Eagle of the Valley of Ice and Fire.

Chapter 342 Internal and external cooperation
Lawrence, panting heavily, leaned against the well. With a "thud," the broken dagger at his waist fell into the well, its tip leaving intermittent white marks on the well wall.

He braced his arms on the edge of the well, staring blankly at the water at the bottom. In the splashes and ripples, he saw his own pale and unfamiliar face.

“Reckless!” his comrade in the garrison scolded, sheathing his sword, Gilbert Farin’s sword.

The servant Lawrence was still staring at the bottom of the well, "I killed Lord Farin..."

My colleague's eyebrows were sharp, like daggers dropped into a well.

His name was Sumner, or more commonly known by his nickname "Steel Eyebrow," and he was a highly respected figure in the Storm's End garrison, the longest-serving veteran in the unit.

Sumner, the "Steelbrow," scoffed. "We're accomplices, but Gilbert can no longer be the 'master' of the garrison. Don't get me wrong." He walked behind Lawrence, grabbed his sweat-drenched hair, and their eyes met. "Stormbrokeshire is the main stronghold of House Baratheon. King Robert drove out the Mad King, and the Mad King's lingering dragon cubs, along with a bunch of mercenary barbarians, think they can come to Westeros and pretend to be masters? Dream on!"

Lawrence breathed heavily, and the heavy weight in his heart gradually sank to the bottom as the ripples in the well subsided.

"Rest assured, looking at these fluttering Targaryen banners, anger and shame will bring you peace."

As Sumner finished speaking, Lawrence looked up at the Targaryen banners fluttering atop Storm's End in the distance. At first glance, he was somewhat dazed, almost mistaking those ferocious dragon heads for noble antlers, but the wind from the city walls dispelled his dazed state.

“Yes,” he murmured to himself, “I am innocent, I am innocent, I…I am innocent…”

Gilbert's sallow, swollen face resurfaced in his mind.

"What's going on?" The garrison soldiers, who had been silent all along, frowned and pointed into the distance.

Lawrence looked in the direction of the library.

The twinkling stars fluttered in the distant sky.

Hot and dangerous.

It was a dazzling firelight.

“Interesting…” Sumner drew his sword.

Lawrence's eyes flashed with panic as he looked at Sumner: "'Steel Eyebrow' boss, we're on fire..."

Sumner exhaled, the chill dissipating from his lips. "A fire at this time... the library..."

Lawrence suddenly remembered something and asked urgently, "Where are the rest of the garrison?"

Sumner raised his "steel eyebrows". "Under my orders, everyone is resting in the barracks."

"Not on duty?" Lawrence asked.

Sumner chuckled. "Little Lawrence, you really need to be given a good talking to by the dragon's flames. We're here to take the city, and we don't have many troops yet. Why should we spread our forces around?"

Lawrence stood there dumbfounded: "'Steel Eyebrow' boss? You..."

Sumner did not respond, but turned to look at the library tower in the distance. "Something is amiss. Tell everyone not to make any rash moves."

……

Outside Storm's End, on one side lies a flat area covered by dense thickets. Large swathes of thicket closer to the castle had long been cleared, becoming farmland for Storm's End's attempt at self-sufficiency. Although Storm's End still relies on imports and storage, these fields were abandoned during the war and overrun by clumps of wild grass. On the other side are rugged cliffs, with many unpredictable precipices hidden in the gaps, making it a place inaccessible to ordinary soldiers and horses.

Windbreak Fortress hangs precariously atop a high cliff, and looking up at it requires divine power to overcome.

Even through leather gloves, the scouts could still feel the sharp, jagged rocks stinging their palms.

He climbed the rock and saw faint firelight in the distance.

"Pah!" He spat inwardly and quickly turned to go down the slope. The stench of blood had not yet dissipated. The makeshift outpost set up by the Golden Gang here had been silently taken down. Four corpses lay sprawled on the ground, with a spilled wine jug beside them.

"Let's celebrate! Let's keep celebrating!" the scout thought, and quickly moved deeper into the bushes behind him.

The bushes were neither too shallow nor too deep, and beneath the dappled shadows, an army gradually came into view, appearing clearly in the scouts' line of sight.

He let out a long sigh, clenched his fist with one hand, and uttered the word: "Down."

The sound of bowstrings slackening came from both sides, and the archers positioned around the bushes stepped out, watching the returning scouts.

Are there sentries and scouts around the castle?

"Only drunkards and gamblers."

The archer nodded and led the scouts into the camp.

Fireflies twinkled in the bushes, dotting the dark military camp like stars. After crossing a small earthen mound, they finally saw the light of torches, and well-trained warhorses were in the clearing behind the mound.

The banner of House Arryn flies here.

The scouts saw many familiar faces returning to camp from various places, and the sent-down scouts were returning one after another, all converging on the central command.

"Lord Hatton..."

Harold Hatton sat on the fallen tree stump, his longsword pressed against the ground, surrounded by a group of scouts.

The scout stepped forward and reported his situation.

Harold Hatton drew his sword. "We've wasted too much time. Inform the entire battalion to break camp and attack."

"Yes!" everyone answered in unison.

……

The night was deep, deeper than ever before. Harry Strickland, his hands bound and face flushed purple, stared incredulously at the Arryn family soldiers around him, exclaiming, "How could the city gates have fallen so quickly? The Golden Company's troops are there, the elite of Storm's End's garrison are there too! Even if you were working together from the inside, you..."

Barristan looked at Harold Hatton, his eyes searching for an answer.

Harold Hatton looked at Barristan, his expression calm: "I didn't find any garrison, just a bunch of drunken Golden Company mercenaries trying to take credit. With the elite troops that Sir Barristan brought, controlling the city walls won't be a problem."

Harry Strickland's head slumped, his face ashen. "As expected, the Westeros are helping the Westeros. I should have known. That damned Gilbert Farin must have been in contact with you all and betrayed us long ago..."

Harold scoffed, "Fools don't distinguish between East and West," and with a swift kick, he sent Harry Strickland sprawling to the ground. "If these Stannis loyalists in the garrison defected to us, would you even have a chance to land? Would we still have any reason to risk entering the castle? Take these Golden Company misers to the dungeons!"

Upon hearing the order, several guards stepped forward and dragged away the commander of the Gold Regiment.

Harold Hatton turned to Barristan: "My scouts have spotted an army west of Storm's End. They're moving fast, and they're carrying the banner of the Golden Company."

Barristan looked around. "Fortunately," he sheathed his sword, "we're faster."

"The garrison hasn't found them yet. Once our men are rotated to every part of Storm's End, we'll definitely find them."

"Did you search the barracks, that bright and airy room in Storm's End?" Barristan asked.

Harold Hatton said gravely, “I’m going to lead the search myself.”

“Don’t rush,” Barristan interrupted, “something’s fishy. They’ve essentially given us permission to enter the city. This Gilbert Farin is a bit strange…”

(End of this chapter)