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Chapter 619
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 18:02:56 +0000 UTCCompared to the two earth-shattering battles that had unfolded over the past two weeks—one on land, one at sea—the siege of King’s Landing felt almost underwhelming.
The capital’s layout was no secret. Its defenses had been scrutinized over the course of the prolonged siege, every weak point meticulously identified. The attackers were at the peak of their morale, while the defenders had sunk to their lowest. And with the looming threat of the Reach and the Westerlands still hanging in the background, a prolonged siege was not an option.
"No foreplay—one swift strike."
That was the doctrine Daenerys had set for the battle.
The Unsullied who had been repurposed for the fleet had no time to return to their original posts, so instead, they landed. After a brief day of rest aboard their ships, they stormed ashore, launching an assault on the Iron Gate from the abandoned royal naval harbor.
That was the opening move.
The rest of the thirty-thousand-strong siege army attacked from all sides, pressing the defenders along the length of the walls, stretching their meager forces thin—and then, in an instant, they clenched their fist.
A brutal, concentrated assault targeted the weakest points of the city’s gates, using explosive charges for a decisive breach.
Simple. Brutal. Effective.
----
Of the seven main gates of King’s Landing:Three fell immediately. The River Gate, the Gate of the Gods, and the Dragon Gate collapsed under the first wave of explosive charges.One survived. The Iron Gate, having been recently repaired, miraculously withstood the blast.Three held. At the remaining gates, defenders fought off the sappers, preventing them from setting charges—but their morale was already shattered. With no reinforcements in sight, with no further orders from their king, the moment they heard the city had been breached, they either fled or surrendered.
A city was not a fortress. Once the gates fell, the battle was as good as lost.
Daenerys intended to rule Westeros, not reduce it to ashes, so she strictly forbade massacres, looting, or rape—crimes that would destroy her legitimacy. But maintaining discipline in an army inside a fallen city was never easy.
Fortunately, she had the Unsullied.
Lacking both the urges of men and the freedom to disobey, these eunuch warriors enforced iron discipline, making them the ideal military police to keep order.
With the Unsullied holding the streets, the seven columns of the Targaryen army advanced through fire and smoke, marching toward the three high points of the city and the ultimate prize—the Red Keep.
The expected final stand never came.
Instead, they encountered only scattered resistance—a few burning barricades, a handful of desperate holdouts. The intensity of battle had peaked during the initial assault on the walls and now rapidly declined to near insignificance.
The army advanced in orderly formation, securing prisoners and putting out fires along the way.
The streets ran thick with plunder—but not with blood.
The true struggle that had been envisioned—the desperate, vicious last stand of a city defending its king—never materialized.
The only real resistance was forming outside the walls.
----
To the south of the city, something unexpected was happening.
A thousand-strong elite force had broken through the River Gate, moving against the tide of battle, heading away from the city.
They cut their way through the deserted fish markets, once bustling, now abandoned, heading upriver along the northern bank of the Blackwater.
With the main army fully committed to storming the Red Keep, and Daenerys herself—along with her spies, shapeshifters, and dragons—focused entirely on securing her victory, this rogue force had gone unnoticed.
Though some scattered patrols had spotted their movement, the lack of instant communication meant the alarm could not be raised in time.
By sheer luck, timing, and circumstance, this last ember of resistance, personally led by Stannis Baratheon, managed to advance miles beyond the city before they were finally discovered.
A patrol sighted them within a league of their target—the Night’s Watch industrial complex—and immediately raced to alert the commander stationed there.
----
Aegor was genuinely surprised.
He had stayed firmly in camp, expecting Stannis to make his last stand at the Red Keep.
And yet, here the man was—charging across half the city to personally deliver Aegor a great military achievement.
Was he really that determined to destroy the industrial complex?
Did he somehow know that this place would one day become the largest weapons factory in Westeros?
Or was it something simpler?
Was Stannis simply so consumed with hatred for the “treacherous Night’s Watch officer” who had ruined his life that he chose to abandon the Red Keep just to kill him personally?
Aegor didn’t know.
And frankly, he didn’t care.
"Prepare for all possibilities."
That was his guiding principle.
So while he hadn’t expected Stannis to abandon the Red Keep, while he was taken aback by the sheer recklessness of this last-ditch counterattack—
He was not unprepared.
----
The Giftlander army, nearly three thousand strong, was already assembled inside the industrial complex, waiting for orders.
This had been intentional.
The industrial compound was the Targaryen army’s western headquarters—leaving it unguarded would have been absurd.
When selecting which forces to deploy for the siege, Aegor had deliberately sent the Meereenese troops forward while holding his own men in reserve.
Why?
Simple.
Because he didn’t trust them.
When under his watch, the Giftlanders could be controlled by sheer personal presence—by his authority, his reputation.
But once loosed into the chaos of the city?
There was no telling what they might do.
Better to keep them here, than risk an undisciplined slaughter that could stain the victory.
And now—what had been a simple precaution had turned into an unintentional masterstroke.
Aegor stood, voice firm.
“Sound the call to arms!”
Horns blared.
The three thousand black-cloaked warriors straightened, helmets secured, banners raised.
They were ready.
----
“Commander! The enemy is not attacking the industrial compound!”
The scout’s report was urgent.
“They’ve taken the docks!”
Aegor blinked.
The docks?
The Targaryen fleet was engaged on the eastern front. The Iron Fleet was scattered. The Royal Navy had been destroyed.
The only boats left belonged to the Night’s Watch trading operations.
And then—Aegor understood.
“Stannis isn’t here to fight me.”
“He’s here to escape.”
----
Stannis had seen the writing on the wall.
The moment the walls fell, he had known—King’s Landing was lost.
But surrender?
Never.
If he could not hold the city—
He would flee.
And one day, he would return.
----
Aegor exhaled.
"He’s not getting away."
His hand tightened over the straps of his freshly donned Valyrian steel armor.
“Rally the troops. We’re moving out.”
----
Across the river, Stannis Baratheon turned his head, watching the dark tide of soldiers approaching from the west.
He sighed.
“Jastelyn.”
Bywater stepped forward.
“I have one last task for you.”
His voice was low.
“If I win, return with empty boats and take the rest of my men to Storm’s End.”
“But if I lose—”
He looked toward his wife.
Toward his daughter.
“Take them to the Night’s Watch.”
