Hagon

The Shrike didn't remain in Hoare Castle for long after baptizing Prince Hagon, leaving shortly before nightfall. From the window of his chambers Hagon watched the old priest walking down the road away from the castle, slowly disappearing into the distance as the sun set and night took over. He wondered where the Shrike would go, and who would he sing his songs about what had happened in Hoare Castle that day. Whoever he would tell, Hagon knew his family would hear of this once they would return from their visit to Casterly Rock, and he already dreaded their reaction. He knew his father had been baptized by a drowned man himself and had never disowned his faith to the Drowned God despite also taking up the faith of the Seven. It had been the wish of Lelia Lannister to bring up Hagon and his brother by the teachings and blessings of the septons of Seven instead of those of the drowned men. I have a right to choose my own beliefs, Hagon thought defiantly, already knowing his choice would be looked down upon by his mother and brother.

That night Hagon didn't sleep well, pestered by nightmares of the storming sea swallowing him and drowning him into the deep darkness under the waves. There he saw his brother, naked and bleeding from a thousand cuts. Harmund tried to plead for mercy, but Hagon could only watch in silence as his brother bled to death.

Next day Hagon decided to go for a ride with his friend Quenton Farwynd. They raced the rugged road along the coast towards south, crisp wind blowing from the sea to their left. They made their way past small fishing villages and crumbling watchtowers, and after a couple of hours they came across a port town sitting on a small natural harbor. Its timber walls were covered in moss and seemed to generally have been in disrepair for a while. A single Hoare banner flickered above the open gates, signifying the town's allegiance to the royal house. By the docks were anchored three longships of the local raiders. It was said that every captain was a king aboard their own ship, but technically the ships were owned by whomever their captains held allegiance to, which in case of these three ships was King Harmund.

Hagon and Quenton left their horses to be tended to at the stables, before heading to the only tavern in this small town. The room was damp and dimly lit, smoke lingered in the air, and around the tables sat gruff and hardened men clad in stained and ragged clothing. Hagon and Quenton in their fine velvets and jewelry certainly stood out, and the prince did notice many gazes directed at them as they walked to an empty table. "Hey missy, bring us some ale, will you? And something to eat as well!" Quenton yelled lightheartedly at the barmaid, who nodded and hurried behind her counter.

"Gods, she is fine looking," Quenton said with a lustful look in his eyes, and Hagon glanced indifferently at the girl. Fair-haired and buxom, the barmaid was indeed quite pretty in a common sort of way. In her green eyes was a timid look as she approached them, carrying two mugs of ale and two bowls of soup.

"Here's your ale and food, m'lords," the girl spoke as she placed the mugs and bowls on the table. Smoothly Quenton grabbed her right hand and gently kissed it. "Thank you, dear," he said with a wink. "We'll let you know when to bring more." Blushing, the girl rushed back behind her counter.

"A shy one… I kinda like it," Quenton said with a sly grin, and Hagon rolled his eyes as he took the first gulp of the ale. It wasn't the worst he had ever tasted, but certainly not as goods as the ale brewed in Hoare Castle. "You need to get yourself a wife," Hagon said dryly, to which his friend reacted with an amused chuckle.

"Sounds boring," Quenton said nonchalantly, sipping the ale. "Anyway, perhaps now that you've got some ale in your belly you'd feel comfortable talking about yesterday."

"What is there to talk?" Hagon asked bluntly, which made Quenton raise an eyebrow. "What is there to talk?" he repeated with a sarcastic tone. "You were baptized by the bloody Shrike, a priest notorious for preaching against your father's rule over the Iron Isles. I thought maybe you'd like to explain what exactly made you think it was a smart idea? I mean, the bastard could've killed you and simply claim it was the doing of the Drowned God."

"He is a priest, not a murderer," Hagon responded with a sigh, to which Quenton reacted with a mocking laugh. "Are you really that naïve, prince?" he asked with a cheeky grin on his face. "I guess it's your Lannister side showing."

"Well, he didn't kill me, did he?" Hagon hissed with an irritated tone, and Quenton shook his head. "No, he didn't. Which makes me think he has another use in mind for you. Would I be correct?"

"What's it to you?" Hagon asked frustratedly, proceeding to gulp down the remaining soup in his bowl.

"I'm your friend, Hagon," Quenton answered, his tone a bit more serious now. "If you're planning something, I'd like to know. I've got your back, brother, you know it."

Hagon took in a deep breath and glanced around him to make sure no one was listening. "Once my father dies, hopefully years from now, I will be the one to take the Seastone Chair," he said quietly, seeing the smile on his friend's face slowly vanishing. "Shrike will support my claim, assuming he is still around when the time comes."

"Your claim," Quenton said quietly, turning his gaze down for a moment. "You are the second son, what claim could you possibly have?"

"No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair, and my brother's gods are false," Hagon replied coldly, hiding his uncertainty behind a steely glare.

"But to slay one's own kin is the greatest sin of all," Quenton argued, and Hagon gave him an agreeing nod. "I have no intentions of killing my brother," he clarified calmly. "I will exile him and our mother, that is all."

"Well, that will surely end the alliance we have with the Lannisters," Quenton stated, his tone unrevealing of his feelings. "Better that than to turn into something we are not," Hagon responded sharply. "We are ironborn, even if my brother would like to deny that."

"What is dead may never die," Quenton mouthed with a stifled chuckle, gulping down the rest of his ale. "Hey barmaid, bring us another round, will ya?" he yelled, the grin returning to his face. As the girl arrived with two more mugs of ale, Quenton put his arm around her. "Tell me, pretty, what's your name?"

"Frya, m'lord," the girl answered quietly.

"Frya, huh? Well I'm Quenton Farwynd," Quenton responded smoothly, his arm still around the barmaid. "The most skilled archer on Great Wyk, if I say so myself. And that's not all I'm good at."

"I'm sorry m'lord Farwynd, but I should get back to my work," Frya mumbled weakly, and with a disappointed look on his eyes Quenton removed his arm. "Of course," he said with a forced smirk on his face. "Just be ready to bring us more when we're done with these," he added, raising his mug. With a shy nod the barmaid turned around and walked off.

Before Hagon and Quenton could resume their earlier conversation, they noticed a tall and haggard man approaching their table. Clad in leather and fur, the man's thin brown hair was as greasy and unkempt as his frizzy beard, and if Hagon had to guess he'd say the man was on his mid to late forties. He grabbed a wooden stool and sat down at the head of the table, between Quenton and Hagon.

"Afternoon, m'lords," he greeted them, briefly baring his rotting line of teeth. "I reckon you're from Hoare Castle, aye?"

"Aye," Hagon responded sternly. "I'm Prince Hagon Hoare, second son of King Harmund the Haggler. This here is my friend, Quenton of House Farwynd."

"Captain Rogyn Redaxe," the man introduced himself in return, extending his hand for Hagon. With a nod the prince shook the captain's hand, his fingers aching slightly under the man's tight grip. "Now, I just noticed your friend here mingling with Frya," Rogyn continued quietly, a threatening glare in his blue eyes. "She's a pretty girl, so I understand. I brought her from Cape of Eagles a year back, she's my fourth wife."

"My apologies, captain," Hagon said tensely, his hand still in Rogyn's grip. "I'm sure my friend was unaware that the girl was taken," he added, giving a meaningful glare at Quenton. Rogyn reacted with a cold chuckle, now letting go of Hagon's hand. "Thing is, you can have her," the reaver said with a sharp smirk on his face. "But only if you pay the correct price," he added, tapping lightly at the axe hanging from his belt.

A moment of tense silence followed Rogyn's words, and to his shock Hagon noticed from Quenton's expression that he was seriously considering challenging this man to a fight to take his wife. However, as his friend hesitated, Hagon took the chance to speak up. "We'll just drink these and leave," he stated sternly, looking at this friend with narrowed eyes.

"That right?" Rogyn asked calmly from Quenton, who after a moment of consideration gave him a wordless nod. And so, with a satisfied grin Rogyn Redaxe stood up. "'Twas pleasure meeting you, m'lords," he said with a nod before walking back to his own table at the other end of the room.

"And you were lecturing me for being reckless," Hagon said dryly, shaking his head slightly. "Why would you even consider challenging a hardened raider to a fight, for some lowborn wench?"

"I pity the girl," Quenton responded with a sigh. "She can't be happy with a man like that. Had I killed him and taken her to Sealskin Point, I'm sure she would've seen me as a hero."

"I'm sure she would've seen you as a fool when that bastard would've embedded his axe into your skull," Hagon said with a slightly amused tone, and Quenton rolled his eyes. He gulped down his ale and thumped the empty mug on the table. "Let's just fucking go."

There was little conversation between them as they rode back to Hoare Castle, and when they arrived the sun was already setting. After taking their horses to the stables, Hagon and Quenton were approached on the courtyard by Jason Codd.

"My prince, I've been waiting for you," the captain of the guards spoke with a slightly impatient tone. "What is it, Jason?" Hagon asked bluntly, while his friend continued walking towards the keep.

"Maester Dorrick has requested to meet with you as soon as possible," Jason explained. "A raven from Casterly Rock, apparently. Should I fetch him to your quarters?"

"No need to bother, I'll go to his," Hagon replied lazily, and begun to make his way towards the western tower. It was one of the smaller towers of the castle, being merely four stories tall. Its top two stories contained the ravenry and the maester's quarters, which Prince Hagon entered without knocking, finding the old man sitting behind his desk and writing something.

"My prince", Maester Dorrick spoke with his frail voice as he noticed Hagon. Dorrick was a thin and weak old man on his early seventies, having been sent to Hoare Castle from the Citadel when Hagon was just a toddler. He had tutored both Hagon and his brother with reading and writing, as well as teaching them history, mathematics and many other subjects ranging from the marking of seasons to the workings of human body. Harmund had always been the more eager student of the two brothers, and Dorrick's clear bias against the Ironborn culture had made Hagon see the old man somewhat unfavorably.

"You wanted to meet," Hagon said sternly, and Dorrick nodded, pulling a parchment scroll from his sleeve. "Your father has sent a raven from Casterly Rock," he said, handing the scroll to Hagon.

Hagon read through the message quickly, expecting some mundane update regarding when they would be returning home, but what he saw instead surprised him. He read it again, just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood what he read.

"A war against the Reach," he muttered quietly, lowering the scroll on the table with an astonished expression on his face.

"Together with the Lannisters," Dorrick concluded calmly, grabbing the scroll from the table. "It seems your father will be gathering his fleet to Orkwatch, the old seat of House Hoare. As I'm sure you noticed, your father has tasked you with garrisoning…"

"I won't stay," Hagon cut the maester off, a wide smirk forming on his face. "I will sail to war with my fellow Ironborn," he said with a decisiveness that left no room for arguments. There was no way he would remain here in Hoare Castle, no way he would turn down this opportunity.

This must be fate, Hagon thought excitedly. Yesterday he had pledged his service to the Drowned God, and today his prayers had been answered. This war would be his chance to prove himself in the eyes of gods and men.