The Game of Cyvasse

Battle of the Redwood sept

Lions

Kevan could hear the faint whisper of Blackwater, concealed from the Lannister camp by rolling hills and dense forests. The river was there he knew, where the road wound over two hills, there where Kevan had journeyed a hundred times on his way to King's Landing or back to Casterly Rock. His eyes were drawn to the Redwood sept, losing count of how many times he had paused and prayed there, a place of refuge and faith for travellers.

"If we take the sept, their formation will shatter like a stool without legs," Harys Swyft, his goodfather, declared confidently what was plain to see and with that he was chosen to lead the first charge on the sept and the small hill. That the sept was the key to victory was clear enough, the enemy surely knew that as well, for the little hill was swarming with golden and dragon banners, but also many others, people from Crackclaw Point, a place that Kevan never thought he would spare a glance at.

"Auuuuuuu", a horn blared and nine thousand Lannisters marched, with rhythm of drums, across the plain on both sides of the road, towards the small hill, towards the sept. The grand banners with a golden lion would never fail to be a splendid sight for Kevan, among them stood a solitary blue rooster of House Swyft, though his goodfather commanded the attack only from the back, the true vanguard were led by Lord Serret and Ser Flement Brax, who might have been Lord Brax, by now. His father had perished near Riverrun, where the water had seized his heavy armor along with him, his brother Robert had fallen in their attempt to ford the Red Fork, while his eldest brother was a captive after Whispering Wood.

The attack had been delayed to midday, for the night rain had drenched the road and the field and they had to wait for soil to dry enough for their horses and men. They drew near to the enemy and a hail of arrows rained down from the direction of the sept, but the high raised Lannister shields held firm and helped them advance without faltering. Twenty yards away, with a swift blast of trumpets, they broke into fast pace towards the enemy, discipline and training guiding the Lannister forces. The two armies clashed and made a bloody banner on the hill with an upper golden and lower red field. Blasphemously most of the enemy archers had taken shelter in the sept and loosed their shafts at Lannisters from there. Soon Lannister crossbows answered back and Kevan saw several figures tumble from the top of the roof. The space to the right of the sept was held by Crabb men and their formation soon buckled under Lanister's onslaught, while on the left, where the road led, the line between red lannister cloaks and golden armor of the Golden Company was as straight as a sword. They were too disciplined to be shaken by our fury. In front of the sept, a ditch had been dug, filled with sharpened stakes and Kevan knew that some unlucky souls from their ranks had surely already impaled themselves.

....

"Come on cunts, bring the ropes, bring ladders", Flement roared, as his column reached the ditch. To the right of the ditch, Lord Myral Serrett’s men were pushed back by golden sellswords, to the left his men had driven off crabbs and made a gap towards the sept, the crabbs did not fight half as well as the sellswords. To take the hill, he had to clear those focking archers from the sept.

Beyond walls of the sept, soldiers screamed in a storm of steel and anger. Helmets were crushed, bones broken, and blood splattered. They had to storm the ditch and rampart. Bloody arrows hissed by their heads, Flement had two buried in his shield while a third grazed his mail. Between the lion ranks, dozen ladders were hurled towards the ditch and and soon they scaled the height of the rampart.

Each ladder bore hooks at the top that bit into the earth of the wall, same as arrows rent the flesh of men on the field. Scores of Lannisters ran over the ladders, pelted with arrows their valour turned to shrieks, for though arrows could not breach their plate and mail, they would topple them off the wobbly ladders into the chasm of the ditch, where theire fall skewer them on jagged stakes. Flement was among the first to charge, he felt the full heft of his steel as he trod on the swaying ladders. The span was long seventeen or eighteen feet, but it dragged on forever. A new arrow struck him in the helm, the blow clanged his head like a bell, but he would not yield to the pricks on the sept walls, who loosed arrows upon them, till they perished. When he came to the end, he used the might of his brawny arms to vault over the rest of the wall of dirth and rolled to the other side. In a blink his mace and shield slipped from his grasp.