Conquest Keep, Great Hall. Lo Quen had only recently returned from his triumphant campaign in Volantis when another visitor arrived at Conquest Keep.
Waymar Royce, having just escaped from the Vale, stood before him, clad in tattered clothes with dried blood staining his body. As soon as he entered the Great Hall, he dropped to his knees before Lo Quen with a heavy thud, his voice choked with emotion.
"Your Grace, I beg you... please, seek justice for the Vale! Avenge the countless souls lost in Runestone and Gulltown!"
He sobbed uncontrollably, recounting his horrific experience in broken, ragged sentences. He spoke of how the Lannister dogs, led by "The Mountain" Gregor Clegane, had butchered the Westerlands forces at Runestone, then laid waste to the once-thriving Gulltown—burning, killing, pillaging, sparing neither the old nor the young. The prosperous towns and castles were reduced to rubble and piles of corpses.
Ser Waymar lifted his tear-streaked face, his eyes pleading.
"Across the Seven Kingdoms, the nobles care only for power and profit. No one stops the Lions' atrocities. Tywin is dead, but his terror still spreads. Only you have the strength and dragons to stop them. Please, lend me your forces! Let me return for vengeance! Let me reclaim my home! The people of the Seven Kingdoms need your salvation!"
Lo Quen listened quietly to Waymar's blood-soaked, tearful condemnation. He had already heard about the atrocities committed by the Mountain. To be honest, the chaos in the Vale had taken him by surprise. He couldn't help but wonder: Was Cersei truly the Mad King's daughter?
Lo Quen looked down at the almost broken young knight and spoke slowly.
"Ser Waymar, I feel your grief and your rage. The Lannisters' crimes will be avenged. Rise."
He paused, then continued, "I have just concluded the campaign in Volantis, where I captured a large number of soldiers. I can provide you with ten thousand former Volantis slave soldiers, now fully trained, and ten thousand Dothraki horsemen. Take them and reclaim your homeland, and avenge the fallen."
Waymar Royce could scarcely believe his ears. Twenty thousand soldiers! Such a generous offer! He trembled with emotion.
"Thank you, Your Grace! House Royce and the people of the Vale will remember your kindness forever!"
Then he turned to Lo Quen, hesitated for a moment, and declared with firm resolve.
"Your Grace, you once told me of your plans to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. I swear to you here and now: when you set foot in those lands, I, Waymar Royce, will pledge my absolute loyalty!"
Lo Quen regarded him with interest.
"Why, Ser Waymar? Your father and brother were slain by the Lannisters. Runestone is already yours. Why then agree to my terms?"
Waymar's face twisted with raw hatred.
"Your Grace, the tragedy of House Royce has made me see the truth: the Seven Kingdoms hold no hope. These hypocritical, shameless nobles trample the lands with impunity. They are unworthy of the Iron Throne. Only you, Your Grace—your kindness and generosity are known across the Narrow Sea. Under your rule, your people live in peace and prosperity. These are truths I witnessed with my own eyes. You alone deserve to sit upon the Iron Throne!"
Lo Quen smiled.
"Ser Waymar, I accept your loyalty."
Joy lit up Waymar's face. He nearly leaped from his kneeling position, eager to take command of the army and return home. But Lo Quen raised a hand, signaling him to wait.
"Ser Waymar, you must wait ten more days. In ten days' time, I will host a grand wedding here at Conquest Keep. You will attend as a guest and witness this sacred ceremony."
A faint smile tugged at Lo Quen's lips.
"Before I set foot in the Seven Kingdoms, I shall marry Jaelena Belaerys, Janice Belaerys, Daenerys Targaryen, Chai Yiq, Ynys Yronwood, Myrcella Baratheon, and Sansa Stark."
Waymar was struck dumb. To marry seven queens at once? Unheard of. The Yi Ti people are certainly lucky—no limit on wives.
Waymar glanced up at the young king seated on the throne, a flicker of envy stirring in his heart.
…
Storm's End, the legendary fortress never breached by direct assault, now lay shrouded in hunger.
Young Aegon's army had not launched a frontal assault. Instead, they had encircled the castle so tightly that not a drop of water could pass.
Initially, the castle garrison could rely on stored provisions to get by with minimal supplies. But as time wore on, news of Stannis's main force being routed and the lack of reinforcements reached the defenders, shaking their resolve.
The stored provisions had long since run dry. Soldiers' daily rations dwindled to a shadow-like broth and a few blackened breadcrumbs. Warhorses were slaughtered one by one, until even rats, belts, and boots became contested food.
The wounded, malnourished and festering, wailed day and night. The once-impregnable castle now only held despair.
The garrison commander was Queen Selyse's brother, Ser Imry Florent. He struggled to maintain order, but hunger had shattered all discipline.
Late at night, deep within Storm's End, several gaunt, hollow-eyed soldiers huddled together in a storeroom. They were the guards assigned to watch a small side gate.
"I... I can't take it anymore... No Onion Knight will come to save us... Even the rats inside the castle have been eaten..."
A young soldier whimpered softly, his arms skin and bones. "Yesterday I saw someone gnawing on a piece cut from a corpse..."
"Don't say it..."
Another, slightly older soldier cut him off, his voice equally weak. "If this keeps up, we'll all starve to death. Is it worth it for Stannis?"
"But this is treason..."
"Treason? What's one more? First Lord Renly, then Lord Edric, now Lord Stannis... We've sworn allegiance to three kings already—what difference does a fourth make?"
The third soldier lowered his voice, madness flickering in his eyes. "Out there is Prince Rhaegar's son, a true Targaryen. If we open the gates and surrender the castle, we might just find a way to survive—to eat our fill."
Hunger finally overpowered loyalty. After a heavy silence, they reached a consensus.
The next day, before dawn, when weariness was at its peak, these soldiers crept to the side gate. They killed the lone comrade still holding his post, then mustered their last strength to lift the heavy bolt and slowly push open the small door.
Outside, patrolling soldiers of the Golden Company noticed the commotion and immediately signaled their comrades to surge through the gate. They swiftly seized control of the gatehouse and the surrounding area.
The garrison's cries finally rang out, but it was too late. More and more allied soldiers poured through the opened gate. The exhausted and starving defenders could barely mount any effective resistance.
The battle did not last long.
Storm's End was finally taken.