The Wizard of Fury Chapter 9

The overwhelming stench of blood and death filled Harry’s nostrils as Lord Eddard Stark guided him back through the castle of Pyke. Hundreds lay dead upon the stone floors in the castle, and it was only thanks to the many grates designed to deposit errant water back into the sea below that blood did not completely cover the floors. However, there were bound to be stains left after today.

The ironborn forces were decimated. For every one man from the royal army that Harry saw, he caught sight of at least three dead ironborn. It was a brutal affair, one brought about entirely by King Balon Greyjoy himself.

From the Great Keep, Harry could see the last vestiges of the Greyjoy soldiers holding out in distant towers. Ironically, the Salt Tower had been one of the first to be captured by the royal army, due to the lack of guards around it. The siege of Pyke was bound to be over before the sun was fully risen in the skies above.

It seemed to Harry that King Balon’s rebellion was a great act of foolishness. However had he gotten it into his head that he had the might to fight against the crown and all those who supported it? Now, King Balon would become Lord Balon again, if even that. Harry couldn’t imagine that his father, Stannis, would allow the man to breathe for another day. The punishment must fit the crime, Stannis had always said. Rebelling against the crown and causing the death of thousands must be worthy of an incredible punishment.

A pair of guards wearing the gold and black livery of House Baratheon pushed open the massive oak doors to the Great Hall. They creaked loudly through the near empty hall as they swung open, and Eddard and Harry were admitted without delay.

“Your lord father is away,” Eddard explained to Harry as they stepped inside. “He was sent to Great Wyk to subdue Lords Goodbrother, Merlyns, and Sparrs, and to capture the island itself. It’ll take some days before word of the Siege of Pyke reaches them, but once it does, I’m certain that those houses will surrender to the crown.”

And in the meantime, his father would still be out there, risking his life in a war that was already almost over with.

The Great Hall had been taken over as a meeting ground it seemed. The long tables had been pushed aside except for two, which remained in the centre of the room. Maps of the island of Pyke lay stretched out across it with markers detailing which sections of the island were under the crown’s control. A handful of knights and men-at-arms were standing around, talking and joking like there still wasn’t a battle going on. Harry couldn’t understand how these men could feel so at ease while their comrades were out there dying, but death made men feel strange things.

“Patrek,” Eddard nodded at a man wearing an indigo cloak with the sigil of House Mallister emblazoned upon it.

The man, perhaps in his early twenties, turned with a great grin on his lips and his arms outstretched to greet Eddard. “Ned!” Patrek exclaimed. “What a siege! Honestly, I expected the Greyjoys to put up a better fight after all of their posturing. Their assault on my home of Seagard was impressive to be sure, but it seems as though they’ve lost all of their steam after Stannis crushed their fleet at Fair Isle.”

Eddard frowned at the man. “It isn’t time for a celebration yet,” he chastised the man gently. “The ironborn are still holding out in this castle, and Lord Balon is still on the loose with his brothers.”

“Come now,” Patrek laughed, picking up his mug of ale and taking a staggered step over towards Eddard and Harry. Evidently, he’d already had a few drinks. “We’ll slice the tentacles off of the kraken before long.”

“And how many will die before that happens?” Eddard asked pointedly.

Patrek either didn’t notice or chose to ignore Eddard’s criticism. He took a long drink from his mug and then turned his attention to Harry. Harry could sense the man’s eyes lingering over his lightning bolt-shaped scar. He’d enjoyed his few months without it, but it seemed that fate was determined to make it stay with him.

“Who’s the boy?” Patrek asked Eddard.

“I’m Harry Baratheon,” Harry answered for Eddard, taking a quick dislike to Patrek. “Lord Stannis’ son.”

Patrek simply nodded and stared at his scar as he took another sip. He drained his mug dry and held it out for a servant to come rushing forward and collect it for refilling. “I should have known. You have the same dour look on your face that your father does.”

His words were said lightly, intended in jest perhaps, but Harry found them to be anything but.

“It’s a good thing that someone’s taking this rebellion seriously,” Harry quipped sharply. “I’d hardly think that all this death and destruction was cause for getting drunk, lest you were on the losing side.”

“This is the perfect time for getting drunk,” Patrek countered playfully, like he was entertaining a young child. Which, Harry supposed, he was. He still looked like a boy of ten despite mentally being fourteen or fifteen at this point. “Ale is perfect for a celebration of life, a celebration that we made it through and get to go on living.”

“A shame that the dead can’t enjoy the same succour,” Harry retorted.

“Indeed,” Patrek nodded in agreement, still not picking up the hostility in Harry’s words. “And that’s why it’s upon us to drink in their place. Speaking of which, where’s my ale.”

“You drank it all,” Eddard replied dully.

Patrek glanced down at his empty hand as though seeing it for the first time. “So, I did,” he laughed. “I need to get more.”

Was this what the children of lords and ladies in other parts of Westeros were like? Drunkards with no sense of reverence or care for those dying to further their aims? Suddenly, Harry felt a deeper sense of respect for his father than he had ever felt before. Stannis was certainly strict and grim, but this was a grim world. Others chose to make light of the world, but Stannis saw it for what it was and had a humble respect for it.

Perhaps Stannis’ way was too strict, too lacking in genuine joy and happiness that could be outwardly expressed to everyone, but it was better than Patrek’s way. When he grew up, Harry knew whose lessons he’d choose to follow.

As the servant Patrek had handed his mug over to came rushing forward with a fresh one filled with ale, the doors to the Great Hall burst open as two men wearing the white-scaled armour and white cloaks of the Kingsguard strode forward. They immediately took up positions on either side of the open doors as King Robert Baratheon came marching into the room with a great smile beneath his black beard and a bloody warhammer resting against his shoulder.

Though Harry had never met the man in person, he recognised his uncle right away. He was just as Stannis described him: proud, brave, strong, and glowing with the joys of a well-fought battle. Of course, Stannis had other words to describe his elder brother, but these were the ones that came to Harry’s mind when he saw the man before him. He looked everything like a powerful king should, unlike King Balon’s frail physique.

“Ned!” Robert exclaimed. “I’d heard you’d left the battle, not that there’s much to be had anymore.”

“Your Grace,” Eddard said as he knelt at his king’s arrival.

“Damn it Ned, get up,” Robert said as he tossed his warhammer onto one of the nearby tables. The heavy weapon clanged loudly as it came to a rest. “I was hoping to find you out there, see how well your skills have held up since the Rebellion.”

“I can still hold my own,” Eddard replied as he stood.

“Hah!” Robert held his belly as he laughed. “Hold your own? That coming from the man who cut down Ser Arthur Dayne himself? You’re too modest, Ned. How many ironborn cunts did you kill today? A dozen? Two dozen?”

“I wasn’t keeping count,” Eddard told him.

“Shame that,” Robert tsked. “I got nine myself. Would’ve been more if it weren’t for my Kingsguard taking all of my kills and getting in the way whenever some dumb, lowborn lad with the hope of receiving the glorious honour of killing me came rushing forward without a real plan in his head. Gods, I’ve missed this.”

Patrek, clearly tired of being ignored, chose that moment to step forward. “You were magnificent on the battlefield, your Grace.”

“Yes, I was,” Robert grinned, enjoying the focus on him. “I wanted to get back out there to finish off the rabble, but I received word that Balon Greyjoy himself had been captured.”

“And what of his brothers?” Eddard asked.

“Victarion was captured as well, but Euron escaped by boat,” Robert grumbled. “And a raven came by reporting that Aeron had been found off the coast by Fair Isle. Stannis must have destroyed his ship during the battle there. He’s been captured and taken to Lannisport.”

“Hopefully the other ironborn will surrender now that their leaders have been taken care of,” Eddard said.

“I’m rather hoping they don’t,” Robert replied. “I wouldn’t mind a few more months of fighting. Or years.”

Harry narrowed his eyes on his uncle. Why would he want to prolong the fighting? That would just mean more deaths on both sides of the conflict.

Robert glanced down at Harry’s annoyed look with a frown. “And who are you?”

“This is your nephew,” Eddard explained quickly. “Stannis’ son, Harry.”

Suddenly, Robert’s eyes lit up. “Harry!”

Before he could do anything to stop it, Robert had grabbed Harry and hoisted him up into the air as though he weighed nothing at all. The indignity was enough to make Harry seriously consider kicking the king between then legs, but he feared that the man’s armour would just leave Harry with sore toes.

“Look at you,” Robert laughed. “I’m surprised that Stannis lets you keep that messy black hair of yours—he always liked his cut short. Wait a second.”

As his eyes fell upon the scar on Harry’s forehead, his visage darkened for a moment.

“Did they scar you?” Robert asked quietly.

“Euron did,” Harry told him.

“Blast!” Robert snapped, a vicious anger flaring in his eyes at the knowledge that the man who’d scarred his nephew had managed to escape. He took a long breath and turned to his closest friend. “How the hell did you find him, Ned?”

“Seems like he was in the process of rescuing himself from this place,” Eddard answered. Was that a tinge of approval that Harry heard in the man’s voice? “I found him on the upper levels of the Bloody Keep, hiding in a room from Maron Greyjoy, Lord Balon’s second son.”

“Stannis was too worried about you if you’d already freed yourself from wherever they were holding you,” Robert said as he finally set Harry back down on the floor. “How did you get away from them anyway?”

“Magic,” Harry replied dryly.

Robert looked at him strangely for a moment before letting out a chuckle. “Good to know that your father’s grimness didn’t pass down to you. Stannis never did like joking around, nor would he ever dare crack a joke to the King.”

“Harry here actually helped me to kill Maron,” Eddard continued. “Snuck right in and stabbed the lad in the side, giving me the distraction I needed to finish him off.”

“And a warrior to boot too!” Robert exclaimed jovially. “You ought to come back with us to King’s Landing, meet your cousins and teach them a thing or two about being a proper young man. Did anyone offer you ale? You ought to have a drink after your first kill.”

“It wasn’t my kill,” Harry protested lightly.

“It’s as good as, but you’re right,” Robert agreed. “Still, no reason not to have a cup after what you’ve been through. Does your father ever let you drink?”

“No,” Harry answered.

“Then you’ll just have to tell him that your King commanded you to do it,” Robert said conspiratorially. “Now, someone get us some bloody ale!”

Servants rushed forward to comply with the King’s command. Harry found himself with a cup being thrust into his hands. Eddard, Patrek, and the King each received one of their own as well.

“To slaying the kraken!” Robert cheered loudly before downing his ale like a man who’d gone without anything to drink for weeks.

Harry took a sip of the dark liquid. The sour, herbal, yeasty flavour of the drink made the back of Harry’s throat sting. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant, but it was quite different to anything he’d ever had before. He coughed as he swallowed the drink down, making Robert laugh yet again.

“That’s it,” he said encouragingly. “Next, we’ll have to get you to try a proper wine.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be trying to get your nephew drunk quite yet,” Eddard said, ever the voice of reason.

“Come on, Ned,” Robert insisted. “How many more years will I have to go without seeing him again? We need to make the most of this.”

Thankfully, before Harry could find himself surrounded by more alcoholic drinks than he could imagine, the doors to the Great Hall opened up again. Two more Kingsguard came into the room, dragging Balon Greyjoy between them. The man’s armour had been stripped from his body, leaving him in his sweaty under-armour clothes. He had an indignant look of fury on his face as he glared up at King Robert and everyone else who was there.

“King Balon,” Robert said mockingly. “It’s time for you to bend the knee once again. My brother smashed your fleet, and your army is in disarray. The other islands in your domain will fall swiftly. If you wish for any degree of mercy, you’d be wise to remember your place and kneel before me.”

Balon spat on the floor in front of him, causing one of the Kingsguard to smash the pommel of his blade against the back of Balon’s head. Robert waved them off, and the two Kingsguard let Balon drop to the cold stone floor and took a couple steps back. They sheathed their blades but kept their hands on their hilts just in case they needed to be drawn quickly.

“I won my crown through salt and blood,” Balon snapped.

“And you think I didn’t?” Robert retorted. “Maybe I’ll win your crown from you with your blood spilt over the floors of your own halls. You can join your son’s if you wish.”

It was like a gut punch to an already broken man. “Maron?” Balon asked, his voice utterly devoid of any emotion within it whatsoever.

Robert nodded. “Ned and Harry here took him down.”

Suddenly, all of Balon’s hatred towards the King seemed to be redirected towards the two of them instead. It was visceral and reminded Harry terribly of the promise of violence he had once seen in Voldemort’s eyes.

“We have his other children, your Grace,” one of the Kingsguard announced. “A boy and a girl.”

“Bring them in,” Robert commanded.

In short order, the two children were brought inside the Great Hall. The boy looked to be about Harry’s age, maybe a year or two older, while the girl was a bit older than that. The boy looked scared being surrounded by all of these armoured knights, but the girl had a defiant look in her eyes as she was brought forward.

“The children don’t need to see this,” Eddard protested.

“Yes, they do,” Robert argued back. “His whole family needs to understand the way of things.”

The children were brought right up to the group and held in place as they watched their father stagger to his feet. The boy struggled against his captor’s bonds, wishing to rush to his father’s side. The girl was glaring daggers at everyone else in the room.

“You have two choices, Greyjoy,” Robert told Balon. “You can bend the knee and call upon all of the houses in the Iron Islands to do the same or I can have you executed for treason.”

“Not man enough to face me in one-on-one combat?” Balon asked challengingly.

“Is that what you want?” Robert said as he took a step forward towards the man.

Harry knew that it would be no contest. Robert was tall and strong while Balon looked frail and tired. One blow from the King’s mighty warhammer and Balon’s chest would collapse inward. He’d lie bleeding to death in front of his own children, and no one would be able to save him. He could tell that Balon knew it too. The man was trying to save face in any way he could, but it was too late for that. He could’ve surrendered long ago and saved this humiliation.

“Bend the knee,” Robert told him again. “Or I’ll give you the swift death you seem to crave.”

Balon looked over at his children for just the briefest second before looking away again. He feared the shame he’d see in their eyes if he did what he was considering.

“Will we live if I surrender?” Balon asked, his voice gravely and defeated.

“Yes,” Robert agreed. “So long as you call upon your bannermen to follow suit. There will also be some other conditions.”

“Which are?” Balon asked.

“First, your son here will be taken in and fostered by Ned here,” Robert declared. “He will raise your son until he comes of age so that he can teach him to be a proper man.”

Eddard looked surprised at that. Evidently, this hadn’t been something that they’d discussed beforehand, but he wasn’t the type of man to refuse a King’s command so openly like this.

“And second,” Robert continued, his eyes flickering to the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Your brother, Euron, is to be named a traitor to the realm. Should he ever return to the Iron Islands, he is to be taken prisoner and sent to King’s Landing to see justice for what he has done to my nephew.”

Not only had Harry helped take away Maron, Balon’s second son, he was now indirectly taking away his brother too. The hate Balon must have felt for him was intense.

“Is that all?” Balon asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes, that’s all,” Robert answered. “Now, what is your decision?”

It looked like the weight of a hundred men was upon Balon’s back as he slowly knelt before the King.

PAGE BREAK

Ten days later, the Fury came to anchor off the coast of Pyke. A boat met the ship and then returned to shore as swiftly as the four men aboard the vessel could row it. One man mounted a horse that had been prepared for him and rode into the dwindling horde of tents erected outside of the castle of Pyke, searching for the King’s tent.

Harry donned a dulled longsword and danced back and forth as King Robert took playful swings at him with a dulled longsword of his own. Harry battered away the King’s strikes, enjoying the first practice with a blade he’d had since before he was captured. The King clearly wasn’t as skilled with a blade as he was with a warhammer, but he was still much better than Harry was. Harry didn’t have the strength in his arms to do more than just barely move the point of the King’s sword just past his frame to avoid being hit. And the King was surprisingly quick for a man as tall and strong as him. He was able to batter away Harry’s strikes with barely a flick of his wrist.

Kingsguard stood watch, offering Harry pointers every now and then, as did the King. It’d been like this for several days now. After peace fell upon the island, Eddard was the first to leave with his new ward. That left Harry alone with the King until Stannis returned. Although it wasn’t quite the same as real fighting, Harry and Robert did find a common kinship in enjoying practising for a real fight.

Now, more than ever, Harry understood the realities of this world. He didn’t wish to enact violence upon anyone, but sometimes it was unavoidable. He needed to be prepared for the next time a fight came his way. He needed to be able to defend himself without relying upon magic.

The flaps to the tent burst open as Stannis came charging in. He looked more frantic than Harry had ever seen him before in his life, but that all faded away into relief when he saw Harry. He didn’t even seem to notice the scar on his forehead as he charged forward, dropped to his knees, and wrapped Harry up in the warmest hug the man had ever given him.

He might not have truly been Harry’s real father, but in that moment, it was like he was.

“I’m so sorry,” Stannis whispered into Harry’s ear, his voice thick with emotion.

Harry knew that nothing he could say would ease the guilt that Stannis felt. He was a man who truly felt the weight of his responsibilities and took them seriously. Even when something happened that was out of his control, he still shouldered it like it was.

So, Harry returned the man’s embrace, offering him the love and warmth that only touch could.