Dross was not taking any chances. Not meeting the Leader of Harrowhold would hurt him more than losing both of his eyes would. It would hurt him so much, he was so close to victory. To a major victory.
Perhaps one of his greatest victories. Perhaps the greatest. Because here, he had taken a big risk. He had fought. He had actually fought, he had come onto the battlefield and fought, risking his life.
Of recent, the invasions he commanded, he normally didn't go into the battlefield and fight himself.
He felt that he was getting old and was at the risk of dying more. The years were catching up to him, his body no longer as quick as it used to be, his reflexes slower, his endurance weaker. He had started to delegate the fighting to his younger warriors, to lead from the back, to let others take the risks while he reaped the rewards.
