—The North—
White Harbor…
There was something utterly enchanting about the North. With its vast wilderness, forests, pine-covered hills, and snow-capped mountains. The fresh crisp air that filled the lungs and the endless ranges that stretched from one horizon to another. It was like stepping back in time, to a period when nature still ruled.
As a boy, Daemon could remember sitting at the feet of his grandmother, while she told him story after story over her native homeland. Even now, he could recall being swept up by her enchanting words of giants riding mammoths, direwolves the size of horses, of the ancient Kings in the North winning Bear Island from the ironborn in a wrestling match. Some nights, she would tell stories of the haunted forests, of the frozen wights, the barrow kings, and the bloody Boltons. Argilac had liked to scare him, saying that a Bolton would come for Daemon in the night and flay him. But his grandmother would always soothe him, saying that the blood of the wolf flowed through Daemon's veins and that a skinless man could never defeat the wolf. And now that he was here in the North, Daemon could almost feel it, as if the wild was calling to his Stark blood, welcoming him home.
Upon disembarking from the ship, Daemon and Rodrik set foot in White Harbor - the only city/main seaport in the North and seat of House Manderly. Even though they had dressed for the occasion, the rebel Prince was not used to this new weather.
"ACHOO!" Daemon sneezed, shivering, and rubbing his palms furiously trying to warm himself. "Seven hells! Why... Why is the North so bloody cold?!" he complained.
Rodrik was unaffected. The North was his home, the home of his ancestors. In the winter season, every northern house bands together to survive. And for thousands of years, House Stark has led the way. But with reports of a terrible blizzard heading their way, they had to move to Winterfell before the temperature fell even further.
"G-G-Grandma, often t-told me stories about the... the North," Daemon continued through chattering teeth. "N-never did I ever imagine... th-that I'd be here of all places. Seven hells, I can't feel my toes!"
Rodrik roared with laughter, he had found a heavy fur-lined coat from the ship captain and tossed it to Daemon. "Your grandmother should have brought you here, to help keep you from a dainty southern child. Honestly, this is summer in the North and you are cold? I've seen men swim naked to Skagos and back in far worse temperatures."
The air of white harbor was a buzz with activity, although Daemon's arrival in the North was supposed to be kept a secret, but obviously, word must have gotten out and it seemed like half the city had turned out to take a gander at the prince. Guardsmen of House Manderly, wielding tridents stood at the jetty, saluting, and raising their weapons at the sight of the shivering stag prince.
"Welcome back, Ser Rodrik," one of the guards said.
"Is it true?" another asked. "After 800 years, has it finally happened?"
Word amongst some northern lords had already begun to spread. Was someone finally summoned by the Three-Eyed Raven to undergo training?
A carriage had been prepared to take the Stark and Baratheon boys up to Newcastle. House Manderly had planned a kind of celebration for the arrival of Daemon, there was to be a feast and the chief cleric from the Sept on the Snow wished to anoint Daemon as the Defender of the Old and New Faiths.
"HNNGGH!" Daemon clutched the side of his head. The visions were coming in more frequently, but... he looked like he was in a state of great discomfort to the point of physical pain.
« …They are here… »
"Well, well... You've led us on quite a chance, little Prince," a rough woman's voice called out. "But in the end, luck runs out eventually."
Daemon, Rodrik, and the Manderly guards turned to see two menacing figures standing before them. They immediately recognized the insignia embedded onto their breastplate—it was the Talons! They found them! But how did they get here? And how long were they standing there? Did they somehow board themselves onto one of the nearby vessels docking in port? And judging by the looks of it, they did not come alone; behind them were some of Argilac's enforcers, all of them armed to the teeth.
"No..." Daemon groaned in pain. He knew their armor. "Not you again... You're... you're Talons."
"Surprised?" the woman raised a brow. "Your brother sends his regards, but... he wants you dead pretty badly. Nothing personal. We're just our job."
The female Talon's silent hulking companion exhaled menacingly, the chance for blood and battle exciting him. The Manderly guards formed up in a defensive possession around Daemon. Though their tridents were more ceremonial than functioning they pointed them at the Talons.
Rodrik unsheathed his sword as well, his dark grey eyes narrowed. "If you want him, you will have to get through us first."
"If you say so," the female Talon replied dryly.
The large behemoth-like Talon growled softly and took three steps forward. As the Manderly guards rushed, the Talon unsheathed his broadsword and swung with such swift brutality—cleaving all cleanly in half. Rodrik and Daemon were stunned at the overall strength and ferocity.
"Any other takers?" she asked again.
« …They are too strong, and there are too many of them for either of you to manage. Run. Come to me… »
Daemon and Rodrik felt that if they were to fight now, they would stand no chance. Winterfell was just to the northwest of White Harbor. Their only option... was to retreat.
As they fled past numerous city blocks with the Talons pursuing them, they spotted the gateway leading to the outskirts connecting to the kingsroad. If they can escape and close the gates behind them, the Talons might have no other option other than to give up the chase. As Daemon passed through, Rodrik saw a heavy blade flying right past him and lodge itself into the lever, slamming the gates behind them.
"Rodrik!" Daemon exclaimed.
The prince tried to remove the blade from the lever, but it was no use. It was deeply lodged. He then tried to lift open the gates, but it was too heavy. Daemon was on one side, Rodrik on the other... with the Talons closing in on the Stark.
"RODRIK!" Daemon started to panic out of fear.
With the prince unable to intervene, the Talons now stood up close to Rodrik.
"Try all you want, Stark, but it looks like only one of you will die here. The Talons... send their regards."
Rodrik gritted his teeth. His cousin was trapped behind him with the gates sealed shut, but the kingsroad was just behind Daemon. However, the prince was not moving. He was not fleeing. He was in a state of panic, desperately trying to find a way to open the gates and save him, but nothing worked. The mission... get Daemon to Winterfell... the prince had to get there by himself now. But why won't he run?!
"RODRIK! GET OUT OF THERE!"
Suddenly a noise rippled through the air that got the attention of all four individuals. Their heads turned up and they saw that appearing out of nowhere were hundreds upon hundreds of crows cawing loudly. All of them perched on the roofs of the surrounding buildings and the ledges of the gate walls. The numerous blackbirds stared below; their black beady eyes were focused entirely on the Talons.
The two assassins suddenly felt a strange chill pass through their bodies as their eyes darted back and forth between the birds and their prey.
Then without warning the murder of crows descended like a tidal wave onto the Talons. The sound of cawing and screams filled the air. The black avians pecked and scratched at the assassins who quickly became enveloped.
Rordrik and Daemon were utterly transfixed by this spectacle that they witnessed, never in a million years had they seen anything like this and would not have believed it had they not seen it for themselves.
"Bloody birds," the female Talon muttered. "Put the town to the torch, then."
The giant Talon merely growled in a quiet hum, swatting the crows aside as he dragged a large barrel from the corner – lifting it high in the air and hurling it towards the center of White Harbor's largest tower. However, upon impact, a potent green explosion burst from the mouth and shot straight into the air, scattering the crows.
"Wildfire!" Daemon exclaimed, indicating he knew what the substance was.
If these Talons were armed with wildfire, then the Alchemists' Guild was somehow involved. Repeatedly, the giant hurled more barrels at the town stead, more green flames engulfing the harbor town – scattering the crows away.
"You've got a choice to make," the female Talon reiterated. "Since you so stubbornly refused, these people will have to pay the price."
Daemon again tried lifting the gates, but the bars remained firmly planted into the ground. And with the lever jammed, it would be difficult to clear it up. They were running out of time.
"My lord!" voices came from the other side.
All eyes turned to see Cerwyn sentries riding to the gate behind Daemon, seeing the flames unfold. They too tried to open the jammed gates but were unsuccessful. When they felt the wind change direction, the wildfire began to spread across White Harbor – sending many people running and screaming in multiple different directions. White Harbor was burning and no matter how many civilians tried to put out the flames, it only served to fuel the substance. From the docks, Argilac's personal enforces provided to the Talons made their way inland and began their cold-hearted massacre.
"You just had to be stubborn," the female Talon remarked. Swatting another crow away, she and her partner faced off against Rodrik Stark - who remained all alone with the only way out impossible.
"We... we have to go," one Cerwyn sentry uttered.
"But we can't leave him!" Daemon protested, still straining against the gates.
"DAEMON!" Rodrik's voice rang through the sound of the crackling fire, the screams of citizens, the shouting of soldiers, and the cawing of the crows. The Prince turned his eyes to his cousin, who stood there and smiled, even in all this madness, the heir to Winterfell nodded to his cousin. "Go."
Daemon could not believe his ears and stood in silence, stunned. "No..." he pleaded.
"Forgive us, my lord," one of the Cerwyn guards hauled the rebel Prince away from the gates.
"We're so sorry, my lord," another apologized.
"The North remembers," another vowed. "We will never forget you."
"NO!" Daemon screamed, his body flailing trying to get free. Regardless, the only thing he saw was the road moving away and Rodrik fading from view. "NO, RODRIK! NO, DON'T DO THIS! I CAN GET YOU OUT! NO! RODRIK!"
Rodrik heard the distinctive sounds of his second cousin, calling out to him in anguish until he could not hear him anymore. As the northern blizzard swept in and White Harbor continued to burn, Rodrik was now face-to-face with the deadliest Talons.
"Brave of you, Stark," the female Talon said, "but this is the end of the line for you."
Rodrik looked between the two of them, they were spreading out on either side to flank him. "Every Northman is taught end comes for all of us sooner or later, I don't fear what comes next." He said in a resolute tone. "But it the Gods are kind; I'll take at least one of you bastards with me before I go."
The giant Talon growled softly and took three steps forward.
Rodrik unsheathed his blade, knowing full well he was not going to make it out of this one. White Harbor burns, the Talons were closing in on him... and Argilac's enforcers encircled around him, aiming their musket rifles and bayonets. Standing alone, he looks at the charging Talons. Closing his eyes, he whispered a silent apology to his family. Rodrik Stark held his sword firmly as he charged forward to face death.
"Winter is coming!"
One enforcer rushed, but Rodrik swatted him aside as he advanced. Another swung his blade down, but Rodrik parried - just as another stabbed him in the flank with his bayonet. The Stark killed the enforcer, but musket shots rang out – hitting Rodrik in center mass and the right shoulder. The pain was unbearable, but the adrenaline rushed through him. Again advancing, Rodrik was able to slay five more of Argilac's enforcers before another stabbed him in the back and another shot him in the back of his left kneecap. One held him in place as four more stabbed him in the gut repeatedly. As his vision blurred and numbness began to set in, he felt his strength leaving his body slowly. One heavy blow to the face, and Rodrik stared up at the giant Talon.
"The Talons send their regards," the female Talon again reiterated.
With one single swing of his broadsword, the giant Talon decapitated the Stark heir – as the blizzard began to intensify.
"Set fire to the town," the female commanded. "And fetch me some quill and paper... and alcohol. We're going back to dealing with our client."
The crows cawed and cawed before flying off, disappearing into the northern skies.
—King's Landing—
Red Keep…
Several weeks had passed since the order had been dispatched, but as reports from his spies came back along with a wet, damp sack, Azleq moved compelled to deliver his findings. He strolled into the Red Keep, fully aware that an argument was underway between King Argilac IV and Lord Gerion. But he had a job to perform. "Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace. My lord Hand," he bowed. "But my little birds have sung the songs to me."
Argilac silenced the Old Lion of the West with a wave of his hand and then beckoned his spymaster forward. Azleq shuffled forward and presented his King with a folded piece of paper, which he took, opened, and read. As his eyes scanned the document a smile formed on his face, and he suddenly roared with laughter which echoed around the chamber.
Gerion took the message from the laughing King's hands and read it carefully, though instead of smiling his brow only furrowed. "Has this information been verified?" He asked the Master of Whisperers.
"They have. Rodrik Stark is dead," Azleq confirmed. He then unveiled a sack, but it stank of decay. Once opened, he pulled out the severed head of Rodrik Stark and laid it at Argilac's feet. "And White Harbor has been put to the torch. However, Prince Daemon has somehow managed to escape our grasp once again. With the northern climate taking a turn for the worse, my agents were forced to withdraw."
Just then, a commotion was heard outside... and it was getting louder. The noises were coming from Argilac's enforcers.
"Hey! What are you doing?!"
"You've no right to be in here! Get lost!"
"Only the King can authoriz— AAAHHH!"
Then some of Argilac's men were hurled across the throne room; one hit the column so hard their head cracked open on impact, leaving nothing but a bloody mess of bone and brain matter splattered across the floor. Strolling in, were the two Talons—returning from White Harbor. The female and the giant, Ser Robert Strong. Their armor had visible scratches and dents.
"You never said anything about the Three-Eyed Raven being involved!" the female Talon said angrily.
The Talons advanced angrily forward, Gerion raised his hand and snapped his fingers. At that moment, the Kingsguard present blocked their path and the red uniformed Lannister guards pointed their bayoneted rifles at the pair of assassins.
"What are you blathering about?" The Hand of the King asked, though the moment he heard the words 'Three-Eyed Raven,' his mind thought back to the strange drawing that Azleq had dropped.
Ser Robert Strong merely grabbed one of the Lannister guards and lifted him off the ground with one hand before using the other to easily rip his head off. The remaining Lannister guards began trembling in fear at the sight of such brutality. Even Argilac's Kingsguard were taken aback but remained steady.
"Don't play dumb with us, old man," the female Talon warned. "You want us to kill people? Fine. Pay us for our services. But act like you don't know and keep us in the dark? Then that is a problem."
Ser Robert Strong again growled softly, but with a hint of menace in his vocals.
"Now our employers are growing tired of your games, so I'll ask one more time. Why didn't you tell us about the Three-Eyed Raven? Why hide that? What else are you all hiding from us?!"
It seemed apparent that the Talons had heard the stories and legends surrounding the Three-Eyed Raven. But that was eight hundred years ago! Yet if these Talons kept forcing an inquiry like this, then something was seriously wrong.
Recognizing a chance, Gerion kept his face stoic and impassive. "If there was an issue regarding enemy intelligence, then I suggest you take it up with my colleague. I recall it was he who provided you with the information in the North," he said as he pushed the Master of Whisperers forward, who in turn sent the Lord of Casterly Rock a scathing look.
"Unfortunately," Azleq began, "the Northmen safeguard their secrets very well. Even my little birds cannot get close enough."
"Then you're useless to us," the female Talon huffed. She turned to Argilac. "Since we've now entered uncharted territory... Do you still want that brother of yours gone? Double our pay."
Just then, Ser Bryen Granes, the Master of Laws rushed in. "Your Grace!" he panted. "We've got a problem..."
Lord Gilbar Centyre, the Master of Coin, joined them. "Grand Maester Asten is missing!"
There was too much noise, too much talking from all sides. For a moment, Gerion released the lion within him. "SILENCE!" he roared. Though aged, his voice was still powerful and commanded respect. All voices immediately fell silent in the room. Gerion looked at the Talons first. "You want to be paid double for a task you did not even accomplish the first time? If the pair of you had half the wits of a turnip, you would have brought the Starkling here. Alive, he was invaluable. But dead, he is nothing but a martyr and a rallying point." The hulking Ser Robert growled, but Gerion ignored him and continued to speak to his female counterpart. "Worse, your premature attack gave away the element of surprise you possessed. So far, the Talons have failed to live up to their reputation." He then moved past the female assassin who glared daggers at the old General. Now, it was Centyre's turn to fall under Gerion's shadow, causing him to instantly break out in a sweat. "And you. What do you mean the Grand Maester is gone? He could not have simply vanished into thin air."
Gilbar gulped. "His... chambers are empty."
Bryen chimed in. "The City Watch last saw him leave the city through the Dragon Gate," he said. "But-"
"...He saw something he wasn't meant to see," Azleq theorized. One of his agents came in and whispered into his ear. His face darkened. "We have another traitor. The Grand Maester has taken it upon himself to empty everything in his chambers and flee with overly sensitive information. Old man Asten has decided to defect. And from what my spies determine, one of Samson's battalions is en route to retrieve him."
Argilac slammed his fist down in a rage. "Send our fastest riders! We might catch that grey rat before he escapes. And execute the Captain the Dragon Gate for his stupidity!" The leader of the Fanged Stags faction ground his teeth. "For every success achieved must I be greeted with news of failure and treachery?" he asked rhetorically.
"Then... Double. Our. PAY," the female Talon repeated. "Or else…"
Ser Robert Strong growled again, towering over Argilac in terms of size and strength. The Talons will never accept being cheated or ridiculed. If their terms are not met, their contract would be terminated. And these two Talons standing before him were the best of the best.
Argilac tapped the shaft of his warhammer and grunted. "Fine, we will pay you double. But you only get the first half now. You will not get the second until my brother's head is delivered to me on a silver platter." He said and rose from his seat so that he could glare at them on an equal level. "But don't think to threaten me in my castle again."
"Don't fuck with us again," the female Talon swiped the good from Argilac's hands and she walked out with Ser Robert Strong.
"Your Grace," a steward arrived. "I just received word. Lady Victoria Florent and our ambassadorial delegates have arrived in Dorne, but the rebels sent theirs as well. Lady Sharra Arryn is with them."
So, the pretty little bird had finally left the Eyrie. She was so close and yet still just beyond his grasp. Argilac pointed at Azleq. "Gather whatever spies you have in Dorne, I want them all focused on Sharra Arryn. Once those vipers sign the treaty, I want Sharra arrested and brought to me."
"Understood," Azleq stated. "We have Admiral Aurane Waters and General Stefon Parne on standby – along with some additional Talons lying in wait."
"We should proceed with caution," warned Lord Daltis Harclay, the Master of Commerce. "If the Dornish suspect something, they could likely sympathize with the rebels and leave our southern flank exposed."
"Then let's hope Lady Victoria pulls this off," Gilbar nodded.
Victoria Florent, the Lady of Brightwater Keep, had a reputation as a shrewd and deceptive personality. Since House Florent was elevated as Lords of Highgarden, Lords Paramount of the Reach, and Wardens of the South since the extinction of House Baratheon of Highgarden, their entitlement seemed to increase as well.
"Your Grace," Azleq piped up. "A message from Tyrosh. Archon Illapho has agreed to an alliance... provided of course his terms are met."
Argilac's gaze then turned to Gerion, "And what terms are those? What did you promise those green-haired clowns?"
Gerion simply shrugged. "Their price was low. Forgiveness of some debts, lower trading tariffs, some highborn matches for his daughters and nieces, a few fancy but empty titles for his male kin, and the promise that should Tyroshi seek to annex a few of the Stepstones, we would not interfere."
Following the defeat of the Band of Twelve, Argilac's grandfather King Ormund II Baratheon enforced a strict doctrine that allowed the people of the Stepstones to remain independent of both Westeros and Essos. It had allowed the archipelago of islands to develop in peace.
"Bu… but to give up those islands to the Tyroshi, that could disrupt commerce and…"
"Which is precisely why I told him in my letter for an alliance that Tyrosh would be limited to the eastern half of the islands. Those on the western half I have told Lady Florent to offer to allow Dorne to take under their protection." Gerion said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Argilac scoffed. "Still, what can they offer us?"
"Much, Your Grace. The Archon had promised us almost 30,000 axillary troops with a full complement of military equipment. Furthermore, we can make use of his fleet to secure our control of the Narrow Sea and finally break the rebel blockade at Gulltown."
"But… but that fleet is made up of first-of-the-line ships. How could the Tyroshi hope to penetrate that?"
At that, Gerion allowed an exceedingly rare smile to form on his face, an expression that was more chilling than comforting to those who saw it. "Because they will be armed with a new weapon that has recently been developed by a man in my employ." He looked at Argilac. "I would like to recommend this man to fill the position of Grand Maester. He possesses certain knowledge and skills that I think you will find useful for future campaigns."
"There's also another factor we should consider," Azleq advised. "The Iron Bank of Braavos. They are starting to notice what is going on here and wish to make a wager. I'm told a representative is on his way."
Argilac shot him a look. "What do you mean they are wagering? Do they seriously think that Daemon and his gaggle of traitors have any hope of triumphing against me?"
"Unfortunately, I have no answer, Your Grace. All I know is that the Iron Bank is to be taken seriously."
Argilac groaned at the fact that he, the ruler of the greatest nation since the Valyrian Freehold, needed to treat with bankers and money counters. "Fine. Prepare for their arrival. I want them to see my reign in all its greatness." He said to his Master of Whisperers and then turned to his Hand. "And bring this candidate of yours to me, I will not suffer any more rats from the Citadel. And keep me informed of the events in Dorne. Once we have their strength added to ours plus reinforcements from Tyrosh, this war will be as good as won."
Chapter End
Author's Note: Just when the rebels were hitting their stride in the civil war, the Talons strike back by ambushing Daemon Baratheon and Rodrik Stark at White Harbor. Although the rebel Prince was able to escape, Rodrik has fallen to ensure Argilac's primary target would elude his grasp once more as he is escorted to Winterfell to meet the Three-Eyed Raven. With one of their own gone, the Starks will want payback for what the Talons had done. How will the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Jon Stark, react to his eldest son and heir's murder? Find out in the next chapter.