291 AC – Pyke – The Siege
The siege of Pyke was impetuous and brutal.
Siege towers rolled forward on the narrow causeway, shielded by mantlets. Ladders rose against the cliffs. Grapples flew over the walls. The Ironborn defenders heavily undermanned, exhausted, but still defiant fought until their last breaths.
But the royal forces were too many. The pounding of war drums echoed over the surf, and the banners of stag, lion, and wolf pressed in ever closer. Even the sea, the Ironborn's oldest ally, offered no escape the fleet blocked every route, and the waves were choked with shattered hulls and corpses.
One of the main watchtowers took a direct hit from a catapult stone. The tower shuddered and then collapsed inward with a thunderous roar. Stone and timber crashed down on the defenders below. Among them was Maron Greyjoy, Balon's second son. He was crushed beneath the falling tower before he could even scream. Shouts of horror and rage rose from the Ironborn, but their line was broken.
The breach was made.
The royal banners surged forward, and the defenders fell back desperately.
The first man across the bridge was Thoros of Myr, his flaming sword in hand as he charged without looking back. Ironborn warriors that stood in his way were cut through by Thoros, his blade leaving trails of burning flesh.
Behind him came Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, wielding his longsword with deadly precision. Each swing carved a path through the defenders, each step pressed the attack forward. When an Ironborn barred his path, Jorah met him shield-to-shield, then drove his blade through the man's throat.
The bridge was taken.
Even inside the castle the Ironborn refused to surrender. Close-quarter fighting raged through narrow halls and leaning towers with knives in the dark, men dying on stairs and in doorways.
Balon Greyjoy watched it all from with pale face and his hands clenched on the stone.
He saw the crowned stag banner rise over the Great Keep.
He saw his last defenders cut down.
He saw the cost hundreds dead, perhaps thousands across all the isles and realized his cause was lost.
He descended to the great hall.
Robert and Ned entered together with their cloaks stained and faces grim with battle-rage and exhaustion.
Balon stood in the center of the hall, unarmed, head high.
He knelt.
"I yield," he said, voice hoarse. "I swear fealty to the Iron Throne."
Stannis stepped forward, sword still drawn.
"Put him to the sword," he said coldly. "Treachery demands death."
Ned's head turned to Robert as he said in a calm voice.
"Spare him," he said. "The realm has bled enough."
Robert looked down at Balon on his knees, so easily defeated, so quickly broken. He had imagined this moment a hundred ways his hammer crushing Balon's skull but the man before him decided to kneel like a coward.
Robert clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.
Then he swung.
The warhammer struck Balon's right arm with a sickening crunch. Bone shattered, the limb hung useless, mangled beyond repair.
Balon screamed and collapsed sideways, clutching the ruined arm. The sound echoed through the ruined hall.
Ned started forward. "Robert stop! Don't you see he's already on his knees? Why would you do that?"
Robert turned his head slowly, eyes blazing.
"He's a traitor who thought he could oppose me," he said, with his voice dangerously low. "And not only that his people nearly took my son. Tell me, Ned what would you do if Robb was attacked by them, tell me?"
Ned's jaw clenched but he said nothing.
Stannis's mouth curved in a satisfied smirk.
Robert looked down at Balon, still writhing on the floor.
"You keep your head," he said coldly. "And your lordship for now, but your son Theon comes with us. He'll be raised in Winterfell If you ever lift a finger against the crown again, Ned will take his head. Do you understand?"
Balon nodded, tears and blood mixing on his face.
The rebellion was over.
The proud Iron Fleet was destroyed. Two of Balon's oldest sons Rodrik and Maron were dead. Theon Greyjoy, only ten, was taken as a hostage and ward of House Stark. Should Balon ever challenge the Iron Throne again, the boy's head would be the price.
Lannisport – The Return
When the royal fleet returned to Lannisport, the docks were lined with cheering crowds. Banners flew high. The city still bore the scars of the Ironborn attack, but the people celebrated anyway.
Robert spotted Lyonel waiting at the head of the quay, standing next to Tyrion.
He strode down the gangplank without ceremony.
Lyonel stepped forward.
Robert pulled him into a hard hug.
"See?" Robert said, with rough but warm voice. "I'm back and not even a single scratch. As I promised."
Lyonel nodded against his father's armor.
They walked back toward Casterly Rock together, Robert's arm around Lyonel's shoulders. As they went, Robert began to tell him all about his victory with his loud and boastful voice .
"I crushed him, boy. Balon Greyjoy thought he could call himself king. I put him on his knees and broke his arm with my own hammer. He begged for his life like a whipped dog. And his fleet? Stannis burned it to cinders. Lordsport? We burned it to ash. The Ironborn will remember this for a thousand years."
Lyonel listened, smiling quietly.
Robert laughed a deep, booming sound that echoed across the quay.
"I should've held a tourney right there on Pyke," he said. "Celebrated on the ruins. But we'll do it here. A great tourney in Lannisport. The realm will see what happens when you defy the king."
He looked down at Lyonel, eyes bright.
"And you'll watch from the royal box with me son. You'll see how a king celebrates his victory."
Lyonel smiled and replied. "Yes, Father, I'd like that"
They walked on king and prince, father and son toward Casterly Rock, with the cheers of the city ringing behind them.
The Greyjoy Rebellion was over.
The Ironborn were broken.
And Robert Baratheon reign was solidified even more now.