"Roaaar.....!"
A shrill, beastly howl suddenly rang out, echoing through the entirety of Winterfell.
Sansa and the others exchanged horrified looks. The glass windows rattled violently, as if even the thick brick walls of the main keep were trembling.
"A dragon, it's a dragon's roar," Sansa sprang to her feet and rushed toward the window. "Balerion. It's Balerion the Black Dread. What did Stannis and the others do to him?"
"Roaaar!"The dragon's furious bellow was like a truck horn blaring right beside one's ears, deafening enough that even those hundreds of meters away in the main keep could not help but clutch their ears.
Then came waves of piercing human screams and cries for help.
Boom! Crack! Crash!
The sounds of collapsing buildings and falling masonry followed close behind.
Jon and the others had just reached the entrance of the western castle when they were forced to stop. The fifty-meter-long dragon occupied nearly half the rear courtyard. Its massive body was like a city wall, no, not a wall, but a gigantic stone mill.
The dragon was drenched in blood. It was impossible to tell whether it was its own or that of the soldiers crushed beneath it. Its wings were torn and tattered, unable to lift it into the air. Driven mad, it rolled wildly through the courtyard like a massive millstone, its perforated flesh-wings slamming frantically into the ground and everything around it.
The mercenaries Stannis had deployed in the courtyard were like neatly spread sheaves of grain on a threshing floor, mercilessly ground beneath the enormous millstone.
They attacked it with swords, spears, and hand crossbows, yet could not inflict a fatal wound.
And when the dragon struck them, it was either like a mosquito bloated with summer blood being slapped flat, or like a dragonfly with broken wings tossed into the air by a child in autumn.
Cloaks bearing the Fiery Heart were mixed with red minced flesh, greenish-brown intestines, and white bone fragments, spread and stamped into the black, muddy ground.
The surrounding buildings suffered as well.
Nearby stables, warehouses, and other low structures were like clods of earth before a stone mill. The millstone jolted slightly and crushed them all the same.
The massive stone keep itself was still sturdy. It shook lightly a few times, glass and roof tiles clattering down as cracks appeared in the walls, but it had not yet collapsed.
Dust filled the courtyard, and the din was overwhelming.
It was as if a scene from a monster movie had come to life.
"Seven hells!" Jon's gray eyes trembled within their widened sockets. "What in the world is happening?"
"Hahaha, you audacious clowns, daring to steal my Balerion."
"Aegon!"
"Your Majesty Aegon!"
Sansa and the nobles cried out in alarm.
On the third-floor balcony of the guest castle, Aegon, both legs crippled, was being held up by several Fiery Heart knights, facing the direction of the dragon, though it was unclear what he was doing.
"Aegon!" Tears welled up in Sansa's eyes. Ignoring the danger in the courtyard, she ran beneath the balcony and shouted up at him.
"Sansa?" Aegon lowered his head and saw his beloved wife. Joy flashed across his face, followed immediately by urgency. "Sansa, get out of here, quickly! Balerion has been driven mad by the red-robed woman. I can't control him either. Go, now!"
"Sansa, watch out!"
Jon, Tormund, Margaery, and the others charged over holding a massive shield, enclosing Sansa at the center before rushing swiftly into the guest castle.
The giant shield could not stop the dragon-mill, but it could block bricks, roof tiles, splintered wood, and falling debris from above, including intestines, viscera, and even a dead man's wide-eyed head.
"Make the dragon stop at once, or I'll kill you!" the pockmarked knight roared furiously, grabbing Aegon by the clothes.
Jon and Sansa's group rushed up to the second floor. Before they could enter the bedroom where Aegon was, they were blocked at the door by a group of Fiery Heart knights.
Through a bedroom of forty to fifty square meters, they could see on the opposite balcony Ser Richard gripping Aegon by the collar, shouting loudly and behaving with utter disrespect.
"Bastards! Even an ordinary landed knight deserves the respect due to a noble when captured. King Aegon is a king, yet you treat him like this?!"
The Greatjon roared like an enraged lion, raised his shield, and charged forward.
Before crashing into the Fiery Heart knights' line, he quietly shot a meaningful glance at Margaery, Galbart, and the others.
Margaery and her companions were genuinely simple-minded. Unlike him, they failed to grasp the intent behind that look. Jon and Sansa, however, understood.
Sansa was almost thinking exactly the same as the Greatjon: take advantage of the chaos to fish King Aegon out.
Jon, after noticing the Greatjon's strange look and seeing him hunch his towering body behind the shield, committing to a full charge rather than a blind, rage-driven assault, roughly guessed his aim.
Jon hesitated, glancing left and right, wondering whether he should stoop to a bit of sneakiness and steal his brother-in-law away, when he saw Stannis leading a large group of knights striding over from around the corner.
"Ahem. Earl Umber, don't be impulsive. Report this matter to King Stannis and let him handle it," Stannis said quickly as he stepped forward and grabbed the Greatjon, who was charging into the bedroom like a raging bull.
Jon Umber was a towering giant over 2.1 meters tall, his body piled with thick muscle like a fearsome great bear.
Savage and terrifying, he had forced his way through a twenty-man squad of Fiery Heart knights on his own.
Had Stannis arrived a few minutes later, Aegon might truly have been carried off.
Prisoners escaping, or being rescued by their own people, did not violate tradition. But if caught, the prisoner would lose noble treatment, at best receiving a beating, at worst having limbs severed or even being executed outright.
After Stannis and his men stabilized the chaos inside, Aegon wore a satisfied smile and said calmly, as if nothing troubled him:
"Killing me is useless. Right now, other than my aunt, no one else can do anything."
"I will not kill you. Does that mean I am not allowed to kill it?" Stannis said coldly.
Aegon's expression shifted several times before he said dejectedly, "Take me down. Get a little closer, at least let the Black Dread leave Winterfell."
"Your Grace, the wyvern has gone mad. It is far too dangerous. Please do not go," Sansa cried in alarm.
Aegon tapped the center of his brow and said with a mix of pride and bitterness, "Do not worry. The Paladin's Mark in my mind has not shattered yet.
Aunt Daenerys was not wrong after all. Other than her, even the gods cannot take our mounts from us dragonriders."
After Aegon left under the protection of more than a hundred knights, Sansa shouted angrily at Stannis, "Do you have any noble honor left?
A noble has the right to redeem their family sword and their mount.
We were clearly negotiating ransom. I agreed to all your demands. How can you still seize my husband's wyvern?"
That was indeed the truth.
Just like when Daenerys participated in a tourney. After unhorsing a knight, she could choose one item from the opponent's armor, weapons, or horse as spoils of war. But as long as the other party produced a ransom, she had to return the spoils.
Because more often than not, knights went into battle wearing ancestral armor passed down through many generations.
To you, it might only be the material value of the armor. To the defeated knight, however, it carried an extremely special meaning and even represented the honor of the family.
For example, Ice of House Stark, and the bronze armor of Yohn Royce.
Old Yohn was a traditional knight who loved tourneys and was also brave enough to fight in real wars.
He could not possibly have gone his whole life without defeat, yet his ancestral bronze armor had been passed down for nearly ten thousand years.
After Eddard died, Tyrion once thought that once the war was over, Ice would be returned to Winterfell.
But by the time the War of the Five Kings ended, Robb was dead and House Stark was extinguished. Only then did Tywin seize Ice.
Because it was against convention and he feared gossip, the old lion secretly summoned Master Tobho Mott and had the sword melted down and reforged.
At that time, very few people actually knew that Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail were forged from Ice. At least Sansa, who had always stayed in the Red Keep, did not know, and she kept asking Tyrion, "Where is my father's sword?"
"King Stannis, you truly should not have done this," Jon said, his face dark.
Stannis glared at him, his expression growing even uglier.
A wildling wearing a sealskin coat said disdainfully, "Back then at Castle Black, after we saw the power of your red sword, we all asked the Dragon Queen: since the sword is so strong, why give it back to you? Why not just take it and use it herself?
She said, 'There are many things in this world that I love. Must I seize them all? One must at least uphold the most basic moral principles.'
At the time, I secretly mocked her for being foolish.
But after comparing that to what you did today, I finally realized just how vast the difference between kings can be."
His name was Davyn, nicknamed the Sealskinner.
Among the two thousand wildlings who had sworn allegiance to Jon, there were two wildling commanders of a thousand men each. They were Davyn and Tormund Giantsbane.
When the Dragon Queen activated the red sword, Tormund was still hiding beyond the Wall, but Davyn had already entered the Wall and become a commander.
"Impudence! Is this how you speak to a king?" someone shouted.
Stannis was rendered speechless by the scolding, his face ashen. His Hand of the King, Davos, immediately stepped forward to uphold the king's dignity.
"Bah. I am a wildling south of the Wall. The king beyond the Wall is Mance, and the king south of the Wall is Daenerys. That is what we agreed on back then," Davyn spat and sneered.
The Onion Knight no longer bothered with the barbarian and instead turned to the nobles. "Let me ask you this. When you are marching to war and your provisions run short, and you need to kill horses to survive, would you pedantically keep the captives' warhorses alive?"
"How is that the same?" Maege said unhappily. "Eating is necessary, but will you die if you do not ride a dragon?"
"Yes, you will die," Davos said solemnly. "The news of King Aegon's capture has not yet spread, but the two armies of the True Dragon Alliance are about to march on King's Landing. If they wait too long without King Aegon arriving, the alliance will inevitably lose morale and may even collapse.
Therefore, I must reach King's Landing immediately. Becoming a wyvern rider is the best and most urgent choice."
"What does that have to do with us? If you lack the ability, then do not covet the Iron Throne," Sansa mocked.
A bitter sigh rose in Davos's heart, but his face remained earnest as he said, "Do not forget that King Aegon's ransom is the command authority of the two armies, as well as your fealty to Stannis after he ascends the Iron Throne.
If I cannot complete this task, your 'ransom' cannot be delivered, and King Aegon cannot be released."
"What do you take us for? Clay dolls you can knead however you like?" A sharp killing intent flashed through Sansa's blue eyes.
Davos turned his head aside, shame flooding his heart. His soul felt as if it were being fried in boiling oil, yet his face was cold as ice.
Stannis is my king, my god. I am willing to give everything for him.This is his only chance. I must help him seize it, even if I have to abandon honor.
"Your Grace the Queen, the foundation of any ransom is benefit. If one only obtains nominal command authority but cannot command a single soldier, that authority is worth less than a copper."
Even Jon could no longer hold back and frowned. "This is forcing the issue and making unreasonable demands.
The ransom is merely the transfer of command authority.
Whether the commanders obey orders, and whether King's Landing can ultimately be taken, has nothing to do with Sansa and King Aegon.
Because once they hand over command and then declare self-exile, they will no longer be the king and queen of the commanders. How could they possibly command the lords?"
(End of chapter)
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