Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 260 The Tower of Joy – Lyanna Stark

Robert Baratheon stood atop the battlements of Storm's End, his powerful frame trembling slightly with suppressed rage.

The fighting spirit surging within him was like the thunderclouds gathering over Shipwrecked Bay in the height of summer—suffocating, scorching, and ready to explode at any moment. Robert longed to mount his warhorse right then and there, to charge alone along the Kingsroad toward King's Landing, to smash the damned iron gates of the Red Keep to pieces with his warhammer, "Robert's Wrath," and to drag Aerys from that twisted throne!

Then hammer after hammer after hammer—until Aerys, that mad king, was smashed into a pulp!

And Rega too!

However, the cruel logic of war poured ice water on his pure anger. He was no longer just an angry young man seeking revenge for his fiancée and allies; he was the Duke of Stormlands, the commander of thousands of soldiers.

Now, he needed to effectively assemble the armies of the various powerful families who had just submitted to the land and harbored different ambitions, unify their commands, reorganize and train them, and also procure enough provisions to sustain a major battle—all of this required time, a great deal of time. This tedious yet crucial process, like an invisible rein, tightly restrained his stag-like desire to charge, forcing him to suppress his burning thirst for immediate revenge and temporarily halt his thunderous advance.

Inside the chilly council chamber of Storm's End, a sea breeze swirled in through the open windows, ruffling the hem of Euron's black robes. He stood before a massive map, his fingertips tracing the area representing the Green Fork River and the Neck Marsh.

"Robert, take some time to thoroughly reorganize Stormlands and firmly grasp the newly allied vassals," Euron said to Robert, who was pacing anxiously. "My army and Oberyn's army will advance ahead of you and head straight for Riverrun."

Robert abruptly stopped, his brow furrowed. "Won't you join forces with me and advance eastward together?"

Euron let out a low chuckle and shook his head. "I have to go and meet Eddard's Northern army. I'm worried they won't be able to get through the Twins smoothly."

"Lihe City?" Robert's brow furrowed even deeper. "That opportunist, old Walder Frey?"

"Exactly." A ruthless glint flashed in Euron's eyes as he coldly said, "The Frey family has always been two-faced and may not be willing to open the city gates to the Northern army. Coincidentally, I have some old grudges with old Wald." His fingers unconsciously rubbed the hilt of his sword. "If that old bastard dares to cause trouble, I don't mind sending his whole family to meet strangers ahead of time."

Robert was taken aback for a moment, then burst into a loud laugh that made the beams rustle: "Then I really have to pray that old Frey knows what's good for him! Alright, that's settled then, we'll meet at Harrenhal!"

Before departing, Euron turned back and instructed, "As for the Tyrell family of Highgarden, you don't need to worry about them. They probably won't launch an attack. Be especially careful of their commander, Randyll Tarly. He's no ordinary man; he's a master strategist. Also, remember to avoid King's Landing on your marching route to prevent them from picking you off one by one, just like our tactics at Summerhall."

Robert laughed heartily and patted Euron's shoulder armor heavily: "Don't worry, once I've finished reorganizing, I'll show them what true military genius looks like!"

Euron smiled and stopped trying to persuade him, hoping that Robert wouldn't act rashly and cause trouble for the Tyrells.

The next day, seagulls circled and cried outside the castle, and the two armies parted ways in the morning mist.

Euron Greyjoy's Ironborn fleet and Prince Oberyn Martell's Dornish army departed Storm's End.

The two armies, with their distinct styles yet equally efficient, converged like a surging torrent. Following their established strategy, they marched north toward Riverrun, the heart of the Riverlands, to join the Tully army there and await news from the North.

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, who ignited the war that swept through the Seven Kingdoms, was far removed from power and the flames of war at this moment.

As always, he chose to escape.

In the remote, desolate frontier of Dorne, at Prince's Pass, stands the ancient castle known as the Tower of Joy, a lonely structure like a dream forgotten by the world.

Here, there is no gloom of King's Landing, no clamor of war, only red sand, blazing sun, and each other.

In a room high up in the tower, Lyanna Stark nestled in Rhaegar's arms. Sunlight streamed through the high window, illuminating her slightly melancholic face. She murmured softly, her voice tinged with a girlish capriciousness tinged with a sudden, uneasy anxiety: "My father and brother—Brandon, with his fiery temper—must be furious right now, knowing I'm just going to ignore this..."

Gu Di went with you —

Rhaegar's arm stiffened slightly, and his purple eyes, which often revealed melancholy and poetic reverie, dimmed a little as he quickly avoided Lyanna's self-sunlight.

The terrible news from King's Landing—the tragic deaths of her father and brothers, and the all-out war that had broken out because of them—was like a burning brand, deeply buried in his heart. He dared not, and could not, utter a single word to the woman he loved so deeply before him.

He could only transform this heavy unease and guilt into a deeper silence and embrace. In Lyanna's still-flat belly, the fruit of their love was already growing, a secret that was quietly developing.

A child, perhaps, in some ancient prophecy, called the "Savior".

Sir Jero Hightower's footsteps broke the tranquility high above the Tower of Joy.

He stood at the doorway, silent, but cast a heavy, unspoken glance at Prince Réga.

That gaze seemed to pierce through the warm bubble, bringing the cold weight of the outside world. Prince Rhaegar instantly understood; a fleeting, almost imperceptible pain flashed in his violet eyes. He then gently comforted Lyanna, draped a light blanket over her, and rose to follow Gerald out of the room.

In the shadows of the stone corridor, Gerald Hightower's voice was low and stern: "News has arrived from King's Landing, Your Highness. The situation is urgent, and you are needed to return to oversee the situation and lead the army. After all, the origin of this war—" He didn't finish his sentence, but the implication was clear.

Rhaegar glanced back in the direction of Lyanna's room, his eyes filled with struggle and reluctance. He was silent for a moment, then finally said softly, "I will go back, Geralt, I promise you. But not now—please give me a little more time, I want to—spend more time with her."

After saying that, without waiting for Jero's response, he turned around and went back into the room that was filled with sunshine and love.

A moment later, a beautiful yet slightly melancholic harp melody flowed out from inside the door, as if trying to build a barrier to isolate oneself from the world and temporarily block out the cruel reality.

Gero Hightower stood there, listening to the escapist piano music, and could only let out a helpless sigh. He turned and walked down the spiral staircase, exiting through the gates of the Tower of Bliss.

Under the scorching sunlight outside, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Dawn, and Ser Oswell Hoan waited silently.

Jero exchanged a glance with them, said nothing, and simply shook his head heavily.

The same shadow fell over the faces of the three most outstanding knights in the world: a sense of powerlessness against fate and deep concern for a prince who had chosen to indulge in a sweet dream.