GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag

Bam!

Victarion knew he couldn't face Robert's strength directly, so he dared not to block the hammer with his shield. Instead, he tried to sidestep or dodge as best he could.

Woosh!

Robert ignored the small flesh wounds that landed on him. His arms, back, or chest, no matter where he bled, it didn't matter. So battle-crazed, all he saw was the Greyjoy before him.

Bam!

He struck downward strikes again and again, swinging the warhammer like a weightless toy.

Bam!

No Ironborn came close to them anymore, fearing Robert's deadly strikes.

"Stop jumping around and fight like a man!" Robert bellowed and changed his stance abruptly. A stance that Robert Baratheon never used. This was the combination of two memories and experiences in one body. "Take this!"

Woosh!

Robert faked a strike, and just as his hammer fell midway down, he changed the direction and pivoted his entire body sideways as if it were a swordplay.

Bam!

A metallic thud resounded.

The hammer finally connected on Victarion's waist, his armor thin on that part.

With such force, Greyjoy's body was pushed with the Hammer, and in no time, he landed on the muddy ground beneath.

"THIS IS THE END!" Robert raised his hammer high to crush Victarion's chest. "This is—"

Squelch!

Victarion suddenly jabbed a small dagger into Robert's thigh.

"King's Justice!" Robert didn't even flinch and landed a blow so powerful and so devastating that the entire battlefield froze momentarily.

BAM!

SPLASH!

Victarion's head vanished from sight, squashed into a pulp of distorted mess of bones, brain matter, meat, and blood. The hammer had landed right in the middle of the face.

"Haaaa!" Robert dragged his hammer out of the messy, broken skull in a way that the entire head came off of the body. "LEAVE NONE ALIVE!"

At Rober's raised hammer, his soldiers roared in unison and became more frantic with their attacks. There was no need to accept surrender, only death was the King's command. It was even easier as the Ironborn were shaken by their commander's gruesome death. They wanted to escape and return to their ships.

"Follow them!" Robert ordered. "They've got nowhere to run!"

It was not easy to clean up the battlefield. There were so many hidden corners and places to hide in the ruined castle that hours passed and the cries and clanks of swords still echoed. Every inch of the place had to be searched to wipe out the Ironborn.

Of course, some chose to jump into the Fever River to escape, but how far could they go with the water so cold? The ships that the Ironborn had brought were also seized by Robert's men. Perhaps the biggest spoil was the flagship of the Iron Fleet—Iron Victory.

Noon went by, and late evening arrived. By then, most of the battle had ended, and bodies were being gathered to assess the deaths. Quick food was cooked for the men, and small groups were made to patrol the entire Moat Cailin and areas nearby to catch any Ironborn who slipped by.

"Your Grace, we lost three hundred men." Ser Barristan reported inside the only tower at Moat Cailin that was left standing straight and retained some of the walls around it. Robert had housed himself inside one of its large chambers. "A thousand injured, but they'll recover."

Three hundred. Robert sighed inside. It was a large number, but considering their army had swelled up to almost thirty thousand, it didn't seem that much. I'll honor their names later.

"Write their names. I won't have them be forgotten," Robert commanded and joined his Kingsguard for the meal in a large hall. He didn't bother to clean up yet since the bleeding had already stopped, and he was famished. "Have the men rest in turns. We still have Winterfell to take."

Although the battle was chaotic, the men in the hall seemed more energetic than tired. They had won a significant battle that was topographically against them. Despite the lower number of Ironborn, they suffered a lot.

"What's going on there?" Robert noticed increased chatter at the entrance just then.

"Your Grace!" A Kingsguard came running in. "Men from White Harbor arrived. Lord Manderly sent them."

"For what?"

"They bring food and wine."

Robert looked at Ser Barristan seriously. "Check the food and wine before consuming. I don't want any more surprises."

"Your Grace," the Kingsguard tried to speak further, "Lord Manderly's two daughters also came with the men. They seek an audience with you."

"His daughters?" Robert frowned, a thought forming in his head. "Let them in."

Why? To win me over? They're all too predictable.

Soon enough, two women clad in fine robes and fur cloaks entered the large hall. Eyes of all the men fell on them, plenty of heated and curious gazes combined. But none dared to say anything vile for they feared the King as much as they respected.

They're young. Robert saw the two walk closer to his table at the end of the hall. One of the girls had dyed green hair, and her manner of walking reminded him of Lyanna—brave and free-spirited. Meanwhile, the brown-haired one appeared more noble and gathered, her age visibly more than the other.

"Thank you for seeing us, Your Grace. I'm Wynafryd Manderly." The brown-haired girl introduced herself softly as he raised the hem of her robes a little and curtsied. "This is my younger sister, Wylla Manderly. We bring urgent word from our Grandfather."

Robert sized them up, guessing their age. They were youthful, charming, and sweet, visibly the opposite of his rugged looks. Perhaps I'm mistaken.

"Have you had supper, ladies?"

The two shook their heads.

"Then join me." Robert gestured for Ser Barristan to make some space and get the accompanying servants to bring food. "Have a seat."

Quickly, the elder of the two, Wynafryd took the chair right beside Robert, seemingly unaffected by the King's bloody appearance as his tunic remained drenched from the battle. She quickly took out a folded parchment and handed it to Robert.

Robert took it and read it right away. While he expected words such as, Please, if one of them fancies you, consider uniting our two great houses in a holy union.

But instead, what he got was.

I, Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor and Warden of the White Knife, write to you with tidings that may prove of interest. My ships sail far and wide, and in their journeys, they bring whispers from every corner of Westeros. Of late, I have received troubling news—half the Lannister fleet has vanished, and their patrols around Lannisport have thinned to a concerning degree. What causes this, I cannot say, but I deem it a matter worthy of your attention.

Along with this missive, I send my granddaughters, dear to me as my own heart. They have long desired to see the King, and I ask, with all the humility of a loyal servant, that you grant them an audience—Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor.

Robert folded the letter and handed it to Ser Barristan to read. At the same time, he pondered what Tywin was planning now. Half of his fleet? Have I hurt his pride so much that he'd join hands with the Ironborn?

"I will see to it that the patrols are strengthened," Ser Barristan spoke, folding the missive with care. "We should leave no less than five thousand to hold Moat Cailin. Without it, we have no way in or out of the North."

"Agreed." Robert felt his intuitions warning him. But he had to march for Winterfell quickly. "Go and make preparations. I'll keep them company."

Slowly, the hall started to return to silence as men returned to their duties. Robert ate with the two Manderly girls, keeping them entertained by replying to all their questions. Apparently, they were interested in learning about his battles.

"You traveled here just to hear about my battles?" Robert asked them directly when they finished their meals. "It was a dangerous decision, my ladies."

"No!" Wynafryd straightened her back quickly. "We… Can we speak somewhere else, Your Grace?"

I was right, wasn't I? Robert still didn't remove the possibility of them trying to woo him.

"Follow me." He rose with a grunt, not wanting to make a fool of himself or the two Manderly sisters following behind. He made his way toward his chamber, a grim, cold stone room. As he entered, he sat down before a large, dirty mirror with a bucket of water and clean cloth already set there. "Don't mind me. I have wounds to tend to."

Robert removed all his clothes except for the breeches and busied himself with wiping his wounds while the two girls stood inside the closed entrance door, peeking into the delipidated, barely regal chamber in the Moat Cailin castle. He felt their gazes on his rugged body, and that was what he wanted. To kill their idea of the 'dreamy' King.

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