Westeros. Once a prosperous and peaceful continent, she was now torn asunder by civil war. Kings reigned in the North, the South, and beyond the Wall. For the men of the Iron Islands, such strife posed a unique opportunity. War in the East gave the Ironmen a chance to commence raiding and pillaging the Western coast once again. Even now, hundreds of ships sailed southeast, bound for the Shield Islands that guarded the ancient castle of Highgarden.
Victarion Greyjoy stood alone on the stern of his longship, the Iron Victory. To port, starboard, and astern of his vessel sailed ninety warships. Dozens more followed in their wake. A brisk easterly wind propelled the Iron Fleet on its voyage of conquest. A light fog had rolled in some time ago, limiting visibility of the horizon. Ahead of Victarion, a dozen men worked the longship's deck, keeping their vessel in order. The Iron Captain himself, clad in full plate armor, looked broodingly forward. The Iron Fleet had departed from Pyke three days prior, and not a single vessel had appeared on the horizon. Victarion found this disconcerting. Usually these waters were teaming with merchant ships, whalers, and fishermen. What had become of all the traffic?
"Captain," called Nute the Barber from the bow, "ship ahead to starboard, 'bout a hundred yards off. She's all alone."
Victarion strolled forward to investigate. The ship Nute had spotted was a monstrosity, at least twice the length of the Iron Victory, and indeed the largest ship Victarion had ever seen. She carried three masts and bowsprit, from which three dozen snowy white sails flew. The ship's figurehead portrayed a knight clad in silver plate armor. Her hull was painted black, with three broad, white stripes running horizontally along the ship's length. Within those stripes stood forty five hatches, all of them closed. Victarion couldn't say with certainty, but estimated that the mystery ship carried a crew of at least one hundred men. In her own way, she appeared elegant, even beautiful. But Victarion, a true Ironborn, saw a different beauty in her. The beauty of coin earned through battle. Gold gained by paying the iron price. Such a broad ship no doubt had equally broad cargo holds to match. What could she be carrying?
"By the Drowned God, she's huge," Nute said behind his captain. "Where do you think she's from, Captain?"
"It doesn't matter," Victarion growled. "That ship is in our way, and will soon belong to the ironmen. Now go. Ready the crew for battle."
While Nute sounded the alarm, Victarion noticed a banner being hoisted above the mystery ship's stern. The banner, wide as the Iron Victory's sail, displayed a blue cross on a golden field. It was a badge foreign to the Iron Captain. Perhaps foreign to all of Westeros. Who did it belong to? The Iron Captain knew of only one way to find out: battle.
Behind Victarion, his crew had assembled on deck in full battle gear. Every man wore chain or plate armor and carried at least one weapon. Victarion drew his personal war ax and unslung his shield. A golden kraken on a black field – the sigil of his house – adorned the Iron Captain's personal escutcheon.
"Ironmen," he shouted over the wind. "Ahead of us floats a mighty ship, laden down with riches of lands near and far. She's fat, slow, and vulnerable. I say we take her. What say you?!"
"Victarion!" the ironmen chanted. "Victarion!"
A rapid series of deafening booms silenced the crew. Projectiles whistled overhead, crashing into wooden hulls or splashing into the sea. Cries of agony came up from six nearby longships. One ship lost her mast, while her crew scrambled to ready their oars. Another was sinking rapidly, her hull sliding beneath the waves.
Startled, Victarion spun around to face the mystery ship. A cloud of smoke was billowing away from her hull. Through the haze, Victarion saw that the hatches lining the ship's hull were now open, and broad cylindrical tubes protruded from them. Just what were those weapons? No matter. Victarion would have them soon.
"What in the Drowned God's name was that?!" a frightened sailor cried.
"Must be magic," called another.
"Silence!" Victarion barked. Show some spine or I'll send you all to the Drowned God myself. Man your oars! We'll board that ship no matter the cost."
Victarion's crew rushed to carry out their captain's order. Every man took a seat at his bench and shipped his oar. One man stood aft and steadily beat a drum, keeping time for the rowers. Victarion remained at the bow of his vessel, shield in arm and fire in his eyes.
The mystery ship made a sharp turn to starboard, briefly exposing her stern to the Iron Fleet. Two jets of smoke appeared, followed by a pair of booming noises. A splash shot up astern of the Iron Victory. The second projectile crashed into a longship nearby, shattering its serpentine figurehead. A man aboard that same ship screamed in pain. Once again the mystery ship turned, this time swinging her bow to port. Her stern appeared again, closer this time. Close enough for Victarion to read the mystery vessel's name.
It read, in the Common Tongue, Revenge.
The Iron Victory closed to within ten yards of the colossal Revenge's port side. Slinging his shield and ax, Victarion put one boot up on the rail, ready to jump.
"Hard to starboard," he shouted while looking aft. "Boat port side oars. It's time to shed blood!"
With that, the Iron Captain leapt from his own ship and onto the hostile warship. He grabbed hold of the ladder embedded with the ship's hull, located roughly amidships. As Victarion climbed, a sailor overhead dropped an iron ball from the main deck. Victarion dodged the projectile and continued his ascent. The large cylindrical weapons fired again, momentarily deafening Victarion with their roar. He looked around for the Iron Victory. She was intact, he saw, but her sail was now dotted with holes. At last the Iron Captain heaved himself onto the hostile ship's main deck.
A dozen armed sailors in blue uniforms greeted him. They stood in a semicircle, surrounding Victarion. Each man aimed a spear at him. Or at least, they might've been spears, were it not for the long metal cylinders fixed to the weapons. Unfazed, the Iron Captain unslung his shield and ax, and then roared a challenge. He took a step forward…
"Fire!" someone shouted.
The "spears" all belched smoke and cracked like thunder. Victarion felt a dozen small projectiles strike him at once. He fell to his knees, dropping his ax. While the steel plates had saved his life, the Iron Captain noticed blood trickling down his right leg. It was clear that he'd been hit.
When Victarion tried to stand, an armored boot kicked him down. The Iron Captain ended up on his back. Over him stood a warrior, who also wore plate armor, but only around his chest and feet. Under the plate was a black tunic with matching trousers. A blue cross was emblazoned on his breastplate. He drew a smallsword, aiming its point at Victarion's head. The Iron Captain noticed that the warrior's sword was made of Valyrian steel. Such a blade would make a fine prize.
Victarion growled, stood, and tried to charge the warrior. But the warrior stepped aside, tripped the ironman, then stabbed his left thigh. Victarion grunted with the pain.
"Get this rubbish off my vessel," said the warrior.
"Aye Captain," a sailor replied.
Half a dozen men hoisted Victarion off the deck and threw the defeated Captain overboard.
Victarion landed hard on a longship's deck. His ax landed beside him, burying its blade into a bench. Several sailors looked his way, but didn't say a word. Victarion then realized that the ship he landed in wasn't his own vessel, but his brother Euron's ship, the Silence. The Silence was a ship crewed by mutes... and a king.
Euron Greyjoy knelt over his injured brother. His one good eye met Victarion's gaze.
"Welcome aboard, Victarion," said the King of the Iron Islands mockingly.
"Thanks," Victarion grunted.
"What's the matter? Too much ship for you to handle?"
Sitting up, Victarion returned his attention to the Revenge. Ships of the Iron Islands now surrounded the enormous ship, but were doing little to actually threaten her. Some iron crews attempted to board the ship, only to be quickly driven off by flashing steel and weapons fire. Others loosed arrows at their foe, which stuck harmlessly in her vast wooden hull. One longship crossed ahead of the Revenge in an attempt to cut her off. The hostile ship's massive bow cleaved the longship in two.
The Revenge's weapons fired again, first on starboard and then on port. More smoke filled the air. More cries echoed from the ironmen. More longships sank or took heavy damage. At least two more masts toppled into the foaming ocean. A projectile struck the Silence's stern, killing the man at the steering oar.
With her stern facing west, the Revenge continued on her easterly course. She vanished into the fog minutes later. In her wake were dozens of damaged or destroyed ships of the Iron Fleet. Hundreds of men were dead or injured. Many were dragged down by the weight of their own armor. The Drowned God's hall would be full tonight.
"Euron," said an exhausted Victarion, "have you ever seen such a vessel?"
"No, brother, but I have heard tales of such during my travels. They were tales of ships as big as castles and just as strong. They go by many names, but the one name I heard the most was 'man of war.'"