Warning for brief description of rape this chapter. And quite a lot of gore and blood.
o-O-o
"Jasper!"
"Lord Royce?"
"Go find us some wine," Lord Yohn grumbled sourly, "that bloody supply master only gave us mead. Good Westerosi wine, mind, none of that Essosi swill."
"Yes, my lord," Jasper replied, relieved that he wouldn't have to help the other squires unload the crates and barrels off the large cargo ship that had carried them from Seagard to the currently burning town of Lordsport.
Jasper set off quickly into the cobbled streets of Lordsport, which was still in the last throes of destruction. Jasper and the Valemen force had not been part of the naval attack on Lordsport, nor of the assault on Castle Botley, instead arriving just as the sack was concluding, but Jasper saw the grisly evidence of his brother's army's work as he made his way through the largest town on the Iron Islands. Blood splotches, not yet dried, stained the stone ground and broken corpses littered the streets. Among the dead Jasper spotted men and women, but most hauntingly children, their small, lifeless figures strewn carelessly along the hard ground, often with crushed heads, disembowelled stomachs or missing limbs. Others had obviously been burned, their crusted skin as black as pitch. Jasper forged on, trying not to vomit up his breakfast, the dead children's bloated faces still etched into his mind. Many of the mud and wattle houses had been destroyed or burnt to the ground but here and there a lone structure still stood, from which Jasper could hear men's drunken singing and laughter, as well as women's screams. The acrid taste of death and smoke filled his lungs, periodically sending him into great racking coughs.
He thought back to his goodbye with Stannis on Seagard, to take him mind off the devastation around him. Stannis was with Ser Barristan on Old Wyk, so they had had to say goodbye on the Seagard docks. Thankfully they had reconciled the evening before and he had spent most of Lord Jason's feast with Stannis, who told him a little of how Renly was doing and about his duties as Master of Ships. Their goodbye had been about as emotional as their one four years ago at King's Landing- which was extremely emotional for Stannis- and Jasper knew both of them had been thinking whether it was the last time they'd see the other. With a sigh, he put it out of his mind.
He passed countless soldiers from across the Kingdoms enjoying all the pleasures a sacked town offered the invading force. Countless passed-out sots lined the streets, while groups of marauding drunks marched passed singing the bawdiest of songs. Elsewhere Jasper passed a group of laughing soldiers huddled around a screaming girl, no older than Jasper himself, holding her naked form down as another man knelt between her open thighs, his bare arse plunging back and forth. Jasper averted his eyes and walked on.
On the next street over he really did throw up, bending behind the carcass of a dead horse to do so. Once his bowels were seemingly empty, he spat on the ground, then stood up, composed himself, and moved onwards.
As he passed more and more revelling soldiers, he grew worried that all the wine in Lordsport had already been drunk but eventually he managed to find an abandoned crate full of wine bottles in the ruins of what Jasper thought had been a storehouse. Huffing a sigh of relief, he knelt to examine the bottles.
"That wine, mate?"
Jasper turned to face a boy perhaps a year or two older than he stood in the doorway. Scrawny, with an uneven, crooked face and freckles doted across his cheeks, he was hardly a comely lad, but his cheerful expression and warm, brown eyes more than made up for it, in Jasper's eyes. The boy approached in a swagger, still beaming, and as he got closer Jasper could make out the coat of arms emblazoned on his thin chest; a white catfish on a black background below a divided blue, red and green field. Probably from the Riverlands with that fish, he guessed, but he didn't recognize it.
"It is," he answered cautiously.
"Finally! Thank the Seven bloody Hells," The boy laughed in relief. "Wouldn't give me a bottle or two, would you? Only my lazy-assed brothers have had me looking for some wine for ages."
Jasper considered for a moment before nodding slowly.
"Sure, how's two bottles? I'd give you more, but Lord Yohn's in a foul mood and I don't want to make it worse."
"Two bottles sound great," the other boy said with a toothy smile. As Jasper passed him two of the bottles the boy said, "Cheers, mate. You're saving my ass here."
"It's no trouble." Jasper gave him a slight smile as he stood up carrying the crate with the rest of the bottles in his arms.
"The name's Harys Shawney, by the way," the boy said as they made there way out of the ruined building and onto the street outside. The bright sunlight made Jasper blink, his eyes stinging slightly. "Fourth son of Zachery Shawney, Lord of the Willows."
Jasper inclined his head in greeting and said, "A pleasure."
"So," Harys began heartily, "who are you? Oh, is that Royce colours?"
"It is. I squire for Lord Yohn Royce," Jasper told him. He shifted the crate into his left hand and held out his right hand. "Jasper Baratheon."
Harys stopped dead in his tracks and blinked a few times before accepting Jasper's hand grip with a wide grin.
"Maegor's Teats, you kept that quiet," Harys said with a laugh. A worried expression suddenly came over his face. "Shit, do I have to bow?"
"No, it's-"
"Fuck, do I have to call you prince or lord?" Harys groaned. "Ah, I swore in front of the king's brother! Twice!"
"Trust me, I don't give a shit," Jasper reassured him, smiling. "And just call me Jasper. I hate formal courtesies with a damn passion."
"Right you are," Harys winked at him, "I know what you mean, though you must get it more than me. My father's just a minor Riverlord."
"You'd think so but Lord Yohn's pretty good at limiting all that stuffy official bullshit." Jasper rolled his tense shoulders, as he continued to haul the crate towards the east end of the town. "Where're you based?"
"Oh, I'm serving my eldest brother as squire and he, my father and the rest of my brothers are with Lord Bracken's troops." Harys pointed in a similar direction to where Jasper was headed. "We're just by the eastern docks."
"Not too far from Lord Yohn's levy then," Jasper pointed out.
"We'll walk together then." Harys grinned. "So, how long have you squired for Lord Yohn?"
"Fours years now I think, though I served as a page for…"
Jasper's words died in his throat as he heard a woman's high-pitched scream coming from a close building. The shriek seemed to last hours before it was cut abruptly short. In the quiet that followed a baby bean to cry, it's shrill, wailing tones carrying across the street though none of the cheerful men that Jasper could spy celebrating nearby took any notice. The baby's cry, too, died off suddenly.
The two squires shared an uneasy glance then forged onwards, this time in total silence.
o-O-o
Jasper let out a ragged, unsteady breath. He could hear the whispered prayers and hushed cries of the men around him. A heavy sense of foreboding and dread hung in the air, casting a dark shroud over the soldiers and knights waiting to storm the castle of Pyke, the seat of House Greyjoy.
"Relax, lads," Lord Yohn intoned, from his place at the front of the Valemen troops. "No matter how scared you are, remember those fucking traitors in there are a thousand times more scared. They're shitting themselves at the mere thought of us breaking through those walls."
Once again Jasper was surprised, and a little in awe, of how calm and measured his mentor was before battle.
"Let show these rapist fuckers what real steel is made of!" Shouted a man-at-arms from the midst of the troops and many joined in, jeering and insulting the Islanders entombed inside the castle before them. Jasper quickly joined in; it helped calm him.
The Royce host, along with many of the other Valemen, had been positioned with the Northerners and the king's own household troops in the centre of the army, ready for the first charge. Jasper squinted and could just make out his brother's bulky form several hundred paces away, next to two white-cloaked members of the Kingsguard, the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark, and a few other notable knights and lords. Clad in plate metal and with a huge Warhammer strapped to his back, King Robert looked every inch the fearsome warrior that had won his crown at the Trident.
"Looks like the catapults are doing their work," Ser Andar noted, as a large stone boulder impacted with one of Pyke's castle towers with a loud boom.
"Aye," agreed Lord Yohn, "shan't be long now."
"Good." Robar said. "I can't stand the waiting."
"You'd better stand it," Lord Yohn reprimanded. "Impatience will get you nothing but an early grave, son. You have seen only twelve name days- I, and your mother, would prefer if you saw at least a few more."
Robar reddened and looked at his feet.
"Ah, don't be so harsh on the lad." Ser Desmond came to Robar's defence. "You remember the eagerness of youth I'd bet, my lord. We're all like that at that age."
"There is a fine line between eagerness and stupidity." Lord Yohn replied, not taking his eyes of the walls of Pyke.
"As you say, my lord." Ser Desmond bowed his head.
Jasper patted his friend on the back consolingly but did nothing more. He had more pressing issues to worry about, namely the several hundred Ironborn who awaited them inside Pyke. Another crash sounded as, again, the catapults found their target.
Jasper noticed a Septon, dressed in white robes, was making his way passed the front ranks, speaking to the nervous, and sometimes whimpering, men.
"Do not fear, brothers, should you fall the Father shall welcome you into his arms. Be happy with the knowledge you fight for a good, worthy cause against the heathens!"
Robar, Lord Yohn and Hector all received blessings from the Septon, before he reached Jasper. He bowed his head when the Septon came to him.
"May the Warrior guide your arm, my son."
"Thank you, Septon."
The Septon smiled at him, blessed him and moved on to Ser Andar and Osric. The sobs and desperate prayers around him were getting louder, as everyone sensed the order to attack was not for off. Several cracks could be seen on the surface of Pyke's walls and the barrage of missiles the castle faced was relentless. Jasper wondered what it must be like to hear and feel the catapult fire from inside Pyke's walls; outside, several hundred meters away, it was terrifying.
He smelt the urine and shit of those men around him who hadn't followed Lord Yohn's advice and loosened their bowels immediately before leaving their camp. The smell was awful and almost overpowering, but Jasper tried to put it out of his mind and focus.
He could feel the cold sweat trickle down from underneath his fastened, glinting helm and run down his face. His right leg tapped incessantly on the muddy ground. Jasper kept his gloved left hand resting on the pommel of his sword, always sure to be ready, as Lord Yohn and Ser Samwell had taught him. His mouth was as dry as the sands of Dorne, but he had no water skin. He took long, calming breaths to settle himself but it scarcely worked, and he licked his lips anxiously.
This was would not be the first time he had faced combat, having crossed swords with Mountain Clansmen in the Vale twice before this day, but he had never killed a man. Both times he had only held off a warrior before Ser Andar or Lord Yohn rescued him. He was both completely, mind-numbingly terrified, and excited to the point of relish.
"One more hit…" Ser Samwell murmured.
"What?" Jasper asked, in a raspy breath that he wouldn't have recognised as his own voice.
"One good hit and that bastard's going down." The master-at-arms motioned to the large tower that dominated the south walls of Pyke.
He was right.
Not thirty seconds later the tower was hit again, the massive stone smashing into the base of the main watchtower. There was an eerie silence for half a second, then the groaning sound of stone cracking. A massive chasm appeared from where the catapult had hit, and it was clear to everybody that the hit section was coming down. Jasper could just make out the panicked yells from the Ironborn atop the walls before the main tower came crashing down, bringing down much of the walls around it. He could barely see through the smoke and debris that went up as the great stone walls of Pyke were destroyed. The screams of dying Ironborn were drowned out by the massive cheer that went up from the loyalist troops.
"DO YOU SEE?" Boomed his royal brother, his powerful voice carrying across the army. "THOSE FUCKING SQUIDS ARE NO MATCH FOR OUR MIGHT! FOR OUR COURAGE!"
"Remember," Lord Yohn said quietly to Jasper, Robar, Hector and Osric, "keep aware of your surroundings and try to stay close to me or Ser Samwell or Andar. Don't rush too far into enemy lines- you'll be surrounded and butchered."
"READY!" Robert continued. "READY FOR BATTLE, BRAVE BROTHERS!"
"And keep your shield up at all times as we approach the opening. Clear?" Lord Yohn looked sternly at the squires. They nodded. Jasper could hear his heart beating mercilessly like a blacksmith's hammer and his breath was becoming shorter and shorter.
"ONWARDS!" Robert bellowed. "FUCKING CHARGE!"
With a great roar, they charged.
Jasper's feet seemed to work of their own volition as he surged forward with the rest of the army. The run felt almost endless, a marathon of wet mud and splattered blood. He kept pace with those around him until they reached the edge of the stone rubble. There the arrows started to rain down on them and everything devolved into utter chaos.
Remembering Lord Yohn's advice, Jasper kept his shield up and heard a thud as an arrow hit it, sending a shudder up his left arm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ser Desmond go down, an arrow sprouting from his eye, but he kept moving, jumping over a body bearing the crest of house Manderly, who had obviously pulled too far ahead of the rest of the army. Another arrow flew by him, missing his head by a hair and catching the man-at-arms behind in the throat, the man going down whilst gargling up blood.
Jasper could feel the adrenaline and blood rush flowing through his body as he kept moving, past dead bodies, injured men and slower soldiers. Lord Yohn was older and slower and soon feel behind, while Hector was caught up in a rush of bodies moving away from him. He had no idea where Ser Samwell, Ser Andar, Robar, Osric were or any of the other Royce men, as the army had become disorganised and incoherent, all running for the same breach. Valemen, Rivermen, Crownlanders, Northmen and others from across Westeros rubbed shoulder to shoulder as they sprinted for the crumbled opening that the catapults had made.
He almost slipped on a pool of water, or perhaps blood, but managed to regain his footing and resume his pace. The crush of bodies began to thin as more and more men fell behind. He realised with a jolt that he was near the front of the army, less than a hundred soldiers in front of him. They were only thirty paces from the breach now, where he spied a fierce group of Ironborn waiting for them, formed up in a shield-wall. They stood as still as marble statues, eyes unblinking as they awaited, a wall of grey steel and grim faces.
He saw a man in red armour who, by virtue of the flaming sword that swung wildly in his hand, had to be Thoros of Myr, rush up the rubble of what remained of Pyke's main watchtower. Jasper watched in awe as Thoros jumped straight into the breach, waving his fire-sword around manically, scattering part of the hasty Ironborn shield wall. A tall northerner followed behind the wild Essosi's wake, just in front of several brightly clad knights with great plumes flowing from their helmets. The man beside Jasper went down howling for his mother but Jasper ignored him and stormed onwards, unheeding of the throbbing in his legs and the burning of his lungs. The arrows became more frequent the nearer they got to the breach and Jasper felt a few more arrows strike his kite shield, lodging themselves firmly in the wooded surface. He muttered a curse; the shield would be near useless in melee if it was littered with so many arrows.
Finally, he reached the main opening. Before he could be overcome with hesitation and doubts, he rushed into the gap that Thoros and the others had made and was immediately advanced upon by the nearest Ironborn. Jasper forced himself to focus on the foe in front of him, a scarred, older warrior who rushed at Jasper as soon as he came near. Remembering his training, Jasper calmly blocked the man's axe swing with his shield. Quickly he countered with a shield bash to the man's face. The Ironborn snarled and tried to bring his axe back for another swing but Jasper was too close, and long-axes were not built for such close range. He feinted to the right with his sword and when the man made to doge it, he let the sword dip into the man's right calf. The man wailed in pain, but it was cut short when Jasper stabbed quickly and forcefully upwards. The sword tip took the man in the top of the throat and came out at the back of the man's head, breaking skull and spine. The man crumpled when Jasper extracted his sword.
He had no time to dwell on his first kill, however, as two men came rushing at him as one, shields locked together. Jasper knew he couldn't take them both on, so he retreated back two steps and planted himself defensively. He quickly deflected the first man's strike easily with his sword and then blocked the second man's swing that followed immediately afterwards. The first man moved to strike again but Jasper dodged to the side, away from the thrust, and the man followed through too much, falling slightly forwards. But before Jasper could make a counterattack the second man was on him. This man, a long-haired, dirty wretch who was poorly equipped, seemed to have decided to rely on brute strength and savagely tore Jasper's shield from his hand, following up by shoving the pommel of his sword into Jasper's stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. The man smirked and raised his rusted sword high, but Jasper was faster and lashed his sword out in a savage cut across the man's torso. The man grunted and with a kick in the shins from Jasper fell to his knees. Jasper stabbed his sword into the man's chest breaking through armour, skin and bone, before impaling his heart. He quickly removed his sword and looked up, scanning for the second man.
Pain, white-hot and sudden, clouded his mind and Jasper was forced unwilling to his knees. His head ached from the unanticipated attack and it took him several moments to realise that it had come from behind. Glancing back, he caught a glimpse of a snarling blonde-haired man with a rough wooden club high in the air, ready to strike- the second man. Sure that this was his end, Jasper lowered his eyes to the ground. But in the next second, he felt a splash of blood across his face and the body of his assailant soon feel before him, still stuttering his last spasms of life and bleeding profusely from his mouth, a pole-axe lodged firmly in his back. Before Jasper could thank the man-at-arms who had saved his life, the man was gone again, rushing into the greater melee where the Ironborn still held.
Sluggishly, Jasper staggered back to his feet, his head still spinning.
More and more men were streaming into the breach so that there were hundreds of ferocious soldiers fighting in the large open space of the breach, a mix of smaller individual duels and larger melees of near a hundred men where the Ironborn presence was stronger. Jasper spotted Thoros of Myr, who seemed to have an injury, as his left arm hung limply, but he continued to ward men off with the flaming sword clutched in his right hand. He couldn't spot any of his friends or any Royce men. He could scarcely even see what was happening from one moment to the next.
A heavily armoured, axe-yielding figure stepped in Jasper's path. His helm was open, revealing a sneering, unpleasant face. Fires of fury and hatred were smouldering in the man's narrowed eyes as he took one look at Jasper and spat at his feet.
"Come on, boy," he man goaded, despite looking a young man himself. "Come test your Greenlander metal against my axe."
Jasper was in no mood to trade insults. He charged him.
The man appeared skilled and the confidence oozed out of him. Perhaps the man was dangerous; he didn't give a shit.
He rained a flurry of furious blows down on the man. The Ironborn blocked them all but he became more desperate and slower when Jasper's strikes continued unabated. He tried a few counter swings, but Jasper skilfully dodged and deflected them all, before continuing his barrage of merciless blows.
This, he realised in the savage madness of the fight, was why Robert loved fighting so much. This was a mad joy, Jasper thought as he danced around the other man, a sword joy, a battle joy. He had never felt such energy, and purpose. A grin had morphed onto his face, he knew, as he continued his barrage of blows and he felt like a god, the Warrior himself or the Father above, like he was high in the clouds with this pathetic man's life in his hands. And so it would prove.
The man showed his skill first, however, swininging his massive axe sideways, making Jasper sidestep nimby away from a blow that could have caved in his breastplate. The man advanced but any fear that Jasper had once felt had vanished like morning dew, the battle joy was still on, and Jasper struck at the man like a viper. Once, twice, two hissing thrusts that lashed forwards with accuracy and a mighty strength that he had honed in five long years of learning the art of swordcraft. He may not be a man grown but he was tall for his age, and strong for his age, and that was all he needed.
And then the man failed to block one of Jasper's attacks, whether through tiredness or surprise or lack of concentration Jasper would never know, a stab that went through his left shoulder, and then it was a simple case of using the injury to his advantage and disarming the man. He sent his axe clattering to the ground and then swiftly slit his throat with the sharp edge of his blade.
He felt invincible.
Another man ran at Jasper, but he was clearly unskilled, and he lost first his hand, then his head. He lifted his sword to the heavens and roared a war cry.
He glanced around, looking for someone else to kill, but found that many of the Ironborn had regrouped further away. Already royalist troops were forming into an attacking formation and Jasper rushed to join them. The apparent leader of the impromptu group, a young man, his livery emblazoned with three silver fish on a blue field, gestured to the waiting Ironborn, many of whom were now shifting backwards, and bellowed, "Kill them all!" The men let out hoots of agreement and charged the waiting Ironborn, Jasper following eagerly. Some broke and ran but many more stayed, gritted their teeth and fought. The Ironborn were a tough lot and many of them wouldn't go without a fight. Or perhaps they saw the futility of breaking and running while trapped inside a besieged castle.
The next minutes, or perhaps it was an hour, were a blur.
No matter their bravery, the Ironborn resistance was divided and weak, and the troops of King Robert quickly overran them. The main bulk of the army poured into the breach and split off into the different towers and sections of the walls. The castle of Pyke, seat of House Greyjoy, the lords of the Iron Islands, was falling.
The exhaustion finally caught up with him in a small room adjoining one of the larger towers left standing. Thinking he was alone, he felt it safe to collapse on to a sack of grain, groaning with tiredness and something else he couldn't quite name. He looked down at himself numbly, barely taking in the blood-soaked clothing, the dented armour and the dirty grime that seemed to cover every inch of his skin.
A hand grabbed his ankle.
His sword was out in the blink of an eye, though the blade shook some in his hand.
In the low flickering light, he saw a man, a ghost of pale skin, white eyes and shallow, grating breaths. He was older than Jasper, but a young man still, with smooth skin, dark from the dirty filth that covered him, and his grip on Jasper's ankle was surprisingly strong, though getting weaker every second. His head was mattered with blood and a gash across his stomach was seeping blood, for all that the man kept his other hand clamped over it. He wore no livery or coat of arms and Jasper knew not whether the man was an Ironborn or mainlander.
"H-Help… me..." the man-at-arms rasped.
Cautiously, and still shaking, Jasper put his sword aside and lowered himself so that he knelt at eye level with the injured soldier.
"Come on, then," Jasper said softly, gripping the man on the shoulders and using his last vestiges of strength to lift him up slightly. "Let's get you on here. You'll be more comfortable."
The man groaned as Jasper dragged him a few paces and placed him lightly down on the grain sack he'd just vacated. He crouched down to inspect the man's wound, moving the soldier's hand slightly to get a better look. He was dismayed when he found it was deep, the blood still flowing. Much of the skin was pulled back and Jasper glimpsed the man's inner intestines. He could smell the acrid stink of leaking guts and he knew that the man-at-arms was a dead man.
"I-Is it… b-bad?" The man asked, between deep racking breaths.
Jasper couldn't bring himself to lie.
"You'll feel better soon. The pain will be gone, and you will be with the Gods, to laugh and feast until the end of days in the Father's golden hall."
The man stared at him for a moment before nodding shakily.
"Well," the man said, smiling the tiniest of smiles, "t-that doesn't… sound t-t-too bad, eh?"
"No, it doesn't," Jasper said, thickly, as he leant forwards to clasp the man's hand within his own.
After several moments the man spoke again, sounding detached, "It f-feels a l-little better… now. I… I can't really f-feel anything. It's all… numb."
"What's your name, then?" Jasper asked, trying to draw the man's attention away from his imminent death.
"T-Turec," the man coughed, "me name's Turec."
"And where are you from?"
"O-Old Ferry," Turec said, his eyes beginning to glaze over. "A small village, aye…"
"Tell me about it, Turec of Old Ferry. Of home."
"It lies n-near the G-Green Fork," Turec murmured, his voice quiet, "on a hill. A t-tall hill, mind. O-On clear d-days at the h-height of summer you can see for m-miles around. All the w-way to O-Oldstones, I s-s-swear."
"I believe you," Jasper assured him. "It sounds wonderful."
"It is…"
Turec made a sudden move, taking Jasper by surprise. Jasper could only watch as the man reached up and tugged a small medallion from around his neck, kissed it softly, and held it out for Jasper to take. Hesitantly Jasper did so.
"T-Take it," Turec said. "Me Da made it… he's the s-smithy, you see… I…"
Turec slumped backwards with one last breath.
Jasper gulped and glanced down at the talisman. It was simple design; a small boy was laughing and running along a great wide river, following the path it made as it arced ever onwards. The craftsmanship was crude and the metal cheap, certainly not something a highborn lord would wear, but Jasper put his head through the course cord nonetheless and tucked the medallion under his jupon.
He closed Turec's wide eyes, picked up his sword and left.
o-O-o
Jasper walked through the main courtyard as if in a daze, his head clouded and every muscle in his body tired. Around him many appeared to be in a similar state, sitting and staring into nothingness. Others were hard at work, clearing away the bodies or carrying the injured to the medical tents back at the camp. It was slow work, however. Bodies still littered the bloodied ground leading up to the breach while at the breach itself there was a mountain of corpses of both Ironborn and mainlanders which continued into the courtyard and castle proper.
"Jasper! Oi, Jasper!"
He frowned. Was someone calling to him or was it just his mind playing tricks on him?
"Jasper over here, you bloody bugger!"
He blinked and glanced to his left. Osric's ecstatic face greeted him for just a second before the other boy leaped forwards and wrapped him in a hug. Two more thuds announced the arrival of Robar and Hector, and Jasper soon found himself being smothered in his friends' embrace. Despite himself Jasper felt himself smiling.
"Yeah, alright, get off me now!"
The three of them laughed and stepped back, all grinning. Hector was, like Jasper, covered in blood, yet it didn't seem he had been injured. Osric and Robar looked dirty, with a few specks of dried blood on their faces, but were not covered in it as he and Hector were.
"We've been looking all over for you! Where the bloody hell did you get to?" Robar asked.
Rubbing his brow, Jasper replied, "One of the towers. Not sure which one."
"Ah, and our prince finally arrives," came the bland voice of Lord Yohn.
Jasper looked behind his fellow squires to see Lord Yohn, Ser Andar, Ser Samwell and several of Lord Yohn's household knights approaching. When they reached them Andar hugged him, but Lord Yohn only clapped him on the shoulder, though Jasper could read the relief in his face. Ser Samwell just nodded. Lord Yohn raised an eyebrow at Jasper's bloody sword.
"I had heard you acquitted yourself well in the fight at the breach," he said. His voice sounded neither approving nor scolding. "Ser Myles saw you take down two men, and likely you killed more."
"Ugh!" Robar exclaimed. "Lucky bastard, me and Osric got stuck at the back. We had to help with the captives."
Jasper frowned, not thinking that 'lucky' was exactly the way he'd put it. He turned back to Lord Yohn.
"Is Ser Desmond dead?" he asked. "I saw him go down but…"
"Aye, lad," Lord Yohn sighed. "I have men preparing his body now."
Jasper nodded sadly; he'd expected as much, though he was still filled with sadness remembering the man who had helped him hold a lance properly and taught him how to hunt boar.
"Come on," Lord Yohn said, waving him towards the corner of the courtyard, "you need water and food. We have both."
As they walked over, Jasper found himself walking beside Hector.
"So," Hector began, "how many'd you kill?"
"Five or six," Jasper said dully. "You?"
"Four, including Lord Botely's brother," Hector replied in a similar tone. "Lord Yohn knighted me a moment ago."
"Oh, shit," Jasper said, with a laugh. "Well, congratulations and all that. Shit. Your Ser Hector now. You! Ser!"
"Yes, that was pretty much Osric's reaction as well," Hector said with a rueful laugh.
"Your father's going to be beside himself," Jasper said knowingly. "His eldest son a knight at five-and-ten!"
"He'll hold it over my uncles, for sure," Hector shook his head incredulously.
Jasper laughed again and slapped his friend on the back.
"Well, none deserve it more, Ser Hector Hunter."
"Ah, Ser Hector told you, did he?" Osric grinned, turning back to them and eyeing Hector. "Already lording it over us, I see."
"Oh, do fuck off, Wayn," Hector drawled.
"And now he's giving us orders," Robar crowed dramatically.
"Jasper," Lord Yohn shoved a waterskin full of water and a large cut of dried mutton in his hand. "Eat. Now."
Jasper did as he was bid, scoffing the food and water down like a wild animal. The others chuckled at him, but he ignored them and focused on filling his stomach. He finished two pieces of mutton, half a loaf of bread and two full waterskins before he was satisfied. When he was done he sat back, content, with Hector, Andar, Robar, Osric and the other knights and squires talking and laughing around him and Ser Samwell still ordering soldiers all over the place, until Lord Yohn took him aside for a private word.
"You have done yourself, your house and me proud today, Jasper," Lord Yohn told him. "Indeed, many would say you have earned your knighthood. You are certainly skilled enough and you have now killed, too. But those things are not what makes a true knight, Jasper. A high kill count does not earn you knighthood, nor does bravery, though it certainly helps. You are young still and your time will come, soon most likely. But it is not this day."
"I understand, my lord," Jasper bowed his head. Knighthood was the last thing on his mind after this day, not after all the killing and the chaos and the battle joy. Perhaps it's importance would return the next day, but for now all he felt was happiness for Hector. "I'm happy to continue to be your squire for a couple more years at least, my lord. Your sole squire now."
Lord Yohn laughed, "Yes, there is that."
Jasper glanced at the men sorting through the dead bodies around him.
"Where are they being taken?"
"I believe a large bonfire has been built just outside the walls," Lord Yohn said.
"As in a funeral pyre?" Jasper was shocked. "Do they not get a proper burial?"
"The highborn will." Lord Yohn sighed at his expression. "It's best not to dwell on it. Come, eat some more!"
Robert found him a half hour later. Bloodied and battered, his eldest brother looked perhaps the happiest Jasper had ever seen him. He took one look at Jasper, then laughed long and hard. He pulled Jasper to his feet and clapped him on the back so hard Jasper swore he was lifted off his feet slightly.
"Ha, look at you! Kill you a few squids, did you?" Robert laughed again. "Ha, I bet you bloody did. Well, did you have fun, little brother?"
"It was… quite something, Robert."
"Oh, your first battle always is!" Robert exclaimed, red-faced. "Come on, then, how many did you get?"
"Er, about five. I think." Jasper scratched his head.
"Five! Not bloody bad at all," Robert grinned. "Lord Yohn, I bet you had fun! Always do with that huge fucking great sword. So, going to knight my baby brother? Or should I do it?"
"It was a fine battle, Your Grace," Lord Yohn said neutrally. "Your brother acquitted himself well, but I think I'll keep him as my squire for a little longer, if it please Your Grace."
"Oh, fine!" Robert rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He put his arm around Lord Yohn's shoulders. "Lord Tywin's already promised to hold a victory tourney at Lannisport, you know. I hope I can get on your attendance?"
"I wouldn't miss it, Your Grace."
"Oh, I know you wouldn't, you old dog!" Robert bellowed. He turned back to Jasper. "Come to my tent tonight for ale and celebration, brother! And bring your friends!"
"We'll be there!" Robar rushed to answer before Jasper could say anything. Jasper shot him a glare but was ignored.
"Excellent!" Robert released Lord Yohn from his grip.
"Your Grace!"
They all turned to see Lord Eddard Stark approaching.
"We have him, Your Grace," Lord Eddard said. "Shall I bring him forth?"
Robert's face morphed into something more serious, as men began to gather round.
"Aye, Ned," Robert nodded, "Bring the bastard out!"
Jasper watched as Balon Greyjoy, lord of the Iron Islands, was brought before Robert in chains. Two men-at-arms gripped both his arms as they hauled him through the watching crowd of knights and soldiers who seemed to have appeared in the last few minutes. Many of Robert's army were dead, more injured, and more, still, were securing other parts of Pyke but many had gathered to watch Balon Greyjoy be humbled, it seemed.
Balon was an extremely thin man with matted, greying hair. His hard face held no regret or defeat. He held his head high, even as he was forced to his knees in front of Robert. The Lord of Pyke stared with cold, black eyes at the King for several tense seconds, before dipping his head a fraction of an inch.
"Your Grace." The words were spoken quietly but every man watching heard him.
"Balon Greyjoy." Robert stated, sounding unusually serious. "You have started, and lost, a war that has killed thousands and wrought havoc on your own lands, as well as other lands within my dominion. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Balon Greyjoy remained silent for a few moments, before speaking in a loud, defiant voice. "You may take my head," he told the king, "but you cannot name me traitor. No Greyjoy ever swore an oath to a Baratheon."
There were murmurs and scoffs in the crowd, even one or two laughs that were quickly shushed. Jasper, too, was a little disgusted at the man's excuse. The Greyjoy couldn't get out of it on a mere technicality, he thought.
Robert, however, let out a bark of laughter. Jasper could see his brother was amused by the answer, and a little pleased. He liked Greyjoy's spirit.
"Swear one now," the king replied, "or lose that stubborn head of yours."
And so, he did. The Lord of Pyke swore his oath and was pardoned. It did not come without a price, though. Two children, a girl and a boy who looked only two or so years younger than Jasper himself, were brought before the king shaking with fear.
"You can keep the girl," Robert told Balon. "But the lad will be taken as a… ward."
It was clear the boy was a hostage and that, should Balon rise again, the boy would die. Jasper glanced at the boy who was now looking frightened, his wide eyes darting from his sister to his father, looking for guidance. He found none, and Jasper could see the tears welling up.
It was Lord Eddard who stepped forward and seemed to take pity on the boy.
"Let me take him, Your Grace," the Warden of the North said. "I have sons not much younger. Might be, the boy can befriend them. I'll treat him well."
"You sure, Ned?" Robert asked. Lord Eddard nodded.
"Say your goodbyes and pack your things," Lord Eddard addressed the boy sternly, but not unkindly. "We leave tomorrow."
The boy looked top his father once more and, finding no comfort, nodded uncertainly.
"You'll be treated well at Winterfell, boy, don't worry," Robert said, "No one is more honourable than Lord Eddard. Now run along."
As the Greyjoy family were led away, Jasper watched as Robert turned to Lord Eddard.
"Why the bloody hell did you do that?"
"He'll have a better life at Winterfell than he ever would do in the capital," the Lord of Winterfell said. He looked at Robert. "The boy is not to blame for his father's faults. No child is."
Robert shrugged, then grinned. "Now for the best part!" He turned to the crowd. "Bring forward Lord Mormont and the others."
From out of the crowd stepped Jorah Mormont, the Lord of Bear Island. Lord Jorah looked dead on his feet, but he held his head high as he bowed before King Robert. Behind him followed a man dressed in the colours of House Orme of the Reach, and an older squire that Jasper had come to know in the Vale, Horton Hersy.
"Lord Jorah," the King jovially addressed the Northerner first, "what a sight that was! Like the rebellion all over again, eh? I remember you at the Trident. A glorious day that was, and so is this one!"
"Yes, Your Grace," Jorah said.
"Now I know you lot up north don't have many knights, but you can't very well refuse a knighthood from a king. So, on your knees, my lord."
Lord Jorah did so. Before hundreds of watching eyes, Robert laid his sword on Lord Jorah's right shoulder.
"Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves," Robert asked, "to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"
"I do, your grace," the Lord of Bear Island said loudly.
Cheers sounded from the circle of men watching, but all still heard the king's next words.
"Then rise as Ser Jorah Mormont, Lord of Bear Island."
Robert did the same with Horton Hersy and Gyles Orme, as well as half a dozen others. Half a hundred others had also distinguished themselves enough to earn knighthoods from other high lords and renowned knights. Jasper slipped away from the throng at about the time Ser Mandon Moore, the dead-faced Kingsguard he had seen at Seagard, was knighting a newly-crippled Jacelyn Bywater, the man who had led the main charge Jasper was a part of.
He wandered outside of the walls for some fresh air but came face to face with the massive funeral pyre that was blazing. Soldiers continued to chuck corpses into the searing fire unceremoniously. Jasper watched the spectacle for a few moments dazedly, then turned away. He was going to head back towards Lord Yohn and the others when he spotted a familiar figure sat on the ground not far away.
"Rolph!" Jasper called to the second son of Lord Elesham. He walked towards the other boy. "What're you doing?"
Rolph Elesham looked up at him with red eyes.
"Oh, Prince Jasper," Rolph stood up with a grimace. "I'm glad to see you're still alive. What of Hector, Robar and Osric?"
"All alive, thank the Gods, and Hector with a knighthood, too," Jasper smiled. He glanced at Rolph's red eyes once more. "Elron?"
Rolph shook his head.
"I'm sorry."
"Well, he brought two of the cunts with him, at least. Fucking, fucking cunts!" Rolph shouted, his words spitting venom. He breathed out deeply and seemed to compose himself. "Apologies, my prince, my words were unbecoming."
"There's nothing to be sorry for," Jasper said quietly. "He was your brother."
"Yes." Rolph looked away from him. "He wasn't always the easiest to get along with, but…"
"He could be," Jasper said. "Osric proved that."
"Yes, I suppose," Rolph said distantly.
Jasper didn't know what else to say so he kept silent, allowing Rolph his private grief.
The two stood there for another quiet minute, listening to the moving tides of the waves on the shores of Pyke and the ominous crackling sound of the funeral pyre.
o-O-o
Okay second real fight scene in the fic and I'd really like your feedback on how I handled this pretty important event and fight scenes in general. Too rushed? Too long? Too much talking? I'm not quite sure where I stand to be honest so love to hear your opinions. There'll be another time jump to next chapter so see you then.