It was on the morrow that Stannis Baratheon arrived, his fleet victorious and his pride steely after shattering the Iron Fleet with his superior strategy.

Yet, as he had grimly expected, he received neither praise nor consideration for his triumph from the King.

To Robert, the victory was a foregone conclusion; in his mind, no Kraken could ever hope to defeat the Stag.

The King was far more interested in the strategic gathering of the High Lords to discuss the invasion of the Iron Islands itself.

The war council saw Robert at the head of the table, with Ned by his side. Stannis, Jason Mallister, the Kingsguard, Ra, and other prominent lords surrounded the map.

“Have the siege engines been boarded?” Robert asked his war council, his voice booming in the confined space.

He received affirmative responses from both Stannis and Lord Mallister.

“To Pyke, then!” Robert announced, planting his hands on the table to rise.

“Your Grace,” Stannis interrupted him before he could fully stand.

Robert frowned in dissatisfaction, though the expression vanished at his brother’s next words.

“Now that we are sailing to crush the rebellion, I beseech you that we give the Ironborn not just a scar, but a wound deep enough they will feel it for the rest of their existence,” Stannis added, his voice hard as iron.

He moved toward the detailed map of the islands laid out before them. “Allow me leave to lead an assault on Great Wyk.”

His answer was a raucous laugh from Robert.

“We cannot make Old Wyk feel like the neglected child, now can we?” Robert asked with a wide grin before turning to Ser Barristan Selmy. “While my brother sails to Great Wyk, I shall grant you a portion of our fleet to bring Old Wyk to heel.”

“As you will, Your Grace,” the old knight answered, kneeling before his King.

Stannis had received his orders, so he gave a curt, stiff nod before turning on his heel to leave the tent the next moment. Robert stood up and placed a heavy hand on Ned’s shoulder.

“We sail together, Ned. Just like the old days,” Robert said before giving Jason Mallister the order to ready the ships he would be leading.

Ned only nodded and did not speak, for a greater worry weighed on his mind. He had known Robert for a long time, and by now he had deduced a singular, troubling truth about his oldest friend.

Robert was happy the Ironborn had rebelled. It was not because he wished to bring justice to the lawless reavers, but because he needed war to feel alive.

Ned sighed, shaking those dark thoughts from his head as he boarded the massive war galley beside the King.

It was later, when they were standing on the deck of the ship, that Robert noticed a small figure standing beside Jorah and Ra.

“Who might you be, little lady?” he asked Alysane.

The girl looked to the side in surprise, only figuring the King was addressing her when she saw him looking directly at her.

“Alysane Mormont, Your Grace,” she answered with a polite bow.

“Hm? I heard Ra had taken a Mormont girl for a ward. I did not expect him to take you to war at such a young age,” Robert mused, shooting a raised eyebrow toward the Custodian.

“The girl is a willful one, Your Grace. She would have stolen a horse and joined us even if Ra had bound her to a tree,” Ned answered with a weary chuckle.

“Should have taught her right then, Custodian. War is no place for a girl her age,” Robert told Ra with a dismissive scoff.

Alysane frowned at the King’s words. She looked back to her teacher, only to see Ra give a small shrug at the King’s words, his expression unreadable behind his visor.

“She is a fierce warrior,” Ra answered calmly, turning to Jorah to continue their conversation.

“Is she?” Robert interrupted, his interest piqued.

“Shall we test it then?” He muttered before shouting across the deck. “Kingslayer!”

Jaime Lannister turned at the summons.

“Your Grace?” Jaime asked after reaching Robert.

“Spar with the girl. We shall see if she is fit for war,” Robert ordered, a smirk playing on his lips.

“She is but a girl, Your Grace,” Jaime protested, his expression one of shock.

“And you are the Kingslayer. Do not pretend to know honor,” Robert shot back, his glare sharp and cold.

Jaime lowered his head and gritted his teeth. He opened his mouth, intending to deny the King’s request regardless of the insult.

“It would be an honor to spar with you, Ser Jaime. My teacher praises your skill with the sword,” Alysane interrupted, stepping forward.

Jaime could only look at the girl with a helpless expression; she had left him no choice with her words.

Robert had the sense to order most of the lords to leave the deck, ignoring Ned’s protests to stop the madness.

He allowed only Jorah, Ra, Ned, Jaime, and Alysane to remain.

“Damn you, Ned. Cease the protest or leave if you cannot stomach it,” Robert snapped when the Lord of Winterfell objected again.

Ned was about to turn away when he felt a golden metal hand rest lightly on his shoulder. He looked up at Ra and sighed before leaning back against the railing.

The spar was short, swift, and enlightening.

Jaime had started by going easy on the girl, a mistake he regretted immediately when she slipped inside his guard and pushed him back without even using her weapon.

Her speed, strength, and technique surprised him, matching him blow for blow once he began taking the bout seriously.

Even though Jaime won in the end by exploiting the smallest of slips on her part to place his blade at her throat, he did not consider it a victory. A girl half his size and age had forced him to exert himself fully.

He looked toward Robert, certain his expression of disbelief matched the King’s own.

Their gazes turned to Ra, who was already by the girl’s side, offering encouragement and advice on the spar she had just concluded.

Jaime was pulled from his reverie when a hand clapped onto his shoulder. It belonged to Jorah Mormont. The man did not speak.

He just gave a short, respectful nod before walking over to his niece to praise her for her skill.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep