The Stag Temporarily Avoided the Edge; the First Phase of the War Ended in a Great Victory

The wind howled endlessly around Pyke.

Robert Baratheon sat inside the tent.

The brazier burned fiercely, yet he still felt cold.

He clutched a wine cup in his hand. The red wine inside had already been drained.

"Wine!"

Robert Baratheon roared and smashed the cup viciously onto the table.

The cup bent out of shape with a dull clang.

"Damn it! Where the hell has everyone gone?"

"Pour the king some wine!"

The attendant emerged trembling from the darkness, his hands shaking as he held the wine jug.

Eddard Stark sat to one side.

"Stop drinking, Robert."

His voice was low.

"You need to stay clearheaded."

"Clearheaded?" Robert Baratheon sneered.

"Am I still king!?"

Robert Baratheon snatched the cup the attendant had filled and threw back a huge gulp.

Red wine ran down through his thick beard.

It dripped onto his already stained doublet.

News of disastrous defeats came one after another. Not a single report offered even the slightest comfort.

Eddard Stark turned around.

He looked at the brother he had grown up with.

His eyes were filled with worry and pain.

Balon Greyjoy had clearly sensed something by now. He seemed to know what had happened on the mainland.

He refused to open the gates and bend the knee, instead making outrageous demands.

Just then, the tent flap was pulled open.

Ser Barristan Selmy entered.

His expression was grim.

Extremely grim.

"Well?" Robert Baratheon sat in his chair, holding his cup as he looked over.

"What did that old squid say?!"

Barristan Selmy fell silent for a moment.

"Balon Greyjoy clearly knows what has happened on the mainland."

"He knows the state of the war on the mainland."

"He knows of the royal army's crushing defeat."

"And he also knows... our current predicament."

"So?" Robert Baratheon took another