The End after the beginning

The sound of large pieces of stone crashing against the walls of Pyke (the castle/fort) could be heard throughout the camp. The catapults and trebuchets, positioned at a safe distance from the archers on the walls, were targeting the front.

Meanwhile, the scorpions and ballistae mostly shot arrows into the walls at various points, aiming to attack the morale of the Greyjoy men-at-arms. They were growing weary and tired from the constant fear of the walls collapsing at any moment.

The soldiers on the side of the Iron Throne were also exhausted; they were sharpening their weapons in preparation to finally assault Pyke. The walls were weakening at the front due to the relentless bombardment over the past week.

Suddenly, one side of the gate—not the gate itself—collapsed, signaling the soldiers to prepare for the imminent collapse of the front. They instantly sprang to their feet, calling for everyone resting in the tents to get ready for the assault that was about to commence.

The lords gathered, and among such lords a certain Stark.

Sometime Later 

The crash of stone against Pyke's battered walls was like the thunder of gods, each tremor shaking both sides to their cores. Torrhen Stark stood just behind King Robert Baratheon, watching as the front gates crumbled under the relentless assault of the siege engines. This was it—Pyke was falling, and with it, the Ironborn rebellion would be crushed. The king, towering and unyielding, grinned savagely as the walls cracked. The king had semt Eddard Stark to cover the right flank, while Jon Arryn was on the left flank. 

"Seven hells, Torrhen," Robert boomed, his voice carrying over the roar of the battle, "I love the smell of victory!"

Torrhen nodded, though his own demeanor remained calm. This was Robert's moment—his vengeance upon Balon Greyjoy, who had dared to challenge the Iron Throne. Torrhen's role was to support, to lead the cailin troops in ensuring the iron thrones legitimacy, but he could feel the weight of the moment nonetheless. This victory would secure their future. 

The king raised his war hammer—massive and brutal, the same weapon that had crushed Prince Rhaegar at the Trident. With a roar, Robert led the charge as the gates finally collapsed, a cascade of stone and dust crashing to the ground. His personal guard followed closely behind, with Torrhen and his men surging forward.

"Forward!" Torrhen called to his own troops, signaling his men with a sharp gesture. The Northmen, grim and hardened by the siege, advanced with swords and axes raised, their shields locked in a wall of steel.

The center was to act as the vangaurd, with the left and right flank moving in columns to quickly cover the flanks and the center pushes through to encircle the greyjoy men-at-arms. 

The Ironborn defenders, exhausted and disheartened, scrambled to form a line in the rubble, but Torrhen could see the fear in their eyes. They were no match for Robert's fury or the disciplined might of the Northern soldiers. They had heard tales of Robert Baratheon's wrath and fury, and now, they would face it.

Robert was the second through the breach, swinging his war hammer with deadly force. The Ironborn scattered before him like leaves in a storm. The first being a certain fiery sword wielding drunk priest. Torrhen followed, his Bec de Corbin striking with lethal precision, smashing through armor with brutal efficiency. The Ironborn fought fiercely, but Torrhen could see the despair in their eyes. They were losing ground, and they knew it.

"Push them back!" Torrhen barked to his men. "Show no mercy!"

Beside him, Robert fought like a man possessed, his laughter booming across the battlefield. Every swing of his hammer crushed bone and steel alike. The Ironborn who dared to stand against him were swept aside with brutal finality.

"Balon Greyjoy thinks himself a king!" Robert shouted, his voice carrying above the clamor of battle. "Let him face the wrath and fury of the Baratheon!"

As they advanced deeper into Pyke, the Ironborn resistance began to crumble. Torrhen's eyes scanned the battlefield, and he saw Balon Greyjoy's standard retreating toward the keep. The coward was running, abandoning his men to die while he hid behind his walls.

"Your grace!" Torrhen called to Robert, pointing toward the retreating figure. "Balon's making for the keep!"

Robert's eyes flashed with fury. "Then we take the keep!" he roared. "For the realm!"

Together, they led the charge through the crumbling gates of Pyke's inner keep. The fighting was fierce, but there was no stopping Robert Baratheon in his element. Torrhen fought alongside him, the Stark bannermen forming a shield wall that drove back the Ironborn defenders with unrelenting force.

At the heart of the keep, Torrhen found himself face to face with Balon's second son, Maron Greyjoy. The spare to Pyke fought with desperate fury, his sword a blur as he struck out at Torrhen. But Torrhen was ready. With a swift parry and a brutal strike of his Bec de Corbin, he knocked Marion off balance.

"Yield," Torrhen growled, his voice steady as he stared down at the Ironborn retard. 

Maron spat on the ground, defiant even in defeat. "Never."

Before Torrhen could finish him, Robert's hammer crashed down, shattering Maron's skull and sending him sprawling, with blodd everywhere. The king stood over the fallen boy, his face smiling and unyielding.

"Balon sent his son to die for nothing," Robert muttered humorously. "A waste."

Torrhen nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "It's over."

But Robert wasn't finished. His eyes turned to the highest tower of Pyke, where Balon Greyjoy still lurked like a cornered rat.

"Take the men, i want balon infront of me in chains!", Robert barked orders towards Ser Barristan Selmy the bold.

Ser Barristan Selmy gave a curt nod and quickly led a detachment of men toward the highest tower of Pyke. Robert watched as they stormed the stairs, his breathing heavy from battle, but his expression was still filled with that savage grin of victory. Torrhen Stark stood by his side, wiping blood from his helm, but his sharp eyes were focused on the keep's tower as the minutes stretched on.

Finally, the sound of iron footsteps echoed down the stone corridors, and from the shadows emerged Ser Barristan and his men, dragging a bound Balon Greyjoy down the stairs. The Lord of Pyke, once proud and defiant, now looked haggard, his face smeared with soot and blood. His defiant eyes, however, still burned with a flicker of rebellion.

As Balon was thrown to his knees before Robert, the king's massive form loomed over him, casting a shadow as dark as the storm brewing above. Robert glared down at the Ironborn lord, his war hammer resting on his shoulder, his voice like a growl of thunder.

"Traitor!" Robert spat. "You dared to rise against the Iron Throne, against me. You are no king, Greyjoy. You are nothing but a squid! Trying to grab things with it's slimy and disgusting hands, where it shouldn't even dream about."

Balon lifted his head, meeting Robert's gaze with cold, defiant eyes. His lips curled into a snarl. "I am no traitor," he spat, voice seething with venom. "The Greyjoys swore fealty to the Targaryens, never to a Baratheon. I only reclaimed what was mine when your precious dragons fell."

For a moment, Robert seemed to falter, his rage simmering just below the surface. Then his smile returned, though it was colder now. "You swore no loyalty to me? Then you'll swear it now, or by the gods, I'll have your head and your people will drown in blood. You will bend the knee, Greyjoy. Or there will be nothing left of the Ironborn but salt and bones."

Balon's lips pressed into a thin line, the defiance slowly ebbing from his features. He glanced around at the destruction of his keep, at the bodies of his sons and soldiers littering the ground. There was no escape. He was beaten.

Reluctantly, Balon lowered himself to the ground, kneeling before Robert, his head bowed low. "I... swear fealty to the Iron Throne," he muttered, his voice thick with bitter reluctance. "To you, Robert Baratheon."

The words seemed to echo in the ruined hall of Pyke, a bitter oath that signaled the end of the Ironborn's rebellion. Robert's smile widened, and he lifted his hammer triumphantly, the weight of victory settling over him.

"You will live, Balon," Robert said, his voice firm. "But know this—your rebellion has cost you dearly, and it will cost you more still."

Before Robert could continue, Torrhen Stark stepped forward, his icy blue eyes locking onto Balon. "Your grace," Torrhen said, his tone measured, "Though Greyjoy bends the knee now, the Ironborn cannot be trusted so easily. I suggest punishment—not just for the lord, but for the lordship itself."

Robert frowned, considering Torrhen's words, but the Stark pressed on. "First, they should not be allowed to have a fleet for twenty-five years. No ships, no raiders, nothing that can sail the seas. Second, there should be no trade allowed between the Iron Isles and the rest of the kingdoms. They will be isolated until they have proven their loyalty."

Balon's eyes flared with outrage, but Torrhen ignored him, speaking directly to Robert. "And finally, your grace, the Lord Hand place observers here—men loyal to the Iron Throne—who will send reports back to King's Landing every month. If even a single letter is missed, if there is any sign of rebellion, the full wrath of the Iron Throne will fall upon the Iron Isles, wiping them out."

Robert's smile had returned as Torrhen finished. "You're a cold one, Stark," he said with a grin. "But I like it. The Greyjoys won't rise again under my watch."

Turning back to Balon, Robert gave his final decree. "As for the ironwood forrest here at Pyke—that wood will go to Torrhen Stark and his men. Consider it a reward, Stark, for your loyalty and for delivering such fine justice."

Balon said nothing, his gaze fixed on the floor, but his jaw clenched tightly. Torrhen bowed respectfully to Robert, as he thanked Robert. The rebellion was crushed, and the Ironborn broken. Peace, however temporary, would return to the realm.

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Author's note

This chapter may have grammatical mistakes, i didn't proof read, nor edited it.