The sun was rising. Ser Geralt Inverne looked out to the east. The dark blue faded as the great orange light rose about the grey-green sea. Clouds were great sheep of pink and violet. For a moment, the beauty of the scene took his breath away.

A hand gently nudged his shoulder. Startled, he turned to see a man in an iron helm. He wore plated armor covered by a green tunic embroidered with a black bear. The sight reminded Geralt that he was wearing heavy armor. He felt his fingers tighten on his lance and the horse between his legs shift. He remembered there was a battle to be fought.

His calm before the storm ended.

The walls of Pyke stood before the large army. Thousands of warriors from all across Westeros waited eagerly for the walls to crumble. On this day, the Ironborn would suffer for their rebellious ways.

Geralt watched as boulders slammed into the walls. They had to fall soon. He grew impatient.

"What troubles you, friend?" the warrior in green asked him. He had noticed Geralt beginning to shake in anticipation.

He turned to face him. "I have never asked for much. I've travelled far and wide across this continent without any rest. I fought in Robert's Rebellion. When peace was attained, these damned Greyjoys just had to think things were to quiet and start a commotion. All I want, Jorah, is to go back to my home and be with my wife and daughter."

"I envy you. How old is the child?"

"She'll be eight in two months," he calculated.

The catapults send their final barrage of stones. As stone collided with stone, the walls began to falter. As they crashed to the ground, the men on them tumbled while the men below were crushed. The earth shook.

The first to lead the charge was Thoros of Myr. He raised his sword, engulfed in fire. He was truly fearsome to behold.

Jorah Mormont drew his sword from his shoulder. "Gods be good and let you see her on her next nameday," he breathed hastily before following suit. Geralt quickly urged his mare to run into the breach as well. They were the first three to enter the fortress of Pyke, but they were most certainly not the last.

As he rode, warriors with axes, swords, and spears greeted him. His lance ran threw four men before sticking into a fifth particularly brawny guard. Quickly, Geralt drew his sword. The broadsword was unnaturally elegant for a weapon. Its hilt was covered with velvet of purple and green. Just above the hilt where the fuller should have begun was a thin hole. This did not disrupt the balance of the blade.

As Geralt hacked at several footmen, he could see King Robert dashing men with his war hammer. It was truly awe-inspiring to see him in his Stag helm. He looked like some kind of beast of legend.

Suddenly, his horse reared up. Geralt tried to calm it down, but to no avail. An Ironborn had speared her deep in the chest. The beast toppled over, throwing him off. He fell against a chunk of crumbled wall. His helm smashed into it, protecting him from serious injury. It was enough to knock him into the black world of unconsciousness.

A slap to the face woke him. His eyes shot open, once again on his friend Jorah. His brown hair was messy and he had a bruise on his cheek. Mormont no longer wore his armor. His green doublet unveiled the situation to Geralt.

"We won?"

"Indeed."

He laughed. "You look terrible."

"You should see yourself." He handed Geralt a mirror. His gauntleted hand took it gently. His helmet had a dent from where he had fallen. A cut over his left eye had caused blood to trickle and coat half his face. The red made his green eyes stand out. His trimmed hair and beard was full of dust, turning it from cedar brown to ash gray.

Geralt began to remove his gauntlets. "How long was I out?"

"Only four hours. It was quick, just as you wanted."

He smiled.

Jorah handed him a flagon of ale. "Once everything is settled here, there is to be a celebration at Lannisport. Send a raven back to the Riverlands. I'm sure your girl will enjoy her first tourney."

Geralt sipped the ale and rose slowly. "Perhaps she will. She'll be blabbing about it to her friends". He laughed. He and Jorah walked towards the tents that had been set up for celebration. Geralt was eager to remove the rest of his armor and more eager to write the message to his beloved lady.

How he craved to see them smile.