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The smoke from the Battle of the Trident had not yet fully cleared, but the news of Rhaegar Targaryen's death had already flown on the wings of ravens, crossing mountains and rivers to reach the ears of every noble in the Seven Kingdoms.
The long-standing chaos seed to be split open by a bolt of lightning, suddenly becoming crystal clear.
Before this, although the rebel army had strong montum, facing the imnse power of the Crown, the future was still clouded with uncertainty.
Now, everything was different.
The Crown Prince and supre commander was dead. The main royal army had disintegrated. The Kingsguard were either dead or captured. The sharpest claws of the Targaryen dynasty had all been pulled out.
The coalition now held the absolute advantage, their blades pointing straight at King's Landing. The Iron Throne was within reach. It seed that with just a gentle push, the dynasty that had ruled the Seven Kingdoms for nearly three hundred years would co crashing down. The dawn of victory had never shone so clearly on the banners of Robert Baratheon and his allies.
They were truly just one step away from ultimate victory—conquering King's Landing and ending the Mad King's reign. All of Westeros held its breath, waiting for the death knell of the old era to toll and the dawn of the new era to break.
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After receiving Euron Greyjoy's secret order from Harrenhal, Davos imdiately set sail from his temporary base—a hidden cove in the Stepstones.
He did not command a warship, but rely a seemingly ordinary rchant vessel that sat low in the water, its hold laden with the grain desperately needed by the defenders of Storm's End.
This ship sailed alone on the azure waters of Shipbreaker Bay, appearing unassuming. But high on its mainmast flew a banner that commanded fear—the Golden Kraken of House Greyjoy.
When this banner appeared in the sights of the Highgarden fleet's patrol ships, the calm sea was instantly gripped by invisible tension. Lookouts sounded urgent alarms, and horns passed signals between ships. The Tyrell warships, originally on routine patrol, swiftly adjusted their sails. Like a disturbed swarm of bees, they began to encircle the lone vessel.
Captains barked nervous orders, and sailors and soldiers on deck scrambled to their stations. Their orders were to blockade Storm's End, and this sudden appearance of the Golden Kraken was undoubtedly a strong and dangerous signal—the forces of the Iron Islands were officially intervening in this siege.
Davos stood at the bow, watching the gathering Highgarden fleet in the distance, his face wearing its usual cautious expression. He knew this banner carried more deterrence than any weapon, but his journey ahead was still fraught with unknown risks.
On the deck of the Highgarden flagship, the atmosphere was as heavy as iron.
Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South, puffed out his chest, trying to maintain his dignity before this seemingly ordinary smuggler, though the Golden Kraken flag on the other ship made his heart flutter with unease.
Davos was neither humble nor arrogant as he calmly stated his purpose: "Lord Tyrell, on behalf of Lord Euron Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, I am delivering this grain to the soldiers within Storm's End."
Hearing this, rage at the offense imdiately surfaced on Lord Mace's chubby face. "Delivering grain? What ti do you think this is? This is war! You dare openly declare in front of that you intend to aid the enemy?!"
"My Lord, this is not aiding the enemy," Davos's tone remained steady but carried undeniable strength. "It is simply that we cannot bear to see thousands of defenders and smallfolk inside Storm's End starve to death. This is a humanitarian act."
"Hmph, a glib tongue! How is this not aiding the enemy?" Mace's voice rose an octave.
Davos leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. His voice dropped lower but gained more penetrating power. "My Lord, your strategy of besieging without attacking is wise. It has kept the soldiers of Highgarden safe, avoiding death in a war that has no direct stake for the Reach. But consider this: Rhaegar is dead. The coalition's victory is certain. Stannis Baratheon is Lord Robert's own brother. If he ends up dying not from defeat in battle, but from starvation due to your siege... when Lord Robert sits on the Iron Throne, what kind of wrath will Highgarden face? That would be another unavoidable war."
These words struck precisely at Mace's biggest worry. He couldn't help but recall his mother Lady Olenna's strict order—"Besiege but do not attack." Indeed, he was never authorized to starve Stannis to death.
Just then, Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor and a key fleet commander, leaned close to his ear and urged urgently in a very low voice, "Mace, do not start a war with the Krakens at sea. That is their domain. The battle in the Stepstones proved their dominance over the ocean. Besides, the Old Lady emphasized repeatedly: besiege but do not attack. That ans don't increase the slaughter needlessly, especially ensuring Stannis does not die by our hands. Let him pass. Let him bring the grain into Storm's End. This is politics, not a ti for temper."
Mace Tyrell's face shifted as he struggled intensely between pride, fear, and reason. Finally, he gave a heavy hmph, waving his hand with a mix of reluctance and relief. "Get out of here! Just this once! If I see your ship with that damned flag in these waters again, I will sink it!"
Davos bowed slightly, saying no more. He calmly commanded his small ship to sail toward the isolated fortress that had been besieged for so long.
At this ti, Storm's End was a city tortured to the limit by hunger. Cut off from food for dozens of days, everything edible in the castle had long been consud. First the stores, then the warhorses—those once-agile partners; then the hunting dogs—the last sentinels; finally, even the rats in the dark corners beca rare at. The defenders and remaining smallfolk were all gaunt and hollow-eyed, holding on solely by sheer will and trust in Lord Stannis.
When Davos Seaworth's ship was allowed to dock and sacks of grain were carried into the castle, even the lips of Stannis Baratheon, known for his heart of stone, trembled slightly. He reached out with a bony, pale hand and grabbed a handful of grain. The solid touch was almost unbelievable. He looked at Davos, his eyes flashing with complex light—gratitude, and the imnse relief of survival from a desperate situation.
The soldiers in the castle saw Davos as a savior sent by the Seven. They gathered weakly, looking at the food, life reigniting in their eyes.
Facing Stannis's gaze, Davos simply bowed calmly, his tone as pragmatic as ever.
"Lord Stannis, I am rely acting on Lord Euron Greyjoy's orders. Please, you and your n must endure a little longer. Now that Rhaegar is dead..."
"Rhaegar is dead?!"
Stannis interrupted him abruptly. His eyes, sunken from hunger and fatigue, instantly widened, locking onto Davos with a sharp gaze. Trapped in this isolated fortress, cut off from the world, he knew nothing of the upheaval outside.
Davos nodded affirmatively. "Yes, my Lord. At the Trident, Lord Robert personally defeated and killed him. The war is about to end."
This news shocked Stannis even more than the shipload of grain. He froze for a mont, then spun around violently. Using every ounce of his strength, he let out the loudest, most hopeful roar since the siege began to the gathering, equally shocked soldiers:
"Did you hear that?! Rhaegar Targaryen is dead! Our coalition is about to achieve final victory!"
This shout was like lighting the final powder keg. In an instant, the despair, pain, and resilience accumulated over months turned into a deafening, soul-deep roar erupting from the mouth of every soldier and civilian in Storm's End who could still stand, shaking the clouds! This suffering castle had finally welcod the dawn of hope.
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