Unlike the title of this Hotseat, the Starks remain without honor, and know no notion of the words, but when one
of our own lords is just as honorless, how can we judge?
Lord Walder's skulkings and stabbings will remain with him at the Twins, for three of his sons refused to remain under
his guise, and preffered to become the eptiamy of honor, and chivalry. No sooner had they left the east keep of the twins,
than they soon discovered that King Robb Stark of the North, the same King who was promised safe passage through the Twin keeps
had besieged them. Of course two of his bannerman had continued on ahead of the party claiming that they were scouting the way, which
was just veiling their true intentions. Two of the freys dashed to Seaguard to ask assistance from Lord Mallister himself, by which he complied on
the condition that they leave their father to rot.
The Freys agreed, preferring that their father die in the same cruel and twisted way he's lived all his life. With luck perhaps the King of the North
would pull down the dreadful structures by which their House of Frey was known.
Having recieved word by raven that Lord Mallister was with them, the third Frey left the West Keep minorly garrisoned, and rode out with his brothers
and Lord Mallister to face the threat of Lord Bolton, and Lord Hornwood.
Birds chirping in the distance, dew upon the grass, and the sun rising upon the horizon. Who could imagine such a perfect morning to die? With the chirping of birds, came the clatter of weapons and armor, and the dew upon the grass obliterated as soldiers were roused from their beds, barely able to move, for the Lord Roose Bolton had held a minor feast within the encampment. Every soldier was granted double their rations for the night, and as much as they could drink. Every man took advantage, and each in turn fell into a drunken stupor. Many of the soldiers had gone missing, or were found all about the fort. Even Lord Roose himself had gone a shade paler for overdosing on the devil’s brew. The angry bell of the night’s watch was sounding an enemy raid. What foolishness are they planning? Thought Roose. Surely they don’t believe they can simply claim my fort, and lord Hornwoods before King Robb arrives. Yet the bell still angrily yelled for the encampment’s soldiers roused to attention. Even officers were confused believing just what Roose had, that Robb’s strategy to claim the Twins was flawless, and that the Tullys would back down, and ask for peace.
Yet upon the horizon a purple banner waved glinting in the golden warmth of the sun. Rising with the sun many men began surfacing over the hill marching steadily towards their gates. A ram was leading in the army’s wake. “Lord Mallister rides upon the horizon my lord!” shouted an officer. “He has at least 1500 men with him!” The drink from the night before had been toying with the officer’s mind, and his last statement frightened the men so much, that a few fell from the fort walls, and landed on the pikes outside of the fort. What a waste. Roose turned to his officers, and bellowed orders, and they got the men to form ranks. Quickly escalating the stairs, Roose was careful to lean on the wall. He leaned just enough so that no one could notice, but enough so that he would not lose balance and take a tumble. His own hangover had not yet subsided, and he needed to show the men that he was still fit to fight, and lead them. When Roose reached the top of the stairs he spied an army on the horizon, with a ram leading the way followed by Lord Jason Mallister, and three of Lord Walder’s Bastards. A heat from within drove him towards the walls edge, and without warning the previous night’s meal was upon the corpses impaled by the stakes. What a fitting demise. Stuck like pigs, then seasoned and fed to the crows.
Unfortunately for Roose he had ordered only one gate be made for the purposes of defending the fort. Yet here he was with nigh upon 200 cavalry men who could barely sit a horse, let alone stand, and he had no damned archers to hinder the enemy’s advance. King Robb’s plan was perfect. Lacking not a single flaw. But wait… he didn’t intend Edmure to have a spine… Yes, he believed that he would back down, and bend the knee rather than lose all of his lands, but Edmure has no spine. Even his uncle can push him around like a ship in a storm… That’s it! It’s Brynden who’s actually leading the Riverlands. Edmure is just holding the title of Lord Paramount, but Brynden the Blackfish holds all of the cards… Perhaps he is an even greater strategist than myself… Perhaps I think too much…
The ram slammed into the gate, snapping him back to his senses. He rushed back from the wall to the stairs charging down them with new energy. His will broke past his drunken stupor, and his thoughts settled. He assembled his personal bodyguards, and positioned them in the center of his men. That way they could boost morale in case any drunken wannabes decided to flee back to their tents praying for the Mother’s Mercy.
As the gate began to splinter, and squeak, Lord Roose addressed his men.
“Warriors of the Dreadfort and Winterfell! Hear me now in this time of uncertainty. We face great odds, but we are men of the north, and there is no greater group of soldiers that I’d rather fight beside. Let these floppy fish of the rivers be eaten by our noble pack of wolves. For the King in the North!”
Just then the gate began to falter as a hole punched through, and archers bobbed through the opening spraying the defenders with arrows. Many fell, for they were witnessing Lord Roose’s great speech, which was sadly interrupted. Roose and his officers roared for the men to hold their ground, and form a shield wall near the gate. On the next smash of the ram, the gate burst wide open followed by a hail of arrows, and angry men of the Riverlands. Swords, pikes, clubs, maces, Warhammers, and flails were thrown at each army. Lord Jason charged the shield wall with his elite cavalry, shattering it with lances that pieced two to three men in tandem. Roose’s men began to falter from Lord Mallister charge, so he rallied them to him, but he was met by another three charges by the Frey bastards. For every kngight that fell, 10 northmen would fall as well. The fighting was bloody, and the defender’s ‘disadvantage’ was offering no aid. Roose went into a bezerker frenzy, slaying as many as four knights, yet only five of his bodyguard remained. The Tullys surrounded Lord Roose, and his last men with a shield wall. While Roose came to grasp the situation and his few numbers, Lord Mallister’s horse cantered forward, and for the first time, each man could look the other square in the eyes.
Lord Mallister saw nothing but cold hatred, and malice within the cold grey pits of Lord Bolton’s eyes.
Lord Bolton saw determination, outrage, and vengeance in flaming emerald pools of Lord Mallister’s eyes.
Jason was the first to speak. “Lord Roose Bolton… we meet at last, on such an auspicious occasion.”
Roose responded, “Lord Jason Mallister. I had no idea that the purple falcon of Seaguard would actually fight, rather than flee.”
“Watch your tongue, for your life no longer belongs to you, but to me.”
“My life, is mine, and mine alone! I will not stand here, and listen to this prisoner of war sham you are attempting to convey.” Jason went silent. “You don’t intend on keeping us alive, do you?”
Jason sighed. “One as intelligent as yourself has guessed my intentions, yet that will not save you. You have not been tried, but you are sentenced to death for your assisting King Robb of the North to claim the lives of his fellow brethren and countrymen. Do you have anything left to say?”
“The Old Gods will recognize their own you foul fish!” With that Lord Roose began slashing with his great sword yet again dawning the bezerker within him. Roose wrenched his sword from the closest knight’s neck, and barely blocked a spear from his right, but was pierced by the spear to his left. He went to one knee, holding his wound, and listened as his last remaining bodyguards were slain.
“This… is not… the end…” Roose coughed up spittle, and wiped it away, as he began to swing frantically until one of the Freys caught a downward swing with his own blade. He then moved too close for Roose to attack effectively due to his wound, and his weapons length. The Frey parried Lord Bolton’s weak attempts at fending him off, until he over reached a thrust, which he easily deflected, giving him time to grapple Roose’s Shoulder, and sheath his knife in his neck.
“For my father.” With that, Lord Roose Bolton fell to his knees, then to his face. Dead.
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Re: [HS] A New Beginning
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