Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, stood atop the walls of Kingsgrave, gazing blankly at the city that had just been taken. All around him, the vibrant red of blood splashed against scorched black and gray ruins. Acrid smoke and the stench of death filled the air, and all around were sounds of moans, sobs, and cries of agony.
Is this my handiwork?
No, this was the king's handiwork.
Flocks of black crows with wings spread wide flew through the bleak gray sky, circling above, eagerly awaiting their feast of flesh and blood.
"Lord Eddard." King Joffrey, clad in gleaming armor and an immaculate cloak, declared with pride, "Didn't I say I could conquer this city?"
"Yes, Your Grace, you did." Eddard Stark had no desire to argue.
He had never doubted that the army could take Kingsgrave, but conquering it...
Could Dorne truly be subdued so easily?
Eddard's gaze swept across the broken city below, where groups of Dornish folk moved quietly, gathering the dead. They were silent, their bitterness suppressed—for now. Someday, they would rise again, as they had countless times throughout history.
Once the army advanced further, Kingsgrave would likely revolt once more unless they left a garrison behind. But then, why not have simply stationed troops here from the start? Yes, the king could now dine as he wished within the walls of House Manwoody's castle, but the price had been the lives of over three thousand soldiers.
This was a pointless sacrifice.
Eddard Stark knew his words would fall on deaf ears, but he couldn't help himself:
"Your Grace, our strategic goal is to force House Martell to surrender, not to conquer every city in Dorne."
"Once we take every Dornish city, House Martell will have no choice but to submit," the young king replied confidently.
"No. Both Aegon the Conqueror and King Daeron I proved otherwise ." Eddard attempted to reason with Joffrey, appealing to history and logic. "With each Dornish city we capture, we must leave behind sufficient troops to prevent rebellion. This will drain our forces, leaving us fewer and fewer to continue our campaign. Therefore, unless we face a city like Sunspear that must be taken, I would strongly advise against—"
"All right, enough." Queen Cersei interrupted with irritation. "Lord Eddard, you sound like my grandmother's maid with your endless fretting. Do you really believe you're the only one capable of commanding an army? Look at this city—your king conquered it with ease, and this is only the beginning of his conquests. Soon, you'll see all of Dorne bowed at his feet."
"Yes, mother!" Joffrey stood tall on the ramparts, full of ambition. "We'll rest in Kingsgrave for the night and press forward at dawn. I've heard that the 'Red Viper' has gathered an army at Sunspear. Ha! I'll take great pleasure in slicing off that viper's head myself!"
He laughed loudly as he turned and headed into the city, his triumphant calls echoing behind him: "Tonight, I'll sleep in Lord Dagos Manwoody's bed. Send him to the dungeons! Hahaha!"
---
"Knock! Knock! Knock!"
"Who is it?"
"It's me, brother!"
"One moment."
Dickon waited outside the vault for a few moments until the iron door finally swung open, and Samwell stepped out.
"Brother, what were you doing in there? It took ages."
"Collecting gold dragons, of course." Samwell tossed a pouch to his younger brother. "Go distribute these among the men."
Dickon peeked inside, frowning at the contents. "Just this much?"
"Can't help it. House Qorgyle doesn't have much in the way of treasure." Samwell patted his stomach and gave a satisfied burp.
Without asking more questions, Dickon took the bag and went off to distribute the coins. Shortly after, Lucas Dayne approached and said, "My lord, something's wrong outside."
"What is it?"
"The Dornish are gathering. It seems they might try to retake the castle."
"These Dornish really have no fear of death, do they?" Samwell remarked, though he didn't seem overly concerned.
He had just looted nearly all of House Qorgyle's silver and gold. He hadn't counted exactly, but he knew his strength attribute had surged to 8.19.
A surge of raw power flowed through him, and he felt a desire to unleash it somewhere.
But Lucas looked more worried. Seeing Samwell's relaxed demeanor, he urged, "My lord, we really can't stay in Sandstone much longer. We can't control this city, and the Dornish will keep bleeding us dry. Besides, there's still an army out there. Once they hear what's happened, they'll surely come back…"
"Don't worry. I never intended to hold this place indefinitely." Samwell waved a hand. "Tell everyone to get ready. We'll leave Sandstone before nightfall."
"Yes, my lord."
In fact, they didn't even wait for night. Around mid-afternoon, Samwell realized it was time to go.
The number of Dornish gathering outside the castle was steadily increasing. Though the city had few soldiers, Sandstone's fiercely resilient populace was creating a sensation of being surrounded on all sides.
They truly couldn't stay here any longer.
Samwell gathered his men for a headcount, finding that they had lost twenty-seven riders in the battle to take the city, with another dozen or so seriously injured—likely too weak to fight their way out.
After observing the Dornish crowds outside from the walls, Lucas came back to report.
"My lord, they're blocking the gates. It won't be easy to break through."
Samwell could see the throng of Dornish outside the gates. The distance wasn't enough to allow his cavalry to build up speed, and if they became bogged down in the midst of a Dornish mob, getting out would come at a steep price.
After a moment's thought, he came up with a plan. "Then we'll charge from inside the gates."
"Inside the gates?" Lucas was puzzled.
"Yes." Samwell pointed from the castle gates toward the front courtyard, through the great hall and inner courtyard. "Clear out the great hall and remove the doors. We'll line up in the hall and charge from inside the castle!"
Lucas's eyes lit up as he realized the idea's potential. The hundred feet or so might not be ideal, but it was enough for a cavalry charge.
"Understood. I'll make the arrangements."
Outside the castle, a knight of House Qorgyle was giving a rousing speech to the Dornish crowd. His words had an inspiring effect, and by the time he finished, four or five hundred Dornish had gathered at the gates. Though they weren't trained soldiers, they were armed and driven by anger and grief, blocking the castle entrance.
This, too, was part of the Dornish knight's strategy. He knew well the weaknesses of cavalry, and that his crowd of civilians would never hold up to a charge unless they could prevent the Reach and riverlands cavalry from gaining speed.
"We'll make the Riverlanders pay with blood!" the knight shouted at the gates.
"With blood!" hundreds of voices echoed.
"We'll make sure they don't leave alive!"
"They won't leave alive!"
"We'll make—"
At that moment, the hinges creaked as the heavy castle doors swung open.
The Dornish knight turned, confused, and then heard the pounding of hooves from within the castle.
What was happening?
When he saw the Riverlands cavalry charging out from within the great hall, he froze, stunned.
In an instant, the Riverlands riders burst through the gate.
Though the distance wasn't enough to reach full speed, they had built up enough momentum for a devastating charge.
And once they began, a mob like this—untrained, without shields or pikes—couldn't stop them. Most had only curved swords or long knives, and some were armed with nothing but tools.
Their courage was commendable, but courage alone wasn't enough in battle.
Samwell led the charge, true to his Tarly roots, even though he now bore the name Caesar.
The raw power surging through him begged to be unleashed, to tear everything before him to pieces.
This time, he did not wield his warhammer Thunder but instead drew the greatsword Dawn.
Whether it was his imagination or not, the ancient sword seemed to come alive in his hands, feeling somehow more compliant, almost… obedient.
Crimson and gold patterns flared across the milky-white blade, exuding an aura both ancient and fierce.
Clang!
The air thickened with heat.
Samwell swung his first strike.
The fiery blade slashed in a scorching arc, like a kiss from death.
Blood sprayed across the gates in a spray of crimson, like a rain of roses. In one swing, a dozen Dornish were consumed in flames.
The horrific sight froze the others in place.
And at that moment, Samwell rode his steed directly into the Dornish ranks.
Feeling the relentless strength still within him, he twisted the greatsword and swung once more.
The second strike.
"Swoosh—"
The sword's gleaming edge cut a bloody path through the crowd, parting the Dornish ranks like the Red Sea before Moses.
The Riverlands riders followed behind him, tearing through the opening, widening it with every passing second.
Samwell's eyes had turned red, like flames, like blood—like the depths of an endless abyss.
And his energy remained undiminished, enough to strike-
A third blow.
Slash!
The fiery arc of his sword carved through the mass of Dornishmen, forming a red crescent in the crowd.
Finally, their morale shattered completely.
In the face of this otherworldly force, even the most fearless could no longer summon their courage. Some turned and fled, others dropped their weapons, some fell to their knees, and still others murmured prayers, pleading for mercy from the gods.
The Riverlands cavalry broke free of the castle, galloping down the streets, unstoppable.
At the forefront of the charge, Samwell continued to wield Dawn, his blood-drenched greatsword appearing even more menacing with each swing.
The fiery light on the blade gradually faded, leaving only the intricate crimson-gold patterns. These markings-dense and reminiscent of ancient runes-pulsed rhythmically,
like the beat of a heart.
(End of Chapter)