House Cattlblack , when spoken of in a flattering manner, could be called Crownlands nobility. However, in essence, they were merely landed knights without any actual lands—holding only a knightly title. Such families were abundant in King's Landing, numbering in the thousands.
The lands of the Seven Kingdoms had long been divided thousands of years ago. Only in times of war, severe crimes, or devastating plagues—when a noble house was stripped of its lands or lost its heirs—would territories become available for redistribution to those who earned them through merit.
Ser Oswell Cattlblack had no prestigious lineage; his father was but a simple farmer. In his youth, he joined the army, following Lord Tywin's host to besiege Duskendale and rescue the Mad King. Later, during the extermination of House Darklyn, he distinguished himself in battle and was knighted by Tywin, thereafter remaining in his service.
During Robert's Rebellion, Oswell was merely another common knight in King's Landing and faced no punishment in the aftermath.
As the new king, Robert, ascended the throne, Oswell witnessed countless men being rewarded for their merits. Stormlands merchants prospered through trade, manufacturing new goods, and amassing wealth. A certain ambition stirred within him.
He first reestablished contact with Tywin, acting as his informant within King's Landing in exchange for support. However, after Jaime and Cersei's scandal came to light, the Lannisters lost influence in the capital, leaving Oswell with only financial aid from Tywin.
Unwilling to resign himself to stagnation, he sought other avenues, and at the time, Lord Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch, was openly selling ranks and titles. Using Tywin's gold, Oswell bribed his way into a captaincy among the Gold Cloaks.
The City Watch was filled with men of noble background and considerable wealth. Even with his purchased rank, Oswell had to spend years fostering connections with the commander. By the time his hair had turned gray, he was finally appointed Captain of the Steel Gate.
With an official position secured, the next step was to amass wealth. In recent years, aside from the great lords, who in King's Landing made the most money? The common answer among the city folk was none other than Lord Petyr Baelish. Oswell actively sought out Baelish, hoping to expand his influence. The two struck up an acquaintance, and over the years, engaged in private dealings.
As his career and finances flourished, he also arranged for his three sons—who had been working as mercenaries—to join the City Watch under his command.
But then, everything changed when Wright Baratheon took over as Hand of the King.
Lord Janos Slynt, the Commander of the City Watch, was arrested by Wright on charges of corruption and thrown into the dungeons. The new Hand, Mathis Rowan, eager to prove his worth, forced Janos into a confession, exposing his allies and hidden wealth. Many high-ranking officers in the Gold Cloaks were implicated and subsequently exiled to the Wall, where they now gnawed on frozen rations.
With his patron gone and his illicit dealings exposed, Oswell's fortune also took a turn for the worse. Not long after Janos' downfall, Petyr Baelish was ousted from power as well.
Fortunately for Oswell, Baelish had managed to flee before being captured, and no concrete evidence tied him to the disgraced lord's schemes. But his long-standing association with Baelish was well-known, and as a result, he lost favor with the Vale, the Riverlands, and even the king himself. Within the City Watch, he faced constant suppression and ostracization.
Oswell came to see his twilight years as a tragedy—one orchestrated by Wright Baratheon.
With the king against him, staying in King's Landing was no longer viable. The Royal Fleet, the Stormlands, and the Stepstones were all out of the question. The Reach refused to do business with outsiders, and both the Riverlands and the Vale were closed to him. The North was unthinkable. The only option left was the Westerlands.
When he received Tywin's secret missive, he discussed the matter with his three sons. The four of them decided to gamble everything on this one opportunity. There was no future left for them in the capital; only Tywin could save their family.
From slaying his own comrades in the Steel Gate tower to fleeing towards Blackwater Bay, the aging Oswell was utterly exhausted. After exchanging secret signals with the others, he was the first to step into the ship's cabin to rest.
His three sons, however, were still in their prime.
The eldest, Osmund Cattlblack, was over two meters tall, with powerful muscles and formidable combat prowess. He was also the most intelligent of the three, easily recognizable by his hooked nose and neatly trimmed triangular beard.
The second son, Osfryd, was equally tall and strong, with a similar hooked nose. He rarely smiled, his face always set in a deep frown. Illiterate, he focused solely on honing his martial skills, and his perpetually stern expression made him the most intimidating of the brothers.
The youngest, Osney, bore a striking resemblance to his siblings, though his face was marked by three deep scars.
The group moved in silence, avoiding any unnecessary noise or lights as they boarded the ship under the cover of night.
As Cersei stepped onto the deck, a man reached out to steady her.
"Cersei, are you alright?"
"You are…?" The familiarity of her name being spoken so casually made her scrutinize the man before her.
"It's me—Adam Marbrand."
Cersei's eyes lit up in surprise. The man before her was tall and lean, his dark hair flowing past his shoulders. He wore the black armor of his house, paired with a golden cloak.
"It really is you! What are you doing in King's Landing?"
"Ever since Lord Tywin learned that you were in the city, he has been gathering men to bring you home. Ser Jaime remains imprisoned within the Red Keep and could not come himself, so he sent word asking me to fetch you. I personally sought out Lord Tywin and took on this mission."
Adam's voice was firm and steady. Seeing a familiar face come to her rescue, Cersei felt a sense of relief. She pulled her son closer and introduced him, "This is Ser Adam Marbrand—Jaime's closest friend since childhood, and the commander of the Westerlands cavalry."
Having lived most of his life in Sarsfield, Donnel was unfamiliar with those from Casterly Rock. Initially, he assumed Adam to be just another knight and was about to offer a perfunctory greeting—until he realized this was his father Jaime's dearest friend, personally sent to escort his mother.
"Ser Adam," Donnel said respectfully, "it is an honor to meet you."
"They're over there! Catch them!"
The Iron Gate was violently forced open as a large group of Gold Cloaks poured out from the inner city, charging toward the docked ship.
The sailing ship was slow to set off. It was just an ordinary merchant vessel, lacking the numerous oars of a warship. Adam watched the speed at which the Gold Cloaks were approaching and knew there was no time to set sail—they needed to hold them off and buy time.
"Cersei, Donnel, get on the ship now!"
Adam pushed Cersei behind him, then turned, drawing the longsword from his waist as he stepped off the gangplank. His voice rang out loud and clear:
"Everyone, listen to my command! Pick up your spears, form a line, and hold them off for ten minutes! Then we retreat!"
His golden cloak stood out even in the night. Cersei watched his figure standing protectively in front of her. "Be careful!" she called out.
"Don't worry, I'll get you back to Casterly Rock!"
Adam turned and gave her a confident smile before continuing to direct his men. Standing on the deck, Cersei watched him work. It had been years since they last met, and he had become so valiant. She couldn't help but press her legs together.
"The Hound! Give me command of your knights. You go aboard and protect Cersei and Donnel!" Adam shouted.
"You give the orders, then," Sandor Clegane replied gruffly. He pulled a dagger from his belt and tossed it to the ground. "But if you want me to protect them, you'd better give me a proper sword!"
"We came to rescue people, not fight a war—we don't have spare weapons!" Adam said, frustrated.
The Hound glanced around. His knights didn't have longswords either; they were all holding spears. He turned to Donnel. "Give me your sword!"
"Why should I?" Donnel protested. His sword had been custom-made at great expense; he wasn't about to hand it over.
Adam had no time for this nonsense and had already moved to the shore. The Hound scoffed, bending down to pick up the discarded dagger. "Forget it. I'll use this little toy to protect you."
In the Hound's massive hands, the dagger looked like a child's plaything. Donnel hesitated. If the Hound failed, they were all doomed. Grumbling, he unbuckled his sword and scabbard from his belt and thrust them forward. "Be careful with the ruby on the hilt! Lose it, and you'll never be able to repay me!"
"Too flashy," the Hound muttered, grabbing the sheathed sword. He took his position in front of Donnel, eyes fixed on the shore.
Seeing that the Hound wasn't in the mood for conversation, Donnel tried again. "Why aren't you down there fighting? If you kill a few of them, there'll be no one left to chase us."
"You're really in the mood for questions right now?" The Hound tugged at his tunic. "I've got no armor. Charging into battle dressed like this is just asking to get killed."
Donnel sneered. "Coward. Look at those knights who escaped with us—they're wearing robes too."
The Hound was growing tired of Donnel's chatter. Without another word, he unsheathed the longsword and moved to the gangplank, ignoring him. The aging Oswell also stepped forward, taking his place beside the Hound to add to the presence of his three sons below.
Across the dock, Gold Cloak commander Ironhand Jacelyn Bywater led the charge. He had been galloping ahead, but seeing that their opponents had formed a disciplined spear wall, he immediately realized that these were not mere bandits or mercenaries but soldiers from the Westerlands.
"Hold the charge!"
The City Watch had few horses, and the ones they did have were scattered across King's Landing. He had only about twenty riders with him now. Charging a spear formation on a narrow strip of land by the water was suicide.
"Form up! Send word to the city for reinforcements!"
Ironhand Bywater analyzed the situation. The City Watch's standard equipment consisted of chainmail, with officers wearing metal breastplates. They carried short swords and cudgels, with only a handful able to afford longswords. Their training was far from that of true knights. Against a disciplined Westerland spear formation, they had little chance of winning. Their only advantage was numbers.
"The king is not in King's Landing right now," Bywater growled. "And now all manner of lowborn scum think they can run wild in the city!"
More Gold Cloaks were gathering as they ran out from the city. Their numbers were approaching three hundred, but Bywater was growing anxious. Their enemies weren't attacking; they were merely buying time. The ship's main sail was already hoisted, its ropes secured. The crew was preparing to raise the lateen sail. If they didn't act soon, Cersei would escape.
"No more time!"
Two hundred men formed up in two lines. Bywater rode along their front, examining his troops—men dressed in uniform, armed with swords, their torches casting flickering light. He raised his right arm, the steel prosthetic gleaming in the firelight.
"Brave men of the City Watch! These imposters dare to pretend to be our late queen and prince! They insult the king and spit on us all! This is a blatant provocation!"
He pointed toward the shore. "There they are! Look at them—they even dare to resist! And look at your uniforms! We must do our duty and present their heads to the king!"
"Kill them!" The Gold Cloaks roared in unison.
Jacelyn raised the warhammer from his saddle high above his head and shouted, "City Watch, charge with me!"
The Gold Cloaks charged forward at a run, aiming straight for the pike formation. Meanwhile, Jacelyn and his twenty-odd mounted men veered off, attempting to outflank their opponents.
"A cheap trick," Adam Marbrand muttered, twirling his longsword. As Tywin's cavalry commander, he had seen enough battles to recognize their intent instantly. The Gold Cloaks' movements were undisciplined, their training inadequate for true warfare. Adam swiftly gave orders to reposition his men, shifting the formation to brace against the flanking maneuver.
Neither side had archers, and the fighting quickly devolved into brutal melee. The flickering torchlight and the gleam of steel turned the waterfront into a chaotic battlefield.
"Hold formation! Step back three paces, tighten the line!" Adam bellowed.
The cavalry slammed into the flank. Though the Westerlanders suffered some casualties, their discipline held firm under Adam's command. Jacelyn and his riders found themselves surrounded before they could regroup for another charge. A few were dragged from their saddles, others impaled atop their mounts.
"Fall ba—!" Jacelyn's words were cut short as his horse took a vicious blow to the head. The beast toppled, sending both rider and mount crashing to the ground.
"There! The commander is down—kill him!" The grizzled knight aboard the ship roared. Jacelyn had surely recognized him and his three sons. If he survived, their family would face endless reprisals. Tywin might not be able to protect them.
Osfryd Kettleblack's face contorted with rage at his father's cry. He understood—Jacelyn had to die. Barking an order to his brothers, he led the charge toward the fallen commander.
The Gold Cloaks lacked the discipline of the Westerlanders, but they had sheer numbers on their side. More continued to pour out of the city gates, steadily tilting the battle in their favor.
A single decisive kill could shatter enemy morale. Adam Marbrand, slashing through a Gold Cloak, pushed forward toward Jacelyn.
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
As the battlefield dissolved into a frenzied melee, Jacelyn found himself face-to-face with Osney Kettleblack, the youngest of the three brothers.
Clang!
Osney's heavy downward strike was met by Jacelyn's warhammer. He had underestimated the one-handed commander, assuming him to be crippled. But Jacelyn wielded his weapon with terrifying skill. As Osney moved in for another attack, Jacelyn feinted, pulling back at the last second before driving the spike of his hammer into the young knight's chest.
Osney barely had time to process what had happened before his legs gave out beneath him. Blood poured from the hole in his armor as Jacelyn placed a boot on his shoulder and wrenched the warhammer free.
"Brother!"
Osfryd, seeing Osney fall, recklessly charged forward, ignoring the enemies around him. His reckless attack left their eldest brother, Osmund, alone to face seven or eight Gold Cloaks.
"I'll kill you!" Osfryd bellowed, face twisted with rage. Despite his size and strength, his skill was average at best. He relied on brute force alone, making his strikes predictable. Jacelyn deflected his attacks with ease, gradually shifting to the offensive. Only a stroke of luck—a fallen corpse underfoot—prevented Osfryd's armor from being caved in entirely.
Adam Marbrand, watching Osfryd struggle, knew this was no time for honor. This was an escape, not a battle. Without hesitation, he joined the fray, attacking Jacelyn from the side.
Osfryd's brute force kept Jacelyn's attention forward, allowing Adam to slip past his guard.
Thud!
Jacelyn stumbled back, struck on the arm and leg. The Gold Cloaks' armor was meager—only chainmail under padding, with officers wearing partial breastplates. Jacelyn's golden cloak was now shredded, his movements slowing.
"Traitors!" he spat, eyes locked on Osfryd. "Your whole fucking family is nothing but traitors!"
Osfryd fared little better. His left leg had taken a hammer blow; the bone was likely shattered. Limping, he pressed on, step by agonizing step, toward Jacelyn.
"'Iron Hand' Commander, do you know who I am?" Adam Marbrand asked, twirling his longsword.
"I don't care who you are, anyone who aids a traitor deserves to die!" Jacelyn growled, blood dripping from his wounds.
"Seems you don't recognize me," Adam said, noting Jacelyn's confusion. The Gold Cloaks' commander didn't seem to have figured out his identity, which meant his cover hadn't been blown. No longer concerned, Adam tightened his grip on his sword, preparing to end Jacelyn's life and eliminate the threat.
Bang! Clang! Clang!
Over the years, Adam had sparred frequently with Jaime, sharpening his martial skills. After exchanging several blows, all three men had sustained injuries. When Jacelyn was kicked and stumbled, Adam seized the opportunity, darting in to thrust his sword into the gap between Jacelyn's breastplate and chainmail near his armpit.
Jacelyn crumpled to the ground, weakened. Adam kicked the warhammer from his grasp. "Rest in peace," he said coldly.
"I'm going to cut off his head!" Osfryd, his leg nearly useless, limped forward, intent on furthering the brutality.
Adam immediately stopped him. "No, he's the commander. Killing him and cutting off his head will make it harder for us to retreat."
"I'm taking revenge!" Osfryd hissed, glaring at Adam, but he continued toward Jacelyn, crouching down to decapitate him.
The sword fell.
Clang!
The already "dead" Jacelyn lifted his right hand—the iron hand—and caught the sword. With a swift twist, the prosthetic detached, and he shoved the arm forward. The sharp spike embedded in Osfryd's left eye, puncturing his skull.
"Traitor!" Jacelyn's voice was a faint whisper. After delivering the final blow, he and Osfryd slumped together, breath leaving him.
"The commander is dead, the City Watch is retreating!" Adam shouted, attempting to throw the Gold Cloaks into disarray. Seeing their leader fall, chaos quickly spread among them.
With the retreat underway, Adam signaled for the remaining men to board the ship, which was already preparing to set sail.
The battle was over. Adam Marbrand, his face scratched and bruised by a warhammer, winced as the pain worsened. His comrades informed him that the damage to his left eye was severe enough that it would have to be removed.
"Why are we heading north?" Cersei asked, looking at Adam, who now wore a bandage over his head.
Adam, struggling to steady himself as he walked along the deck, answered, "Tywin said we need to go north to avoid the King's and the Royal Fleet's pursuit. He'll have people waiting for us. First, we'll stop at Seagull Town in the Vale to regroup, then continue on to White Harbor."
Meanwhile, Osmund Kettleblack, watching his father and two brothers' bodies as they lay beside him, began to question whether his father's decisions had been right.