Lord Ibrandul had been out of commission for quite some time now. No one knew if he would pull through. Liem had not instantly killed him but the wound his arrow had caused had festered. It really did not look well for Lord Ibrandul.

And it really wasn’t a good time for weakness. The wildlings were on the march. They had come south, even to the region around Kings Landing and were attacking castles and villages. No one seemed to be safe.

The whole alliance had been on high alert. They knew the attacks would come soon. Some reinforced others, some preferred to keep their troops to themselves and hide behind their truces. No one could blame them. Some invaders loved to use those opportunities to sneak in attacks while the wildlings kept everyone busy. Only the strongest Lords would even dare to drop their truces.

Every Lord was responsible for his own region, his people. This was not different for Lord Ibrandul. Then again, Lord Ibrandul was not able to give any orders. His officers were trying their best but too much needed the Lords direct order. To say it was bad was an understatement.

The Wildlings attack

The first attacks on the city were not that bad. The walls stood firm and the archers picked off the wildlings before they could even get into the city.

Those were only the first few attacks though. The wildlings came in waves and there was not enough time in between to repair the damage to the walls.

Wave after wave of wildlings broke on the wall until it was too much. The walls had been broken and the defenders had to fight the wildlings directly.

There were still only a few breaking through, while most were riddled with arrows before they even reached the walls. But each wave was stronger than the one before. The sheer number of attackers was staggering. And while the wildlings proved to only be a nuisance in the times before, this time something was different.

With Lord Ibrandul incapacitated, the defense was way less coordinated. The soldiers seemed to react just a little bit slower. The commanders seemed a little bit less certain about what to do. Their thoughts were with their Lord, not fully focused on defending.

Each wave of wildlings broke a bit further into the city. Every wave was thrown back though. For now, it seemed like Lord Ibranduls troops would win again against all the waves.

Others of the alliance had already lost against the wildlings … thanks to the invaders that had cleared out the troops before, some even, because they moved at the wrong time. All in all, the alliance kept the wildlings at bay though. The south would not fall.

The fighting grew more and more intense. There was still no news about their Lord, but Ibranduls men fought on. They had to defend the castle. They had to defend their bedridden lord. If the wildlings got to Ibrandul they would for sure kill him. That just could not happen.

The fights in the city

The fighting in the city grew more and more frantic. The soldiers used everything they had to push the wildlings back, again and again. The city was burning. Swords clashed, the cries of the wounded and dying could be heard nearly everywhere.

The wildlings had to fight for every street, while the soldiers strategically retreated when necessary. As soon as the wave ended, they pushed the remaining attackers back to the walls. For the wildlings it was a massacre, but they got farther in every time. For Lord Ibranduls soldiers it was a fight of attrition. They were better equipped, better trained, had better commanders. What the wildlings had were numbers.

The last stand

Lord Ibranduls men kept fighting, kept getting pushed back but they still won against every wave. It was time for the last waves. They would only have to hold them off a few more times and then all resources could be dedicated to getting their Lord back on his feet.

Another wave, another win. Then another. They could not be pushed further back; they stood their ground at the castle. Not a single wildling even reached the castle’s inner courtyard.

When it finally ended the soldiers cheered. They had repelled all waves. They had won! Their Lord would be proud of them. It was time to regroup, rebuild and get ready for a new day.

The day after the wildling attacks

The city and the walls were being repaired. Soon it would be like nothing had happened. They had endured.

Liem had been taken out of his cell and was brought to the market square where a stage was set up.

They brought him onto the stage and made him kneel in front of a chopping block. A man with an axe was waiting for him already. Another man with a scroll was standing at his side. The man opened the scroll and began to read the contents in front of the people gathered in front of the stage.

“For the assassination of Lord Ibrandul, last of his line, the assassin Liem is hereby sentenced to death. He will be beheaded, and his head will be hung from the city walls for a month.”

Liem did not resist when his head was pushed onto the chopping block. He did not plead for a pardon. He would die with a smile for he had taken revenge for what had happened at his village.

If only he had known that his people had been killed by a rival lord. If only he had known that the survivors of his village had been taken in by Lord Ibrandul. Maybe then he would have felt regret. As it was, at least he could be smiling at that execution.

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Thanks for all of you reading my stories! It was a pleasure and a privilige and I wish you all good luck in the future! Keep enjoying the game and Westeros as bloody as it is ;)