Game of Dragonborn.

Chapter 147 - Taking Barrowton.

[Chapter Size: 2100 Words.]

Third Person POV.
North.

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It was in the middle of the night that the battle finally calmed down.
The men at Daemon's side began shouting over the bodies, both of fallen comrades and enemies, who were the majority of the dead.

They continued to exclaim and celebrate. The storm had finally calmed, and the flames now burned more fiercely, no longer extinguished by the rain.

Daemon stood beside Ghost, with Dark­sister in his bloodied hand. He had entered the battle near its end, watching the scene before him with satisfaction.

His gaze fell upon the castle, where many men of House Dustin were staring in surprise at what had happened this night without warning. There were many soldiers holding torches atop the walls.

Only a few ironborn had managed to escape, boarding their ships and fleeing, but most of the ships remained trapped along the shore, which Daemon had ordered to be kept, as they would soon be used.

Daemon turned to the men approaching him, seeking guidance.

"Let's set up a tent to discuss tonight's victory," Daemon demanded of his men, while Lord Tallhart relayed the king's order to erect the command tent.

As the men began shouting and celebrating their victory amidst mud and blood, Daemon entered the tent once it was raised, his men following shortly after—those within the small group of commanders.

"We don't yet know how many men we've lost. We'll figure that out once we've rested. For now, I want a camp set up for our men to rest, away from where the storm hit. We'll return here tomorrow."

"Your Majesty, couldn't Lady Dustin... she offered us a place in the castle?" Grey Cerwyn's youthful voice murmured from one side of the table.

"That woman is a viper," Benfred growled from the other side.

"Lord Tallhart is right, Lord Cerwyn," Daemon began. "There are signs that the Dustin men took part in the Red Wedding and are aligned with the Boltons, returning to the North. She already sees us as enemies, so don't expect any kindness from that woman."

Daemon said this knowing well that she hated the Starks—and likely him too. Even if she begged for forgiveness on her knees, he wouldn't grow sympathetic to her, being someone who betrayed her former lord.

"So are we going to take down that castle?" a free folk man asked.

"Yes. But we'll do it tomorrow," Daemon said. His men needed rest—they had fought all night and would need to prepare for battle. He would give them that privilege, not to mention that he still had to negotiate with the Dustin men.

It was at that moment that Val entered the tent, her armor soaked in blood. Daemon's attention was immediately drawn to the sword she held, sheathed.

"I see you defeated Lord Harlaw in battle and took Nightfall..." Daemon remarked, noting the eyes turning to the blonde. She removed her helmet and nodded, drawing the sword to show it.

"I brought the bastard down. I figured this would interest you, Daemon, so I took it," she said.

Daemon smiled.

"You don't need to hand it over. That sword will be useful in your hands. I want you to wield it, so our enemies see and respect your skill," Daemon said.

Val nodded, a bit surprised, but didn't argue and sheathed the sword.

There were envious glances from the northern lords present—after all, a Valyrian steel sword was a coveted prize. But no one said anything—for obvious reasons.