War is like a game of chess. Until the final battle of the last campaign erupts, the commander's decisions play a decisive role in shaping the outcome.
The two claimants in this war are Aegon Targaryen and Daenerys Targaryen. But in today's contest, the true players are Aegor West, the White Walker Slayer, Savior of Humanity, and Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and Jon Connington, Lord of Griffin's Roost, head of House Connington, and former Hand of the King to Daenerys's father.
In terms of reputation and victories, the former far outshines the latter. Yet Connington has his own advantage. In his youth, he was fortunate enough to survive every mistake a man could make. Having endured exile and hardship, he has grown seasoned, cautious, and astute. He is a formidable opponent for anyone.
With such a man commanding the army, the idea that a few rounds of cannon fire could frighten his troops into collapse is nothing but fantasy.
The moment he realized that the "thunder" was not a natural phenomenon but a new enemy weapon, countless possibilities surged through Connington's mind. His experience allowed him to consider every potential danger in an instant.
Among them, one scenario stood out as both extreme and highly probable: the army on the north bank had not only deployed this booming new weapon, but was also preparing to cross the river in force with dragons. At the same time, the Dornish to the south might have been persuaded into alliance, ready to strike their old rivals.
The direct casualties from bombardment were negligible compared to the losses that could arise from panic: stampedes, broken discipline, soldiers fleeing in rout, pursuit by the enemy, or even a pincer attack.
After arranging for the king and queen to leave the open ground and take shelter, Connington immediately directed elite troops to stabilize order in the main camp. The Golden Company was sent to guard the banks of the Blackwater. The allied forces were instructed to watch the south. The dragon-hunting ballistas were prepared for air defense.
Orders flowed from the tent through messengers braving the constant thunder of cannon fire.
After executing a few panicked men as an example, order in the main camp gradually stabilized. Aside from the terrifying experience of iron balls crashing down every few seconds, the southern host began assembling in formation under the Hand's command.
Connington commanded far more pieces than Aegor. Though he did not know the name of the new weapon, he recognized its strengths and weaknesses. The sound was dreadful, but the numbers and destructive power were limited.
Thus his countermeasure was simple: endure it. Stand firm as a mountain.
In theory, it was sound. Even if every five cannon shots killed one man, and the enemy expended all their ammunition, total casualties would amount to only a few hundred. Against an army of tens of thousands, that was negligible.
But soldiers are not lifeless chess pieces. They have fear and emotion. It is one thing to trade losses in battle. It is another to suffer death under constant bombardment while unable to strike back at all.
Inside the southern command post, a heated discussion had just ended.
The command tent had been hastily set up behind a low hill. A dead tree atop the hill provided slight obstruction to incoming fire, and a reinforced wooden barricade had been erected on the northern side. Within the tent, the king, queen, and the leading lords huddled together under the rumble of cannon fire.
Many lords of the Reach, including Mace Tyrell, felt immense pressure and proposed retreating several miles to reestablish camp before reconsidering their strategy. Connington, however, knew that the Dornish might be waiting for precisely such a sign of weakness. The moment they withdrew, they might invite disaster.
Relying on his authority as Hand, Connington overruled them and insisted they hold position. But that decision required action to justify it.
"Report from the riverbank," a messenger cried. "The enemy is launching boats and rafts. They are preparing to cross!"
"Tell Lord Strickland to hold formation. Remain steady. Strike when they are halfway across," Connington ordered.
Another report followed. "They are not crossing directly. They are tying small boats together. They are building pontoon bridges!"
Pontoon bridges.
Connington's heart sank slightly, but he kept his composure. "Move the siege engines to the riverbank. Deploy long-range weapons. Disrupt their construction."
Orders were carried out under a hail of iron.
The southern host had prepared siege equipment long ago, anticipating a siege of King's Landing. But even their maximum range could not match that of the cannons. When ballistas and catapults were pushed laboriously to the riverbank and began firing, they managed to damage only a few unmanned boats before intense counter-bombardment forced them back. Once exposed at the river's edge, their positions became easy targets.
After another booming volley, the siege crews retreated in disorder, leaving behind dead men and shattered machines.
Recognizing the disadvantage in range, Connington turned to his most formidable asset: the dragon-hunting ballistas.
Though designed to slay dragons, they were essentially enhanced scorpions. When leveled horizontally, they could serve against ground targets. More importantly, their maximum range surpassed that of ordinary siege engines.
If dozens of siege engines and dragon-hunting ballistas were deployed in layered formation along the riverbank, they might overwhelm the northern shore through sheer numbers, even if individually weaker.
But before he could commit to that risk, the two dragons they had long anticipated appeared.
After circling high above, well beyond the reach of any ballista, they descended and landed within the Industrial Park across the river.
They did not breathe fire. But their presence alone forced Connington to abandon any thought of reallocating the dragon-hunters.
"Hand," Mace Tyrell urged, anguish clear in his voice. "The situation is unfavorable. We cannot endure this indefinitely. Please order a retreat."
The siege engines and their crews were largely men of the Reach. Naturally, Tyrell felt their losses keenly. Though it was unseemly to press the Hand so soon after becoming the king's goodfather, he had given Connington a chance to prove himself. And so far, the Night's Watch commander held the advantage.
"Lord Tyrell, patience," Connington replied. "Even if we withdraw, we must first ascertain Dorne's position and secure our line of retreat. A disorderly retreat will become a rout. Have the southern scouts reported?"
"The Dornish have not left their camp. Our scouts were driven back."
Was that good news?
Not necessarily. If the Dornish had already attacked, at least the lines would be clear and a decisive engagement could begin. With defensive works and superior numbers, they might hold.
Instead, like the dragons circling overhead before landing, this uncertainty was more dangerous than open hostility.
"I understand the Hand's concern," Margaery said suddenly.
As a woman, she would not normally sit in a war council. But in this moment, she spoke.
"If we hold the main camp, we can rely on trenches, ramparts, and the dragon-hunting ballistas to counter both army and dragon. If we retreat into open ground, we risk being caught between enemy troops and dragons. But have you considered another possibility? That Aegor began constructing pontoon bridges only now, not because he forgot earlier, but because he never intended to attack immediately? Perhaps his plan is to continue bombarding us with this Powder weapon until morale collapses. Based on my understanding of him, he will never abandon an advantage out of honor. He may simply grind us down."
The lords murmured in agreement. Connington fell silent.
Deep down, he had assumed that his opponent, bold and confident in his new weapon, would press for a decisive battle.
If so, holding firm was correct.
But if the enemy chose to bombard endlessly, waiting until morale broke before advancing, then catastrophe loomed.
"If he intended to attack amid chaos, he would already be halfway across the river," Margaery said, turning from Connington to her husband.
"Your Grace, we have only two paths. Either we retreat now, or we hold without retreating at all. The choice is yours."
(To be continued.)