Giddy up! Giddy up!
Eddard whipped his mount, pushing the beast's speed to its absolute limit. The buildings lining the streets of King's Landing flashed past in his peripheral vision like shadows cast by a dying fire, leaving only blurred black afterimages.
Amidst the thunderous rhythmic pounding of thousands of hooves, the lights of the city had vanished. All doors were bolted, and every window was tightly shut. Beneath the cold starlight, the citizens huddled in their homes were likely trembling in the dark, praying to the Seven for a dawn that didn't smell of smoke.
The Red Keep, perched atop Aegon's High Hill, drew nearer with every frantic stride. Earlier that afternoon, Eddard had seen the signal from the walls: the orange banner of House Royce. At that moment, he knew his gamble had paid off. He could abandon the grueling necessity of siege towers and shield cars. He would take the capital by the simplest and most ancient of means, a betrayal from within.
Just as Tywin Lannister had tricked Aerys during the Rebellion, Eddard had used the truth as his skeleton key. The illegitimacy of Tommen I and the lingering mystery of Jon Arryn's death provided Bronze Yohn Royce with all the justification he needed to draw his sword. This wasn't a coup; it was a reckoning.
Karas Snow rode close at Eddard's wing, holding high the banner of the Crossing, the black towers beneath a golden sun. Nearly seven hundred heavy cavalry followed in their wake, the roar of their passage sounding like a winter storm through a narrow canyon.
The main gate of the Red Keep was a scene of frantic, bloody struggle. A dozen knights of the Vale were locked in a desperate melee with Red Keep guards in lion-crested helmets. Bodies already littered the flagstones, their armor silvered by the moonlight and darkened by blood.
"CLEAR THE WAY!" Eddard roared.
He leveled his lance, the steel tip catching a guard square in the chest. The impact lifted the man off his feet, the blood-soaked point emerging from his back before Eddard released the shaft. In a single motion, he drew Heartbreaker. The Valyrian steel was a blur of dark smoke and chilling light. Each stroke was an ending, bisecting helmets, severing necks, and cleaving through the ribs of any red-cloaked guard foolish enough to stand.
Once the gatehouse was cleared, Eddard didn't stop. He spurred his mount toward the Hand's Tower. Karas and the personal guard followed, leaving the infantry of the First and Second Guards Corps to finish the systematic purging of the outer courtyards.
High on the city wall, Addam Marbrand stared in mute horror as torches flooded through the Gods Gate like a river of fire.
By the time he had reached the battlements, a thousand Karstark cavalry had already dispersed into the streets, turning the capital into a killing field. Outside the walls, another three thousand riders sat in disciplined, dark squares, a terrifying military parade waiting for the signal to mop up the ruins.
"Counterattack!" Marbrand shouted, grabbing his adjutant. "Notify the barracks! Retake the gate!"
"My Lord!" The adjutant's face was a mask of pure terror. He pointed toward the Gods Gate barracks. "It's over! Look!"
Marbrand pulled out his spyglass. His breath hitched. At least two hundred giants, towering behemoths clad in thick iron plate, were smashing through the camp. Spears snapped against their shields; swords were swatted away like flies. He saw elite Lannister soldiers being tossed into the air by brute force, their bodies falling back into their own ranks like human stones.
Behind the giants, the Northern and Riverland infantry poured in, each man carrying a torch and a bared blade. The Lannister defense was being shredded before it could even form a line.
"Where is the Vale?" Marbrand demanded. "Why haven't they engaged?"
"The messengers haven't returned, sir," the adjutant wheezed. "But a runner from the Mud Gate says he saw the Royce knights opening the gates themselves. They've let the enemy in."
"Traitors!" Marbrand spat. He looked at the chaos, then toward the stairs. "How many men do we have?"
"Five hundred cavalry. All veterans."
"Follow me!" Marbrand gritted his teeth. "We charge the Red Keep. We rescue Kevan and hold the fortress until Lord Tywin returns."
"Ser!" The adjutant grabbed Marbrand's sleeve. "It's too late. The enemy has the gates. We'll be trapped in the hill. We should go through the Mud Gate. The Redwyne fleet is still there, they can act as a bridge. We can get out!"
Marbrand's sword was at the adjutant's throat in a heartbeat. "Are you telling me to flee like a coward?"
"It's not flight, sir! Someone has to tell Lord Tywin! The Vale still has ten thousand men at Bronze Gate! If we reach them, we can counter-attack!"
Marbrand looked back at the Red Keep, which was beginning to shimmer with the hazy light of new fires. He sheathed his sword and swung into his saddle. "Go! To the Mud Gate!"
Outside the Hand's Tower, a dozen Lannister guards were using a massive log as a ram, battering the thick oak doors.
THUD.
The door panels groaned, a long jagged crack appearing in the polished wood.
"AGAIN!" the officer screamed. He was desperate. The young nobles from the Vale in Maegor's Holdfast had gone mad, and the Hand's Tower had been seized by shadows.
Clatter-clatter-clatter.
The sound of galloping horses erupted from the courtyard. The officer turned, seeing a flash of dark, smoky steel through the torchlight. Before he could raise his shield, the Valyrian blade took his arm and his life in a single sweep.
"KILL THEM!" Eddard commanded, dismounting as his personal guard swarmed the remaining red-cloaks.
Eddard stepped over the bodies, his silver boots squelching on the blood-slicked stone. He patted the shattered oak door. "I am Eddard Karstark, Regent of the Trident. Inform Lord Royce that the North has arrived. The city is ours."
The door creaked open. Andar Royce, the heir to Runestone, stepped out with a weary but triumphant smile. His silver armor, etched with the ancient runes of his house, was splattered with Lannister blood.
"Lord Eddard," Andar said. "A pleasure to see you. The coordination was... perfect."
"Is your father finished?" Eddard asked.
Andar's expression shifted to one of grim fascination. "He has the answers. I always knew this court was a nest of vipers, but I never imagined the filth was this deep. The Gods will not forgive what has been done here."
Andar led the way up the stairs. Eddard followed, taking in the splendor of the Hand's Tower for the first time. It was a place of high ceilings and heavy history.
They reached the study. Andar pushed the doors open.
Eddard's gaze swept the room. He saw Ser Kevan Lannister, his face pale and defeated, sitting in a chair under the watch of two Vale knights. Archmaester Pycelle was a huddle of grey robes on the floor, the stench of fear and unwashed age radiating from him.
Finally, Eddard looked at the corner. Varys, the Master of Whisperers, stood there in his purple silks. The eunuch's face was powdered white, and his hands were tucked into his sleeves, yet his eyes remained sharp, tracking Eddard's every movement.
"Ser Kevan," Eddard said, nodding to the Acting Hand. "We meet again. The prisoner's cart was a less comfortable setting, I imagine."
Kevan lowered his head, the silence of the room his only response.
Eddard turned to the eunuch, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. "Varys. I've heard much about your 'little birds'. I think it's time you and I had a very long talk."
[System Notification: Major Objective Reached: Capture of King's Landing.]
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