A Call to Arms

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 and now the rains weep o'er his hall, EVENT | End of Second Crone
MACE TYRELL
 direct link • Jul 09 2017, 09:11 pm
Quote
King of the Reach
The KING OF CUPS
SWORN TO THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
THE REACH
50 years
Tris • he/him • 116 posts
Offline



The maesters would later write that, by the end of the day, there was more blood than water in the river.

The hosts of the Westerlands and the Reach had ended their marches at the height of noon, lion banners flying on the western shore of the river as the green-and-gold of House Tyrell spread across the eastern one. When word had come that Tywin Lannister had taken half the might of the West down the goldroad and begun a march on Goldengrove, the plans made in Highgarden for the full host of House Tyrell to march up the oceanroad until it knocked at the gates of Casterly Rock were hastily discarded. Loras Tyrell was given fourteen thousand men and sent to burn everything north of Old Oak, but fifty thousand veterans tempered in the fires of Robert’s Rebellion marched to break the Old Lion under Randyll Tarly and the King of the Reach himself. They found the Lannisters waiting for them entrenched on their side of the river, with but twenty-six thousand men.

The lions sent envoys, but Mace ordered bowmen to fire on them and no second attempt was made - no lives had been taken, but the message got across clearly. There would be no truce that day. On the Tyrell shore, war council was held. Lord Tarly advised caution even with numbers on their side: the Old Lion would not cross himself, only wait for them do so and bleed out in the river. It had been a dry fortnight, and the river could be forded on foot. Wise advice, but it was drowned out by the clamour of younger men. We have almost twice their number, the Fossoways said. We will be thought craven by the realm if we do not give battle, the Caswells shouted. If he runs today the Reach will burn for it, the Rowans added, worried. Goldengrove, their keep, was but a few days’ march away. In the end, it was this that decided the matter: Mace Tyrell wanted blood.

Clarions sounded, banners rose and the men of the Reach marched into the riverbed.

It was a massacre. Tywin Lannister, ageing as he might have been, had seen the Westerlands through a score of wars small and great. He thinned his lines and spread bowmen and crossbowmen behind them, to rain down arrows and bolts on the crossing Reachmen. Red stained the waters long before any Tyrell soldiers could even so much as shake a sword at the Lannisters, and what few did cross were scattered like rabbits when the centre of the Westerlands host - Serrett men under Sandor Clegane - pushed forward and drove them back. In the span of an hour, nigh a thousand Tyrell bannermen had come to bloody the mud of the riverbed. The knights young and old that had early spoken against Tarly stood sobered, and the talk turned to crossing further south. Mace, sitting in the tent with a cup of wine in hand, cut through the thick tapestry of conversation with a single word: again.

As the sun rose and and began to descend, five more times the soldiers of the Reach charged across the river. Mace’s Folly, some would later call it, for the king was gone beyond reason. Twice the push ended with hasty retreat and corpses in mud. The third with fighting finally on the Lannister shore, saw pikes driving Tyrell men back into the river to their ugly deaths. The fourth charge heralded the first true Westerlands losses when knights flying the chequered lion of Osgrey forced their way through Lefford men on the left flank and began slaughtering the bowmen behind them - but Tywin let loose the Mountain upon them, and the banner of Standfast was trampled by the fiercest of the Old Lion’s dogs. The fifth and last charge came as the sun began to dip. It begun with a hail of arrows reaping the youth of the Reach, but then shouts were heard from the Lannister flank.

Lord Randyll Tarly was not content with sending men to die, and so had given orders of his own.

A third of the Reach’s horse had been sent south to find another ford and crossed the river uncontested, catching Lannisters outriders to allow them to strike without warning. The Hightower at the head of the knights knew his trade: the riders split in two. Half charged into the right flank of the Lannisters, and for the first time that day the battle lines of the lions wavered as men died under lances and archers were slaughtered wholesale. The other half went to carry out the gamble decided on by the finest military mind of the Reach. It headed for the tallest banner in the host of the Westerlands, the one under which Tywin Lannister sat astride his horse. The Lionguard surrounded him, and they did not flinch when the enemy came. They charged into the enemy to buy their king time to retreat, but the old advantage of the Reach took its toll: numbers.

Even as their fellow knights died to the men under the command of the Mountain, riders under the command of House Hightower killed the Old Lion’s horse under him and struck him unconscious with the butts of lances. He was slung over a horse unceremoniously. If Tywin had not been taken, the sixth offensive of the Reachmen might very well have failed. But with the king having seized, chaos spread across the Lannister host. The right flanks collapsed, and it was only through hard fighting that the army of the Westerlands managed to disengage and make an almost orderly retreat. There was no immediate pursuit: after a day of dying in the mud, the bannermen of House Tyrell no longer had any taste for battle. Even as night fell, though, Tywin Lannister was dragged into the camp of the Reach to riotous cheering.

The king’s face was bloodied, his golden armour touched with mud and dust. He was awake, then, and even as Mace Tyrell hobbled his way out of his tent leaning heavily on his cane a pair of soldiers forced the Old Lion to kneel before the King of the Reach. Mace looked up at the red streaking the sky, a match for the red he had forced upon the waters of the Mander, then smiled mirthlessly.

“Good evening, Tywin,” he said. “Fate’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”

MANY-FACED GOD
 direct link • Jul 09 2017, 09:12 pm
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Him of Many Faces
valar morghulis
God of Death
STAFF
deity years
admin • they/them • 207 posts
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Lannisters don’t act like fools.

And yet, his eldest son had done nothing but for years. For a man who had not wished to marry Jaime had taken to it faster than most. He may have been a good fighter, but he was weak nonetheless. Selfish. More concerned with fulfilling his own desires than looking after the legacy of his family and his House. Jaime had become infatuated with that girl and it clouded his judgement; he was willing to let his house and half the houses in the Westerlands die, and for what? Because he cared too much for himself. Infatuation had turned him soft.

Tywin Lannister was going to die because his son had acted like a fool.

Killing Garlan Tyrell had been stupid and confronting Mace in the streets of King’s Landing even moreso. A grieving man and a drunk, Mace Tyrell was a great many things. Tywin Lannister was an intelligent man, and the better commander, but intelligence alone did not give a man power. Armies did. The facts were simple - Mace Tyrell had the bigger army. Thankfully for the Westerlands, he was a shit commander and cost himself a large chunk of that army in blind rage. Only a fool would send them across the river as Mace had done, and the men of the Reach were slaughtered for their efforts. But Randyll Tarly would not allow his King to act a fool forever. If there was one man who could have turned things around for the Reach it was Randyll Tarly.

And turn it he did. Tywin’s own men had lapsed in their judgement, Mace’s folly at the river causing them to let their guard down, instead content to pick of the Reachmen one by one. Tarly had sent a number of men further upstream to cross and for the first time the Lannisters suffered a real loss. Tywin had Strongboar, the Hound, and the Mountain on his side, but three men were not an army in and of themselves. As the Lord Commander of his Lionguard, the Mountain was by Tywin’s side when the Reach troops closed in, but even the numerous lives he took were not enough.

Tywin was still skilled with a sword but it wasn’t enough. The Old Lion would have preferred dying in battle - allowing oneself to be taken was weakness. But it would seem Mace Tyrell had other plans. Once he was disarmed Mace’s men did not see fit to end things there, instead taking him captive. How degrading. Tall and broad-shouldered, Tywin was not an easy man to take captive. He fought them off until they had him bound, at which time he saw little point in wasting his strength. instead the ride back across the river was spent in thought, attempting to calculate how best to get himself out of this situation. But Mace Tyrell was not an intelligent man, and moreover he was wracked with grief and seeking vengeance. Tricking such a man would not be easy, for he was too unpredictable.

Forced to his knees before the King of the Reach, Tywin’s steely gaze bore up at the man before him. The weaker man, and yet he was the one still standing. ”You think this funny, do you?” he queried, expression unwavering. ”Well done, you’ve captured me. If you’re going to kill me, then go on and do it. No use waiting around. But doing so won’t bring your son back. Nor will it deliver you mine.” Jaime was gone. He’d thought to Essos by now, but it would seem the Ironborn had held him up. Perhaps he was still gone to Essos. It was a foolish move and a craven one, but at least Mace would be denied the pleasure of killing him.
MACE TYRELL
 direct link • Jul 09 2017, 09:14 pm
Quote
King of the Reach
The KING OF CUPS
SWORN TO THE SEVEN KINGDOMS
THE REACH
50 years
Tris • he/him • 116 posts
Offline



Seven, those fucking Lannisters. So very proud, even when on their knees. You could dip one of them in filth and they’d still sneer at you. Tywin could be dragged like a sack of wheat across the river, paraded like a prize through a throng of soldiers that despised him and even forced down into the mud - and still the Old Lion had that look in his eyes. The one Mace had been faced with all his life, by foreign kings and Mother and even his own children. The one that said no matter what you accomplish, I am still better than you. Most days, the King of the Reach drowned the poisonous anger that kindled by throwing a feast or taking up some new distraction. Tonight, though, he was a long way from the beauty of Highgarden. Tonight he was going to keep the oath he’d hissed out in the sept of Baelor, looking at this very same man.

“You think this funny, do you?”

“Of course it is,” Mace laughed. “You had the better plan, Tywin. You chose the time, the ground, the opponent - and yet here you are, on your knees. The Seven do enjoy their little jokes.”

“Well done, you’ve captured me. If you’re going to kill me, then go on and do it. No use waiting around. But doing so won’t bring your son back. Nor will it deliver you mine.”

“Boy,” Mace said without turning, holding out his hand.

Some Florent page pressed a cup into his hand and he wet his lips on wine.

“If you think there’s a place in this world I won’t hunt your son down,” he spoke harshly. “You have not been paying attention. I can be patient. This year or in five - I’ve still enough life left in me to see it through.”

The curly-haired man drank from the golden goblet, then carelessly tossed it away. Leaning heavily on his cane, Mace crouched in front of the prisoner-king.

“Would you like to know why you lost?” the Tyrell said conversationally. “It’s because you’re clever, Tywin. Clever and ruthless and feared, so you never had to learn the real lesson of kingship: power’s about sacrifice. And to get here, to this moment? I was willing to burn down my own fucking kingdom. There was never any other way this could go.”

The King of the Reach’s eyes were fevered, something ugly and violent glinting in them.

“I want you to know that this doesn’t end when you die,” he whispered. “After this they’ll write songs, pen histories. And I own both those trades. You won’t be remembered a conqueror, Tywin. Every good you ever did, I will see buried. Tywin the Fool, they’ll call you. As weak as his father ever was.”

Mace Tyrell was no Queen of Thorns, but he had suffered her barbs for decades. And he’d learned, in his own way, where to cut deepest.

“And now,” the cripple whispered, “you have my permission to die. Tell my son his murderer will not be long behind.”

The King of the Reach pushed himself back to his feet, grunting in agony as his leg felt aflame. He turned to the crowd of soldiers, the men he’d sent to die in his name not hours ago. They were covered in mud and blood, but there was something of his own fever in their eyes. They’d taken a legend, though they’d paid for it dearly. There would songs written about today.

“Highborn get the headman’s axe,” Mace called out, and there was a ripple across the sea. “But Lannisters? They’ve earned only the noose. Like poachers and turncloaks.”

The curly-haired man glanced at the soldiers holding the Lannister.

“Take him to the tree,” he ordered.

The dragged him through the mud, a deafening wave of jeers and cheers washing over the lot of them as torches were waved and swords clanged against shields. Garlan had been well-loved by those men. They too thirsted for blood. There were no gallows under the tree: only a rope slung over the branch, with a shoddy stool under it. Mace stood there, watching silently as Tywin Lannister, King of the Rock, was put on a farmer’s stool and a rope tightened around his neck. The soldiers glanced at him one last time and Mace Tyrell smiled a cold, cold smile.

“Hang him,” he said.

They did.

LEONETTE TYRELL
 direct link • Jul 10 2017, 06:27 pm
Quote
princess
the apple princess
sworn to the seven kingdoms
THE REACH
24 years
athena • she/her • 46 posts
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Leonette knew this battle was for her husband. This entire fight was for him, for the loss that Mace felt at Garlan’s death and the loss the Reach felt. Jaime Lannister had crossed a line when he had murdered Garlan and for that mistake his kingdom would pay, and eventually the man would as well. Leonette did not care how many had to die first, she only cared that in the end Jaime Lannister paid for what he had done. For the hurt he had caused her and for the future he had taken from her.

The day of the attack, Leonette sat at the camp, listening as the men fought about tactics and as her goodfather made the final decisions for things. She watched as the sun rose and the men prepared to go into battle, ready to fight. She watched as the first wave was met with fighting and it almost felt like it was too quick, like this entire battle might be over before it had even begun. Her brothers were both among the men fighting and her father was present as well. They had all offered her their condolences and tried to comfort her, but the change in Leonette was easy to see to those who knew her well and they had all moved to go to their stations for the big day, ready to fight.

The waves of fighting had continued and with each failed attempt to attack, Leonette feared loss on that day. Seeing the deceased bodies was difficult though and it reminded her that Garlan would not want this. He would not wish for so many to die in order to seek revenge for him. She made a note that in future, if this fight continued, they would need to be more strategic. Her goodfather might not have had the mind for battle, but she thought she could. Or at the least, she knew there were men around them who did, Tarly was one such. Maybe she could convince Mace to listen more closely to such men.

It seemed almost as though they might lose and Leonette was quick to make her peace with the gods, fully ready to embrace death and her husband once more. But somehow, it seemed Tarly was smarter than even she had given him credit and his own mind and plan seemed able to turn the tides of battle and win it for them all. To defeat Tywin Lannister and his troops.

She heard that the men had captured Tywin and were bringing him across the river and she stood, waiting for the sight of the man who had given rise to a monster to appear, defeated. She moved closer to the tent where her goodfather had been planning, not that she had strayed far from that tent all day, and soon she saw Tywin Lannister’s form, the King of the Westerlands being forced to kneel in front of the King of the Reach and Leonette smirking at the sight as she stood back as Mace seemed to speak with him. At the least she could watch Tywin die and know that Jaime would have to know he was responsible for his father’s death. She wondered if the man would even care.

She heard as Mace spoke of hanging and she felt conflicted. It would be good to see him hang, to see his feet try and gain leverage to prevent the death to no use. But she wished almost for something more painful. She had heard burning was the worst way to go and that even the strongest men cried for mercy while their flesh blackened. She wished for such a thing, but hanging was the next best option she decided. She moved with the men who were bringing Tywin to the tree, watching as they strung him up and then watching as the stool was kicked from his feet. She watched the struggled and then looked to his face to watch the life drain from his eyes.

She did not move as the man died and others seemed ready to disperse for their own celebrations. Her eyes stayed glued to the corpse that hung lifeless from the tree. One man was now dead as retribution for her Garlan but it was not enough. The one who had stabbed him was free yet and she would see him dead as well. This was something though. It was better than knowing that Tywin still lived when he had allowed his heir to kill her husband. Her eyes stayed fixed to the dead king and she cared not how long she stood there staring at his lifeless body. She cared only to stare upon it and allow herself some form of comfort that at least one Lannister was dead.
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