THIRD POV
The late afternoon sun hung low over the Lannister camp, casting a warm, golden glow across the sea of crimson and gold tents that fluttered softly in the gentle breeze. Stannis Baratheon rode in with a small escort of ten guards, their black and yellow cloaks sharply contrasting the vibrant Lannister colors that dominated the camp. He chose to leave his five hundred riders outside the camp to avoid provoking the Lannister forces.
As Stannis and his men advanced toward the centre, the camp buzzed with activity. Soldiers sharpened their steel blades, horses whinnied softly as they were brushed, and murmurs of conversation filled the air. Lannister soldiers paused in their tasks, their eyes tracking the figure of the Stormlord with a mix of curiosity and respect. Whispers rippled through the ranks, recounting tales of Stannis's legendary victory at Felwood, where he had astonishingly overcome an army ten times the size of his own with just three thousand men.
His formidable reputation loomed over the camp like a storm cloud, and the Lannister soldiers couldn't help but marvel at him.
As they approached the heart of the camp, a grand tent loomed ahead, its crimson fabric embroidered with golden lions, the Lannister sigil unmistakable.
Rolland Storm stood at its entrance, flanked by a pair of Lannister guards, his white stallion tethered nearby. Stannis dismounted quietly, his boots crunching on the dry earth, and his guards formed a protective ring behind him. Rolland offered a subtle nod, his expression a blend of relief and caution.
A Lannister knight stepped forward, his armor adorned with intricate gold filigree, marking him as someone of note. He was broad-shouldered, with a sharp jawline and short blonde hair.
"Lord Stannis," he greeted, his voice measured. "We were very surprised when Ser Rolland informed us about your visit, We didn't expect to see you here. I am Kevan Lannister. Please, follow me, my brother awaits."
"Lead on," Stannis replied, his tone short but polite.
Kevan turned and held the tent flap open, ushering Stannis inside. The interior was a lavish display of Lannister wealth: crimson and gold tapestries lined the walls, depicting roaring lions, soft Myrish rug softened the ground. At the centre stood a long table, filled with various food: roast pheasant, ham, fresh bread, and a pitcher of Arbor gold wine, clearly arranged for Stannis's visit. In the corner, a smaller worktable was cluttered with maps and scrolls, a single candle casting a flickering light.
Kevan strode ahead, his voice resonating with a sense of importance as he announced, "Brother, I've brought Lord Stannis."
From the worktable, Tywin Lannister rose, his movements deliberate and commanding. He was a tall, slender man in his forties, broad-shouldered with thin but muscled arms. His head was shaved smooth, framed by bushy golden side-whiskers that gave him a stern, regal bearing. His pale green eyes, flecked with gold, fixed on Stannis with an assessing gaze. Stannis's mind flickered to a memory from his past life—the Tywin of the show had been older, more weathered, his presence almost theatrical. This Tywin was sharper, more vital, a lion in his prime.
From the worktable, Tywin Lannister rose with an air of deliberate control, his movements sharp and calculated. He was a tall, slender man in his forties, with broad shoulders that seemed to emphasise both strength and elegance. His head was shaved smooth, showcasing the defined contours of his face, while bushy golden sideburns framed his jaw, giving him an authoritative, kingly appearance. His pale green eyes, flecked with gold like autumn leaves caught in sunlight, fixed on Stannis with an intense, piercing gaze, as if assessing not just his appearance, but the very essence of his character.
(image of Tywin lannister)
Stannis's mind flickered back to a memory of Tywin from his past life, the figure he had known from the show, whose appearance was different. This Tywin was sharper, more vigorous, displaying the fierce strength of a lion in his prime, poised and ready for the challenges that lay ahead.
"Lord Stannis," Tywin said, his voice deep and authoritative, moving towards the table filled with food.
"An unexpected pleasure. Join me." He gestured to the table, pouring wine into two goblets and sliding one toward Stannis.
Stannis took a seat, his expression unreadable, while Tywin filled his goblet.
"I gather you're heading towards your brother," Tywin began, his tone probing.
Stannis nodded. "Aye, to meet my brother. I was on my way when my scouts brought word of his victory and the death of Prince Rhaegar. They also reported that your army camped at the bridge I meant to cross. I decided a visit. I've heard much of you from my father. You were friends, were you not?"
Tywin's gaze softened slightly, though his posture remained rigid.
"Your father was a good man, a worthy friend. But that won't shield you, Lord Stannis. You entered my camp with a handful of men, unsure if this place is friend or foe. While it is bold behaviour, it strikes me as quite reckless."
Stannis's lips twitched into a rare smile. "Foe? Lord Tywin, I believe your intentions are easier to read than you might expect."
Tywin raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "Indeed? And what, pray tell, are those intentions?"
Stannis took a sip of wine, his eyes steady. "You've backed no side, hardly surprising. Your lands are far from the battlefields, and your vassals appear lacking in the bravery or motivation to act for either Robert or Rhaegar in hopes of securing their favor, which can be used against you. Whichever side claims victory will be too weakened to confront you. It's a clever strategy, I would consider a similar approach were I in your position."
Tywin studied him for a moment with a mixture of respect and amusement, before letting out a low, very rare controlled chuckle. "The tales of your wisdom aren't exaggerated. And now, where do we go from here?"
Stannis smiled again, setting his goblet down. "Both of us know that with Rhaegar's death, the war's fate is sealed. Only the things that are left to do are to take the capital and get rid of Aerys. And how it looks like nothing stands between you and King's Landing, which is protected by a few thousand guards. And I suspect you want your revenge on Aerys. He took your son Jaime, your heir, into the Kingsguard; it must have been a heavy insult."
A flash of anger flickered in Tywin's green eyes as he remembered how Aerys took his son, left him with an imp as his heir, but he quickly masked it.
"It seems you've pieced it together," he said, his voice tight. "You have a sharp mind."
"Then I've read you correctly," Stannis replied. "When do we move? I have my debts to pay to Aerys, after all, he is the reason my parents are dead; if not for his foolish order, they would have lived."
"Tomorrow at dawn," Tywin said, his tone firm. "With the first light."
The conversation shifted as they ate, Tywin answering Stannis's questions about the War of the Ninepenny Kings, where he and Stannis's father had fought side by side, and tales of his childhood with his father and Stannis's father, Steffan. After a while, Stannis set his goblet down and rose.
"I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Tywin, but I'm weary and seek rest."
Tywin nodded. "I've ordered a tent prepared for you."
Stannis shook his head. "My thanks, but I'd prefer to stay with my men." With that, he nodded, turned and exited the tent, the flap falling shut behind him as he rejoined his guards under the fading light.
As Stannis stepped out of the crimson and gold tent, the cool evening air brushed against his face, carrying the faint scent of smoke and steel. The Lannister camp was quieter now, the bustle of the day giving way to the soft glow of campfires and the few clinks of armor. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he spotted Rolland Storm standing nearby, still flanked by the ten guards who had accompanied him. Rolland's white stallion pawed the ground restlessly, and the guards straightened as Stannis approached, their expressions a mix of curiosity and readiness.
Rolland turned to him, his brow furrowed with anticipation.
"Well, how did the meeting go?"
Stannis met his gaze, his face hardening.
"Well enough. Tomorrow, we march with the Lannisters toward King's Landing."
Rolland's eyes lit up with a grim satisfaction. "Good. Time to cast the dragon from the throne and set a stag in its place."
Stannis gave a curt nod, the weight of the decision settling over him. Without another word, the two men turned, leading the guards back toward their camp.
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Stanis's POV
We've been marching for days now, the relentless rhythm of hooves and boots wearing down both my men and me. The journey has stretched our endurance thin, the endless jolts of the saddle aching in my bones, but it will end soon. As dusk settles, we will finally arrive at King's Landing.
The Lannister army moves ahead, their crimson and gold banners cutting through the fading light, while my five hundred ride behind, following Tywin's lead. He told me their storming the city won't be needed, the gates will open for us. I can't recall the exact details of how Tywin will take the city, but I remember that his army will brutally sack it, they will kill and rape thousends.
I glance at Rolland, riding beside me, face carved with exhaustion.
"Tired, Rolland?" I ask, my voice rough from the day's dust.
He shakes his head, though his eyes betray him.
"Not tired, just sick of this endless riding."
"A few weeks more, and we'll be home," I reply, trying to steady him. "For now, we must push past the exhaustion and prepare for today. You remember the plan, Rolland?"
He nods, his expression hardening. "Aye, to save as many as we can from the Lannisters."
"Good," I say, mirroring his nod. "It'd be wise to gather the smallfolk in one place, perhaps a great sept. It'll make their protection easier."
Rolland agrees, his voice low. "Sensible. And you, my lord? What will you do?"
I look ahead, the silhouette of King's Landing's walls looming against the darkening sky.
"I have business in the Red Keep," I answer, leaving it at that. Rolland falls silent, and so do I, my thoughts drifting back to the weight of what's to come. I can't stop King's Landing's fall, but I'll save as many as I can. And then it hits me, the core of my unease: Elia Martell, Rhaegar's wife, and their children, Aegon and Rhaenys. Their deaths will be horrible, committed with a cruelty that turns my stomach. Gregor clegane will dash Aegon against a wall before his mother's eyes, then rape and kill Elia, while Ser Amory Lorch stabbs Rhaenys hundred time with a dagger. The thought alone sickens me; no one deserves such an end.
Saving them could win Dorne's favor, a valuable ally for the future. But it might backfire, Aegon can become a problem. Still, my conscience won't let me stand by while they're slaughtered.
Aegon could be sent to the Wall when he grows, and Rhaenys might become a septa or a silent sister. It's a path I can justify, a mercy I can offer.
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Third POV
After hours of marching under the fading light, the combined forces of Stannis Baratheon and Tywin Lannister finally drew near to King's Landing. The city loomed ahead, its battlements silhouetted against the twilight sky, the air thick with the scent of salt from the nearby Blackwater Bay.
Stannis turned to Rolland Storm, who rode beside him on his white stallion, his face set with determination.
"Rolland, I'll go ahead with my guards to join the Lannisters at the gates," Stannis said, his voice firm. "Act as we planned."
Rolland nodded, his grip tightening on the reins. "Aye, my lord. We'll see it done."
Stannis wheeled his horse around to face his ten chosen guards, their faces hard and resolute.
"Did you take Bows and arrows, as I instructed?" he asked, his tone sharp.
The guards nodded in unison, their hands already adjusting the quivers slung across their backs.
"Good," Stannis continued. "Remove the banners and cloaks. We need to get close to the walls without drawing attention."
The guards quickly passed their banners to the riders behind them, the Baratheon sigil vanishing from sight.
Stannis gave a final command, "Follow me", and spurred his horse into a gallop, his guards falling in behind as they cut through the Lannister ranks toward the city gates.
At the Lion Gate, Tywin Lannister and his brother Kevan waited astride their mounts, their armor gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Tywin's expression was unreadable, his pale green eyes fixed on the massive oak doors, while Kevan's gaze flickered with a hint of impatience. Stannis reined in beside them, his guards fanning out behind him, and offered a curt nod.
"Lord Tywin, Ser Kevan," he greeted. "Why are the gates still closed?"
Kevan turned to him, a reassuring smile on his lips.
"No need to worry, Lord Stannis. They'll open soon."
Before Stannis could press further, a deep groan echoed through the air as the gates began to creak open, revealing the darkened streets of King's Landing. The moment the gap widened enough, the Lannister cavalry surged forward without a command, their horses thundering through the entrance in a crimson tide. It was clear they already knew their orders, Tywin had planned for a swift and brutal sack.
Stannis's jaw tightened at the sight, but he wasted no time. "
Follow me," he barked to his guards, spurring his horse forward. They rode through the gate, the city's narrow streets unfolding before them, the sounds of chaos already rising as the Lannister forces began the slaughter.