[color=f26522][h1][u]Gerald Crakehall- The Siege of King's Landing[/u][/h1][/color]

"Is the prisoner alive?" Spicer spat a glob of yellow pus, it slapped into the ground, splatting in a way Gerald would consider satisfying if it weren't so disgusting.
"Yes, though I can't speak for his long-term survivability, his body is horrifically mangled, we're lucky we found him when we did." Gerald nodded, scratching through his beard, which had now lengthened to the point where he found a braiding was necessary.

"Your grace! Your brother has sent a message, he has taken Pyke, but the rest of the letter was for your eyes only." The messenger ran into the tent, kneeling before both him and Spicer. Gerald looked on, confused, but he held out his hand, worried as to what this may entail, for his brother had taken a little much to the Red God, hopefully this wasn't one of his questions. 

Gerald broke the seal, sitting at the head of his table and reading in. Upon reading the section, he couldn't help but shoot wine out of his nose, slamming into the table. He shot back up, but knocked over his chair, and tumbled towards the fireplace.
"Noooo nonono! He's kidding right?" Spicer shook his head slightly, raising his palm upwards and letting a bit of gum out of his lips.
"What? What is it?" Gerald coughed, the rest of the wine coming out of his mouth. He looked at Spicer and the messenger, his face focused.

"It means we assault today, for the Lord of Light rides beside us." The messenger bowed.
"I cannot your grace, for I carry a peace treaty." Gerald's eyes opened wide, and he growled to himself.
"Is there a problem?" Gerald walked towards the messenger, glaring up at the taller man, before driving his blade through him. Spicer shot up.
"The hells Gerald?" Gerald glared at the man, fire in his heart.
"No! We will not surrender! Hear me?! I will not see my brother die! And I will not bow before whatever king the Tyrells are playing with like a puppet! We have been denied for too long! And we will take what is ours!" Spicer frowned, his normal expression.
"Against my better judgement, I will serve with you my lord." Gerald nodded, letting the messenger drop from his sword, before leaving to ready the burning.

[hr]

The prisoner struggled to breath through shattered lungs, tied uncomfortably to a wooden post. He bled through multiple brutal gashes, his left cheek torn to the point that his tongue could be seen within, Gerald hated to look at him, his injuries were so awful, the Blackwater was not kind to someone who falls from such a height.

Gerald walked in front of the man, and his army, who looked on, eyes near closed and focused.
"Daenys Targaryen, for your crimes against the Seven, I, Prince Gerald Crakehall, sentence you to death." The Targaryen's lungs groaned, and his collapsed chest lifted like a balloon with each breath.
"Kill me!" He screamed with what little strength he had left, he fell to his knees and his lungs howled against their wounds.

Gerald frowned at the piteous sight, before nodding, and some soldiers walked forth with a blade. He knew that this poor fool couldn't suffer any longer, he would burn, but he wouldn't burn alive. The soldier gripped Daenys' white hair, placed the blade against his throat, and pulled.

The blood, dragon's blood, spread across the stone. Daenys' eyes emptied, but his face turned to one of bliss, his eyes glazing over and his head fell. Gerald looked down at the torch in his hand, and then threw it lightly into the dragon's corpse. It consumed him quickly, the waves of the sea beating against the rocks. Gerald frowned sorrowfully, Daenys was a rat, but he died as a dragon, aflame, with the gift of Old Valyria still running in his veins.

Gerald lowered his head, and fell to his knees, beginning his prayer.
"The blood of Valyria runs through this man's veins, and the Lord of Light take his vitality, his strength, and his mind." He looked up, eyes glazed in prayer.
"Defend your holy believers, and let us lead the people free from tyranny." He ended his prayer, instead of screaming, he lowered his head, the flames crackling into forms in front of him.
"Now we ride, take the walls! And then slaughter anyone who challenges you! Take any highborn wenches and have your way with them, capture the men and children, bring them before me to be sacrificed or ransomed." He stood, gripping his sword tightly in his hand. He yanked it out, raising it towards The Red Keep. [i]Doing this again am I?[/i] 
"Join me! And we will burn the wrongdoers from The Broken Arm to Thenn! And we will take what is ours!" The rest cheered, Spicer however, simply folded his arms and frowned angrily, grey brows bearing a new scar.

[i]If my brother is the son of Azor Ahai, then I am just as worthy, he will be king, and I will be his stalwart sword, burning the unbelievers and fixing the broken. Listen to me, Father, Mother, and Crone, if you do exist! Bow before your king! And bow before your Lord of Light![/i]

(Unexplained instant messaging for the win!)[h1][color=fff200][center]Lyman Lannister[/center][/color][/h1]

"Willas! Take no further steps, or this keep burns!" An empty threat, but Lyman knew that Willas had no way of knowing that.
"My men have torches at the ready, ready to light The Mad King's wildfire with only a word." He gestured towards the walls of the keep, his face twisted into a Lion's mask.
"I will be regent! And I will see the Crakehalls bent before me!" Aerys entered the room then, wearing a ceremonial suit of black armor, a red cape clasped about his shoulders.
"What is this Lyman? Cease this nonsense at once and bow before your betters!" He held a hand out to Willas, no fear visible on his face.
"Give me your sword! I need something to defend myself with. As for the rest of you! Whoever takes that bastard's head will be my next Kingsguard!" Lyman drew [i]Dawn[/i], allowing the silver blade to shine in the light of the windows to each side.
"I dare you! I'll kill all I have to!" Another empty threat, Lyman was never trained in sword-fighting. Aerys looked at the man, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Never you mind! Willas! Keep your sword! I'm going to go get your nephew out of here, make sure he dies!" He pointed angrily at Lyman, before running from the room, aiming to head to the Cadet branch's office, get them and their guard, then get to Garland's quarters, get them all onto dragon-back, and fly for Highgarden or something, he hadn't fully thought this through, but he had to do something, none of them truly trusted him, he recognized that, but bravery was a kingly thing, right, maybe he'd earn their trust? He hoped at least, that it would be worth it.

Lyman stepped forth, lowering into what he assumed could be seen as a fighting posture.
"Dammit! Remember my words Willas! Don't make me do this!" A group of his men came from the direction of the royal treasury, the rest continuing to stomp through the Red Keep, murdering and reaping. The Essosi quickly surrounded Lyman, drawing their own weapons and taking postures.
"It will burn! You'll all burn!"