fingers any longer. His sword hand had been crushed by Loras Tyrell when the man had tackled him to the ground, a desperate move after being disarmed. It had been that desperation that had led to the Tyrell prince’s capture immediately after. Unfortunately having a captive Knight of Flowers would not bring back use of his hand. It had been mangled by the prince’s actions, bones protruding from flesh, one finger dangling. Impossible to fix and threatened with infection, the maester they’d brought from Cornfield had told him there was only one option remaining. A sword was brought swiftly down to severe it at the wrist, and Jaime clenched his jaw to hold back a scream.

The letter to Mace had been dictated by him as Jaime sulked, mourning his loss and clutching a goblet of wine tightly in his left hand. Two days later a rider had arrived with news from Silverhill. His father was dead. Jaime was King of the Westerlands. The cup of wine had been clumsily thrown, orders to get out barked at the young courier who had brought the news. Jaime had have a mind to march down to the cell where Loras was being kept and slit his throat then and there. To dictate another letter to Mace withdrawing his promise to treat. But if his father was dead that meant they’d been sorely outnumbered in battle, and despite their win at Red Lake his own faction had not been without casualties. Killing Loras Tyrell mean this war would continue, and with Myrcella married to Mace’s heir - who Jaime now knew still lived - that was not a risk he would take lightly.

A truce must be drawn.

Jaime had dismounted with some assistance before the arrival of the King of the Reach and his forty men, not wishing to put on such a display for them to witness. A stuffed glove was worn on the end of his bandaged stump to mask the injury, a sneer on his face as he watched Mace hobble toward him with the support of a cane.

”It’s simple really. I want your men out of my kingdom. Every last one of them - and not to Red Lake or Goldengrove, either. Release your banners. I’ll do the same. Until that has been done Loras remains at Cornfield, and if you don’t comply he gets to join his dear beloved brother.” The Tyrell prince stood shackled within view, brought along so that Mace could see he was, at least, still alive. But he would not be released until Jaime was certain his orders to retreat had been obeyed.

”Do you agree to these terms?”
MACE TYRELL
 direct link • Jul 25 2017, 05:38 pm
Quote
King of the Reach
The KING OF CUPS
SWORN TO THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
THE REACH
50 years
Tris • he/him • 116 posts
Offline


The Lannister was injured.

He was putting on a good show, but someone had fucked up his arm real bad - there was no hiding that from Mace Tyrell, a man so well-practiced in the art of hiding the obvious for petty reasons. Crushed bones? Hard to tell from a distance, and the king wasn’t getting any closer. He had just hung the man’s father. His fingers were not moving, so whatever it was must hurt like a bitch. The bearded man almost smiled. Well, it wasn’t the corpse he’d been after but it would do for now. Maybe the rot would take and they’d have to take off the hand. Maybe the turncloak would balk and the sickness would take him entirely. He’d remember to pray at the sept to see if that helped the matter along. He met Jaime’s sneer by a scoff. The blonde twit could strut as much as he liked, he wouldn’t have done any better against dragonfire than Mace had. Swords were of no help against the heat those monsters spat out into the world.

”It’s simple really. I want your men out of my kingdom. Every last one of them - and not to Red Lake or Goldengrove, either. Release your banners. I’ll do the same. Until that has been done Loras remains at Cornfield, and if you don’t comply he gets to join his dear beloved brother.”

My kingdom, huh. The little shit already thought himself a king, with his father gone. May he choke on the crown. At the mention of Garlan’s death, married to threat of Loras joining him, Mace’s fingers tightened so harshly around his cane the knuckles turned white. If he had weapon on him, he would have killed the man or died trying. Even if they both ended up corpses, it would have been worth it. The demand was slightly more cunning than he’d expected. The King of the Reach could not expect to call back his banners the moment he’d released them - his lords would not stand for it, not if he’d made peace before witnesses. That aside, it would be some months before the coffers of Highgarden were full enough to afford another campaign, if not years. War was a costly business, and the Reach did not have gold mines to mint themselves a fresh fortune. If he accepted, it was the end of the war for the foreseeable future.

Or, at least, of open war. There were middle grounds to be walked here.

”Do you agree to these terms?”

It was an empty question and they both knew it. Mace was willing to sacrifice a great many things to see Garlan avenged, but one of his remaining sons was not one of them.

“I accept your terms,” the king said, loudly enough the boy could not complain about lack of witnesses. “I so swear in the name of the Seven.”

The King of the Reach studied the man across the grass and eventually smiled a bitter smile.

“I’ve a few years in me still,” he said. “I can afford the wait.”

His eyes flicked at the wounded arm.

“Hold on tightly to that crown, Jaime Turncloak,” he said. “Go sit on your father’s throne. Take his rooms, wear his ornaments - and remember how he ended up, for all his pride. One day we’ll finish what we started, I can promise you that.”

Spitting on the ground, the King of the Reach walked away. There were men to bury. There were more quiet forms of revenge to plot, behind the walls of Highgarden. War was but a single path to walk to the destination he intended, and though Mace was slower these days he had learned a thing or two about patience.

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