Chapter 19: The Battle of Torrhen's Square
Summary:
Jon and Dany have a new dragon dream of unknown enemies. The North plans their assault on the Iron Fleet. Melisandre meets with Lord Varys in the shadows of King's Landing, and the battle for Torrhen's Square commences with fire and blood...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter Nineteen: The Battle of Torrhen Square
It wasn't the Tower of Joy this time.
Daenerys sat on a riverbank with Jon and smiled as Frostfyre lifted her head out of the gently rushing water. The dragon, it seemed, had chosen to bathe herself in this particular dream. She shook herself, rumbling at them.
There was a campfire close to them, and within the fire were the three dragons eggs—present despite the fact that they were still on a ship somewhere in the Narrow Sea.
There was two small ships—poleboats, Dany thought—anchored by the bank. They were tiny things compared to Frostfyre, who dwarfed the boats despite being partially submerged herself. Around them bustled a small group of people, none of which they recognized at first, but then Dany startled at the sight of Master Illyrio from Pentos among them.
He sat across the fire from another man—a worn-down warrior, she thought, with dyed, blue-gray hair and pale blue eyes, and though his beard and eyebrows were graying, she saw red roots upon closer inspection. He wore a red wolf-skin cloak, along with a practical tunic, breeches, and boots fit for a life on the move.
Beside the man was a younger one—a boy, maybe only slightly older than herself and Jon. He was fair of skin and also had dyed blue hair, though he was clean-shaven and his violet eyes were prominent upon his face.
"This cannot be," the older man uttered, his brow creasing deeply. He looked nearly enraged. "Rhaegar never would have sullied himself with the likes of—"
"Whether you believe it or not, Varys has confirmed it," Illyrio cut him off. "The Dragon King is Rhaegar's son."
The man scoffed. "Dragon King…A mummer's dragon, more like."
"Mummers don't command real dragons, Old Griff. I watched the child and his beast destroy Khal Drogo's khalasar with my own eyes. Bones belonging of thousands of scorched Dothraki still litter the plains south of Pentos. The boy and his dragon are very real."
Griff's jaw tightened, his scowl intense. The boy beside him was also frowning, but he wasn't quite as angry. "What does this mean for us?"
"Varys is not quite sure as of yet," Illyrio admitted. "He's investigating the child himself, as I understand it. There is much that must be uncovered before the whole truth is laid bare before us, but we thought it wise to inform you of this development."
"What about Daenerys?"
"They became very enamored with each other during their time together at Pentos, Young Griff," Illyrio answered. "I would not be surprised if they have since wed."
"A problem that can be solved by killing the wolf's whelp," growled the older man. Dany's grip on Jon's hand tightened and they both stared at him, committing the man to memory. Whoever he was, he was an enemy.
"I know this is not the news you wanted to hear," the Magister told them. "But that is the state of the world now. This young Dragon King has shifted the balance of power irrevocably. Viserys already tried and failed to kill him. Daenerys has allied herself to him. The odds are against you, now."
"We will need the Golden Company perhaps sooner than later," Griff muttered. "Do we still have your support?"
"You do," Illyrio nodded slowly. "Although I confess, I do not know if they will pledge fealty to you now that a new Dragon King has emerged with a dragon to fight for him. Varys and I have discussed the matter and we believe you should make contact with this Dragon King first—if nothing else, his dragon will prove invaluable when you conquer Westeros."
"So you mean to remove him."
"I have said nothing of the sort."
"Then what are you suggesting?" Griff snarled. "That we let him take the Iron Throne? This bastard—"
"That bastard has a fully grown dragon at his disposal, since you seem to keep forgetting that rather important piece of information, and she is terrifyingly loyal to him," Illyrio said softly, but firmly. "You certainly still have a place in the world, but there are some things you simply cannot fight against. Cut your losses and make an ally of him—you will fare better to stand with him rather than against him."
Griff's face contorted in rage, but the boy held a hand up to him with a gesture borne out of authority. "I have much to think about."
"Varys has sent you an extra helping hand, as well," Illyrio turned towards a gathering of his servants and snapped his fingers. At his command, a young woman hesitantly stepped forward, clearly rather nervous. "This is Nyssa. She will serve you well. Varys suggested it was in your best interest to keep her around when you sail to Westeros."
"Very well. You and Lord Varys have not led us astray yet," Young Griff said cautiously. "I understand you both must also be scrambling to understand how this Dragon King came to be."
"It is a mystery we intend to unveil in-full, Young Griff," Illyrio dipped his head. "But for now—might I suggest we start planning your voyage to Westeros? I've received word that the Dragon King intends to wage war against Euron Greyjoy on behalf of the North."
"The North," Griff looked even more irritated than before. "The bastard's wolf's blood shows his true colors. He is no Silver Prince."
"Meet him first, Old Griff," Illyrio waved away the man's aggravation. "Then you shall see."
Daenerys found herself standing beside Jon in the large tent set up for Lord Stark's military meetings. They were camped not far from Torrhen Square after a trek that lasted several weeks. Before long, they would be meeting with Ser Tallhart to drive the Ironborn forces dug in on the shores around the stronghold.
Their latest Dragon Dream had raised many questions, but few answers. Neither she nor Jon could really understand why they'd dreamt of the Magister with strangers who clearly had some hostile inclinations towards them—well, towards Jon more specifically, but an enemy of her husband was an enemy of hers.
They'd wait to see what else would be revealed by their dreams, if anything. With some luck, they'd find out exactly who they were up against. At the very least, they knew these "Griffs" were not friendly, and were currently somewhere in Essos, most likely.
They were far away for now. A threat to consider at a later date.
The priority at this moment was Euron Greyjoy.
"What do the scouts say?" Lord Stark asked, glancing at Lord Bolton.
"Most of the pirates are camped on the western banks," he reported. "A few more camps set south at the bend of the river, and a handful more to the east. They've got guards posted, but you know how Ironborn are. They're sloppily organized off of their ships."
"Good. Jon?"
"Daenerys and I took Frostfyre to the Stone Shore yesterday, as you all know," her husband answered. "We didn't see any enemy ships or camps that could flank us from the west. We mean to fly to the river system that comes up from Flint's Fingers tomorrow to make sure there we won't be any enemies on our eastern flank, either. It's possible they've taken Barrowtown. We expect to be back by dusk—we want to be thorough."
"The less likely we are to be ambushed, the better I'll sleep," Ned admitted. "Lady Mormont? Has our prisoner divulged anything useful since his last interrogation?"
"I fear we've scared all the useful information out of him, My Lord," the Lady of Bear Island grinned dangerously. "He wasn't particularly important to begin with. We know they've got a makeshift shipyard built in Ironman's Bay, close to the woods of the Neck for easy access to lumber. It seems they mean to increase the number of ships they have available to them."
Lord Manderly frowned. "More ships are only good if they have the numbers to crew them all. The Ironborn aren't so numerous that they can mass-produce a gigantic fleet capable of conquering Westeros."
"Euron's plotting something. Whatever the case, I'd rather we take those ships from them," muttered Ned. "But first thing's first—we retake the territory around Torrhen's Square. Once the fighting starts, Jon and Daenerys will take the dragon and bottle off the throat of the river. No ships will escape that way. We'll capture or kill every Ironborn we come across and take their ships for ourselves. How many do we expect to face?"
"The ships themselves number around forty-and-five," Lord Bolton said. "All of them are from the Iron Fleet, given their size and the crests on their sails. Each is crewed by at least a hundred Ironborn, but I suspect there will be more. At least forty-five hundred men, possibly up to fifty-five hundred."
Jon whistled. "That's a big commitment for the Iron Fleet. Do we know who's in command?"
"We spotted the Iron Victory docked at the western bank, so I suspect it's Victarion Greyjoy. It would make sense, seeing as he's trying to capture a castle like Torrhen's Square to hit the rest of the North. He's not been here long. The castle walls have seen better days, but from the looks of things, they've only been besieged by smaller forces. My guess is Victarion came in with reinforcements recently to complete the capture."
"Their biggest force is here on the western bank," Ned tapped his finger thoughtfully as he leaned over the map on the table they were gathered around. "Probably between three or four-thousand men. Another thousand to the south, perhaps five hundred and more to the east."
"It's a small force compared to ours," Lord Umber grunted. "We raised what, eighteen-thousand swords?"
"Aye, and my cavalry should be joining us soon enough," Lord Manderly admitted. "But the terrain isn't favorable for us. The riverbank is to their backs, so they can just retreat to their ships when we come for them. More than that, space on the bank is going to be tight for so many men. We might have the greater numbers, but under the circumstances, it's time that will overwhelm them in the end. We'll suffer larger losses for it."
"It's still almost half their total fleet," Robb crossed his arms. "The Iron Fleet as we know it stands around a hundred vessels with a few more to spare. If we capture or destroy the ships sent to siege Torrhen's Square, it'll cripple their forces."
"That may be, but it won't be enough if they mean to build yet more ships by the Neck," Ned reminded him. "The Iron Fleet isn't the only military force of the Iron Islands. They can raise perhaps twenty-thousand men total, and four hundred more ships in addition to the hundred-and-change belonging to the Iron Fleet. I'd guess Euron has the other major Lords of the Iron Islands moving their ships to various points of interest while Victarion leads half of the Iron Fleet for the actual assault. The latter half of the Fleet I'd wager is with Euron himself."
"Frostfyre and I could find the shipyard, destroy it, and be back here in five days," Jon suggested.
"No," Lord Stark shook his head. "I want to capture the shipyard and its ships. We can use it as a launch point to hit the Iron Islands. Since the Westerlands stand against us right now, I dare not lead our forces any further south than the Twins. With any luck, Lord Reed will be able to help us organize an assault the Ironborn aren't expecting—they're intruding on his territory in the Neck, after all."
"Where is Lord Reed, anyways? Why didn't he answer the summons?" Lady Mormont asked, frowning.
"I requested he remain in the Neck with his men so we'd have a force in the south to trap the Ironborn at Flint's Finger. We'll have to retake it before we move for the Iron Islands. Once we defeat the forces surrounding Torrhen Square, I'll send him a raven to locate the exact position of the shipyard they've built on his shores."
Their meeting came to an end as one of Lord Stark's men made his way into the tent. "My Lord, Ser Rodrik and the rest of our people sent to King's Landing with you have just arrived at the camp!"
Ned's shoulder's visibly slumped with relief. "Thank the gods. Bring them here. My Lords, if you would inform our soldiers that the attack will commence in two days. Our plans will remain the same as we've discussed on our march. Dismissed."
The Lords and Lady Mormont all gave their brief goodbyes, then they shuffled out of the tent. Dany and Jon remained with Lord Stark and Robb, as well as Theon when his Lord made a quiet murmur for him to stay. The Starks were all the young man had now—them and his thirst for vengeance against Euron.
They didn't have long to wait, but when the Knight in question arrived with the entourage that had gone to King's Landing with Lord Stark a year earlier, they were in for a shock.
Dany of course didn't recognize any of the weary souls who were ushered into the tent, but their resident squid certainly did. Before Lord Stark could get a word out, Theon set eyes on someone whom she first believed to be a man due to their shortly-cropped hair, and let out a cry of shock.
"Asha?! Asha!"
Even the ever-stoic Lord Stark froze in surprise as Theon rushed around the table and was swept into a tight embrace with Asha Greyjoy—his sister, Dany realized.
Then Theon let out a whoosh of air as Asha nailed him in the gut with a sucker punch.
"Get off," she growled, snickering. "I'm happy to see you too, but not that happy."
"Bitch," Theon wheezed, glaring at her.
It was a rather odd group of companions the Knight had gathered together, Dany thought to herself curiously. There was a sullen Septa, a Braavosi swordsman, and a tall boy with striking black hair and blue eyes. That wasn't mentioning the Greyjoy woman who had arrived with them.
"Lord Stark," Ser Rodrik knelt before the man, who quickly ordered him to stand.
"I'm relieved beyond words to see you alright, Ser," Ned told him. "All of you. Splitting up from our people was one of the most difficult decisions I've made in a long time. I beg your forgiveness for leaving you to take a separate escape with my family at King's Landing."
"There's nothing to forgive, My Lord," Rodrik shook his head. "The Lannisters would have had all of our heads on spikes. We were all lucky to escape the capital with our lives."
"Agreed," Ned nodded.
"If I may, My Lord?" Rodrik gestured to his companions. "Most of our other people are being set up in tents as we speak, but I've brought with me Syrio Ferell and Septa Mordane, whom you no doubt remember."
"But of course," he dipped his head to them. "I hope the roads were kind to you."
"Kind enough," Syrio admitted. "Though we rarely used the roads, what with Goldcloaks all over the countryside."
Septa Mordane said nothing, but she caught sight of Jon and glowered, causing Dany to frown deeply. She'd heard of this woman before, but said nothing for now.
"In addition," Rodrik continued. "I've brought with me the smith Gendry Waters, as requested."
"M'lord," Gendry bowed nervously.
Ned stared at the boy for some time before smiling slightly. "I'm glad to see you've arrived safely, Gendry. We'll speak together soon, I think. There is much I have to tell you about."
The boy looked utterly bewildered, like he couldn't imagine what Ned Stark would have to speak to him about, but he only bowed again and remained silent.
Now the Knight glanced at their squid companion, his mouth a tight line. "And this—"
"—I can introduce myself, thanks," Asha interrupted, facing Lord Stark without fear. "Theon already cracked it out, anyways. I'm Asha Greyjoy, the daughter of Balon Greyjoy."
"We'd gotten word you'd escaped the Iron Islands when Euron took over, but we weren't sure of your fate," Lord Stark admitted, studying the young woman. "I'm grateful to see you survived."
She scoffed. "Bloody lucky I did. Your Knight here would still be weeks out if I didn't let him onto my ships."
Ned raised an eyebrow and glanced at Rodrik, who sighed. "We were making our way around the lake far east of here when Captain Asha found our camp. She was about to make her way to Winterfell when I told her you'd be marching for Torrhen's Square instead—"
"—and the rest is history," she cut him off again, causing the Knight to glower somewhat. Dany let her lips rise in amusement. Asha was obviously a blunt woman with a barbed tongue to match. "You don't have to wonder much why I'm here. I want Euron dead. The fucker killed my father and he wants me in his bed, I've heard."
Theon made a gagging sound. "What?"
"You heard me right," Asha sneered. "Mad fucker fancies himself the start of some new Dragonlord dynasty or some shite with his bloody Dragon Horn and that egg he keeps on Pyke."
Dany's eyes narrowed. "True dragons do not burn. He'll be disappointed to find out that he does."
Asha looked at her then, brow furrowing as she took the younger woman in. "Who the fuck are you? Pleasure girl from Lys?"
"My name is Queen Daenerys Targaryen," she answered, her smile rather smug as the newcomers all froze. "This is my husband, King Jaehaerys Targaryen, rider of the dragon Frostfyre."
Asha's face was priceless, but Septa Mordane's spluttering was even more so. "No—this boy is Lord Stark's bastard, not a—"
"He's the Targaryen Dragon King, Septa," Ned interrupted gruffly. "There is much I have to tell you all, but understand that Jaehaerys—Jon, as you know him—is the last surviving male of the Targaryen dynasty. He and Daenerys came to Westeros at my request to help us defeat Euron and the Ironborn threatening our lands."
The men and women looked utterly thunderstruck. Asha tilted her head at them, glanced at Lord Stark, then back again. Her eyes were still comically wide. "You're not fucking with me, are you?"
"We've all seen the dragon ourselves," Theon told her. "You'll see her soon enough. She's bloody huge. Burned down eight Ironborn ships on their way to Bear Islands like it was nothing."
Ser Rodrik tore his eyes from Jon to look at Lord Stark. "Are we backing their claim for the Iron Throne?"
"No," Jon answered for his uncle, shaking his head. "We're here to help protect my family, but Daenerys and I—we will not demand the North back our claim for the Iron Throne. Too much damage between House Targaryen and the North needs to be repaired before we discuss such a thing, if we ever discuss the Iron Throne at all."
"Damage that will be repaired soon enough," Ned Stark added gently. "In any case, House Targaryen has decided to stand with us against the Ironborn threat and House Lannister should they choose to assault us."
Asha shook her head in bewilderment. "Well fuck, if that's not the best news I've had since my cunt of an uncle took the Seastone Chair."
Lord Stark set his stern eyes on Asha again. "You mean to assist us, then?"
"I do," she nodded. "I've got five ships at my command, about a hundred and thirty good men, give or take. It's not much—could only sneak out so many when Euron took over—but they're all beached at the lake east of us, crewed and all. Could use some extra supplies, though. We left in a bit of a rush, as you can imagine."
"Let me know what you need, and I'll see what I can do," Ned told her. "We'll be taking Torrhen's Square back in two days, and capture as many of the forty-five-odd ships surrounding it as we can with the dragon's help. Then we mean to sail to Flint's Finger and recapture it."
Asha grinned nastily. "Last I heard, Lord Drumm and Lord Harlaw should be sailing to Flint's Finger. They're supposed to go to Torrhen's Square afterwards to support our uncle Victarion."
"I can't believe he's supporting Euron after the bastard murdered our father," Theon scowled.
"Victarion is a decent enough commander, but he's dumb as a stump," Asha snickered, her voice mocking. "He heard Euron preach about 'bringing back the old ways' and followed him like the obedient little bitch he is. Still, don't think he'll be too hard to capture or better yet, kill."
"He'll certainly be answering for his treason," Ned decided. "How many men did you bring here?"
"Left most of my crew with my ships," she admitted. "Just in case any other Ironborn ships decide to sail up the river. Don't want them sinking my little fleet. Only brought about a dozen men with us on-foot. Wanted to travel light and fast."
"Well, you made good timing," Jon remarked, glancing at his uncle. "I'll take Frostfyre out tomorrow to the lake. We'll scout further south—make sure there aren't any ships moving for Asha's position."
"Agreed. If you see any, destroy them, like we discussed."
"What, with the dragon?" Asha asked.
"I can't exactly burn them to the riverbed with a torch and a few swings of my sword," Jon pointed out.
"Snarky little scrapper, aren't you?"
Jon smirked and Dany couldn't help but agree with Asha's assessment of her husband. Jon did have a rather amusing sarcastic streak.
"Let's make sure you're all settled into camp," Lord Stark decided. "Then we'll fill you in on the rest of what's happened."
King's Landing had not changed much since last she'd been there, Melisandre reflected with some discontent. At least the view upon the ocean was the same.
In some ways it had improved. Aerys Targaryen had been in power when last she was here, and her every move had to be made with the utmost care. Joffrey Baratheon wasn't as bad yet, but she had no intention of introducing herself to the arrogant young King. His temperament was ill-suited for a ruler, much less the King of the Seven Kingdoms.
She'd seen firsthand what could happen when power was put into the wrong hands.
Soft footsteps neared her and she only turned her head slightly in response. "I wondered if you'd show."
"Morbid curiosity on my part," Lord Varys sighed as he came to stand beside her, but he did not look at the Red Witch. "I confess, when we last parted, I rather hoped that would be the last I saw of you."
"Fate drew me back to these shores."
"Fate is a lie told by those who would use gods to lead men."
Melisandre cracked a slight smirk. "Circumstance, then."
"What do you want?"
"I intend to seek out the Dragon King in the North. I'm sure you are aware of his presence by now, are you not?"
"My birds informed me of his visit to Westeros, yes. How did you come to know of it?"
"My visions in the fire."
Varys' voice became tinged with dislike. "Ah, yes. Your magic."
"If I recall correctly, you were rather desperate for the magic of my Lord last we saw one another."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures, My Lady. No matter how distasteful."
"Well, regardless, the Dragon King will be facing a most dangerous foe on the shores of your country," Melisandre murmured, and her eyes became very far away as she stared over the horizon. "Euron Greyjoy is more deadly than you can fathom."
Varys said nothing. She glanced at him slightly. "But you already knew that."
"My birds in Lannisport tell me Euron raided the city with a beast only told of in myths," Varys slowly confessed. "An ice dragon. From what they tell me, I can only assume it is of size very near that of the dragon under Jaehaerys Targaryen's control."
"A dance of dragons is coming. A Dance of Ice and Fire."
"I fear you are right," the Spymaster admitted reluctantly. "The conflict could very well decide Westeros' future. If Euron wins, the world might be plunged into chaos. I am undecided on Jaehaerys, but of the two, I know which one is certainly more reasonable."
"Indeed," Melisandre agreed with a dry voice. She paused for a moment. "Jaehaerys?"
"'Aegon' it seems was a diversionary name. His true name is Jaehaerys, or so my birds tell me. The offspring of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."
"Ah. So the Pact of Ice and Fire was fulfilled," she murmured.
"I suppose so, in a way."
They both fell silent for a time. Varys eventually broke it.
"What do you want from me? I gave you Aerys' corpse in exchange for your services, at no small risk to myself. And though I understand you took a rather vast risk as well to perform the task I gave you, I do believe our business has concluded. We are even."
"I need only a horse. The Lord will guide my way," she replied. "In exchange, I gift you this."
She offered him a piece of paper, which Varys took after a moment of consideration. "And what is this, might I ask?"
"I know why you hate magic so," she admitted to him. "I rather thought I'd give you the location of the sorcerer who unmanned you. Well—where he was last seen by my people, in any case. I'm sure you know already, but he does not often remain in one place for long."
"I have my own leads," Varys said, but he regarded the writing thoughtfully. "But your assistance is appreciated, My Lady. You will have your horse. Wait outside the Dragon Gate at sunrise. I will have your horse sent to you."
"Very well. I will not part from you with words to see you again, for I know you have no wish to do so."
"I don't imagine you needed magic to tell that, did you?"
"No, I did not," she smirked again. "Farewell, Lord Varys."
"Farewell, My Lady."
And with that exchange, the Spider went his way, and the Red Witch remained. She needed to do some thinking before she retired for the night.
There was a long journey ahead of her.
Robb was at the head of the army beside his father, both of them mounted on their horses as their forces fanned out into position on the eastern and western riverbanks of Torrhen Square. There was a grim silence in the air, a tension that would soon snap.
He'd never been in a battle before. He'd seen death—his father had brought him and Jon out once to deal with a deserter from the Night's Watch. But he hadn't had his mettle tested like this.
There was a desperate hope that it wouldn't come to a fight. That their plan would run the Ironborn so scared that they would just surrender immediately. But Theon and Asha both suggested the pirates would put up a fight for at least a little while before they gave up.
Before they'd set out that morning, he'd stood in the tent with Jon, Daenerys, and Theon while the former two were fitted in light armor for the battle to come. It was odd seeing Daenerys wearing armor, but she refused to let her husband ride into battle alone again. Robb couldn't help but admire that.
"I confess," Robb suddenly admitted to break the tense silence. "I think I'm afraid."
"Good," Theon replied bluntly. "It means you're not stupid."
"To be afraid is to be brave," said Jon, a fond lesson they'd both gained from Lord Stark. Robb cracked a shaky smile.
"Were you afraid when you went out to battle the Dothraki? It can't be that frightening, fighting on the back of a dragon."
"Gods, I was terrified," Jon confessed, surprising Robb. "If we'd failed, the Dothraki would have pillaged Pentos and Khal Drogo would have gone straight for Dany."
He saw the shudder go through his brother's body and Dany stepped close to grasp his arm. Jon pressed his forehead to hers, briefly closing his eyes.
He pulled back after a moment and looked at Robb. "Besides, you have no idea what it's like to have all those arrows flying up at you. They might as well be flies for Frostfyre, but my cloak came out looking like a pincushion. I took an arrow in my shoulder and another one almost got me in the eye. See?"
He gestured to the scar on his cheek, just below his left eye. A thin blade of pale skin that belied how close he'd come to death.
"What's it like to get shot?" Theon asked, only half-joking.
"It's like a sharp punch that goes deep into your body," Jon grimaced. "You feel it for ages afterwards."
"Good thing we're all carrying shields, then. Most of these Ironborn are probably going to shoot at us from their ships for a while before there's any close fighting."
"We'll drive them to the banks as fast as we can," Daenerys murmured, turning towards the two young men. "Be safe."
"And you as well, Your Grace," Robb dipped his head to his goodsister. Blood or not, Jon was his brother, and Daenerys was family as far as he was concerned. "Try to keep my brother from doing anything unusually stupid."
She cracked a slight smile. "I will endeavor to bring him back in one piece, I promise you that."
As he stared out at the Ironborn ships, now full of their men who had abandoned the shore entirely for the time being, he felt that fear again. The pirates were shouting and jeering curses and insults towards the Northerners, all manner of profanity leaving their fouls mouths.
The Northerners withstood the verbal abuse in grim silence. Robb glanced at his father, who stood close to him. Blackfreeze was on his far side, with Ghost between father and son, and Grey Wind on Robb's opposite flank. The two young wolves were big enough now to kill a man, certainly, but it was Blackfreeze who briefly silenced the Ironborn invaders with a thunderous howl.
The sight of the gigantic, black wolf was enough to make some of the pirates nervous, although they were still rather bold on their ships.
It would not last.
His Lord father unsheathed his sword and lifted it high into the air without a word. At his signal, their war horn was blown three times in steady succession.
There was a brief pause, filled only by further jeers from the Ironborn, and then all sound was drowned out by the furious scream of a dragon.
Robb's eyes rose as Frostfyre descended from the sky, using the noon-high sun behind her to conceal her initial approach. She opened her great jaws and roared again, coming down on the river further south and sweeping towards the north.
He heard a low, rumbling purr unlike anything his ears had received before, and then the dragon unleashed a blast of white fire upon the ships farthest away from the bank. She surged over them, blowing apart ship after ship until four vessels were sinking. The Ironborn crewing them screamed their death throes as they were burned alive, many of them reduced to ashes from the initial assault.
"Seven hells," Theon gasped to Robb's left, and the young man couldn't help but silently agree. Frostfyre's wrath was a terrible thing—to destroy entire ships in mere seconds seemed impossible, but she did it with seemingly no effort at all.
The dragon swept up, screeching as she wheeled around to come in for another pass, and Robb caught a glimpse of Jon and Daenerys' small shapes upon her back. The initial assault was meant to terrify the Ironborn, to make them realize that staying on their ships was a death sentence. Frostfyre would not destroy more of the ships than was necessary, if it could be helped.
Some of the ships were already making their way to shore—better the Northmen than the bloody dragon raining hellfire down upon them. He could see a man whom he believed was Victarion Greyjoy aboard the Iron Victory screaming orders, but there was only chaos now.
None of these pirates had expected a dragon to attack them. Fear was consuming their minds.
Frostfyre flew low over them, screaming so loudly that Robb felt his ears ache. He could only imagine how terrifying it must be for the pirates to see that immense beast above their heads, promising fire and blood with her song of death. She twisted along the bank, heading to the eastern shore to scare the rest of the pirates their army would be facing.
As she continued to terrorize the Ironborn, the first longship of the Iron Fleet hit the bank. Pirates scrambled off of the vessel, unsheathing swords and nocking arrows on their bows.
His father's sword fell from the sky and pointed at the pirates as more ships beached themselves. "ATTACK!"
The Northmen finally broke their silence with a mighty roar, loud enough to briefly match the dragon for the sheer number of them. Robb unsheathed his sword with his father's bannermen and charged, a shout tearing from his lungs as the dire wolves howled for death.
He engaged the enemy with his father and Theon, as well as Ser Rodrik and Asha Greyjoy. Robb parried a blow meant for his head from an Ironborn cutlass and shoved his sword into the man's gut. The pirate made a gurgling scream, blood spilling from his belly, and collapsed.
There was no time to think about the first man he had killed. Another Ironborn was already there, a mace in his hands. His father darted forward, slashing the man's leg open with Ice to make him fall, and Robb removed the pirate's head with a sweep of his sword.
"Make for the ships! Board the ships!" Lord Stark roared above the din of screaming men.
Robb followed his father and Ser Rodrik while Theon broke off with Asha to make their way towards another Ironborn vessel. They were already surging at the portside of a ship, the Northern army easily crushing the disorganized and startled pirates still reeling from the sudden dragon attack.
Northern archers were raining hell down on the pirates still on-deck, preventing them from stopping the men climbing aboard their ships. Robb climbed after his father, finally grasping the railing of the longship, and vaulted over onto the deck. More pirates were waiting for them, jeers and screams filling the pounding in his ears as he engaged the enemy with his father and Ser Rodrik. Briefly, they were overwhelmed and panic seized him, but then more Northmen clambered onto the ship like a swarm of ants and the Ironborn were beaten back.
He slew another man, this time cutting deep into his throat such that it sprayed blood in a foul cloud all over Robb's armor, and then the din was overwhelmed by another scream from the dragon.
His gaze flew upwards as Frostfyre returned to the western fork of the river, fury in her voice. She wheeled around, a snarl baring her teeth, and locked onto the Iron Victory. Jon must have been guiding her.
Robb couldn't help but freeze as the dragon's wings flared outward and her taloned feet came forward like a gigantic eagle's. She grasped the Iron Victory by its starboard flank and pounded her wings.
The momentum of her rush and the force of her mighty wings almost lifted the fucking ship from the river, and then Frostfyre dragged it along the water towards the shore. She screamed in rage as the vessel crashed into another, bashing it out of the way, and then she released the Iron Victory such that it slammed into the shore and bowed over onto its portside. The Northmen scrambled to get the hell out of the way, and pirates aboard the Iron Victory screamed as they were thrown from their longship or crushed beneath it.
He was gaping as the dragon regained altitude, flying directly over Torrhen Square with a shriek of victory as she returned to the eastern fork of the river to continue terrorizing the Ironborn being dealt with by Greatjon Umber and Lord Bolton. Robb's shock was blown from him as an arrow took him in his armored shoulder. The impact made him flinch, and he returned to the fight before his idiocy—freezing in the middle of a fight, what was he thinking?—got him killed.
By now, seeing the Iron Victory beached and bowed over had the rest of the pirates making for shore. A few tried to retreat further south down the river, hoping to flee, but they were intercepted by the dragon, who blasted a line of fire in their path that set a great swath of the river into pure steam.
That was enough to encourage them to beach their ships.
Robb fought with Lord Stark along the vessel, killing any of the pirates who dared try to attack them—which was quite nearly all of them. Only a few dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, begging for their lives.
Many had picked up the infamous Ironborn war cry, "what is dead may never die!"
Those men quickly found out that death did, in fact, leave them dead.
The ship was taken completely in minutes that seemed like hours. Robb led a group of men belowdecks, killing and capturing what few pirates remained, and then returned to the deck of the longship. He spotted his Lord father and made his way to his side, surveying the fight.
"The ship's secure," he reported, blood thrumming in his veins. "What now?"
Lord Stark scanned the ships being boarded and conquered with an eerie calm that did not suit the chaos of the battlefield. "You take Ser Rodrik with a company of our men, and go assist Lord Bolton. We have this area under control. Be swift."
"Yes, father," Robb blurted out, then shouted for Ser Rodrik and hurried to get off of the longship.
They were quick to gather the men they needed and hurried south to join the fighting there. Grey Wind joined him, racing alongside his master—the dire wolves couldn't board the ships, but they were doing their bloody work on the pirates who made landfall. The muzzle of his companion was dripping red, his tongue lolling out as he panted.
Frostfyre wheeled above them, screaming her demands for submission from the pirates, and flew low above the ships. Robb spared her a quick glance, spotted Jon and Daenerys leaning down upon the dragon's back, and then they were gone to continue terrorizing their enemy.
Lord Bolton was doing well. The Bolton men were joined by the Mormonts and Karstarks, and were swiftly overwhelming the ships beaching themselves. Robb shouted to Lord Bolton, who was commanding his men from the back, and quickly gained his attention.
"Where are we needed, My Lord?"
Bolton swiftly gestured to the ships furthest east. "Domeric is taking the most recently beached ships. Assist him."
Robb nodded and rushed off with Ser Rodrik and their men to help the Lord's son. The blood pumping through his veins, the stench of death in the air, and the sound of dying men pervaded his senses. Time flew past him, yet it seemed like ages.
He found Domeric Bolton fighting a group of Ironborn as they struggled to reach the ship that was their target. With a shout, Robb and his forces joined the fray and helped beat the pirates back, slaying them in droves. Grey Wind leapt at a pirate fighting Lord Bolton's son and seized him by the throat, spraying blood into the air with a savage snarl.
Domeric spared him a glance and a grateful nod, and then they were climbing over the railing of the longship together to seize it from the pirates that remained.
Robb scrambled over the rail and was quickly engaged by an Ironborn with a sword. He beat the weapon back and then a blade thrust forward, gutting the pirate before Domeric kicked their attacker away.
They fought savagely against the Ironborn for a few brief seconds before Frostfyre's furious roar filled the air again. The dragon landed on a ship that was refusing to beach itself and instead had been firing arrows on the men waiting at the bank, her great weight sending the vessel rocking and sinking. Her tail thrashed, snapping the high mast like a twig and flinging it into the river. The dragon's head snapped forward, quick as a snake, and seized a man in her jaws. When she threw him away into the river, he was ripped apart into several distinct, bloody chunks.
Robb let out a cry of pain as a dagger was thrust into his side, but the mail armor he wore kept it from piercing too deep. He backhanded the man responsible with his fist, snarling, and removed the pirate's head with a vicious swing of his sword.
Domeric grasped his arm. "You alright?!"
"I'm fine!" Robb growled, wincing at the burning pain, but he knew he could keep fighting. "Take some of the men belowdecks! I'll take the rest on top with Ser Rodrik!"
Domeric nodded and with a shout, led his Bolton men into the belly of the ship. Frostfyre let out another roar and launched herself from the ship now crushed and sinking into the river. The vessel loosed a deep crack of wood and groaned as it bowed over to its watery doom.
At least none of the other Ironborn captains were stupid enough to repeat the mistakes of that particular pirate.
Robb caught his breath, glared daggers at the pirates bunched up at the helm of the ship, and led his men to the next fight with a furious shout.
They fought hard for what felt like hours. Robb lost himself to the bloody rush of the fight, slashing at any pirate who did not drop their weapons and fall to their knees. The air stank of blood and shit, and the roaring of the dragon and the screams of dying men might have deafened him had it gone on much longer.
And then suddenly, the air began to quiet.
Robb leaned on his sword, panting, and looking around wildly for the next fight. But the only pirates left alive were those who had submitted to capture. He lurched towards the steps that led belowdecks, but found Domeric already coming back up.
The young man took him by the shoulders, staring him up and down. "Still alive?"
"Aye," Robb grunted. "You?"
"I'll make it. Ship's secure on my end."
"Mine as well."
They headed to the railing to look over the carnage, but it seemed the fighting was nearing its end. The dragon was only circling above Torrhen Square now, surveying the battle below.
"Gather the prisoners," Domeric commanded of his men. "Get them off this ship."
The Bolton forces quickly deigned to follow his orders. Robb glanced at Domeric, only a few years older than himself. "We should rejoin your father, see where we're needed next."
"Aye," Domeric agreed. Robb left Ser Rodrik in command of the ship and disembarked with the Bolton heir, rejoining Grey Wind on the ground. His wolf had a slight limp in his back leg, but was otherwise unharmed.
They found Lord Bolton swiftly—the man was still at the back, commanding his forces with sharp, barking orders. He locked onto the two younger men as soon as he caught sight of them.
"Report."
"Ship's secure. What's left, father?"
"Not much," Roose admitted. "The Greatjon has dominated the few ships to our east and Lord Stark is just gathering prisoners now. We're doing the same here."
He looked at Robb. "Rejoin your Lord father. We can take it from here."
"Ser Rodrik is in command of the ship we took," Robb told him.
"I'll have some of my men relieve him. They'll rejoin you soon."
Nodding, Robb glanced at Grey Wind. "Come, boy."
He took a quick, deep breath, and began to make his way towards the Stark forces to the northwest with his wolf padding loyally at his side.
They were only halfway there when Robb heard a screech, and then Frostfyre was landing with a thunderous impact. Jon dismounted quickly, Daenerys just behind him.
Robb froze when he realized Jon had an arrow in his leg, but his brother managed to limp forward so he could throw his arms around him. Robb crushed him in his grip, wincing at the stab wound in his side.
Jon backed off quickly, quickly spotting the fresh blood. "You're hurt."
"It's not bad," Robb grimaced, focusing on the arrow. "You got shot?"
"When we landed on that ship," Jon muttered, glancing at Daenerys as she joined them. She had a fresh cut on her arm, where Robb suspected an arrow had grazed her, but she hadn't taken a clean hit like Jon.
"I'm to join father and see what's left for us to do," Robb told him.
"We'll come with you," Jon said quickly.
"Oh, no you won't," Daenerys took his arm and held him still, her glare stern. "Don't think I can't see your leg shaking. You can barely stand on that. We stay with Frostfyre."
"But—"
"Jon, the fighting's done," Robb interrupted him. "You did everything you have to. Just stay here, I'll send someone to get that arrow out of your leg."
Jon tried to protest, but Dany was adamant and his leg wasn't going to deal with the weight he was putting on it. Groaning, he finally gave in and slowly sank to the ground with the help of his wife. Frostfyre loomed over them, concerned for her Rider enough that she disregarded Robb and Grey Wind.
Robb and his wolf quickly made their way around the protective dragon and hurried to rejoin his Lord father. The blood rushing in his veins was slowly dying down, replaced by a growing exhaustion he could feel in his bones. His wound ached, but he marched on.
The day passed by in a blur after that. The Ironborn prisoners were gathered and marched further inland, away from their ships that were now under the control of the Northern army. Ser Tallhart, the Lord of Torrhen's Square, opened their gates now that the siege was at an end and quickly set about assisting their allies.
Robb was lying down on a bed in the keep now, close to Jon. Both had minor injuries—the dagger hadn't driven too deep into Robb's flesh thanks to his armor, and Jon's arrow wound hadn't pierced anything vital. They'd be sore and in pain for a while, and Jon would no doubt be limping for a bit until he healed, but they'd make it without any permanent complications.
Dany sat beside her husband, a bandage wrapped around her left arm where the arrow had grazed her. Grey Wind and Ghost were curled up together between the beds. Both of them needed a bath—gods above, Ghost was more red than white, and they stank, but neither of them had been hurt. Grey Wind had a mild limp like Jon, and Ghost a cut to his shoulder, but it wasn't deep.
They'd survived this battle mostly intact.
The door to their room opened and Robb jerked out of the exhausted daze he'd fallen into, trying to sit up when he spotted his father entering the room with Lord Bolton, Domeric Bolton, and the Greatjon. Even the milk of the poppy he'd taken wasn't enough to stop his wince at the burn in his side, however, and he quickly lay back down.
Ned Stark glanced from his son to his nephew, and sagged in relief. "You're both alright, then. Thank the gods."
Robb nodded and took a better look at them. His father had a few bandages, but nothing serious. The Greatjon as well, although his left hand was bandaged up pretty tightly. Lord Bolton, of course, was unharmed, and Domeric—
"What happened?" Robb blurted out when he saw the young man's arm in a sling.
Domeric scowled. "One of the prisoners got the bright idea to try and jump me when I turned my back on him. Put a knife in my arm, but he's dead now. Fucking pirate."
Jon sat up, gingerly avoiding any attempt to shift his leg as he faced the men. "How are things?"
The Greatjon grinned rather madly. "Bloody excellent! We lost some men, aye, but barely anything compared to the Ironborn! Captured all the ships your dragon didn't sink nice an' easy!"
Jon winced. "I'm sorry about that. I tried to make sure Frostfyre destroyed only a few of them."
"Seven hells, boy, don't apologize for that," Lord Bolton grunted. "We captured thirty-eight ships. A third of the Iron Fleet's total forces, and Victarion Greyjoy. Most of the Ironborn forces were killed, but we've taken a few hundred of them as prisoners alongside their commander. By comparison, we lost only around a hundred men. Hundreds more are wounded, but that's nothing to what we've dealt to Euron's army. You performed your task well."
"Thousands of men are still breathing tonight because of what you and Daenerys did, Jon," Ned agreed, smiling at him. "You have no reason to be ashamed."
Jon's face colored, but he said nothing and dipped his head in acceptance of the praise. Robb couldn't fight his slight smirk—Jon was too humble for his own good sometimes.
"What do we do now?" Jon asked, frowning. "How can we help?"
"You can help by staying here and not stressing that leg," Ned told him sternly, already seeing the protest rising in Jon's eyes. "No, you will stay here with Robb. You serve us best by healing and ensuring your injuries don't become infected."
"He will not be going anywhere, Lord Stark," Daenerys assured him, offering Jon a daring eyebrow. Jon sighed and inclined his head in agreement, and now Robb couldn't help but snort.
"You're not going anywhere, either," his father said then, raining on Robb's parade.
"I could help you. I'm not that badly injured."
"You took a rusty Ironborn knife in your side. You. Will. Stay."
Robb knew that look in his father's eyes well and came to the immediate realization that he would not win the argument brewing between them. He was also too tired to make the attempt. "Yes, father."
"Good. In any case, there's really not much you two can do at the moment, anyway," Lord Stark admitted. "The prisoners are under guard and we're coordinating with Lord Tallhart to restock Torrhen's Square with supplies they lost during the siege. At most, you'd be helping to repair some of the ships, but Theon and Asha have that handled."
Lord Bolton looked at Jon again. "Where's your dragon now?"
"I sent her off towards the Stone Shore to hunt," Jon answered. "She's hungry and all the blood in the air was making her agitated. I don't want her to get used to eating people if I can help it. Even pirates."
"Will we have a problem if she comes back?"
"I don't think so. At worst, she'll want to see how I'm doing. She's always a bit more aggressive when she knows I'm hurt. If she comes back, I'll call her down to see me and then send her off again. The further away she is from Torrhen's Square right now, the better."
The Lord of the Dreadfort nodded, satisfied with the answer.
"What about Victarion Greyjoy?" Robb asked.
Ned's face hardened. "We'll execute him in a few days' time. He's locked up in the dungeons right now, here in the keep. I intend to interrogate him first for information."
"And after that, when all our men are feeling a bit better, we'll throw ourselves a feast," the Greatjon declared, grinning widely. "We've won a great victory, after all!"
Robb only inclined his head, too tired to think of a victory feast. He'd be more up to the idea in a few days, he told himself.
After he'd gotten some rest and given Grey Wind a much-needed bath.
Notes:
Sorry for the delay, you guys. I've had some health issues lately, primarily from exhaustion and overwork. To put this in perspective, I work really physical night shifts six days a week. I blacked out during the middle of my work a few nights ago from sheer exhaustion, and I'm still not feeling great.
Just bear with me, please.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!