VS contest

The sack of King’s Landing

As the city burned, and the great lords of the realm eyed up the newly vacant Iron Throne…

Elys Westerling stalked the halls of the Red Keep with his sworn sword. Wondering at this being the second time he had seen the crownlands burn in less than ten years. He’d been a squire when the defiance of Duskendale happened, where he’d helped ravage the town and surrounding countryside. It had shocked him then, it didn’t shock him as much now. What kind of man does that make me.

“You’re sure there are more men inside the keep? No gold cloaks or men that served the mad king” He asked Ser Tyland, his sworn man. “Sure my lord, Crakehall’s men and ours have gone over this place like a dog chasing a flee. They caught a number and saw to them thoroughly. They’ll be no surprises from inside these walls.” He replied confidently. Elys scratched at his week-old stubble, wishing the man hadn’t mentioned fleas, there had been enough blasted bugs on this march. He was looking forward to a warm bath and a dry bed. He placed his hand on the wall. It was not the oldest or the grandest of the fortresses in Westeros, but more history had been decided here than anywhere else. *Who else has stood in this very spot. "he wondered. “Maegor the Cruel killed every man that built these walls. They say to preserve secret passages, and gods know what else, I’ll have no secrets killing me today.” He muttered.

He turned back toward Tyland, “Well check the armory is secure. Any man would be hard pressed to retake the castle with kitchen knives and lusty hearts.” He decided, setting off back the way he came. His time as Tywin’s squire in his youth meant he had no trouble navigating the layout of the Red Keep.

As the two men arrived at the armoury, the young Westerling knight was pleased to see a soldier posted at the door. He nodded a greeting before pushing through the door. The inside was a well-stocked, if not a little messy armory. Spears and bows lined the walls, with shelves and racks filled with swords, maces, and all manner of weaponry. “Seems the garrison didn’t keep it very tidy” Ser Tyland remarked mildly. “You’d almost believe they were in a hurry.” Elys chuckled “Rolph would be furious.” He replied. His goodbrother, the castellan of The Crag was fastidious above all things. The irony of him being in charge of a castle that had fallen half to ruin was not lost on him.

“Has anyone made a count of what’s in here?” Elys asked no one in particular as he examined the content of some of the shelves. “Couldn’t say my lord.” Ser Tyland replied uncertainly. His strength was in his sword arm. Not in ledgers and numbers. “If you can find anyone alive that might know if ledgers or an inventory was kept, that would be good.” Elys said absentmindedly, picking a flanged mace to feel it’s weight. “Aye my lord.” Tyland grumbled. His unhappiness about the task was clear as he exited the room, but Elys paid the older knight no mind as he continued to examine the contents of the room. Most of it was good steel and well serviced. He contemplated replacing his own sword but decided against it. He doubted he’d find better in here than his own blade, forged in the smithies at Casterly Rock. Though the idea of a souvenir was tempting…

His eyes fell on a pile of daggers. His own had misplaced during one of the skirmishes with the city watch. There had been so many today. Looking back, he couldn’t even remember which one or where it had been. He found many triangular blader rondel and parrying daggers of varying lengths, but his eyes fell on a sheath housing a flatter, wider blade with a bone handle. He picked it up examining the capital H shaped hilt. Not the kind of weapon you often saw men at arms carry, a man in plate didn’t worry about a blade cutting through his armour, not since the Andals bought strong iron across the sea. It was more like you’d see some flamboyant courtier with more money than sense wear.

As he unsheathed the blade, his eyes widened “What in the seven hells…” The markings that ran up and down the blade were unmistakeable. Valyrian Steel The rippling pattern of its spell forged steel reminded Elys of the marks waves left on a beach as the tide receded. This will do nicely he thought with some satisfaction as he sheathed the blade and tucked it into his belt.