Two Hours Before Midnight

‘’This is the place?’’ Lewyn Martell asked his Westerlander guide.

The man, small of stature and clean shaven nodded ‘’Yes my prince, it is as I thought, they have forgotten about this mine entrance, it is not even sealed.’’

Lewyn nodded and dismounted, his men doing the same.

They numbered some 40 men, well armed and armored with scimitars, two handed axes and silver maces. Lewyn himself wore his copper scale byrnie, orange cloak and a silver helm with the nasal carved into a rounded sun, a heavy brass shield slung around his back.

‘’If any man would turn back do so now….and I don't think any less of you….our task will be dangerous.’’ Lewyn cautioned, but none turned back, just as he expected, he had hand picked his men carefully, and these 40 were some of the bravest and most skilled men from his small company.

While he had been counting on his mothers support for his plan, the prince was not a man that was dissuaded easily and he did not mean to meekly spend months sitting in a tent waiting for the garrison to go hungry while other men covered themselves in glory, he would make his name tonight.

Without his mothers support he could not go directly to the other noble lords and commanders, but as a prince of Dorne, second son or not, he had no small amount of influence with the lesser captains and had informed the most trustworthy ones about his plan. When he and his men took the gatehouse and opened one of the postern gates, he could count on a few hundred men joining the assault.

Warrior willing, the rest of the Dornish host would see what was going on and join the assault, even if they were hesitant at first, seeing the assault underway, his mothers hand would be forced and she would have no choice but to order the assault.

‘’They will sing songs of our raid tonight….every one of your names will be retained throughout eternity.’’ He said in a loud whisper and his men nodded grimly, they had been well explained the importance of remaining quiet once they entered the tunnel.

Lewyn led the way, walking into the mine, one hand on his scimitar, the other holding an oil lit torch.

The air instantly went cold as they descended down into the earth, and cobwebs filled the tunnel, they had to step over large pools of water and uneven holes in the dirt.

‘’How long until we reach this ladder to the courtyard?’’ Lewyn asked his Westerlander guide.

‘’At this pace, an hour or two, we will descend for a time but then we will need to ascend, that will be the hardest part, some areas we must crawl on our bellies but it will open up for a time.’’ The man explained.

For what seemed like several hours they walked in complete silence, and true to their guides word, at two separate points they had to wriggle through on their bellies like snakes where the passage had collapsed, pushing their shields and weapons ahead of them, a process which took almost an hour in and of itself.

After emerging from the second such obstruction the passageway opened up, there were several torches upon the walls, illuminating dusty tiled steps.

Their guide turned to him ‘’Here is the most dangerous part…..they occasionally send sentries down in this area, we are near the prisons….we must be absolutely silent.’’

Lewyn took his shoulder ‘’If you are playing us false….’’

‘’I've gotten you this far.’’ The man said with a smile and Lewyn grunted and ordered his men to continue on.

They came across one such guard, wandering boredly, leaning on a spear and nibbling a bit of cheese. Lewyn raised a hand and his men silently came to a halt.

He nodded to one of his men, Dantis who silently unclipped a bronze knife from his belt and hurled it at the man with the expertise of an experienced warrior. The knife took him just under the eye, and he collapsed in a heap slumping against the wall, the spear clattering to the ground.

Lewyn cursed quietly, waiting for footfalls of approaching guards but none came.

Satisfied they had remained undiscovered, Lewyn had his men drag the man into a nearby cell, while another of his men, Fat Fahir, grabbed what remained of the man's cheese dinner with a grin, leaning on his two handed ax.

‘’Good thing were not leaving the way we came.’’ Lewyn said with a quiet smile, it had taken 3 men to pull Fahir through the collapsed section and he had very nearly gotten stuck completely.

Once they had seen to cleaning up, they continued on.

‘’Lannister bastards.’’ Lewyn muttered as they passed the cells, filled with skeletons shackled to the walls being eaten by rats, some fresher than others.

They continued on for another thirty minutes through winding tunnels, Lewyn sending Dantis ahead to scout the way but there were no further guards.

After a time, they came to a large pool of water and their guide raised a hand.

‘’Here.’’ He said pointing upwards to a rusty iron grate, red and brown with age.

‘’Where does it lead?’’ Lewyn asked.

‘’It will take us to a well near one of the sidewalls, once we climb up the Gatehouse is close, we will need to move fast.’’ The man said.

‘’You're no warrior friend, stay back during the melee, I mean to keep you alive….you will be well rewarded.’’ Lewyn said gratefully.

Their guide nodded ‘’I will hang back as you say my prince.’’

Fahir hoisted Dantis on his shoulders as easily as most men would grab a babe and Dantis made short work of the Iron grate.

Dantis went first and after a moment gestured the others to follow, Lewyn went next, emerging from the well underneath the shadow of a side wall, he saw a few guards walking the walls but the castle seemed to be largely silent as the garrison slept.

He spotted their target, one of the smaller gatehouses. Even Lewyn was not so bold as to attempt an assault on the main gatehouse which opened the gate of the Lions Mouth, a massive gate made in the shape of a lion, the main entrance to Casterly Rock

Instead they would assault one of the smaller gatehouses which controlled a postern gate on the sidewall.

Cloaked in shadow they waited until all of his men had ascended up the well.

‘’We move fast and cut a way for Fahir to open the gate, we only need to hold for a few minutes before hundreds of angry Dornishmen come to clean up these lion pups.’’ Lewyn said, trying to give his men some last minute confidence and even some to himself. Despite being one of the smaller gatehouses, everything inside Casterly Rock looked bigger in person.

He nodded to his men and they began to skulk through the shadows in the courtyard towards the stairs to the stone gatehouse until the unthinkable happened.

The loud shrill sounding of a horn cut through the night air, turning Lewyns blood to ice.

He turned and saw their guide, standing near the well, lowering a hunting horn before scuttling off into the darkness.

Lewyn heard his men cry out and with dread turned away from the well to see what awaited them.

Lannister soldiers were everywhere, emerging from the walls like rats, wearing their distinctive red and gold boiled leather, carrying spears and shields, with a fair share of crossbowmen and archers on the wall, torches illuminating the courtyard. They had walked into a trap.

‘’TO THE GATEHOUSE….FOR HOUSE MARTELL…FOR DORNE.’’ Lewyn shouted, drawing his scimitar and charging like a madman like an ant into a wasp's nest.

His men followed him, one of his men collapsing into a heap at the prince's side, a quarrel in his eye.

The Lannisters closed in from all angles, another one of Lewyns men taking a spear through the neck from the men on the gatehouse steps when he turned to face an enemy behind him.

Faris was at his side, dodging the spears which darted forward with speed that one would scarcely believe came from a man of his side, sidestepping a thrust, he took a Lannister in the chin with his silver two handed ax, cutting through chin, tooth and neck and sending the man crashing down the stairs.

As those in the front rank desperately fought their way up the steps to the Gatehouse, those in the back attempted to form a shield wall but they were quickly being overwhelmed by a sea of Lannister spearman, one of his men falling backwards holding his gut, trying in vain to hold in the flow of his entrails.

Lewyn sidestepped a pike thrust from the top of the stairs before hacking his scimitar in a brutal sideways arc towards the man's breastplate, splitting the boil metal and digging into his neck, sending him falling back towards his comrades.

I will not die with a clean sword at least He thought grimly as he slashed another spearman's throat, sending bright red blood into the night air.

He saw Dantis against the back wall of the gatehouse, pinning a Lannister spearman by the neck to the wall with one hand while he struggled to free his bronze dagger from the mans heavy breastplate with another.

‘’Dantis!’’ Lewyn shouted but he could do nothing as another Lannister spearman stuck a spear through the back of Dantis’s head, protruding out of his nose as Lewyns best scout fell to the ground.

The back rank had fallen at this point and the slaughter had begun, Lewyn formed back to back with Faris, each watching the opposite steps of the gatehouse.

‘’COME AND DIE LANNISTER BASTARDS.’’ Lewyn shouted, laughing like a madman as the realization came to him.

We've taken the gatehouse He thought to himself, with a  sort of grim pride, no matter his other failings they had accomplished that at least.

Lewyn had never been the best of warriors but he fought with the knowledge that only one that had accepted their death could.

Hearing the whizzing of a quarrel he raised his brass shield, catching it in the heavy metal.

One of his swordsmen next to him was not so lucky, collapsing to the ground with a groan and a quarrel protruding from his quilted tunic.

He stood with his back to Faris, his few remaining men standing near their prince, desperately trying to push back the approaching shield wall of the spearman with pushes, kicks and whatever else they could think of but they advanced all the same.

Another quarrel slammed against his shield but he scarcely noticed,sidestepping and whirling away from enemy strikes, his orange silk cloak flying through the air like tendrils of a flame.

One of his men, trapped and swarmed below tried to surrender but had his head split open like an overripe melon with a heavy mace.

The maceman advanced and hacked at Lewyn, who jumped backwards avoiding the strike; he stepped forward to launch a counterattack, but underestimated the man's speed.

Oh Was all that he could think as he saw the brain splattered mace whirling at his face, connecting with his throat with a sickening crunch, instantly sending his thoughts to darkness as the Prince of Dorne crumpled to the ground.

‘’MY PRINCE.’’ Faris shouted, the big man turning around to catch his prince in his arms.

The big man cradled Lewyn of Dorne in his arms, unaware of the approaching crossbowmen who put a quarrel in his head and another in his chest, ending the ill-fated attack.