Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 303 Tower of Bliss

As the first rays of dawn pierced the night sky over the Dornish frontier, Euron, Eddard, and Oberyn set off from Nightsong and galloped south along the Prince's Pass.

The horses kicked up red dust as the three silently traversed the increasingly desolate and rugged terrain.

As the sun rose higher, its scorching rays poured down without any obstruction, baking the sandy ground to a scorching heat. When the sun reached its zenith, at the hottest time of the day, the legendary tower finally appeared on the horizon.

At the northernmost point of the Crimson Mountains, atop the highest point of Prince's Pass, stands the Tower of Bliss, a solitary structure. An ancient round tower, built of pale red sandstone, it gleams under the scorching sun like a silent sentinel burning quietly in a sea of ​​sand. Though not particularly tall, it occupies a strategic position, overlooking the vital passage leading to the heart of Dorne.

The sound of horses' hooves shattering the silence of the desert carried along the scorching air to the top of the tower.

On the round tower, the three white-robed knights—Gero Hightower, Arthur Dayne, and Oswell Hoan—turned almost simultaneously toward the source of the voice. They exchanged glances, understanding the identity and significance of the newcomer without a word.

Without hesitation, the three Imperial Guards turned and descended the spiral stone steps. Their heavy white robes stirred up dust in the dimly lit tower, and their armor made a heavy, rhythmic metallic scraping sound with each step. When the heavy wooden door at the bottom of the tower was pushed open, the dazzling sunlight instantly swallowed their figures.

Instead of staying inside the tower, they walked straight out and stood side by side before the only entrance to the Tower of Bliss, like an insurmountable white barrier, silently awaiting the arrival of the three uninvited guests. Red sand spread beneath their feet, the blazing sun stretched their shadows long, and the air was filled with a deathly stillness, as if an impending mountain rain was brewing.

The long, narrow shadow cast by the Tower of Joy stretched across the red sand like a boundary line. Eddard Stark reined in his horse, his gaze sweeping over the three white-robed knights before him, his voice carrying the coldness and bewilderment characteristic of the North: "I did not see you on the battlefield of the Trident River."

"We're not there," Sir Jero Hightower replied calmly, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

Ser Oswell Heaney snorted, a hint of lingering fighting spirit in his voice: "If we were here, the outcome might have been different."

Ned did not dwell on this, but instead mentioned another, deeper betrayal: "When King's Landing fell, and Ser Jaime pierced King Aerys' throat with his golden sword, you were not there either."

This time, Ser Geralt took a small step forward, his white robes fluttering in the warm breeze. His voice remained steady, yet it carried an undeniable firmness: "We are here only because we are here on Prince Rhaegar's orders to protect Lady Lyanna." He paused, his gaze sharpening, "Otherwise, King Aerys might still be sitting on the Iron Throne, while our brother who broke his oath would have already fallen into the sevenfold depths of hell."

As the words fell, a silence enveloped everyone. The three Royal Guards stood tall and straight like rocks under the blazing sun, but in their eyes, a deep sorrow and resentment were barely concealed—for the king they had failed to protect, for their tarnished vows, and for this incompatible fate.

Euron Greyjoy's voice broke the silence, carrying an almost cruel realism: "Even if you were at the Trident, you couldn't have changed the outcome of this war. Aerys had already lost the hearts of the people and was unworthy to be king. As for Rhaegar—" He paused, "he may have been a noble knight, but his indecisive nature destined him to be an incapable ruler."

He continued stating the cold, hard facts, each word like a hammer blow to the hearts of the three knights: "Now, the Mad King is dead, and Rhaegar has fallen. Queen Rhaegar and her remaining children are trapped on Dragonstone. Tywin Lannister tricked the gates of King's Landing open, and the city has been sacked. Tyrell of Highgarden and Redwyn of Greentree have knelt before the new king, and their knights have sworn allegiance. The Seven Kingdoms are united, and the war—is over."

Eddard Stark then spoke, his tone relatively gentle, attempting to offer a way out: "Ser William Darryl, with your Queen and Prince Viserys, is currently at Dragonstone. If you choose to go there to join them, I swear on my honor that I will not stand in your way."

"Sir William is commendable for his loyalty and courage," Sir Oswell acknowledged in a deep voice.

But Ser Gerald Hightower slowly shook his head, his voice filled with unwavering conviction: "But he is not a Kingsguard. Kingsguard never desert in times of danger." His gaze swept over his two colleagues, finally settling on Eddard's face, "and he will never forget the final mission he bears."

“So it was then,” Sir Arthur Dayne replied calmly, as he slowly put on his iconic helmet. “And it is now.” The helmet obscured his face, leaving only a resolute gaze.

Sir Jerro concluded, as if adding a footnote to their steadfastness: "We swore an oath." He paused, a profound sense of destiny in his voice, "and we are still alive only because this oath has not yet been fulfilled."

Euron stepped forward, the scorching desert wind whipping at the hem of his black robes. His question pierced the heart like a dagger: "Edward Stark is Lyanna's only blood relative in this world. Rhaegar is dead; the most reasonable and correct outcome is for him to take his sister back to Winterfell, or to fulfill his engagement to Robert. What is the point of your obstruction now?"

Sir Arthur Dayne's gaze pierced through the visor of his helmet, calm and profound: "Perhaps that's true for you, and for many others. But for us, it's not."

"Then what exactly are you still insisting on?" Euron's voice carried a hint of bewildered mockery.

Ser Arthur's hand rested lightly on the hilt of "Dawn," his voice still steady, yet imbued with an iron will: "We missed the Trident, we missed King's Landing. We failed to protect the King we swore to protect—an indelible shame." He paused, each word carrying immense weight, "But at the very least, we must uphold and complete the final task Prince Rhaegar entrusted to the three of us. This is the last vestige of dignity for the Kingsguard."

Euron almost laughed out loud: "So, you just stay here in this desolate tower?"

"Yes." Sir Arthur's answer was a single word, yet it stood as steadfastly as the tower itself atop the red sand.

Ned Stark gripped the hilt of "Ice" tightly, his knuckles white from the force. He took a step forward, his voice hoarse with suppressed anxiety and fear: "My sister, Lyanna—where is she?"

Ser Arthur Dayne slowly raised his hand, pointing to the top of the towering round tower. "Up there," his voice came through his helmet, eerily calm. "Come, defeat us, and you will see her."

He drew the legendary greatsword "Dawn" with a backhand motion. As he raised the sword high above his head, its pale, jade-like blade seemed to absorb the scorching sunlight, gleaming with a mysterious luster like milky white glass. The blade appeared to pulsate slightly in the light, as if it contained an immortal life.

"Then," Sir Arthur's voice proclaimed, "it all begins here."

Ned closed his eyes in anguish, then snapped them open again, his grey eyes filled with an unbearable sorrow. He replied in a low, resolute voice, "No. It will all end here."

The hot desert wind swept by, casting long shadows of confrontation across the red sand, as if time itself had frozen in that moment.