Kapitel 429: Chapter 430: Morale
It was late into the night, but Ser Daven Lannister felt no hint of sleepiness.
The candlelight in his wooden quarters flickered wildly in the draft, causing the shadows on the floor to waver with it.
The past few days of battle had been grueling but not disastrous. They had managed to repel every wave of the southern army's relentless assaults.
However, Daven knew full well that this small town could not hold out for much longer.
The walls weren't tall or sturdy enough, and each day, the enemy soldiers almost managed to breach the defenses.
Although they had been able to push the attackers back each time, any experienced commander understood that once the enemy consistently reached the ramparts, the fall of the stronghold was only a matter of time.
The defenders' sole hope was reinforcements from the northern bank.
But the deafening silence across the Blackwater River had made it increasingly clear to Daven that no aid was coming.
They had been abandoned.
While Daven could rationalize Tywin Lannister's decision, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of anger.
He also knew that the same sentiment was brewing among the soldiers.
If things continued this way, morale would plummet further. It wouldn't be surprising if men started thinking of desertion or even surrender.
We can't keep defending like this.
A fleeting thought crossed Daven's mind—an idea he quickly suppressed.
But the frustration and restlessness lingered, rendering him incapable of calm.
Realizing he wouldn't get any sleep tonight, Daven donned his armor and began a patrol of the town.
---
A crescent moon hung high in the sky, bathing the town in cold silver light.
As Daven paced along the ramparts, he noticed someone following him.
"Willum? Do you need something?" Daven asked, glancing back.
The figure trailing him was his cousin, Willum Lannister, the younger son of Tywin's brother, Kevan Lannister.
"Lord Tywin isn't sending reinforcements, is he?" Willum asked in a hoarse voice. Although it was phrased as a question, his tone was one of certainty.
Daven opened his mouth, as if to refute the claim, but no words came out. In the end, he could only remain silent.
Willum's anger flared at his cousin's silence. "Tywin doesn't care whether we live or die!"
Daven finally forced himself to speak, defending his uncle. "Crossing the river to support us would be reckless. The southern army outnumbers us, and they have a dragon—"
"Excuses!" Willum cut him off impatiently. "Wars aren't always won by numbers! And as for the dragon, have you noticed it only circles high in the sky and never engages directly? That beast fears our ballistae. Dragons aren't invincible! Tywin isn't cautious—he's a coward!"
"He's prudent."
"Ha! If it were Jaime Lannister defending this town, do you think Tywin would still be so 'prudent'?"
Daven had no answer to that.
Willum pressed on. "My father has been a prisoner in Storm's End for over a year, and Tywin has done nothing to secure his release. But his son, Tyrion? Captured in Dorne just weeks ago, and now he's already back in King's Landing, safe and sound. Isn't that favoritism?"
"That's because the Storm King refused to release your father, not because Tywin didn't try to ransom him," Daven countered.
"You actually believe that excuse?" Willum scoffed. "I, for one, refuse to keep fighting for Tywin. This town is doomed. If you want to keep defending it, that's your choice. But I plan to—"
"To do what?" Daven suddenly turned, his eyes blazing with a predatory light.
It was a look that could tear through steel, and Willum froze under the intensity of his cousin's glare.
"If you're planning something foolish, Willum," Daven growled, "I suggest you reconsider."
Willum faltered, his voice quivering. "I—I just think we should retreat before it's too late…"
"And where would we retreat to?" Daven stepped closer, gesturing toward the dark expanse beyond the northern gate. "Do you think the enemy left the northern route open by mistake? Of course not! It's a trap. The moment we try to escape, they'll be on us like wolves."
"We have horses," Willum argued weakly. "If we ride fast enough, we might break through their lines."
"And what of the dragon?" Daven snapped. "It stays out of range because it fears our ballistae. But the moment we leave the town's protection, we'll be sitting ducks. How many do you think will survive to reach the Blackwater River?"
Willum had no reply.
Seeing his cousin's silence, Daven's tone softened but remained firm.
"Even if we could escape, we have only three thousand horses for over eight thousand men. Are you prepared to abandon more than half the garrison? And if you return to the north with such a stain on your honor, what would you even have left?"
Willum hung his head, his face shadowed in the moonlight. His voice was strained and bitter.
"So we're just supposed to sit here and wait for death?"
"To die in battle is the most honorable end for a knight," Daven replied. "And perhaps, with some luck, we may not die at all."
Willum raised his head. "Do you really believe in miracles?"
Daven didn't answer immediately. Instead, he placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder.
"Pray to the gods, Willum."
And with that, Daven strode away, leaving Willum alone on the ramparts.
---
After walking a short distance, Daven summoned one of his aides.
"Keep a close watch on Willum Lannister," he ordered. "If he tries anything, report to me immediately."
"Yes, my lord."
---
Returning to his quarters, Daven removed his armor and lay on his bed, but sleep eluded him.
When the faint glow of dawn finally broke over the horizon, he had only just drifted off when loud knocking roused him.
"Come in," he called.
The aide entered, his face taut. "My lord, as you suspected, Willum Lannister attempted to flee through the northern gate. He gathered a group of men, but we stopped them."
Daven showed little surprise. "How many were involved?"
"Roughly two hundred."
Not an overwhelming number, but still troubling.
Daven dressed quickly, strapping on his sword belt before following the aide outside.
---
"Daven! Cousin! I was wrong!" Willum cried out the moment he saw Daven approach. He was bound hand and foot, struggling in vain against his restraints. "Punish me if you must—lash me, beat me—"
"What is the penalty for desertion?" Daven interrupted coldly.
Willum's face turned crimson, and he fell silent.
"It's death," Daven answered for him.
"No! Please! You can't kill me! I'm Kevan Lannister's son! I'm of the Lannister line—"
"So you do remember your heritage," Daven said, stepping behind his cousin and drawing his sword.
"No! I beg you! Please!"
"Be quiet and die with dignity."
Willum began to sob.
Daven hesitated briefly, realizing his cousin was only seventeen—a boy thrust into the horrors of war too soon.
But he steeled himself. As commander, he had to make an example. Anything less would lead to chaos.
Before the assembled soldiers, Daven declared:
"Willum Lannister, for desertion, I sentence you to death."
With one swift motion, his sword fell. Blood sprayed across the ground as Willum's head rolled free.
Wiping his blade clean, Daven issued his next order:
"Execute all the other deserters."
"Yes, my lord!"
The remaining two hundred men were swiftly put to death. By the time the executions were complete, the morning mist seemed tinged with red.
And then, the sound of war horns erupted outside the town.
Daven's face hardened.
"There are no retreating lions," he roared. "Only lions who die fighting! To the walls!"
(End of Chapter)
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein