Hadrian Snow
The clopping of hooves against stone marked the movement of hundreds of horses through the streets of King’s Landing, all while the city’s smallfolk watched on. The day had finally come for him to set out and put an end to this war for good.
“I’ve gathered what knights I can spare, along with some of those that traveled south with you.” Wendel Manderly stated as he walked to Harry’s left, while Ned walked at his right, atop the city’s walls. “Not many are skilled in mounted combat, as most of those men are already needed here.”
Ned opened his mouth to berate the man, but Harry raised a hand to forestall him. “Thank you, Lord Manderly. I’m sure what men you gathered will be more than enough.”
The overweight man nodded, although Harry couldn’t help but note the war had caused him to become slightly slimmer. Smaller portions at meals and the responsibility of guarding the city had obviously weighed heavily on him, lessening his own girth in turn.
They soon came to a stop at the center of the ramparts overlooking the King’s gate, as a thousand mounted men stood lined up before their group, ready to depart. Harry stepped forward, with the Hand of the King and Commander of the City Watch standing just behind him.
“The time for grand speeches is over!” He called out over the crowd of soldiers, silencing them. Harry knew he wasn’t a showman like his cousin or some of the southron Lords, but still felt the need to give a speech before he led these men to their potential deaths. “You may not be pleased to be put under the command of a mere bastard, or to leave the comfort of this city and its whores. But I ask only that you obey my commands and slay the King’s enemies! For you are not just loyal men, but instead I name you my Marauders, the very men who have been tasked with bringing this war to an end!”
“HOOOAAAHH!” The reception from the men below was a lot better than he expected, as a great cheer broke out.
The doors of the King’s gate leading into the city opened then, as the first rows of riders began to make their way out. What used to be the Crown’s tourney grounds lay in ruins just outside, burned by the besieging Reachmen moons prior.
Harry soon mounted his own horse to follow, Val coming up just behind him with her spear in hand as she followed atop her own steed.
/////
Stannis Baratheon
It had only taken a day for Storm’s End to fall into his hands. The castellan had been loyal to Renly, but the men under his command had other ideas. His brother’s impending defeat had caused many to doubt him, and his own arrival in the Stormlands was akin to the last nail in the coffin in terms of the men’s loyalty.
The men-at-arms had slayed the castellan and opened the gates for him, leading to where he was now. Sitting on the ancestral throne of the Stormlords, as his closest allies and advisors sat around him.
“Thank you, Edric.” He nodded in gratitude as Robert’s bastard brought him a cup of wine, while the Maester went over various reports.
“Word has been sent that a thousand men have been dispatched from King’s Landing on the orders of Lord Stark. The bastard nephew of the Hand, Hadrian Snow, seems to be in command and is leading them south.”
“The bastard again?” Davos muttered with a frown. “What is he up to this time? Especially if he’s moving south?”
Stannis mind worked through possibilities. The thought that he was headed south was a big tell, but a thousand men could accomplish little in a war of this scale.
His first thought was that they were messengers, possibly heading for his own seat or for Dorne, before discarding that thought entirely. A thousand man escort wasn’t needed when only a few riders could slip through whatever patrols Renly sent out. Especially in the case of Ned’s bastard, a slippery man known for doing the Hand’s dirty work.
That was when he suddenly realized what Lord Stark’s plan might be. Stannis Baratheon couldn’t help but straighten in his chair, feeling almost rattled by the thought that occurred to him then.
Is Eddard Stark really that dishonorable? No. The men were under the command of his bastard, distancing himself from what would likely occur. It fit perfectly into what this Hadrian Snow was known for, and made perfect sense if he really thought about it.
“He’s going to raid and pillage the Reach.” Stannis said, as the room’s occupants turned to him in bewilderment. “Lord Stark wants to put pressure on Renly’s Lords, specifically Lord Tyrell, and is going to do so by attacking their lands and holdfasts.”
“Won’t such a small force only get surrounded and killed?” Davos asked. “The Lords of the Reach should still have enough men garrisoned to stop them.”
“Not if they move fast enough, and that bastard is a slippery one.” He replied. “If he raises enough trouble, the Lords of the Reach will get unruly and begin to return home. Combined with Tywin Lannister breathing down their throats, I wouldn’t be surprised if my brother soon faces an uprising from his own men.”
/////
Hadrian Snow
The low walls of Bitterbridge were scarcely manned at the hour of the Owl. The moon was partly visible overhead, casting enough light down and onto the open fields below for his adjusted vision to see in the darkness.
Scarce torches marked the patrols of guards upon the walls of the small city, undermanned as the majority of its men-at-arms had likely marched north with their liege Lord.
Behind him, all of his thousand mounted men were armed and ready atop their own horses. They had arrived that very afternoon, setting camp to rest and feast before they awoke in the dead of night to attack.
“A run at the gates, M’Lord?” One of his captains asked, a knight hailing from the Crownlands named Jarek Waters, being one of the few men in their company not from the North. He was one of the men Harry had relied on heavily while removing the wildfire from King’s Landing, and someone who had followed him as one of his Marauders.
“A sprint would be a more apt description.” He answered. “I will lead the charge and open the gates. After that we’ll pour in and focus on taking out what guards remain.”
“What of runners, M’lord? The smallfolk may attempt to flee.”
“Let them. In fact, the more smallfolk that run, the better.” His men gave him strange looks, but Harry ignored it. “Each of you are to lead your men to a different quadrant of the city once inside. I will focus on taking the main Keep, so direct your subcommanders accordingly once inside.”
The group of his fellow captains nodded, and left to direct his orders to their own subordinates. His thousand men were split into ten 100-man companies, with those further split further by each mans’ specific roles. Many acted as scouts, along with quite a few well-armed knights, squires, foragers, along with those responsible for transporting their food and equipment.
And this would be their first battle, a trial by fire if there ever was one. Harry’s only hope was that the vast majority of the city’s defenders would surrender without a hard fight, which relied on their group fully taking advantage of the element of surprise.
They soon set out, as he led from the head of the column, a thousand men filling the road atop their horses as they made a downright reckless charge straight towards the gates of Bitterbridge. It was made even worse that none of them held torches, instead relying on the light from the moon for guidance, as to not give away their position.
And it worked, as none of the guards on duty atop the walls noticed their approach. Whether it was because there was a lack of them, or that the few on duty were drunk or asleep, Harry did not know. What did stand in his way though, was the large gate leading into the city being closed, as was to be expected.
In times of war, all cities and castles would have their gates barred for safety. Even here, in the heart of the Reach, such a fact didn’t change.
His heart beat hard as his horse raced ahead of the group as they got closer, his magic molding within him as he prepared his spell, eyeing the large gates ahead.
“Bombarda Maxima!”
The spell was amplified in power through the use of parseltongue, as it shot out and collided with the large wooden gate with a bang, exploding outwards and ripping iron hinges and steel reinforcements attached to the door in a mess of splinters. And it wasn’t just the gate that was affected, as the surrounding stone of the barbican was blown skyways and clear across the city.
All of Bitterbridge would be awake from that noise, but it wouldn’t matter. Even as the guards on the walls yelled in alarm, Harry knew it wouldn’t be enough to make a difference.
“Enemy attack!”
“W-We’re under attack?!”
“What was that noise?!”
His sword was in hand as he rode through the blown apart gate, carving an unlucky guard from shoulder to throat as his horse barely slowed. The men behind him followed, pouring into the city and into its streets as they headed every which way, spreading out in every direction and slaughtering what guards got in their way.
Already, the smallfolk were shouting in panic, the city’s men-at-arms being hunted down and either killed or taken prisoner. At this rate, the small city would fall by the time the sun rose, and then his plan would truly begin.
“Take the city!” Harry yelled out orders as his men streamed in, funneling through the destroyed gatehouse atop their mounts. “Kill or capture any guards you come across! Let them know our fury!”
/////
Renly Baratheon
His body was tired, but it was his rage that kept him awake. Rage against Tywin Lannister, against the Starks, and against the bastard who had taken so much from him.
The loss of Loras had been a heavy blow. The leader of his Kingsguard, along with him being the son of his greatest supporter. That wasn’t to mention how close Loras was to him, as it was him who suggested he marry Margaery in order to conceal their relationship, and for him to then become king.
But now all of that was for nothing. He could hardly be called a King with so many of his men killed, along with his own keep of Storm’s End taken by Stannis. Many whispered that Tywin Lannister would soon catch him, or that Ned Stark would ride out from King’s Landing with that army the Hand had somehow formed and put an end to this war.
All of it made him rage, made him feel what his brother Robert must have felt against Rhaegar. Yet his own rage was directed at someone else, against the bastard who was responsible for this mess. Hadrian Snow.
To make it worse, there was the news of that bastard leaving King’s Landing with his “Marauders”, and then heading south into the Reach. Of course, they had all heard the news, as their spies within the capital had sent word. Besides that, a thousand men riding out from the walls couldn’t be hidden.
And yet they had managed to avoid what troops he ordered to track and stop them, disappearing into the Reach before suddenly reappearing to take Bitterbridge. That had been humiliating, but what came next was even worse, as outriders reported vast columns of smoke arising to the south.
Many had thought a forest fire had broken out, only to get word from refugees that Bitterbridge had been sacked and its smallfolk butchered. Those that escaped claimed the city was turned into a tinderbox, set alight with a fire so hot that the stone walls surrounding the city began to melt.
Many of the Reach Lords were already on the verge of rebelling against him, with the war looking less favorable by the day. What he had hoped to be a simple victory, had already become a quagmire against Tywin Lannister and Robb Stark. And then this had come, an atrocity committed in the heart of their own territory, with its perpetrators still at large.
Already, Lord Caswell had taken his men and ridden home, and more were likely to follow if he didn’t begin ordering executions of Lords for desertion.
Not even his biggest supporter, Mace Tyrell, could be trusted. The Fat Flower desperately wanted revenge for Loras’ death, but was beginning to lose his nerve as the war went on. Even now, as he held court with dozens of surrounding Lords, they disguised requests to return home and abandon the war as “strategy”.
“I say we march back south and split our forces to put an end to Stannis and this bastard!” Lord Rowan said. “We’ll regroup quickly, muster more men, and return to destroy Tywin Lannister in short order.”
Mace Tyrell shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps Lord Rowan is right, your Grace. We could take care of these annoyances, and then return-”
“To split our forces would allow Tywin Lannister to pick us off with ease.” He cut the man off. “All he would need to do is split our forces in half and take each army out individually with his full might. Our strength lies in numbers, and we cannot-”
A panicked knight dashed into the room then, sweaty and trembling as he hastily knelt in front of him. “Y-Your Grace, I bring a personal message addressed to you from the bastard, H-Hadrian Snow.”
The surrounding Lords hissed in black rage, and Renly was little different. Ned Stark’s right hand man had become one of their worst enemies, a man most reviled whose infamy only grew by the day.
To make it worse, rumors were spread about the Northern bastard, each worse than the last. They spoke of sorcery most foul, of how it was Hadrian who secretly controlled the Hand through dark magic, or even that he was the spawn of the Stranger himself. Then there were the claims he had used the atrocity at Bitterbridge to fuel a terrible ritual…
“What does the bastard have to say?” He nearly spat. “Read the message aloud.”
The knight nodded, and opened the letter with shaky hands as he began to read.
“Dear King Renly,
I commend you on your success these past several moons. Becoming King is no small feat, especially when you are a third son to two brothers who are so much more accomplished than yourself.
I must say it is your success that has inspired me to reach for my own greatness. A third son becoming King? I must ask myself why a simple bastard can’t do something similar?
And so I have taken Bitterbridge, and its people are now my playthings to do as I wish. I have the heads of its guards mounted atop its walls, the bodies of its smallfolk fueling my hearths and filling my belly while their homes burn.
But sadly, it seems that there are no longer any smallfolk for me to kill here, as they are all dead. And it seems I’ll have to go find more.
You got that, Renly? For I will…”
The man reading trailed off, his face taking on a look of pure horror. Meanwhile, the Lords around the room were fuming with rage, none more so than Renly Baratheon, whose jaw looked like it would snap based on how hard he was gritting his teeth.
“Read. It.” Their King forced out.
“F-For I will… Commit even greater atrocities once I arrive at Highgarden! you can count on it, King Renly!”
The room reeled back collectively as if each Lord was slapped, their eyes wide with mania.
“H-Highgarden?” Mace Tyrell breathed in horror, his face ashen.
“To strike so far into the Reach… Is he mad?” One Lord muttered. “Such an action will only see him surrounded on all sides!”
“Report!” The next knight that entered the room looked even more panicked than the first. “I bring urgent news! We have received word that the Marauders are heading south! They’re taking the Roseroad and heading straight for Highgarden, my Lords!”
“W-What?!”
“We must return to the Reach immediately!”
“But what of the Starks and Lannisters?! They’re nearly upon us!”
A thousand men could hardly take Highgarden, yet most would say the same about Bitterbridge. But it wasn’t so much the possibility of the bastard taking Highgarden, but rather the terror he had caused with his actions.
This was bad. He looked around as the Lords yelled and screamed at one another, hands on the pommels of their blades as they nearly came to blows. And this was just the Lords present, he knew the men-at-arms and knights in the camp would be even more panicked when they learned this news.
If this situation wasn’t handled well, then their entire camp might breakout in infighting. None of the men-at-arms would dare fight if they learned the contents of that letter, along with what Hadrian Snow prepared to do next to the Reach. In a single move, the bastard might have ended this entire war for him.
Disclaimer: All Characters are over the Age of 18