Third Pov
The night had settled over King's Landing like a heavy blanket as Stannis Baratheon rode through the Lion Gate with ten Stormguards. The steady clop-clop of their horses' hooves on the cobblestones echoed through the narrow passage.
Stannis's black stallion was restless beneath him, snorting and tossing its head. Its breath curled into mist in the cool night air, its unease a mirror of the storm brewing inside of his rider. Every nerve in his body burned with purpose. He had to reach the Red Keep quickly.
In his right hand, Stannis held a one-handed sword, sharp and steady, ready for whatever might try to stop him. Strapped across his back was Heartsbane, the two-handed Valyrian steel greatsword of House Tarly. The sword he called at the Battle of the Fellwood's Pass, after defeating Lord Randyll Tarly. His armor, battered and scarred from the long journey, groaned as he shifted in the saddle.
His ten guards rode in tight formation behind him. Each man was a hardened, disciplined, loyal fighter. They held Horse Reins in one hand and spears in the other, their tips catching the faint flicker of torchlight, their swords hung at their hips. Bows and arrows were slung across their backs, ready to be drawn at any moment.
As they passed the gate, the Sack of King's Landing unfolded before them. Smoke, blood, and burning wood filled the air, mixing with screams and clashing steel. This wasn't a battle. This was something worse. Something raw and lawless.
Once proud city watch, known as The Gold Cloaks, the defenders of the city of King's Landing and the enforcers of the law, sworn only to the Iron Throne, were barely holding on. They were bloodstained and disoriented and clashed with organised, brutal Lannister troops.
Stannis's sharp eyes took in the chaos: Lannister cavalry charged through the streets, their crimson cloaks marked with golden lions, lances piercing Gold Cloaks with brutal precision. But the violence wasn't just against soldiers.
From a side alley, Stannis saw a young woman dragged from a tavern, her screams rising above the noise as Lannister men pinned her down. Her cries were desperate, torn from her throat, and then silenced. A child lay nearby, limp and broken, blood pooling beneath his small frame. His father's corpse burned just steps away, the house behind him a crackling pyre.
Further up the street, Lannister soldiers laughed as they looted and torched a merchant's stall. Grain and silver were split onto the ground before the fire consumed it all.
Stannis's jaw clenched. His grip on his sword tightened. His every instinct cried out to act, to punish. But he couldn't. Not now.
"Formation!" Stannis shouted, his voice clear above the chaos. "Six men with Spears forward, four with bows stay behind. We cut our way towards Red Keep!"
The Stormguards snapped into motion, smooth and sure. They knew their parts. Just then, a group of ten Gold Cloaks came charging toward them. Stannis didn't flinch. He urged his stallion forward. One of the Watchmen struck at him, but he turned the blow aside and drove his sword through the man's throat in a single, clean motion. Blood sprayed across his armor.
Behind him, his men surged forward. Spears pierced more attackers. Arrows flew. Bodies fell. Two of the Gold Cloaks fled, but they didn't get far. Lannister Swords found them in the alley and finished the job.
Stannis pushed forward, his guards following, leaving bodies behind. All around them, the city fell deeper into ruin. Doors were kicked in. Innkeepers and their families were butchered. Fires roared in the night. In a grain market, Stannis saw a father begging for his children's lives. He was cut down without hesitation. One child was knocked down. Another, a young girl, was dragged screaming into the darkness.
Stannis could barely breathe through the weight in his chest. He forced the sickness back. He had to keep moving. He was too outnumbered to do something.
They entered a broad square, torchlight dancing across the bloodstained stones. The Alchemists' Guildhall loomed on one side, a tall, silent monument of black marble. Its doors were locked, its windows barred. Stannis knew what secrets it held. The wildfire, dark green liquid, which Tyrion used during the battle of Blackwater to blow up Stannis' fleet.
"I will deal with it later," Stannis thought.
Ahead lay the Street of the Seed, a long stretch littered with bodies and the broken remnants of lives. A barricade blocked the way, wagons, crates, and a dozen Gold Cloaks standing firm against the Lannisters. The street behind them ran red, and smallfolk darted in every direction, desperate to survive. Some ran with children. Others didn't make it.
Far away from him, at the street's end, Stannis could see Aegon's Hill and the Red Keep stood atop it. Its red towers overlooked the city.
"Follow me!" Stannis called, urging his horse forward. "To the Red Keep!"
As they rode towards the hill, Stannis saw a massive figure on horseback, a knight of inhuman proportions, his shoulders and arms thick as the trunks of small trees. He wore dull grey armor covered with blood, the mark of countless kills.
In one hand, he wielded a huge, two-handed greatsword with effortless ease, the blade's edge honed to cleave men in half with a single blow, while his other hand gripped a rein. The knight had a shield attached to his back. The Massive oaken shield rimmed in black iron, bearing the three black dogs on a yellow field.
" Three black dogs on a yellow field, Coat of arms of the House Clegane", Stanis thought as he recognised the horsemen.
Gregor Clegane, known as the Mountain. A feet-tall monster, famous for inhuman strength and brutality. Behind Gregor rode another knight, leaner but no less terrifying.
"This must be Amory Lorch", thought Stannis
The two were clearly headed for the Red Keep. Stannis's gut tightened as he recalled what would happen: Amory would drag Princess Rhaenys from under Rhaegar's bed and stab her half a hundred times. At the same time, Gregor would smash the infant Prince Aegon's head against a wall in front of Elia Martell, then rape and murder her with the child's blood still on his hands. The sight of them riding towards the hill spurred Stannis into action.
"Archers!" Stannis shouted, pointing to the two heavily armored knights with a steely glare. "Target their horses' legs! Bring them down!"
The archers moved quickly, their fingers steady despite the chaos erupting around them. With barely a sound, they released a volley of arrows into the smoky sky. Their shot was accurate.
Gregor's massive warhorse roared in agony, a terrible, heart-wrenching scream erupting from its throat as arrows sank deep into its flesh. The beast toppled like a falling tower, crashing to the earth with a thud that made the ground tremble. The Mountain was thrown from the saddle, his armored size hitting the cobblestones with a resounding clang, his greatsword skittering across the stones.
Beside him, Ser Amory's horse met the same fate. Another wave of arrows struck, sending the animal crashing down with a sickening crunch. Sending the knight sprawling into the dirt with a cry of rage. Amory landed hard, rolling in the dirt, cursing as blood sprayed from his horse's wounds.
Stannis did not pause to engage; he urged his horse onward, his guards following close behind, leaving the fallen knights to recover amidst the dust and blood. His archers shot Lannister soldiers around them, leaving no witnesses.
The path continued upward on the Shadowblack Lane, a twisty, downhill street. The situation on this street was the same as the others. The Lannister Soldiers were looting everything they could, dragging out a noblewoman in a silk gown, her screams piercing the night as they assaulted her in the open street, their hands tearing at her clothes as others cheered and jeered.
A group of Lannister men set fire to a granary, the flames roaring as the stored grain ignited, the heat driving smallfolk from their hiding places only to be cut down by waiting blades. A child's cry cut through the din, silenced by the dull thud of a mace, the small body left to bleed out as the invaders moved on. Stannis's guards exchanged grim glances, their hands tightening on their weapons, waiting for their leader's orders to cut them down.
"Roland and his people will save whoever they can; we have a different mission," he said, his tone demanding to keep their focus on the task ahead.
They reached the immense barbican, the main entrance of the Red Keep, its great bronze doors ajar, the portcullis raised but flanked by the chaos of battle. The courtyard beyond was a seething battlefield, Targaryen Guards clashing with Lannister forces in a hopeless battle.
The Guards of the Red keep kept fighting with waning courage, their cloaks tattered and bloodstained, their swords and spears meeting the crimson tide of Lannister infantry. The Lannisters pressed their advantage, their blades cutting down the guards brutally, while others looted the stables and kennels nearby, dragging out horses and hounds to be slaughtered or claimed as spoils. The air was thick with the clang of steel and the shouts of the dying.
Stannis dismounted, his boots hitting the cobblestones with a firm thud, his guards following suit.
"We join the fight," Stannis commanded, drawing Heartsbane in a single, fluid motion. The blade caught the torchlight, shining. "Clear a path!"
The Stormguards charged into the melee, their spears and swords flashing in the dim light, their movements a coordinated dance of death. Stannis moved with lethal precision, his blade meeting a Watchman's sword in a shower of sparks, the clash ringing out like a bell. The Watchman swung again, a desperate arc aimed at Stannis's chest, but Stannis sidestepped, his sword flashing as he drove it through the man's chest. The steel pierced mail and flesh with a sickening crunch, the watchmen's eyes widening in shock as blood bubbled from his mouth, his body collapsing to the ground, dead before it struck the stones.
Another, a younger guard of the red keep with fear in his eyes, charged, his spear aimed for Stannis's heart, but Stannis dodged and then sliced. The sword hummed as it cut through the air, its edge severing the young guard's hand at the wrist with a clean, surgical stroke, the severed limb falling to the ground as the spear clattered beside it. He screamed, clutching the bloody stump, his knees buckling as blood poured onto the ground.
Stannis seized the wounded guard by the collar, dragging him to his knees with a grip of iron, the tip of Heartsbane pressed to the man's throat, threatening to end his life. The young man's eyes widened in terror, his face pale, the blood from his wrist dripping.
"Do you know where Princess Elia Martell and his children are?" Stannis asked, voice low, hard as iron.
The Guard trembled, sweat and blood mingling on his face.
"M-Maegor's Holdfast!" he stammered. "they are in Maegor's Holdfast!"
Stannis's jaw tightened. The blade didn't move.
"Show me the way," he said. "Now."