Chapter 25: The Mockingbird

Lord Leo Lefford was an old man now having lived and fought through the Reyne Rebellion, Robert's Rebellion and even the Greyjoy Rebellion, and the sight of around 30,000 men bearing banners of most of the Northern and Riverland houses early in the morning just made him sigh. He ensured that his daughter and heir, Alysanne, was locked away safely with the other women and children of the castle before pulling the majority of his forces out to the eastern walls of the castle that blocked the Riverlands from the Westerlands.

He was confident, however. The only time the Tooth had fallen in recent history was during the First Blackfyre Rebellion, and that had only been due to the divided loyalties of the Houses of the Westerlands. When the West had remained in unity, the Tooth had never fallen.

He walked along the parapets and stared down at the gathered forces once more from up high. The direwolf of House Stark the most prominent. "Are we well stocked?" He asked one of his captains.

"Yes My Lord." The man replied.

Leo nodded the once. "Good, then rain arrows down on them."

"ARCHERS!" The call went up. "NOCK YOUR ARROWS!" The numerous archers on the different levels of the Tooth's walls all nocked arrows to their bows. "DRAW!" The captain shouted.

A roar from beneath them almost shook the castle walls, as the thousands of men on the road all charged towards the Golden Tooth. "Do it!" Leo shouted.

"LOOSE!"

The sound of the arrows leaving their bows gave Leo true joy, and he watched on as the number of arrows almost darkened the early morning sun. The enemy vanguard created a hasty shield wall, but enough arrows hit their targets to cause a moment of quiet celebration among the castle's defenders.

Another volley of arrows followed, as well as another before the first line of Rivermen were at the base of the walls. "Drop rocks and oil!" Leo commanded.

"ROCKS AND OIL!" The command was repeated, and Leo smiled happily, until a call came from inside the castle behind him.

"My Lord! My Lord!" A lowly knight was screaming.

"What is it?" Lefford snapped.

The man was panting. "Baratheon banners… Stark banners… they've come from the West!"

Lefford laughed. "That's impossible." He shook his head. "There's no way they have managed to all of the castles on the northern coastline AND Sarsfield. We'd have heard by now."

"My Lord… they are truly here." The man was almost in tears and Leo noticed an arrow in his hamstring. "Ser Jeffrey Hale… he's dead. An arrow took him, and he fell over the battlements!"

Jeffrey was an old friend of Leo's, and the news angered him. "Get out of my way." He pushed the man aside and walked through the castle, snaking through a couple of corridors until he had a vantage point looking westwards. The man was right. Thousands more men were streaming towards the Golden Tooth from inside the Westerlands themselves. Lord Leo Lefford gulped, and said to nobody in particular. "We're fucked."

The entire procedure had been swift. As soon as Torrhen had interrupted the King's training session and shown them the goat track, everyone knew that it was a massive opportunity that they couldn't pass up. Torrhen had wanted to do as Robb had done in the last life and snuck by the Golden Tooth, but King Robert turned him down, stating that Tywin needed to be shown that he was deadly serious. That was when the plan had been thought up. Torrhen and King Robert would lead a quarter of the army through the goat track and set up out of sight of the castle, and as soon as they were ready to attack a series of fires would be lit, until one could be seen by the eastern forces led by Ned and Edmure.

They took the track the night after Torrhen warged with Balerion leading the way, and as dawn broke King Robert ordered the fires to be lit. Almost immediately the roars and shouts of the eastern forces filtered through to them, and Torrhen gripped his Weirwood Bow tightly as their own forces ran at the castle.

His first arrow hit an aging man atop the walls and caused him to fall to the ground their side of the castle walls with a sickening thud. His second made a younger man stumble as he ran away, causing Torrhen to curse. He was near the back of the charge now with the King and his Kingsguard, with Rodrik Forrester having been chosen by Torrhen to lead the Wolfswood and Flint forces that had been sent with Torrhen. As he advanced slowly, storing his bow on his back and unsheathing Winter's Bite he saw Rodrik was the first up the ladders, the Ironrath heir pulling one of the defenders over his shoulder and down into the crowds.

By the time Torrhen and King Robert were at the castle the western gates were opened, and thousands of men charged towards the defence of the eastern part of the castle. Torrhen's body was still young, but he was quick and the Valyrian Steel in his hands was sharp, carving through bone and flesh like a knife through butter. King Robert was also enjoying himself, while he wasn't very quick and his Kingsguard surrounded him for protection, he wielded a blade well and his surcoat was very quickly covered in blood.

Leo Lefford had gathered around 3,000 men to the Golden Tooth to defend it, and each man was giving it their all. Torrhen was too late to save Noseless Ned Woods as he got his head caved in with a mace, but the young Stark managed to disembowel the killer. Torrhen also noticed a number of Frey's that found themselves on the wrong end of the Lefford's blades. With Rhaegar, Petyr Pimple and Benfrey all among those dead that Torrhen recognised.

The western force eventually managed to overpower the eastern gate soldiers, and with both gates open the castle was ripe for the taking. It was only after Lord Leo Lefford himself died at the hands of Eddard Karstark, the Northman's sword driving its way through the old man's neck, that the castle itself surrendered. Torrhen soon caught up with his Father, the younger Stark's armour coated with both drying and wet blood and his sword dripping red.

"You look like you fought well." Ned said, admiringly.

Torrhen grinned, panting. They managed to lean against a wall in the courtyard as Stevron Frey led the sorting through prisoners. "Once Rodrik was over the walls we had them." Torrhen admitted. "Although I did expect them to surrender quicker."

"We're coming to their homes, foreigners invading." Ned shrugged. "There will be more castles like this before we are done."

Torrhen nodded. He saw King Robert grinning widely as he spoke with Ser Barristan up on one of the ramparts. Torrhen gestured to the King. "His Grace enjoyed himself."

"Aye?" Ned asked. Torrhen nodded again. "Robert always loved a fight. Gods, seeing him in the Stoney Sept was a sight to behold. Once he loses the weight and packs on some muscle again, he will be a new man I am sure."

As Ned said that, the Baratheon King walked over to them laughing. "I've missed this, Ned! Gods what a fight!" He ruffled Torrhen's hair too. "And without you, we would have never taken the castle with so few losses!"

"How many?" Ned asked.

Robert shrugged. "We're still sorting bodies. At a guess… two thousand? Mainly from your side."

"Aye, it was a bloody business." Ned said solemnly. "We should rest up here for a while and plan our next move."

Grinning, Robert agreed. "Maybe I should send for that wanton wife of mine, have an actual heir conceived in the Westerlands just to spite that old fuck Tywin."

Torrhen laughed at the image, but Ned shook his head. "The amount of noise you two made on our way down to Riverrun I think you'd scare our forces more than you'd annoy Tywin Lannister."

Robert burst out laughing. "She's a screamer, Ned. What can I say?"

Torrhen snorted another laugh and excused himself. He left the castle on the Western side and whistled loudly before going for a piss against the castle walls. Shaking himself dry he turned to see Balerion sprinting at him and got to one knee, petting the direwolf's black fur.

"Good boy." Torrhen grinned. "I know you wanted to join in, but you're too valuable to me to lose in a brawl like this."

Balerion just panted, his tongue hanging out. Torrhen chuckled and stood, looking down the River Road into the Westerlands. Soon enough they'd come to the end of the road and Lannisport, and justice would be served on the Lannisters.

Lord Royce had overseen the final march to King's Landing and with his Vale Knights led the final descent down the hills towards the sprawling capital, leaving Robb a chance to look down on the city from the vantage point on the road. Together with Domeric Bolton, a man that Robb was surprised to find himself calling friend, they stared down at the city. He could just about make out the yellow banners on the walls, but what interested him more was the crowd of people he could just about see gathered at the Red Keep's gates.

"This is what millions of people have died over." Domeric said, turning his nose up. "I can smell it from here."

Robb could too. "It's the symbol that gets fought over, not the city itself. The Iron Throne is the Kingdom."

"I just hope His Grace hasn't thrown that away in his departure." Domeric noted. Nodding his agreement, Robb looked for a little longer at the coastal city before he turned his horse to gallop alongside the Northern infantry.

It was only an hour later when the army had settled outside of the walls. Robb had expected to have been let in straight away as they also flew the King's own banner with Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard in their ranks. The yellow banners hadn't been the Baratheon banners however, but a small bird was in place of the crowned stag.

"Littlefinger's own." Mandon Moore stated bluntly. "The fucker has actually taken over."

Robb grimaced. "We need to get through those walls." He said the obvious.

Lord Royce had also joined them. "Yes, we do." He turned to Robb. "Get your men to start cutting down the trees. We will start to build siege weapons, and be noisy about it." He then turned back to face the walls of the city. "Let every man, woman and child inside those walls know that we are here."

The Dothraki Khalasar had been riding for weeks, and Jon was already sick of the journey. Even more so when Ser Jorah had told him that they weren't even halfway there yet as soon as he recognised the Forest of Qohor in the distance. He kept strong though, providing company for Daenerys whenever she wanted it. Thankfully for Jon, that included today as they rode along a straight path between acres of bamboo plants.

Jon noticed Daenerys looking sympathetically at the slaves that walked alongside the Khalasar, although not anywhere close to Jon, as they were all scared of the ever-silent Ghost walking alongside him. He took in the view of the Targaryen beauty, her dresses gone and replaced with more traditional Dothraki clothing. She was a true Khaleesi in looks now, and Jon noted that the other Dothraki seemed to respect her more because of that.

His attention was taken from the captivating beauty of Daenerys to her having flinched due to a slave being whipped for not keeping up the pace. Jon checked around to make sure Ser Jorah wasn't in earshot and said to Daenerys. "I find it jarring, coming here where slavery is so prevalent."

"Westeros has none?" She asked.

Jon shook his head. "Not the mainland, any man that tries their hand at slaving faces death."

Daenerys smiled sadly. "I know it's their way of life. But it still feels wrong to me." Jon just nodded, and they continued riding down the lengthy path. A few moments after they had spoken the slave was whipped again rougher than before and accompanied by shouting in Dothrak. Dany winced once again at the action, and she turned around to Jorah behind her. "Tell them all to stop."

Jorah looked at her questioningly, riding to the other side of Daenerys. "You want the entire horde to stop?" He asked. "For how long?"

Jon thought that Daenerys looked scared for the briefest of seconds as the riders behind them stopped, though that quickly went as Daenerys realised what her position was in the Khalasar now. "Until I command them otherwise." She said firmly.

Jorah looked impressed and nodded his head. "You're beginning to talk like a Queen."

"Not a Queen." Daenerys told the knight as she stared ahead. "A Khaleesi." She dismounted her horse quickly. "Jon." She called, not looking back as she walked into the bamboo. Jon looked back at Jory who just shrugged back at him before he dismounted his own horse and followed her, Ghost following at his heel.

The man and direwolf followed Daenerys' path through the bamboo shoots until they hit a small clearing, and Daenerys looked like she really needed the breather. "Are you ok?" Jon asked.

"One day." She told him. "I will persuade Drogo to not rule by slavery. It's barbaric."

Jon looked at her sadly. "The Dothraki are barbaric, Khaleesi. It is their way of life."

"It shouldn't be." She bit back with passion. "All people should be free to do as they…" She paused as rustling in the bamboo could be heard. Jon heard it too and kept his hand on his sword hilt as they both moved to look in the direction of the noise. Horse hooves and neighing grew louder until out of the bamboo rode Viserys Targaryen, sword in his hand.

"You dare! You give commands to me? To me!?" He dismounted his horse and strode towards Daenerys. Ghost was growling at Viserys now, but Jon waved his hand to keep the direwolf in place as he unsheathed his own sword. Viserys looked over at Jon now. "Put that away now, bastard, before you hurt yourself." He mocked.

"You first." Jon challenged, not scared of the silver haired prince.

Dany turned her head. "Jon." She said gently, shaking her head. She turned back to Viserys. "I didn't command you, Viserys. I commanded the Khalasar."

"Which I am now a part of until your barbarian husband gives me my army!" Viserys raged, pointing his sword at Daenerys. "I am the dragon! I will not be commanded by a savages slut!"

Jon had had enough by then and pulled Daenerys behind him, holding his sword adjacent to Viserys'. "Apologise now." He said coldly, moving his sword to touch Viserys'.

Ghost was truly growling by now, baring his teeth at the Valyrian male. The pair stared at one another for an age, glaring between themselves and daring the other to make the first move. That honour fell to Viserys as he pulled his sword back to swing, only to drop his blade at the crack of a whip and pull them up to his throat, trying to loosen the cow hide that was strangling him.

Jon breathed easier and lowered his sword at the sight of the Jorah, Jory and Rakharo riding in to meet them with his and Daenerys' horses following them. Irri, Daenerys' handmaid, was also running behind them. Rakharo was the one with the whip, and he barked out something in Dothraki, which Irri duly translated. "Rakharo ask if you want him dead, Khaleesi."

"No!" Daenerys exclaimed quickly. Rakharo took that in, before saying something else with a sly grin that Jon didn't understand.

"Rakharo say you should take ear." Irri translated. "To teach respect."

"Please, please don't hurt him!" Dany cried, before composing herself with a look from Jorah. "Tell him I do not want my brother harmed." She said firmly, over the gasps of Viserys on the floor. Irri translated that into Dothraki, to which Rakharo obviously questioned. Irri shrugged her shoulders, and released the whip, allowing Viserys to break free and scramble to his feet, gasping for breath.

"Mormont!" He cried. "Kill these Dothraki dogs!" Jon was almost preparing himself to fight to defend the Dothraki, but thankfully the Northern knight held a long look between himself and Rakharo, before aiming a look of defiance towards the dishevelled Targaryen. That enraged Viserys. "I am your King!" He screamed.

Jorah continued the look, before he turned to Daenerys. "Shall we return to the Khalasar, Khaleesi?" He asked her. Daenerys said nothing, instead she turned her back on both her brother and Jon to mount her horse.

Jon sheathed his blade and mounted his own. "Come, Ghost." He called, making sure that the direwolf wasn't going to do anything stupid before he kicked his horse into movement and followed Jory out. Jon could see Daenerys riding ahead with Jorah and not looking back at him and felt a bit down at the rejection.

"What were you thinking?" Jory asked him through gritted teeth. "Pulling your blade on her brother?"

Jon didn't take his eyes off of the back of Daenerys' head, watching it sway as she rode. "I was thinking about her." Was all he said.

The siege of King's Landing lasted around a week. Lord Royce had managed to get the barest of a naval presence in Blackwater Bay to stop any resupply by sea, and there was a presence of either Northmen or Valemen on every single gate leading into the city. Robb had been handed the Dragon Gate with his personal force of 4,000 men and was completely bored out of his skull. For the most part, all he did was train with his squire Larence Snow.

On the seventh day however, while Robb was sparring with the 13-year-old bastard of Hornwood, there was a bit of a commotion, and the men nearest the gates were all walking towards the city. Robb stopped the spar there and then, flexing his grip on the training sword and saying to Larence. "Grab my longsword." The boy ran off, leaving Robb to walk slowly towards the Dragon Gate. Larence caught up with him as he made it to the gathering crowd, handing Robb his sword and having gathered his horse too. Robb pushed his way through to the front of the lines to see men in gold cloaks hanging by their necks from the tops of the walls. Intrigued, Robb waited in place on horseback with his men as Grey Wind soon joined him, and not long after that the gate opened.

The view inside was surprising. The smallfolk were seemingly rising up and attacking the Gold Cloaks. Robb sensed the opportunity and raised his sword high; he rode in front of the Stark men that had joined him. "PROTECT THE SMALLFOLK! KILL THE GOLD CLOAKS! FOR WINTERFELL! FOR THE KING!" He roared.

"FOR WINTERFELL! FOR THE KING!" His men repeated loudly before charging in with a lengthy cry. Robb led the line of a few hundred horseman as they charged towards the now open gate, streaming into the city and cutting through the gold cloaks they could see. Robb had the first kill, leaning down to the left and thrusting his sword out and into a scarred man's throat.

The entire city seemed like a warzone. Everywhere that Robb went there were smallfolk ganging up on Gold Cloaks, using anything that they could get their hands on as weapons. It certainly made life easier for Robb and his forces as they rode around the Hill of Rhaenys and the Dragonpit towards the Red Keep. As he led his men down by Fleabottom, he was surprised to see Ser Wylis Manderly and the White Harbour men join them from the Iron Gate.

"The gate just opened for us!" Ser Wylis shouted as he reunited with Robb.

"Aye!" Robb shouted, rearing his horse and slashing open another Gold Cloak. "Same with us!"

"I think it's city wide!" Ser Wylis cried over the noise of the fighting.

Robb thought on that. "We ride for the Red Keep then! Take that, we take the city!"

He spurred his horse onwards, leading a charge down Fleabottom to the cheers of the residents, once they left the slum it was a left turn towards the Red Keep, where there were now thousands of men gathered trying to batter down the gates. Luckily Robb was on horseback so made his way down through the crowd with relative ease, although he suspected that that was also down to the few thousand men behind him in Northern colours.

The Gates of the Red Keep were admittedly very strong, but not strong enough to keep out thousands of angry and starving peasants. The number of them bashing the gates regularly eventually won out, and the Gold Cloaks inside were soon swarmed. While most ran about the outside of the castle, Robb and his men immediately rushed to the castle itself, not knowing what to expect inside.

The doors to the Throne Room were thrown open by Northerners, and Robb was the first to walk inside. As with the rest of the city the banners were the black mockingbird on a yellow field, and Petyr Baelish was sat on the Iron Throne, the severed head of an old man on the floor beside him. There were at least two dozen men in gold cloaks between Baelish and the Northern men.

"Lord Petyr Baelish." Robb called out, his voice deep with authority. "In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, the first of his name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I, Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell do sentence you to die for the crime of treason."

"Treason?" Baelish called. "I call it conquering. Robert Baratheon left the throne open for the taking!"

Robb scoffed. "You surely didn't believe that you would have managed to take the Iron Throne like this? The Lords would have never stood for it."

"It has been done before." Baelish shrugged nonchalantly. "Trystane Truefyre ruled from the seat of King's during the Dance as nothing more than an alleged royal bastard."

"And he was betrayed by his closest advisor." Robb exclaimed, bewildered. "Step down and surrender, and I promise you a fair trial."

Baelish laughed, straightening himself on the Iron Throne. "I'll be cut down anyway." Baelish said bitterly. "King Robert wants me dead; I know it. He wanted it before he abandoned the people of King's Landing. I only took the Throne to settle the city."

"They're gave up the city." Robb told him. "Your smallfolk rose up against you and your hired army to let us in."

Baelish scowled. "And they shall pay for that." He sighed, standing up. "In another life, you would have been my child with my beloved Catelyn. She would have seen I loved her more than any Stark could possibly have hoped to."

"My mother would never have loved you." Robb spat venomously. "She knows you for who you are, she knows you for a man who pits sister against sister, the man who stole my Aunt Lysa's maidenhead for his own because he couldn't have hers. You probably killed her too."

"Never." Baelish argued back.

"It matters not." Robb silenced Baelish before he could say any more. He turned to the Gold Cloaks then. "If any of you do not wish to die for this man's greed, drop your weapons and surrender yourself to us now. You will be guaranteed your life, I swear it on all the Gods."

"Bring me his head!" Baelish roared from the Throne. Robb could see a madness in him, one that had no doubt been granted by that damned Iron chair. He sensed his many Northmen behind him readying themselves for a fight.

Robb saw one man on the right-hand side of the room turn to his fellow Gold Cloaks. "Fuck this." The man said loudly, and dropped his sword, walking over to the Northmen. "You swear we'll keep our heads?"

Robb nodded. "You committed treason by following this usurper, but you've surrendered to me. I guarantee you safe passage to the Wall. Better to keep your life and spend the rest of it defending mankind from the threats that lurk beyond than to die for a failed cause."

The man looked distraught at the thought of the Wall but nodded. "I suppose I have no choice. I surrender, Lord Stark."

Robb didn't have the time to argue that he wasn't Lord Stark yet, as more men dropped their swords and surrendered to his men. "Cowards!" Baelish screamed. "Ser Slynt, kill them all!"

The bald-headed man looked like he was about to shit himself, but one glare from Littlefinger made him and the 5 others that hadn't surrendered rush towards Robb and his men. Robb decapitated Slynt easily enough, as he advanced on the Iron Throne. Littlefinger was trapped, and he knew it.

"Mercy." The man began to beg, sat again on the Iron Throne. "I loved your Mother since I was a boy…"

Robb shook his head. "You had your chance, Lord Baelish."

"Cat wouldn't…"

"Do not speak her name!" Robb shouted angrily. "She would be ashamed at you!" He clenched his spare fist and composed himself. "I'll repeat. In the name of King Robert I sentence you to die. Will you speak a final word?"

Littlefinger gulped. "Tell Cat…"

He didn't get to finish. As soon as his Mother's name left Littlefinger's lips Robb roared and pierced the man's heart with his longsword. Baelish gasped and looked down at the blade, blood beginning to pour from his lips before he fell limp on the Iron Throne. Robb closed his eyes and asked for forgiveness for his rash execution from the Old Gods before he pulled his blade out and grabbed Littlefinger's collar, throwing him off of the Iron Throne.

"Take his head. Place it on a spike." Robb ordered to nobody in particular. "And find somebody that can send word of this to Riverrun. The city is ours once more."