After consulting with Freygo, Robert finally issued the order.
The assault on the Targaryens would begin before dawn the following morning.
At the same time, the combined fleet from Volantis would launch its offensive as well.
Once the meeting ended and the lords returned to their respective camps, two of Eddard's bannermen sought him out.
One was Cregan Karstark.
Though his hair had long since turned white, he remained as sturdy as ever.
He was broad-shouldered, powerfully built, and every step he took seemed to stir the air around him.
The other was Greatjon Umber.
Even larger than Cregan, Greatjon resembled a giant among men.
His own son, taller still by half a head, stood guard outside Eddard's tent to ensure no one interrupted them.
"My lord," Cregan began, "we all know the bond between you and King Robert. But I believe you have already fulfilled your duty as Warden of the North."
"Aye, my lord," Greatjon immediately agreed.
Eddard looked at the two men before asking calmly,
"So what are you suggesting?"
Cregan glanced outside the tent before lowering his voice.
"My lord... let's withdraw.
The men we've brought are all good lads. They shouldn't die in a place like this.
Forgive my bluntness, but Robert simply isn't a worthy king.
We've no reason to throw our lives away for him."
"Aye, my lord," Greatjon echoed once more.
The vassals of the Seven Kingdoms were not always reliable.
When serious disagreements arose with the king, it was hardly unheard of for a lord to gather his household troops and simply march home.
During the War of the Five Kings, House Karstark had abandoned Robb Stark after condemning what they saw as his double standards.
House Frey had likewise withdrawn two thousand men after Robb broke his marriage oath.
But Eddard Stark was different. His character was beyond reproach and his ability was unquestioned.
He had helped overthrow House Targaryen and led the North to victory. His prestige among his bannermen was immense.
Neither Cregan nor Greatjon dared simply leave without his consent.
After a long silence, Eddard finally spoke.
"Ser Cregan. I shall pretend I never heard those words."
"But if there is a next time... I will personally take your head."
His face remained utterly expressionless.
As for Greatjon... Though Eddard had not even looked at him, he instinctively shrank his neck.
....
On the hill where the Targaryen command camp stood, soldiers lined the great funeral pyre like rows of spears.
Their king stood atop it himself.
Patiently, carefully...
Viserys stitched Davos's severed arm back onto his body.
The three dragons waited silently around the pyre, each resting at a different corner, awaiting their master's command.
Mathos wept openly.
The pain in his chest was so great it felt as though his heart would burst from his throat.
No matter how many possibilities Viserys had considered...
He had never imagined that the men returning from Robert's camp would bring back Davos's corpse.
Nearly everyone knew Davos's story.
His humble birth was one thing.
His decisive role during the Siege of Storm's End was another.
Viserys had deliberately chosen Davos as his envoy.
He wanted to show the nobles of Westeros that surrender remained an honorable choice.
He wanted Davos himself to serve as an example.
Who could have imagined Robert would descend into such madness?
As a king...
He had ordered Davos's arm cut off.
If it had only been the arm...
Even then, Viserys would have begged the River Elder to help preserve Davos's life.
After so many years together, Viserys understood exactly what Davos had done.
That final charge into the gatepost...
It had been one last service to his king.
With that single act, Davos had nearly shattered the morale of Robert's alliance.
The confidence born from overwhelming numbers had all but disappeared.
From this moment onward, the Westerosi-Braavosi coalition's tolerance for casualties would be greatly diminished.
A defeat on any part of the battlefield might now trigger the collapse of the entire army.
After stitching Davos's arm back into place, Viserys stepped down from the pyre.
He chose to honor Davos with funeral rites according to the traditions of the Faith of the Seven.
The accompanying septons gently placed two carved stones over Davos's eyes.
Each stone bore the image of an eye.
Then they folded his hands across his chest around the sword he had carried in life.
Led by the septons, the army sang the Hymn of the Seven.
"Seven Above, show mercy and guide his soul home.
Father, weigh his spirit with justice.
Mother, mend the wounds of his body.
Warrior, receive his steadfast courage.
Maiden, reflect the purity of his heart.
Smith, reforge the name he has left behind.
Crone, light the path before his will.
Stranger, grant peace to his final sorrow."
The evening breeze whispered like a farewell. The stars shimmered like tears shed by the moon.
A solemn grief spread throughout the army.
Every soldier now knew the story of this lord.
When the hymn ended, Viserys turned toward his three dragons.
"...Dracarys"
Black...
Silver...
Green...
Three streams of dragonflame engulfed the funeral pyre.
As a final tribute to Davos, Viserys allowed the flames to burn for nearly a full minute.
Watching the blazing fire, Mathos stepped beside his king.
"Your Grace... Tomorrow's battle... Please allow me to lead the vanguard."
Without taking his eyes from the flames, Viserys asked quietly, "Did your father ever choose words for your house?"
"No, Your Grace."
"Then I shall grant your house its words."
Viserys drew a slow breath before declaring:
"First for the King."
.....
When Davos's funeral ended, Viserys returned alone to his command tent.
Through Balerion's eyes, he directed the dragon back toward Gohor.
Yes.
He intended to command two battlefronts at once.
Or more accurately...
One and a half.
Through the dragon's aerial view, he would signal the defenders at the chain towers, ensuring they raised the great chains at precisely the right moment.
By now, the combined fleet from Volantis had already reached the junction where the Upper Rhoyne and Little Rhoyne met.
At dawn, they planned to split into the two tributaries, seize control of both rivers, and cut off Gohor's water supply.
Of course...
After learning from Tormo's earlier campaign, Clinton had spent years ordering the digging of thousands of wells throughout Gohor.
The city had more than enough water to last at least two or three years.
Even after seizing the rivers, the coalition would still have to launch a direct assault once the northern army advanced.
Ser Arthur commanded the eastern chain tower along the Upper Rhoyne.
Because they intended to stop hundreds—perhaps even a thousand—enemy ships, these towers were built on a massive scale.
Each had been carefully disguised.
Some resembled ordinary houses.
Others were hidden among newly planted groves of tall trees.
"Ser..."
Clement, Lord Adrian's nephew, looked uneasily toward Arthur.
"Can our chains really stop that many ships?"
Thirty iron chains, each four to five hundred meters long, had nearly exhausted Gohor's entire steel reserve.
Yet after seeing the endless enemy fleet stretching to the horizon...
Even he could not help but worry.
It felt as though they were trying to bind the leg of a giant... With nothing more than a young girl's ribbon.
It was difficult to believe such a plan could truly succeed.
___________
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