During the siege at Moat Cailin…
Robb Stark stood toe-to-toe with Lord Captain Victarion Greyjoy, with his direwolf Grey Wind at his side. The beast snarled at the large ironborn, bearing his teeth, wrinkling his snout and sticking his eats low and out to the sides. As Robb maintained a firm grip on his longsword, Victarion sized up the Young Wolf; with his hands gripping his large, two-handed battleaxe, the Lord Captain was gearing up for a ferocious fight.
*RUMBLE!*
*BOOM! CRACKLE!*
The sound of rain and thunder still battered the landscape, ignoring the sounds and shrieks of any ironborn engulfed in wildfire. Wooden pillars lit aflame were starting to collapse, smaller stones were getting pushed out of place with every impact the royal siege weapon's made. It wasn't long before the ironborn stationed on the walls started getting hit with arrows the moment the ladders were raised.
Down onto the ground, both Harrion and Torrhen Karstark were straining themselves trying to lift the heavy bar off the southern main gate to allow King Daveth's forces entry as a few started climbing the walls. Other royal forces trying to climb the ladders into the ancient fortress, however, still met heavy resistance by the ironborn as some were shot off with arrows or their heads being bashed with stones.
"Keep pushing, brother!" shouted Harrion.
"I'm trying!" replied Torrhen.
It was a grueling effort, but the Karstark brothers—groaning and straining under the weight—managed to lift the wooden pillar off the southern main gates before tossing them open. Seizing the opportunity, Daveth, having snapped the final remaining arrow lodged into his right shoulder in half, saw the front gates opening and turned to his soldiers.
"Our allies have opened the southern gate. All forces, commence the pincer attack! Take back Moat Cailin!" Daveth commanded as his men on the ground charged through the breach.
Each soldiers of Houses Baratheon, Lannister, Tully, Tyrell, etc. formed up in a spearhead with the Young Stag at the point. Alongside the King, three of the Kingsguard knights chose to accompany him into the thick of it. Ser Barristan Selmy took the place to his right. On the left, Ser Lucius Blackmyre readied his mace. Behind him, Ser Jaime Lannister guarded his nephew's rear flank.
"Victory is within our reach!" one of the Lannister soldiers proudly exclaimed.
"Crush the ironborn!" another Baratheon man-at-arms shouted.
"Drive 'em out!"
"Moat Cailin is as good as ours!"
Daveth' squire, Olyvar Frey, was rather anxious about his first major battle – but readied himself. With his sword in hand, Olyvar steeled himself for this. More than 9,459 men were already killed during the first wave when the ironborn attacked using spitfires atop the battlements. An additional 1,400 men fell in battle. Now that they're gone, they could storm the ancient fortress from the ground while several more climbed the ladders to clear out the ironborn stationed there.
Storming through the breach, Daveth gripped Stormbringer as several ironborn raiders came charging at him. The Young Stag was able to take out his fair share, whilst Ser Barristan, Ser Lucius and Ser Jaime killed their fair share as well. Confident as he was, Daveth still felt a painful burning sensation in his shoulder. Although adrenaline kept rushing through his body, he felt as if his right arm was being weighed down due to his wounds. Even so, he remained determined to carry on the plan of attack. Finally making his way to the center of Moat Cailin, Daveth stood toe-to-toe with the ironborn commander in front of him.
"Well, well," Victarion glanced behind him. "The scared, little trophy has grown up."
"Victarion Greyjoy," Daveth glared.
Robb Stark and his direwolf Grey Wind in front, Daveth Baratheon and his Kingsguard knights from behind. Victarion Greyjoy's face remained hidden behind his kraken helm, but he grinned in excitement at facing a challenging adversary, one who'd make a suitable offering to the Drowned God. But the Lord Captain wasn't staring down the same frightened little boy he and Euron Greyjoy captured during the raid of Lannisport many years ago; rather, the Young Stag stared him directly in the eyes wielding his Valyrian steel sword pointed directly at him, the young Baratheon's posture already assumed the Knight's Dance fighting style.
"We can take him," spoke up Ser Barristan and the other Kingsguard. Each of them drew their swords, but was surprised when Daveth waived them back.
"Your Grace?"
"I need you and the others to keep the ironborn from overwhelming us from all sides. Don't worry. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. Robb and I will take him."
"Nephew," Jaime tried to interrupt, "I strongly disagree with—"
"Now, Ser Jaime."
The Kingslayer knew it was not a good idea to have him fight the older, experienced warrior by himself, even if his brother-in-law and a direwolf backing him up. Jaime felt an overwhelming need to utterly refuse the King's orders, but Jaime looked into Daveth's eyes and saw something, as if the Young Stag was reassuring his uncle – asking him to trust him. Begrudgingly, Jaime stood back in time the ironborn tried rushing them on all sides. Luckily, the Kingsguard and joint North-Royal forces were easily able to hold them off as Daveth and Robb sidestepped Victarion, who brandished his battleaxe.
"We'll take him together, my friend," Robb murmured.
"I was about to say that," replied Daveth.
"Come if you think you can take me on, boys," Victarion shouted, "and drown beneath the waves. You'll each make a fine tribute to the Drowned God."
In near perfect unison, Daveth and Robb charged Victarion. The elder Greyjoy turned quickly for a man of his size, left and ride he parried their blades. Grey Wind barked as he too joined the fray, snapping his jaws as he leapt through the air. Victarion was able to kick the direwolf away in time to swing his axe and bring his weapon down against Daveth's blade, his sheer muscle mass allowed him greater physical power to cause the Young Stag to stumble slightly before the youth regained his balance to resume the assault.
*CLASH!*
*SWING!*
*SLASH!*
*THUNG!*
*SWASH!*
Robb lunged at Victarion, but the Young Wolf's blade was deflected and was kicked in the chest, making him stumble backwards. Victarion turned and held his axe upwards as Grey Wind came down at him, his jaws slamming shut on the axe's wooden handle. As the direwolf growled and clawed at the kraken's armor, Victarion held the beast off with his left hand as he brought his right to punch the direwolf across the skull repeatedly. The direwolf yelped, but maintained a strong grip. Victarion glanced across his shoulder to see both Daveth and Robb charging at him; the Greyjoy shifted his position to spin and brought Grey Wind—still latching onto his battleaxe—around and jiggled his weapon enough to cause the direwolf to eventually lose its grip on the wooden handle and send him colliding into both Daveth and Robb.
"Oomph!" both young men grunted, the force of the direwolf's impact caused their feet to be swept out from under them and fall to the ground.
Victarion stood over the Young Stag and Young Wolf. "I hope you two can to do better than that, give me a better challenge," he bullied towards them. "I've handled worse from men twice your age. What could you possibly hope to achieve against me?"
Grey Wind stumbled before rolling back to his feet, snarling at the ironborn. Robb and Daveth got back to their feet as well. The Young Stag merely kept his eyes focused on Victarion.
"Only goes to show how little you ironborn know," Daveth mocked. "After all, you got your asses kicked before once your foolish brother Balon chose to rebel against father. Now you've done so again. The only difference, however, is that you will not survive. The Iron Islands will cease to exist once I'm done with you."
Robb stood, sword in hand. As he resumed the fighting stance, the Young Wolf couldn't help but feel a chill crawl up his spine as he listened to his best friend/brother-in-law issuing such harsh, verbal threats. To say Robb felt both unnerved and concerned would be an understatement, but he couldn't focus on that right now. For now, they had to deal with Victarion Greyjoy and retake Moat Cailin.
"Bold words, stag, but can you back up those words with your blade?" Victarion taunted.
"Why don't you come over here and find out?"
Victarion lunged, the sound of rain and thunderclaps surrounding the battlefield. Daveth moved to the right, whereas Robb went left. Both raised their swords and swung, and Victarion again deflected them off his axe. Grey Wind slipped past Victarion and jumped onto his back. Bearing his teeth, the direwolf only managed to bite down onto Victarion's kraken helmet, luckily managing to avoid the harmful spikes. The ironborn captain shoved both Robb and Daveth away, before grabbing a handful of Grey Wind's fur and threw the direwolf over his shoulders. Before he could lift his foot up and stomp on Grey Wind's skull, Robb rushed and swung his sword upwards, Victarion parried – giving Daveth an opening to thrust forward before the ironborn captain got his shield up.
*GRAPPLE!*
Daveth was taken by surprise as Victarion used his free hand to grip the Valyrian steel sword, ignoring how deep the blade cut into his flesh or how blood began to stain the Young Stag's weapon. He tried to pull back, but Victarion's grip was strong and surprisingly maintained a firm hold.
"Hmmm, nice sword you got there."
Robb again came into view. "Never take your eyes off the fight, Greyjoy!" he hollered.
*SWASH!*
Indeed, Victarion again parried the Young Wolf's blade and kicked Grey Wind away before the direwolf could lunge at him again. Daveth quickly unsheathed his dagger holstered to his belt and drove the blade into Victarion's hand.
"Grah!" the Lord Captain exclaimed before backhanding the Young Stag across the face, hitting with enough force to knock off Daveth's antlered-helm.
*BAM!*
Daveth spun around and fell to his knees, keeping his hands firmly on the muddy ground to maintain stability. Momentarily shaking his head, Daveth felt as if his world was spinning, feeling rather disoriented as he was struck with such power.
"Protect the King!" shouted one of his Kingsguard, Ser Meryn Trant, who came charging into view.
Ser Meryn leapt to meet Victarion, sword in hand. His first cut was low, and Victarion deflected it off his axe. His second caught the iron captain across the breastplate before he got his shield up. Victarion answered by smashing his shield in Meryn's face and sent him staggering backwards. Victarion raised his axe and put all his weight behind his cut, to open the Kingsguard from neck to groin, but Ser Meryn spun away. The Drowned God had not shaped Victarion Greyjoy to fight with words nor struggle against furtive sneaking foes in endless bogs. This was why he had been put on earth; to stand steel-clad with an axe red and dripping in his hand, dealing death with every blow.
The swords his foes attacked him from front and back did little to harm him. No blade could cut through Victarion Greyjoy's heavy plate, nor did he give his foes the time to find the weak points at the joints, where only mail and leather warded him. Let three men assail him, or four, or five; it made no matter. He slew them one at a time, trusting in his steel to protect him from the others. As each foe fell he turned his wroth upon the next.
Both Robb and Daveth regained their footing, and charged again. The moment Victarion knocked Ser Meryn aside, he returned his attention to the two young men as they brought their blades against him, steel hitting steel as Victarion's battleaxe parried and nearly knocked Robb down before Daveth briefly shoulder tackled him to keep him away from the Lord of Winterfell. It hardly fazed the ironborn captain, though, who merely absorbed the impact without losing his balance and head-butted the Young Stag.
"Still you fight like children," he said confidently.
Robb huffed, taking a moment to catch his breath. "And what gave you the right to attack us when our backs are turned?"
"*Grrrrr!*" snarled Grey Wind.
"Our way is the Old Way, boy," Victarion answered. "We take what is ours, pay the iron price. It's who we are, what we've always been."
"'What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger.' That's how you tend to view your way of life, isn't it? Your… philosophy? Quite the bitter, angry little people you all are, hmm? So you steal what you can't build or grow yourselves, hmm?" murmured Daveth as he rose to his feet, the skin of his forehead reddening. "If so, then it's obvious you ironborn haven't learned your lesson. But you will soon enough. And I assure you, it will be the last time."
The Young Stag dropped his stance, shifting from the Knight's Dance fighting style into an unknown posture – one Robb himself had seen when they sparred at Winterfell two years ago. Daveth stood in a high guard position, the Valyrian steel sword in his right hand was angled behind him in a backward position, exposing the front as he held his dominant leg back. Victarion looked around him, noticing more Northmen and royals pouring into Moat Cailin as more and more of his men fell one-by-one. It wouldn't be long before the enemy would overwhelm him on all sides just as Paxter Redwyne and Stannis Baratheon did to him off the coast of Fair Isle.
"I already have, boy," Victarion replied, removing the dagger lodged into his left hand and threw it into the ground before charging at the two.
*RUMBLE!*
*BOOM! CRACKLE!*
Robb and Daveth charged again before splitting off in two different directions; the young Baratheon circled to the left, the young Stark circled to the right. Victarion swung his axe in a horizontal cleave at Daveth, but the Young Stag quickly ducked downwards and swung his sword around to clash at the back of Victarion Greyjoy's lower leg, nicking at the mail and leather ever so slightly – but it was more than enough for a few rings to become loose. Victarion swore he felt a tug at his leg as Robb Stark brought his sword down, taking advantage of the ironborn captain's momentary distraction to clash against his armor. Victarion felt the element of surprise beginning to take its effect against two youngsters; in his frustration, his swung his axe upward but Daveth leaned his head to the side to avoid being struck.
Grey Wind saw his chance and lunged at Victarion, ensnaring the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet's right arm in his jaws. Lobstered steel crunched, and a stab of pain made him grunt, yet Victarion shook his arm from side to side and threw Grey Wind halfway across the muddy ground within Moat Cailin.
"Well, aren't you the clever one," he said as he grabbed Robb's wrist before the Young Wolf could swing again. "But I am just as quick as well." With his great strength, Victarion lifted Robb off the ground and tossed him at Daveth.
The Young Stag was knocked backwards as both he and Robb collided once more, before they got back up and continued their combined attack. Victarion swung across, making both Stark and Baratheon split to the sides. Robb went low for the legs, while Daveth went high – curling his right hand into a tight fist to punch Victarion in the face, ignoring the discomforting impact his fist made to the kraken helm.
*BAM!*
The Young Stag's punch to his face wasn't much, but the blow itself was more than enough to knock off Victarion's helm as the ironborn captain felt the Young Wolf's blade nicking at the mail and leather behind his back legs. Feeling his frustrations boil, Victarion kicked Robb in the face and backhanded Daveth across the face. Robb was lucky enough to keep his teeth, only getting a bloody nose from Victarion's kick before he stood back up. Daveth ignored the burning sensation in his cheek and shoulder tackled Victarion again, putting a lot of his strength into the hit – ignoring the broken arrows in his body. Despite being eight inches shorter in height, Daveth was lucky enough to actually force the older, much stronger Greyjoy to go stumbling backwards through the mud.
"Don't get too overconfident, boy!"
"Funny, you had that very same expression earlier during the first phase. The biggest mistake you could ever make is to underestimate your opponent by judging them based on appearance!"
"A wolf or a stag does not compare to the might of a kraken! Whatever the kraken grasps it does not lose, be it longship or leviathan!"
"Yet the kraken has no bones whenever it comes ashore! No bones!"
*RUMBLE!*
*BOOM! CRACKLE!*
Victarion felt himself being put onto the defensive as Robb Stark and Daveth Baratheon attacked together again, taking advantage of the chaos – Grey Wind, having recovered, gave chase but was held back as more ironborn intervened. The direwolf was forced to take out those blocking its path to assist its master left and right. As the battle within the ancient fortress continued, both the Lord of Winterfell and King of the Seven Kingdoms forced the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet outside of Moat Cailin itself and into open terrain. Rain, thunder and lightning dominated the skies above, and the heavy fog rolling in had made visibility more difficult.
'Gah! Seven hells, this is much worse than the Battle of Blackwater Bay,' the Young Stag thought as he brought Stormbringer clashing against Victarion Greyjoy's battleaxe.
Robb knew every inch of the terrain. There are a set of steep hills and cliffs nearby. With the wet mud making the three combatants slip, the Young Wolf strategized that the way to defeat such a larger, stronger adversary was to push him either off a cliff or a steep hill. Whatever the option, if the fall doesn't kill Victarion Greyjoy then a mortal wound would be enough to incapacitate him until the fog was lifted. He briefly took a moment to catch his breath to look at Daveth.
"Daveth," Robb panted, his eyes pointing in a simple direction.
The Young Stag glanced over and saw what Robb was looking at. Apparently, he had the same idea as well. Briefly nodding his head, Daveth gripped Stormbringer in both hands.
"I know. This ends now!" he shouted.
Victarion shook his head in frustration. "The battle isn't over until I say it is over!" he roared. Victarion could feel warm blood trickling down his fingers beneath the mail and leather and lobstered plate, but that was nothing. He beat his axe against the ground and charged them.
Daveth and Robb pressed forward, momentarily stumbling in the mud before engaging the ironborn captain in a brutal battle. Some twenty leagues away, the Iron Fleet—especially Victarion's flagship the Iron Victory—remained ashore at Blazewater Bay. Too far away to provide cover fire, unable to see where to aim, all it could do was to remain at anchor. Not too far were the Fever River and the Saltspear nearby. Both Stark and Baratheon were to not permit Victarion Greyjoy to make it to one of the oars. They had to finish him now, either by killing him in combat or incapacitate him until the fog clears so as to properly send a search party to retrieve him. If Victarion escapes, then the Iron Fleet will devastate the royal blockade set up around the Iron Islands itself.
*SLASH!*
*SWISH!*
*CLASH!*
*THUNG!*
Victarion swung his axe, extending his arm forward to attain greater reach. Daveth and Robb leapt backwards, narrowly avoiding the blade – tearing Robb's leather armor and scratching Daveth's breastplate. The more Victarion forcibly swung his axe, the more winded he was feeling. But his opponents were just as tired too. As the battle proceeds, Victarion grips Robb about the throat with a bloody fist and lifts him up off the ground.
"Now face the kraken's might!" Victarion bellowed, rearing his axe back to swing it forward. Before he could, Daveth's blade clashed against the handle below the axe itself – forcing it to remain in place. The Young Stag groaned as he strained trying to keep the axe from killing Robb.
"You… will… not… take another life!" Daveth groaned. "Not now, not… ever again!"
Victarion growled in frustration. "What is dead may never die!"
As he watched Robb being strangled, watching his arm slowly going limp, Daveth felt something snap within his inner conscious. Suddenly emboldened with rage and ferocity as old memories at Lannisport and his captivity came flooding back to him, Daveth felt his muscles strengthen, his grip on Stormbringer became tighter and was surprisingly forcing Victarion Greyjoy's axe slowly downwards – surprising the ironborn captain, who himself tried to force his weapon upwards.
"YOU WILL NOT TAKE ANYONE ELSE FROM ME!" Daveth screamed loudly, forcing the enormous axe down and rapidly thrusting Stormbringer into Victarion's arm, beneath the armor and into the leather.
Victarion grunted as his grip on Robb's throat was released, the Young Wolf clapped his hands around his neck, coughing as breath found its way back into his lungs. Once he looked up, Daveth—in his bloodlust rage—kept bashing Stormbringer against the ironborn captain's axe again and again as hard as he possibly could, all while forcing him backwards towards the nearest ledge.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" he continued screaming.
Back at Moat Cailin, several of the joint Northmen-royal forces managed to find their way towards the dueling trio. The first to arrive were Harrion and Torrhen Karstark, who rushed to the side of their liege lord.
"My lord!" shouted the Karstark brothers, helping the Young Wolf to his feet.
Robb coughed as he was brought to his feet. "*cough, cough* I'll be all right," his voice rasped. "Come. We have to help the King."
Both nodded and rushed to aid Daveth, now having been disarmed, had been pushing against Victarion with all his might against the slippery mud. Victarion grabbed the Young Stag by his forearms, temporarily halting the advance.
"Don't think for a second that you can stop the kraken's might as easily as that!" he bellowed.
"I WILL KILL YOU!"
"Then drown beneath the waves!"
Victarion then pushed Daveth back. The Young Stag's feet sliding backwards despite his Baratheon-fueled rage. Before the Greyjoy could pick up his axe and raise once more, Daveth found himself being assisted by Robb and his two bannermen Harrion and Torrhen Karstark. With the momentum behind him, Daveth pushed back.
"Keep pushing!" Harrion strained.
"We almost got him!" shouted Torrhen.
Raising his axe high into the air, Victarion bellowed a loud roar and swung his axe downward. With a loud, sick, cracking thud, Victarion's axe had split the head of Harrion Karstark in two.
"Brother!" Torrhen cried out.
When he jerked his axehead free again, Harrion's skull seemed to burst. Bone and blood and brain went everywhere, and the corpse fell backwards, landing in the mud; too late to plead for quarter now. After witnessing another die, Daveth gave a forceful shove which caused Victarion Greyjoy to slip and stumble backwards. With every ounce of strength and filled with grief at the loss of his brother, Torrhen Karstark yelled and kicked Victarion with all his might.
The ironborn captain felt the steep hill behind him and struggled to keep his balance, but when a grief-stricken Torrhen was assisted by Daveth and Robb, Victarion fell backwards down the slope, vanishing into the deep fog itself. Torrhen himself nearly stumbled forwards before Daveth and Robb managed to pull him back up. Panting and feeling tears streaming down his face, Torrhen walked back to the corpse of his eldest brother Harrion. Cradling his body, the second born Karstark wailed in agony. Robb approached and tapped Torrhen's shoulder, sharing in his vassal's grief.
Daveth continued looking downward into the fog-ridden slope, knowing that if the hard stones or sharp, pointed branches that lay below at the bottom didn't kill Victarion Greyjoy, then he'd somehow make his return to the Iron Islands. If he survived the fall, that is. But the Young Stag for now reserved judgment. War horns and cheers began a rather close distance behind him. Turning around, Daveth saw his men throwing off the banners of House Greyjoy from Moat Cailin and replacing them with banners of both House Stark and House Baratheon atop of them. One of his Kingsguard, Ser Barristan, approached him.
"We did it, Your Grace," the old knight panted wearily. "Moat Cailin has been liberated."
'But at what cost…?' Daveth thought. Everywhere he looked, he was surrounded by the dead bodies of his men. According to the scouts, 9,459 men were lost during the first wave; 1,400 the second. The more he looked around the rain-soaked, muddy, fog-ridden environment, King Daveth Baratheon had to estimate that his losses numbered almost 10,000 if not more.
"My son!" he heard someone call out.
Pushing his way through the victors was Lord Rickard Karstark, who, filled with as much shock and grief as his second son, knelt down to cradle the lifeless body of his eldest son and heir.
"Harrion!" Lord Karstark wailed in agony.
Daveth glanced at the Lord of Karhold, before looking down at Harrion's corpse. He hadn't imagine how hard it must be for a parent to lose a child, especially if they're close. In a way, he felt saddened for the loss of a Northman who aided him in this victory but that particular loss could be blamed on the ironborn. In a way, they had a role to play in the loss of his men. As soon as he was finished, Rickard Karstark gently placed the body of his dead son down into the mud and stood back up, his fists shaking with fury.
"Who did it?!" Rickard demanded. "Who killed my son?!"
"You won't be able to find the body in this fog, Lord Karstark," Daveth answered wearily and honestly. "If Victarion Greyjoy did somehow manage to survive the fall, and break both of his legs preferably, then I will give you the justice you deserve. For now, you should see to your son. He sacrificed himself to ensure our victory. He died a hero."
Rickard still shook with fury and grief, but took another glance towards Harrion's corpse and felt his face sadly quivering as he embraced his son's body once more. Grey Wind ran up and saw what happened, howling for what had occurred. Daveth looked at Robb who also comforted his closest of kin, before turning to his men.
"Let the word spread!" exclaimed the Young Wolf. "We've successfully retaken Moat Cailin! Tend to your wounds, and… see to it that the bones of those who died today are returned to their respective homes. Bury them alongside their ancestors. See to it that their families are taken care of."
Daveth felt his eyelids slowly coming down, before shaking his head. He suddenly wasn't feeling too good. Feeling his nose starting to bleed, he stumbled slightly as he began feeling a painful heat emanating from his right shoulder, side and torso. Seven hells! He forgot that the armor-piercing arrows that had pierced him during the fight were still embedded in him even though they had been snapped in half. Daveth moved to keep his balance, but it didn't take long for others to notice.
"Your Grace?" Lucius said rather concerned.
Robb Stark and the rest of the assembled army turned to see Daveth panting in the rain, before stunning all in attendance before falling to his knees and falling face first into the muddy terrain.
"Your Grace!" Barristan shouted.
"Someone find a maester! Hurry!"
Robb turned to his men. "Somebody find my wife! Find Talisa! Bring her here at once!" he ordered.
By the time the men had begun rushing to find a healer before they could celebrate their major victory, King Daveth felt exhaustion setting in, the pain from the physical beating he endured and the arrows still lodged in his body. The concerned voices surrounding him grew quieter as he slowly closed his eyes.
'Not yet… I'm not— not done yet. There's still so much I have to do,' the Young Stag thought before all finally passing out.
As the rain and thunder continued beating the landscape, the journey to end the Second Greyjoy Rebellion was far from finished. And King Daveth himself stubbornly refused to let anything slow him down. But for now, he needed rest. He pushed himself too hard. And it would take a while before he could begin with the next phase.
######
Author's Note: Well guys, here's the second part of the siege of Moat Cailin. A lot of people died, but in the end Daveth and Robb retook Moat Cailin from the ironborn. But it was a costly fight. As for Victarion Greyjoy, I get the feeling that there could be more room for improvement so he might be out of the chapter or two or three, but this doesn't mean that he's been killed off like that. I know he's tough; for those of you who follow this guy, I'll be whipping up something good for you all when the eventual invasion of the Iron Islands commences. For now, what do you guys think? Thoughts? Let me know.
Guest #2: Need more of this story. Please write more !
―I'll be writing the next chapter momentarily. Have no fear.
BioHazard82: Another good chapter.
―Thanks.
Guest #1: great story
―Thanks.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.
C.E.W: If Victorian is alive and has made it back to the Iron Fleet, defeating and destroying it to the invade the Iron Islands will be more difficult for the royal forces. It is good Daveth finally saw reason to rest because if he pushes himself too hard he could get himself killed. As for Karstark's son dying, I think he will get his chance for Ironborn blood soon enough. In order to defeat the Ironborn, they must crush the Iron Fleet and if they do, the Iron Islands will be open for invasion. Euron Greyjoy might be a concern, if he returns now it could be a major problem to the campaign. Still nothing would please Daveth more than to slaughter Euron Greyjoy, his greatest nightmare from his time in Ironborn captivity.
mpowers045: Don't tell me those arrows have been tipped with something
―I don't believe the ironborn are that capable with those kinds of arrows, no. I believe it's most likely due to the amount of stress Daveth's been forced to repress again and again. That and the arrows have to be properly removed by a medical professional so as to avoid any infection and possibly tend to some muscle tearing. I heard a shot in the shoulder is rather painful. So I will say this: the arrows are not poisoned if that's what you're worried about.
Patty 4577: You know what would be a pain in the arse for everyone. During the attack on Pyke, Euron and his fleet appear from behind and destroy Daveth's fleet and attack his rear.
―That would be a pain the arse, yes.