—Outside the gates—
Olyvar and Brienne had already turned to confront the charging Unsullied infantry and Dothraki cavalry; the other half of the remaining royal army remained outside the gates of King's Landing whilst the others proceeded inwards to liberate the capital city from the grips of Euron Greyjoy and Jon Connington. When they both saw enemy forces quickly encroaching on their location, they knew for certain that it was only a matter of time before Daenerys and Drogon entered the fray. Even with the advantage of superior numbers and strategy, the dragon itself posed a major problem.
"Surround the enemy," Brienne commanded. "The fate of all Westeros depends on this one battle! We will defeat the Dragon Queen, and save this world! Hurry, before that dragon of hers overwhelms of our position!"
This battle has us treading in very dangerous waters. If we are to defeat Daenerys Targaryen's army, it's essential that we end this war here and now. This time, we will fight fire with fire, Olyvar thought. "Stand your ground until their offensive subsides!"
Behind them, the bells start swaying from side-to-side, ringing loudly as another chimed in and another still like a chorus across King's Landing. As the bells chime, thousands of Unsullied and Dothraki charge forward at the royalist lines, closing within twenty yards before colliding against each other.
*BAM!*
Ornate leather meets plate, chainmail and lamellar. The royal vanguard grits its teeth against the Unsullied and Dothraki onslaught; the front row of elite Unsullied phalanx snaps into a perfect wall of a hybrid combination of a shield wall for defense and thrusting spears for offense. Beneath their iron spiked helmets, eyes locked forward towards their enemy, never breaking formation as their wall of shields push against the enemy's own shields. Boots slide, plowing the earth as royalist feet are forced back.
"Dovaogēdys! (Unsullied!)" Grey Worm commanded.
"HAAAWOOO!" they cried.
Dothraki bloodriders strafe through the frontlines and were quick to engage the knights of the Vale in open battle. Under the command of Yohn Royce, the Vale cavalry forces—consisting of men from houses Royce of Runestone, Waynwood, Hunter, Redfort, Belmore and Templeton—rode out to engage the foreign savages and take the pressure off their allies. An Unsullied spear draws the first blood, grazing across the shoulder of an aged grizzled veteran. He cries out in anger, breathing hate into the Westerosi will. Olyvar and Brienne strain as they and their troops finally slow the tide of ornate leather and shields, establishing a firm foothold that stops their backwards movements and all at once thousands of a combined royalist-militia lower their bodies, pushes forward en mass to encircle the Unsullied.
Olyvar thrusts his sword forwards and pierces through the ornate leather of one Unsullied, Mele Kasta, puncturing his lungs with such power that the air escapes the chest wounds. One Unsullied lands a solid jab on a militiaman, cutting into throats, the cries of pain muffled as they fall. Cries of men echo throughout the outer gates, foreign tongues of High Valyrian and Dothraki, groans and screams drift out and fall back. Jaehaegon, wielding House Velaryon's ancestral rapier,
"Gaomagon bē se memēbagon! (Keep up the pressure!)" Jaehaegon led on. "Gīda… naejot se paktot! (Clear… to the right!)"
"HAAAWOOO!"
Both sides step and thrust, hack and slash, killing all in their path before them. Dothraki riders whoop and rode, swinging their curved arakhs through infantry ranks without breaking stride. Indeed, the nomads' weaponry were better designed to be effective and necessary for warriors on horseback. But the Vale cavalry, armed with double-edged swords and lances, were able to gallop quickly enough to counter the Dothraki horde with their weapons' superior range. Dothraki, however, were just as resilient and unorthodox in their attack methods, often shifting their bodies sideways to cut out the legs of the Vale's horses from under them.
Thrown from their horses, some Vale troops staggered to their feet, only to have their heads severed with a single swing of the Dothraki arakh. Others, however, were quick to respond and thrust their lances upward to dislodge the fearsome nomads. With the Dothraki cavalry slowly starting to dwindle, the Unsullied were met with fierce resistance from the larger royal forces—who proceeded to press the elite eunuch warriors back before moving each the left and right flank to circle around and outflank them to ensnare them in a double envelopment, using their superior numbers to swallow both Dothraki and Unsullied whole on all sides.
"Take out the lieutenant!" Olyvar shouts.
"HAAAWOOO!"
Dothraki horses neighed and raised their hooves high, kicking in the air. Electrified, the royalist infantrymen hid behind their large shields and thrusted their spears forward. With each movement, they stab relentlessly as the Unsullied phalanx raised their own shields in defense, forming a circular shield wall of their own. The opposing side utilized their footmen to deploy their swords and axes on three sides to halt any attempts of escape. Clear eyes peer from spiked helmets.
Finally, Grey Worm exhales deeply and stood defiant. "Dovaogēdys! (Unsullied!)"
"HAAAWOOO!"
"Jurnegon mirre nākostōbāves isse pōja sumby! (Exploit any weakness in their defenses!)" Jaehaegon echoed.
The Dothraki riders swept at the spears; others jumped to the side of some of the shields trying to pry them off. Some still mounted warriors tried to leap above to the other side behind the wall of shields, but the infantry thrust their spears up, impaling them in mid-air. Bronn had seen this attempt before at the Battle of the Reach and moved his Summerhall guards into the best possible position to prevent another repeat from happening again.
"Keep those fuckers from climbing through!" the sellsword shouted.
Many soldiers fighting for the royalists die, but their numbers remained high. One of the Unsullied pulls a shieldbearer down and kills him but gets sliced across the arm and is forced to fall back amongst his sworn brothers ranks within the phalanx.
"Jiōragon arlī! (Get back!)" Grey Worm shouts. "Ropagon isse qogron! (Fall in line!)"
Jaehaegon watch as the shieldbearers advance closer, the tips of their spears pointed at them and force the Unsullied-Dothraki forces to bunch up. Knowing if they were packed in too tight, they wouldn't have any room to maneuver. Grey Worm had seen this tactic before at the Battle of Storm's End where Robb Stark and Brynden Tully had lured them into the Baratheon's ancestral castle only to ensnare them. Before then, it was first deployed during the Stag Sedition in the rainwood. The royalists advance with tremendous velocity without pause. The Dothraki fight with arakhs, the Unsullied spears; echoing war cries and shouts.
In the fray, Grey Worm and Jaehaegon are forced onto the defensive as multiple bodies of Dothraki and Unsullied fall to the ground, piling on top of each other in heaps. Olyvar faces off against Jaehaegon, punching him in the face to which the Velaryon responds with an overhead swing of his rapier. The battlefield was as abstract as it was brutal; troops from both sides, torn limbs, crushed and bloody, wounded figures, impaled horses, faceless masses clutching to breath and pulse, one by one falling again and again.
"*Raaaaaarh!*"
Olyvar, Brienne and Bronn recognize the faint distinctive sound in the distance rapidly approaching their location; the royalists, having heard it as well, began to steadily back off. This gave the Unsullied and Dothraki forces led by Grey Worm and Jaehaegon to push their way out of the double envelopment. Panic among the royalist soldiers and militiamen began to spread as the silhouette of a large dragon became more visible; the beast roared as loud as it could to the people down below.
"Of fuck me," Bronn cursed.
Daenerys and Drogon come flying overhead and closer towards the battlefield. Glancing down, she could see them. They looked like ants. The anti-personnel and long-range artillery placed along the parapets were disabled, allowing Daenerys to enter the fray without worry of having her dragon harmed.
"Dracarys!" she commands.
*WHOOOOOSSHH!*
Drogon breaths a great burse of fire along the first line of soldiers and militiamen; the men and women caught in its path burst into flames and start screaming. Olyvar and Brienne look on in shock; infantrymen and cavalry ran in multiple different directions trying to avoid the blast whilst at the same time having to deal with an emboldened Unsullied and Dothraki; they looked ready for another charge.
A flanking group of Dothraki ride over the flames and start going on the counterattack, cutting men down.
"Hold the line!" Bronn shouts.
Archers stationed on top of the walls shoot their bows and arrows, providing cover fire but were having a difficult time aiming at moving targets while also trying to avoid hitting their own allies in the process. Grey Worm and Jaehaegon both nod at each other, deciding now was the time to capitalize on this—to turn this around and use it to their advantage.
"Dovaogēdys! (Unsullied!)"
"HAAAWOOO!"
"Rhaenagon se arlī nābēmagon! (Begin the counterattack!)"
Brienne cuts down a Dothraki rider and Unsullied infantryman. Panting wearily, she knew that despite having superior numbers, Drogon overall posed the biggest threat. With each strafe of dragonfire, the royal forces' morale would quickly plummet. Grabbing a nearby militiaman, she set about to provide an important task. "Go for help! Go!" she yells.
Nodding in a panic, the militiaman quickly scampered off amidst the chaos through the breach into King's Landing. Pushing his way through multiple openings whenever he found one, dodging and weaving left and right, he saw bodies pile on top of each other as Daenerys again rode on Drogon for another pass—shooting another strafe of dragonfire, disintegrating both soldiers and militia alike in a powerful eruption.
"Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit," he panicked.
When he reached the breach, he turned to see a small team of Unsullied and Dothraki chasing after him.
"OH SHIT!"
He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Before the closest Dothraki bloodriver could reach him with their arakhs, arrows rained down from atop the gates. Glancing over his shoulder and up at the parapets quickly, he could see a small team of archers still stationed above taking aim again.
"Archers! Suppression fire!"
The royal archers fire a barrage of arrows at the Unsullied and Dothraki to keep them away from the sprinting militiaman. Drogon spews forth more destruction; soldiers scream in agony as Daenerys and her dragon swoop past as men incinerate in an enormous fireball. With each close call, the greater the amount of danger began to steadily increase.
"Dracarys!" Daenerys commands again.
*WHOOOOOSSHH!*
Again, Drogon fires a powerful stream of fire at the royal armies going so far as to the gated yet breached wall leading directly into King's Landing itself, destroying a huge section of the wall and consuming dozens of archers as the fire spews forth in a rage. Dozens of veterans who were unfortunately too close were caught in the blast; the others scattered to avoid such destruction as Drogon flew above. Members of the royal army and militia who were caught up in the inferno scream and writhe in agony as they burn; screaming wildly, the Dothraki gallop around their adversaries as some rode into the heart of King's Landing itself through the now-apparent larger breach, ripping through anyone in their path through the streets. Above, Drogon once again flies along the wall and destroys another part of the battlement containing archers and engineers before they can even threaten the dragon with a mighty exhalation of fire.
"SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!" the militiaman sprinted through the streets. Eyeing each possible destination, his eyes shifted from the Street of Silk before turning to the Street of Sisters. Panic and fear, he finally redirected his gaze one last time to the Red Keep itself. "Surely someone there will help us," he panted and immediately ran towards it through the streets and alleys; sure enough, he had to push his way through hundreds if not tens of thousands of fighting or fleeing residents who have yet to take shelter.
"Go!"
"Run!"
"Get to the towers! Man the scorpions!"
"No, no, no!"
"All we need is one good shot!"
"Watch out for the dragon!"
"*Raaaaaarh!*"
—Somewhere along the cliffs—
Waves crashed against the shore, snow continued coming down from the skies; along the rocks and sand, Daveth and Jaime were holding their own against the combined assault of Euron and Yara Greyjoy. Jaime, in the meantime, was remaining in a defensive posture to keep the ironborn duo away from his nephew. No matter how capable Daveth himself was, the Young Stag was still badly wounded, bleeding from his stab injuries and his movements were growing sluggish.
The ironborn were surprisingly quick on their feet, each attacking from multiple directions. Jaime and Daveth coordinated their efforts to keep Euron and Yara away. While Jaime's line of sight was primarily focused on Yara, Daveth was paying more attention towards Euron. Again and again the swords and axes were rose and fell with each swing, the scraping and sound of steel clanging against steel echoed through the beach. Jaime was still as fast with a blade, the pale light of steel had punt the glint of gold back in his hair; moving from side-to-side, the Kingslayer had already accomplished the most important task: get himself between his King and those who wish him bodily harm or mean to end his life. And whenever a blind spot was exposed by either Greyjoy, Daveth intervened to cover such exposed flank. Still, even though both uncle and nephew were well-coordinated with their movements, such teamwork meant it was making Jaime's task somewhat more unnecessarily difficult.
"You fight well for a tired old man," Yara taunted.
"This tired old man is kicking your ass, girl," Jaime countered.
Euron and his niece then shifted their positions; instead of going face-to-face, each began encircling the two from opposing directions before converging directly in the center to throw them off-balance. Jaime, being more experienced, was quick to realize both ironborn were intending on separating him from his nephew—making Daveth a perfect target. The Young Stag was already fighting to keep himself on his feet and fend off his attackers, shifting his posture sideways to ease the growing discomfort in his side.
"Over here, boy," Euron taunted as he backhanded Daveth.
The Young Stag stumbled back, hissing as his knees were close to buckling. "You… Damn you, Euron!" he cursed.
"Aw, don't start complaining on me now. The fun's just getting STARTED!" the King of the Iron Islands exclaimed before charging again; he swung his axe high in the air. Jaime, however, having shoved Yara away was quick to intervene and blocked the attack.
"Stay away from him," the Kingslayer warned threateningly.
"Still fond of the boy, Kingslayer?" Euron questioned. "Even after he murdered the sister you fucked for years?"
"Don't you even mention Cersei."
"Must've been a pretty good lay. Wonder if Sansa's cunt will feel the same," he grinned wickedly.
That, of course, made Daveth furious. "You will die where you stand!" he yelled. He swung Stormbringer in a downward slash, but Euron predicted this move and jumped back to dodge it. Yara, having recovered from her sling across the ground, was quick to intervene and shoulder tackled him from the side—knocking Daveth aside and nearly sending him to the ground.
"You again," Jaime redirected his attention towards her.
"What is dead may never die," Yara chanted. "But rises again harder and stronger. We do not sow. We are ironborn. We're not subjects, we're not slaves. We do not plow the field or toil in the mine. We take what is ours!"
"And this is kind of behavior is exactly the reason why you're all nearly extinct!"
The two engaged in battle once more; Jaime, having tried to reach Daveth before Euron managed to divide them, knew quickly he had to get rid of Yara first before his nephew was overwhelmed. He knew Daveth was at a disadvantage with having to deal with both ironborn by himself and was paying the price for it; as much as he knew Daveth could handle himself in most cases, this is where the Kingslayer drew a hard line in the sand and would no longer sit back and let him do as he pleases. Not in this case.
Daveth, in the meantime, was again on his own again as he faced-off against Euron. The King of the Iron Islands grinned with wickedness and sadism, eager to claim his prize—something he felt compelled he should have done many years ago.
"Here we are again. It's just you and me now, boy," Euron said. "The circle is now complete. With Yara keeping your uncle distracted, no one here is going to help you a second time. It ends here."
"You have won nothing, Euron. I'm not dead yet," Daveth shot back, hissing through his teeth in pain. "This fight… is not over."
"You're going to die in this place. You know that, don't you?"
"No… You are the one who will die. It ends here and now… like it was always meant to be."
"Tough talks doesn't win fights, boy."
"You're right. There's only ONE WAY TO SETTLE THIS!" Daveth presses the attack again, clashing with Euron. Both combatants were weary, but the Young Stag was the one bleeding from his wounds. Unfortunately for him his swings were slowing down, allowing Euron to land a well-placed kick against the handle and sent it flying out of Daveth's hands.
Delivering a strong right hand to Daveth's face, the Young Stag countered with one of his own. Blow after blow, the two spent their fight beating the shit out of each other. Euron again swung, but Daveth ducked and lowered his head and shoulder tackled Euron, running full speed until they hit the rocky cliffs. Euron kneed and elbowed his opponent, hitting him to the ground before trying to strangle Daveth again – but Daveth rolled over and kicked Euron in the jaw. The Young Stag abruptly flinched and held his left side; he could feel his own blood continue soaking his clothes. His physical attacks were getting weaker and the attacks he endured were getting more painful than the previous ones. He was running out of stamina and had to quickly end the fight, he knew that.
By that time, Euron was already on his feet, growling as he adjusted his jaw. By the Drowned God, he thought Daveth had chipped a few of his teeth with that kick or maybe it caused him to bite down on his tongue hard because he tasted blood in his mouth. Figuring that by now Daveth was perhaps too weak to continue the fight, Euron picked up his stiletto dagger and turned to see Yara engaging Jaime Lannister in battle. The King of the Iron Islands moved towards them; unbeknownst to him, Daveth had witnessed Euron sneaking up behind his uncle. With some effort, he groaned in agony—spitting out blood in the process, pressed down hard against the wet sand and hard rocks to lift himself back up to his feet. In pain and exhausted, Daveth forced himself to stagger towards them.
*CLANG!*
*CLASH!*
Clash and clang, grunts and curses, Jaime was no longer holding anything back. He was deadly serious. Yara again swung for another attack, catching the Kingslayer's blade in hers; Jaime was quick to shift his body sideways to trap both Yara's arms in his vice grip. She realized the more she struggled to free herself from the Kingslayer's hold, the tighter he squeezed. Smacking her blade down to disarm her, Jaime reached into his belt and quickly pulled out his dirk and thrust forward—stabbing Yara directly through the left eye and out the back of her skull. Yara's bodied seized up, twitched and sputtered before Jaime pushed her to the ground, watching her convulse before twitching until finally expiring.
All too easy. That's one down, Jaime thought.
"KINGSLAYER!" he heard Euron shout.
Turning around, Jaime could already see Euron quickly closing the gap with his stiletto drawn and aimed directly at him. He moved to turn around to anticipate the charging thrust, but was met with a startling surprise response.
"UNCLE!"
*KLSHUK!*
In a blink, Jaime was stunned to see Daveth had thrown himself in between him and Euron—instead taking the blow directly to his right flank that was meant for Jaime. Another stab wound, another sharp pain nearly paralyzing him as he felt something else in his body being punctured. The stabbing thrust had momentarily knocked the wind out of Daveth, who coughed up blood. Even Euron himself was somewhat taken aback by this sudden turn of events. It was not what he had expected, nor did he plan yet.
Wha… Damn it, boy! Why did you have to do that?! Jaime thought incredulously. It was his duty as a knight of the Kingsguard to protect the King; it should not be the other way around.
Shutting his eyes tight in excruciating pain and gasping out a wheeze, Daveth grunted and forcibly shoved Euron backwards as hard as he could before his strength dissipated. The King of the Iron Islands stumbled as he fell to the ground, allowing the Young Stag to pick up a large rock with one hand. It was medium size, light enough to carry but heavy enough to bash someone's brains in if hit in the head behind the ear repeatedly. Daveth didn't even let Euron get an opportunity to get back up and smashed the rock into his face, making a sickening crunch as the mineral made impact with skin and bone.
"Gargh!" Euron grunted in pain as his nose broke and blood gushed out of his mouth. The impact made was sure enough to shatter portions of his cheekbone and fracture his jaw in the process. As he fell to the ground, Euron heard the rock fall and tried to stand up once more – only to be met with Daveth's foot kicking him square in the chest and pinned him down.
Daveth, having ensnared his lifelong tormentor right where he wanted him—pinned against the rock, applied much pressure to keep Euron from going anywhere and raised Stormbringer high in the air.
This… this is for Lannisport!
*PLORTCH!*
"WOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Euron screamed in pain. Daveth himself yelled loudly as he proceeded to plunge his Valyrian steel sword deeper into the King of the Iron Island's abdomen, pinning him against sand and rock as Euron grabbed the blade with both hands. The Young Stag—still maintaining a firm hold on the handle—moved his right hand on top of the sword's pommel and pressed down. The sickening gore filled his ears as Euron howled, screamed and panted. He had been forcing Stormbringer deeper to the point where he felt a sudden brief downward sink—indicating the tip of his blade pierced all the way through.
Feel that, Euron? Are you in pain? Does it hurt yet? It should.
Not feeling satisfied, Daveth twisted and twirled Stormbringer up and down and in circular motions—making Euron howling louder. If he was going to kill him, he figured he make it excruciatingly painful and made sure his tormentor felt every bit of it.
*SQUELCH!*
"GAAAH! BAAAAOUU!"
This is for Connin, Orwen, Drannyl, Briden, Rechar, Rodner, Darnis Swyft, Culler, Varys… and all my friends you've killed, you son of a bitch! That was from me to you on their behalf!
*SQUELCH!*
"MMGUUUH! AAAAAAHHH!"
Not this time; never again. You've ruined my life sixteen years ago, Euron Greyjoy, but you will not ruin anyone else's ever again…
*SQUELCH!*
"Nnggh!" Euron's panting hastened. Blood spewed from his mouth and open wound. Hate and anger filled his eyes as it joins the pain on his face. "So… this is how it ends, eh? The circle is finally complete after all these years," he stated. "Another King for you."
Daveth panted as his adrenaline rush was steadily wearing off. "GO TO HELL!" he cursed.
Jaime rushed over and placed a firm hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Look, let it go. It's over. You won," he tried reasoning with him. "Look. It's alright… it's alright. Just look at me… look at me. Don't look away, Daveth, don't look— LOOK AT ME! Just look at me," he shouted more sternly in a father-like tone, finally getting Daveth's attention. "It's over," he repeated more calmly and reassuring. "Nothing else matters. You can let it go. You can finally move on. Think of our family. Tyrion, Myrcella, Tommen, Sansa, Lyonel, Cassana, Torrhen… they need us now. More than ever, they need us."
That seemed to snap the Young Stag out of it as he realized the choice he was facing: vengeance? Or family? His mind flashed brief images of his family, the one thing he yearned for. The siblings he grew up with, his wife and children… all of them. Daveth had a choice to make; and now was the time to choose.
Family…
Coughing up more blood from both stab wounds to his left and right flanks, Daveth quickly withdrew Stormbringer and stood over Euron. Blood pours from the deep injury as Euron's head slowly bows in relief and slides down the rock towards the sand. He wasn't going anywhere, and both Daveth and Jaime knew it. He was going to die a slow, painful death. As he starts to take slow steps towards the secret passage into the Red Keep, Daveth's grip on Stormbringer loosened and gradually let go; the sound of Valyrian steel hitting the ground caused Jaime to realize his nephew was on the verge of passing out. The Young Stag had given it everything he had, he was pushing his body dangerously past its limits and still he kept on going. He nearly stumbled, but Jaime managed to catch him and wrapped Daveth's arm around the back of his neck and hoisted him up.
"I'm right here," Jaime reassured his nephew. "I'm here. I'm here." Mortal wounds. Boy's gone past the point of no return, and yet he still wants to see this through to the very end. I see a lot of you in him, Cersei.
"Un… uncle J-Jaime…" Daveth's voice was slowly getting quieter. Moving each of his legs, they made their way into the cave—though Jaime had now taken on a more primary role in escorting him into the mouth of the cave and into the lit passage beyond.
"But I got you!" they heard Euron shouting. "I GOT YOU, BOY! I GOT YOU!" Painting, his head tilted sideways, and he smiled up to the sky. "I'm the man who killed Daveth Baratheon…"
Exhaling one last time, it was the last thing he ever said before the light finally left his eyes.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Chapter End
Author's Note: Happy New Years, guys! Welcome to the year 2020. To celebrate the arrival of a new decade, here's the final climactic duel between Daveth and Jaime vs. Euron and Yara. Before that, Daenerys and her dragon arrive to the battlefield and began the assault on the royal forces stationed outside the gates of King's Landing. With someone out to seek reinforcements, why would he go to the Red Keep in the first place even with the entire city burning and the castle itself about to be set ablaze by Jon Connington's wildfire plot? With both Greyjoys out of the way, Daveth sets his sights again on saving his family… but at what cost? How was Jaime's portrayal in this chapter? Let me know in the feedback. Stay tuned fore more updates!
Tohka123: Really enjoyed the chapter, keep up the hard work.
Guest #3: I agree with the dragon ball comment
Nmk: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of the oath keeper,so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please
RHatch89: It's a good chapter, but this battle is becoming rather tedious. I hope you wrap things up soon with Daveth winning
TehStorm: Please just kill drogon,have jon ride rhaegal and have all scorpions fire at drogon.
The Three Stoogies: a great chapter keep up the great work
Guest #2: Euron and Yara Greyjoy are dead, but Daveth now heavy wounded is going in with his Uncle Jaime to find his family. Jon Connington is currently escorting them to the top of the Red Keep as hostages. He will see the Usurper's line dead than live another day. But Arya and others won't let that happen.
There is still the Daenerys Targaryen problem to worry about. Daveth is no condition to ride Rhaegel, and so Jon Snow has to be the one to ride Rhaegel to clash with Daenerys on Drogon. Daenerys has to be stopped, she has succumbed to the Targaryen madness and if she isn't defeated, her desire for control will make the realm burn, and Daveth will rather die than see that happen.
Guest #1: The daveth fight was kinda like a dragon ball z fight with how long it was
Bvh: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of the oathkeeper, so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please
Bio RL: I hope you don't kill Daveth ... in all the fics they kill King Baratheon and leave Sansa ruling ... I'd rather Sansa die and Daveth survive
Masso 2010: happy new year mate
SkittlezxBabex146: Hopefully Daveth doesn't die
ABEBOABDU: I kind of feel like you dragged the duel a bit to far