Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 51: I Know What You Did

—The North—

At Moat Cailin...

"Good, now try to flex your fingers for just a moment, Your Grace," Talisa implored.

Daveth sat on the edge of his makeshift bed inside his command tent, his right arm stretched out as he moved his fingers in and out of his palm. It had been several days since the combined forces drove the ironborn out of Moat Cailin, a major victory despite sustaining such heavy losses. Per Talisa's medical advice, he had been taking it easy and wore light clothing to give himself a chance to heal. She observed his digits curling and releasing before he eventually laid his arm down.

"Hmm. If you were someone else, I would have said that you'd probably never use that arm again."

"And now?"

Talisa examined Daveth's shoulder more closely, dabbing a small dose of medical ointment as she changed his bandages. "You are not like any other man I've met, Your Grace. Give yourself another week, and you'll be swinging your sword again in no time. But for now, I'd advise you not to overextend yourself again and give your body a chance to heal. Otherwise, your stitches will rip open and your wounds will become infected. I'll be forced to amputate."

"Well, I suppose it's for the best that sort of scenario does not occur anytime soon now, should it?"

"No, it should not." She stood up and moved to exit the tent, before looking back over her shoulder. "I'll be back to check up on you soon, Your Grace. And remember what I said, you hear?"

Daveth nodded as Talisa curtsied and left to tend to her other patients. He slowly stood up from his bed, elevating one side of his body to avoid applying too much pressure on the other as he went to dress himself. Slowly easing his arms through each sleeve of his shirt and buttoning his leather vest, he heard footsteps through the grass approaching and turned to see his uncle standing guard. "Somehow I knew you'd stop by, uncle."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "And somehow I shouldn't be surprised to see you up and walking about after enduring such a battle, nephew," he retorted whimsically. "You never were the kind of lad to sit around forever."

"With so much at stake? How could I not?"

"I've been meaning to discuss what happened earlier. I advised you not to go after Victarion Greyjoy alone, even with Stark and his pet backing you up. Yet you did it anyway. Although the battle was indeed a successful one, everyone saw you passing out in the middle of a wet, muddy field. Why?"

"You once told me that a good commander must remain level-headed and composed, even in the direst of circumstances. Anything else was a distraction. If I overextended myself too far, I'll lose more than we've gained. I was..."

"'You were...?'"

"I was angry. For eleven years, I was driven by my thirst for vengeance, to make those who've wronged me in the past suffer for it. So great was my rage that it blinded me to what I was slowly becoming."

"And what did you learn?"

The Young Stag slowly inhaled through his nostrils before exhaling; this was much harder for him to admit – but he had to try to explain. "I thought that if I handled everything on my own, shoulder every burden, endure so much hardship for as long as I could, I could prevent others around me from experiencing the same pain as I had. But such motivations make one arrogant. I know now that there are just some things I can't handle by myself."

Jaime stood and listened as his nephew explained what this journey for him has taught him; and the Golden Lion of Casterly Rock couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as his own nephew was beginning to understand what others around him had tried to advise him. That by letting go of the past and moving forward, Daveth would become an even greater King – perhaps more so than his Oathkeeper reputation. Regardless, he merely stood there and listened as his nephew resumed discussing his 'revelations'.