Battle of Pyke
At Pyke…
The decisive battle on the shores of Pyke was intensifying as the storms battered the mainland, thunderbolts shooting across the skies and torrential downpour drenched the faces of men. Several towers were being torn down as the archipelago was being bombarded by the royal fleet; even so, the ironborn were putting up a fierce resistance as the mainland armies rushed ashore.
Leading the vanguard was King Daveth Baratheon, surrounded by his Kingsguards Ser Meryn Trant and his uncle Ser Jaime Lannister and accompanied by his squire Olyvar Frey with legions of his best troops. As his armies cut their way through the center, Daveth was in a very precarious position: ever since he was forced to discard his armor during his fight against Victarion Greyjoy in the open water, the Young Stag's body was left unprotected and rendered vulnerable to any oncoming attack. As such, his Kingsguard acted primarily as his best defense against the ironborn. Even despite being at a personal disadvantage, Daveth held his own as he parried and slashed the raiders in front of him.
"Don't stop! Keep up the pressure!" he barked orders to his men. "Give the enemy no quarter!"
Ser Meryn and his squad cut through the ironborn, though he lost a few of his men. The royal army was pushing their advance towards the castle of Pyke, the ancient stronghold standing on a cliff and the seat of House Greyjoy where King Balon Greyjoy himself resided. The castle had been eroded by the sea leaving the towers standing on mere stone stacks – its towers connected by swaying rope bridges. Such a route would be disastrous for any seeking to cross it; large groups would have to cross one at a time unless they face the risk of the rope bridges snapping under the strain.
Following the distinctive clues of repressed memories during his captivity being brought to the surface, Daveth recognized which pathway his men would need to take if they were to ever breach the gates of Pyke and bring the kraken king to justice. To do that, however, they had to swat aside the 6,000 ironborn infantry/axemen, javelineers and kraken guards standing in their way. Leading a force of over 30,000 men, however, Daveth's armies engulfed almost anything that stood in their way – with the losses of 2,000 being relatively minor in comparison to the enemy.
Daveth ducked sideways as 10 kraken guards in front of him swung their blades, missing as Ser Jaime and Ser Meryn parried and shoved their blades in their flesh. The Young Stag thrusted his sword Stormbinger forward, driving the Valyrian steel blade into his nearest adversary's mouth and out the back. More axemen and infantrymen moved to strike the vulnerable young King, but a timely intervention prevented them from reaching their target; not from one of Daveth's Kingsguard, but from a much larger, muscled older yet bloodied northerner.
Robb Stark, who after finishing off two assailants with Grey Wind, immediately recognized him. "Lord Umber!" he called out.
Lord Greatjon Umber, having survived the siege of Great Wyk, chuckled boisterously. "Heh, glad to see me, boy? It'll take more than a few 'scratches' to take me down!" he bellowed proudly.
Lady Maege Mormont, along with her daughters Dacey and Alysane, arrived not long after to join the fray.
"Lordsport has been set ablaze, Your Grace!" Dacey reported as she bashed an ironborn's skull with her mace.
"Our allies are en route to secure the other areas of Pyke," informed Alysane.
Maege bashed in an ironborn's skull with her mace. "Got to at least save some of the fun for us!"
Daveth shook his head, punching and backhanding a kraken guard. Ignoring the chatter, the Young Stag pushed forward with his personal guard as more reinforcements arrived to surround Pyke by land and sea. As the fighting further intensified the more they advanced, the worse the storms brewed and darkened the skies. The terrain was started to get slippery as the dirt beneath Daveth's feet had turned to mud, making the slopes slippery. As the Royal and Redywne Fleets moved into position around the island of Pyke, some surrounding the castle of Pyke itself, Daveth felt himself being kicked backwards by an ironborn attacker. The Young Stag slid down the hill before regaining his balance in time to block the blade; a thunderbolt above shot across the skies, revealing the attacker as Yara Greyjoy.
"This is as far as you go, mainlander!" Yara held the blade firm in her grasp.
Daveth scoffed. "Huh! That's what your brother Maron Greyjoy said the last time we were here and look what happened to him. Now, get out of my way!" he said before forcibly shoving Yara backwards.
The ironborn princess quickly regained her footing before going toe-to-toe with the Young Stag, each side readying themselves for battle. Daveth felt increasingly frustrated as his pathway towards the castle of Pyke was being blocked. Before either combatant could make a move, however, Robb Stark and Grey Wind intervened.
"Robb?"
"I'll hold her off," he told him. "Go breach the main gate!"
Daveth nodded. "Don't even think about dying on me, Stark."
"Wouldn't think about it, Your Grace."
As Daveth turned to storm the gates, Yara moved to intercept but her pathway was being blocked by Robb Stark as he unsheathed his blade. Grey Wind circled the ironborn princess, the direwolf bearing its teeth and snarling loudly.
"I will be your opponent," he declared.
Yara held her ground. "You're not who I'm after, Stark, but get in my way and you'll be sent to a watery grave!" she cried out.
The battle behind him began raging between Robb and Yara, Daveth turned to see that the gates were almost within sight. The rain was making the hill slippery and steep, but will and determination kept propelling him forward as he brushed strands of hair out of his face and wiped the raindrops from his brow. Rushing to catch up with the King was Meryn and Jaime, each of them carving a path while also trying to protect him.
Jaime Lannister could see the naval captains off in the distance; noticing thunderbolts shooting above him, the Kingslayer used his blade to reflect the electricity's light off of his weapon to give the signal.
"That's the one!" exclaimed seaman Jarvius. "That's the signal!"
"All right, you lots! Begin loading the catapults!" Captain Trytas Redwyne shouted. "Bring down the walls!"
The ships began loading the catapults, flaming arrows and burning pitch flew through the air and began hitting the walls and watchtowers surrounding Pyke. As the stone structures were beginning to crumble away, Daveth could see further ahead that their pathway was being hindered once more.
"Damn it!" he cursed.
Jaime shook his head. "I told you, nephew. They're bitter, angry little people."
"We can't let Balon Greyjoy get away!"
"He knows he has nowhere left to run," Meryn replied. "He knows this is a last stand."
"And yet he merely intends to slow us down while he prepares. Not this time!"
"Don't worry about them," a voice caught their attention.
As the trio turned, Greatjon Umber arrived with his men. Battered, bloodied and exhausted, the Lord of Last Hearth gathered his weary troops as they moved in front.
"I'll take care of them. Go, Your Grace, and shove that fancy sword up Balon Greyjoy's dunghole!" Greatjon bellowed.
Daveth noticed his condition. "In the state you're in, Lord Umber? You're going to get yourself killed!"
"Don't worry about him, Your Grace," Ser Barristan announced his presence. "We'll provide cover and ensure everyone gets out of this in one piece."
"Ser Barristan!"
The old Lord Commander of the Kinsguard readied himself for battle. "We'll have more time to talk once this battle is over. I promise. Go!"
Daveth nodded understandingly, though he hated leaving his mentor behind. But he couldn't allow himself to hesitate at this time. Motioning for his Kingsguard knights and his squire Olyvar, the party hurled themselves forward as both sides collided in battle. Swords clashed and shouts and curses were thrown, Greatjon Umber and Barristan Selmy remained behind to keep the pressure off of them; off shore, the Iron Throne's combined naval forces resumed bombarding the walls as well as targeting any ironborn impeding the path forward.
The Young Stag briefly turned his head away as the catapults' impact shot stone debris everywhere before resuming the march. His forces finally reached the great stone bridge that led to Pyke's Great Keep before noticing arrows being shot down at them. Several of Daveth's men were hit in several areas as others immediately raised their shields to cover themselves. Due to the stone walkway being narrow, it was difficult to move around.
"The pathway is too narrow for our troops to maneuver, Your Grace!" shouted Olyvar, still holding his shield up. "At this rate, the ironborn will pick us off! We've got to get off this bridge!"
"I know that! Men, form a wall!"
Whatever soldiers remained moved to shift their position on the narrow walkway—the outside ranks in front stood shoulder-to-shoulder and brought their shields around one another in a dense vertical position so they abut or overlap while the inside ranks held their shields over their heads, forming a tortoise-like defense. Albeit their movements were sluggish, the arrows being rained down on them from above provided enough protection for them to cross the bridge before finally breaking off.
"Ser Meryn," Ser Jaime turned to his fellow comrade, "have your men take out those archers!"
Meryn stared at the upper battlements. "Nock arrows!"
"Nock arrows!" one of the men shouted.
An estimated 30 archers lined up, drawing their bows and arrows whilst dodging enemy fire. Although most were fortunate to evade, some were hit in their arms, shoulders, legs or received an instant killshot with a blow to the eye or center of the head.
"Draw!"
*STRETCHING!*
"Draw!"
Ser Meryn still kept his shield up, but an ironborn javelineer was lucky enough to move around the upper battlements to throw one of his javelins and hit its mark: the speed and impact force of the javelin tossed at the royal forces gathering outside the gatehouse separating the high bride from the Great Keep pierced through Ser Meryn's helm—nearly decapitating him in the progress, causing instant death. As his body quickly slumped over the edge and into the sea below, Daveth snarled.
"Ironborn bastards," he cursed. "Loose!"
On que, the royal archers returned fire at the gatehouse, hitting one of the javelineers that took out Ser Meryn but the walls of Pyke provided additional protection for the ironborn to hide behind. Looking down at the ships, the Young Stag noticed one of the catapults aboard the royal longships was being redirected at the wall itself. Daveth knew what was coming next.
"Get back! Now!" he shouted to his men.
*BOOM!*
*BAM!*
With only a few moments to spare, Daveth and his men were able to retreat to a distance far enough as the royal fleets' siege-ships hurled burning pitches and boulders at the southernmost tower.
######
Inside the Great Keep…
Inside the castle, rising from the Salt Throne and looking out the window to observe the action below, the kraken King Balon Greyjoy curled his fingers into a frustrating ball and snarled at the devastation. The new southern tower made of a paler grey stone was gradually bring brought down as Balon remembered how Daveth's late father King Robert I Baratheon demolished the previous tower during the First Greyjoy Rebellion before breaching the walls and storming the castle. His personal kraken guards looked worried.
"It's only a matter of time before they storm the castle," one of them pointed out. "Perhaps we should sound the retreat?"
"And go where?" another replied. "The mainlander's fleets wrecked our own, got us surrounded by land and sea… What else are we supposed to do?"
Balon did not appear to be deterred. "Such cowardice, the lot of you."
"B-but our men are dying out there… There's too many—"
"What is dead may never die," he interrupted. "Let that stag boy and his wolf come. I will deal with them myself."
"Wha—?"
At that point, Balon got in his guardsmen's faces. "Our men fight and die because I command it. I will not have my captains disobey and question my orders and abandon their posts out of fear! Now, move aside and obey your King!"
######
Outside…
The torrential downpour continued and heavy winds blew harder as the storm had gradually worsened. As the southernmost tower eventually came crumbling down due to the amount of force and pressure, the ironborn above the battlements stationed around it fell too. Others, meanwhile, scattered off as more arrows and burning pitches from the Iron Throne's fleets. Daveth watched on as the gatehouse separating the Great Keep from the stone bride he and his men walked over to get this far was reduced to rubble.
Ser Jaime looked up and took note of pile of stones they could use to crawl up the battlements and pick off the remaining ironborn still atop the battlements.
"Our men can use those stones to climb the walls, keep the ironborn off our backs until the rest of our forces can join us. Our ships have stopped firing for now, but given a few minutes they will send all of Pyke to the darkest depths of the ocean."
Daveth noticed. "Then perhaps we should wrap this up before we end up getting caught in it as well."
Olyvar Frey picked up his sword and brushed stone dust off his leather lamellar. "The rest of us will stay here and guard your rear flank from any remaining ironborn should they try to pursue you, Your Grace."
"Olyvar…"
"Don't worry about us, Your Grace. We made it this far because of you, and we'll see it through to the end. At any cost."
The Young Stag was proud of his squire; for such a short amount of time Olyvar Frey had learned a great deal of combat and the art of warfare so quickly. Anyone else it would've taken them years to attain full knighthood, but seeing Olyvar's performance throughout the war firsthand Daveth estimated it would only be a matter of time before he's fully ready for the honor. Once they return to King's Landing, the King will finish up the remaining necessities. But for now, they had a job to do.
"Go, Your Grace," Olyvar continued. "We'll hold them off."
"Understood," Daveth nodded. "Coming, uncle?"
Jaime brandished his sword. "I'm right behind you, nephew."
Olyvar and the remaining squad of soldiers began climbing the stone ruins to get to the battlements above. From on high, the rest of the royal forces—Crownlands, Stormlands, Westerlands, Reach, Riverlands, Vale and the North—were wrapping up their business below and were beginning their ascent to Pyke itself.
Upon storming the gates of Pyke's Great Keep, Daveth and Jaime were flanked by the castle's kraken guard and swung their swords at the attackers. Both of them were able to take out their fair share before resuming the march up the nearest steps – killing dozens of remaining infantrymen and kraken guards. As Daveth pulled Stormbringer from one of the corpses, he looked up the steps and saw the man he was looking for climbing the last steps onto another floor.
"Balon Greyjoy…" he mused.
Jaime noticed. "He won't get far. Go, get him. I'll finish cleaning things up here."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Besides, you really don't need me protecting you from this now, do we?"
Daveth sarcastically rolled his eyes and humorously shook his head at his uncle's attempt at a joke. Besides, Daveth knew his uncle Jaime Lannister was one of the best swordsmen Westeros had ever seen. If anyone could clear out any unsavory elements at Pyke, it would be him. Deciding to trust his uncle's judgment, Daveth took off in pursuit of Balon Greyjoy whilst Jaime turned to clear out the remaining kraken guards and prevent them from attacking from behind.
Climbing the steps to one of the rope bridges outside, King Daveth I Baratheon gripped Stormbringer in his right hand and came face-to-face with King Balon Greyjoy for the first time in 13 years. During his captivity, Daveth was only a child with Balon and others looking down at him while they beat him, abused him and tortured him by various means. Of course, that was then. This was now. Now Daveth stood straight, standing over him and ignored the beating rain and heavy winds smacking his face. Balon Greyjoy, meanwhile, still retained his gaunt hard face, hard black eyes with long grey hair sticking to his face.
"Daveth Baratheon."
"Balon Greyjoy."
The winds blew, shaking the rope bridge with the two of them on it. Both swung with the bridge, each of them never breaking eye contact.
"Somehow I expected you'd find your way here. Just like your stag father before you. But the last time I saw you, you were but a frightened little boy; crying out in the endless void."
"I remember. The only difference between you and me now is I've grown stronger since then. You, on the other hand, have not changed at all."
Balon crept closer to Daveth; Daveth crept closer to Balon.
"You can mock our traditions all you like, boy," Balon retorted, "but in the end all that remains is a broken boy pretending to be a man who wants to play at war."
"Except that I've been fighting on the frontlines throughout this war while you hid behinds your walls, given your old age," Daveth countered; his voice speaking with the calm of total certainty. "I've mastered my fears a long time ago, readying myself for this day. 13 years of careful planning and now things have come full circle."
"And how is that, pray tell?"
"Your two poorly planned invasions, Balon Greyjoy, followed by overwhelming defeats and heavy losses. I see that now you have learned nothing after the first failed rebellion. You focused only on the short-term achievements, overestimated your forces and gravely underestimated your opponents… again. The only difference between me and my father, King Robert, is that I'm here to finish the job. Something he should've done a long time ago."
When it becomes clear to Balon that Daveth intends to kill him, the Kraken King glared at the Young Stag. Surprisingly, Daveth loosened his grip on Stormbringer and put it back in its sheath.
"You intend to kill me without a weapon?" Balon inquired. "You really have lost your mind in the storm."
Daveth shook his head. "Wrong again, old man," he clenched his fists. "I want you to feel every ounce of pain and suffering you… and him inflicted on me for every moment you kept me imprisoned on this barren wasteland. Your words will disappear. Your name will disappear, the Iron Islands will disappear. All memory of you will disappear. This… is for Lannisport!"
With the intents clear, Balon Greyjoy quickly drew out a knife and slashed Daveth across the face.
"Gah!" he exclaimed.
Despite being older and fragile, Balon was quicker than he appeared. Before he could swing his arm back around, Daveth quickly grabbed Balon's wrist with his left hand and punched him in the jaw with his right. Stumbling backwards across the rickety rope bridge, Balon moved to get back up before being flattened by another punch from Daveth. He doesn't hear or listen to the royal fleets hurling stones and burning pitches at Pyke. Balon felt himself being forced back by his much younger adversary, who maintains a strong focus as he goes. The Kraken King swings his arm, knife in hand, only for Daveth's arm to be raised to deflect Balon's arm again – its point an inch from where he struck earlier before sending his fist again catches him upside the head and brought him down to knee him in the gut.
"Oof!" Balon grunted, wrestling with Daveth as the Young Stag maintained a firm grip on his wrist.
Ignoring the blood trickling down from the gash on his right cheek, the Young Stag deployed every advantage he could possibly muster. Rearing his head backwards, Daveth quickly came down with a hard headbutt – causing the Kraken King to stumble back and nearly fall over the ledge before Daveth grabbed his collar and spun around to throw him back into the halls of the Great Keep.
The 47-year-old Balon Greyjoy landed on his back with a hard thud from the force of the throw. Daveth walked back inside, his eyes focused on his target – cheek bleeding, but each of his fists curled tight into a ball. Balon rose, but Daveth kicked him in the chest – knocking him back down. Before Balon made an attempt to stand up again, Daveth got on top of him before he can, sitting on his chest whilst placing his knees on Balon's arms and beats down on him with his fists and forearms so hard he broke his nose and jaw. With each blow he lands, Daveth has every intention of methodically beating Balon Greyjoy to death.
"What is dead may never die."
The memories of the ironborn raid at Lannisport flooded his thoughts.
"Fitting tributes to the Drowned God, wouldn't you say? Or… to me since I am the Drowned God?"
The Young Stag gritted his teeth as he held his opponent down and continued assaulting him.
"This one's a worthy prize. We'll take him back with us to the Iron Islands. We'll be having lots of fun!"
After Daveth threw the twenty-ninth punch to the bloodied Balon's face, one of the royal longships from outside pummeling Pyke with boulders and burning pitches made contact with the stone walls; a projectile rattles the walls of Pyke, sending stone debris flying at the two combatants. However, one piece of stone debris flew through the air and hit Daveth's cheek, breaking his concentration.
"Gah!" he flinched.
Feeling his opponent loosen his grip slightly, Balon slipped one leg free to press his foot against Daveth's chest and kicked him off of him. The Young Stag stumbled backward, shaking his head as Balon got back up on his feet with knife in hand. Raising his arm up, Balon brought it down but Daveth still retained enough awareness to turn to his right before swinging back around to backhand him with his left.
As Balon stumbled, Daveth got back to his feet.
"Your words will disappear," he glared. "Your name will disappear, all memory of you will disappear…"
As more pieces of Pyke castle started crumbling away, Balon sluggishly moved to stab Daveth but his thrust was easily caught when the Young Stag against grabbed his wrist and punched him in the face. Balon stumbled backwards a bit, his sight starting to blurry as Daveth picked up a nearby stone before slamming it on Balon's head as hard as he could.
*BAM!*
*BAM!*
*BAM!*
After three consecutive blows, blood poured from the top of Balon Greyjoy's head. The front of his brow appeared to be indented, implying either a depressed of compound skull fracture as the Kraken King was knocked dizzy, finally dropping his knife.
Panting wearily, Daveth slowly picked up Balon's knife and raised his arm to deliver the final strike before another explosion from the outside rocked Pyke, both stumbling as the ground around them caved out as each stone dropped to the ocean below. Daveth moved to head to a distance, but the ground of the Great Keep finally gave way – collapsing below. As the motionlessly dazed King Balon Greyjoy fell to his demise at the Sunset Sea, Daveth leapt as he reached his hand outward to grab the nearest ledge, his fingers barely grasping it in time as he held on tightly. The Young Stag's legs dangled as the waves crashed against the shores, rain and wind battered the exhausted King as he strained to pull himself upwards.
However, due to having repeatedly physically assaulting his opponent, Daveth's knuckles were bloodied, bruised and sore. It made hanging onto the ledge much more difficult as he slowly felt his grip slipping away. He shut his eyes tight, trying to pull himself up – but his hands were hurting as the adrenaline rushing through his body finally wore off.
'No! Not like this!' he thought.
Before all seemed to be lost, a voice called out to him as Pyke was getting demolished around him.
"Daveth!"
Daveth quickly opened his eyes and looked up. Ser Barristan Selmy, having fought his way through the island, extended his hand to him. Accompanying him were Jaime Lannister, Lucius Blackmyre, Olyvar Frey and Robb Stark.
"Quickly! Take my hand!" Barristan called out.
It was a life or death situation. If there was a moment to act, now was the opportune time lest the Iron Islands would be his grave. Releasing one hand whilst retaining a hold with the other, Daveth reached out to grasp Barristan's.
"I… can't reach!" he strained despite the pain in his hands.
Barristan moved to reach further, as did Robb and Jaime – but even then the attempts at rescuing Daveth were getting slimmer by the second. The castle islands of Pyke were coming down all around them; and if they didn't get him out of there fast enough then they would all perish. Daveth tried again, but his left hand was slipping – mostly due to the rain and the pain in his knuckles.
"Come back home to me."
"Then wait for me, little dove. Wait for me, and I will return to you."
The Young Stag remembered the promise he had made almost a month ago to Sansa. The request she made, her pleas and tears. And the dream he had during his recovery after the liberation of Moat Cailin… all of it made it heart wrenching at the thought of never seeing his beloved wife again.
'Sansa… No! I made a promise! And I intend TO KEEP IT!' he internally screamed.
Fueled by a renewed sense of purpose, Daveth once again threw his hand up – ignoring the pain and stretched as he possible could, his fingers within reach of Ser Barristan's. After a strenuous effort, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard ultimately gripped Daveth's palm in his own and with the assistance of Jaime, Olyvar, Lucius and Robb, managed to pull the Young Stag to safety.
"Thank the Gods we made it," Barristan panted wearily.
Daveth nodded his head, but still knew they were all in danger.
"This place will soon be at the bottom of the Sunset Sea at any moment!" Robb pointed out. "We have to go! Now!"
"Everyone, back to the boats!" shouted Jaime.
The small group ran down the steps of Pyke and into the main hall, avoiding falling debris as they possibly could before making it to the outside. Below they could see the rest of their allies at the bottom near the ruins of Lordsport, climbing aboard their ships and calling out to them in a panicked state.
"Hurry up!"
"Come on! You can make it!"
Behind them what was once the ancient stronghold of Pyke gradually crumbled away upon being struck with numerous boulders and burning pitches from the Redwyne fleets. Daveth took one quick glance and returned his gaze forward, never looking back again. One by one, each man slid down the muddy hill and rushed past the enflamed holdfasts and corpses littering the land. Nearby, two rowboats rocked against the waves. It definitely took quite some time, but they managed to get to the boats to undo the ropes before a thunderous rumble caught their attention.
Due to the decimation of Pyke and its location being on a steep cliff, the naval bombardment had inadvertently triggered a rockslide.
"Get these ropes undone and get to the fleet!" Barristan shouted.
"We're trying!" Olyvar hurriedly worked to undo the knots.
Robb was fidgeting with the ropes, but heard a howl in the distance.
*AROOOOO!*
Looking over his shoulder, Robb saw his direwolf Grey Wind running to its master as quickly as it could – avoiding the rockslides.
"Come, Grey Wind!" he called out to his canine companion. "Come, boy! You can make it!"
Holding out his hand, Grey Wind whined as the direwolf narrowly missed getting pinned by a boulder and trapped if not obstructed by obstacles in its path. Digging its claws into the ground, Grey Wind leapt as far as it could – landing near Robb's side before the rockslide could ultimately claim the beast's life.
Grey Wind shoved his nuzzle against Robb's chest, whining and wagging its tail happily at being reunited with its master.
"Good boy!" Robb petted him. "Come on! Get in!"
Grey Wind jumped aboard the rowboat with Robb and Olyvar in tow. Daveth, Barristan, Jaime and Lucius, meanwhile, hopped into the other. All began rowing away from the devastated port town as the devastation of Pyke and the rest of the Iron Islands appeared to be accomplished, albeit at the cost of so many lives to make it possible. As Lucius paddled, Daveth felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him – having been physically spent and emotionally burned out. Sure, he got his desire for vengeance… but something didn't sit quite right with him.
"Ser Barristan…" he called out tiredly, only enough for the old man to hear him.
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"I… I'm sorry."
Barristan looked surprised, yet slightly concerned as well. "For what?"
"For failing you…"
The old Kingsguard knight lowered his head, hinting that he detected a slight sense of guilt in his former squire's voice; for allowing his anger to cause the deaths of so many people—most of them his own men. But Barristan also understood that sometimes people—commoners, nobles, even kings—had to learn things the hard way if they were to ever be more successful in their lives. He knew Daveth since he was a boy and trained him in the art of combat, hoping to instill in him a sense of nobility and honor as best he could. When he heard the apology, Barristan knew that Daveth had somehow made a mistake. Hopefully, he's still a fast learner as he was during his prodigy years. But for now, that can wait as they rowed to the flagship King Robert's Hammer.
######
Aboard the King Robert's Hammer…
Cheers and shouts of victory rang aboard the royal flagship as Olyvar, Lucius, Jaime, Robb and King Daveth were brought to the upper deck. The Iron Throne's combined ground and naval forces—Lannister, Baratheon, Stark, Tully, Tyrell, etc.—each shared a mug of beer and celebratory music.
"We won!"
"Shows those ironborn whose boss!"
"Long live the Oathkeeper!"
"Seven blessings on His Grace!"
"Hail King Daveth!"
Daveth was still feeling burned-out, not caring about the heaps of praise being thrown at his feet. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to go home. Perhaps some time away from warfare and violence would clear his head, aided by the ride back would ease his thoughts. His clothes were wet and torn, his knuckles were still bloody and sore, the cut on his cheek still burned. The Young Stag opted not to join in the celebration, but instead leaned against the wall as each ship set sail to their destination.
"Your Grace," Robb approached.
Daveth wearily opened his eyes and shook his head. "You don't have to call me that whenever we're in private."
"What happened back there…"
"I know, Robb. I know. The Iron Islands have been completely destroyed, their reaving and pillaging days along the western coasts will not happen again. The Old Way of paying the iron price is over."
"Did you order the ironborn be put to the sword?"
"I did."
"Why?"
Daveth shook his head. "Half of it was out of duty, a reminder of what happens should anyone rebel against the crown."
Robb wasn't going to let this go. "And the other half?" he asked.
"Fueled by a grudge for what they did to me in the past. Is that what you wanted to hear? Because there's nothing you told me that I haven't told myself, Robb."
"Everyone makes a mistake at some point in their lives."
"That they do."
Quite soon filled the upper deck between the two childhood friends, albeit it was a chilly one in the beginning – there appeared to be a sense of spiritual connection between the two, suspecting it was the officially reparation of their friendship.
"What will you do now?" Robb asked.
Daveth looked at Robb. "Now that the war is over, I will be returning to King's Landing. Clear my head if I can. I've been away from home for too long. You?"
"Same. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," he answered. "And I need to find Bran and Rickon. If what Theon told us at Moat Cailin was true…"
"Find them, Robb. Bring them home."
"I will."
"And… I believe that congratulations are in order. Waking up one morning, knowing your first kid is on the way—"
Robb blinked. "Wha…? How did…?"
Daveth pointed to Lord Greatjon Umber, how boisterously laughed and raised his mug in the air, retelling his story to the crewmen of the battles he fought at Great Wyk and the announcement of House Stark's next heir. Robb shrugged his shoulders and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Of course he of all people would say that," he mused.
"You Northmen are a bit straight forward and honest."
Robb rolled his eyes. "Maybe, but last I heard the Seven Kingdoms is expecting an heir too."
"Word travels fast, I see."
"Boy or girl?"
"I don't know."
Both started to find the back-and-forth banter to be rather amusing, each the Young Stag and Young Wolf recognizing that they're still friends despite the tirade at Moat Cailin some time ago. But all that ceased when a commotion grew audibly louder.
"Get here, you bitch!" one of the Northmen hollered.
Sounds of chains clanked, snapping both Daveth and Robb out it before realizing what was going on. As they stepped forward, Daveth saw Locke and Ramsay Snow throwing to the King's feet a chained up yet bruised Yara Greyjoy and her uncle Aeron Greyjoy, a Drowned Man clergyman.
"I believe a 'thank you' is in order, Your Grace," Locke said proud of himself.
Lucius chimed in. "Mind your tongue when you're speaking to the King, lad!" he reprimanded him.
Before Locke could reply, Roose Bolton interfered. "What he meant to say was that during Lord Stark's confrontation with Princess Yara, my soldiers seized the opportunity to spring an ambush and capture her. Once that was done, we figured it would be best to decide her fate should we succeed."
"And so you have," Daveth mused, "but I'm afraid that it's come to my attention your best hunter Locke lied to me."
Locke froze as all eyes were soon locked on him. "Wh—"
"Back when we took back Moat Cailin from the ironborn, you told me that Theon Greyjoy blew up some of my ships at the coastline."
"I did. That's the truth!"
"And yet not long after, my informants in the North brought word that you and your men infiltrated Winterfell, killed all the ravens and imprisoned most of its denizens to keep them quiet and attempted to place all of the blame on someone else, namely the ironborn who never go that far to the center of the North itself."
"What?!" Robb was furious.
Locke felt increasing pressure being heaped on him. "Lies! Whatever you heard, all of it was lies!" he protested.
"It is a crime to lie to a King," Daveth countered. "But what's even worse is that you still continue to do it. Want to know how I know?"
"I'm not—!"
"Please, I'm from King's Landing. I've learned the political intrigues of the royal court from its best players. And I can tell whenever a man is lying and when he is telling the truth. You, Locke, are a terrible liar. Consider your desires officially rescinded."
Roose Bolton folded his arms in disappointment; Ramsay tried to hide his concern about what fate held in store for him.
"Your bannermen has disappointed me, Lord Bolton. Perhaps a lesson needs to be in order."
Deciding to need a scapegoat, Roose sighed. "He will be punished at the Dreadfort, Your Grace."
Locke's eyes widened at his liege lord disavowing him and tossing him aside. With a snap of his fingers, several House Bolton men-at-arms physically restrained Locke who offered heavy resistance.
"No! You can't do this to me!" he yelled.
"I just did," Daveth replied as Locke was led away before turning his sights on Yara. "And you…"
"You've already killed us all, so you might as well get it over with," she rudely interrupted.
Daveth felt temptation creep in his mind, but he shook his head. "If you intend to make yourself a martyr, then you're sadly mistaken."
Ser Barristan approached. "Her crimes cannot be ignored, Your Grace, I understand that. We all do. But killing her now accomplishes nothing in the long run."
Robb raised an eyebrow. "Then what do you propose we do, Ser Barristan? She's attacked the North, our home, brutalized our brothers and sisters, and ruined the lives of our families. We cannot just ignore that."
"Let her stand trial, at least. A fair trial in King's Landing," Barristan suggested. "We'll meet out justice for all who've been affected by this crisis, including the North. We'll show everyone that there's always a better way."
Greatjon Umber was livid. "After what the ironborn put us through? Haven't we endured enough at their hands already?! I—"
Daveth cut him off. "You've made objections known, Lord Umber. Quite loudly, I might add," he spoke firmly before calming himself down. "But Ser Barristan is right about this: if we kill her now then we are no better than the ironborn who sowed the seeds of chaos and discord throughout the realm. I will decide Yara Greyjoy's fate… after she's been given a fair trial in King's Landing."
Yara looked confused, but didn't care. Most of the Northmen couldn't believe their ears, but Ser Barristan breathed a sigh of relief and nodded his head in approval.
"I will send word once the verdict's been made," he continued. "But for now, return to your strongholds, my lords. Gather the crops for the upcoming winter. If the maesters are right, it will be the coldest and longest winter we've ever seen."
Most of the northerners grumbled and went to their respective ships, already planning on returning home in the North. Robb bid one last farewell and left with Grey Wind aboard the Wolfsbane. Daveth, meanwhile, returned his gaze to the horizons of the Sunset Sea – ignoring the rain which is slowly dying down. Watching the moonlight glistening across the waves, he turned to Ser Barristan.
"Have the captain set sail for King's Landing, Ser Barristan," Daveth said. "It's going to be quite a voyage home."