Chapter Five: Siege of Ashford
The camp was alive with the sounds of preparation, but there was a heaviness to the air that had not been there before. The days had grown longer and the nights colder as the siege of Ashford dragged on, and the hope that had once filled Robert's army now seemed to hang in the balance, as fragile as the flickering torches that lined the camp's periphery.
The long days of the siege were beginning to take their toll, wearing down the men like the slow grinding of a millstone. The rains had returned with a vengeance, turning the ground into a thick mire that clung to the soldiers' boots and slowed their every movement. It was as though the land itself had conspired against them, sinking their spirits and dampening their resolve. The wind cut across the plain in icy gusts, carrying with it the damp scent of wet soil and rotting wood. Even the air seemed heavier, laden with the moisture of the persistent rain that had yet to let up.
The men moved with a sense of purpose, but it was a dull, mechanical kind of purpose—one born out of necessity rather than motivation. They no longer marched with the same fire in their eyes that had driven them when they first surrounded Ashford. Their faces, once full of determination and the lust for battle, now carried the hollow look of men caught in a stalemate with no clear end in sight. Shadows lingered under their eyes, and their mouths were drawn tight with fatigue.
Anakin Skywalker stood atop a small rise that overlooked the camp, his dark cloak whipping in the wind as he surveyed the scene below. From this vantage point, he could see the soldiers going about their duties—hauling timber, tending to the fires, reinforcing the siege engines that loomed over the camp like great wooden beasts, their angular frames rising against the storm-laden sky. These towering machines of war were a testament to human ingenuity and determination, yet their very presence only served to remind the men of the battles yet to come. The trebuchets stood as ominous sentinels, their wooden limbs groaning as they swayed in the wind, waiting for the moment when they would be called upon to rain death upon the defenders of Ashford.
Anakin's sharp blue eyes scanned the horizon, lingering on the dark silhouette of Ashford Castle in the distance. The once-proud fortress stood defiant, its thick walls impervious to the repeated bombardments that had rocked its foundations. The walls, though battered, remained unyielding, standing against every attempt to breach them like the bones of an ancient beast too stubborn to die. It was as if the castle itself taunted them, a grim reminder of the Targaryen's strength and the difficulty of the task that lay before them.
Ashford had been well-supplied before the siege began, and despite their efforts to cut off the garrison's access to fresh provisions, the defenders had not yet shown signs of breaking. If anything, they seemed to be growing bolder, launching small sorties from the castle at night to test the perimeter of Robert's camp. These forays, though ultimately unsuccessful, had taken a toll on the morale of Robert's men. Each night, more men fell to arrows loosed from the shadows or were cut down by the swift swords of the defenders, their blood staining the already muddy ground.
The soldiers were growing restless. These men were warriors, not builders, and the prolonged wait was sapping their energy and resolve. The thrill of battle had long since faded, replaced by a deep, gnawing frustration that simmered beneath the surface. Even Robert, ever the forceful presence, had begun to show signs of strain. His once booming voice, which had roused the men to action with its infectious fervor, had grown quieter. His booming laughter, which had once echoed through the camp, now came less often, replaced by long, silent moments spent staring at the walls of Ashford, lost in thought.
Anakin turned his gaze toward the command tent, where Robert and the lords of the Stormlands were once again in conference. Another strategy meeting. Another discussion about how best to bring down Ashford's walls without throwing more lives into the maw of battle. He could hear their voices even from a distance, muffled but unmistakable in their tone. The air inside that tent was thick with tension, thick with the weight of decisions yet to be made.
The Force stirred within Anakin, a faint whisper at the edges of his consciousness, offering glimpses of possibilities, visions of paths not yet taken. He could feel its presence, a quiet storm that hummed beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. But he kept it at bay, remembering Robert's words—spoken not directly, but clearly enough—that this war was to be fought by the strength of their arms, not by the powers that Anakin held within. He had respected Robert's wishes thus far, holding back the power that he knew could turn the tide of battle in an instant. Yet, the temptation gnawed at him, a constant reminder of what he could accomplish if only he were allowed to use the full extent of his abilities.
For now, at least.
But as he stood there, watching the stagnant siege unfold before him, Anakin could not shake the feeling that time was running out. Something would have to give soon. One way or another.
Inside the command tent, the air was thick with the smell of wet canvas and sweat. The atmosphere was tense, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the faces of the gathered lords. They were men hardened by war, but even their stoic expressions could not hide the weariness that had begun to creep into their bones. The table at the center of the tent was littered with maps and hastily scribbled notes, detailing the various stages of the siege—each one representing another failed attempt to break Ashford's defenses.
Robert stood at the head of the table, his broad shoulders hunched as he leaned over the map, his fingers tracing the lines that indicated the positions of his forces around the castle. His expression was one of frustration, his blue eyes narrowed in thought. His once-proud armor was battered, the black and gold of House Baratheon dulled by days of grime and wear. His beard had grown thicker, more unkempt, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes that betrayed the sleepless nights spent grappling with the enormity of the task before him.
Bryce Caron, tall and lean with a hawkish gaze, was speaking, his voice measured but tinged with irritation. "We've taken out several of their supply lines, my lord, but it's not enough. The garrison is still well-stocked. We need to cut them off entirely if we're to starve them out." His words were sharp, cutting through the tension like the edge of a blade. Bryce had always been the most pragmatic of Robert's lords, his mind quick and ruthless when it came to matters of war. But even he could feel the frustration mounting, the sense that no matter how many moves they made, the enemy was always one step ahead.
Robert grunted, his jaw tightening as he straightened up. "I know that, Bryce. But every time we try to tighten the noose, they slip out of our grasp. The castle's too well-guarded." His voice, once filled with the booming confidence of a man born to lead, now carried the weight of doubt. His fingers drummed against the edge of the table, a restless rhythm that betrayed his growing impatience.
Anakin watched from the shadows of the tent, his sharp gaze flicking between the lords as they debated. He could see the weariness in their faces, the frustration that had been building for days. These men had fought alongside him, bled with him, but they were still men of this world, bound by the rules of siege warfare as they knew it. And though they were skilled, they were limited by the constraints of their experience, unable to see beyond the walls of stone and steel that surrounded them.
But Anakin was not bound by those same rules.
His thoughts drifted back to the countless battles he had fought across the stars—campaigns that had spanned entire systems, where the rules of engagement were shaped not by the strength of walls, but by the power of the mind and the will to bend reality itself. The Force was his ally, a tool that could shape the very fabric of the battlefield. But here, in this world, he had been forced to hold back, to fight as a man and not as the force of nature he truly was.
"My lord," Anakin said, stepping forward from the shadows. His voice was calm, steady, but it carried with it an authority that drew the attention of everyone in the tent. The lords turned to him, their expressions wary but attentive. They had seen what he was capable of on the battlefield, and though they did not fully understand the extent of his powers, they knew enough to respect him.
"There are ways to break their defenses without throwing more men at the walls," Anakin continued, his gaze sweeping across the room.
Robert's eyes fixed on him, sharp with interest but guarded. "And what ways would those be, Skywalker?"
Anakin could feel the tension in the room shift, the lords leaning in slightly, waiting for his response. He chose his words carefully, knowing that he was walking a fine line.
"Sabotage," Anakin said simply. His voice, though quiet, carried a weight that silenced the room. "Infiltration. Small, precise strikes aimed at key points in their defenses."
The lords exchanged glances. Bryce Caron frowned, his arms crossing over his chest. His sharp, hawk-like gaze settled on Anakin, suspicion flickering behind his eyes. "And how do you propose we accomplish that? Their walls are too well-guarded for our men to get close."
Anakin met his gaze steadily. "Not all men need to go over the walls to cause damage. There are other ways—ways that require stealth and precision, rather than brute force."
Robert's eyes narrowed, and Anakin could sense the flicker of doubt in his mind. The Rebel Lord had grown to trust Anakin as a warrior, but trust was a difficult thing to fully grant, especially to someone as foreign and enigmatic as Anakin. But there was something else in Robert's eyes, something that Anakin recognized all too well: the desire for victory, no matter the cost.
"Speak plainly, Skywalker," Robert said, his voice low and commanding. "What are you proposing?"
Anakin took a breath, allowing the tension to build for a moment before responding. "Let me go in," he said quietly. His eyes locked onto Robert's. "Let me sabotage their defenses from within. I can disrupt their supplies, weaken their morale, and give our forces the opening we need to break them."
Bryce Caron shook his head, skepticism evident in every line of his face. "And how exactly do you plan to get inside the castle? The gates are sealed, and the walls are too well-patrolled for anyone to slip through unnoticed."
Anakin allowed himself a small, enigmatic smile. "Leave that to me."
The tension in the tent thickened as the lords processed his words. Some of them exchanged doubtful looks, while others stared at Anakin with a mixture of curiosity and unease. Bryce seemed unconvinced, but Robert's expression remained impassive, his blue eyes fixed on Anakin with an intensity that spoke volumes.
Finally, Robert nodded. "Very well, Skywalker. Do what you must. But keep it small, and keep it quiet. I don't want them knowing we're trying to sabotage their defenses until it's too late."
Anakin inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Understood."
As the lords resumed their discussion, Anakin quietly excused himself from the tent, stepping out into the cold night air. The wind swept through the camp, carrying with it the sounds of men huddled by fires and the distant clatter of siege engines being repaired in the darkness. Anakin pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and made his way toward the edge of the camp, where the forest loomed like a shadowed curtain against the night sky.
He paused at the tree line, his sharp gaze scanning the dark expanse before him. His mind was already working through the details of the mission ahead. This was not the kind of battle he had been trained for back in his world, but it was a battle nonetheless. And if there was one thing Anakin Skywalker knew, it was how to win battles.
The night was dark and heavy, the moon hidden behind a thick veil of clouds as Anakin moved silently through the forest surrounding Ashford. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves, the occasional rustle of wind through the trees the only sound to break the oppressive silence. Anakin's movements were fluid and controlled, his steps barely making a sound as he slipped through the shadows, his senses attuned to the world around him.
The Force hummed quietly in the back of his mind, guiding his movements with a subtlety that allowed him to become one with the darkness. He could feel the presence of the enemy soldiers patrolling the walls of Ashford, their heavy footsteps echoing through the night as they made their rounds. Their minds were focused but weary, their thoughts drifting between boredom and unease. They had grown accustomed to the stalemate, the constant pressure of Robert's forces weighing on them day by day, but their confidence in Ashford's walls remained strong.
Anakin reached the edge of the forest, crouching low as he surveyed the ground ahead. The trees thinned out here, giving way to a broad swath of open land that stretched to the base of Ashford's walls. In the distance, he could see the flickering torchlight on the battlements, the dark shapes of archers standing watch like sentinels against the night. The main gate loomed in the distance, a towering structure of iron and wood, heavily reinforced and flanked by two massive guard towers bristling with soldiers.
There was no way through the gate without alerting the entire garrison.
But Anakin had no intention of going through the gate.
His gaze swept over the base of the wall itself. The stones were old, worn smooth by centuries of exposure to the elements. But even the strongest walls had their weaknesses. Anakin's eyes narrowed as he spotted the small fissures in the stone where time had begun to wear away at the castle's foundations. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
Anakin took a deep breath, centering himself as he reached out with the Force. The world around him seemed to sharpen, every sound, every movement becoming clearer, more defined. He could feel the energy of the forest, the pulse of life in the trees, the steady rhythm of the soldiers' hearts beating in time with their breathing. He allowed himself to slip into that flow, becoming one with the world as he moved silently toward the wall.
When he reached the base of the wall, Anakin pressed his hands against the rough stone, feeling the cool, damp surface beneath his fingertips. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the Force to guide him as he searched for the weak points in the structure. The cracks in the stone were faint but present, the mortar crumbling away in places where time had taken its toll. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
With a quiet exhale, Anakin began to climb.
His movements were smooth and deliberate, each hand and foot placement carefully chosen to avoid slipping on the slick stone. The climb was difficult—more so than he had anticipated—but Anakin moved with the practiced ease of a man who had scaled far more daunting structures. His fingers found purchase in the cracks, his boots slipping only briefly before he adjusted his weight and continued upward. He moved like a shadow, barely visible in the darkness as he ascended the wall.
The wind whipped at his cloak, tugging at the edges of his garments as he climbed higher, his senses attuned to every sound around him. Above, he could hear the soft murmur of voices—two guards standing watch on the battlements. Their conversation was low and relaxed, their attention focused more on the cold of the night than the task at hand. They spoke of mundane things: the warmth of the fire waiting for them in the barracks, the boredom of standing watch over a wall that had yet to be breached.
Anakin reached the top of the wall and paused just below the lip of the battlements, his muscles tense as he listened to the guards' conversation. He waited for the perfect moment, when their attention would waver just enough for him to make his move. It came soon enough—one of the guards let out a low chuckle, something in their conversation drawing his focus away from the wall.
In that instant, Anakin vaulted over the edge of the battlements, landing in a crouch on the narrow walkway between two crenellations. His cloak billowed briefly before settling back against his body, and for a moment, he remained perfectly still, his breathing controlled, his presence barely more than a whisper in the wind.
Neither of the guards noticed him. Their conversation continued uninterrupted, oblivious to the shadow that had passed between them.
Anakin moved silently along the walkway, keeping to the shadows as he made his way toward one of the smaller guard towers. His footsteps were barely a whisper against the stone, his movements precise and deliberate. The tower was dark, its interior likely abandoned for the night, save for a single torch burning at the base of the stairs.
Anakin slipped inside, the stone walls closing in around him as he descended the spiral staircase to the courtyard below. He moved with the grace and precision of a predator, his senses attuned to every flicker of movement, every shift in the air around him. The courtyard was quiet, the bulk of the garrison either asleep or stationed at key defensive points around the castle. Anakin could see the faint glow of the kitchens in the distance, where the night cooks were preparing meals for the men who would soon take over the next watch.
His eyes narrowed as he considered his next move. There was no need to cause widespread chaos—not yet. That would come later, once Robert's forces were ready to launch their final assault. For now, his goal was simple: to sabotage key elements of the castle's defenses, weakening them just enough to give Robert the opening he needed to bring Ashford to its knees.
Anakin moved swiftly through the shadows of the courtyard, his senses on high alert as he made his way toward one of the siege workshops built against the inner wall of the castle. The workshop was dark, its heavy wooden doors sealed for the night, but Anakin could hear the faint clinking of metal from within—likely the last remnants of activity from the day, tools left lying where they had been used by weary craftsmen.
As he approached the doors, Anakin crouched low, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of patrolling guards. The courtyard was still, the only sounds the distant murmurs of men preparing for the next watch and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. Satisfied that the area was clear, he slipped toward the doors and gently pushed one open, slipping inside before closing it quietly behind him.
The workshop was cluttered with the detritus of war. Half-finished ballista bolts were stacked haphazardly against the walls, their iron tips glinting dully in the faint light of the lone torch burning near the entrance. Broken trebuchet parts lay scattered across workbenches, the wood splintered and warped from repeated use. The air was thick with the smell of oil and metal, mingling with the scent of damp wood and the faint trace of smoke from the forge.
Anakin moved deeper into the workshop, his eyes scanning the various siege weapons in different stages of assembly. Each one was a potential threat to Robert's forces, a weapon that could rain destruction down on the men below. But Anakin knew that brute force alone would not be enough to disable these weapons. They were built to withstand the rigors of battle, designed by skilled craftsmen who had spent years perfecting their craft.
But every weapon had its weakness.
He approached one of the larger ballistae that had been partially assembled near the back of the workshop. The massive wooden structure towered over him, its iron-bound arms stretched taut and ready to hurl deadly bolts at the enemy. Anakin examined it closely, his sharp eyes picking out the subtle flaws in the design—the places where the wood had been poorly fitted, where the iron bolts were loose, where the tension in the ropes could be manipulated to cause the entire mechanism to fail.
With careful precision, Anakin began to sabotage the ballista. His hands moved quickly but deliberately, loosening key bolts and subtly altering the tension in the ropes. He worked with the quiet focus of a man who had done this many times before, his mind attuned to the task at hand. The sabotage was not obvious—each change he made was small, nearly imperceptible to the naked eye. But Anakin knew that when the time came for the weapon to be used, it would fail at the crucial moment, leaving the defenders scrambling to find an alternative.
When he finished with the ballista, Anakin turned his attention to the other siege weapons in the workshop. A pair of trebuchets stood against the far wall, their long arms stretched out like skeletal fingers. Anakin approached the nearest one, his eyes tracing the lines of the wooden frame, the tension of the ropes, the counterweights that would send massive stones hurtling through the air. He repeated the process he had used on the ballista, subtly weakening the structure, loosening bolts, and adjusting the tension in the ropes.
The work was slow and meticulous, but Anakin moved with a calm patience that belied the urgency of the situation. He knew that the success of Robert's assault depended on the failure of these weapons, and he would not allow even the slightest mistake to jeopardize that success.
As he worked, Anakin allowed himself to focus entirely on the task at hand, his mind sharp and clear. The Force flowed through him, guiding his movements, heightening his senses. He could feel the energy of the castle around him—the tension in the air, the weight of the stone walls pressing down, the quiet hum of life in the men who slept just beyond the doors of the workshop. Each sensation was a thread in the tapestry of the Force, and Anakin wove them together with the skill of a master, creating a pattern that would unravel at the precise moment he needed it to.
When he had finished sabotaging the last of the siege weapons, Anakin stood for a moment in the center of the workshop, his eyes scanning the room to ensure that nothing had been overlooked. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and oil, the quiet stillness of the workshop a stark contrast to the chaos that would soon unfold. Satisfied that his work was complete, Anakin made his way back to the door, slipping out into the courtyard as silently as he had entered.
The night was still dark, the wind biting at his skin as he moved quickly across the courtyard toward the inner gate that led to the supply storage. The storage building was small and unguarded, its simple wooden door locked with a single iron bolt. Anakin reached out with the Force, his mind focusing on the mechanism within the lock. With a soft click, the bolt slid free, and the door creaked open.
Inside, the building was lined with crates and barrels—provisions meant to sustain the garrison through the long siege. Anakin could smell the faint scent of dried meat and grain, mixed with the sharp tang of salted fish. The supplies were neatly organized, the crates stacked high against the walls, the barrels arranged in neat rows along the floor. It was a well-stocked storeroom, a testament to the careful planning of the garrison's leaders.
Anakin moved among the crates, his hands brushing over the rough wood as he considered his options. Destroying all of the supplies was out of the question—it would draw immediate attention to his presence, alerting the garrison to the fact that their stores had been sabotaged. But there were other ways to weaken the defenders, ways that would sow doubt and fear without revealing his hand too soon.
He focused on the barrels of grain and sacks of flour, subtly contaminating them with a mixture of oil and salt. It was a small act of sabotage, one that would not be noticed until the provisions were needed—and by then, it would be too late. The men would find their food spoiled, their supplies dwindling faster than expected. And as the days wore on, the knowledge that their stores were compromised would weigh heavily on the defenders, weakening their resolve and making them more susceptible to Robert's eventual assault.
With his task completed, Anakin slipped out of the storage building and made his way back toward the outer walls of the castle. The night was still and quiet, the wind whispering through the trees as he climbed back over the wall and disappeared into the darkness of the forest. He moved quickly through the trees, his senses attuned to the world around him as he made his way back to Robert's camp. The mission had been successful—Ashford's defenses were now compromised, its supplies weakened, and its siege weapons set to fail at the crucial moment.
When Anakin finally emerged from the forest, the camp was quiet, the soldiers asleep in their tents. He made his way back to his own tent, his mind already turning to the next phase of the siege. The night's work had been only the beginning—the first step in a carefully planned operation that would bring Ashford to its knees.
The next morning dawned cold and gray, the air heavy with the promise of rain as Robert's forces prepared for another day of the siege. The men moved with a sense of purpose, their eyes filled with the determination that had been reignited by the small victories they had achieved over the past few days. But even as they readied themselves for the next assault, Anakin could sense the tension in the air. Something had shifted within the garrison at Ashford—something that was not immediately visible but that Anakin could feel through the Force.
The defenders were growing more desperate, their morale beginning to falter under the strain of the prolonged siege and the subtle sabotage that Anakin had wrought. They had not yet realized the full extent of the damage he had done, but the cracks were beginning to show, both in their defenses and in their resolve.
Robert stood at the head of the camp, his gaze fixed on the castle walls as the siege engines were wheeled into position. His expression was grim, his jaw set in determination as he surveyed the battlefield. The fire of battle still burned in his eyes, but there was a hint of weariness there as well—a weariness that had grown over the long days of the siege, as each new assault had met with resistance.
"We make our move today," Robert said, his voice low but firm as he addressed his lords. "We've weakened them enough. Now it's time to break them."
Anakin stood beside him, his eyes scanning the horizon as he considered the coming battle. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him—the sense that the outcome of this siege would determine the course of the rebellion.
The lords nodded in agreement, their expressions serious as they discussed the final details of the assault. Bryce Caron spoke up, his voice steady as he outlined the plan. "We'll begin with a barrage from the trebuchets, targeting the weakest sections of the wall. Once we've breached the outer defenses, we'll send in the infantry to clear the way for the siege towers."
Robert nodded, his gaze never leaving the castle. "And the cavalry?"
"We'll hold them in reserve," Bryce replied. "Once we've broken through the outer walls, they'll be our shock troops, pushing deep into the castle and securing key positions."
Robert grunted in approval, his focus unbroken. "Good. I want this over with by nightfall. No more delays."
Anakin remained silent, his thoughts focused on the coming battle. He could sense the tension in the air, the anticipation building among the men as they prepared for the assault. The saboteur's work was done, but now the real battle would begin. He had set the stage for Robert's forces to succeed, but the outcome would still depend on the strength and resolve of the men who would charge into the breach.
As the siege engines began their assault, hurling boulders and flaming projectiles at the castle walls, Anakin watched with a keen eye, his senses alert to every movement on the battlefield. The trebuchets, freshly prepared by Robert's engineers, were now launching massive stones toward Ashford's walls, each impact sending tremors through the ground. The defenders scrambled to return fire, launching their own counterattacks with the siege weapons that had not yet been sabotaged.
At first, the battle seemed to be progressing as planned. The walls of Ashford were showing signs of wear, and Robert's forces pressed their advantage, inching ever closer to a breakthrough. The soldiers below cheered with every strike, their spirits lifted by the prospect of finally breaching the castle's defenses.
But as the battle raged on, something went wrong. One of the trebuchets, poorly aimed in the heat of the moment, crashed into the wall of one of Robert's own siege towers. The structure, weakened by the earlier damage, groaned under the impact before collapsing in a shower of splintered wood and stone. The men inside the tower scrambled for cover, their shouts of alarm cutting through the din of battle.
Robert cursed under his breath, his fists clenched as he watched the chaos unfold. "Damn it!" he snarled, turning to his lords with a frustrated glare. "We're losing ground. If we don't break through soon, they'll outlast us."
Bryce Caron stepped forward, his face pale with tension. "We need to regroup, my lord. The defenses are stronger than we thought."
Robert turned to Anakin, his eyes blazing with desperation. "Skywalker," he said, his voice low but intense. "You've held back long enough. We need your help. Use whatever… magic you have to break their defenses. I don't care how you do it, just do it."
Anakin met Robert's gaze steadily, his expression calm despite the turmoil around them. He had known this moment would come—the moment when Robert would turn to him, not as a soldier, but as something more. Something other.
For a brief moment, Anakin stood in silence, the weight of Robert's words hanging in the air. He could feel the eyes of the lords on him, their expressions a mix of skepticism and hope. They didn't understand what they were asking of him—didn't fully grasp the power that lay within his reach. But they were desperate, and desperation had a way of making men reach for things they would otherwise fear.
Anakin took a deep breath, centering himself as he reached out with the Force, feeling its familiar presence hum through his body like a quiet storm waiting to be unleashed. The battlefield around him seemed to slow, the sounds of clashing steel and crumbling stone fading to a distant echo as he allowed himself to slip into that heightened state of awareness.
His mind was clear now, focused on the task at hand. He could feel the tension in the air, the fear in the hearts of the men on both sides of the battle. He could sense the cracks in Ashford's defenses—cracks that went beyond the physical, into the very minds of the men who stood on the battlements, desperately trying to hold the line.
With a single, sharp exhale, Anakin stepped forward, raising one hand toward the castle walls. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he were pulling invisible threads through the air. The Force responded to his call, gathering around him like a coiled serpent, ready to strike.
The wind around him seemed to shift, swirling in eddies as Anakin directed his focus toward the weakened sections of the wall—sections that had already been compromised by his earlier sabotage. He could feel the tension in the stone, the fractures that had begun to form beneath the surface, and with a subtle twist of his will, he began to exert pressure on those cracks.
At first, nothing happened. The walls stood strong, defiant against his influence. But Anakin persisted, his brow furrowing with concentration as he deepened his connection to the Force, pushing it further into the stone, searching for the weak points he knew were there.
And then, with a low, rumbling groan, the wall began to give.
Small cracks appeared along the surface of the stone, spreading outward like spiderwebs. The defenders on the battlements above began to shout in alarm, their voices rising in panic as they felt the tremors beneath their feet.
Anakin could feel the strain of the effort now, the weight of the wall pressing back against him as he fought to widen the cracks. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his muscles tensing with the effort, but he did not relent. He could not.
With a final, forceful push, Anakin released the full power of the Force against the wall, driving it into the heart of the stone. The wall shuddered violently, the cracks widening into gaping fissures, and with a deafening roar, a section of the wall collapsed inward, sending chunks of stone and debris crashing to the ground below.
The men on the battlements scrambled to avoid the falling rubble, their shouts of fear echoing across the battlefield. Robert's soldiers let out a cheer as they saw the breach, their spirits lifted by the sight of the crumbling wall.
Anakin lowered his hand, his breathing steady but labored from the exertion. The power of the Force still thrummed through him, but he could feel the toll it had taken. His vision swam for a moment, the world around him seeming to tilt on its axis before righting itself once more.
Robert was at his side in an instant, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and gratitude. "You did it, Skywalker," he said, clapping a heavy hand on Anakin's shoulder. "By the gods, you brought down the wall."
Anakin nodded, his expression calm despite the storm of emotions swirling within him. "It's not over yet," he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the breach in the wall. "We've opened the door. Now we have to go through it."
Robert's grin widened, the fire of battle returning to his eyes. "Aye," he said with a fierce nod. "We'll send them running. They won't know what hit them."
With a final glance at Anakin, Robert turned to his lords and began barking orders, his voice booming across the battlefield as he rallied his men for the final assault. The soldiers surged forward, their battle cries rising above the din of war as they charged toward the breach in the wall.
Anakin watched them go, his mind still attuned to the flow of the battle. He could feel the surge of adrenaline in the men around him, the thrill of victory so close they could almost taste it. But he also felt the fear and desperation in the hearts of the defenders inside Ashford—men who had fought bravely, but who now stood on the brink of collapse.
He took a deep breath, grounding himself in the moment as he prepared for the next phase of the battle. The breach had been made, but the fight was far from over.
As the first of Robert's men began to pour through the breach, Anakin stepped forward to join them. He moved with purpose, blending into the chaos of the battlefield, directing the Force in subtle ways to shield his allies and disrupt the enemy's formations. Though he kept his use of the Force minimal, careful not to draw too much attention, his influence was felt everywhere. A slight nudge here, a shift in the currents of battle there—small interventions that turned the tide without revealing the full extent of his power.
The fight within the castle was fierce, the defenders making their final stand with the desperation of men who knew that defeat was imminent. But Robert's men were relentless, their morale bolstered by the breach in the wall and the sight of their leader charging at the forefront of the assault. The fighting spilled through the streets of Ashford, every alley and courtyard becoming a battleground as Robert's forces clashed with the remaining defenders.
Anakin moved through the chaos with practiced ease, his senses attuned to the ebb and flow of the fight. He could feel the weariness in his limbs, the toll that the use of the Force had taken on him earlier, but he pressed on, determined to see the battle through to the end.
By the time the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the battlefield, the breach had been fully exploited. Robert's forces had surged into the castle, overwhelming the defenders with sheer numbers and ferocity. The battle for Ashford was coming to a close, the last pockets of resistance crushed beneath the weight of Robert's army.
Anakin stood atop the broken wall, his cloak billowing in the evening breeze as he looked out over the battlefield. Smoke rose from the fires that still burned within the castle, the scent of ash and blood heavy in the air. The sounds of battle had begun to fade, replaced by the groans of the wounded and the distant shouts of victory from Robert's men.
Robert himself stood not far away, his armor battered and streaked with blood, but his eyes alight with the fire of victory. He was grinning, his chest heaving with exertion as he surveyed the battlefield. "We did it, Skywalker," he said, his voice rough but filled with satisfaction. "Ashford is ours."
Anakin nodded, his gaze distant as he watched the last of the defenders being rounded up by Robert's men. The battle had been hard-fought, but it was over now. Ashford had fallen, and with it, another victory for Robert's rebellion.
But as Anakin stood there, watching the flames dance in the distance, he could not shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The war was far from over, and the path ahead was fraught with danger. The use of the Force today had reminded him of the power he wielded—a power that could easily tip the balance of this war. But it was also a power that could consume him if he was not careful.
Robert turned to address his lords, his voice filled with the triumph of the day's victory. "Tonight, we rest as victors. Tomorrow, we plan for the next step. The Targaryens will hear of this, and we must be ready for whatever they send our way."
The lords nodded in agreement, their faces grim but satisfied. They had secured a critical victory today, but like Anakin, they knew that the rebellion was far from over. This war had already claimed many lives, and it would claim many more before it was done.
As Robert and the lords discussed their next moves, Anakin remained silent, his thoughts turned inward. He had done what was necessary today, but the cost of using the Force weighed heavily on his mind. The surge of power, the pull of the dark side—it had been there, lurking just beneath the surface. He had felt it in the heat of battle, in the moment when he had unleashed the Force against Ashford's walls.
For now, he had controlled it. But how much longer could he walk that fine line?
After a while, the camp began to settle down for the night. The fires burned low, and the men who had fought so fiercely just hours before now rested, their bodies exhausted but their spirits high. Robert's men had earned this respite, and they took full advantage of it, sharing food, drink, and stories of the day's battle.
Anakin, however, found no comfort in the celebration. The noise of the camp faded into the background as he made his way toward the edge of the walls, seeking a moment of quiet. The night air was cool against his skin, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and earth. The stars above were faint, obscured by the haze of the day's battle.
He stood there for a long time, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon, lost in thought. His mind wandered back to the battles he had fought in his past—the wars that had ravaged entire systems, the lives he had taken, and the choices he had made that had led him down a path of darkness.
This war, here in Westeros, was different. It was smaller, more personal. But the stakes were just as high, and the danger was just as real. Anakin could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the responsibility of guiding these men toward victory without losing himself in the process.
He had told Robert that he would fight for the future of this land, but deep down, Anakin knew that he was fighting for more than just Westeros. He was fighting for his own redemption—for the chance to make right what had gone so terribly wrong in his past.
As he stood there, lost in thought, the sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention. He turned to see Robert walking toward him, his expression serious but not unfriendly. The Rebel Lord stopped a few paces away, folding his arms over his chest as he regarded Anakin in the dim light of the campfires.
"You look troubled, Skywalker," Robert said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual. "Victory doesn't suit you?"
Anakin offered a small, rueful smile. "Victory is always welcome," he replied. "But battles like this… they take their toll, even on men like us."
Robert nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he looked out at the distant horizon. "Aye," he said quietly. "It's a heavy burden, leading men into battle. You carry their hopes, their fears, and every drop of blood that's spilled."
The two men stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared experiences hanging between them. Despite their differences, there was a kinship between them—a mutual understanding born from the fires of battle.
After a while, Robert spoke again, his tone more reflective. "You did good today, Skywalker. Without your help, we might still be hammering away at those walls."
Anakin nodded, though he said nothing. The memory of the battle still lingered in his mind, the power of the Force still thrumming beneath the surface of his thoughts.
"But I saw the strain it put on you," Robert continued, his gaze sharp as he studied Anakin's face. "Whatever it is you're holding back—it's powerful, but it's dangerous too. You're not like the rest of us."
Anakin's jaw tightened slightly, but he met Robert's gaze without flinching. "I've learned to control it," he said simply.
Robert was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand across his beard. "I don't pretend to understand what you are, Skywalker," he said slowly. "But I know power when I see it. Just… be careful with it. Power like that can turn on a man, even one as strong as you."
Anakin appreciated Robert's concern, but he knew that the battle between light and darkness was his alone to face. "I'll be careful," he promised.
Robert nodded, satisfied with the answer for now. "Good," he said, his voice firm. "Because we're going to need you in the days ahead. Ashford was just one battle. The Targaryens won't take this loss lightly, and we'll be facing more than just walls and swords next time."
With that, Robert clapped Anakin on the shoulder, offering him a rare smile before turning to head back toward the center of the camp. "Get some rest," Robert called over his shoulder. "Tomorrow, we start planning the next move."
Anakin watched him go, his thoughts still heavy but a sense of clarity beginning to settle over him. Robert was right—this war was far from over, and the battles to come would test them all. But Anakin was ready. He had faced worse than this before, and though the shadows of his past still lingered, he knew that he could not afford to let them consume him.
As the night deepened and the camp fell into a restless sleep, Anakin remained at the edge of the walls, his gaze fixed on the stars above. He had made a promise to himself—to fight for the future of this land, to fight for something greater than himself.
And as long as there was still a battle to be fought, Anakin Skywalker would stand at the front lines, wielding his power with both strength and caution, determined to see this war through to the end—no matter the cost.
The next morning dawned with a new sense of purpose in the camp. The victory at Ashford had reinvigorated Robert's forces, and though the road ahead was still uncertain, there was a renewed sense of hope among the men.
Anakin rose early, the morning light casting long shadows across the camp as he made his way toward the command tent. The air was crisp and cool, a welcome change from the oppressive heat of the previous days. The men were already stirring, preparing for the next phase of the campaign, their spirits buoyed by the success of the siege.
Inside the tent, Robert and his lords were gathered around the large map that detailed the next targets in their rebellion. The mood was lighter than it had been in days, the tension of the siege replaced by the energy of planning their next moves.
Anakin stepped inside quietly, his presence immediately noted by Robert, who beckoned him over with a grin. "Skywalker, just the man I was looking for. We're discussing our next steps. After Ashford, we've got momentum, and we need to keep pressing."
Bryce Caron nodded in agreement, his sharp eyes scanning the map. "The Targaryens will regroup soon enough. We need to stay one step ahead of them."
Anakin listened carefully as the lords debated their strategy. They were seasoned warriors, experienced in the art of war, but Anakin's mind was already working through the possibilities, weighing the options that the Force presented to him.
But even as he stood among them, a part of Anakin remained distant, his thoughts still dwelling on the power he had unleashed during the siege of Ashford. He had used the Force to tip the balance in their favor, but it had not been without cost. The darkness within him had stirred, drawn by the conflict and the violence, and though he had controlled it, he knew that the battle was far from over.
As the lords continued their discussion, Anakin's gaze drifted toward the map, his eyes narrowing as he considered their next target. The war would continue, and with each new battle, the stakes would rise. But for now, they had won a victory, and Anakin would see to it that they continued to win, one way or another.
The road ahead was long, and the shadow of the Targaryens still loomed large over the land. But Anakin had made a promise—to fight for the future of Westeros, to fight for the men who had placed their trust in him.
And as long as that fight continued, Anakin Skywalker would stand ready to do whatever it took to see it through to the end.