With the aid of House Stern, House Frost, and House Ice-Dragon, the Northern army seized Abyss Keep from the Rock King. Upon reclaiming this stronghold, Eddard Stark ordered his men to remain vigilant and intensify patrols.
Seeking to rescue the Ironborn blacksmiths and shipwrights imprisoned within Abyss Keep, the feared Iron Banshee, Helen Pyke, led her band of Ironborn raiders up the Abyss River in the cover of a torrential downpour, hoping to breach the fortress through a side entrance.
Some Northern soldiers guarded the caverns at the base of Abyss Keep, which had been used by the Ironborn as a shipyard. Helen Pyke and her raiders slew the Northern sentries, but their attack drew more Northern reinforcements.
Eddard Stark arrived at the shipyard caverns alongside Jon Snow, Domeric Bolton, and Theon Greyjoy. They found the Braavosi Water Dancer, Syrio Forel, leading a contingent of Northern soldiers in battle against the Ironborn. Without hesitation, Eddard charged into the fray with his companions and his Winterfell guards.
Helen Pyke wielded her sword with deadly precision, cutting down a stout Umber warrior before driving a dagger into the chest of a Seaworth soldier. Amidst the pouring rain, she became a specter of death.
The Ironborn fought fiercely, emboldened by the scent of sea salt in the air and the roar of distant waves. They believed the Drowned God's power was strong here, that if they fell in battle, they would feast forever in his watery halls.
Yet, for all their ferocity, they could not withstand the endless tide of Northern warriors. Billy Stern led a force of Driftwood Hall rock warriors into the fight, turning the tide further against the Ironborn. One by one, the raiders fell, their blood mixing with the rainwater.
As time passed, the Ironborn found themselves driven back, forced toward the riverbank of the Abyss.
Helen Pyke watched as her men, loyal warriors who had followed her from the Iron Islands and the Stepstones, fell before her eyes. Desperation gripped her heart.
Soaked to the bone, she pulled a throwing axe from her belt and hurled it, striking a White Harbor soldier square in the face. But before she could draw another weapon, a shadow flickered before her—silent, deadly.
Syrio Forel, once the First Sword of Braavos, stood before her, his thin blade glistening. He had already cut down several of her men, and now he turned his full attention to her.
Helen Pyke lunged with her longsword, aiming for his chest. Syrio slipped aside like an eel, his blade darting like a serpent. She struggled to keep up, steel ringing in the storm.
The muddy ground and torrential rain favored Syrio's nimbleness. Helen Pyke grew weary, her movements sluggish. Then, with a swift kick, Syrio sent her sprawling into the mud.
As she wiped the filth from her eyes, she felt the point of his sword pressing against her heart.
"Surrender or die?"
Helen Pyke let out a breath and dropped her sword. Syrio swiftly relieved her of her weapons.
"The Iron Banshee has surrendered!" he called. "Will the rest of you still resist?"
Greatjon Umber and his men blocked the path to the sea, cutting off the raiders' escape. Seeing Helen Pyke captured, Terence Pyke and the remaining Ironborn threw down their weapons in surrender.
Eddard Stark stepped toward Helen, scrutinizing her. "So, you're the infamous Iron Banshee? I expected you to flee."
Helen Pyke met his gaze. "The Ironborn blacksmiths and shipwrights you captured are my kin. I planned to free them and escape. I failed."
Theon smirked. "You've got some nerve, woman. Did you really think a few hundred raiders could storm Abyss Keep and rescue them?"
Helen's sharp eyes flicked to the kraken sigil on Theon's armor. "You're a Greyjoy? You must be Theon Greyjoy. I heard Balon sent a son to Winterfell as a hostage."
"As a ward!" Theon's grin vanished.
Helen shrugged. "Hostage, ward, same difference." Then she turned to Eddard. "Are my blacksmiths and shipwrights still alive?"
Eddard nodded. "They live. They are held in the dungeons."
A relieved smile crossed Helen's face. "As long as they live, that is enough. Spare my men, and I will take responsibility for my crimes. I will bend the knee."
Her willingness to submit took Eddard by surprise.
Greatjon scowled. "Bend the knee? You pillaged the Northern coast, slaughtered hundreds, and took women and children as thralls! Kneeling won't save you!"
Theon sneered. "Ironborn don't kneel. Where's your spine, Banshee? Die with honor! The Drowned God's hall awaits!"
Helen gave a wicked smile. "Oh, I thought of dying gloriously. But then I remembered Balon Greyjoy—your great father. The mighty Lord of the Iron Islands, leader of reavers, who bent the knee to King Robert after the Greyjoy Rebellion. If the Great Kraken could kneel, why not the Iron Banshee?"
Theon's face darkened. Domeric Bolton chuckled. "She struck a nerve, Theon."
Theon scoffed. "The Ironborn are forbidden from raiding the Seven Kingdoms. Yet this woman plundered our coasts, incited Samro Crowl to declare himself king, and ignited the Rockborn rebellion. By Northern and Ironborn law, she must die."
"My lord," Theon turned to Eddard. "I suggest executing the Iron Banshee at once. Then send her body to the Iron Islands—let every reaver see what happens to those who defy the North."
Helen remained unfazed. "I do not fear death. But the world's oceans still call to me. And my brothers—my people—still need me. Lord Stark, spare me, and I will fight for the North. My blacksmiths will forge armor and weapons for Winterfell. My shipwrights will build you longships. My raiders will sail under your banner."
Eddard considered her words for a long moment. "Lock her and her men in the dungeons. Whether they live or die depends on their actions."
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