章 180: Chapter 181: Absurdity!
The war horns blared again, like the call of death itself.
The narrow slit in Eddard Stark's helmet restricted his vision to the path directly before him. Arrows rained down from above, stones spun and crashed from the battlements, smashing steel and bone alike.
Skyreach was just ahead.
At the front of his men, Eddard Stark, the King's Hand, led the assault, his soldiers flooding forward over the blood-soaked ground.
The banner of the direwolf flapped defiantly in the wind, carrying the pride and courage of the North. Forward, and forward again.
"For Winterfell!" he shouted as he reached the wall, beginning his climb.
"For Winterfell!" Northern warriors roared in reply, following him up.
Clang!
An arrow struck his helmet near the eye slit, missing by inches. Stark flinched, nearly losing his grip, but quickly steadied himself and continued upward.
The sounds around him were both familiar and harrowing—pained cries, clashing steel, the crackling of flames.
The stench of war.
It felt like he was reliving the past, a grim return to a conflict that had taken nearly everyone he loved but had also carved his legacy in honor and blood.
And he had won then, somehow, despite the odds.
The climb grew harder, his breath labored.
For a commander to storm the walls himself wasn't wise, but he had to be here. His soldiers needed to see that their leader, the King's Hand, was fighting alongside them. Only then could he reignite their spirit.
Even though he was exposing himself to a storm of arrows, he knew it was a risk he had to take. Without it, this army might fracture and scatter.
Onward he climbed.
The ground was distant below; the battlements were nearing. A deluge of arrows struck his armor with metallic clangs, and finally, one pierced the joint at his shoulder.
Eddard gasped, breaking off the arrow shaft and pushing on, ignoring the dizzying pain, the iron tang of blood in his mouth.
The sensation took him back to a blood-stained bed and a deathbed promise whispered in the Tower of Joy.
Promise me, Eddard.
An arrow whizzed by, but all he heard was his sister's voice.
A northern lord waved to him from below, but Eddard saw instead the faces of the Kingsguard he had fought at the Tower.
He could never forget them.
The walls were within reach now. As he reached out, he felt as though he was grasping at a wreath of winter roses, thorns pricking his hand, blood trickling down his fingers.
"Lord Stark!"
Lord Jon Umber seized his arm, hauling him onto the battlements, shouting, "We're up! By the gods, we're up!"
Yes, we're up!
Eddard finally allowed himself to smile. He watched as Umber, bellowing like a maddened bear, charged into the fray against the Dornish defenders.
One after another, more Northern warriors climbed over the walls, emboldened by Eddard's lead.
At last, under their lord's command, they had reached the battlements!
"The wall's taken! The wall's taken!"
The Northerners yelled, clashing with the Dornish as they tried to break their spirit.
Eddard paused on the rampart, catching his breath. Though his shoulder throbbed too painfully to lift his arm, the visions had finally faded.
"The wall's taken!" He raised his voice, lifting his sword to join the battle.
---
"Shall we attack?"
Samwell Caesar watched the supply convoy winding along the sands below, casting a questioning look at Lord Yohn Royce.
Royce pondered briefly before shaking his head. "I'm not convinced. It Feels like a trap."
Samwell could barely restrain a sigh of exasperation. He'd grown used to Royce's excessive caution.
They had been shadowing the supply train for two days now, but Royce still hadn't given the order.
"Look at how orderly they are," Royce explained. "That's no band of untrained civilians; they're too disciplined. Could easily be soldiers in disguise."
"They have no armor, no visible weapons, and there are barely three hundred of them. If we attack, how could they possibly defend themselves?"
"There could be shields and spears under those tarps. If they form a shield wall, they'll be tough to break. And we're close enough to Skyreach that any Dornish cavalry could easily catch our tail."
Samwell shrugged, indifferent. If Royce didn't want to fight, fine by him. It wasn't as though those wagons were laden with gold.
So they continued "escorting" the convoy all the way to the gates of Skyreach.
Then, just as Royce was ready to abandon the mission, the city's south gate burst open, and a stream of figures poured out.
"An ambush!" Royce paled, barking for a retreat.
Yet, as they fled, Samwell realized that the Dornish weren't charging at them. No, it looked more like they were… retreating?
"Something must've happened inside the city," he murmured, releasing his hawk to scout the skies over Skyreach.
Royce, meanwhile, sent out a group to capture a few prisoners.
Within minutes, they each received the same astonishing news—
Skyreach had fallen!
Royce—who Samwell had privately dubbed the "Cautious Lord"—suddenly proposed a shockingly bold idea.
"We should storm the city! We might catch the Red Viper himself!"
Samwell had no interest in the Red Viper. He was far more interested in Skyreach's treasury…
The two men, motivated by vastly different goals, came to the same decision.
"Then let's ride!"
---
Skyreach's northern walls had largely fallen to the Crown's forces. The Dornish defenders were being driven back, defeat now all but certain.
The northern gate, under the relentless assault, finally swung open.
After more than twenty days of ceaseless bloodshed, Skyreach lay exposed, vulnerable.
When King Joffrey heard the news, his dour mood vanished, replaced by gloating delight.
"Your Majesty is unmatched in wisdom and might," gushed Mace Tyrell. "The Dornish did well to hold out this long, but in the end, they could not but bow before your majesty."
Resplendent in his armor, Joffrey held his head high, considering what grand speech he might deliver to be immortalized by the maesters.
But before he could, a Dornish envoy was led before him.
"Your Majesty!" The Dornishman prostrated himself, trembling. "We surrender!"
"Is the Red Viper ready to bend the knee?" Joffrey sneered.
"Yes, your Majesty. The Prince of Dorne is willing to submit to your rule. He only begs that you cease the attack and allow him to surrender with dignity."
"Excellent!" Joffrey waved his hand grandly, thrilled by visions of Oberyn Martell kneeling at his feet.
And so, the triumphant young king issued an absurd command.
…
When the horns outside blared a call for retreat, Prince Oberyn Martell could scarcely believe his ears.
Sending out that envoy with false terms had been a desperate bluff. Skyreach was about to fall, and he knew he couldn't hold the city. The plan was merely to buy time for an escape.
He hadn't thought the Crown's army would actually agree to it. Yet they had done far more—they'd even begun pulling back!
Was this some wild stroke of fortune, or were they simply fools?
"Pull back to the walls! Close the gate!" he shouted, his stunned disbelief melting into fierce resolve.
In his tent, the injured Eddard Stark was having his wounds treated by a maester. He hadn't paid much attention to the recent orders, assuming that the siege's end was imminent and the final mop-up straightforward.
But it seemed he'd underestimated King Joffrey.
"What do you mean, retreat?" Stark's commanders crowded around Joffrey, all shouting in protest.
"Lord Mathis, the Red Viper has surrendered, and I am allowing him a measure of dignity," Joffrey replied haughtily.
Mathis Rowan's face turned red with anger. "And you believe the word of a man who poisons his blades? You actually trust a Dornishman's oath?"
"Your Majesty, rescind this order at once, or we'll be too late!"
"We can't let them regroup!"
One by one, the lords pleaded, but Joffrey had lost patience. "Enough! I am king! I've made my decision. Even if it was a ruse, we'll simply attack again."
The lords stared in disbelief.
"Attack again?" muttered one. "As if we haven't lost enough already?"
Rowan, infuriated, stormed away, determined to countermand the retreat order. But by then, it was too late.
The most absurd twist in this siege unfolded as the Crown's forces—who had already taken the walls—disengaged and descended, baffled.
Outside, Joffrey waited smugly for Prince Oberyn's surrender. Instead, he watched, dumbstruck, as the northern gate of Skyreach slammed shut.
The resounding crash felt like a slap across his face.
(End of Chapter)
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