Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 307 Life Must Go On

Ashara Dayne, carrying a small baby wrapped in soft fabric, descended the Tower of Bliss with heavy steps.

Her face was still streaked with tears, but her eyes held an unwavering determination as she walked straight toward the men below the tower who had just survived a life-or-death battle.

She approached Eddard Stark, who still held Lyanna's body like a statue, his eyes vacant. Ashara carefully handed him the swaddling clothes. Eddard stiffly lowered his head, staring at the bundle. After a long while, he finally sat down on the ground. Lyanna was still in his arms, but he freed his other arm and, with an extremely clumsy yet incredibly gentle gesture, took the infant—his sister's only remaining bloodline.

The newborn's warmth, faintly transmitted through the fabric, formed a cruel contrast with the gradually cooling body of his younger sister in his arms.

Then Ashara walked toward Oberyn. Prince Dorne immediately rested his spear gently against the tower wall, stretched out his hands, and even subconsciously wiped non-existent dust from his palms on his red robe before solemnly taking the infant. He looked at the wrinkled little face in his arms, a complex and indescribable emotion flashing in his narrow eyes.

Euron Greyjoy glanced at the swaddling clothes offered to him, his brow twitching almost imperceptibly. He sheathed his twin swords and, in turn, reached out to take the child. His movements were anything but gentle, yet remarkably steady, as if he were cradling something extremely important yet utterly out of character for him.

Finally, Ashara's gaze fell upon the three Kingsguard guards who looked utterly dejected, and she walked toward them.

Jero, Arthur, and Oswell gazed at the newborn life, and a crack seemed to appear in the deathly stillness of their eyes. No one spoke; they all silently, even somewhat hastily, put down their weapons, instinctively wiping away any blood or sand that might have stained their hands, before taking turns, with the gentlest of movements, briefly receiving and passing the baby from Asara's arms.

At that moment, there was no fighting, no hatred.

Only the desert wind blows, and a pure new life completes a silent pilgrimage in hands that were once stained with blood but are now trying their best to be gentle.

Eddard Stark slumped onto the scorching red sand, as if every bone in his body had been removed. He still held Lyanna's cold body tightly in his arms, using his chest to shield her from the blazing desert winds, though it was all in vain.

He remained silent, like an abandoned rock. His usually stern Northern face was now blank, utterly shattered by immense grief. He raised his head blankly, gazing at the relentless sun in the sky, its piercing rays striking his grey-blue eyes.

He seemed oblivious to the burning pain, or perhaps the external sting was nothing compared to the inner agony. Only the overwhelming light relentlessly irritated his already aching eyes. Two streams of scalding tears finally broke through his facade of strength, silently and continuously sliding down his sand- and blood-stained cheeks. They dripped onto Lyanna's pale forehead, onto her blood-soaked clothes, and onto the red sand beneath his feet, a witness to countless vows and betrayals.

He sat there, head tilted back, letting tears stream down his face, as if he were waging a silent, desperate protest against the indifferent sun.

The silence beneath the Tower of Bliss was as heavy as a physical entity.

The silence was broken by Ashara Dayne's suppressed sobs. She turned to Euron beside her, buried her face in his hard chest, her shoulders trembling violently, and wept bitterly for the departed Lyanna and for this irreversible tragedy.

After the tears washed away some of the despair, she raised her head and vigorously wiped her swollen eyes with the back of her hand. Her gaze involuntarily fell on the little life that Ed held stiffly in his arms—the child who had just arrived but had already lost his mother.

A faint but clear cry came from the swaddling clothes. Unlike the first cry announcing a new life, this cry was anxious and uneasy, the most primal need of the little life.

Asara took a deep breath, forcing herself to pull herself out of her grief. Her voice was still choked with sobs, but it had regained its clear logic, an instinct of a mother and caregiver: "The child is hungry," she said to everyone present, her gaze sweeping over the faces immersed in grief or bewilderment, "We must find a wet nurse as soon as possible, or—at least a milk cow or ewe."

This incredibly realistic and survival-related statement, like a stone thrown into stagnant water, abruptly awakened everyone from their frozen state of mourning.

Death is inevitable, but life must go on.

The three Imperial Guards exchanged glances. No words were needed; at this moment, taking care of this newborn life became their silent consensus and their final duty.

Jero Hightower, Arthur Dane, and Oswell Hoan immediately split up, their wounded bodies swaying as they disappeared behind the jagged rocks and dunes of the Crimson Mountains.

Not long after, Ser Gerald Hightower returned first. The old knight's white robes were now even dirtier, and his face showed weariness, but he held tightly to the leash of a somewhat frightened ewe with a clearly swollen udder. Clearly, he had found this much-needed food source in this desolate land.

Asara immediately went to meet her. She first took the ewe from Sir Gerald, gently stroking its neck and softly soothing the frightened animal until it gradually calmed down. Then she turned to Ed, and carefully, almost with a sacred solemnity, took the crying baby from his brother, who was still immersed in great grief.

She sat on the ground, holding her child, facing the ewe. Lacking a suitable container, she relied on experience and patience, carefully guiding the baby with her hands so it could suckle. During this time, the ewe became restless, and Asara gently soothed it. Between her hungry child and the frightened animal, her actions remained remarkably gentle and patient.

The baby touched the warm milk and immediately began to suckle greedily, loud swallowing sounds replacing the heart-wrenching cries. Asara looked down at the motherless little life in her arms, at his eyelashes trembling slightly with contentment, and her tears silently streamed down her face again, dripping onto the baby's swaddling clothes.

Three Imperial Guards stood quietly to the side, guarding this difficult yet vibrant scene.