A.N. Shit's finna get weird. Brace yourselves, fuckery is comin'. Alright, so, the Skagosi military pop. count is 25,000 and the ships around 715.
Black Sheep, White Wolf
Chapter 10: Like A Falling Star
In the distance, Jon could see Starfall upon it's rock nestled in the water, it seemed a haven from the storms that surely ensued in the river. Just from gazing upon it, one could tell that usually there was a sense of beauty and wonderment to this place, the ancestral home of House Dayne and the Sword of the Morning. However, there seemed to be an impending sense of depression and lost hope to the castle, almost as if one were to walk through the world with no memory of what had happened, unable to tell why one was sad. Underneath all that were two more feelings. One of a lost happiness that could surely be recovered, one of anger and spite that was ever present. Jon didn't know if he wanted to cry or sing or grin or fight. What he knew was that, from horseback, on Cadeyrn, meaning Battle King, and being the name of the steed, it wouldn't take long to find out the truth to his mother's home. The three longships had been beached further down the Southern coast towards Dorne, in order to keep the ships on a beach in case of freak storms. Having the ships so near the rocks of Starfall itself would be disastrous.
So, Jon was on horseback with Arianne behind him, the damnable cape, which reached almost to his ankles, she had talked him into wearing in between them, tugging on his armor. She wanted him to look as 'dashing' as possible upon his arrival to his mother's home. Considering his battle-tested armor, habit of wolf-staring, ceremonial warrior hairstyle, and direwolf helm, it would be a little hard to have him be able to present an image of chivalry and grandeur, but she had tried nonetheless. Now, he had been forced to wear Longclaw at his side, which was an entirely foreign feeling. Luckily, the closer they got to the bridge that leads to Starfall, the more he forgot about the black and red fuckin' cape.
When they finally reached the entrance to the bridge, large white direwolf at side, and armored man on horseback with a beautiful lady, Jon imagined that they appeared to be out of lore, and even the hair and helm could not change that. The guards didn't seem to care either way.
"Who comes to the gates of Starfall?" The older of the two guards asked, staring at Jon while the younger one stared at Arianne. She thought it proper to respond.
"King Jon Stark and his betrothed, Princess Arianne Martell."
"And what is your business in Starfall?"
"To see the my king's mother, the Lady Ashara of Dayne."
"Aye, you may pass," The older guard allowed them, only after appearing genuinely shocked at their answers. On their way past, Arianne spoke to the younger guard.
"I would suggest you stop staring, lest my Direwolf gets hungry," Arianne giggled when the young man put his hand on his sword and stared at Ghost. "No silly, I didn't mean THAT Direwolf." The young man looked up, confused, then noticing the helm in Jon's hand and his hand on Longclaw. Jon bared his teeth and snarled, causing the man to jump back in surprise. Arianne laughed again, and Jon spurred the horse through the bridge towards the actual gates. They passed several more guards who stared just as much at Jon and Ghost as they did at Arianne.
Upon their arrival at the gates, shouts were heard from the walls and the doors began opening. Jon kicked the horse into action, moving in to the first of the beautiful hold, followed closely by Ghost. Most of the other men would be staying at the ships until they received word. Arianne admired the city, loving the architecture and fairy tale shininess to the place. The atmosphere was anything but fairy tale however. The people gave them looks as they rode by, and the air was filled with despair. Several of the people looked hungry, on the brink of starvation. The environment got no more pleasant the closer they were to the castle itself. Eventually, they entered the courtyard, and Cadeyrn halted, snorting and pawing at the ground, it's violent black eyes looking for a fight amongst other beasts be they horse or man. An ill-tempered beast, to be sure. Jon loved him.
When the doors opened, a man, older than the expected Edric Dayne, exited. Of the Daynes of Starfall, there were Edric, Allyria, and Ashara. This man was none of them. Yet, all the same, Jon nodded at the man.
"Where is the Lord or Lady?" Jon queried, eager to know why the family he had never known were still yet to be known.
"Edric is squiring for Beric Dondarrion in the Stormlands, and Lady Allyria is in bed, who are you?" The man, who Jon assumed was the castellan or master-at-arms of Starfall, stared at him inquisitively.
"I am Jon Stark, and you?" The look on the man's face was one of wonder.
"Lady Ashara's only son?" He dropped to a knee. "Thank the Gods. Forgive me my lord, I had no idea." Jon quickly dropped from Cadeyrn, rushing over and helping the older warrior from the ground.
"Now, none of that friend. Who are you, where is everybody?" Once the man was on his feet, Jon returned to his steed and helped Arianne down.
"I am Ser Brod Upcliff the castellan and master-at-arms of Starfall."
"Both? Where is the other man?" Jon asked.
"Dead, my lord. Much is wrong in the world currently. Come with me, quickly." The man ran off, faster than usual for a man his age, into the castle. Jon and Arianne followed closely, tailed by Ghost. They went up stairs and down hallways until eventual they came to the biggest set of doors Jon had seen in the hallways of this castle, giving the hint that this was the lord's room. When they entered, a sickly smell was in the air, laced with medicine and herbs. An old man in gray robes with a link of chains around his neck sat by a bed, a pale and obviously sickly woman in the bed. She could not have been much older than Arianne, but she looked awful.
Jon approached the bed, Arianne behind him, and he looked at the lady cautiously. She looked at him, but her face held no recognition.
"My lady," Ser Upcliff began, "This is Jon, Jon Stark, Ashara's son. Your nephew."
This was Allyria Dayne? What the Hell had happened?
"My nephew? Come closer, let me see. Yes, it's in the mouth, and the set of the eyes, the hair too. My sweet nephew. You have come at a bad time." She coughed, every word seeming to be a chore for her.
"What has happened here, Aunt Allyria?" She seemed pleased he had called her Aunt Allyria, but she quickly looked sickly again.
"You're distant cousin, the Darkstar, Gerold Dayne. He stood not to inherit High Hermitage and attempted to take Starfall through treachery. He slipped something in my drink, but he was found out. However, he has the raiders from the mountains on his pay, and we cannot get supplies. The people are starving and we can get no medicine, so having him in the dungeons is all but worthless. Most of our forces are in the passes, guarding them from the recent threats of a Reach invasion," Jon was furious. He wants to come to Starfall to meet the other half of his family, and some asshole named Gerold was going to take this from him? Not a fucking chance.
"It shall be dealt with, Aunt Allyria. I have over a hundred good men, the mountain raiders shall not live out the week." Jon turned on his heel, "First, I shall serve justice to cousin Gerold."
"Wait Jon. You must see your mother first. Talk to her, brighten her spirits. Your mother will do good of keeping people upbeat around here if she sees you. Retrieve Dawn from her, and use that to dispense our justice. Are your men here?"
"They are less than a day's march down the coast."
"Good. Maester, please escort my nephew to his mother, then send a raven to my nephew's men, tell them to come to Starfall. We need the help." The maester agreed, turning to leave with other, save for Ser Brod who stayed to keep Allyria company. The maester lead Jon and Arianne down several halls, then pointed them towards a door and left them without a word. The Stark crept forward, nervous, until Arianne grabbed his hand and rubbed it with hers, comforting him. Jon smiled at her and turns, taking a deep breath and opening the door.
Inside, the walls were a soft, light blue, the same color as rivers on a bright, cool day. There was a window allowing a few rays of light in, and several toys strewn about one end of the room. On the other, against the wall, was a crib. Sitting against the crib was a middle-aged woman with tousled black hair. She had shocking purple eyes, and tears stains running down her face. She was obviously a very beautiful woman, but seemed lost, unsure, and depressed, staring at a wall. She was curled up in a ball of sorts, a sword in her lap, pointing towards the ground, the sword leaning against her and the handle above her shoulder. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and the sword. Jon opened the door completely, making the hinges creak, at which the woman's head shot up, immediately looking for him.
"Arthur, or, no, not Arthur, Ned? Ned? No, not my Ned. Is that you Jon? Are you my little boy?" She seemed frantic, constantly stopping to answer her own questions, but worked up nevertheless.
"Yes, Mom, it's me, Jon," He told her, as softly as he could, on the verge of crying by seeing the woman who gave birth to him so broken. She seemed shocked until he moved forward and dropped to his knees in front of her. Then, she broke out in to sobs and grabbed him, clutching him to her as if her life depended on it. He made no move to interrupt the embrace, it filling the hole that had been in his heart since the day his Mother in Winterfell had raged against him.
"You're finally home, my baby boy, your father took you but you're home," Jon's mother sobbed out.
"Yes Momma, I'm home," Jon had tears on his cheeks now, leaks, though he barely kept the flood of tears back. She lifted him from her, holding him at arms length, staring at him and smiling the largest smile Jon had ever seen on any person's face.
"My beautiful baby boy, you're already a grown man," She sobbed again but continued, "You'll always be my little boy though. I've missed you so much, so much, I love you so much. You look so much like your father, and like your Uncle Arthur too." She stared at him, grinning and looking fit to burst.
"I love you too Momma, I've missed you," Jon said, feeling like a child, waiting to be held and coddled by his mother.
"I missed you so much my precious boy. I'm so glad you're back. A mother's love is like a falling star, so bright and quick, and it's been so painful since you've been gone. I was lost, but I found you."
"Yes Momma. Momma, this is Arianne, my betrothed," Jon helped her up, showing her to Arianne.
"You're getting married already?" Ashara asked, looking ready to cry.
"Not quite yet, but soon Lady Ashara. It's good to see you," Arianne greeted, sticking out her hand, only to get pulled in to a hug.
"You are my good-daughter now, no need for formalities. You're glowing, are you with my grandchild already?" She held Arianne away from her, smirking mischievously. Jon blushed and Arianne did as well, stuttering out an excuse. "By the Gods, you are! Come, come, you two must tell me everything."
"Actually, there is important business, Mother," Jon started, but stopped when she glared at him due to the formal use of 'Mother', "Momma, your sister Allyria is sick, she's been poisoned by the Darkstar, Gerold Dayne. There are raiders attacking supply caravans and we can't get food or medicine. Aunt Allyria sent me to retrieve Dawn, to restore balance and order with it." Ashara looked ready to cry again, but she managed to keep a stoic facade. She reached down and grabbed the sword she had left leaning against the bed, presenting it to Jon. Jon grabbed the sheath with his left hand, pulling out Dawn with his right. The pommel was a falling star, but the blade and grip were identical with Longclaw, whose wolf-head pommel seemed to contrast yet fit in with the star. Jon unclasped the cape from behind him, sheathing Dawn, swinging Longclaw's sheath on to his back, and slinging Dawn over Longclaw, so that if he reached right above his shoulders, his right hand would grasp Longclaw, the left grasping Dawn.
"Thank you, Momma," Jon expressed, earning a terse smile and nod from his mother. He turned, walking out the door, expecting both to follow, and follow they did. He walked down the hallways, remembering all the twists and turns, and exited out in to the courtyard, where several guards stopped to stare, amazed at seeing not only a focused Ashara, but Dawn in the hands of somebody who wasn't her. Their awe was cut short by Jon.
"You, there, Ser Knight, what is your name?" Jon questioned an armored man who had been staring, the same as every other man.
"Jaddon Falwell, my lord." The knight spoke, still slightly out of it.
"Well then, Ser Jaddon, do you serve House Dayne?"
"Aye, I do."
"Good, then in the name of House Dayne, I must ask three things of you." The knight was confused, but quickly got over his confusion.
"What is it my lord?"
"I want you to round up every knight and man-at-arms in Starfall, tell them to gather their gear and horses, and meet me at the gates. But first, I want you to bring me the Darkstar, and a chopping block." Ser Jaddon looked hesitant, opening his mouth to question Jon, but the look on the younger man's face, the look in his eyes, forced Falwell into motion, rallying several guards to help look for knights and grab Gerold Dayne.
When they dragged Gerold out of the dungeon he had been in, under the barracks, his eyes squinted from the glare of the sun. He did not kick or scream, he simply was.
"Who are you?" His eyes were poisonous, his tongue laced with venom. His eyes shifted to Arianne, "And who are you, my lady? Perhaps, after this is all over, you can come to my cell, I shall treat you well..."
The Darkstar had began, before unexpectedly catching Jon's boot with his mouth. He fell on his ass and spit out two teeth, glaring at Jon. Two guards grabbed him by the arms and picked him up to his knees.
"I am Ashara Dayne's only son, Jon Stark. You are the one they call the Darkstar." It was a statement, not a question. He had the look of a man who would go by such a stupid name, silver hair with a black streak.
"Aye, because I am of the night," Gerold smirked, thinking himself viciously clever, or perhaps, cleverly vicious. Vicious he was, clever he was not.
"Only fitting that you shall die in the daylight, then," Jon said, turning to see a man dragging in a tree stump for a chopping block.
"What do you mean 'die'?" Gerold asked, now nervous, "I haven't stood trial yet!"
"No trial," Was Jon's response, "I am in charge, and I say you die. Fuck a trial." Two men rushed over to help the man drag the stump, and soon enough, they had it in front of Jon. Gerold was kicking and screaming, fighting against the men dragging him to the chopping block. Jon snorted. Coward. Finally, they had Gerold's knees before the stump, and, pushing his shoulders forward, the guards held him until a particularly stocky man-at-arms put his boot on Gerold's back, keeping him in place with his head on the stump. Jon drew Dawn, it shining in the light.
"In the name of Lady Allyria of House Dayne, I, Jon Stark, King of Skagos, Lord of Kingshouse, And Chosen Avenger for Starfall do hereby sentence you to death by decapitation. Do you have any last words?" Jon's tone was nothing short of contemptuous, derisive, filled with disgust and distaste.
"You can't do this, I share blood with you!" The Darkstar took comfort in this, and grew visibly calmer, "Yes, you are my kin!"
"You are no kin of mine." Darkstar had but a fraction of a moment to tense up and protest before the Valyrian Steel blade came flying through the air, then through his neck. The cut was clean, the swing powerful. The head came clean off, and as blood shot out of the wound in the neck, Jon reached down to grab the head by the hair, drinking in the look of terror on the face. He turned towards the large man-at-arms and tossed him the head.
"I want that on a pike on the side of the road leading to the bridge. I want a sign underneath it that says 'Kinslayer & Traitor'. Strip the body, toss it in a ditch face down somewhere. Am I understood?"
"Yes, my lord," The man spoke before rushing off to do just that. Jon spun around to look at his mother and his bride-to-be.
"I must go."
"Yes, duty calls." His mother smiled at him. "Just… be safe okay?"
"Of course Momma," She smiled, kissed his cheek, then patted it and waited for Arianne to say her goodbyes.
"You better come back to me, my Wolf," She said, her tone menacing, "Because, I swear that if you die, I'll track you down in Hell and kill you." He smiled, and she softened up.
"I promise, I'll come back." He kissed her on the corner of her mouth before running and jumping on Cadeyrn and galloping off towards the gates.
-Linebreak-
A train of twenty wagons came down the road, five men-at-arms to each. Upon arrival at an intersection with a smaller path, a contingent, or rather, horde, of fifty mountain raiders popped out of the surrounding shrubbery, surrounding the wagons and the men. They were followed by seventy-five more, then another fifty, then another seventy-five. Word had gotten around that this would be the largest supply train yet, but the forces guarding it seemed rather small.
"Alright, ye cunts. Lay down yer weapons, n we'll let ye live," The man, who must have been the leader, shouted. His teeth were black, and his eyes were a small, beady black. He was a head taller than every man there, but his voice seemed no more masculine than that of a common city thief.
"Alright boys! Uncover!" A burly, stocky man at the front of the wagon train yelled. The men around each wagon ripped off the canvas from each one, exposing the five men in the back of each wagon, hidden in the supplies. While the men-at-arms certainly weren't frightful to the mountain raiders, these men certainly were. Scarred, clothed in dark furs and pieces of armor, wielding longswords or axes, the men had random designs painted on their faces and necks in blood. Their stares were harder than that of the mountain tribes, the eyes of men who had lived their lives in the pursuit of the perfection of war. And as they sized up the tribes, they grinned, in bloodlust and anticipation. The tribesmen were uneasy and murmured amongst themselves.
"QUIET! It's just a bunch of cunts in fur!" The leader grinned, rallying his men. Soon enough, the footing of the men-at-arms became uneasy, and they retreated along with the unknown mercenaries. The large man and his tribesmen walked forward, not being behind the group but closing in on them. In a few seconds, the forces had moved so that the Dayne men were bending, giving land in the middle. Right as the large man was about to attack, the Dayne's stopped, and a man just as tall, with a scarred face and graying hair, stepped forward, his battleaxe out, ready for blood.
"May the Gods judge you justly, men," The scarred man with the large axe spoke, an arrow stuck itself in the tribe leaders chest, sprouting from him suddenly, and a shower of arrows rained down on the tribesmen from their sides, causing confusion. After the arrows had stopped, the group before them ran in and almost completely closed around the tribesmen, forcing their lines to bend.
Then, just as the forces prepared to attack, a force of armored knights on horseback came swooping in from the path that intersects the main road, led by a man like the mystery warriors, in black, gray, and red, two longswords of the finest steel, ornate runic designs in blood on the right side of his face. He placed a direwolf helm on his head, snarling and terrifying the tribesmen, and began singing the two longswords, twin arcs of gray death, cutting down men fighting and running alike. Soon enough the battle was over, almost no casualties on the Dayne's side.
Jon rode up on some Dayne knights talking to Smalljon and Darragh.
"Ser Falwell," Once he had garnered Ser Falwell's and the other knights attentions, he continued, "I would ask that you hunt down the remainder of the mountain men in the area. Take Arik, Kira, Lachtín, and Darragh, they are our best trackers." When the knight nodded, Jon turned and started back towards Starfall.
-Linebreak-
His mother was crying, Arianne was barely keeping herself from doing so, and his aunt Allyria gave him a sad smile, already much better than she was before. This was his family, in Dorne, and they were crying over his leaving. But, he had a job to do. After all, a good portion of the Skagosi fleet had just arrived. 397 longships had joined up with the three, giving right around 15,000 men. A force like that could not be mustered at sea by anybody but the Ironborn, but this was three fourths of their force, whereas it was only barely over half of the Skagosi force. It was, when all together, the greatest fleet in the known world. And the men who manned the longships were the finest warriors in the known world. They had a few jobs to do, before they sailed back Skagos way. So do them, they must. And so, they sailed West.
-Linebreak-
The Stone Fleet sat out in the waters, unmoving, not far from the Iron Islands. Six trusted and respected commanders sat on board the King ship, Seawolf. King Jon Stark, Jon Umber (who was in the works to be a Sagart, to be in position to take over for Skulgarth once the older Weirwood brother was too old), Lord Finín Stane, his son Ultán Stane, Lord Daigh Crowl and his son Loch Crowl. Each had their own ship, the Seawolf, Watergiant, Northern Shark, Warwood, Prowler, andSeaflame, respectively, though they were all on the King's ship, going over invasion plans.
"Jon Umber, my closest friend, most trusted adviser, you and your new ship Watergiant shall, as well as 65 ships shall attack here, just West of Pebbleton. While you do that, I want you, Lord Stane, to slide by him and attack just South of Ten Towers, on Harlaw. Lord Crowl, you invade Old Wyk from the North, it's the most crowded island, so when you get done, Jon, I want you to join the from the West. Loch, you're attacking Oakmont, then join your father from the East if you're done quick enough. Ultán, my patient friend, I wish you to invade Saltcliffe from the minor bay on the West shore, then, once you're burnt it down, move up to help Jon with Great Wyk, right at the bay above Hammerhorn, I shall invade Pyke from it's Southwestern bay with the Seawolf and my 69 other ships, to ensure the capital is well and finished. From there, anybody who gets finished goes to the Wyks, those are each the largest and the most populous, and most important after Pyke, especially since Nagga's ribs are on Old Wyk. Remember every tactic I've taught you. If there's a shield wall, which is unlikely, then 'Sea-Storm' the bastards, rotate line's and have each new line ram the sons o' bitches. Shock and awe men, quick, lightning fast warfare. These squids don't like storms, well we are the Storm. Leave neither structure nor mine standing. Salt the fields, burn the homes and castles, sabotage the support in the mines, leave no body moving save for the children. Take the kids with you, put them on the ships. We relocate them to random places on the Western shore of Westeros. Understood?"
"Aye, mo Rí," all said in unison. (Aye, my King.)
All men left to their respective ships, splitting up with their sections of the Stone Fleet.
-Linebreak-
The night was cold and wet and a storm was brewing, when Jon's ships reached the Southwestern bay of Pyke. Most ships were gone, only a few remained with the small city in this particular bay. There would not be too many warriors here, so they needed to be quick.
All was quiet, and not much was expected by the townsfolk in the bay of Pyke, most asleep, those not, most assuredly drunk. That was, until an entire curtain of flaming arrows lit up the night sky, hitting the ships and the docks, setting blaze to everything in that area. Two forces from either side on land, having snuck up on the city from further up the coast in either direction, rushed in to the town, men flailing their swords and axes, cutting down men and women, using the pommels and handles to knock unconscious defenseless children. Jon rushed in on Cadeyrn, Longclaw and Dawn in his hands, blocking blows from drunk squids and cutting down others within seconds of each other. The battle was over sooner than even Jon expected, lasting no more than 45 minutes. Men carried unconscious kids back to a few designated ships that held no cargo. These ships would leave for the coast of Westeros, dropping the kids off before returning to aid in the attack on Pyke itself, which would already be happening. While Jon and a contingent of 1,000 men surrounded Pyke from the land, the other 1,700 or so would attack from the sea, the simultaneous attack rendering the Ironborn useless. Jon shouted out orders, gathering his crew amongst many others, leaving Cadeyrn on his ship with a man to watch over him. Men set fire to homes and inns and storehouses as Jon set off with his force, Northeast, the smoke rising in to the sky, indirectly signaling to the Ironborn that the Stoneborn were coming.
-Linebreak-
Gods, government was a headache. At least, to a man like Eddard Stark. Especially when it was in King's Landing. The chamber-pot of Westeros. It didn't help that this whole Skagos crisis was going on. Of course, Skagos was pledged to the North, but a new king had allegedly been crowned, their fleet rebuilt, and they were raiding up and down along the coast. They had suddenly disappeared however. To add more matters to the mass, children kept popping up from all those places. The men and women were dead, the women unmolested, but the kids completely untouched. No torture, no rape, no deaths. They were being called the Wolf Orphans, after word getting out of the stories they told. The man who led all these raids was a man wielding Valyrian Steel and wearing a wolf or direwolf helm. Men had already given him a nickname. The Thirsty Wolf. Ned knew what they alluded to, comparing this raider to Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. Also symbolizing the Skags thirst for war and blood.
Regardless of how Ned felt on the issue, it had him worried that the victory that mattered was so precise. The raid on Baelish Keep was unimpressive, though it certainly angered Petyr Baelish. The White Dawn Settlement was nothing in terms of bragging rights, and the several villages that had burned were next to nothing. But Sharp Point, oh, the Slaughter At Sharp Point. It was said the bards were planning to write a song over the flawless, savage victory. Whoever this Raider King was, he was well-versed in strategy and tactics. And battle skills in general. It was said he had killed the Lord Bar Emmon, a known and respected warrior, in single combat and as if he was far from challenging. Then, they went to Bravos and sold their loot, then they went South. No word had reached their ears since then, and it was frustrating. Then, one tale of close to four hundred ships, though it was only one tale, and not validated.
None of the lords on the Eastern coast could do anything, save for Lord Stannis, due to their lack of ships. Lord Stannis was preparing to do just that. But, in the mean time, preparation, plans, had to be made. Ned heard some singing outside and went to look upon it.
"When the savages crept up on Sharp Point,
The Wolf King cut Bar Emmon down at the joint,
He said you can keep your land, keep your mud,
Because this Northern Wolf wants steel and blood,"
Ned snorted, contemplating the parasitic qualities of most singers. The maidens were gasping and screeching along with the verse about how this Skagosi savage killed a good, loyal Stormlander, which was what especially pissed off Robert. As Ned planned, Robert actually attempted to regain the body he had lost, going so far as to cut down an immense amount on wine and food, even women. He trained nonstop, determined to go back to war. Remembering the tales his grandfather had told him of the last Skagosi Rebellion, Ned shivered. Robert would get his war, alright. It would just be one more ruthless and bloody than even he was used to. Lord Barthogan Stark's corpse could attest to that.
As Ned mulled over some such tales in apprehension and slight fright, a messenger entered his solar.
"Aye?" Ned raised his eyebrow.
"A letter for you from Winterfell, my lord," the man stepped forward, handing him the scroll before promptly leaving. Tensions had been at an all time high, with the Skagosi threat. It was a wonder there was only one settlement in the North ravaged and burnt.
Dear Father,
I write to speak of urgent matters with you. Mother's behavior has gotten no better since some recent news. Bran is fine, but Theon and I, and everyone else, we're worried and terrified. The Thirsty Wolf. Well. It's just… it's Jon Father. We thought he and Smalljon Umber had been taken by the Skagosi, but when we sent a messenger to Skagos, Jon sent a message back. He sent back the skull of Theon Stark, with the crown of the Kings of the North. He killed the Skag Captain at White Dawn Settlement, and the fuckers took him and Umber to Skagos. The captain was the last Magnar, so, by right of conquest, Jon took his seat as the Lord of Kingshouse. And as King of Skagos. He's the monster in the direwolf helm, Father.
Sincerely,
Robb Stark, Acting Lord of Winterfell
By the Gods, it couldn't be true, could it? No, Jon was always good. He minded his business, he didn't cut down men and women. For the Gods sake, he was still a fucking boy! No, no, no.
Wait. If they had gone South, then there was the chance…
"Poole, quill and parchment, I need to write a letter to Starfall."
-Linebreak-
Jon stared upward at the large rock spirals that held up the towers on Pyke. Not many people knew that there was some land at the bottom of them, but one Stoneborn had noticed, and Jon had an idea. The plan was the same as normal, however, now, Jon would come in with his own crew from the castle itself. At the bottom of these rock spirals were secret doorways. The spirals led all the way up to the very top, and Jon was currently going up it with his entire crew, all 67 left, and Ghost. They were the best warriors in the entire damn Skagosi fleet or army, and they were going to hit the bloody squids from where they couldn't see it coming.
They were currently at the top of the long, winding staircase, looking out of a barely visible window in the storage room the stairs came in to. The moon was almost just right. At midnight, the Hour of the Wolf, the signal would come, and the Assault On Pyke would begin. The first major step in the genocide of the squid menace. Getting excited, Jon hunger increased, starving to bite in to some meat. He looked down at Ghost, who they had outfitted in some strongly placed steel armor. It was not cumbersome, and was fairly sparse, so it didn't really affect his running or movement at all. It wouldn't stop anything, but it definitely meant that it would slow down arrows enough to not be lethal, and blades wielded by most men would slide off unless sent at a certain angle in certain spots.
Finally, the light of the moon broke out of the clouds, it's position signifying the Hour of Reckoning was upon the traitorous offspring of Lodvki Iron-Heart and Gumril Greyjoy, the False Skagosi. Three, two, one, and there was the sound of captured Ironborn ships ramming in to uncaptured Ironborn ships, while on fire. And there was the fire arrows.
"Let's go," Jon whisper-yelled, opening the door in to a larger room which seemed to lead to a hallway. Two Ironborn began to run by, only to see them and attempt to yell. Lachtín and Kira hit both in the throat with an arrow before they could even think about doing anything besides scream for help. Their boots were oddly quiet in the blood and on the hard floors, though Jon wouldn't complain. His furs were back on the ship, but a dark gray, black, and red closed cloak underneath the armor kept it from clanking. The hood wasn't on, his helm was instead. He had one hand on his knife, Northwind, in order to slit throats rather than start a loud and intrusive fight. Every time they came across a room, they checked it, finding no person, and every time they came across a hallway, they split up. If one was to make it to the bridge leading to the next tower, he would wait. Eventually, it was only Jon, Arik, Kira, and Ghost, heading towards the last room they could find, there being no more options.
When they opened the doors, they found a large man in steel plate armor with a kraken helm, ordering two men in normal Ironborn attire to follow him out to the battle. The large man, who must have been Victarion Greyjoy, held a war axe and a shield. Upon entering the room, the three Ironborn turned, one catching an arrow courtesy of Kira, the other a dagger, courtesy of Arik. Jon stepped forward, hands now on his longswords, analyzing the famed commander in front of him. Victarion spit on the ground in between him and Jon, and Jon did likewise.
"I am Victarion Greyjoy, boy, Commander of the Iron Fleet, captain of the Iron Victory. Who you be?"
"I am Jon Stark, King of Skagos, Commander of the Stone Fleet, and captain of the Seawolf."
"Skagos? So the fuckin' Skags have come for us again, huh? About damn time. Come for me, Skag!"
"With pleasure, squid." Jon unsheathed Longclaw and Jon, thankful the room was big enough and the ceiling high enough that he didn't have to worry about hitting anything else. He rushed forward, throwing a test jab with Dawn, then a downward swing with Longclaw. The first was parried, the second blocked with the shield. Jon swiped at Victarion's legs with Longclaw, ducking to dodge a counter-swipe from the Ironborn's axe. Jon sent a flurry of slashes and stabs, thrust with Longclaw, side swipe with Dawn, uppercut with Longclaw, looping, leaning strike with Dawn towards the neck. Victarion was slower, though still fast for a man of his age and size, and was barely able to dodge most of these, getting clipped by Dawn but drawing no blood. Soon though, the forward march for Jon stopped, and he received a rough kick to the chest from Victarion, sending him flying back on to his ass, which he turned in to a roll, ending up on his feet again.
Victarion jumped forward, slashing with the axe, but when Jon caught it with his swords, he received a shield bash to the face for it. Though not very dangerous, it rang Jon's head, warning him to be more careful. Victarion swiped his shield, and when Jon ducked he was jabbed in the mouth by the blunt top of Victarion's axe, making him stumble backwards again. Victarion came forward, and when he slashed sideways, Jon jumped under it, quickly leaping in and landing a vicious uppercut to the Ironborn captain's unprotected chin, only for the Greyjoy to keep his feet under him, and him to trip Jon, putting him on his back. He slashed downward with his axe, aiming for the jaw and neck. The Stark King dodged, shooting his body to the left, slamming in to Victarion's right leg, causing him to lose balance. Jon stabbed upwards and to his right with Dawn, impaling Victarion through his right elbow, rendering that arm and axe useless. Victarion roared and attempted to move and smack Jon with his shield, but the younger warrior swung a vicious backhand strike, within an inch of Dawn, separating the right arm from the body and lodging Longclaw in to Victarion's left forearm, an inch above the wrist. He turned to get up, only for Victarion to scrape the jagged edge of the armor on his now amputated arm down across Jon's face, smearing his blood over Jon and opening a cut or two of his own on him.
In anger, Jon threw a kick straight upward, connecting with the larger man's jaw and laying him out flat, though still awake. Jon got to his feet, and Victarion struggle up on to his knees. Jon, with Dawn still in hand, approached the wounded captain, sizing him up. Deciding he was out of action, Jon got closer, grabbing Longclaw from the left arm and ripping it out, letting the veins flow freely in to the cool night air.
"You fight like a Skagosi, Greyjoy. I respect that. Do you wish to be put in the sea?" Jon was genuine, deciding that a warrior such as Victarion deserved the rites he wanted.
"Aye, that'll do," Was Victarion's short and gruff response. Jon stood in front of the captain and aimed his blades both downward, through the chest plate and in to the rib-cage. Pushing the blades through him, Jon heard a grunt, felt the Ironborn cough up some blood, then promptly die. He turned, noticing his three companions by the next door, Ghost chewing on an arm. Victarion's arm. Nodding at the twins, Jon readied himself in a stance at the door, waiting for whatever may come next.
When the doors opened, an old, brittle looking man came rushing at Jon with an axe. Jon simply knocked the stabbing drive away and threw his whole body forward in to a headbutt, knocking the older man down. When he was down, Jon got a better look at him.
He was cruel looking, with sharp features and cold eyes. His hair was gray and brittle, and he smelled like wine and piss. He was thin and wore a fucking robe. This was Balon Greyjoy?
"Lord Squid," Jon greeted, wiping his swords off on Balon Greyjoy's robe before sheathing them, grabbing the lord by the front of his robe and throwing him in to a stack of bottles on the table. The bottles cracked and crashed, and no doubt Balon now had some shards in him. Jon went around the table and grabbed the old lord again, throwing him in to the book shelf up against the wall.
"Where is your daughter, Lord Squid?" Jon questioned, angry now that he was in the face of such a disgrace. Victarion may have been Ironborn, but if it wasn't for the mislead ideology religion wise, he would've been a damn good Skagosi. He was a man and a warrior, through and through. Balon? Balon was weak, hypocritical, cowardly. He deserved no mercy.
"She's gone, you'll never catch her," Balon laughed, and Jon snapped a right hook across his jaw, audibly breaking it.
"Oh, I'd wager I can. I'll chase her through all four seas and to the seas of the great beyond. But, in the meantime, we'll just make sure your wife suffers for both her and your daughter. Then, I'll go kill your only son. When I catch your bitch daughter, it'll put an end to your treasonous blood-line once and for all. Arik, Kira, bend him over the table right there, at the corner so I can get to his neck."
The twins grabbed the older man, forcing his shoulders down on the table, him too feeble to break free. Jon pulled Longclaw out of it's scabbard, grasping it with two hands.
"Balon, of House Greyjoy, I, Jon Stark, King of Skagos and Defender of the Old Ways do hereby sentence you to death by decapitation for the crimes committed by your treasonous ancestors, Gumril Greyjoy and his sons. May the Gods judge punish you justly," A guttural noise emitted from Balon's broken mouth as the sword came down, cutting through the thin neck easily enough. Jon grabbed the head by the hair before it could roll off the table, sliding his sword back in to it's scabbard. He spit on Balon's corpse, and turned, and grabbed the newer Driftwood Crown, leaving the filthy and cluttered study.
Upon arriving in the room they had been in before, Jon looked at Victarion's corpse and sighed, dropping Balon's head. He grasped the kraken helm, pulled it off, and strapped it to his belt.
"Come on, the waters down there, we'll throw him out the window, make it easy," Jon ordered, and he and the twins grabbed as much of him as they could, hefting him up and towards the window.
"Farewell, brother, may the Gods forgive you for your and your ancestors' past transgressions," And they promptly tossed him out the window. The young King spun on his heel, grabbed Victarion's shield for proof and/or trophy, as well as the head and the crown, before jogging down the halls in the direction he believed was towards the next tower.
When the foursome reached their comrades crossing the bridge, Darragh and others stared at Jon more covered in blood than the rest of them.
"Victarion and Balon Greyjoy," Jon shrugged, smiling a little when Darragh and Skulgarth bellowed in laughter. The two quickly got across the rope bridge, followed closely by the newest arrivals. The next tower was empty, and so was the next, and on their way to the last, Jon strapped Victarion's shield to his back, over his swords, though still allowing him to draw them. He continued to follow his crew, making it in to the next tower before exiting it, catching sight of the last defense of sorts at the bottom of the slope leading to the city.
They had several rows of shields, and archers behind that. In the rain that had started not too long ago, the ground had turned to mud and the Skagosi had trouble advancing on the Ironborn lines. Judging by the size of the Skagosi horde, they had lost a very minimal amount of men, which was good, but they would lose a lot more if this continued. Jon and his 68 men, one woman, and direwolf, rushed down the slope, ramming and slamming in to the back of archers and shield carriers, causing chaos in the lines and allowing the Skagosi to get through. Upon standing up, Jon watched as his comrades cut down squids by the dozens. He stepped back, just drinking it all in. There was Kira, unloading arrows in to stragglers, Arik defending her from men coming towards them. Ghost lunging and dragging a man to the ground by his throat. There was Skulgarth dodging a blow by an equally old man with a splintered jaw and four lips, before releasing a ferocious uppercut with his battleaxe in to the warrior's body with a roar, lifting the man up in to the air. Raiders cheered, and squids died.
Jon took a deep breath, making sure he had everything in order and on him, and he whistled at Ghost, urging him to forget his feast and follow, and follow him to the Seawolf, now in the bay, to leave for Great Wyk and leave some of his men to finish the butchery to follow on the rest of the island.