What was written in Robert’s will, and to whom he intended to pass the throne in his lifetime… the people of the Seven Kingdoms have no way—and no need—to know. With two Baratheon brothers holding differing views, it would either become a historical mystery or be decided by the victor. Even if Eddard Stark took the authentic document and showed it to the people on the street, who could truly recognize the late king’s handwriting? Only one thing was certain, no matter how many declared themselves kings, the one who held King’s Landing would have the greatest political and military advantage, and be the most readily acknowledged by others.

Eddard Stark understood this, so he sent out a large flock of ravens and dispatched fast ships to seek out Stannis, who had already departed port, urging him to return and claim the throne as soon as possible.

Stannis understood this as well. That was why, upon receiving the news, he immediately abandoned the pirates before him and rushed to King’s Landing, not even stopping at Dragonstone along the way.

Renly was also keenly aware: as long as his brother sat the throne, his own claim was nothing more than that of a false king. Winning the hearts of the people would be impossible, and even recruiting a single member of the Night’s Watch would prove difficult. The longer his brother remained on the Iron Throne, the more awkward and untenable Renly’s position became.

Thus, just half a day after surrounding King’s Landing, he launched his assault without delay.

—

Outside the King’s Gate, the army from Storm’s End began to form ranks. A swell of voices surged. Renly Baratheon, clad in his trademark green armor and wearing a smaller golden antlered helm in the same style as Robert’s, rode past his soldiers, loudly promising them rewards for taking King’s Landing.

Gold, office, fiefdoms, honors… and more. Every promise brought cheers. It was a tried-and-true method, but one that never failed. Renly never imagined he’d be the one making such a speech one day. He had spent half the night memorizing the lines. Regardless, he needed to rally the morale of the troops. Only by drawing out enough defenders through a frontal assault would his allies inside the city have a chance to act.

“When my brother is captured, no one is to desecrate his body. He is my blood, and I will not allow anyone to mount his head on a spear to flaunt military success!” After delivering the lengthy speech, Renly swallowed dryly, looked at the walls of King’s Landing in the distance, and offered the final prize: “The first man to reach the city will be awarded either a white cloak of the Kingsguard or a noble title—your choice!”

“Long live King Renly!” Thousands of voices roared in response, mixed with the blaring of trumpets and the thunder of drums… smoke rose from the camp, forming a murderous haze that loomed over it.

…

“Flesh and blood, no one is to mount his head on a spear to show off…” A glorious declaration, but shrewd minds caught the true meaning beneath Renly’s words: if you encounter Stannis, don’t let him live. Only if Stannis died on the battlefield would Renly avoid the charge of kinslaying. When it came to securing the throne and ruling the realm, mercy was a luxury no one could afford. Compared to the rewards promised after victory, the fate of the ever-stern-faced Stannis… who truly cared?

The sun had passed overhead and it was now afternoon. Renly took a sip of water, drew a deep breath, and waved his right hand. “No time to waste. Sound the horn. Begin the assault!”

…

Woo woo woo——

As the war horn sounded, Stannis on the city wall also finished his pre-battle address in a booming voice. But many of the garrison soldiers were distracted. They turned their heads west and saw the familiar crowned stag banner fluttering in the wind among the enemy ranks, starkly contrasting with the burning heart banner beside it… The black stag representing Stannis Baratheon was engulfed in flames and nearly unrecognizable.

Ser Barristan Selmy immediately sensed the unease among the gold cloaks. He turned to look at the new banner atop the city wall and shook his head in quiet resignation.

By law, the new king had the right to change the banner. But Stannis should not have rushed into reforms before firmly securing the throne. The garrison was long accustomed to fighting beneath the crown and the stag. When the king changed one day and the banner was immediately swapped, who could be expected to so quickly turn around and pledge themselves to a new master?

Fortunately, aside from the original gold cloaks, there were also loyal troops under Stannis’s command in the city. Whether their loyalty was genuine or not, at least these men appeared spirited—they were familiar with the banner of the burning heart and believed in their king’s leadership and martial prowess. Stannis was known to clearly distinguish between reward and punishment… Supporting the rightful king on the Iron Throne in repelling a rebellion was a merit not often available.

As he pondered, the old knight heard the new king call out: “Ser Barristan Selmy!”

“Your Grace, I am here.”

“You will lead all cavalry stationed at the King’s Gate and stand ready behind the gate. If the enemy’s siege fails and they retreat, open the gate and charge out with all forces. I’ll lead the infantry in support.”

“Your Grace, as Captain of the Kingsguard, I belong at your side!”

“Staying with me is pointless. I assure you, no one will breach the walls I defend in person. That is an order. Carry it out at once.”

The old knight had resolved not to leave the side of the king he had sworn to protect, but duty prevented him from disobeying: “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Remember, if you encounter my foolish brother and he surrenders, do not take his life. Though he was misled by the Tyrells and raised the banner of rebellion, he is still my last brother. I will give him a fair trial!”

Barristan led his cavalry down from the wall. Behind him, Stannis bellowed again: “Archers, ready! Prepare for battle!”

Amid the blare of trumpets, siege weapons were the first to advance. Though Robert’s early attack on the Vale had failed at the Bloody Gate, the method had become a textbook case that influenced many new lords. Whether he realized it or not, Renly was now imitating that tactic—using long-range bombardment to cover the infantry’s assault.

It was a sound plan. The open, fertile ground outside the King’s Gate was well-suited for deploying siege engines. Unfortunately, due to the hasty mobilization, Renly’s army hadn’t had time to produce large siege equipment. In both quality and quantity, his siege lineup fell far short of the grand forces that had once assembled outside the Bloody Gate. Worse still, they faced King’s Landing—fortified over many years and equipped with numerous fixed defenses.

In comparison to Stannis’s hurried succession and defensive planning, this was also a hasty assault. Amid volleys of stones and spears flying through the air, both sides took casualties, but the attackers, hindered by the high walls, were at a disadvantage.

Unable to suppress the defenders, the large siege towers and battering rams could not advance near the gates under the barrage of flaming pitch. Fortunately, Renly’s numerical advantage was overwhelming. His men advanced in groups of ten to twenty along a battlefront stretching hundreds of meters. Carrying crude ladders, they surged toward the walls like a tidal wave.

…

Arrows filled the sky, raining down like a swarm of locusts upon the defenders and attackers alike. Screams and shouts rang out. The battle for King’s Landing had begun.

—

Sansa was terrified.

Arya looked at her sister, silently praying with eyes closed and hands clasped, and felt a mix of disdain and amusement. Renly’s army was still outside the walls. With Father and Lord Stannis—no, the king—inside, they couldn’t get in. Even if by some miracle they breached the King’s Gate, the Red Keep had thick walls, massive bronze doors, iron portcullises, and seven great iron-roofed drum towers… Impossible to break through.

Impossible to break through.

Arya repeated it to herself. Still, she felt a bit nervous. Unlike Sansa’s fear, hers came from being so close to war for the first time. Her excitement slightly outweighed her fear.

She stood, sat, paced restlessly. Eventually she ran to the window and looked out. The Red Keep courtyard was quiet. Eddard Stark had taken most of the guards. The rest were on the walls. Few soldiers remained in the Keep. Many noble families had taken refuge, but they were all hiding inside the buildings—probably just as nervous as Sansa.

Hmph, cowards. Arya backed away from the window and sat on the bed again. Sansa, irritated by her pacing, finally snapped: “Arya! Father’s fighting the enemy on the wall. Can’t you be quiet and pray for him?”

“I don’t believe in prayers. I only believe in swords!” Arya raised her chin and said proudly, “I’m the apprentice of a White Walker slayer, a girl swordsman praised by the Red Viper. I’m nothing like a delicate lady like you!”

“Tsk.” Sansa rolled her eyes, turned back, and resumed her prayer. “Fine, Master Swordswoman. Where’s your sword?”

“My sword is—” Arya faltered. After thinking hard, she remembered: she’d brought the sword Jon gave her to the Night’s Watch office, but Aegor wouldn’t let her train with it and had confiscated it, saying he’d keep it safe for her. Her sword was still in the office’s inner cabinet!

“Oh no!” Arya leapt off the bed and ran to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my sword!” Arya opened the door and dashed out. Her voice echoed as she disappeared.

“Get your sword from where?” Sansa asked irritably, but Arya was already gone. Thinking her sister had simply gone to her room or their father’s, Sansa shook her head and resumed her prayer.

…

“Young Lady, where are you going?” Downstairs, a Stark guard stopped Arya.

She couldn’t say she was going to the Night’s Watch office. Arya rolled her eyes. “I’m hungry. I’m heading to the kitchen to get something to eat.”

“I’ll go for you, my lady. Please return to your room. What would you like?”

Arya rattled off several of Sansa’s favorite treats, then pretended to turn around and go back upstairs. As the guard headed toward the kitchens, she doubled back, hunched over, and slipped through the gap between the Tower of the Hand and the side hall, sneaking into the Red Keep’s complex buildings.

Crossing a hidden courtyard, turning a corner, climbing over a wall, and crawling through a narrow window, Arya entered a pitch-black cellar. The Red Keep was complicated, but to her it was simpler than Winterfell’s stone maze. After nearly a year here, she had thoroughly learned its layout… and her proudest discovery was a secret passage beyond the Keep, blocked by an iron grate that only a child could squeeze through.

She felt along the wall. After a minute, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Massive dragon skulls emerged from the shadows. The walls, the floor, even the dragon bones were black. In the gloom, it felt as if monsters might leap out at any moment. She had been here before, but her skin still crawled.

“A Night’s Watch apprentice… is not afraid of monsters and ghosts.” Arya puffed out her chest and recited her favorite heroic line: “If you turn into a ghost and come at me, I’ll kill you again!”

Nothing happened. But the dragon skulls seemed to awaken, their dark sockets fixed on her. Despite her bold words, Arya suddenly remembered—she had no weapon! If a ghost really came… what would she fight it with?

“Uh… I was just kidding. Go back to sleep, okay?”

She sheepishly apologized to the imaginary foes, hurried past them, found the iron ring on the wooden door, and tugged hard. With a creak, she opened it just enough to slip through into the long corridor beyond.

It was even darker inside. Arya stopped talking to herself and focused on her breathing, tracing the rough stone walls with her fingers. After walking nearly a mile, she reached a fork. She had explored both paths. Ahead was a sewer outlet leading into the Blackwater Rush, flooded with dirty water. That would take her out of the Red Keep—and out of King’s Landing entirely… She needed to turn left. A little farther, there was another sewer entrance, blocked by an iron grate. The third gap from the left was just wide enough for her.

Arya turned left, crawled on hands and knees, and eventually saw light. The familiar iron bars came into view.

…

She must’ve grown. It took a painful effort to squeeze through the gap she used to fit through easily. The bars pressed against her chest. Pushing aside the vines over the opening, she emerged into sunlight once more.

Her memory hadn’t failed. This was still the abandoned drainage outlet hidden in the shrubs on the hillside of Aegon’s High Hill… From here, she could faintly see the black sign of the Night’s Watch office in the distance.

Brushing off mud and dust, she pushed through waist-high bushes and weeds, heading for the streets of King’s Landing below Aegon’s Hill.

(To be continued.)

***

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep