Crossbown at their positions, infantry brought to readiness against any unforeseen developnt. The portcullis raised, the gate cracked open just wide enough for a man to pass through without difficulty. By the unwritten customs of siege warfare, it was considered proper conduct for the attacking side's soldiers to keep their distance during a parley, standing at least the range of a bowshot away, fifty to seventy yards. The sentinels had not signaled anything, which ant nothing suspicious was afoot. So what exactly was the point of these pointless talks?
Ser Brynden could be counted among the most respected knights of the Seven Kingdoms. An experienced warrior, a veteran of countless battles, a man who had lived to an honorable age. He was tall and lean, his clean-shaven face etched with wrinkles. Dark blue eyes regarded with steel, though without hatred in them. Manner and dress will tell you a great deal about a man, and I now knew more about the Blackfish than he would have wished to.
"Blackfish."
"Falcon's Eye." The old man's voice had a rasp to it. Age taking its toll, most likely.
"Go on then. Tell to surrender. Speak to of my doom, promise leniency, or whatever else you have thought up."
"Hm." The old man gave a brief smirk. "In the na of the True King Stannis Baratheon and the Lord of the Eyrie, Robert Arryn, I command you to surrender, lay down your arms, and await the king's justice. The king himself will preside over the trial and has promised fairness." A letter bearing the seal of the crowned stag was extended toward .
Knowing Stannis's way of conducting affairs, the letter's contents were obvious before I broke the seal. Threats, more threats, a recounting of his rights, the rights of House Arryn, demands, words about honor and duty, and at the end a promise of a position comnsurate with one's contribution. I did not know who had helped him write it, but it was composed skillfully. That double-layered reading was not the elder Baratheon's usual style.
"...I will add that your n face no danger and will be treated appropriately."
My personal experience across this life and my last had stripped of any reverence for petty kings. Westeros is bad on that front. People are ready to fall into raptures over anything connected to royal authority. Essos is calr about it, since power there is held by wealthy n who constantly replace one another. Seriously? They genuinely believed I would surrender simply because King Stannis himself had commanded it? That was the very question I put to the Blackfish.
"You cannot win. Your actions are only destroying the n loyal to you and delaying the inevitable. King Stannis will arrive in the Vale before long. He will break the Royces, and then your rebellion ends." So, as I had suspected, Stannis had chosen to stabilize the Vale before marching on the Lannisters and the sword-swallower. "Surrender. Save your n's lives. No one will touch you. On my honor."
"Honor. That is the last thing I expected to hear from you. What is honor worth when your family's lives are the stakes?" Hypocrites truly grated on . "You did not support this rebellion for money, or power, or influence, or out of faith in your niece's stories. Whatever anyone may say, setting honor aside for family is a worthy thing. But tell , ser, does such a man have any standing to speak of honor? I do not trust your word. Stannis sails here. Let him co. It does not concern ." Having learned everything I needed, I turned back toward the castle.
"Then what was the point of coming out here?" The Blackfish's question reached before I had gone far.
"Boredom." A half-truth was better than a lie. "There is little enough of interest in a siege."
...
Helplessness is the most wretched feeling I have known across all my lives. Now that my fears about Stannis had been confird, the fate of the enterprise would be decided. What ca next depended on a great many factors: how many n and ships Baratheon had sent, what provisions he had taken, what the situation in Westeros looked like, how many losses Robar's army had suffered, and a dozen smaller details that together made the full picture. But no matter the nuances, the possible outcos ca down to one thing: Robar would either take Gulltown, or he would not. It was that simple.
If the city fell, Robar's army could prevent Stannis from gaining a foothold in the Vale and opening a proper second front. It was easy to confuse what was happening now with a war on two fronts, but that was not quite right. I had pinned the rebel army with a small force and was taking no serious losses, because I was defending. Robar had the larger army and had t almost no resistance, since the majority of the fighting n had marched with Gerion Grafton and been killed. The assault on Gulltown could have been the problem, but we had solved it creatively.
Robar had given particular satisfaction with his conduct. The tactic of using common people to bring down a city had been employed in Essos before, but there it had been far less effective. Slavery thrived on the neighboring continent, and when a master ran short on food and long on mouths, the solution applied was a radical one. In Westeros you could not simply slaughter your vassal-citizens on account of hunger. Your own allies would cut you down for it.
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