Rodrik I

Rodrik was six and ten. Old enough for the heir of House Greyjoy to command the men of his house in putting down a riot, right?

"Where's Lord Botley?" he bellowed over the confusion. With his men behind him and Lordsport before him, he tried to make sense of the chaos. Armed men were everywhere, some looting, some fleeing, others fighting. Most of it he could barely see. It was a cloudy night, and the only visibility came from the flickering orange and red flames which hungrily devoured the thatch roofs and wooden beams of the town's buildings.

"Fighting in Smithvale!" one man responded, from his left. Yes, he could hear sounds of fighting over the hill in that direction. The clang of metal, louder than the hammerfalls that usually came from that direction.

"The ships are burning!" came another cry.

Off to his right, the glow of fire and a billowing cloud of smoke marked the newly expanded shipyards.

"There!" he shouted, pointing with his axe, "Save the ships!"

His men formed a shield wall and cut through the crowd like a knife through butter. Men joined them or stood and died. Others merely fled.

The one night I decided not to get drunk, and thank the Drowned God it's tonight.

A Drowned Man with a driftwood club reared up in front of him. Rodrik brought down his axe once, twice, and the man went down in a welter of blood.

Well, at least we know who stirred up this crowd.

The block of Greyjoy soldiers were nearing the Lordsport sept. A crowd of armed men were trying to keep back a mob of rioters away from it, the rioters were trying to reach it, and three Drowned Men urged them on. Rodrik licked suddenly dry lips and pointed with his axe.

"To the sept!"

Rodrik didn't worship the Seven gods of the greenlands, but his father had given the septons his protection, which made these rioters the enemies of House Greyjoy. And Rodrik knew this had been a coordinated uprising.

The armored Greyjoy men hit the rioters like a hammer against a bowl of eggs. They scattered, or died. Two of the Drowned Men went down immediately, and the third fled with a knot of his supporters following him.

"After them!" one of the sept's defenders yelled, but Rodrik stepped in front of him.

"No, you fools, the ships! Save the ships!"

There was now the sound of fighting from that direction, as well as the crackling of hungry flames.

"Get teams together! Fetch water and put out the flames!" he yelled at the men who had joined him. To the soldiers who had followed him from Pyke, he said "Protect the water bearers!"

His men moved to obey, charging down streets and alleys towards the fighting. The loud, rhythmic clank of armor from behind him announced the arrival of Lord Botley. As his household guard scattered to join the teams trying to fetch water, Rodrik saw dozens of smiths had joined him, bearing hammers and swords and axes they had made with their own hands. Some of them attacked the burning buildings, knocking down walls to stop the fires from spreading.

"We've secured Smithvale," Lord Botley said with a grin, "I think we've got this in hand."

Rodrik shook his head.

"Not until we get that fire under control."

Rodrik had worshiped the Drowned God all his life. But now the Drowned Men had turned against House Greyjoy. When this was over, they would not go unpunished.

But first, Rodrik would need a drink.