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Chapter 618
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 18:02:24 +0000 UTCStannis scanned the battlefield, his face dark with fury. “Where is Ser Justin Massey?”
The Ironborn still held an overwhelming advantage—yet they had abandoned the field in a panicked rout, leaving his royal fleet to be butchered by the remnants of the Targaryen navy and two rampaging dragons.
He nearly coughed up blood.
"The Ironborn have betrayed me!"
His battle plan had been clear: split into separate retreat paths, use layered barricades to slow the enemy, and withdraw along Muddy Way, Hook Alley, and River Street, drawing the attackers into the alleyways of the capital. The goal was to stall for time—enough for the King’s reserve forces in the city center and the other gate garrisons to either counterattack or retreat to the Red Keep.
Yet here he was, facing Jastelyn Bywater far too soon.
“I came the moment I received the call for reinforcements. How in the name of the gods have you already fallen back this far?” Stannis reined in his horse before Bywater, his expression iron-hard. Then his eyes narrowed as recognition set in.
“Jastelyn? Tell me—who broke the gate? How many have entered the city?”
The situation reeked of suspicion. His appointed commander had vanished, yet this man—supposedly under watch—stood unharmed? Even with sworn testimony from his loyal soldiers, it was too much of a coincidence.
“Ser Massey was behind the gate when it fell. He is now missing—most likely captured.”
Bywater’s words came quickly, but Stannis barely seemed to hear them.
This was more than just another battlefield setback.
The Mud Gate wasn’t just a defensive position.
It was the last bastion of House Baratheon’s rule. The final symbol of his legitimacy.
And yet, against all reason, against twice their numbers, the enemy had seized an impossible victory.
----
The naval battle had been his final, desperate gamble.
Like Daenerys, he had packed his fleet with elite soldiers, throwing nearly three thousand men into his last stand at Blackwater Bay.
When the Iron Fleet arrived, he had made the fateful decision: he would not recall his naval forces to reinforce the city. In fact, he doubled down, reinforcing his fleet with another thousand troops, bringing his nearly broken navy to full strength—if only for a single battle.
The goal?
A decisive victory at sea, a chance to punch a hole through his inevitable defeat.
It had failed.
Not only had he failed to destroy Daenerys’s navy—he had failed to even contest Blackwater Bay. His fleet had been annihilated, and with it, any hope of maintaining a strategic foothold.
Now, with three thousand men lost, King’s Landing’s defenses were weaker than before Euron had even arrived.
----
If they stayed and fought, the Red Keep would become their tomb.
Sooner or later, the enemy’s damned explosive weapons would breach the final walls, and Stannis Baratheon would meet his end—not in glorious battle, but buried beneath rubble and dragonfire.
And so, as the soldiers around him braced for their last stand, waiting for the enemy to push forward—waiting for the signal to surrender—a distant rumble shook the ground beneath their feet.
The sound of hooves.
Stone trembled.
The clatter of armor.
The men barely had time to react before a column of knights emerged from the narrow streets behind them, their red banners rippling in the air.
The Baratheon men scrambled, hastily stowing away their makeshift white flag.
Barely had they hidden it before Stannis himself appeared at the vanguard of the approaching force.
Bywater turned, stunned.
Isn’t he supposed to be securing the breach?
----
Stannis's gaze swept over the disorganized, demoralized remnants of the Mud Gate garrison. Then his eyes locked onto Bywater, narrowing at the hesitation he saw in the man’s face.
One of the soldiers—perhaps emboldened by Bywater’s uncertainty—spoke quickly.
“Who has white cloth? Quickly!”
Bywater remained silent.
His silence was not refusal.
And silence was all the confirmation his men needed.
Within moments, they were stripping cloth from their gambesons, fashioning a crude flag. It was gray, stained, but unmistakable—anything but the crimson of House Baratheon.
It didn’t have to be white. It only needed to be not red.
By the time Stannis arrived, the flag had barely been hidden.
But Stannis had seen enough.
His face darkened.
“Damn it! Put that away!”
----
Of all men in the world, none wished to hold King’s Landing more than Stannis Baratheon.
But he knew the truth.
If he stood and fought, his wife and daughter would share the fate of Elia Martell and her children, slaughtered in the Red Keep at the end of Robert’s Rebellion.
Stannis had spent his entire life fighting battles.
He had never feared war.
But he feared that.
He would not allow it.
And so he had made his decision.
Not to fight.
But to abandon King’s Landing.
----
Bywater straightened his spine as Stannis approached, standing as if this were any other day, any other report.
“Judging by their banners, the Dornish make up the majority of the force that breached the gate,” he reported swiftly. “There are some from the Night’s Watch as well. As for how many have entered—I do not know.”
Stannis’s jaw tightened.
He exhaled sharply.
His voice, when it came, was low.
“So be it.”
A pause.
Then—
“I am giving you the chance to redeem yourself.”
Bywater blinked.
“Lead the way. Find a path that avoids the enemy’s main forces. Take us to the Mud Gate.”
Bywater’s stomach twisted.
His first instinct was to question, to ask why.
But then—out of the corner of his eye—he saw something.
Or rather—someone.
Beyond Stannis, just behind the ranks of his personal knights, stood a small, pale figure.
Shireen Baratheon.
And his wife beside her.
He had expected Stannis to come and retake the gate.
To fortify it.
To rally what was left of his forces.
But now—seeing the girl, seeing the queen—he understood.
This was no counterattack.
This was a retreat.
----
The battle had already been lost.
The men knew it.
The officers knew it.
Even Bywater himself had begun to accept it.
There was no more hope of victory.
King’s Landing could not be held.
There were only two choices left:
To die with honor…
…or to survive.
And Stannis—against all odds, against everything Bywater had come to expect from the man—
Had chosen to live.
To cast aside his pride.
To abandon the Iron Throne.
To flee, to fight another day.
And maybe—just maybe—
To one day return.
