Chapitre 425: Chapter 426: Hesitation
The siege dragged on for three grueling days.
The southern army launched over a dozen waves of attacks, each time breaching the walls and reaching the parapets, yet they were unable to completely break through the defenders' lines and seize the fortress.
Inside the walls, the defending forces displayed extraordinary resilience. Despite their isolation, the hopelessness of reinforcements arriving, and the relentless, wave-like assaults from the enemy, they fought with unyielding determination. Even as their casualties mounted at an alarming rate, they showed no signs of surrender, choosing instead to defend their position to the last breath.
Samwell, however, was not in a rush.
He continued to methodically plan each assault, slowly wearing down the defenders' numbers and stamina, while waiting for the remainder of his forces to arrive.
By now, the southern army at the front had swelled to over seventy thousand soldiers, including the eight thousand Unsullied upon whom Samwell placed great hopes.
The sprawling camp stretched across the King's Road, its countless tents resembling a forest of wild mushrooms. A cacophony of sounds—the marching of boots, the neighing of horses, and the clamor of workers—roared across the plains and woods, drowning out even the howling wind.
Nearby trees had been felled for miles to craft flagpoles, leaving the ground bare and exposed. Under the sunlight, countless swords and spears formed a steel forest, their cold glint an ominous reminder of the army's deadly purpose.
During mealtimes, thousands of campfires blanketed the air with a pale mist, adding a surreal atmosphere to the vast military encampment.
This overwhelming force could flatten the small fortress ahead if Samwell decided to pay the price in blood.
Yet, he hesitated.
The fortress was now visibly crumbling under sustained assault, but the enemy forces on the northern bank of the Blackwater River remained eerily inactive.
Tywin Lannister seemed resolute in abandoning the southern garrison.
The old lion's ruthlessness gave Samwell pause.
Destroying the southern garrison would deal a heavy blow to Lannister strength, but Samwell was greedy for more.
---
At an informal war council, Samwell appeared distracted.
"If Tywin refuses to take the bait, our safest course is to wait for the Stormlands fleet to return. Once they arrive, we can secure the crossing," suggested Lord Randyll Tarly, his father.
Samwell didn't immediately reply.
What his father said was correct, but even under ideal conditions—assuming the Stormlands fleet decisively defeated the Ironborn and secured the Riverlands—such a voyage would take three to four months.
And that was assuming everything went smoothly.
The Ironborn, as the traditional rulers of the seas in Westeros, were no easy adversary. No one could guarantee victory against their formidable fleet.
Even if the Stormlands triumphed, a hard-fought victory might leave them too weakened to contend with Braavos' fleet, which had reportedly set sail for the Blackwater.
"Is it true that the Braavosi fleet is on its way?" someone asked.
Lord Leyton Hightower answered gravely, "Yes, I have reliable reports confirming that Braavos' so-called 'invincible fleet' has already left port. Their destination is almost certainly the Blackwater."
The tent erupted into murmurs.
Some cursed loudly, others delivered impassioned speeches, while a few voiced concerns. Notably, no one dared suggest retreating.
By now, the southern lords understood their king's resolve. With the war already in full swing, any talk of withdrawal would be seen as undermining morale.
After much debate and little progress, Samwell silenced the room with a stern rebuke and dismissed the council.
Once the others had left, only he and his father remained.
"Has the Stormlands fleet truly set sail for the Reach?" Randyll asked.
"Of course," Samwell replied with a resigned shrug. "The Reach must remain secure. If they fall into chaos, the Reach lords will withdraw their support, even if I take King's Landing."
Randyll nodded, falling into a contemplative silence.
He understood the importance of a king maintaining both credibility and authority. Short-term victories achieved through underhanded tactics might erode the very foundation of his rule.
"In that case, there's no need to rush the siege," Randyll finally said.
Samwell agreed. "Exactly. Since we can't cross the river yet, we might as well leave this fortress intact and see if we can lure Tywin into making a move."
"And if Tywin doesn't come?"
"Then we wait." Samwell smiled faintly. "The longer this siege drags on, the more it will demoralize his forces on the northern bank. No soldier wants to serve a commander who abandons his own men to die."
Randyll, ever the patient strategist, was content with this approach. As a veteran of numerous campaigns, he had grown accustomed to drawn-out sieges and grinding wars of attrition.
During Robert's Rebellion, he had endured a year-long siege outside Storm's End without complaint. Compared to that, encircling this small town for a few months was hardly a challenge.
If Tywin truly allowed the southern garrison to wither away in despair, the Lannisters' prestige and morale would suffer irreparable damage.
Meanwhile, the Stormlands fleet could achieve victory in the Riverlands and return in time to ensure a secure crossing.
Samwell knew his father's thoughts mirrored those of most of his lords.
Although he had previously convinced them of the looming threat of the White Walkers during his speech at Autumn Hall, he suspected that many still doubted the true extent of the danger.
Even Randyll likely believed that Samwell was fretting over a disaster that might never come to pass.
Samwell could only sigh inwardly.
What choice did he have? Should he trust that scheming spider?
Ever since Varys had sent that cryptic letter, there had been no further communication.
But Samwell was certain the Spider wasn't done with him yet.
---
Later that night, after dismissing his father, Samwell extinguished his candle and prepared to sleep.
Before he could fully settle in, the tent flap was suddenly pulled open, and a shadow slipped inside.
Samwell instinctively tensed, but the familiar scent that followed the figure eased his alarm.
"Daenerys?"
"I came to see you," she murmured, slipping into his arms.
"I told you to stay in the rear," he scolded half-heartedly, though his words were cut off by her lips.
After a tender moment, Daenerys nestled closer, her voice soft but firm:
"I had another dream."
Samwell stiffened. "What dream?"
"I saw you swallowed by a blizzard, disappearing into endless snow. No matter how much I searched or screamed, I couldn't find you…"
"It was just a nightmare." Samwell tightened his embrace, his hand gently resting on her growing belly. Even through her clothes, he could feel the warmth radiating from within, like a small sun.
Daenerys continued, "It wasn't all bad. I also dreamed of you seated on the Iron Throne, wearing the crown of our ancestors and commanding the Seven Kingdoms."
Samwell chuckled. "I like that dream better. And I promise you—it will come true."
She smiled, her body relaxing against his. "I know it will. Soon, you'll take me home."
It was then that Samwell realized Daenerys, more than anyone else, longed for the fall of King's Landing.
"Yes," he murmured, his gaze distant but determined. "Very soon, I'll take you home."
(End of Chapter)
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone