wtfbengt
patreon
Chapter 658
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 18:22:10 +0000 UTCBoom!
The walls trembled. The doors and windows shook. And the hearts of the Reach lords quivered along with them.
At last, they understood why Loras had warned them to brace themselves—had he not, half the room would have already leapt to their feet, screaming "The Night’s Watch is attacking!" and scrambling for the exits like frightened hens.
Even with the warning, the deafening blast struck like a hammer to the skull, dragging countless lords back to that day at Blackwater Rush, forcing them to relive the terror of facing an unknown, monstrous weapon. A ripple of shock and dread passed through the gathered nobility, lingering just long enough to be visible before reason suppressed it, forcing the room into uneasy silence.
In the midst of murmured discussions and nervous glances, the next speaker took the stage. According to plan, King Aegon Targaryen stepped forward with an air of cool composure, his voice firm and unwavering as he began his speech.
"That sound alone should be proof enough—we have acquired gunpowder technology. I doubt I need to elaborate further."
His gaze swept over the hall before he continued.
"But beyond this, I bring another… let’s call it not entirely bad news. The diplomatic envoy from Pentos, intercepted and searched by the Queen’s guards at the River Gate, resisted arrest and fought to the death."
There were few who knew the truth of Aegon’s origins. And now, with Illyrio Mopatis dead, that number had dwindled further still.
Aegon would never learn of his true parentage.
Yet whether he knew of his bloodline or not, he was well aware of one thing—Illyrio had always been a shadowed ally, a secret patron, and a friend to his cause.
Losing such an ally should have been a grievous blow.
But a king had no luxury for grief.
Aegon swallowed his sorrow and locked his jaw. He would not waste Illyrio’s death. He would wring every last advantage from it.
"Executing a foreign envoy in broad daylight—regardless of the justification—will deal a severe blow to Daenerys and her so-called government’s reputation. Meanwhile, it strengthens our legitimacy on the international stage." He exhaled through his nose. "This means that if we survive this campaign, the tides of support—both domestic and foreign—will shift. The lords of Westeros will question her war, and the Free Cities may move against her interests."
He let the weight of his words settle before delivering his next statement.
"However."
His voice grew steely.
"I say if, but our reality is only if. No distant allies can save us. Even if the Free Cities were to recognize me, even if they pressured my aunt, even if they mustered forces to strike at her holdings in Essos, it would mean nothing unless we first endure the wrath of her strongest supporter—Aegor Wester, who even now marches upon us with fire and steel."
His youthful face hardened into something more befitting a king.
"This council convenes to plan our defense. And in service of that goal, there are two matters that must be addressed immediately."
"First." His gaze flickered toward Margaery for the briefest of moments before returning to the room. "The initial stockpile of gunpowder materials was gathered through the personal efforts of my queen, who oversaw its collection in the lands surrounding Highgarden. Now that we have achieved a breakthrough in its refinement, the burden of large-scale procurement must fall upon all of us. We do not have time to outline every logistical detail here. If there are no objections, I ask each of you to send your maesters or trusted subordinates to report to Ser Loras after this meeting."
"Second."
His expression darkened.
"While we have successfully reverse-engineered gunpowder, we still lack proper means of deploying it." He raised a hand, gesturing vaguely. "Whether in the form of spherical bombs hurled by hand or in the great iron cannons that can hurl shot for miles—we do not yet possess the necessary production methods."
A brief silence fell.
"At present, we hold a weapon without a means to wield it. It is akin to having Valyrian steel arrowheads, but no bows nor strings to fire them. This is a critical weakness. We must pool our collective knowledge, forge a strategy, and—should all else fail—devise contingency plans to ensure we can still meet our enemy in battle."
"That doesn’t sound right."
A new voice cut in as soon as Aegon finished.
"Didn’t our allies in King’s Landing already steal the Night’s Watch’s blueprints? If so, why can’t we just follow them? If the answers are right there, why are we wasting time reinventing the wheel?"
The speaker was Randyll Tarly.
Though he had stepped away from frontline command after his defeat in the Stormlands two years prior—an arrow in the back courtesy of Robb Stark—his experience and strategic insight remained undisputed.
His blunt question sparked a murmur of agreement.
Aegon did not react with offense. Instead, he merely nodded in acknowledgment before responding.
"Yes, the blueprints exist. However, the reports from our craftsmen indicate that the formulas provided were intentionally misleading. The gunpowder ratios were false, the bomb construction methods were flawed, and as for the cannon schematics…"
His expression grew grim.
"I regret to inform you all that our ‘ally’ within the Night’s Watch’s industries has been discovered and imprisoned. It is clear now that this entire leak was a trap—a deliberate purge orchestrated by the enemy. Given that, we must lower our expectations for any remaining information contained in the stolen documents."
Even as he explained, Aegon subtly inclined his head toward Randyll—a silent gesture of approval.
For all his harshness, the old general was at least engaging constructively in the discussion. If more followed his example, this council might actually achieve something.
And, indeed, Randyll’s directness proved contagious. The chamber grew livelier, nobles offering suggestions in rapid succession.
In the midst of this energy, Harry Strickland, commander of the Golden Company, stood and raised a hand.
"Let me speak."
The discussions stilled as attention turned to him.
"Let’s assume we never perfect our gunpowder weapons in time. That is… troubling. But it’s made me realize two things."
He lifted a finger.
"First—even if we were to replicate their weaponry, the enemy would still have superior quality, better precision, and far more experience. To meet them in a battle of powder against powder would be playing directly into their strengths. But the Reach…? The Reach has horses. Thousands of them. Cavalry that vastly outnumbers the Queen’s forces. And what does our enemy lack?"
His lips curled into a smirk.
"An answer to cavalry. That is where we strike."
Aegon exhaled, considering this.
Strickland raised another finger.
"Second—let me ask you all. At Blackwater Rush, what truly broke our army? Was it the raw destruction of the explosives?"
He shook his head before anyone could answer.
"No."
His voice carried through the hall.
"It was fear. It was the sound, the sheer chaos. Our losses were not from direct explosions—but from panicked soldiers trampling one another. From warhorses and elephants stampeding in terror. From formations crumbling into disorder."
His eyes glinted.
"So I say this: before we worry about throwing gunpowder at our enemies—we should first use it on ourselves."
A pause.
Then, his words crashed over the room like a wave.
"Gather the army. Surround the testing fields. And then—blast them, over and over, until every last soldier can hear an explosion and not flinch."
"That alone may decide this war."
