Time had momentarily stopped. In the heat of the moment, before the blade came down, Daveth felt his strength leaving his body due to blood loss. Quiet exhales and struggling to breathe, the Young Stag's vision blurs. Yara Greyjoy remained straddling atop Daveth's torso as he bled out from the stab wound on his left side inflicted upon him by Euron Greyjoy moments earlier.

Sansa…

Yes; what phases through his mind were imagery silhouettes of his own wife: Sansa Stark and their children running around in circles happily. Her thick, mid-back length auburn hair, her vivid blue eyes… her high cheekbones, and her smile full of warmth and affection. Daveth missed her terribly. She was the first thing he saw in the morning, the last he saw at night. He missed her scent, smelling sweet of lemons… and he missed her touch; the way Sansa looks at him, how soft her skin was against his fingertips and her kisses.

"Good morning, my love. How fares your Small Council meeting? Our children have missed you terribly."

"Hi, papa!"

Oh, Sansa… she's so beautiful. Just the thought of me not being able to protect her or our family, after all they've done for me, makes me cringe.

Waves of flashbacks flooded through Daveth's mind; he and Robb as 7-year-old children playing in the snow at Winterfell moments after meeting for the first time, his childhood friends in the Westerlands, everything…

"Come now, Your Highness! You can throw snow a lot harder than that!"

"For the last time, Robb, it's 'Daveth'! 'DAVETH'!"

"Still doesn't change that you're still waist deep in snow! Yah! Take that!"

"Ompf! Ooh, you're going to pay for that, Stark!"

All of my family and friends, those who've been at my side through the worst of times… Ah, Lord Arryn. Ser Barristan. I think I understand what it was you were trying to tell me all these years. Yes, I've changed in the past seven years – much to my surprise. I've come to accept my failings – that there are things I simply cannot predict nor control, I've found a sense of closure with my father… These people, they saved me from a cold, dark and lonely place after Lannisport. I can't stomach the thought of not being able to protect them from Euron Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen or anyone who means them harm…

"End of the line for you, Oathkeeper…" Yara panted wearily.

In the name of the Warrior, if you can hear me… please, give me the strength I need to end this madness before it spreads across this land like a plague!

When she raised her arm and moved to bring down the dagger still locked in the palm of her hand, Daveth groaned and strained. Achingly shifting his body onto his side, the Young Stag could see the discarded Stormbringer mere inches away. All he needed was to get away from the Greyjoys, but could only free one arm and gripped Yara's wrist—the tip of the dagger inches away from his face.

"Ngh!" he strained in pain.

"What the…? WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIE ALREADY?!" Yara was somewhat surprised; the Young Stag was still putting up a fight, even in his weakened state. Her outrage scream was enough to cause Euron to lift his head up to see that there is still some fight left in Daveth, dropping his head in a sigh. "DIEE!"

Daveth's left arm was shaking as he struggled against Yara pressing her weight down on her arm in the hopes of finishing off the battle. But because her focus was primarily on Daveth, Yara had failed to recognize the fast approaching sound of footsteps on the wet shores and wet stones; only until a foot was forcibly shoved into her face did it break her concentration.

*BAM!*

"Oof!" Yara exclaimed; rolling off, she shook her head and held her bleeding broken nose before looking up to see who it was who just attacked her.

Holding his left side to slow the bleeding down, Daveth groaned and looked up at his rescuer. When the sunlight shone off the armor, the Young Stag was able to notice the extremely high quality of the armor. Engraved in gold accessorized by a white cloak, the armor belonged to one group of the most prestigious knights in the Seven Kingdoms—the Kingsguard. The knight, having drawn his blade, his blonde hair hung slack over his face and his beard was scruffy and grizzled; his face was weary and weathered down. It didn't take long for two of the three combatants to recognize him.

"Kingslayer," Euron spoke up.

"U… uncle Jaime?" Daveth groaned in pain.

Jaime glanced over his shoulder. "I specifically told you not to go off on your own, nephew. This is what I meant," he said. "You're not the only one who knows the ironborn."

"Oh? And what do you think you know about us?" Yara dared.

"That you're nothing but bitter, angry little people. All you know how to do is steal things you can't build or grow yourselves. The Greyjoys rebelled against the throne twice for the right to be monarchs, but as I recall, you were soundly defeated both times – damn near ripped out root and stem the last time we invaded the Iron Islands. We all made it to that desolate wasteland. This time, we made sure you would never threaten anyone ever again."

Euron rose to his feet. "I remember very well. I saw you the first time you invaded our lands," he grinned; half-sadistically, half-exhausted. "I heard so much talk. The best in the world, Ser Jaime Lannister – eldest son of the great Tywin Lannister. No one could stop him. I didn't believe it, to be honest. But I must say, when you rushed through the breach and started cutting people down… it was glorious. Like a dance."

"The people I was cutting down were your own kin," Jaime pointed out. "Plus, you abducted my nephew at Lannisport. Cersei nearly went crazy when she found out you took her firstborn. I've heard what happened when we took him home after the war ended. What you did to him. But really? The daily routine of physical abuse, the inhumane treatment, willful attempts at drowning him multiple times… what a way to stoop so low as to do those things to a child."

"This coming from the man who stabbed his King in the back!" Yara spat.

"Ah, but look at him now," Euron refers to Daveth who at this point is placing one hand on his knee in an attempt to stand up. "He's fine. I'd say it all worked out quite nicely in the end. Don't you think so, eh Kingslayer?"

Jaime turned and noticed his nephew staggering to his feet; his knees buckled, and his face was masked by agonizing pain. "Daveth, don't get up! Just leave the rest to me. I'll take care of them."

Nonetheless, Daveth again chose not to heed his uncle's warnings and stood up. Dragging the tip of Stormbringer across sand and rock, the Young Stag clutched his left side and pressed hard. Hissing with pain, he redirected his attention towards Euron.

"Uwooooo," Daveth moaned.

"Damn it, boy, listen to me! This is crazy. What are you trying to do in that condition? If you continue to fight in your current state, you'll die."

"I have just enough strength left… for this one last fight," he shook his head. "I need to get in the Red Keep. My family's in there."

"Our family is in there, nephew." Jaime corrected him. He sighed with resignation. "But knowing you, you're still going to persist on seeing this through to the end – don't you?"

Daveth panted wearily. The color was starting to slowly drain from his face. "My responsibility remember? Besides, uncle, I hate standing still doing while others fight my battles for me. Can't be the only one lying on my ass at a time like this, now can I?"

"Hah. You're as stubborn as your mother."

"So you say."

Reinforced with a single Kingsguard, the fight was now an even two-on-two. Despite everything that's happened between the two of them, Daveth and Jaime stood side-by-side ready to end it all. Uncle and nephew fighting against a common enemy together. Steeling themselves, both were ready.

Yara and Euron picked up their weapons, sword and axe, and lunged forth. Tempting as it was, Jaime didn't charge forward and instead assumed a defensive posture in front of Daveth; as a Kingsguard, it was his duty to protect the King and the royal family from harm at all times; it's his responsibility that Daveth is safe, for him it's even more so on a personal level considering the King is in fact the only nephew Jaime actually has; protect Cersei's son, he told himself. If anything were to happen to him, chances were most likely that neither Myrcella nor Tommen would ever forgive him for it. Despite being only half-related, they still thought of Daveth as their 'big brother'. "If serving as a glorified bodyguard is the sum of your ambition, go serve," he could still hear Tywin's disappointing voice ring in his head.

With the change in weather, temperatures dropped. Snow fell from the sky.

Daveth, exhausted and bleeding, raised the tip of Stormbringer and pointed it at both the Greyjoys. Time is short. We are almost there. This battle will determine the future of the Seven Kingdoms. We could put an end to the meaningless 300-year cycle brought on by House Targaryen. Or we could collapse into nothing as the dragon kings have… But I will see it through to the no matter what. Let old ghosts rest, and let the new generation be born to pioneer the new era. Not next year, not tomorrow. Now. "Come," he challenged. "If you think you have what it takes to kill me."

With that, Euron and Yara charged.

—In the Red Keep—

Robb and Jon fought their way to gain entrance into the Red Keep; aided by Ser Lucius and a small group of civilians, they pushed past the ironborn and some of Connington's guards. The Young Wolf and White Wolf hacked and slashed their way past into the castle. Before long, they soon converged into the throne room.

"We've made it," Robb spoke.

"Connington will have most likely anticipated such a move and move elsewhere," Ser Lucius pointed to a set of stairs. "Take the steps first door to the left. It's a long flight, but it's the shortest route to Maegor's Holdfast."

"Why Maegor's Holdfast?" asked Jon.

"It's the strongest tower within the Red Keep, a fairly defensible position whenever the city is under siege; basically, a castle-within-a-castle. Let's hope we're not too late."

"How do we get there from here?"

Ser Lucius pointed towards a side entrance. "This hallway here will lead us through the outer yard. From there, I'll open the portcullis which will take us straight into the middle bailey. Once there, we'll climb up the serpentine steps to the lower bailey which in turn will take us straight to Maegor's Holdfast."

"And the downside?"

"The downside is there's only one way in, and that's across the drawbridge spanning the dry moat which is lined with a bed of formidable iron spikes surrounding it."

Grey Wind growled; Robb huffed. "Then we'd best make haste," he insisted. "Jon Connington has my sister and her children."

"So why're you lot standing around talking?" a gruff voice echoed throughout the hall.

All three men turned as Grey Wind and Ghost snarled; the man was revealed to be Sandor Clegane, who calmly strolled before them as he threw the severed head of an ironborn at their feet. Ser Lucius's face furrowed and twisted with disgust.

"Sandor Clegane. Last we met you fought with us against the dead at Winterfell, but before that you abandoned your post at the Battle of the Blackwater; you're wanted for desertion. Why are you here now?" he said with suspicion.

"Aye, I'm a wanted man," the Hound huffed. "But I'm here to help now, aren't I? Your old friend Connington's got plentiful of guards patrolling the drawbridge. Once they see you, the—"

*RUMBLE!*

For a brief moment, the rescue team felt a subtle disturbance; as if the entire castle shook with one tremor after another, everyone's senses were on at an all-time high alert.

"What the hell was that?!" Lucius exclaimed.

"Whatever it is, I'm not stickin' around here to find out! Look, you want help or not?!"

Robb and Jon both looked at Sandor with suspicion; but at the same time, however, they knew that the Hound was right about what lies before them should they reach Maegor's Holdfast. Sansa, Lyonel, Cassana, Torrhen and the unborn child… they were all holed up there, trapped up as Connington's hostages. The Small Council members Tyrion, Pycelle and Trystane were as well, along with Myrcella, Tommen, Nymerios and Margaery.

*RUMBLE!*

Again, the vibrations grew increasingly frequent.

"Get a move on, lads! Go! Get!" Lucius barked.

They didn't need to be told twice. Immediately, they sprang into action – rushing towards the passageway leading outer yard. When they approached the long flight of stairs at the serpentine steps, Robb and Jon were at the middle of the group, with Sandor guarding the rear flank and Ser Lucius at the front. A small group of volunteers followed close behind, but even they trembled with fright at the uncertainty that laid before them.

Elsewhere…

Arya silently left a trail of bodies in her wake in the cellars of Maegor's Holdfast; utilizing her skills as a Faceless Man, she had silently assassinated a dozen guards blocking her pathway up the stairs. Wiping the blood off her dagger, she glanced down at one of Connington's guards before recognizing a pyromancer running further away from her. Figuring he was about to warn Connington of the threat, Arya swiftly gave chase. With graceful speed and agility, she moved nimbly around the corridor despite her small stature, ran up along the wall and jumped off the surface, leaping into the air and landing directly onto the pyromancer.

Twirling the blade in her left hand, Arya stabbed and sliced away at the man's pelvic girdle—targeting each specific area: the quadriceps femoris, hamstrings… With each cut to the muscles, tendons and ligaments, it caused the pryomancer's movements to cease functioning, thus severing the use of his legs. When the old man fell to the ground, Arya had pounced onto him and pressed her dagger against his throat.

"Out with it. Where's my sister?" she interrogated.

He said nothing.

"WHERE is my SISTER?!" she pressed again.

He started chuckling.

"You think this is funny? Is your life of little to no value to you?"

"It's not that," the pyromancer replied. "Lord Connington always gets what he wants. He's learned much during his exile." He points to the left. "You're far too late to stop the inevitable, girl."

Arya glances over at a small tunnel and sees a glimmer of light; narrowing her eyes to focus, she sees a green glow emanating from two dozen compacted barrels. The wooden containers were heavy and appeared to be greatly strained with each pressure applied to them. Arya's eyes widened when she realized what was placed at one of the Red Keep's structures; green pools of liquid were on the ground with lit candles in their centers. Wildfire! The candles appear to have almost burned down to nothing.

"Shit!" she cursed and sprang to her feet and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

And now, the crippled pyromancer thought, time to bring about the final curtain call…

*KABOOM!*

The flame from the candle touches the pool of green liquid, causing the entire substance and the surrounding barrels to ignite and explode in a mass of green flame. The pyromancer was incinerated immediately as the wildfire travels throughout the corridors; by that time, Arya already had gotten quite a long distance behind her where the explosion began spreading. She could hear the loud rumbling getting closer and knew it was only a matter of time. Turning left and right for any possible escape routes, Arya ran up a flight of stairs, wall-riding along the surfaces like an agile, nimble cat until she finally leapt onto the nearest window's surface and circled around to tightly grasp the old stones.

She was just in time.

The wildfire burst through the area and a portion of it shot out the window, further away from where Arya was hanging. The heat was intense. Arya was quick to turn her head sideways; she felt how hot the wildfire burst was. It was only a small one, but only one burst like that could extend up to one room. Her grip on the stones remained tight, yet still had to remain cautious. Some of the stones along the bottom of Maegor's Holdfast were loose, the mortar holding them together were reduced to ash so she couldn't apply so much weight on them.

Ah, damn it! Climbing walls and towers used to be Bran's specialty. Not really my thing, Arya thought. Her fingers were aching. Sansa must be somewhere further up. Just wait for me. I'm almost there.

Extending her arm out, Arya gripped the next stone above her and began climbing.

Further up…

Connington heard the distinctive explosion emanating from below. He was absolutely livid. If the portion of wildfire going off below him were ignited, that meant that the enemy had infiltrated the Red Keep and were closing in on them. But how did they get in already? He still had a good view of the city from above; portions of the city were still aflame as the royal forces left outside the gates began engaging the Unsullied and Dothraki forces. Sounds of destruction fill the air.

"Enemy forces have breached the gates of the Red Keep," Lysono reported.

He whipped around. "I'm well aware of that!" he shouted angrily. You fools wish to force my hand? So be it. I'll give you my undivided attention. "Have the rest of the pyromancers ignite the rest of the traps."

"Our first one on the cellars was detonated prematurely."

"Then someone's already here."

"Is it the Usurper's spawn?"

"No," the Lyseni spymaster shook his head. "My spies report that he's still engaging Euron and Yara. Now he's being reinforced by some man called the Kingslayer."

"Ser Jaime Lannister, son of Lord Tywin," Connington recollected. "The traitor who broke his oath and stabbed King Aerys in the back at the foot of the Iron Throne." He turned to Sansa. "It seems we'll be having company soon, child. Come here," he roughly grabbed a handful of Sansa's auburn hair.

"Agh!" Sansa winced when she felt her hair being pulled. "Let go of me!"

"Get the brats! Take the rest with us to the rooftop! NOW!"

One by one, each of Connington's guards proceeded to roughly scoop up the terrified Lyonel, Cassana and wailing Torrhen; they were not so subtle in their rough handling of yanking Tyrion, Pycelle, Myrcella, Tommen, Margaery, Trystane and Nymerios either. The children cried and wailed in terror once scooped up in each stranger's arms, the guards angrily yelling at them to be silent but they did not cease. Tommen, of course, was perhaps the most resistant along with Trystane, but their act of defiance only resulted in more beatings; yet despite the threats and physical assaults, they did not relent.

Connington, however, as he and his goons climbed the stairs further up, watched King's Landing below fill with dark and putrid smoke. Sounds of screams, yelling and cursing, steel clashing against steel echoed throughout the city. But further outwards, he could see a distinctive figure flying towards them.

"She's coming," he realized. Daenerys Targaryen.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chapter End

Author's Note: Well guys, this turns out is going to be a long one. The battle of King's Landing will no doubt be the longest I'll be writing, but try to be as patient as possible (i.e., I've got a full-time job to deal with and work 12-hours during the holidays). As for Daveth, he was rescued by his own uncle Jaime in the nick of time – delivering a hard boot to the face to push Yara off. Now that it's two-on-two, the odds are even. I know. I've been reading the feedback – so pardon the cliffhangers. Robb, Jon, Lucius and Sandor have made it into the Red Keep and are now on their way to Maegor's Holdfast; Arya, in the meantime, has already gotten a head start and managed to avoid the wildfire's inferno. She is now on her way upwards, albeit at a slow pace. How do you guys think it'll go down now that Connington has spotted Daenerys approaching King's Landing? Stay tuned for more updates!

Also, have a merry Christmas and happy holidays!

Svenion: omigod, please tell me this is almost over

King Crow: Certainly better than the series

RHatch89: Awesome update. I'm just hoping you end this battle on a good note instead of how D&D ended their version

GreatAce50: Please don''t kill daveth's family especially their children.. I hope daveth survive the fight against euron and yara together with Jaime.. you're gonna get what connigton deserves slow death

Bvy: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of the oathkeeper, so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please

10868letsgo: Connington you will die. The first rule of being loyal to your rulers. It has its consequences.

birdy: what a chapter this was so good

C.E.W: The fight continues as Daveth and Jaime face off against Euron and Yara Greyjoy. One way or another, those two Greyjoys are going to die and Daveth and Jaime will go to save Sansa and the kids.

Connington is probably going to offer up Sansa and the kids to Daenerys so that she can use them against Daveth. Not so sure given how Daenerys doesn't take betrayal so lightly, and Connington is going to get what's coming to him. Robb, Jon, Lucius and Sandor might be able to distract Connington long enough for Arya to stab him from behind. Connington may try to appeal to Lucius over his past loyalty to the Targaryens, and to Rhaegar. Lucius however stated that the Mad King got what he deserved, and Connington had become everything that Rhaegar despised.

I strongly doubt that Daveth is going to survive this, he'll make it past the Greyjoys but against Daenerys not so much. Daveth is either going to clash dragons with her on Rhaegel. Or perhaps if he can get Daenerys close enough to the Keep, and get his family out of harm's way, he can light the Wildifre. The explosive force can knock Daenerys and Drogon on the ground, with a big impact it can kill both of them. Kind of like how Rick Grimes was willing to sacrifice himself to destroy the bridge to save the people he loved on Walking Dead. One way or another Daveth is going to die protecting the Seven Kingdoms, and for all intents and purposes he will succeed.

Bio RL: thanks for the chapter and merry christmas to you too.