Escorted by two fully armored soldiers, Earl Quentyn Roxton walked slowly into the tent.
Arthur looked at the Lord of the Ring, who seemed to have aged ten years in just a week, and asked, "Earl Quentyn, have you made up your mind?"
Quentyn's Adam's apple bobbed. His voice was incredibly raspy. "My Lord, I am willing to surrender and do as you ask."
He raised his head. Suppressed fury burned in his bloodshot eyes, and his right hand clenched and unclenched involuntarily.
Seeing the massive Starfall reinforcements arrive from the Red Mountains had made it painfully clear that the claims about the Redwyne Fleet pinning down Starfall's main force were nothing but lies and ghost stories.
For the past week, his lands had been scorched, his vassals and subjects bleeding and dying.
Yet House Redwyne, who had started this conflict, sat by and watched. How else could one explain an army of over two thousand crossing the Red Mountains to reinforce the siege?
Gerold looked puzzled. "I'm curious. What made you hold out for a week before surrendering?"
"The letter from Highgarden." A twitch spasmed at the corner of Quentyn's mouth. His voice was low and bitter. "They said your main force was guarding against a Redwyne raid and wouldn't cross the Red Mountains in large numbers."
Now he finally understood that aside from the twenty-odd barrels of so-called compensation wine, every other word in that letter was false.
What use did he have for that damned wine?
It couldn't bring back Menedy, his carefully groomed heir. It couldn't restore his burnt fields and houses.
Since House Roxton had already suffered such grievous losses, why shouldn't other houses of the Reach taste this bitterness?
Perhaps House Redwyne could compensate them with wine for their losses, too?
Ser Bard scratched his thick black beard, a smile playing on his lips. "We were delayed by the wheat in our fields. The harvest in the Torrentine valley was twenty percent higher than last year."
"Alright, it's getting late. This meeting is adjourned," Arthur waved his hand to dismiss them. "Go and make your preparations. If Earl Quentyn cannot call the gates open for us, we'll have to do it ourselves."
Meanwhile, the situation inside Ring stood in stark contrast to the relaxed atmosphere of Arthur's camp.
In the Great Hall of the castle, Lady Ayana sat with a handful of knights and the Maester around a long table. The candles had burned down to stubs, wax pooling like small mountains on the candlesticks in grotesque shapes.
"My Lady," Maester Hicks cleared his throat. "Almost all the villages and towns directly under Ring have been attacked. The levies and vassals from the outlying lands have been intercepted and routed."
Lady Ayana sat in the high-backed chair, looking haggard. Deep shadows hung beneath her eyes.
She had been drinking milk of the poppy almost every night just to forget the grief of her eldest son's death and the pressure of the siege long enough to sleep.
"Aside from the wounded sent back by Starfall as a 'mercy'," Maester Hicks continued, "only a few small groups of levies—barely a dozen men each—have managed to slip through the weaker points of the encirclement in the west. The current garrison stands at just over three hundred men."
"And the food stores?" Lady Ayana's voice was barely a whisper.
"Our stores are ample. Enough to feed three hundred people for a year or two." Maester Hicks sighed, his gaze sweeping over everyone present. "But Lord Paxter has not replied. Highgarden is organizing relief forces... but I do not know if we can wait until..."
He didn't finish, but everyone understood the implication.
Outside the castle, the clamor from the enemy camp was clearly audible. They had all watched from the battlements as a massive reinforcement column joined the besieging army.
A young handmaiden couldn't hold back her sobs. She covered her mouth with her apron, but the weeping sound was jarring in the silent hall.
"Enough!" The captain of the guard slammed the table and stood up. His armor, unremoved for days, reeked of stale sweat. "They cannot break in!"
He announced loudly, his voice echoing in the hall, "We have walls! We have a moat! If they want to get in, they'll have to lose a thousand men! That's right... they can't break in!"
But his voice grew quieter toward the end, as if he were trying to convince himself.
After the gathering dispersed, Lady Ayana dragged her exhausted body to the sept.
Moonlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting shards of colored light onto the statues of the Seven.
She saw her daughters lighting candles and praying before the Maiden. Her youngest son, Edwin, was curled up asleep at the feet of the Warrior, clutching a wooden sword that was too heavy for him.
"Mother." Her eldest daughter, Lyanna, turned her head. Candlelight danced on her youthful face. "Has the Seven abandoned House Roxton?"
Lady Ayana reached out to stroke her daughter's hair, soft as silk.
She remained silent for a long time before answering softly, "We have been abandoned by our liege lords."
The next day, as morning light crested the walls and illuminated the towers of Ring, the sight outside made every defender draw a cold breath.
The besieging army had formed a massive fan formation, surrounding Ring so tightly that not even water could trickle through.
The soldiers' armor reflected the cold light of dawn, looking like a sea of steel from a distance.
In the front ranks, soldiers drove prisoners to push carts filled with earth and stone, preparing to fill the moat.
The prisoners were ragged and stumbled as they walked; some had dried blood on their faces.
Behind them loomed massive siege towers and over twenty scaling ladders, ready to launch themselves at the walls.
The defenders on the battlements swallowed nervously.
Sweat slicked the palms of archers gripping their longbows. The legs of conscripted spearmen trembled uncontrollably.
Many of them had seen the wretched state of the levies routed by the Mountain Corps. The wounded sent back—missing arms or legs—had wailed through the night, their cries haunting the garrison.
A young levy knelt behind a crenelation, whispering prayers to the Warrior. Beside him, a veteran took several swigs of strong spirit, the liquid dripping from his beard onto his leather armor.
"Do not be afraid!" The captain of the guard strode along the wall, waving his sword to boost morale. "They are men too! If you shoot them, they bleed! If you smash them with rocks, they break! If you cut them, they die!"
"Hold fast! The army from Highgarden will arrive soon, and we will..."
A guard suddenly interrupted him, pointing down below. "Captain! Is that Lord Quentyn?"
The captain followed the guard's finger. Three men on horseback had ridden up to the edge of the moat. The man in the center held high the banner of House Roxton.
Even across the moat, the captain recognized his lord, Earl Quentyn Roxton.
The captain leaned over the battlements. "My Lord! What is this?"
"Captain." Quentyn's voice cut through the morning mist, sounding unnaturally clear.
"As the Earl of the Ring, I command you: Lower the drawbridge! Open the gates! Come out and surrender!"
Quentyn's words hit the calm surface like a boulder.
The wall erupted in chaos. Several levies threw down their weapons, shouting, "I surrender!"
The captain's face went pale. "But..."
"Captain! Obey my command!"
"My Lord, wait a moment." The captain hastily pulled back from the crenelations and whispered to his lieutenant, "I must report this to My Lady and let her decide. Do not lower the drawbridge until I return!"
But just as he rushed down the stairs, the groan of winches turning echoed behind him.
His heart nearly stopped. Someone had already started lowering the bridge!
Abandoning all dignity, the captain sprinted toward the sept, his armor clanking loudly in the empty corridors.
When he burst into the sept, gasping for breath, Lady Ayana was holding her two daughters.
Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting dappled colors on her pale face.
"My Lady," the captain panted, his words broken. "Lord Quentyn... has called the gates open."
Sweat stung his eyes. "Do you need me to lead a breakout?"
Lady Ayana hugged her daughters tighter.
"No need, Captain." Her voice was strangely calm. "Where would we run?"
She looked around, her gaze sweeping over the statues of the Seven, the stained glass, and the family sigils.
"This is our home."
Outside the sept, the boom of the drawbridge hitting the earth sounded like a funeral bell, tolling the fall of Ring.