Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 287 Before the Final Battle

Only half a month had passed, and the invisible yet deadly financial noose of the Iron Bank began to reveal its terrifying power. While Rhaegar, far away on the front lines in Harrenhal, was still able to maintain the dignity of his army, King's Landing in the rear had completely fallen into chaos and on the verge of collapse.

The Iron Bank's actions were swift and thorough; they not only froze the royal family's credit but also used their influence across the Narrow Sea to cut off most of the vital supply lines to King's Landing. Almost simultaneously, the Roses of Highgarden quietly abandoned their feigned loyalty and ceased their unpaid grain deliveries to the capital.

These two heavy blows shattered the very foundation upon which King's Landing was maintaining its operation. The astute nobles were the first to flee en masse, taking their valuables and families with them and leaving by boat under cover of night, like rats escaping a sinking ship.

Within the capital, grain prices soared, markets were deserted, and robberies and riots broke out among the poor for a meager meal. Black smoke frequently rose from the slums, and the officials in gold robes were constantly on the move. Despair spread like a plague through the air.

Trapped deep within the Red Fortress, Aerys II, increasingly isolated and driven to madness, could only issue hysterical orders again and again, urging messengers to deliver them swiftly to the northern front: "To Rhaegar! Tell him to attack immediately! Immediately! I order him to finish this swift battle and crush those traitors!"

However, when these orders reached the military camp on the banks of the Trident River, they only deepened the melancholy on Rhaegar's face. Before him stood a formidable enemy, ready for battle, and behind him, a kingdom burning fiercely.

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen halted his horse before the camp, gazing at the distant horizon where Harrenhal's silhouette resembled the massive, grotesque skeleton of a giant. A deep gloom hung over his handsome face, and his violet eyes gleamed with a clear-eyed, pained light.

He knew better than anyone that attacking a city was a dead end leading to destruction.

Harrenhal's walls are the highest and thickest in Westeros.

The last time the allied forces were able to breach the city, it was not due to a direct assault, but largely due to Euron Greyjoy's almost uncanny luck and insight, which led him to find the long-forgotten underground waterway or secret passage from the direction of the Eye of God, thus enabling a surprise attack.

"The same miracle won't happen a second time, and the little sea monster won't leave such an obvious flaw," Rega coldly warned himself. Given the Allied forces' current vigilance, that hidden path must have been completely blocked or heavily guarded.

With both sides roughly equal in strength, forcibly ordering soldiers to carry ladders to attack such a city wall would be tantamount to sending them to their deaths. The construction of siege towers would be protracted, and the defenders' arrows, rolling stones, and hot oil would cause rivers of blood to flow. This would be nothing short of a guaranteed massacre.

Every rational cell in his body warned him against it. But the death knell from King's Landing and from his mad father burned like a red-hot iron against his back. He was trapped between strategic rationality and political madness, caught in a dilemma.

A royal messenger, carrying a banner of peace, delivered a letter bearing the three-headed dragon seal of the Targaryen family into Harrenhal. When the letter was read aloud before the Allied commanders, the entire hall fell into a deathly silence, which was then torn apart by Robert Baratheon's volcanic rage.

The letter reads as follows: "To Robert Baratheon and all the rebel leaders:

I, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, hereby clarify a misunderstanding that has been placed between us. My relationship with Lady Lyanna Stark was not one of kidnapping and coercion, as is widely believed, but rather one of genuine, mutual love and affection. Her choice was of her own volition.

In light of the many misfortunes this has caused, I would like to propose a path to reconciliation:

If you are willing to lay down your weapons, disband your armies, and swear allegiance to my father, King Iris II, all your past acts of rebellion will be forgiven.

To show my sincerity, I also inform you that I have dissolved my marriage to Princess Elia Martell. Once the situation has calmed down, I will formally marry Lyanna Stark.

If you reject this peace proposal and insist on fighting, I will say no more. My army is already arrayed on the banks of the Trident River, awaiting your arrival for a decisive battle.

Finally, regardless of the outcome of this battle, I swear in the name of the Targaryen that after all is over, I will inform the Stark family of Lyanna Stark's exact whereabouts.

Rhaegar Targaryen

This letter was like a boulder thrown into an already turbulent undercurrent. Instead of calming the conflict, it ignited Robert's anger with its self-righteous tone of "clarification" and "blessing," and left Eddard Stark speechless with dismay at the way his sister was mentioned so casually.

The decisive battle is now inevitable.

When the contents of Rhaegar's letter, especially his declaration that Lyanna was "in love" with him and that he had divorced and would marry her, spread among the Allied commanders, the air in the hall seemed to ignite instantly.

Eddard Stark abruptly stood up, his usual composure and silence shattered. His face, ashen as a northern winter, was now taut with extreme rage, every line contorted in fury, his grey eyes filled with an unprecedented, almost tangible coldness and pain. His voice, though not loud, trembled slightly from the overwhelming pressure of his emotions, each word seeming to be carved from a frozen abyss: "The Targaryens—they killed my brother, burned my father! And now, Rhaegar has kidnapped my sister, and dares to tarnish her reputation with such flippant words, continuing to insult the honor that our Stark family has upheld for generations!"

Robert Baratheon's reaction was like a volcanic eruption. He roared, slamming his massive fist onto the oak table before him, cracking the heavy surface. "Lyanna is my fiancée!" he roared, his voice sending dust flying from the beams, his face flushed a deep purple with rage. "That silver-haired bastard! Genuine love?! Mutual affection?! How dare he—how dare he humiliate her like this, humiliate me?!"

Their anger, one cold and one hot, had both reached an unbearable peak, beyond the reach of any rational persuasion. Rhaegar's letter, which he believed clarified the facts, became the final straw, utterly severing any possibility of peace. At this moment, only the waters of the Trident River could wash away this deep-seated hatred and humiliation.

Lord Jon Arryn sighed deeply, a sigh heavy with the weight of the inevitable bloodshed, yet also with a resolute determination to end it all. His aged but resolute gaze swept across the winding river on the map, finally landing heavily on a shallow bend in the river: "Then—let us have the final battle with Rhaegar on this very bend of the Trident River. It is fate's will."

Euron Greyjoy's eyes flashed with a bloodthirsty glint as he continued, "Ultimately, a battle will be needed to settle the score. And a direct defeat of the royal army's main force on the open riverbanks will, more than any conspiracy or trickery, make the Seven Kingdoms see reality clearly and understand who the true rulers of this land are. This will be the most direct declaration of power."

"Very well!" Robert Baratheon roared, his massive body trembling slightly with surging battle lust, his eyes burning with the flames of vengeance and liberation. "Tomorrow! We'll march the entire army to the Trident! I will fight him to the death!"

At this moment, strategic hesitation and political calculations were cast aside, and only one path remained—to write a new history of Westeros with steel and blood, amidst the flowing waters of the Trident River.