Chapter 95

Rook's Rest was a Castle located on a hill overlooking the Narrow Sea. To the west lay fields planted with wheat. To the South, along the Coast, lay the Rooktown, a medium-sized Market Town of no larger than thirty-thousand people. The Town, interestingly enough, was separate from the Castle, which stood a mile or so to the North of the Town. The reason for this lay in the Dance of Dragons. The two battles of Rook's Rest had involved the Dragons Maelys and Sunfire and had resulted in Rook's Rest being burned to the ground. For a generation, the Stauntons had resided in a modest tower house in the Rooktown, gathering the funds to rebuild their castle. By the time they had them, the Rook Town had grown from Fifteen Thousand Souls to Thirty Thousand Souls, doubling in size and effectively expanding over the site of the old castle.

To me, the New Castle of Rook's Rest looked like nothing so much as Oystermouth Castle in Wales from my Old Life on Earth. With Brownhollow and Dyre Den looking like Conwy Castle and Caernarfon Castle respectively, I was sensing a pattern when it came to how Castles in and near Cracklaw Point looked, one that was a little too Welsh when compared to how Irish their Armies were. It didn't matter too much, I supposed, except for how interesting it would make our siege.

As we approached from the Mist-Shrouded, Wooded, Hills to the North, I could already see that the Rooktown would effectively be flanking our siege camp should we attempt to besiege Rook's Rest first. The same held true for if we attempted to besiege the Rooktown First. Fortunately, there was a solution to that dilemma. The walls of the Town and Castle were not thick enough to withstand bombardment by black powder artillery for very long.

It was a consequence of the style of castle found in Westeros before I'd come along. The Castles that had not been altered or rebuilt to take cannons into account all built walls thinner and taller than the ones that had been altered or rebuilt. It was a tactic that worked against ballistae and siege towers fairly well but wouldn't last against a barrage of cannonfire. Unfortunately for me, House Staunton seemed to understand this and had placed cannons of their own atop the towers and gatehouse to conduct counter-battery fire. True, they were only four-pounders, but that didn't matter as much for these purposes. Fortunately, the Rooktown didn't have any such cannons on their walls.

it took us a single day to blast a trio of breaches into the Curtain Walls of the Rooktown, as we gave Rook's Rest Proper a wide berth, bypassing it in favor of attacking the Rooktown from the other side, marching around Rook's Rest in a large arc. To his Credit, Lord Staunton seemed to realize what we were doing, and no sooner had we had our canons set up to begin bombardment, than he had sent out a Sortie of Cavalry from the Castle on a wide ride around to our camp to attempt to disrupt the proceedings.

Thankfully, our own Cavalry, under Ser Loras Lothston sallied forth out of the camp to engage the enemy and allow our gun positions time to get set up. I was standing by near the guns with a reserve force of Pikes, Musketeers, and Halberdiers to repel the enemy cavalry just in case Ser Loras didn't manage to drive the enemy off where I got a front-row seat to a battle of Knightly Heavy Cavalry versus Hussar Medium Cavalry.

"Keep digging those gun pits! Don't worry about the enemy cavalry, let me worry about the enemy cavalry!" I ordered the engineers.

"Aye, milord, don't fear! We'll have 'em ready by the end of the day!" Saluted the lead engineer.

Then he moved back to urge his men on in planting stakes and digging earthworks to protect the guns. The shirtless engineering crews redoubled their efforts, spades and mattocks working at a renewed pace as I turned back to the Mixed Battalion I was commanding and waited for the outcome of the Cavalry Skirmish. It was quite something, the Hussars fired their snaplocks into the wedge of enemy heavy cavalry, downing several and forcing the enemy to disperse along a wide front in a line rather than maintain their tight wedge and have their mounts trip over their fallen comrades. As that happened, Ser Loras Lothston's Men charged with lance and sword in a wedge of their own. The less maneuverable enemy Heavy Cavalry couldn't compete, and their line was sheared in two. With half of the enemy getting stuck in against Ser Loras' force and the other half charging for the guns to try and salvage their mission.

"Musketeers! Give them a volley then fall back behind the pikes! Just like we trained for Lads!" I commanded, drawing my Valyrian Steel Blade.

Our Musketeers shouldered their snaplocks and fired, smoke and sparks belching from their weapons as they spit leaden death at the enemy. Several of the Enemy Cavalry were felled, with the lead rider, a Knight wearing the checkerboard and wings of House Stainton on his surcoat, being literally shot off his horse. Then the musketeers fell back around the pikes, who braced to receive cavalry. Then, with an awful noise, the enemy slammed into our pike square and the fighting reached hand-to-hand. I soon found myself assailed by a man armed as a hobelar, in Brigandine over Mail. He had the Bear Paw of Brune of Dyre Den on his surcoat and had leaped off his horse, which had gone down to a pike to the chest, dropping his lance as he did so.

He landed in a shoulder roll, absorbing the blow with momentum and popping up to his feet, drawing his Bastard Sword as he did so and lashing out with it. His blade cleaved into the face of the Pikeman who had killed his horse, the Morion Helm not stopping the heavy Bastard Sword. A Halberdier moved to engage him, was was their job in my formations, only to likewise be cut down to a low, heavy, stroke of the Bastard Sword, literally cutting his legs out from under him. Acknowledging his skill, I moved to engage the man, only to be confronted by a Staunton Yeoman in a Coat of Plates over Mail with a Sparth Axe. He lashed his axe out at my neck, forcing me to duck the blow. I popped up in a hop, thrusting down in an overhand strike. My imbrocatta thrust punched through the Man's coat of plates, mail, padded jack, and collarbone, biting deep into his torso and killing him.

As I withdrew, I saw the Brune Knight had slain another Halberdier and moved to engage, only to be forced to deal with another Staunton Cavalryman, having managed to disentangle himself from his fallen horse and charge me with an arming sword. I parried his cut and lashed out with my off-hand in a punch that smashed into his helmet, knocking the Barbute-style Half Helm off his head as he stumbled away, my next cut a mandritto slash from right to left that carved into his skull, the Valyrian Steel of my blade shearing off the top of his head. A third man tried to bar my way to the Brune Knight, whose heavy cuts were battering away at a Halberdier's guard, but I withdrew my dagger and thrust it through his eye with my off-hand as he approached, killing him. As he fell away, taking my dagger with him, the Brune Knight had just managed to slice through the haft of the Halberdier's halberd and smash his crossguard into the man's throat, killing him by crushing his windpipe.

He wouldn't kill a fourth man as I reached his position, lashing out with my blade. The Brune Knight managed to turn in time to snap off a parry with his Bastard Sword and my Valyrian Steel Blade bit into his own Castle-Forged Steel weapon, tearing a chunk out of the edge with a screech but he managed to avoid his death and charged me shoulder checking me as he bulled forward and knocking me back. As I stumbled backward, he lashed out with a heavy cut of his Bastard Sword that slammed into the pauldron of my Breastplate, bruising my shoulder and sending me down into the muddy turf below. I kept my grip on my blade, thankfully, and had the presence of mind to roll to the side in time to avoid the downward thrust aimed at my visor.

I kicked out with my legs, sweeping the Brune Knight's feet out from under him, and rose up to my feet before aiming a slash at him as he rose to one knee. My let-to-right horizontal Manco Cut was parried by the heavier blade, once again taking a large chunk out of the edge. The Brune Knight's Riposte was an arcing, two-handed, horizontal cut at my ribs that I parried with my blade. This time, instead of taking a chunk out of his Bastard Sword, my Valyrain Steel blade sheared off the top two and a half feet off the blade of the Brune Knight's Bastard Sword with a screech of tortured metal.

He backed away at that, tossing the hilt and remaining four inches of the blade at me to try and gain an opening to pull the shorter, baselard-style blade he wore at his hip. I charged forward, ducking the thrown hilt and grabbing his wrist with my off-hand as he tried to pull his shorter blade. In response, he grabbed the wrist of my sword arm and we began to grapple. Each of us tried to gain enough leverage to bring our blades to bear, but neither of us was able to. He had me beat on strength, of course, being a good three inches taller and likely had around three stone in weight on me of muscle. I made up for it with technique, though and we were evenly matched in the grapple because of it, leading to me trying something that would likely be considered ignoble.

I pulled him in with my arm and slammed my helmeted forehead into his own helmet. A gong noise rang out as my headbutt made contact and he stumbled backward, breaking the grapple but allowing me to bear him into the muddy turf with a tackle. We landed on the turf with me on top of him, both of our blades skidding away. However, I managed to draw my eating knife from my belt. It wasn't a weapon, as I'd lost my fighting dagger earlier. Instead, it was something you'd use to carve a bit of cheese or salted meat to eat on the march. It wasn't even arsenal steel, instead, it was castle-forged steel like most non-weapons. It wasn't long, either. being seven and a half inches compared to the eleven and a half of a proper dagger.

It would still kill if slipped through a visor, however. That was exactly what I was poised to do, straddling the Brune Knight in a mount position with my eating knife positioned just above the slits of his visor, ready to be plunged into his eye and slice into his brain behind it.

"Yield!" I demanded.

"Damn it all, I yield!" Grumbled the Brune Knight.

I got up, recovering my Valyrian Steel Sidesword and then helping the Brune Knight to his feet as the remnants of the enemy forces withdrew, riding back to the castle like the Demons of the Seven Hells were after them. I disarmed him and dragged him into our camp, even as Ser Loras Lothston arrived with some of our cavalry to force any stragglers to surrender. Surprisingly, the Staunton Knight our musketeers had shot off his horse was still alive. The Musketball had punched through his armor before deflecting off a large silver medallion he wore under his armor, apparently a gift from his betrothed. Jeyne Thorne. This it turned out, was the heir to Rook's Rest, ser Theobald Staunton, whereas the Brune Knight was the missing Brune of Dyre Den, Ser Balman Brune, known as Balman the Vast thanks to his impressive stature and strength.

An hour later, the guns began firing. Eight hours after that, we'd made a trio of breaches in the walls of the Rooktown. It was as I was preparing forces to assault the breaches that a man came riding out of one of them on a palfrey horse under a white flag of parley. it was the Commander of the Town Watch of the Rooktown, Ser Patrek Waters and he had come to surrender the Rooktown. He was swiftly ushered into our camp and I found out exactly why he wasn't eager to fight for the town.

"Lord Staunton has stripped the Watch bare. We had four-hundred members before the war that were pressed into service by Lord Staunton. Half of those were sent to the Capital along with half of Lord Staunton's Levy, as demanded by the Queen. half of what's left is at the Castle, guarding Lord Staunton's Wife and Daughter, along with his treasury. I have maybe a hundred real fighting men to defend the Rooktown and the rest are Old Men and Green Boys fighting with whatever we could arm them with." Admitted Ser Patrek.

"And you don't wish to throw their lives away, I assume?" I questioned.

"No, My Lord I do not." Confirmed Ser Patrek.

"What do you think Ser Roger?" I queried.

"I think that we should press for Unconditional Surrender, given the circumstances." Advised Ser Roger Groves.

"Aye, but I would agree to not sack the town as well. We want the territory productive after the War, after all." Insisted Ser Harry Ruskyn.

"Trust a Quartermaster to think of that!" Laughed Ser Mors Marshberry.

"He is not wrong, though. A sack would certainly lower productivity. Gods know I know a thing or two about sacks." Smirked Salhaador Saan.

"I think we all have." Huffed Ser Denys Irons.

"Not all of us. That is not the way of war in the Summer Isles." Intoned Jalhabar Xho.

"I think we have a consensus then, My Lord." Intoned Ser Loras Lothstons.

"Indeed. If you surrender now, I promise to hold my men back. There will be no sack of the Rooktown. Is that acceptable to you?" I asked.

"That's more than fair, My Lord. I will agree to surrender to avoid a sack." Concurred Ser Patrek.

XXXX

And just like that, in a single day, the Rooktown was ours. That was half the battle already and now we just had to secure the Castle of Rook's Rest. Unfortunately, it would take us five days to do that, as we had to dig parallel trenches to be able to assault the Castle. Fortunately, our siege engineers worked double shifts to make it so, and by the time we had silenced the guns on the walls and made a breach in the walls, the trenches had already been finished.

Unfortunately, the hilltop that the new castle of Rook's Rest had been built on top of meant that we would still be literally fighting an uphill battle. From the trench to the breach, our men would have to scrabble up a steep incline just to make it back to even ground. As they did, they would be exposed to fire from the walls at either side of the breach, while the enemy would be contesting the breach with troops at the same time.

It would be a deadly situation, so naturally, I was planning to lead the assault personally. Of course, my vassals were dead set against it. Most of them believed that they should be the ones to lead the assault, though some had different reasons from the stock reason of not exposing their liege lord to danger. As I told them all, they each protested in their own ways.

"My Lord, this assault is like to be extremely dangerous. You should allow me to lead the assault instead." Insisted Ser Roger Groves.

"Indeed. I can't allow my liege lord to take a risk like that. Not when I can take it for him." Added Ser Loras Lothston.

"All the more reason for me to lead it, yes? As far as I am aware, I am the only one in all of Westeros with armor that is proofed against musketfire." I pointed out.

"Muskets aren't the only thing that can be thrown at you in a siege. Your armor won't protect you from boiling oil seeping through the joints to burn you." Informed Ser Denys Irons.

"Or big bloody rocks being hurled at you from above. If it can kill a full-grown dragon like Dreamfyre, it can kill you, armor or no." Concurred Lord Mors Marshberry.

"It is dangerous, best let me handle it instead, My Lord. After all, I am quite experienced in sacking forts." Smirked Salhaador Saan.

"Please. These are not some scared townsfolk with a handful of levies in a tower in the Disputed Lands. There are like to be real warriors there. Allow me to have the glory of leading the assault, I promise you will not find me wanting." Insisted Jalhabar Xho.

"No. I will not ask my vassals to do something I won't do myself. I will lead the assault, and that is my final word." I insisted.

"Frankly, My Lord, better you than me." Mused Ser Harry Ruskyn.

That I couldn't help but laugh at. Ser Harry had been a quartermaster for the overwhelming majority of his time as a Sellsword. It seemed he wasn't ready to give up his rear-echelon ways quite yet. Unfortunately, my good humor evaporated rather quickly as Ser Denys Irons laid out the forces that he'd seen that we'd be facing.

Lord Staunton's best men were holding the breach, dismounted yeomen and household knights, the remnants of the cavalry force we had chased away from the guns during the attack on the Rooktown. On the walls to either side of the breach, Guards armed with a mix of muskets and crossbows would fire on the attackers, along with levies who would be standing by with boiling oil and stones to pour and toss down. There were likely some one thousand men who would be contesting the breach, with another thousand in reserve in the keep, where Lord Staunton would be in command. Of course, we had over thirteen times as many men, but the price to gain entry would still be high.

Grimly, we broke up the meeting at that, deciding to push heavily from the get-go to try and break the defense as swiftly as possible. I grabbed my helm and swordbelt, buckled both on, and headed for the assault force.

It was time to get this done. . .

XXXX

As we crept through the trenches that had been dug through the fields toward the breach, our guns opened up to cover us, suppressing the musketeers, crossbowmen, and levies on the walls. Of course, the majority of them wouldn't get a clear shot until the assault force was out of the trench and climbing up the steep hill to the breach, but that didn't stop the potshots. As we neared the end of the trench, one of my men nearby took a crossbow bolt through the gap between pauldron and breastplate, choking out a scream as his shoulder was pierced. He was one of the luckier ones as just before we began our climb, another of the men next to me took a musketball through the top of his motion helm, splattering his brains across the earthworks.

The cannons boomed out, suppressing the fire on from that quarter as I sent up the Forlorn Hope, a group of volunteers with no families to speak of who would be the first up the side of the hill to the breach. I nodded at their leader as they passed me.

"Good luck. Remember, there's no shame in withdrawing if it gets too bad." I offered.

"We'll do our best for you, Lord." Replied their Captain in a Myrish Accent.

Then he drew his blade, a curved, sabre-like, Myrish Paramerion, and moved his men up out of the trench. As I watched on, the Forlorn Hope, five hundred men strong, was shot at, doused in boiling oil, and pelted with thrown stones. I watched a batch of men fall back scalded as a cauldron of boiling oil was dumped on them, even as I saw one man's head evaporate from a musketball, while another took a thrown rock to the face and his neck broke. Withering fire from crossbows killed more. They fought back, of course, musketeers felling some of the enemy crossbowmen and musketeers on the walls, while one particularly lucky musketeer managed to hit an enemy Levy Man carrying a pot of boiling oil. That oil then doused several nearby enemies as the man fell to the stone of the wall, dead.

It was still a blood bath, and as the Formlord Hope reached the Breachm their numbers had been thinned dramatically. From Five-hundred down to three-hundred-fifty before they even engaged the enemy Knights and Yeomen. They took heavy casualties and that kept going as I mustered another wave at the staging area and the edge of the trench. This wave I would lead myself, and as soon as the men assembled, I drew my Valyrian Steel blade and charged, leading them up the hill.

More died as we climbed the hill, but the fury of the defenders had largely been spent and would require more boiling oil and stones to be brought to the walls to renew fully. We still took casualties, but nowhere near as many as the Forlorn Hope. Perhaps a third of the number of dead and wounded in the Forlorn Hope happened to us as we scrabbled up the hillside. Then the cannons boomed out again, renewing their assault on the enemy atop the walls, allowing us to finish climbing the hill with only a few others wounded or killed.

As I pulled myself up onto the hilltop, I noticed the Forlorn Hope was desperately trying to hang onto the bit of ground they'd managed to carve out, but fading fast. I pointed my blade at the enemy and roared out a challenge to my men.

"Come on then! At 'em lads! Don't let your comrade's sacrifice be in vain!" I shouted, exhorting my men forward.

With that, they followed me into the charge as I pulled one of the three snaplock pistols in the brace across my chest and discharged it into the skull of an enemy Yeoman who was about to cut down the Forlorn Hope's captain with a greatsword. The Man's head burst like a ripe melon as I swiftly holstered that pistol, parrying the strike of Staunton Household Knight's Bastard Sword with my blade and drawing the second snaplock pistol. I pressed it to the Knight's Breastplate and fired, turning his torso into shredded meat. Then I surged forward, countercharging an enemy Yeoman who was rushing at me with a Sparth Axe, ducking the swing aimed at my neck and lashing out with a left to right manco cut that literally cut his leg out from under him, severing his left leg at the knee.

I surged forward, my men at my back, the second wave moving to widen the zone of control the Forlorn Hope had marked out near the breach. I pulled my last pistol and shot one of the Enemy Levy Men who had been carrying one of the last pots of boiling oil on the walls through the chest. His oil flew down and dumped across a section of the Enemy Knights and Yeomen holding the breach, scalding perhaps a score of them. I parried a strike from an enemy Yeoman with a Glaive and brought the polearm out wide before rushing into the gap, drawing my dagger, and stabbing the man through the throat with it. I lashed out in an overhand Imbrocatta thrust that plunged down into the stomach of an enemy Household Knight from above, punching through the plate and mail to literally disembowel the Man.

As we widened the zone of control, pushing the enemy further back, the third wave arrived. They took even fewer casualties mounting the hill from the trench, perhaps two dozen killed or wounded compared to our fifty and the Forlorn Hope's hundred-fifty. As I cut out with my blade in a fendente cut that split an Enemy Yeoman's face open diagonally from ear to teeth with my blade, the enemy finally decided to call it quits. They weren't levies, mind you, but Lord Staunton's best troops. They attempted to stage a fighting withdrawal back into the courtyard.

"After them!" I called out as a cheer went up from the men.

We pressed them back even as they withdrew, fighting as they did. A few arrows, musketballs, and crossbow bolts flew from arrow slits on the upper floors of the keep, helping to cover the enemy Yeomen and Household Knights as they tried to withdraw back to the keep. Unfortunately, now that we had the breach, reinforcements could be brought in more or less at will. A few Enemy Troops managed to withdraw back into the keep, but many more were forced to surrender in the courtyard, as Ser Denys Irons and Jalhabar Xho led reinforcements into the courtyard to flank them and press them back against the interior side of the walls.

About forty-five minutes later, Salhaador Saan arrived with petards, rushing to the iron-banded oak of the Keep's Gates under cover from musket fire to nail the petards into the gates himself. He lit the slow-burning matchcord fuses and ran back to our lines, taking a single arrow to the shoulder from a Levy Man firing from the keep as he did so. He made it back to our forces just before the gates blew open with a roar of fire and a forceful explosion. He stumbled as he did so, not able to brace himself in time. I caught him though.

"Are you all right?" I questioned.

"Of course, My Lord. It's just an arrow wound, nothing I haven't suffered through before. A bit of rum and some time off the field and I'll be right as rain." Insisted Salhaador Saan through grit teeth.

I sent him back to the rear as we prepared to enter through the blown-open gates of the keep. He'd no doubt milk the arrow wound to avoid combat duty for a bit, but I wasn't about to press him to return to the field for a while. I figured he'd earned it, with that arrow wound and all.

Unfortunately, instead of simply waiting to be attacked, it seemed Lord Staunton had decided to sally forth himself. His remaining men, Household Knights, Yeomen, Guardsmen, and Levies, boiled out of the keep toward us, Lord Staunton at their head. He moved to engage me with arming sword and shield and I obliged him as his men and mine clashed all around us.

I parried his opening cut with my blade only to have to dive away from the steel rim of his shield that he sent forward toward me in a shield bash. I tucked myself into a shoulder roll and came up to his side as the shield hit empty air where I'd previously been standing. As I came up out of the roll, I cut out in a rising cut, only for Lord Staunton to manage to parry with his arming sword. My cut nicked Lord Staunton's blade only slightly, which was puzzling, but I was immediately pressed back away from a lashing shield bash before I could question it. As I backpedaled, Lord Staunton Bulled forward, thrusting with his arming sword, aiming for the gaps between my pauldron and breastplate. I was forced to twist out of the way only to take a shield bash to the face that rattled my teeth and sent me stumbling sideways, knocking my helmet off my head in the process.

I snapped off a parry on instinct and it was all that saved me from taking a cut of Lord Staunton's arming sword to the skull. Our blades locked together for a brief moment, the metal of his arming sword groaning as it tested itself against the superior Valyrian Steel of my own blade but still holding admirably. Then Lord Staunton shoved the boss of his shield into my face, breaking my nose and splitting my lip with a crack from the shield bash and sending me stumbling back, the taste of blood in my mouth.

"You may be a prodigy in all sorts of things, Boy but you lack the experience to best me. I fought in the Rebellion and against Balon Greyjoy. You've only fought wars against Drunken Pirates, the Savages of the Summer Isles, and a few scattered Hillfolk Houses. Now yield, before I show you the true benefits of experience!" Demanded Lord Staunton.

With a growl, I spat the blood out of my mouth and forcibly re-aligned my nose, blowing out a breath with both nostrils to clear the nasal passages of blood. I took my guard back up and shook my head at Lord Staunton's demands.

"I'm not finished yet, My Lord." I responded.

"So be it." He intoned before rushing forth again.

His work with his blade and shield was perfect, lashing out time and again to keep me on the back foot. Honestly, I could respect the long years of dedication that he'd clearly put into his combat skills. He was definitely better than me, which was a galling thought. I just barely managed to keep ahead of him, dodging and parrying. I had to wonder how his arming sword hadn't given out on him from my frantic parrying with a Valyrian Steel Blade. it was only after I'd managed to avoid being cornered against the interior wall that I realized why that was. His arming sword held the same whorling patterns to it that my old, Qohorik, Sword had. It was the same imitation Valyrian Steel as my first blade had been. It had held up well enough, several nicks and minor gouges had been taken out of the blade, but it was still functional and deadly.

"Spotted it, eh? I'd heard about the Qohorik blade you used against the Knight of High Hermitage and had some people look into it. One of them tracked down a smith who was willing to sell me an arming sword of the Qohorik Steel. I'd say it was well worth it, wouldn't you?" Smirked Lord Staunton.

I hated to do this, but he was leaving me no choice. I'd reloaded my pistols while we'd waited for Salhaador Saan to arrive with the petards. It was ignoble of me, but this was war and Lord Staunton was actually better than me with his sword and shield. Maybe if I'd had more experience against such a style I'd feel more confident in fighting him like this, but as it was, I had to do what I did next to avoid being captured or killed. I couldn't afford either, after all, not with the real enemy still gathering strength beyond the Wall.

As Lord Staunton charged forth, I pulled one of my pistols and fired. The ball smashed into his leg, punching through cuisse and mail like they weren't there and sending him toppling to the flagstones of the courtyard. Almost immediately, several remaining Household Knights, Yeomen, and Guards rushed forth to try and save their lord. I parried the cut of a Yeoman's bastard sword and shoved my dagger through his visor, killing him. He dropped to the flagstones even as I pulled my second pistol and fired, the ball punching through the breastplate of a Household Knight that was moving to grab Lord Staunton under the arms. He fell and Guardsman took his place even as another Yeoman cut out at me with an axe, forcing me to sidestep the vertical chop and lash out with my own blade, the riposte taking his throat out with a manco cut from left to right. I discharged my last pistol into the guard that was trying to help carry Lord Staunton back into the Keep and dropped him like a puppet with its strings cut. He was just replaced by another Household Knight shortly afterward.

Soon after, Lord Staunton was gone. Vanished off the field and into the keep. Shortly after that happened, my men pressed the enemy back out of the courtyard and into the keep after their lord. The fight had gone out of them by then, however. Lord Staunton's Wife, Lady Mara Staunton officially surrendered Rook's Rest in exchange for having my surgeons heal Lord Staunton. They worked through the night to do it and managed to save his life, though he would live the rest of his life a cripple as they'd had to cut away some of the thigh muscle to do so.

All told, House Staunton had lost eight-hundred-fifty men killed or wounded, with the rest captured and confined to barracks for the duration of the war. Forty-two and a half percent of their force would be killed or wounded in the battle. Our own casualties were lighter, with Eight-hundred-forty men dead or wounded. Of course, we had more men to lose, and that was only around three percent of our total forces. The vast majority of those had been casualties in the fighting today, with a sizable chunk of them falling during the fight for the breach, with around a hundred-forty being casualties from the fight at the Rooktown.

Now, however, the way south was open. I organized a garrison force to keep an eye on the Stauntons and the forces that had surrendered and marched south for Duskendale. Two days later I would wind up linking up with my forces there. I wanted desperately to have some time alone with my wife, but unfortunately, it wasn't to be. We were on a strict timetable. Three days later we arrived at King's Landing to find Stannis already camped outside the walls. He'd arrived yesterday and had some bad news.

King Stannis informed us that we were too late. King's Landing had been reinforced by House Mooton two days ago. We had lost the race and now had to settle in for a siege of King's Landing. One that could see relief from Tywin Lannister arrive at any point. He was calling a War Council to take suggestions as to how we should proceed for that evening.

Hopefully, we could find a way to do this before Tywin could arrive with relief forces. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so here we have the battle for Rook's Rest. In terms of casualties, it was up there for Ricasso's Forces. Worse than Dyre Den, but not quite as bad as the Naval Casualties. It was a lot worse for the Stauntons, mind you. Still, that was on the bloodier end as far as battles he's fought go.

Unfortunately, the complicated siege put Ricasso behind the eight ball, a day behind Stannis even, who had already been marching up from the Stormlands. Now King's Landing has been reinforced by Mooton Forces and it's time for a siege. Hopefully, they can come up with something before Tywin Arrives with his army to relieve the City.

At any rate, the next chapter will be an interlude with Ned in the North, then we'll have one inside the Capital before we return to Ricasso's POV for Stannis' War Council.

Stay tuned. . .