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Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Storm Breaks
The cold morning air carried the scent of salt and smoke as Ned Stark stood atop the Seal Gate, his grey eyes locked on the enemy fleet. The distant roar of waves against the harbor walls mixed with the faint creaking of ships approaching in tight formation.
Beside him, Jon stood tall, his weirwood bow in hand, his expression unreadable. The boy had always been calm under pressure, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that sent a chill down Ned's spine.
Ser Marlon Manderly, commander of White Harbor's garrison, leaned over the stone battlements, scanning the enemy fleet with narrowed eyes. Below them, Ser Walder stood just behind the gate with the bulk of their knights, men-at-arms, and the heaviest infantry the city had to offer. These men would take the brunt of the assault when the gate inevitably fell.
Further back, Robb and Jory Cassel stood with the reserves, ready to act if a breach occurred.
Ned had seen war before.
But this battle felt different.
These were not highborn knights or disciplined soldiers they were about to face. These were pirates—raiders and cutthroats, men who thrived on slaughter and chaos.And they outnumbered them nearly four to one.
Still, White Harbor stood ready.
And they had something the pirates did not—White Harbor's walls, northern resilience, and a carefully laid trap.
Ned watched as the enemy ships approached the barricade of northern vessels that had been turned into floating barriers. The blockade had done its job, forcing the enemy to funnel toward a single entry point.
Then he saw them.
The spitfires.
His jaw clenched as the frontmost enemy ships, each equipped with a massive, dragon-headed contraption at its bow, spewed liquid fire onto the northern ships.
The flames took hold almost instantly.
The wooden hulls went up in an inferno, turning the barricade into a wall of burning wreckage. Thick, black smoke curled into the sky, the heat of the fire making the air shimmer.
Ned didn't need to turn to see the unease spreading through his men. He could feel it. They were forced to stand and watch as their ships burned, unable to stop it.
Then Jon moved.
Without a word, he stepped forward, drawing an arrow from his quiver.
Ned barely had time to process what was happening before Jon loosed his shot.
The arrow sailed across the harbor, striking the spitfire on the lead enemy ship.
An explosion tore through the vessel, fire consuming the deck, the sails, the men aboard.
Ned's eyes widened slightly. That should not have happened.
Spitfires were dangerous, but they were not supposed to explode from a single arrow. Did the pirates not put them together properly.
Jon didn't hesitate. He reached for another arrow, drew, and fired.
A second ship erupted in flames.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
Then a fifth.
Each shot was precise. Each explosion sent panic rippling through the enemy ranks.
The once-organized approach turned into chaos. Ships collided with one another, their burning remains blocking the path forward.
Still, the pirates pressed on.
They were desperate now, but desperation made them dangerous.
Ned's gaze shifted to the lead vessel—Silence.
Euron Greyjoy's infamous ship cut through the wreckage like a predator stalking its prey.
They are coming, Ned thought grimly.
Ser Marlon gave the signal.
From behind the walls, an archer fired an arrow with a black flag attached to it high into the sky.
The enemy saw it immediately.
To them, it meant one thing—the Seal Gate was about to open.
A ripple of excitement passed through their forces.
They surged forward.
And then the archers fired.
The first volley cut down dozens of pirates in an instant. Bodies tumbled into the water, staining the waves red.
The second volley followed. Then a third.
The air was thick with the sound of bowstrings snapping and the screams of dying men.
Ned's eyes flickered toward Jon.
While the other archers maintained a steady pace, Jon moved like a force of nature. His draw was fluid, his release effortless, each arrow finding its mark with deadly accuracy.
He was firing three times faster than the others.
And every shot killed.
Ned had always known Jon was gifted, but this was something else entirely.
The pirates quickly raised their wooden shields, forming a protective barrier over their heads as they continued their advance.
Even so, the archers kept thinning their ranks, forcing them to climb over their own dead to move forward.
But they were still coming.
They had sailed too far, burned too many ships, and lost too many men to retreat now.
Ned exhaled slowly, then turned away from the walls.
He descended to where Ser Walder and the heavily armored men waited.
The time for watching was over.
He drew Ice.
The massive Valyrian steel greatsword gleamed under the grey sky, its ancient edge as sharp as the day it was forged.
Ser Walder grinned, tightening his grip on his hammer. "Ready for some fun, m'lord?"
Ned gave him a knowing look. "Stay alive."
Walder let out a booming laugh. "No promises."
The enemy reached the gate.
The sound of axes and weapons battering and striking against the wood echoed through the city.
The Seal Gate shuddered under the force of the assault, splinters flying from the impact.
Above, the archers continued their relentless fire, but it was only a matter of time now.
A crack splintered through the air as the gate began to give way.
Ned tightened his grip on Ice.
The storm was about to break.