The Siege of Maidenpool: Part I

Chapter 69: The Siege of Maidenpool: Part I

299 AC – Maidenpool

The grey walls of Maidenpool loomed before Clement Celtigar's army, standing defiant against the might of the Targaryen cause. The banners of House Mooton flapped in the cold sea breeze, alongside the falcon and moon of House Arryn. Four thousand Vale knights, heavily armored and mounted on fine destriers, had bolstered the city's garrison, bringing its total defenders to ten thousand strong.

Clement sat atop his pale grey stallion, his crimson plate gleaming beneath the overcast sky. His 12,000 men, hardened from the victories at Crackclaw Point and Rook's Rest, stood ready for battle. Among them, Ser Robin Darklyn, one of his most trusted captains, rode to his side.

"That bastard Corbray is inside," Darklyn muttered, shifting in his saddle. "That means there'll be no easy fight. I know his type—eager for blood."

Clement exhaled, watching the distant walls. "Then we offer them another way."

They rode forward under a banner of truce, a handful of knights and squires accompanying them. At the gate, a party of Mooton men and Vale knights emerged. Lord William Mooton, a pale and sickly-looking man, barely older than thirty, shifted nervously on his horse. Beside him, Ser Lyn Corbray, clad in black steel with the Valyrian sword Lady Forlorn at his hip, sat motionless, his cold eyes fixed on Clement.

Clement reined in his horse, his expression composed. "Lord Mooton, I come not as your enemy, but as your salvation. My king, Aerion of House Targaryen, offers you his hand. Swear fealty, and you shall keep your lands, your people, and your life. Resist, and Maidenpool will burn."

Mooton licked his lips, his hands trembling on the reins. "This... this is treason. I am sworn to King Joffrey."

Clement smirked. "Joffrey is no king, only a boy wearing a dead man's crown. He rules through the will of the Lannisters, and when they are gone, what will become of you? We offer you a place in a new realm, one ruled by a true Targaryen."

Mooton hesitated.

Corbray laughed, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "I know men like you, Celtigar. You come with promises of mercy, but I see the blood on your hands. Crackclaw Point bent the knee because their lords are cravens, just like this one here—" he shot a glance of disdain at Mooton, who flinched.

"You speak of honor, yet you stand with invaders," Clement countered. "With butchers who murdered their guests under sacred guest rights. The Red Wedding will be answered in kind."

Corbray grinned, drawing Lady Forlorn an inch from its sheath. "Your silver-haired whelp sits on his little rock and calls himself king. But I serve a greater king than you'll ever know. If you want Maidenpool, Celtigar, come and take it."

Mooton swallowed. "Perhaps—perhaps there is another way, Ser Lyn. Perhaps if we—"

"Enough," Corbray snapped. "If you won't fight, Lord Mooton, then hide behind your walls and piss yourself. But we of the Vale do not kneel to false kings."

Clement's patience snapped. He turned his horse sharply. "Then I will see you on the field, Corbray. And when we breach these walls, remember that you chose death."

The first horns of war sounded at dawn.

Clement's battering rams were rolled forward under wooden mantlets, shielded by archers who loosed volley after volley at the defenders. His scorpions launched iron bolts, striking down men on the ramparts, while his catapults hurled flaming stones at the city.

Ser Robin Darklyn led the first assault, commanding a force of 2,000 spearmen and swordsmen as they rushed toward the gates. The ground was muddy from the morning rain, but the men pressed on, shields raised.

"SHIELDS UP!" Darklyn bellowed.

A hail of arrows and stones rained down, shattering shields and piercing armor. Screams filled the air as men fell, their bodies littering the mud.

Clement rode along the lines, his banner held high, shouting encouragement to his men. "Forward! The gates will break!"

The battering ram crashed into the wooden gate with a resounding boom. Again. And again.

But from the walls, Corbray's knights rained oil upon them, followed by flaming arrows. The battering ram erupted in flames, forcing the soldiers to abandon it.

Then came the charge.

With a cry of "THE VALE!" Lyn Corbray led a sudden sally forth, his mounted knights thundering out of the gate, crashing into the Targaryen forces.

Clement barely had time to react before the knights were upon them.

A massive knight with a falcon-crested helm barreled toward him, lance poised. Clement swerved his stallion aside, his blade flashing as he cut the knight's mount from under him. The horse screamed as it collapsed, sending the rider tumbling into the mud.

Ser Robin Darklyn engaged another knight, their blades clashing furiously. The Darklyn swordplay was fast and fluid, and he disarmed his foe with a flick of his wrist before driving his blade through the man's throat.

Clement's men rallied, dragging Corbray's knights from their saddles and slaughtering them in the bloodied mud.

But Corbray himself fought like a man possessed. Lady Forlorn cut through mail and bone alike, his armor stained crimson.

"Face me, Celtigar!" he roared, cutting down a knight at his side.

Clement spurred his horse forward, their Blades clashing with a ring of steel.

The duel was brutal—Corbray was fast, his Axe a blur, but Clement was stronger, his Valyrian steel Axe Crab Pincer battering against Lady Forlorn.

A feint—a sidestep—a clash—

Then Corbray's blade bit into Clement's side, sliding between the gaps in his armor. Clement gritted his teeth, twisting away before Corbray could strike again.

Blood ran down his ribs, but he refused to fall.

Behind them, the battle raged, but the Vale knights were retreating. The Targaryen men pushed forward, their shields locking in formation, forcing Corbray's forces back through the gate.

As the city doors slammed shut behind them, the first assault had failed.

Clement sat upon his warhorse, breathing heavily, gripping his bloodied side. His men rallied around him, their faces streaked with sweat and dirt.

Robin Darklyn pulled his helmet off, his brow furrowed. "The walls hold. But the next attack will be different."

Clement exhaled. "Yes. The next attack will break them."

The siege was far from over. But Maidenpool would fall—no matter the cost.

To be continued…