Chapitre 468: Chapter 469: The Red Keep Falls
"Your Grace, Your Grace! The gates of the Red Keep have been breached! The monsters are inside!"
A messenger stumbled into the throne room, his panicked voice sending a wave of dread through the gathered nobles. Their faces turned deathly pale.
"Lord Strickland requests reinforcements!"
"Reinforcements?" Queen Mother Cersei sat languidly in her chair, her tone indifferent, as if none of it concerned her.
"Where is Caesar? Doesn't he have over a hundred thousand troops?" a noblewoman asked.
"They're still fighting outside the city. There are too many monsters; we can't reach them. No one knows what's happening beyond the gates…"
"Seal Maegor's Holdfast and raise the drawbridge," Cersei ordered coolly.
Maegor's Holdfast, the heart of the Red Keep, was a castle within a castle. It was protected by its own walls and a dry moat lined with iron spikes.
But even such a stronghold might not hold for long against the endless tide of wights.
The messenger hesitated and asked, "What about the soldiers outside the gates?"
"What about them?" Cersei countered. "Their duty is clear: to fight to the death."
"Your Grace," another voice rose in protest, "many esteemed lords and ladies went to the Great Sept to pray. If we seal Maegor's Holdfast, what will happen to them?"
"The gods will protect them," Cersei replied icily. "Close the gates!"
"You can't!" a woman from the Vale shouted, her face flushed with anger. She pointed at Cersei and yelled, "You are no longer the Queen Mother of the Seven Kingdoms! What right do you have to issue orders?"
The words were like a spark in dry kindling. More northern lords and ladies began shouting, pouring out their terror and fury, blaming the Lannisters for this entire disaster.
Cersei, however, remained unnervingly calm in the face of their accusations.
"Fine. Do as you like," she said suddenly, laughing. "Caesar hasn't even entered the Red Keep yet, and you're already fighting among yourselves. Go ahead—I won't stop you."
With that, she swept out of the throne room, her crimson gown billowing behind her.
The hall erupted into chaos.
Some people followed her out. Others knelt to pray fervently. A few began sobbing helplessly. And there were those who demanded more wine, determined to drink themselves into oblivion before the end.
Sansa Stark watched the scene unfold, oddly devoid of fear.
"Don't be afraid!" she stood and said loudly, her voice firm. "This is a test from the gods, and we must face it with courage!"
She spoke with a tone reminiscent of her father, Eddard Stark.
"The warriors of the Seven Kingdoms are fighting bravely outside against the monsters. The battle is not over, and neither is hope. Let us pray together for their victory!"
"Let us pray!" many echoed, clinging to her words.
Order returned to the hall, but Sansa could still sense the lingering despair in the air.
When the prayers concluded, the sobbing resumed.
Sansa instructed the servants to bring more wine and left the hall herself.
The sounds of slaughter and the stench of blood hit her as soon as she stepped outside, nearly making her stagger.
All she could think about was finding her sister, Arya. She stopped a nearby guard to ask about her, but he only shook his head, saying he didn't know.
Determined, Sansa continued on her own.
As she reached a staircase, a soldier barreled into her, nearly knocking her over.
Clang, clatter—
Bejeweled goblets and silver candelabras spilled from the soldier's arms, tumbling down the stairs.
Realizing Sansa wasn't a threat, the soldier ignored her and hurried to gather his loot.
Not daring to confront him, Sansa pressed on.
The sky was pitch-black, but she noticed a faint glimmer of light on the eastern horizon.
Was the storm finally ending? she wondered, silently praying for it to be so.
Suddenly, a coarse voice called out behind her:
"Little Stark girl, are you lost?"
Sansa froze. She turned to see a blood-soaked knight in a white cloak slumped in a corner. His face was smeared with dark, tar-like blood, and his eyes glowed faintly red.
"Ser Sandor…"
"Ser? Ha! What a joke!" Sandor Clegane spat, his voice dripping with derision. "I'm no knight. I'm the Hound."
"But…you're wearing a white cloak…" Sansa stammered. She knew this brutal man, once a loyal hound to House Lannister, had been named to the Kingsguard under King Tommen.
"So what?" Sandor let out a harsh laugh. "Knights are useless. I kill knights for fun!"
Sansa steadied herself, forcing her voice to remain calm.
"You should be killing the monsters outside."
"The monsters won't stop," Sandor muttered. "This city is finished. Little wolf, if you want to live, come with me. I'll get you out of here."
Dried blood crusted over the Hound's grotesque scars, but Sansa could see the fear in his eyes.
"You're afraid," she said.
"Afraid? Ha! That's rich!" Sandor snapped, his voice rising. "Me, afraid?!"
"If you want to run, then run," Sansa replied. "But I won't."
"You'll die," Sandor growled, standing abruptly. His massive frame loomed over her. "Come with me! I'll protect you—I swear it!"
"You're not even a knight," Sansa said quietly. "Why should I trust your oath?"
For a moment, Sandor froze, caught off guard.
Then fury overtook him. He grabbed her wrist, his grip like iron.
Pain shot through Sansa's arm, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out. She closed her eyes, praying for it to end quickly.
But suddenly, Sandor released her. He slumped back into his corner, burying his face in his hands like a defeated man.
"Sing me a song," he said gruffly.
Sansa hesitated, then—almost against her will—began to sing:
"Gentle Mother, font of mercy, shield your child in this strife.
Stop the arrows, stay the swords, let them see another life…"
Her soft, clear voice echoed through the dim corridor, muffling even the distant sounds of battle.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly.
Then, light tore through the darkness.
Golden beams pierced the storm-tossed clouds, bathing the castle in sunlight.
The storm had ended.
Bells began to toll. One after another—first in the Red Keep, then the Great Sept, then across the city.
Sansa was reminded of the bells that had tolled when Robert Baratheon died. But this was different.
These were not mournful death knells. They were triumphant.
She heard cheering outside—voices raised in jubilant cries.
"We've won! Victory is ours!"
Sansa rushed to the balcony, gripping the railing as she gazed out.
Though the wights had not been entirely eradicated, they were scattered, crushed beneath the overwhelming force of the human army.
Banners fluttered from every direction, advancing toward the Red Keep—golden roses of House Tyrell, the huntsman of House Tarly, the oak leaves of House Oakheart…
And the double-headed eagle of House Caesar.
A forest of swords and spears surged over Aegon's High Hill, trampling the remnants of the undead.
"We're saved!" Sansa cried, tears streaming down her face.
A thunderous roar split the sky. She looked up to see the white dragon, Cleopatra, soaring over the Red Keep.
"Caesar! Caesar's dragon is here! We're saved!"
She turned to share her joy with Sandor, but the Hound's face remained expressionless.
"Are we, little wolf?" he muttered. "Do you even know what lies beneath Maegor's Holdfast?"
"What do you mean?"
"Wildfire," Sandor said with a grim smile. "Cersei filled the dungeons with it. She'll burn the entire castle to the ground."
(End of Chapter)
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone