At the battle encampments surrounding Moat Cailin…
Lady Talisa Stark (née Maegyr) was busy tending to several injuries throughout the combined royal-led forces after the battle to liberate Moat Cailin came to an end. Once she received word from her husband Robb Stark that King Daveth I Baratheon was injured and had suddenly collapsed, Talisa hurried as quickly as she possibly could to tend to her brother-in-law's wounds.
Within the largest command tent, Talisa stood at Daveth's bedside – cleaning and stitching his injuries closed. He was already unconscious due to being administered milk of the poppy so the Volantenes could begin surgery. She had already taken a surgical scalpel to cut away the upper layer of infected skin before it could fester and used a unique set of pliers to gently pry out each of the arrowheads before applying medicinal ointment. Inside the tent stood Sers Barristan Selmy, Lucius Blackmyre and Jaime Lannister; all of whom stood guard at the entrance but also to check on Daveth's condition. The other soldiers and lords outside tended to their wounded, dying and dead.
"How is His Grace faring, my lady?" asked Barristan.
Talisa, who was busy threading the final stitch to Daveth's right shoulder, didn't look at the old Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
"There's been a small portion of rot on his torso and right shoulder, though it never had the opportunity to fester even further. We managed to catch it in the nick of time. As for his shoulder, well, normally a man wouldn't be able to lift his arm after being struck with such an armor-piercing arrow, though the King is stronger than I initially thought possible. He should still retain it once I'm done. I would advise that he not apply so much pressure on his right shoulder for a while; give it a moment to heal."
Lucius placed a fist to his chin. "Hmm. But the arrow itself made impact with the deltoid muscle which is a fair distance from the subclavian artery which itself feeds the main brachial artery near the trapezius, is it not? The one that is vital to the arm itself?"
"Correct. Physically he'll be back on his feet and fighting again in no time, Ser. I recommend he at least take between three to six weeks for the King to fully recover. But…"
"'But'?" Jaime implored.
"There is no easier way of saying it," Talisa sighed. "His… 'nose bleeds' you've mentioned earlier? I suspect it stems from the fact that King Daveth is under a lot of stress; more than usual as of late."
"The lad's been under a lot of stress since ascending the throne, but I'm sure that's no reason for—"
Talisa interrupted. "Yet if it continues to persist, then it will kill him."
The assembled Kingsguard were rendered silent at this foreign healer describe the consequence of what will happen if Daveth continues to push himself too hard the way he does. Jaime, in particular, knows full well what kind of lengths his nephew will go to see things through – but the Kingslayer is also aware of one, red-haired young woman who remains at King's Landing waiting for him to return alive. The Lannister Kingsguard might have his own disagreements with Daveth, but he was still his nephew. And as a Kingsguard, it was his responsibility to protect him.
"When has that ever been the case? If I know my nephew better than anyone in this camp, which I do, is that once he's made up his mind there's no stopping him. His father was like that, too. Only difference was that Daveth is smarter than Robert."
Lucius chimed in. "Yet his choice to act almost immediately demonstrates an impulsive, emotional response in stark contrast to the cool, calculating decision-making persona we've known thus far."
"When you've been brutally tortured by the ironborn for almost a year after watching them cut down all your friends before your eyes, that'll pretty much mess up any boy for life," Jaime reminded the Old Bull. "Only the Gods know for certain how many years Daveth's held a grudge against wet shits such as the Greyjoys."
"Yet this 'grudge' is chipping away at his health," Talisa reminds them, cutting the final stitch and wraps each surgical scar in bandages. "Whatever is making him like this, he needs to learn how to let go."
"You ever had been to war, lass?"
"No. I spend two years of my life nursing wounded men and putting people back together after a battle's done against 'wet shits'."
"Then you'd must know by now is that nothing is simple in terms of fighting battles, there are no easy choices in war. You either fight or you die. There is no in-between. Look down on the concept if you must, Lady Stark, but that's the way the world works."
"A strange philosophy you Westerosi men have…"
"I call it the way I see it."
A brief exchange between Talisa and Jaime ended as soon when Talisa examined her patient and noticed Daveth's closed eyes twitching more frequently. The Young Stag made a couple sounds in his sleep, but that couldn't help but bring others' attention towards the King himself. A slight twitch in his facial features and each finger on both hands slowly clenching at the sheets covering his body made others approach his bedside.
"Hmmm," Talisa examined.
"What is it?" asked Barristan.
"An increase in rapid eye movement indicates a series of intense dreaming. I've seen this before back in Volantis. Whatever the King is dreaming of at this moment, it must be bothering him quite a bit."
"So why not wake him?" demanded Ser Meryn Trant.
"Because doing so would make him experience a lot of pain. He still needs to recover."
Barristan moved to Daveth's left side. As the old Kingsguard knight looked down at his former squire moving about in his sleep, the Lord Commander couldn't help but ponder… what is Daveth dreaming about? And what is causing him such disturbance even in his slumber?
######
In one of Daveth's dream cycles…
Even though it was only a dream, it was dark. Everywhere he looked, Daveth saw nothing. Every step he took it was like walking on water. Almost having to constantly look over his shoulder, unaware of his surroundings, the Young Stag couldn't tell if this was either a dream… or a living nightmare.
« Where… where am I? »
The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the victory at Moat Cailin, driving out the ironborn occupying the ancient fortress and pushing Lord Captain Victarion Greyjoy over the edge of the steep hill before he disappeared into the dense, thick fog. He examined his bare chest, noticing the bandages, stitches and dried blood that stained the white cloth. Scars would remain, but that didn't concern him at the moment.
He took another step, wandering about the darkness. But Daveth noticed a faint figure standing in front of him. As he grew closer, several more people joined in. They were children! By the looks of them, they were playing with wooden sticks – pretending to be knights.
"I'm Ser Duncan the Tall!"
"I'm Ser Arthur Dayne!"
"I'm Aemon the Dragonknight!"
Daveth suddenly found himself unable to move as he recognized the playing children. Amongst the group, the Young Stag recognized an 8-year-old version of himself standing with them.
« This… this I remember. »
One of the boys carried a small cloth around his left shoulder, a sigil depicting a blue bantam rooster on a yellow field. Several more children were able to become more noticeable as Daveth continued observing.
« Darnis Swyft, Culler, Alrah… My friends. »
Any playtime between the children came to a sudden halt as walls of fire began engulfing them, exclamations being replaced by shrieks of terror and screaming as steel clashed against steel before all was quiet as a tomb.
« No! Not again! Stay away! Leave me alone! »
[Intro]
–Can you hear me? [1]
–Can you hear me?
Feeling his legs being freed from whatever restraints held him in place, Daveth clutched his head with both hands, eyes shut tight and fled deeper into the unknown dream world. Every living nightmare he endured when the ironborn raided Lannisport, sank the Lannister fleet before pillaging and killing any who stood in their way before taking him captive to the Iron Islands, Daveth was reliving every moment.
« Like a coward, I stood there and watched them die. »
[Chorus]
–Can you hear me?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me calling you?
"Come now, my sweet. It's alright. You're safe now. No one can harm you …"
The voice of his own mother, Cersei Lannister, sounded soothing as if she meant to shield her firstborn from the chaos, suffering and pain Daveth had been forced to endure for so many years.
"You can't help me, mother. No one can help me."
« I couldn't do anything. »
[Verse 1]
–Take the children and yourself
–And hide out in the cellar
–By now, the fighting will be close at hand
–Don't believe the church and state
–And everything they tell you
–Believe in me, I'm with the high command
Daveth could hear his own voice, his inner thoughts, being made loud enough for him to hear. They were being repeated over and over again; the depths of his conscious revealed that beneath his exterior, he blamed himself for any sort of weakness he believed he had: helplessness, powerlessness… emotional vulnerability. It was a weakness that Cersei told him to rid himself of during his childhood after the First Greyjoy Rebellion came to a decisive end. More apparitions broke off into different directions, several going either past Daveth or through him. They couldn't harm him, but each of them wore the faces of all he knew in the past… all of whom were long gone.
"We were your friends, and you let us die!"
"You could have saved us!"
« We were only children! What the ironborn did at Lannisport was not my fault! »
Real as they may appear, Daveth knew they were supernatural echoes – but that did little to ease his suffering. The ghosts of the past embodied his suffering, a reflection of his own inner turmoil conflicting with his nature. However, even the best and brightest throughout the Seven Kingdoms can't save everyone no matter how hard they'd try. The more he pushed past them, Daveth only encountered more echoes.
"Was it really worth it?"
« What? »
"Was living to see another day really worth it in the end? Having to once again watch so many more fall before your very eyes? How many more have to die before you're satisfied?"
« You are wrong! I never wanted any of this to happen! »
"Yet you have the power to end it. You are the King, aren't you?"
« It's not that simple! Reason or use of force alone cannot dictate one's own actions. Abandon your feelings, and only an empty shell of your former self will remain! »
"Haha! You really are a hypocrite, Daveth Baratheon! If only you could hear yourself right about now. Seeking to put an end to bloodshed is a noble pursuit, Oathkeeper, but what good is it when you yourself employ often dishonorable methods to achieve your goals?"
« Enough! I will hear no more! »
Daveth continued pushing forward, never mind phasing through each echo again and again. No matter where he went, the taunts and cruelty would always follow him. Even worse, each reflection would strike at his very core – testing him in the cruelest way possible: doubt and the fear of failing again.
[Chorus]
–Can you hear me?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me running?
« No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try… I couldn't save any of them. »
Finding nowhere else in the seemingly endless void, Daveth stopped in his tracks as another apparition took form.
« Another illusion? »
Much to his shock, Daveth saw a younger version of himself as a child sitting on a bench overseeing the Blackwater Rush, head in his palms.
"Why? Why me? Why do I have to draw breath when all my friends are gone?"
[Chorus]
–Can you hear me calling you?
–Can you hear me?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me calling you?
Daveth slowly reached out to place a hand on his past self's shoulder, but his hand goes through like smoke. Breathless, Daveth looks around as the scenery around him disappears. He hears another voice.
"I was pathetic."
The Young Stag turns and sees himself again lifting himself up off the ground, wiping the blood away from his mouth before resuming a fighting stance. Daveth saw the figure he was fighting and remembered it as the day of his squire under Ser Barristan Selmy.
"You're being too hard on yourself, my boy. The loss of your friends wasn't your fault."
"Yet I did nothing. If I'm to become King one day, I need to learn how to defend myself and others so it doesn't happen again."
"Prince Daveth—"
"I know, Ser Barristan. Come on. Let's keep going."
The thoughts echoed as the memory itself faded away, but not before Daveth heard more words pour out of nowhere – the sound depicting his own voice.
"Why am I doing this? What am I doing wrong?"
« I… I'm doing this to put an end to Balon Greyjoy's rebellion. »
"But will it end the chaos?"
« I… I don't know. I don't think it ever will. »
"Then why am I doing this?"
But before Daveth could even give a response to the question, his younger self turns and leaves as his thoughts echoed; as Daveth turns, the echoes came rushing in more frequently and loudly.
"Forgive me."
"What am I supposed to do now?"
"Someone give me the answers!"
Daveth clutches his head, gritting his teeth listening to the screams of many more people. As his surroundings fade away once more, the Young Stag felt as if all his strength left him in a sudden hurry and felt to his hands and knees – coughing and gasping for breath as his head spun. But before the darkness could ensnare him, a bright light shined and unveiled a hand through to help Daveth back up to his feet.
[Verse 2]
–There's a gun and ammunition
–Just inside the doorway
–Use it only in emergency
–Better, you should pray to God
–The Father and the Spirit
–Will guide you and protect you from up here
"Daveth. My boy."
« Is that…? »
The Young Stag recognized that voice all too well. As the darkness faded away and was replaced with pure white, Daveth held his hand up to cover his eyes as he worked to adjust to such brightness. As he looked in front of him, another figure began manifesting itself into physical form as an old man. This old man had broad shoulders, blue eyes, pale white hair and an aquiline nose. A double-edged longsword at his side had wings on its crossguard, a falcon-head pommel and engraved in silver to resemble mountain sky. For his attire, he wore a long cape visually evoking a falcon's wings with long open sleeves, nearly capes, hanging from his shoulders then looped back up to attach to brooches in the middle of the chest.
Once he was within plain sight, a swirling rush of emotions flooded Daveth as his face depicted a saddened, heartbroken expression.
« Jon Arryn? »
Illusion or no, the apparition standing before him assumed the form of the deceased Jon Arryn—Lord of the Eyrie, Lord Paramount of the Vale and Warden of the East. The first Hand of the King under his father Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn was like a surrogate grandfather figure to Daveth and was the one person Daveth was very close to.
[Chorus]
–Can you hear me?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me calling you?
"I expect you have a lot questions, some I can only answer in a short span of time. You wonder why I'm standing here before you when you know I am gone?"
« How are…? I-I don't understand. I saw you die. What does this mean? Did-did I do something wrong? Am I being punished? »
"Daveth, I know how much you miss me. But try to understand there are circumstances we can't predict will happen, nor are we capable enough to prevent events from occurring before they could even begin. Know that your prayers and wishes cannot bring me back. My death should not be used as an anchor, a clutch for you to cling on to."
[Chorus]
–Can you hear me?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me running?
–Can you hear me calling you?
Daveth felt his throat tightening as his long-suppressed emotions poured out from him.
« I tried to save you, Lord Arryn! I swear by the Gods, I tried! »
Jon's apparition held a gentle hand to cup Daveth's chin and wipe away the tears which fell from the Young Stag's face. "But you can't save everyone. Come now, it's alright. Even now I can still see the pain and the anger towards the burden you've been forced to carry every day. I know you don't wish to give such emotions voice, but I assure you, only the Gods know your heart."
« But… but I don't know how to. »
"You fear it because you think it is weakness? No. You think I'm some kind of ghost sent by the Father to punish you? No. The path laid before you will always remain a constant struggle, and every day you will face obstacles. Yes, you may stumble or even stray from the path… but there are still people out there who care for you; who want to help you."
The apparition of Jon Arryn pointed behind Daveth, making the Young Stag turn his head to see many of those closest to him who still remain in the world of the living, including his sister Myrcella Baratheon, his youngest brother Tommen Baratheon, his uncles Tyrion and Jaime Lannister, Lucius Blackmyre, Barristan Selmy, Robb Stark, Bodrin… and Sansa Stark. The image of the Wolf Queen had one hand placed on her swollen belly, massaging it gently as she smiled warmly at him.
Before the Young Stag could say anything, more apparitions manifesting the people Daveth lost in the past stand beside Jon Arryn; amongst them stood Darnis Swyft, Culler, Alrah, his father Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark.
"It's been a long time," exclaimed Alrah.
Jon's apparition took a moment to part one final lesson. "No more must you grieve for us, my boy. Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge it, and let go."
"You have such a long road ahead of you, Your Grace, and you must be prepared to face it," Eddard advised. "All our trust and faith is now on your hands. We know you'll do the right thing in the end. It is time."
"It's alright, Daveth. We forgive you," motioned Culler.
"This is how it should be, so don't even think of backing down now, boy!" Robert bellowed. "Get back out there and show 'em what for!"
"I know it still hurts, but we're always with you – even if you can't see us anymore," Darnis spoke up.
"We forgive you."
"We all do."
"We'll always be with you."
"Set your eyes on the horizon."
"Now… awaken, and carry with you our love and forgiveness, child. And know that you are never alone," Jon said before he and the others started dissipating.
Daveth choked up. For a long time he'd been suppressing his feelings deep down, not displaying any emotion on the surface. But seeing them all again and watching them leave to the unknown, Daveth wiped away his tears with his left arm and gained a renewed sense of purpose. Smiling briefly, he closed his eyes and reached outwards.
« Lord Arryn… thank you. For everything. »
######
At the battle encampments surrounding Moat Cailin…
"Look!"
Talisa, Jaime, Barristan, Lucius and Meryn observed Daveth's motions. For a while now, his closed eyes had been twitching rapidly before finally settling. His grip on the sheets loosened and his breathing became calm and steady. As more onlookers came pouring into the main tent, Daveth slowly opened both his eyes and took a moment to examine his surroundings. Talisa herself was taken by surprise.
'Something's not right! He shouldn't be awake this early,' she rationalized.
"Someone go inform Robb Stark that King Daveth is awake!" Jaime ordered.
Shouts and movement flooded the tent, though Daveth gave a small wince as he remembered the surgical work that was done on him hours earlier. Instead he remained still on his back as Robb Stark came into the command tent.
"My friend," Robb said relieved.
Daveth gave no expression, his mind still disoriented from the milk of the poppy. "Hello, Robb," he said finally.
Talisa placed a hand on Daveth's left shoulder, motioning him to remain motionless.
"Easy, Your Grace. Try not to move. I'll get some essence of nightshade."
Daveth said nothing as he watched the Volantenes healer leave to fetch some more healing herbs and something to help him sleep. It was already the middle of the night, and it would be a long road to recovery. Daveth bit his cheek and winced again. He was still alive, and in a few weeks he would be back on his feet and rejoin the battlefield in no time; might take him a while, though. Best not to re-open his wounds and risk losing an arm or his life for that matter.
######
Author's Note: Never did I ever expect to have to write a scene that gives us a firsthand look into Daveth Baratheon's consciousness, a struggle with his inner demons. Guess we all have to deal with them at some point in our lives; so I figured I try to strike at the core (to the best of my ability). I also figured I'd take a modern lyric to include them in the dream cycle so as to give the scenes some "umph". I've included a superscript [1] attached to it so you guys know exactly where I heard it. Listen to it. I'm sure you'll like it. Thoughts on Daveth's struggle with his own inner demons? Let me know.
[1] – "Silent Running" by Hidden Citizens.
Vaykay: Awesome!
―Thanks.
The Three Stoogies: an outstanding chapter keep up the good work
―Thanks.
DaddyChad: I cried thanks to this chapter
―Glad I could make it happen.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.
Blizzard dragon7777: Gotta say nice moral moment but of all deceased members why Jon Arryn?
―I needed to include someone who had the most profound impact from Daveth's life to redirect him towards the right path should he stray too far; someone who was more like a moral compass. His overall center. I figured Jon Arryn would be the likely choice since he was known for prudent, calming and wise, and kindly and trusting. His teacher, plus someone who fostered both Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark at the Eyrie when they themselves were children. Knowing how close they were with Jon Arryn, it'd make sense for Daveth to feel the same way.
BioHazard82: Another good chapter.
―Thanks.
mpowers045: That was superb
―Thanks.
10868letsgo: I'm glad he forgive himself. Focus not on the past or the future, but the present time.
―It was still one of the hardest lessons Daveth ever had to learn; and it was not an easy one to do.