The Price of Holding On: Champion City Siege

It was still early in the morning, before the sun had risen, when Lady Vhaera was standing on the edge of the war camp in K157, and her breath was misting in the cold air. The banners of RoD and K475 waved together around her, the first time in months. Their delight at being paired with their sister kingdom was short-lived as the matchmaker turned cruel and showed them who they would be paired with, NBe.

And not only NBe.

Ganicus.

Even the most hardened warlords had the breath taken out of their lungs at the mention of his name. His fame in Westeros was etched in the bones of cities that were destroyed. With him here it would not be a match. It would be a tempest.

Vhaera shut her eyes, and held the pommel of her sword. They could not afford to retreat. Not when Alliance Conquest and Ultimate Conquest were on the horizon, and needed all the drops of their preparation and resources. This siege was at the most inopportune moment. RoD was never a flag that flinched at time.

They sent message, and summoned all the warriors that were yet able to wield a sword. Old acquaintances came back. Veterans answered. In GCM they re-formed, the atmosphere tense and smoky. Vhaera saw names of people she knew,Strike, ZeroMe, Night Rider, Meridianos, Levi, HeavensSake, Lady Myriana and others, with their scars and new determination.

They would struggle. Even though it would be breaking.

As soon as the battle was joined the Strike of GCM like a conflagration swept onwards and grasped the Hall of Ages with the precision of a scalpel. Hope rose up, breathlessly. But reinforcements were behind. Then the ground appeared to shake.

Ganicus struck.

Winter was poured into fire. In one fierce stroke he brought down the Hall of Ages. And with it our confidence broke. He was borne up like a rock, a citadel in himself, and all the counter-charges hurled against him broke like billows against a rock.

Time and again we threw on our best, Strike cav, Meridianos inf rally and others. We struggled to victory, yet we could not recapture the Hall of Ages, not yet. And instead of fighting to win we fought to bleed. We struggled to wear him out, when we knew he would never break. The sands drenched red with the sacrifices of our will.

For half the fight Ganicus was King of the Hall.

Vhaera was following the battlefield with an increasingly sinking stomach. This was not simply defeat. This was a massacre. She was well aware that RoD could not afford to lose the morale, the resources or the unity, not at this time when AC and UC were at the door. And here they were, their warriors dying one after another against the steel wall of NBe.

When Ganicus eventually gave up the Hall to Charlie it was a mockery. A sacrifice of titans. We gathered, and tried desperately, but the beat of our blows had gone. Confidence shattered. Coordination frayed. All the waves of rallies did not succeed to kick Charlie out. And something worse started to develop, despair.

The eyes of Vhaera hung above the field of battle. Some of her wished to recollect, and preserve what soldiers They had left to UC. Another unsuccessful rally would be of no good.

But one last voice.

ZeroMe.

It was no entreaty. It was not easy. A command. One final organized protest. All together.

Something flamed in Vhaera.

“We should make them not forget us.”

The battle was awakened, Strike, Meri, Hyber, Jack, HeavensSake, all joined in, their names flaring like stars in a desperate attempt.

This time it worked.

Strike regained the Hall of Ages.

It seemed the heavens opened themselves a moment. There was cheering on the battle-field. Vhaera allowed herself to feel it, the beat of victory, an electric jolt of bone.

But the war gods had not finished.

Barbarossa answered.

He read them to perfection. His spears struck Strike with heartless effectiveness and once more the Hall was transferred. No fight. No protracted conversation. He picked it up, and, quietly drawing back, put Charlie in again.

No triumphant trump. No ultimate conflict. A mere silent checkmate.

The fight was long. A miracle did not come.

RoD and K157 were battered, but not beaten. They had not conquered. They had fought honourably, they had held their line against legends and they had reminded Westeros that they could not be pushed aside.

Vhaera was sitting alone after the war gazing at the dying embers of her rally camp. She shook with the pressure of it, not with fear. Of the knowledge of how near they had been. How much they had lost. Of how much more they still would have to pay the seasons to come.

She remembered the soldiers she had fought with, the will of Strike, the flames of ZeroMe, the silence of Hyber, the heart of Meri and HeavensSake and many others.

They did not fight to honor. They struggled on behalf of one another.

She gazed up into the sky, tinted now with the smoked colors of dusk.

We were not to win to-day, she said to herself. But we survived. And that,… is enough.”

They had left NBe with a memory.

They would come back, not to bleed, but to conquer.