Fire and Blood

Chapter 113: Siege of Oldtown

Oldtown...

As the sun set on Oldtown, a green beacon atop Battle Isle caught the eye of the city's inhabitants, signaling the call to war. As the flames danced and flickered, their vibrant glow called upon the Hightower's vassals, summoning them to join the impending battle. But Hightower bannermen knew all too well that the beacon served a dual purpose, not only rallying House Hightower's forces but also serving as a warning to the unsuspecting inhabitants of Oldtown. The green flames were a dire signal that an enemy army was invading to attack their city. The people of Oldtown, caught off guard by the sudden threat, were now aware of the imminent danger that loomed over their homes and loved ones. With no time to waste, House Hightower called upon their banners to muster their forces and join them in the fight.

However, due to unforeseen circumstances and inability to advance to join the ongoing war effort quickly, Lord Ormund Hightower and his fifteen-year-old son and heir, Lyonel, were left with no choice but to make a stand against the Caltrops. But they soon realized they were vastly outnumbered. Led by Ser Jon Roxton, the Caltrops' forces numbered over 8,000 soldiers. Their ranks were filled with skilled warriors, armed to the teeth and ready to spill blood in the name of conquest. In contrast, the Hightowers, still in the process of rallying more troops, had only managed to gather a meager force of 300 men-at-arms and 600 knights on foot hastily forming a line of defense, and 1,000 skilled archers taking up positions atop Oldtown's massive, thick, high stone walls, their arrows poised to rain death upon any who dared to breach their defenses. The odds were stacked against the Hightowers, who desperately sought reinforcements to bolster their meager forces.

"Spears and shields! Spears and shields!" Lyonel shouted.

"Form up! Get in line!" Lord Ormund barked orders at his troops.

As if being outnumbered wasn't enough, a horde of more than 10,000 desperate refugees from war-torn regions and ravaged lands, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear, relentlessly sought entry into the fortified walls of Oldtown. Their weary faces reflected the weight of their struggles, their eyes filled with a glimmer of hope that was slowly fading away. The gates, once open to all seeking solace, were now sealed shut, leaving the desperate refugees stranded outside. The refugees, their bodies weakened by the arduous journey, begged the city guards stationed atop the towering walls to let them in. Mothers clutched their children tightly, their tear-streaked faces pleading for mercy. Fathers, weathered by the trials of their journey, raised their hands in supplication, their voices hoarse from countless pleas for entry. Yet, the city guards, clad in armor and armed with unwavering determination, remained steadfast in their duty to protect Oldtown. They had been ordered to keep the gates closed to protect the city's inhabitants at all costs. Like whispers carried away by the wind, the refugees' pleas were brushed aside. The tightly sealed gates stood as an impenetrable barrier, preventing anyone from entering or leaving.

"All forces, don't let one of them through!" Ormund commanded.

In what was deemed a daring yet ill-fated suicide march, the Hightower army charged forward to confront the Caltrops in a frontal assault despite the odds stacked against them. At the same time, Oldtown's outer defenses, fortified with an array of catapults and trebuchets, launched deadly projectiles over the walls and onto the battlefield. The projectiles, ranging from flaming arrows to massive stones, were unleashed with deadly precision, causing chaos and devastation among the enemy ranks.

As the Hand of the King's nephew, Lord Ormund was entrusted with the task of quelling the ongoing rebellions in the Reach, even though the region's Lords Paramount, House Tyrell, had chosen to take no part in the struggle. The absence of House Tyrell's intervention only added to his challenges with various noble houses in the Reach fighting each other. Amidst the chaos, the terrified refugees huddled together, their faces etched with fear and desperation. With each passing moment, they knew the battle drew closer to their makeshift sanctuary. Their screams of terror pierced the air, blending with the din of war and the sounds of clashing steel. Their eyes darted anxiously towards the towering walls of Oldtown, their only hope for safety and salvation. Driven by sheer desperation to find safety within the city walls, they pounded on the sturdy gates, their fists bruised and bloodied, their pleas for entry growing louder with anguish and despair with each passing second.