Filthy mud splattered like a torrential rain, dragonfire glowing red skimmed close to the body, and the air still carried the faint smell of sulfur and the scorched scent of burned air.
Beneath him, the warhorse staggered like a drunkard, unsteady and neighing in fear.
"Hssss-kaaa—" The terrifying roar of the dragon gradually faded into the distance. Gawdy Farling looked around; over a dozen riders had been thrown from their horses. The mounts were all in a frenzy. On the ground was a scorched, twisted trench, a palm wide and half a finger deep.
Scattered embers and curling smoke proved it wasn't a hallucination. That pillar of dragonfire had descended like a divine punishment, brushing past their bodies and skimming along the side.
Gulp.Realizing what had just happened, Gawdy Farling swallowed with difficulty. Cold sweat gushed forth, instantly soaking through the woolen shirt beneath his armor.
A white knight emerged from the camp and said slowly, "Ser Farling, return. The majesty of a true dragon brooks no disrespect. If you have questions, bring them to Lord Stannis and Her Majesty the Queen directly."
"You… you really are Ser Barristan!"Seeing the white knight's face, Gawdy Farling's pounding heart thudded even harder. In disbelief, he said, "When did you pledge yourself to that woman? Why didn't you go to Dragonstone? King Stannis had long prepared a white cloak for you and waited for so, so long!"
Barristan's solemn expression twisted slightly.So, all your kings regard me highly. That's good—it shows the name 'Barristan the Bold' still carries weight. But do you all think I must cling to some king for validation?
Fine. As a legendary Kingsguard, it was only natural for a white knight to serve a king.
But in their minds, did they really think he was that desperate? That he'd take whatever he could get?
Sure, he had served Robert, served Queen Cersei, served Joffrey. Honestly…
"After King Joffrey stripped me of the white cloak, I prayed at the Great Sept of Baelor for seven days and nights. At last, I received a revelation from the Seven: that for the rest of my life, I must serve only a true king. That is my destiny."The old knight lifted his head high, his chest puffed out, as though the holy light of the Seven shone upon him. His face radiated pious devotion and unwavering resolve.
Indeed, the white knight had prayed at the sept.But it wasn't the Seven who gave him enlightenment—it was the eight-legged spider, Varys.
"Hssss-kaaa—"Beneath the clear blue sky, a black dragon and a white dragon soared with elegance and overwhelming majesty. Their wings beat rhythmically as they circled the battlefield strewn with corpses and choked with smoke and flame.
The trampled snow had turned to gray-brown mud. Broken wood from the camp smoldered with sparks and smoke, while fur tents had been stomped into the mire. Stannis's soldiers shouted triumphantly as they marched captured wildlings in chains.
But the sudden appearance of the dragons poured icy water over their heads. Not even the glory of launching a cavalry strike against a hundred thousand wildlings could suppress the fear rising in their hearts.
Woooo—!From atop the Wall, the horn sounded—long and clear—echoing in all directions.
One blast.
It meant allies were returning.
With a creak, the gate of the Wall opened. Ser Alliser Thorne, Bowen Marsh, Ser Denys Mallister, and other high-ranking members of the Night's Watch filed out one by one—they feared the Dragon Queen might burn the Baratheon brothers with a single breath of dragonfire.
Gawdy Farling's eyes lit up. He had found a way to escape the awkward situation.
"The wildlings are crushed! The King-Beyond-the-Wall is captured! Victory! Victory!"He waved a banner bearing the burning heart and ran back and forth below the Wall. Behind him, Stannis's knights and over a thousand of his soldiers joined in the chant.
The men on the Wall, too, were swept up in the mood—or perhaps, they had never truly been keen on negotiating with wildlings in the first place. Stannis's decisiveness was more stirring, more satisfying, and gave them a way to vent centuries of bitter hatred toward the free folk.
They, too, began to shout, "Victory! Victory!"
When Gawdy Farling waved the banner of the flaming heart and shouted, "Long live Stannis! Long live King Stannis!"Everyone followed his lead.
Ser Denys Mallister, who had been heading toward the battlefield, paused in his steps. With a wry smile, he said to the man beside him, "This just got harder. Trying to mediate between these two sides won't be easy."
The steward of the pomegranate-red castle frowned and said, "We can't let them fight. And if they must, it can't be at the Wall."
"What do you think, Maester Aemon?" Ser Alliser turned to the old maester.
Aemon had been watching the dragons soar freely in the sky. In truth, he'd been lingering near them for days, watching as though he could never get enough.
"You needn't worry," the old man said softly. "Her Majesty Daenerys will not start a civil war. Under normal circumstances, His Majesty Stannis wouldn't provoke her either."
One-armed Donal shook his head and gave a bitter smile. "I fear it's not so simple. I know those three brothers too well.
If Robert was true steel, then Renly was polished bronze—bright and dazzling, but ultimately of little worth.
As for Stannis… he is pure iron: dark, hard, and unyielding—but also brittle. Like iron, he'll break before he bends.
If Robert were here, he'd already be charging the dragons with his army. And if he lost and lived, chances are he'd surrender and happily serve as a frontline warrior.
If it were Renly, there wouldn't be a battle. As long as she promised to let him keep what he had, he'd surrender immediately and return to his flower-filled life as Duke of Storm's End.
But the truth is, neither of them would've come to the Wall to help.
Robert drowned in wine and women. Renly never cared about the kingdom's crises.
Only Stannis—strict with himself, harsh with others—has this obsessive sense of duty. I won't deny his ambition for the throne, but more than that, it's his need to be truly recognized.
When he was acting Lord of Storm's End, even when food ran out and they had to boil rats and leather, he never thought of surrendering.
When he became Robert's Master of Ships—"
He paused, skipping over the time Stannis led the fleet to blockade Dragonstone.
"—and when he put down Balon's rebellion and helped Robert govern the realm, he enforced the law with an iron fist, sparing no one. Even when all the nobles cursed him, he remained dutiful and did everything expected of him.
If he believes himself a subject, he fulfills a subject's duties flawlessly.If he sees himself as a king, then he will insist on every right and responsibility that role entails.
The sad part is, he now sees himself not only as the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, but—thanks to the Red Priestess's whispers—as the prophesied one, the savior of the world.
Make no mistake—he'll bear the burden of being a savior, even if none of us want to be saved."
"The savior has arrived," Slint reminded, rubbing his nose.
The thunderous sound of hooves drew closer—a troop of cavalry flying the banner of the fiery heart approached the Night's Watch at a steady pace.
"Greetings to King Stannis, and thank you."
Seeing Stannis enter the gate surrounded by Night's Watch brothers, Daenerys ended her dramatic aerial display. With Drogon and Rhaegal, she landed in front of the King's Tower.
She remained seated on Drogon's back, watching Stannis and the Red Woman emerge from the gate. It seemed they feared she might roast the Baratheon brothers with dragonfire. Maester Aemon had even come ahead of time to advise her.
"The Night's Watch hopes the two of you can coexist peacefully and fight against the White Walkers together."
"Stannis came to the Wall for the greater good!"
(Latest novel chapter released first on Six-9 Book Bar!)
"Targaryen, your word is your bond—you said it yourself."
Truthfully, Daenerys was quite tempted to hurl a fireball at the Baratheon brothers—not to kill them, necessarily. If she'd truly wanted to eliminate a rival, she could have done it outside the castle walls.
What she really wanted was to see Melisandre's fire magic firsthand.
Or perhaps let the second Baratheon brother try to cut through her fireball with Lightbringer, to see whether the so-called "Wife-Sacrificing Demon Sword" lived up to its legend.
The younger Baratheon had broad shoulders, a sturdy frame, black hair, and blue eyes. His skin, long exposed to the harsh sun, was tough as iron. At 36, he was severely balding, with a square jaw, sunken cheekbones, and thin, tightly pressed lips—one look told you this man was difficult to get along with.
The younger Baratheon walked ahead, with Melisandre close behind.
The moment they appeared, the Night's Watch men let out low gasps, awed by her beauty and allure.
Compared to the Queen of Knights, always clad in dull iron armor, the Red Woman—with her ample curves, graceful posture, and revealing attire—was far more captivating.
But in Daenerys's eyes, Melisandre was like a crimson, bewitching flame. Her heart-shaped face flushed red, eyes gleamed crimson, long copper-red hair cascaded to her waist, and she wore flowing red robes.
Even from seven or eight meters away, one could feel the heat radiating from her like a blazing furnace.
The heat was real—not an illusion, nor magical aura. Even ordinary people could sense it.
Just like her dragons, she was born of blood and fire. Her flesh infused with magic, her body unconsciously emitted heat. But for a fire mage, what level of sorcery did that imply?
As soon as Stannis and Melisandre entered the courtyard, they noticed the dragon exhaling smoke from its nostrils, and Daenerys seated on its back, watching them.
For a moment, the air grew so heavy it felt frozen. Men like Melisandre, Pomegranate Red, and other Night's Watch brothers tensed up, drenched in sweat. Their mouths opened and closed, but not a single word of formality came out.
The younger Baratheon didn't shy away from Daenerys's gaze, nor did the tense atmosphere faze him. He walked straight to the base of the King's Tower, clenched his jaw, and said:
"Didn't expect you to come to the Wall."
Daenerys smiled and replied, "I don't care about the wildlings, but while reading recent reports from Westeros at the Citadel, I noticed the Night's Watch commander had sent warnings about the White Walkers to the maesters."
Stannis drew his longsword, and the blade shimmered with a magical red glow, as though made of molten lava, encircled by red flames.
Holding the sword high, jaw clenched, he said through gritted teeth:
"Daenerys, since you know of the White Walkers, you must understand—the Long Night is filled with danger. Mortals cannot survive this catastrophe. Only the prophesied child can bring light back to the world."
Daenerys gave him a strange look, then turned to the Red Woman, who was eyeing Drogon with keen interest, and asked:
"High Priestess Melisandre, the High Septon Benerro claims that I am Azor Ahai reborn. What do you think?"
"You are not the Prince That Was Promised," Melisandre's voice was slightly hoarse, like a small brush sweeping softly over the soul. It was as seductive as her appearance, but her tone was firm—without the slightest hesitation.
Daenerys patted Drogon's neck and declared proudly, "I hatched dragons."
Melisandre responded loudly: "The dragon has three heads, but you are only one. Daenerys, King Stannis also carries the true blood of the dragon. He is the real savior. If you truly have compassion, you should cooperate with him—to fight the ancient, evil god together."
"Heh... dragons don't stop at three heads. Give me enough dragon eggs, and I'll hatch as many heads as you want."
"If you want dragons, hatch them yourself!" Daenerys sneered coldly.
(End of Chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09