Capítulo 41: Siege of Lannisport Part 1
299 AC, Lannisport…
Rody's gaze fell upon the local Lannister lord, who sat atop his horse with an air of arrogance. The man's eyes bore a confidence that bordered on hubris, as if victory was already assured. Rody couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment towards the lord and his disregard for the lives to be lost.
Inwardly, Rody scoffed at the notion of a successful parley. He knew that both sides held strong convictions and were unlikely to yield easily. The meeting would likely be an exercise in futility, a mere formality before the clash of armies.
As they rode out of the city gates, Rody subtly observed the Stark party approaching from the opposite direction. Among them were prominent figures such as Robb Stark, Rickard Karstark, and Jon Snow, accompanied by a contingent of Riverlander nobles. Rody exchanged covert glances with the Stark group, a silent reminder of his true allegiance.
He had come to this city as a spy, tasked with opening the gates during the attack. The Lannisters remained oblivious to his role, unsuspecting of the traitor in their midst. Rody's mind raced with thoughts of the impending battle, his heart torn between duty and the uncertain outcomes that lay ahead.
Rody and his group dismounted, joining the Stark party in a tense standoff. The air crackled with anticipation as the two sides faced each other, their differing banners serving as stark reminders of the imminent clash.
Rody maintained his composure, concealing his true intentions beneath a facade of loyalty to his current allies. He watched the exchange of words between the Lannister lord and the Stark leaders, their voices tinged with both diplomacy and veiled threats. The talks had yet to begin, and Rody knew that the fate of the city rested on the outcome of this delicate negotiation.
In the fleeting moments before the parley commenced, Rody's gaze locked with Jon Snow's for a brief instant. It was a silent acknowledgment, a shared understanding of the covert mission at hand.
The parley began with a tense silence, each side sizing up the other, waiting for someone to break the standoff. Robb Stark, the young and resolute commander of the Northern army, stepped forward, his voice firm but measured.
"We offer you peace," Robb declared, his words carrying a weight of authority. "Unconditional surrender of the city, and the bloodshed can be avoided. Your people will be spared, and your lands left untouched."
The Lannister lord scoffed, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Peace? You think we will bow before a mere boy?" he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. "No, the only peace I offer is one where your Stark boy kneels before me and begs for mercy. We won't butcher you all. We are Lannisters, and Lannisport has never been conquered. It never will be."
Rody clenched his fists, his anger simmering beneath his stoic facade. The arrogance of the Lannister lord was infuriating, his disregard for the lives of the innocent people in the city unforgivable. Though Rody remained silent, his thoughts echoed loudly in his mind.
Just as tension threatened to consume the meeting, Jon Snow, bastard of House Stark, stepped forward, his voice calm but laced with determination.
"Perhaps you're right," Jon interjected, his tone cutting through the tension. "Lannisport has never been conquered, but there is always a first time. History is filled with such examples. And it can start today. You only need to open the gates of Lannisport for us, so you would be spared."
"Not while we guard it, dog." Rody voiced out with a berating voice. Although he was insulting his commander, he was also telling him that he was in the gatehouse. And it was obvious that it worked because a smile graced Robb's face.
The Lannister lord's face twisted in anger, his eyes narrowing at Jon's bold remark. The air crackled with animosity as both sides braced themselves for a potential escalation.
"Your looks remind me of a true Stark, unlike the green boy standing before me. You must be the bastard of the Stark lord." The Lannister lord looked at Jon and Robb with disgust in his eyes. "Treachery must be running in your blood, no wonder you brought a base-born filth to this talk."
Rody's grip on his sword tightened, his muscles poised for action. The insult hurled by the Lannister lord struck a nerve, igniting a fiery rage within him. Yet, he maintained his composure, knowing that any premature act of violence could jeopardize their mission.
Before anyone could respond, Rickard Karstark, a fierce and battle-hardened noble of the North, took a step forward, his voice filled with righteous anger.
"How dare you insult the honor of House Stark!" Rickard spat, his words laden with venom. "Your arrogance blinds you, Lannister. Butcher or not, your pride will be your downfall. Yours will be the first golden head that will adorn your precious city."
The Lannister lord's face contorted with rage, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. In a flash of steel, the blade was unsheathed, its deadly glint reflecting the growing hostility between the two factions. The air crackled with tension as both sides drew their weapons, the parley swiftly descending into chaos.
Without hesitation, Rody sprang into action, his training and reflexes guiding his every move. He swiftly intercepted Lord Karstark's lunge, parrying the attack with deftness and precision. The clash of swords echoed through the air, and in that moment, the Lannister lord's eyes widened in fear. He had underestimated Lord Kartstark's skill and readiness, and it nearly cost him his life.
Realizing the perilous situation, both sides momentarily withdrew, their aggressive stance subsiding. Insults and threats were exchanged as the broken parley dissolved into bitter animosity. Rody's gaze briefly met Jon Snow's, and they both nodded their heads secretly.
As the Lannister lord regained his composure, his face pale with a mix of fear and gratitude, he turned to Rody, his voice filled with a newfound respect.
"You saved my life," the lord admitted, his voice tinged with both surprise and gratitude. "I didn't expect such skill from a guard. If we survive this siege, I will ensure you are rewarded handsomely. A Lannister always pays his debts."
Rody nodded, acknowledging the lord's words. "Thank you, my lord," he replied, his voice steady. "I will do my best to ensure the safety of the city."
The group began their journey back to the city, the weight of their encounter hanging heavy in the air. Rody followed closely behind the Lannister lord, their steps synchronized. They passed through the gates, and Rody's gaze shifted to the guard captain, signaling his intent to resume his post at the gatehouse.
As Rody ascended the familiar steps of the gatehouse, his mind focused on the task ahead. The parley may have ended in turmoil, but their true purpose remained unchanged.
Inside the gatehouse, Rody and his comrades, Hunter and the other Greycloaks, exchanged glances, the tension of the broken parley still lingering in the air. They knew their roles and responsibilities while everyone was defending the city, and they were prepared to carry them out with unwavering dedication.
Several hours passed as they meticulously checked and rechecked every aspect of the gatehouse, ensuring that all defenses were in place and functioning properly. Ser Davion, a seasoned knight and Rody's superior, observed their work with a keen eye.
"Fine work, Rody," Ser Davion praised, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "Your quick reaction during the parley saved us from further bloodshed. You have proven yourself a valuable asset to our cause."
Rody nodded, his expression humble but proud. The words of commendation served as a reminder of the importance of his role in this siege.
Just as they were finishing their checks, Ser Davion called for Rody, beckoning him to come closer. Rody approached, his curiosity piqued.
"Rody, we need to ensure that our supplies are in order," Ser Davion explained. "It will be a long night ahead, and we must be prepared. I want you to take charge of this task."
Rody nodded his head in understanding. This would be his opportunity to put into action the plan he had conceived the night before. He had acquired a vial of sleeping potion from a skilled healer, intending to use it strategically when the time was right. Now, with the chaos of the parley still fresh in his mind, Rody saw the perfect moment to employ his clandestine weapon.
He quickly made his way to a small, separate room where the supplies were stored. As he entered, the sight of the water barrel caught his eye. It was filled to the brim, a vital resource in times of siege.
His hand reached into his pocket, retrieving the vial of sleeping potion. The healer had warned him of its potency, advising him to use only a single drop to avoid potentially fatal consequences. But in this moment, Rody's determination to turn the tide in their favor overrode caution.
With a flick of his wrist, he removed the cork from the vial and emptied its contents into the water barrel. The clear liquid merged with the water, creating a seamless blend that masked any trace of the potion's presence.
Satisfied with his covert act, Rody replaced the cork and slipped the vial back into his pocket. He knew that the potion would slowly take effect, causing drowsiness and sleepiness among those who consumed it.
Little did Rody know, the consequences of his decision would ripple through the events of the night, altering the course of the siege in unforeseen ways.
…
As the night descended upon the city, Rody's nerves and excitement heightened. He approached the narrow slit in the wall of the gatehouse and peered out, his eyes fixed on the Stark camp illuminated by the flickering light of numerous campfires. The army's proximity unsettled him, yet it also fueled his determination. Tonight would determine the success or failure of their mission.
Ser Davion, noticing Rody's focused gaze, stepped up beside him, his experienced eyes scanning the Stark camp, which stood closer than it should have. He raised an eyebrow, a questioning expression on his face.
"Seems the boy commander lacks experience," Ser Davion commented, his tone laced with a hint of mockery. "He hasn't even begun constructing siege weapons yet. A green boy leading the Stark forces indeed."
Rody joined in, suppressing his true thoughts about Ser Davion's remarks. He echoed the mocking tone, jesting at the perceived shortcomings of the Starks.
Their conversation was interrupted by a veteran guard yawning loudly, his weariness evident. Ser Davion's sharp gaze turned towards the guard, his voice stern as he scolded him for his lack of alertness. It was clear that everyone needed something to keep them awake and focused.
"Rody," Ser Davion commanded, his voice firm. "Fetch some water for everyone. We need to keep our guards sharp."
Rody's mind raced, searching for a solution that would not raise suspicion. He quickly offered a suggestion.
"Perhaps we could mix some sugar in the water," Rody proposed, his voice thoughtful. "It'll provide an energy boost to keep everyone alert."
Ser Davion nodded in agreement, recognizing the practicality of Rody's suggestion. "Go, Rody. Bring the water infused with sugar to the guards."
As Rody turned to carry out his task, a mixture of excitement and nerves coursed through his veins. He knew that the sleeping potion he had added to the water barrel would soon take effect. The sweet taste would mask any suspicion, and the guards of the gatehouse defenders would unknowingly consume the potion.
Rody hurried to the supply room and closed the door behind him, ensuring privacy. Inside the supply room, his eyes fell upon a bucket in the corner. He quickly grabbed it and approached the water barrel, scooping up the water with a water scoop. Taking a deep breath, he filled the bucket, his hands steady despite the weight of anticipation resting upon his shoulders.
With the bucket in one hand and the water scoop in the other, Rody opened the door and stepped back into the gatehouse. The scene before him unfolded as the veteran guards lazily sat around, their weariness evident in their expressions. Rody's comrades, Hunter and the others, huddled together in one corner, discussing the events of the broken parley.
His gaze shifted towards Ser Davion, who stood near the slit on the wall, still observing the Stark camp with a thoughtful expression.
Rody made his way towards the guards, his eyes scanning the room. He could sense the weariness that permeated the air, a fatigue that threatened to compromise their readiness.
Setting the bucket down, Rody grabbed the water scoop and submerged it into the infused water. As he raised the scoop, the water glistened in the dim light, concealing the potion's presence. The sweet taste of the sleeping potion would soon weave its magic, lulling the guards into a state of drowsiness.
Moving from guard to guard, Rody distributed the water, ensuring that each received a portion infused with the potion. The guards accepted the water with gratitude, unaware of the hidden secret that lay within.
Only Ser Davis, Hunter and Greycloaks refused the water. With a silent resolve, Rody returned to his post, the weight of his clandestine act hidden behind a mask of determination. The night unfolded before them, shrouded in darkness and filled with the anticipation of what lay ahead.
Just as the night settled in, enveloping the gatehouse in a cloak of darkness, a guard approached Ser Davion, a sense of urgency in his voice.
"Ser Davion, the lord is calling for you," the guard informed, his tone conveying the importance of the summons.
Ser Davion nodded, his eyes briefly flickering towards the guards before he entrusted the management of the gatehouse to one of the veteran guards. With a final glance over his shoulder, he left to attend to his duties.
Half an hour passed, the tension in the gatehouse thickening as the effects of the sleeping potion began to take hold. Several guards succumbed to weariness, his eyes growing heavy until he finally fell into a deep slumber.
However, there were still two guards valiantly fighting off the drowsiness, determined to remain alert. Rody's gaze shifted to Hunter and the other Greycloaks, and with a subtle motion of his head, he signaled them into action.
Swiftly, Hunter and the others sprang into motion, their steps calculated and silent. They approached the two remaining awake guards, engaging them in light-hearted banter and jokes, creating a momentary distraction.
Meanwhile, one of the Greycloaks seized a wooden plank, swiftly moving to block the door with it. The sound caught the attention of one of the awake guards, who turned to see what was happening, his voice filled with alarm.
"What are you doing?!" he yelled, his voice betraying a mix of confusion and concern.
But before he could receive an answer, a dagger slit his throat and silenced the guard's protest in an instant. Panic ensued as the reality of the situation sunk in, and the remaining guard realized they had been betrayed.
However, before he could say or do anything, he followed his friend's fate. Hunter and others slowly put them on the ground, afraid of making loud noises. Rody moved towards a sleeping guard and pulled out his dagger. He ended the man's suffering before it even began.
A minute later, crimson blood washed the floor of the gatehouse while all noises ceased. Only Rody and others remained.
The gatehouse now stood devoid of any opposition, the silence in stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded mere moments ago. Rody took a deep breath, his mind focused on the task at hand. They had successfully neutralized the guards, but their mission was far from over.
Rody swiftly assessed the situation, his eyes scanning the room and the gateway beyond. He knew that they needed to maintain their vigilance, for the enemy could still pose a threat. Turning to one of the Greycloaks, he issued a firm command.
"You, position yourself near the gate," Rody instructed, his voice steady. "Warn us if anyone approaches."
The Greycloak nodded, his expression determined as he swiftly moved into position, his senses keenly attuned to the surroundings.
Rody's attention then turned to another Greycloak, whom he ordered to retrieve a small parchment and quill. The young Greycloak rummaged through the room, searching for the requested items. After a brief moment, he found them and hurriedly brought them over to Rody.
Taking the parchment, Rody ripped it into a quarter, his hands steady despite the gravity of the situation. With the quill in hand, he swiftly drew a crude sketch—a gate with an arrow pointing towards it. Folding the paper, he secured the message within.
Just as Rody finished folding the parchment, another Greycloak came beside him, carrying a lit torch. Rody nodded in appreciation and took the torch from him. With the flickering flames illuminating his determined face, Rody made his way towards the narrow slit on the wall.
Meanwhile, Hunter, seizing the opportunity, pulled out his bow from under a bundle of clothes piled in the corner of the room. He carefully dipped one of the arrows into the oil that was stacked in the supply room, ensuring its flammable tip was coated. Stepping forward, he positioned himself before the opening of the slit, his eyes focused on the distant Stark camp.
Rody approached the opening, torch in hand, the dancing light casting eerie shadows upon the walls. He glanced at Hunter, the anticipation palpable in the air.
"Can you make the shot from this distance?" Rody asked, his voice filled with both hope and doubt.
Hunter smirked, a glint of confidence in his eyes. "Child's play," he replied, nocking the oiled arrow onto the bowstring.
Rody stepped back, giving Hunter space to aim. With practiced precision, Hunter drew back the bowstring, his muscles taut and ready. Rody ignited the tip of the arrow with the torch, flames licking hungrily at the oil-soaked wood.
Hunter released the arrow, and it soared through the air, a streak of fiery determination. Rody's heart pounded in his chest as he watched, his gaze fixated on the distant target—the Stark camp.
The arrow descended, finding its mark near the outskirts of the camp, its flames illuminating the surroundings. Rody's eyes widened with satisfaction and relief. It had reached its intended destination.
Quickly, Hunter retrieved another arrow from his quiver, ready to repeat the process. Rody, his hands trembling with urgency, tied the parchment he had readied to the arrow, ensuring it was securely fastened. With the parchment-laden arrow in place, Hunter pulled back the bowstring once again.
As Hunter released the arrow, it sailed through the night sky, flying alongside its fiery predecessor. Rody held his breath, praying for success.
The second arrow found its mark, landing just beside the first one, a mere stone's throw away. The parchment fluttered in the wind, bearing their message for their allies to receive.
Rody's face broke into a triumphant smile as he realized their crucial communication had been achieved. The plan was set in motion, and their allies would soon know of their success and the gatehouse's vulnerability.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Rody turned to his comrades, his eyes shining with determination.
"Our mission is far from over," he declared, his voice carrying a note of resolve. "We must hold this gatehouse and support our allies until they arrive. We will not falter!"
Hunter, his bow still in hand, nodded in agreement. Rody turned around and looked back at the Stark camp. Someone with a torch in his hand was already moving towards the flaming arrow to see the commotion.
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