Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 290 The Siege of Windbreak Fortress

The smoke of the Battle of the Trident had not yet completely dissipated, but the news of Rhaegar Targaryen's death had already spread like a winged raven, flying over mountains and rivers, reaching the ears of every noble in the Seven Kingdoms.

The long-standing chaos seemed to be split open by a lightning bolt, suddenly becoming clear and distinct.

Prior to this, although the rebel army was gaining momentum, its future was still shrouded in uncertainty in the face of the powerful royal family.

Now, everything is different.

The Crown Prince and Supreme Commander died in battle, the main force of the royal army collapsed, and the Kingsguard were either killed or captured. The sharpest claws of the Targaryen dynasty have been completely removed.

The allied forces had gained an overwhelming advantage, their advance aimed directly at King's Landing. The Iron Throne was within reach, and it seemed that with just a gentle push, the dynasty that had ruled the Seven Kingdoms for nearly three hundred years would crumble. The dawn of victory had never shone so clearly on the banners of Robert Baratheon and his allies.

They were truly only one step away from ultimate victory—the fall of King's Landing and the end of the Mad King's reign. All of Westeros held its breath, awaiting the tolling of the death knell for the old era and the dawn of a new one.

Upon receiving the secret order from Euron Greyjoy from Harrenhal, Davos immediately set sail from his temporary base—a secluded harbor on the Stepstone Islands.

He was not commanding a warship, but merely a seemingly ordinary merchant ship with a deep draft, its hold filled with the food urgently needed by the garrison of Storm's End.

The ship sailed alone on the azure waters of Shipwreck Cove, seemingly inconspicuous. But atop its mainmast flew a formidable flag—the golden kraken flag of the Greyjoy family.

When the flag came into view of the Highgarden fleet patrol ships, an invisible tension gripped the calm sea. Lookouts sounded urgent alarms, and horns blared between the ships. The Tyrell warships, which had been on routine patrol, quickly adjusted their sails and, like a startled swarm of bees, began to surround the lone vessel.

The captains nervously issued orders, and the sailors and soldiers on deck quickly took their positions. Their orders were to blockade Storm's End, and the sudden appearance of the golden sea monster flag was undoubtedly a strong and dangerous signal—the Iron Islands forces had officially intervened in the siege.

Davos stood at the bow, gazing at the Highgarden fleet beginning to assemble in the distance, his face bearing the usual cautious expression. He knew all too well that this flag was more intimidating than any weapon, and that his voyage ahead was still fraught with unknown risks.

The atmosphere on the deck of the Highgarden fleet's flagship was as heavy as iron.

Lord Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South, stood tall, trying to maintain his dignity in front of the seemingly ordinary smuggler, even though the golden krait flag on the other's ship made him feel uneasy.

Davos, neither humble nor arrogant, calmly stated his purpose: "Lord Tyrell, I am here on behalf of Lord Euron Greyjoy of the Iron Islands to deliver this shipment of grain to the soldiers in Storm's End."

Upon hearing this, Duke Metz's plump face immediately contorted with anger and displeasure: "Send grain? What time is it? This is war! How dare you openly declare in my presence that you are aiding the enemy?!"

“My lord, this is not aiding the enemy,” Davos’ tone remained calm, yet carried an undeniable authority, “it is simply that we cannot bear to watch thousands of soldiers and civilians in Storm’s End starve to death. This is an act of humanity.”

"Hmph, silver tongue! Isn't this aiding the enemy?" Mace's voice rose eight octaves.

Davos leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening, his voice lower yet more penetrating: "My lord, your siege without attacking is wise; it spares the lives of Highgarden's soldiers from dying in a war that has no direct stake for Highgarden. But consider this: Rhaegar is dead, and the Allied victory is assured. Stannis Baratheon is Robert's brother. If he ultimately starves to death at Storm's End not because of defeat, but because of your siege—what wrath will Highgarden face when Robert ascends the Iron Throne? It will be another unavoidable war."

These words pinpointed Mace's greatest concern. He couldn't help but recall his mother, Lady Olenna's, strict order: "Surround, but do not attack." He had never been authorized to starve Stannis.

Just then, Lord Parker Redwin of Greenhill Island, also a key commander of the fleet, leaned close to Mace's ear and urgently advised in a very low voice: "Mace, do not fight the sea monsters at sea. That is their territory. The battle of the Steps has proven their dominance over the sea. Moreover, the old lady has repeatedly instructed us to only besiege and not attack, meaning we should not increase the bloodshed, especially Stannis must not die at our hands. Let him pass and transport the supplies into Storm's End. This is politics, not the time to act rashly."

Mace Tyrell's expression shifted rapidly, his mind churning between pride, fear, and reason. Finally, he let out a heavy snort, a mixture of resentment and relief in his voice, and waved his hand: "Get out! Just this once! If I ever see your ship flying that damned flag in these waters again, I'll sink it!"

Davos bowed slightly, said no more, and calmly directed his small boat toward the long-besieged, isolated city.

Storm's End was now a desolate city, ravaged by hunger. After dozens of days without food, everything edible in the castle had been consumed. First came the stored grain, then the warhorses, their once-agile companions; then the hounds, their last remaining watchdogs; and finally, even the rats in the dark corners became rare prey. The garrison and the remaining civilians were all emaciated, their eyes sunken, clinging to life only by sheer willpower and unwavering trust in Lord Stannis.

When Davos Seaworth's ship was allowed to dock and sacks of grain were carried into the castle, even Stannis Baratheon, known for his hardened heart, couldn't help but tremble slightly. He stretched out his bony, slightly pale hand, grabbed a handful of grains, and found the firm texture almost unbelievable. He looked at Davos, his eyes flashing with a complex light—gratitude mixed with immense relief at having escaped a desperate situation.

The soldiers in the castle regarded Davos as a savior sent by the Seven Gods. They gathered weakly together, and when they saw the food, their eyes regained their vitality.

Davos, meeting Stannis's gaze, simply bowed calmly, his tone as pragmatic as ever: "Lord Stannis, this is merely an order from Lord Euron Greyjoy. Please, you and your men, bear with us a little longer; Rhaegar is now dead—"

"Rega is dead?!"

Stannis abruptly interrupted him, his sunken eyes, dulled by hunger and exhaustion, widening instantly and fixing a sharp gaze on Davos. He was trapped in this isolated castle, cut off from the world, completely unaware of the upheavals happening outside.

Davos nodded firmly: "Yes, sir. Lord Robert personally defeated and killed him at the Trident River."

The war is about to end.

This news shocked Stannis even more than the ship full of grain. He froze for a moment, then whirled around, and with all his might, roared the loudest, most hopeful cry he had uttered since his capture, to the equally shocked soldiers gathered around him: "Did you hear that?! Rhaegar Targaryen is dead! Our allied forces are about to achieve final victory!"

This cry was like igniting the last powder keg. In an instant, the despair, pain, and resilience that had been building up for months transformed into a deafening, soul-stirring roar, erupting from the mouths of every soldier and civilian still standing in Windbreak Castle, its sound shaking the heavens! This long-suffering castle had finally seen the dawn of hope.