Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 250 The War of the Usurpers - Beginning

The festive atmosphere of Riverrun's wedding preparations has been completely swept away by the cold, devastating news from King's Landing, replaced by a somber and mournful atmosphere that pervades the entire city.

Duke Horst Tully's face was ashen as he issued orders one after another. The footsteps of the soldiers patrolling the battlements grew more frequent, and the drawbridge in front of the moat was being repeatedly inspected. Riverrun had entered a state of full-scale preparation for war.

The horrific details from King's Landing were enough to chill any lord to the bone: Duke Rickard was burned alive by wildfire, and Brandon was tortured to death. Then came the Mad King's insane execution order, like another dagger pressed against his throat.

At the other end of the corridor, Catelyn Tully stood silently by the window, shrouded in the heavy shadow of an unmarried widow. The token that had once symbolized their vows was cold as iron, yet it seemed to still retain the warmth of Brandon Stark's departure. Now, the warmth had dissipated, leaving only the devastating news and boundless grief.

Young Eddard Stark endured unimaginable pain. In a single day, he lost both his father and brother. The sudden inheritance of the title of Duke of Winterfell felt more like a cruel joke and the most merciless irony of fate than an honor.

Young Eddard's eyes were bloodshot, like a trapped direwolf, as he repeatedly rammed the door. Had Lord Horst Tully not foreseen this and ordered him locked inside with guards watching over him closely, he would have already ridden out of Riverrun alone and rushed to King's Landing, ready to risk his life to avenge his father and brother.

Just when things were getting really troubling, another family scandal completely ignited Lord Horst's fury. When he learned that his second daughter Lysa had been having an affair with Petyr Baelish, the lowly boy he had kindly taken in, he was enraged and ordered the audacious young man to be banished from Riverrun without hesitation.

With a cold, hard order, a few strong guards escorted the still-recovering Petyr onto a ship and sent him back to his remote and impoverished home on Finger Island, as if erasing a stain of disgrace.

In the midst of chaos, Hoster Tully displayed the ruthlessness and decisiveness befitting a lord. Without the slightest hesitation, he decisively announced two marriages that would reshape the course of the Seven Kingdoms:

First, the new heir to the North, Eddard Stark, will immediately marry his eldest daughter, Catelyn Tully, in place of his deceased brother.

This was not only to comfort Eddard, who had just suffered immense pain, but also to quickly and firmly re-establish the alliance between Riverrun and Winterfell that had been nearly severed by Brandon's death.

Secondly, almost simultaneously, he announced that his second daughter, Lysa, who had just brought shame to the family due to a scandal, would be betrothed to Jon Arryn, the Warden of the Vale, who had just lost his heir, Albert Arryn. This was not only the most direct "punishment" of Lysa's behavior, sending her to a distant and prestigious home, but also a significant political investment, tightly binding the Tully family to the core of the gathering rebellion.

The weddings were symbolically scheduled for just ten days later, and the venue was chosen to be the Eyrie, a formidable stronghold symbolizing a new beginning. These two hasty weddings, like the urgent bugle calls before the sounding of war drums, foreshadowed the rapidly descent of the Seven Kingdoms' fates into an unknown abyss.

When news of Rickard Stark and Brandon's tragic deaths in King's Landing reached the Iron Islands on the salty sea breeze, Euron Greyjoy stood atop the cliffs of Pyke, gazing at the turbulent Sunset Sea.

"What a pity—" Euron muttered to himself, his voice fading into the sea breeze, "The wolf has been so humiliated by the Mad King—perhaps this is fate."

The sigh didn't reveal much surprise, but rather a slight pity for the sudden change. But then, the surprise was replaced by a cold, sharp glint.

The time is ripe.

Euron turned and walked towards the massive, dark mass of Ironborn soldiers below. Three thousand warriors were already itching to fight; their axes and armor gleamed with a bloodthirsty light in the twilight. Euron ascended to the higher ground, and without a word, all the clamor instantly subsided, every pair of eyes fixed intently on him alone.

"The time has come!" His voice wasn't loud, but it was like the low growl of a sea monster, clearly delivering each word to the Iron People's ears, igniting the long-suppressed wildfire within them. "Take up your axes, hoist our sails—let's set sail!"

He waved his arm, pointing directly at the hazy outline of the eastern continent.

"Target—Eagle's Nest!"

In an instant, roars and shouts exploded like thunder, countless battle axes clashing against shields, echoing their leader. The Iron Fleet's longships, like a swarm of sharks smelling blood, began to surge, poised to pounce on the bountiful land they had long coveted.

The storm raged. Within the towering walls of Storm's End, Robert Baratheon's fury manifested as deafening war drums and a torrent of steel. He smashed almost everything in the room he could, then poured all his burning rage into the preparations for war.

The knights and soldiers of the Stormlands quickly assembled, led by their duke, a stag enraged by the humiliation of his fiancée and the tragic death of his best friend. Like a storm cloud carrying thunder, they marched out of the castle and headed towards the valley and the Eyrie to join Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark.

A disturbing silence hung over Casterly Rock in the Westerlands. Lord Tywin Lannister sat on his gold-mining throne, having yet to utter a word about the upheavals in King's Landing and the turmoil that gripped the land, nor had he mobilized a single soldier.

The enormous golden lion seemed lost in thought, coldly observing everything from the shadows, its calm surface concealing its true intentions.

In Highgarden in the South, the Tyrell castle still exudes a sweet, floral, and boisterous atmosphere. Rumors of their close ties with the King's Landing royal family are rampant, and they seem to be carefully treading a tightrope between loyalty and self-interest, their true intentions obscured by layers of rose petals.

Dorne, the scorching sun baking the red sands. Prince Oberyn Martell, the fiery "Red Viper," has already raised his spear of vengeance. He personally leads three thousand of Dorne's elite warriors, these lightly armed and agile sand warriors who, like venomous snakes, stealthily navigate the treacherous Bone Road, rapidly advancing towards Summerhall, determined to reclaim Dorne's glory and pay the price of blood in the impending storm.

Within the Red Keep of King's Landing, an atmosphere of gloom and madness was almost suffocating. Aerys II, perched atop the Twisted Iron Throne, had his pale fingers deeply embedded in the cold blade of a sword, as if only in this way could he suppress the boiling rage and obsession within him. A morbid flame burned in his eyes, convinced he was surrounded by countless traitors and conspiracies.

A decree bearing the sigil of House Dragona was issued from the Red Keep, carried by messengers and ravens to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, reaching the hands of every noble. The words in the decree were like poisoned icicles, filled with the king's roar and curses: "In the name of Aerys II Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I hereby declare: Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie; Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell; and Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, all are traitors who have broken their oaths and rebelled! Their crimes are countless and their hearts deserving of vengeance!"

"By order of the King, all vassals loyal to the Iron Throne, whether in the Riverlands, the Westerlands, the South, or Dorne, must, upon receiving this order, immediately raise an army to punish the traitors! Annihilate these three and their followers, and let their heads prove your loyalty to the throne! Anyone who hesitates, observes, or colludes with them will be punished as an equal and will bear the wrath of the true dragon!"

This is not a call to action, but an ultimatum.

It crashed like a boulder into an already turbulent lake, forcing the wolves, deer, fish, lions, sea monsters, roses, sun, and eagles of Westeros to make their final choices in the impending storm.

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