"I'm going too."
Joffrey flipped up his visor and sucked in a lungful of air. He'd been sealed inside that steel bucket too long. Sweat streamed down his temples and stung his eyes like fire.
Jaime jumped right on board. "The Hound's always bragging he killed his first man at twelve. You're bigger than he was back then—time you got out there and swung a sword for real."
Eddard didn't look happy. "Your Grace, inspiring the men from the walls is more than enough. Leading a sally carries real risk."
Joffrey didn't see it that way. "Going out is dangerous," he said, peeling off his gauntlets and wiping sweat from his face. "But if I stay behind, what will the garrison think? Defending the walls to the death is their duty. Sallying out? That's for the king's invisible glory."
He flexed his damp palms, feeling the sticky heat. "If I hide inside the city, they'll say after the battle, 'We won.' But if I stand in front of them, they'll say, 'King Joffrey led us to victory.'"
Eddard pressed his lips together.
"Besides," Joffrey added, "isn't that what Robb did? He's only two years older than me and he's already led armies—twice. From Winterfell to the Vale, then barely a few months later from Winterfell to King's Landing. The Starks don't have many men like that, do they?"
Eddard stayed quiet a long moment, then finally gave a reluctant nod.
"I'm going too," a voice piped up from below.
The Imp had climbed the steps to the rampart. He wore a fine suit of red heavy plate and carried a double-bladed steel war axe.
Now it was Jaime's turn to object. "Tyrion, what the hell are you doing here?" He gestured up and down dramatically. "Things so bad that even my little brother has to fight? You can barely reach a man's knee from horseback. Planning to chop them in the shins?"
Tyrion pulled a face. "If His Grace is going, of course I have to go." He rapped the axe handle hard against the stone. "And if a dwarf like me is willing to fight, won't that make everyone else even more eager?"
…
Below the King's Gate, warhorses snorted and pawed the ground restlessly.
"Take me back safely, boy." Joffrey patted his stallion's neck and slipped an apple into its mouth.
He could feel the animal was just as tense as he was. And just as eager to stay alive.
This was a three-year-old stallion Robert had given him as a nameday gift three years earlier. Its name was simply Horse. Joffrey was terrible at naming things. All the good names were taken, and he couldn't be bothered. Same with the white stag—it was just called Stag.
Once this fight was over and he had time, he really needed to train that stag properly. Ride it out in front of an army someday and half the enemy's morale would collapse before the first charge.
Compared to the common soldiers who couldn't even get proper armor, this horse was living like a lord. It wore fine mail barding, steel plate on its neck and face, and the edges of its soft leather saddle were gilded.
"Form up!"
Eddard's voice rang out beneath the gate. The surviving Gold Cloaks and veterans, plus the sellswords who'd been slacking and the fresh recruits who had barely finished training, somehow scraped together a force that could actually fight.
Joffrey scanned their faces. Some looked tense, some numb, others had the "this has nothing to do with me" expression.
Robb's reinforcements had shrunk from thirty thousand to twenty thousand and now down to just two thousand. He had picked the best knights, taken every horse they had, and ridden day and night with three mounts per man. The normal march from the Trident to King's Landing took seven or eight days. He had done it in two. The kingsroad really was fast—if you didn't mind leaving men behind.
Robb's men and horses were exhausted after the hard ride and the fierce fighting on the northern wall. They needed rest. The Red Crab was no fool either. Using the excuse of guarding the captured fleet and prisoners, he only sent his eldest son and half his troops to help.
But time wouldn't wait.
Joffrey needed to throw his men into the fight while Stannis and Renly were still busy tearing each other apart and tip the scales further into chaos.
Looking into the soldiers' eyes and listening to their muttered complaints, he realized something. They didn't want to fight.
"What? Sally out? Those guys aren't even our reinforcements!"
"Then why the hell are we going out there? Let them kill each other while we watch from the walls."
"Exactly. It's way safer inside."
Joffrey heard every word and took it to heart. You couldn't motivate these men with grand speeches about honor or defending the realm. They wouldn't understand and wouldn't care. They knew one thing: staying behind the walls was safe. Going outside meant they might die.
He could force them out, but he didn't want to do it that way. These were poor troops, but they were the strongest force he could assemble in King's Landing that answered directly to him. He needed to lead them out and forge them in blood and fire.
More importantly, he needed this experience himself.
"You bunch of cowards," Tyrion suddenly shouted. The Imp had climbed onto an empty crate and was looking down at the whispering soldiers. "Even a half-man like me, even this little monkey, is willing to ride out and fight. And you lot—perfect, healthy, full-grown men—are standing here shaking in your boots?"
The knights lowered their heads in shame. But most of the soldiers just stared back with flat eyes.
Joffrey urged his horse forward. The stallion stepped lightly. Soldiers parted on both sides, opening a crooked path.
He removed his helmet, revealing his young face. "I understand what you're thinking," he said clearly. "The lords fight their wars, but it's you smallfolk who bleed and die. Whoever wins or loses doesn't change your lives much, does it? I won't waste time telling you who's right or wrong, or whose fault this war is. That doesn't matter right now."
Joffrey pointed his sword toward the battlefield outside the gates. "But listen well. Those two men out there—Stannis and Renly—are my uncles. They're coming here to take my life… and the lives of all the lords in this city. And they want the whole city's life as well!"
"You know better than I do what happens when a city falls. They'll rob, they'll rape, they'll burn. Your homes, your wives, your parents, your children."
Joffrey drew his sword and thrust it high into the sky. "I'm not asking you to shout 'Long live King Joffrey.' I'm not asking you to shout 'Long live King's Landing.' I'm riding out for myself. And this time, I want you to ride out for yourselves too."
"Follow me! Follow me out! Drive those bastards who want to burn and loot and rape back into the river! Drive them off our land!"
Joffrey slammed his heels into his horse's flanks.
Hooves splashed through the puddles beneath the gate, thundered up the ramp, and burst out through the sally port.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then the thunder of boots and hooves erupted behind him.
"Aaaaah—!"
Someone screamed first. The cry carried fear and tension, but mostly raw, desperate madness.
Then came the second, the third, the tenth, the hundredth, the thousandth.
"Aaaaah—!"