Chapter 61: Burdens
Third person pov :
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Under the cloak of night, the Westerosi Capital underwent a transformative change. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow upon the cobblestone streets, painting the city in shades of silver and gray.
Common people retreated to their cozy hearths, sharing stories and dreams while the soldiers, their faces illuminated by the flickering glow of torches, hustled with solemn determination. Armor clanged, blades sharpened, and orders echoed in the cool night air as they prepared for war.
Nobles, cloaked in opulent attire, convened in their grand halls. Lavish banquets were served, concealed conversations whispered, and the intricate machinations of power took flight. The moonlight exposed glittering masks and the glittering pretense that adorned them.
Within the grand sept, the septons gathered, their devout figures draped in ceremonial robes of pristine white and vivid red. Their presence brought an unwavering resolve to the night, their recitations of prayers reverberating with unwavering faith, like a rallying war cry amidst the shadows.
In the soft glow of candlelight, the septons bowed their heads in reverence, their voices rising in powerful unison as they invoked blessings and protection from the gods. They fervently implored the Mother to watch over the city's children, the Warrior to grant indomitable strength to its defenders, and the Crone to bestow wisdom in the face of adversity.
With unwavering conviction, they chanted incantations of protection against "Stannis the Filthy," their voices exuding defiance against the malevolent forces that sought to snuff out the light. They called upon the divine intervention of the Blessed King, beseeching his watchful gaze to fortify the city's defenses and its brave inhabitants.
As the city teetered on the brink of uncertainty, the septons' voices soared as an unyielding battle cry, a solemn oath that in the face of adversity, the people of King's Landing would not falter, their faith a beacon against the looming shadows.
And the Red Keep, perched atop Aegon's Hill, brooded like always, a silent sentinel, harboring the echoes of countless stories and intrigues...
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Tyrion Lannister pov :
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Alright, so picture this: there I was, in this fancy room, surrounded by all the bells and whistles. And what was I doing? Well, I was staring at this massive map like it held the secrets to the universe.
Now, you might be thinking, 'Why was he squinting at a piece of paper?' But let me tell you, this wasn't just any map. This thing had the entire realm sprawled out, with markings, symbols, and whatnot. It was like a puzzle of power and politics.
And there I was, furrowing my brow, like I had it all figured out. Truth is, that shit was like a maze, with lines and circles that might as well have been written in Valyrian.
I casually sipped my wine, and a smirk tugged at my lips. Why the smirk, you wonder? It was all thanks to our friend Stannis. He had this whole "I'm the rightful king" act going on. But let's face it, he was about as adaptable as a block of stone. His humor? Well, it was as lively as a direwolf at a tea party.
Now, about his strategic genius, oh, it was unparalleled, truly! It was like watching an ant trying to take down an elephant – you couldn't help but marvel at the audacity...
I took another swig of wine, and I couldn't help but let out a deep sigh. The smirk on my face? It faded away, replaced by a look of exhaustion. My fingers started massaging my brows as I continued to stare at that darn map.
Let me level with you, this map? It wasn't just squiggles and lines. It was a big, glaring reminder of how lopsided this whole thing was...
On one side, there was me, Tyrion Lannister, with the realm firmly in my corner (courtesy of my blessed nephew). And on the other side, there was this motherf*cking Clown who thought he could just waltz into the capital and sit on the Wooden Throne (as it was being called nowadays).
"It just doesn't make sense..." I muttered while thinking about the sheer disparity in numbers. The forces at my disposal were staggering: the might of the capital, the steadfast knights of the Vale, and the Lannister troops steadily trickling in for some mysterious reason (Did Joffrey strike a deal with father?). Soon, the armies of House Tyrell would join our ranks, the result of some careful negotiations that promised a future crown.
All of these forces were mine to command, at least in theory. And yet... Stannis did not give up. With less than half of the lords of the Stormlands answering his call to arms, how could he ever hope to win such an imbalanced fight?
As I muttered while thinking about the uncanny situation, I rose from my seat, the small dog at my feet scurrying to keep up. I paced back and forth, the click of my boots echoing in the chamber, my mind racing with possibilities.
The most logical answer, the one that nagged at the back of my mind, was that Stannis was, in a word, insane. Crazy to believe he could challenge the united might of the realm with a mere fraction of the strength. As I pondered this, I couldn't help but shake my head and mutter, "The man's lost his wits." It was the only explanation that made any sense.
And yet... there was a chance, a tiny glimmer of possibility that Stannis Baratheon had an ace up his heavily armored sleeve. A hidden trick, perhaps, that fueled his audacity to keep ignoring the letters I'd sent, each one urging peaceful negotiations, only to receive the same blunt response: "Bend the knee or die."
It sounded almost comical, but it was this very uncertainty that kept me awake at night. I found myself planning, analyzing, thinking. With the King scurrying off to gather Northern armies (because apparently, the southern ones weren't sufficient for him), it fell upon my hands to pick up the slack, no?
*Sigh*
The distant sound of the city's hustle and bustle was a stark contrast to the solitude of this room. I leaned closer to the map, tracing the lines and strategizing. Stannis had a reputation for being unyielding, and I had to assume he'd press every little advantage he had. A small number of troops meant high mobility, and with so few ships, he could reach the capital quite quickly if he desired to do so...
As I contemplated our defenses, I couldn't shake the feeling that the man might harbor some dark, supernatural power that emboldened him.
Taking another sip of wine, I mused aloud, "It's like dealing with a force of nature. Unpredictable and unforgiving."
But then, that's why I was here. To plan, to strategize, and to outwit the man who seemed to defy reason. The capital's fate rested in my hands, and I couldn't afford to underestimate the sheer tenacity of my opponent. In this, the stakes were high, and I was determined to play my hand with all the cunning and wit at my disposal...
"Lop off the head, and the whole army will fall dead." I muttered softly, my eyes glinting mischievously.
"I might have the perfect idea with how to deal with you, piece of s*it."
I paused in my pacing to gaze out the window, the city lights shimmering below. The wine was within arm's reach, and I poured myself another glass.
I then took a moment to pet the small dog, my fingers running through its soft fur.
"Silly dog," I murmured, "You understand politics better than some lords, don't you?"
With a small smile on my face, I returned to the map, fingers tracing the lines of power.
'I have a feeling that this game is about to get even more intriguing, and I'm determined to stay one step ahead.'
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A.N :
""If you care about something, you should be strong enough to defend it.
If you want something, you should be strong enough to aim for it.
If you are weak, you should aim to become stronger.
If you want to become stronger, you must have the resolution to climb mountains of corpses.
You should have understood by now that the cultivation world is not a nice one."
Basil nodded and expressed the last question he had in his mind.
"Killing fifty innocent men to protect one only for some small increase in power, aren't you afraid that the world will consider you a demon?"
This question made Noah fall in deep thought."
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