Hail to the Stag Kings

Chapter 12: Battle of Riverrun (Part 2)

—At Riverrun—

The army converging onto Riverrun had encamped themselves on a hillside several yards away, blasting the lowlands with heavy artillery fire and decimating the rebels' frontline squads one by one. With the arrival of high-powered cannon-like mortars, Ser Loreon gave the signal to his men to thin the number of Tully soldiers and army defectors before moving more of his troops further inward. On the other side, House Tully retained a variety of assorted artillery pieces and cannons to slow the Lannister army down, but even that only served to stall for time. Loreon's army was several times larger in size and the Golden Lion himself was a talented commander—giving his forces a significant advantage.

"Such a pitiful sight," Loreon said feeling bored. Why do they even bother? "The rebels are no match for us. If they only had the sense of bend the knee, they would not be suffering this much. Come men, time to fish for some trout."

"Aye, aye, ser!"

"Major," one of his captains chimed, "are you certain you wish to leave the main camp?"

"I haven't had a proper time to wet my blade in quite some time. I had hoped for a more decent challenge at Harrenhal, but none could even last longer than 30 seconds against me. Besides, the rebels are small and insignificant. I need not worry. This battle will be over before it has a chance to escalate. Our scouts report that Ser Rodrick Stark is somewhere among the enemy ranks. I heard his men call him 'the Swift Wolf'. If true, then I might have a worthy opponent for once." He clicked his heel, directing his horse to move. "Captain, I leave the main camp to you. Hyah!"

"*Neigh!*"

Galloping with his vanguard, Loreon rode down the slopes—sword drawn and three-barreled flintlock at the ready. His troops were already taking several shots at rebel forces in their path; others simply got close enough to put their swords to good use before any had the chance to unsheathe theirs.

"Ha! Come on! Is this the best you can do?" he hollered as he slays more of his foes, his troops entering the fray.

A sense of change fills the rebels as upon seeing the Golden Lion, many turned to flee—only to be shot in the back. High in the sky, the weather begins to turn. The sun is suddenly hidden behind darkened storm clouds as the rain finally begins to fall. Galloping through the wettened terrain, both sides realized their gunpowder was rendered useless, forcing them to engage in close quarters. Swords clashed; shouts hurled... the fields of Riverrun was a scene of utter carnage.

"Gah!" shouted a militia.

Loreon swung his sword, swiftly cutting the man down. "Begone from my sight, peasant!" he exclaimed. Another rebel tried swinging at him, but he too met his end. "My father's ambitions shall never die! Hah! All of you worthless, insolent scum... shall be destroyed!" he slew another, living up to his reputation as a skilled swordsman.

Another officer rushed towards him; the ranking insignia patched onto his left shoulder indicated he was once a member of the Royal Army, so he had to have at least some experience. But alas, the youth only lasted twelve seconds before being disarmed and knocked to the ground. He looked up at Ser Loreon, still gripping his sword, and pointed his three-barreled flintlock at his face; there was still one shot remaining.

"P-please... mercy...!"

"'Mercy'? I am sorry, but I am afraid I am all out of mercy... considering you chose to prefer treason over absolute loyalty. Your services are no longer required." Before he could squeeze the trigger, a faint howling can be heard in the distance.