The sunset glow spilled across the fields.
Everything in sight was dyed with a golden radiance. In the stream not far away, patches of golden light floated, rising and falling with the current, drifting downstream as if in a simple, joyful, and tireless game.
The Messenger from Goldengrove leaned alone beneath an apple tree, gazing at the beautiful scenery under the red sun, and decided to rest here.
The Messenger was bleeding.
He couldn't walk anymore, and he didn't want to.
It's just a shame I couldn't deliver the plea for help letter from Goldengrove, he thought regretfully.
What will happen to Goldengrove?
He actually had a premonition in his heart. After all, he had seen it that day too.
Without any warning, a vast army suddenly appeared from south of the Mander River. The marching army formed an endlessly long line, raising hundreds of Golden Rose Banners.
The Army of Highgarden, Goldengrove's Liege Lord, had not sent any Ravens or Messengers to inform them beforehand.
Goldengrove continued to observe.
Beneath the Golden Rose Banners, thousands of Infantry lined up along the Roads on the East Bank of the Mander River, advancing steadily. The Cavalry gradually stood out from the ranks, separating from the main force, riding across the soft Grassland and Wheat Fields, and charging towards Goldengrove.
Just by looking at the formation, one could tell that the newcomers meant no good.
Goldengrove quickly reacted. While sending Guards out of the city to Negotiate with this Army, they nervously gathered people, preparing to deal with any sudden situation.
But this preparation was clearly not enough.
If the Army outside the city truly came with malice, then whether Goldengrove had a careful Defensive Arrangement or left its City Gate Wide Open, it would have no impact on the outcome.
After all, there were only a meager two hundred plus Guards left within Goldengrove, and most of the Rowan Family's strength had been taken by Lord Matus to Old Oak to defend against the Lannister Lions of the Westerlands.
To the enemy, Goldengrove was almost an empty city ready to be plucked.
People could only pray that the Army from the south was friendly Reinforcements, the genuine House Tyrell, and not fakes disguised with Golden Rose Banners.
Half of the prayer was answered.
The Golden Rose Banner was real. The Leader of the Vanguard Cavalry had a familiar face, the Heir of Highgarden, Willas Tyrell.
Although he didn't understand what had happened to his Lame Leg that allowed him to gallop on a Steed like a normal person, that face couldn't be mistaken. Willas Tyrell had no reason to be an enemy of Goldengrove.
However, unfortunately, this assumption was quickly shattered.
The Team sent to Negotiate was actually captured and detained on the spot by Willas's Subordinates! One Knight struggled desperately, finally breaking free from the Surround and running towards the City Gate, but was shot dead by the Cavalry with Crossbow Bolts!
Goldengrove immediately blew Horns, closed the City Gate, and raised the Drawbridge.
Groups of Ravens also quickly flew out from the Maester's Tower, carrying urgent messages to all directions. Some letters expressed confusion and accusation about the current situation, while others indicated a Plea for Help or surrender.
And then.
Under the orders of Lady Bethany Redwyne, the Messenger took the Plea for Help Letter and left the city through the West City Gate, which was about to close. He crossed the Arch Bridge and stepped onto the West Bank of the Mander River, heading towards Old Oak further west.
Lord Matus would know everything here and bring troops back as Reinforcements.
The Messenger knew the importance of the matter.
He dared not delay for a moment, driving his Mount at full speed, so fast that the Cavalry behind him gave up the Pursuit.
Before he had completely ridden away, the Messenger took one last look back.
Goldengrove was completely Surrounded by Golden Rose Banners. The long line of Infantry from the south gradually gathered outside the Castle, like Cream on a Cake, wrapping layer after layer, tightly covering the center without leaving any gaps.
Goldengrove absolutely could not hold out on its own.
The Messenger knew this clearly.
Regardless of Highgarden's intentions, the message had to be delivered to Lord Matus stationed at Old Oak as quickly as possible.
No later than four days, the sooner the better.
The Messenger's plan was excellent. He would spare no horse power and gallop at full speed to Coldmoat of House Webber, estimated to take one day. Then he would change horses there and head straight for Old Oak. If there were no accidents, he could deliver the message to Lord Matus in just over two days.
However, unfortunately, the plan encountered strong resistance in the very first step.
The Messenger had only ridden west for an hour when he saw Red-Helmed, Red-Robed Cavalry in the Peach Orchard by the side of the road. Lannister.
They also spotted him.
A fierce Chase began. The Messenger galloped ahead, with the Lannister Cavalry in hot Pursuit.
He turned into a Small Path, and the Cavalry followed;
He went left for a while, then right for a while, and the Cavalry did the same;
Seeing the danger getting closer, he rushed into the Forest, fully immersing himself in the thrilling activity of dodging the rows of trees and the Obstacles and Potholes beneath his Mount's Hooves.
After an unknown amount of time, the path suddenly opened up, and the Messenger and his Mount were back on the gentle Grassland, bathed in large patches of Bright Sunlight. He gasped for air.
It was quiet all around, and only then did he realize that he had shaken off the Pursuers behind him.
But he was also lost.
Fortunately, after a night, he encountered a rather lively Town.
He didn't relax his vigilance, searching for possible enemies while asking the people in the Town for directions.
But people told him that Old Oak had fallen, Renly had failed, and now Lannister soldiers were everywhere, and this town was no exception.
Besides being shocked and disbelieving, he also smelled a strong sense of danger and immediately wanted to get on his horse and leave.
But the cavalry in the town had already rushed over upon hearing the news.
Good luck did not favor him this time.
Although he spurred his horse to speed up a step ahead, the chaotic crossbow bolts from behind wounded him, and his horse's buttocks also took an arrow.
He fled in a panic, and the cavalry did not pursue him further.
Later events proved that the cavalry's choice was correct. Injured, he could no longer complete his mission, and couldn't even get very far.
His mount, agitated by pain and fatigue, threw off its master, and he had to walk with difficulty.
The further west he went, the slower his steps became.
A crossbow bolt was deeply embedded in his back, and although it didn't injure his internal organs, it caused him to bleed profusely and made his head feel heavy. Another crossbow bolt pierced his left forearm, greatly hindering his movement, and also carried the risk of festering.
Wandering in the wilderness, he had no way to treat himself.
He ruthlessly snapped off the arrow shaft.
After that, the only thing he could do was wait for death and hope for a miracle that was almost impossible to appear.
Heh.
The miracle did not appear after all.
He leaned against the rough tree trunk, only feeling his whole body becoming weaker and weaker, and his vision gradually blurring.
The stream gurgled, as if urging him to sleep.
Gusts of gentle breeze blew, but made him feel sometimes immersed in a world of ice and snow, and sometimes enveloped by the heat of a stove.
He sniffed.
The air was filled with the sweet scent of apples from the trees and the fresh scent of grass. Normally, he would have to eat four or five apples.
But he could no longer waste the effort to get up and pick them.
At most, he could reach out and take out the letter in his embrace.
He hadn't read the contents of the letter yet, but at this point, it didn't matter.
He relaxed his body and leaned close to the tree trunk.
As his vision lifted, a streak of blood seemed to appear in the sky stained with blood.
Was it an illusion?
He blinked. It was still there.
That wisp of blood streak started from the northwest, drawing a long trail towards the southeast, brighter than any stars.
A miracle, huh...
He lowered his arm, no longer moving at all, only his eyes reflecting the moving comet in the sky and the almost stagnant seeping blood flow.
For a long time.
A brightly colored butterfly fluttered over, landing on his palm, repeatedly licking the bloodstain.
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