At the Tower of the Hand…
It was a bright, sunny morning. King Daveth stretched his arms and groaned as he moved to wake himself up from his slumber. He was a married man now, but even then the Oathkeeper still had to tend to his royal duties. Before doing so, however, Daveth had to tend attend a special session of his Small Council. There were two vacancies that needed to be filled and he had his grandfather Lord Hand Tywin Lannister to assemble the candidates he suggested. Climbing the stairs, he arrived at the new Small Council chambers in the Tower of the Hand.
Daveth scoured the room to see Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys, his uncle Tyrion Lannister, Ser Barristan Selmy… and the two candidates to fill in the vacancies. To his right stood Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill; it had been sometime since a Reachmen of his status even set foot in the Red Keep and when Lord Tarly received an invitation, Randyll complied with the summons. Finally, to his left sat Prince Oberyn Martell who had both of his feet prompted atop the desk.
"Your Grace," they all greeted.
Daveth gave a brief nod in acknowledgment. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice, my lords. This meeting of the Small Council will officially begin once the Hand of the King arrives."
"These meetings aren't always going to be this early are they?" Oberyn asked rather bored if not a bit tired. "I was up late last night."
"If the King or his Hand calls upon us, then surely it must be something of utmost importance," explained Ser Barristan.
"And you're all just content with this?"
"Believe me, certain occasions like this always tends to make my head spin. I never enjoyed discussing politics, but King Daveth has 'insisted' that my presence was needed."
Oberyn sighed. "So, does this mean I am a master of something now? Coins? Ships…?"
"We will be getting to that momentarily," Randyll interrupted gruffly. The animosity between the Reach and Dorne going back centuries were still present among both sides. "But until then you'd to best to—"
All talks subsided when Tywin Lannister entered the room and sat at his assigned seat next to his grandson.
"We are here to discuss the appointments the King has recommended, so this needs to be done," the Old Lion coolly announced as he turned to his grandson. "Your Grace."
Daveth nodded and cleared his throat. "For some time there have been two vacancies on this council, positions that are considered of great importance in advising the crown. The search for suitable replacements was painstakingly long, my lords. But know that each of you assembled carry with you a particular talent. After much thought and careful consideration, I believe I found two worthy candidates for this cabinet who carry such talent suited for the rolls I bestow upon them."
With that, Daveth first turned his attention towards Randyll.
"Lord Randyll Tarly," he begun.
The old Lord of Horn Hill stood tall and proud in his seat, his face showing no emotions.
"You are one the finest military commanders Westeros has ever produced, the only man to defeat my father Robert Baratheon and my uncle Ser Jaime Lannister in battle as no one else ever has. Your prowess in warfare is perhaps unparalleled. As such, it is with great privilege that I name you the new Master of Ships."
Randyll nodded in acknowledgement. "Very well. All I have to offer is hereby at the crown's disposal, Your Grace."
Daveth nodded and turned to Oberyn. "Prince Oberyn."
"Yes?"
"In light of your… ahem, strive to right wrongs, to ensure a tough but fair justice system, it would please the crown if you were to serve as Master of Laws."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like it's quite an offer, Oathkeeper. I wasn't made aware that you had such respect for Dorne. Does this mean I can lop off criminals' heads now?" he half-joked.
"No, that job's normally reserved for the King's Justice Ser Ilyn Payne," the Young Stag explained. "Although you do get to supervise the King's Justice, manage the Red Keep's dungeons and advise the crown on legal matters; even the City Watch is presumably under the bailiwick of the Master of Laws. Surely a man of your reputation is up for the task?"
Oberyn groaned and waived a hand. "Fine, I'll take it."
Tywin noted the appointments and studied his grandson closely. Even though he is ruthless nor does he trust any of the Great Houses apart from his own, Tywin does recognize it as necessary to make some concessions to House Martell and Dorne in general so as to reunify the realm because deep down even the Old Lion himself knows that one day Daenerys Targaryen will turn her eyes to Westeros and seek to reclaim the Iron Throne for her family, and the last time dragons assaulted Westeros, only Dorne stood against them.
"Now that the first item on the agenda has been resolved," Tywin cleared his throat, "what else do we have?"
Varys spoke up. "Any or all contact my little birds might have with the North has gone silent overnight, my lord."
Pycelle raised his eyebrows suspiciously. "What do you mean by 'gone silent'?"
"My little birds tell me that there has been suspicious activity going on up there, but as of right now we are left in the dark. I must regret that not even I—"
All talks were rudely interrupted when the royal steward barged into the room, flinging the doors wide open. He panted heavily and took a moment to catch his breath.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" Randyll scowled.
The royal steward gave a quick curtsey. "*pant* My lords! *pant* Your Grace! *pant, pant* I bring news! Terrible news!"
"Slow down, man! What news?" inquired Tyrion rather curiously.
"Balon Greyjoy and the— *pant* and the Iron Islands are in open rebellion! *pant* They've attacked the Neck and have taken Moat Cailin!"
The room filled with silence. All eyes were glued to the royal steward as he relayed the news of Balon Greyjoy's second rebellion taking place and that Moat Cailin was under ironborn occupation, meaning armies from the North cannot march south nor could the southern armies march upward. The ironborn were out in force and delivered the first blow. But there was something else that snapped the Small Council's attention. Before them, King Daveth I Baratheon slowly tightened his grip on his seat so hard until his knuckles turned white. Quiet inhales through his nose were sharply exhaled as the Young Stag's face turned purple. Tyrion watched his nephew's silent rage coming to the surface, and with the expression he was giving it looked as if he would erupt at any second – but it also brought up old, long suppressed memories to the surface all at once.
The Imp looked into Daveth's blue eyes as he knew the young man had remembered the raid of Lannisport all too well.
ooOoo
Lannisport (11 years ago)…
The port city was on fire. Screams were heard as the Lannister fleet was repeatedly bombarded by the Iron Fleet. The ironborn seized the opportunity to raid the city, killing anyone they could see and taking captives as their thralls, all while laughing manically at the pursuit of their Old Way customs.
"Mother! Father! Where are you?!" shouted a young 8-year-old Crown Prince Daveth Baratheon, who wandered aimlessly through the streets with his friends as they moved to avoid falling, flaming debris.
"There's too many of them!" shouted Darnis Swyft, one of Daveth's friends and distant relative of Ser Harys Swyft.
"What are we going to do?!" exclaimed another of Daveth's friends, Culler, a stableboy. "We-we can't outrun them all!"
"Our only hope is to get to safety!" pointed out Alrah, another of Daveth's friends and a squire to one of Tywin Lannister's bannermen's sons. "Quickly! We have to go! Now!"
But before the children could run, more falling debris had impeded their path. They turned to find another route, but in the chaos they found themselves cut off.
"We're trapped!" Culler shouted fearfully.
"Well, well, well. Look what we have here, boys!" shouted one of the ironborn.
The children all turned to look at their pursuers. The ironborn were cackling and brandished their sharp blades, each of them licking their lips as their victims found their backs pressed against the wall. Their leader, pale skin with dark brown hair, grinned wickedly as he held his two-handed battleaxe. Euron Greyjoy, his men called him.
"Fitting tributes to the Drowned God, wouldn't you say?" Euron laughed sadistically. "Or… to me since I am the Drowned God?"
That drew more laughter from his men. The boys stood terrified.
"Why… why are you doing this?" Darnis quivered.
Culler bit his lip as it trembled. Daveth was equally terrified as his friends were. But Euron gave no reply as he signaled his men.
"Take them back to the Iron Islands as thralls if you must, but feel free to kill the little bastards should they put up a fight."
Alrah was quick to protest. "Wait! Wait—!"
His protests were quickly silenced as Euron cleaved him in two, blood splattering everywhere – some of which landed on Daveth's cheeks as he witnessed Darnis and Culler being butchered before his very eyes. The 8-year-old Baratheon trembled in fear as Euron Greyjoy continued grinning wickedly. He and his men looked down at the frightened pup.
"This one's a worthy prize," Euron told his men. "We'll take him back with us to the Iron Islands. We'll be having lots of fun!"
One of the ironborn grabbed Daveth's arm and the boy struggled against their firm grip as they brought him to one of their longships.
"No! Let go of me! You can't do this! Let me go! Let me go!" he screamed.
Euron and the ironborn cackled as they threw Daveth into one of their cages and set sail, witnessing the burning Lannister fleet sink to the bottom of the ocean. From there, it was when his torment first begun.
ooOoo
Tyrion was getting increasingly worried about his nephew's state of mind. Just then, at what felt like an eternity, Daveth finally spoke up.
"I beg your pardon, but I did not seem to hear you," Daveth whispered menacingly. "Could you repeat that to me one more time?"
The royal steward gulped as he noticed the tone of the King's voice. "The ironborn have… taken Moat Cailin—"
*SLAM!*
He didn't even have enough time to reiterate his report as Daveth slammed the table with both hands hard and shot up from his seat so fast the chair rocked backward before falling back into place. The Young Stag's advisors were apparently disturbed at this sudden display, save for Tywin Lannister and Randyll Tarly.
"Grand Maester," Daveth's voice boomed throughout the room, "send word to every corner of the realm, from the Arbor to the Wall. The rest of you begin preparing for war. Now."
"Your Grace—" Pycelle tried to speak.
"I SAID NOW!" he roared.
The elderly maester hastily hurried out of the room to send a raven to all the high lords of Westeros of the explicit command of their King to call their respective bannermen. The others remained seated as they examined Daveth storming out of the Tower of the Hand to prepare himself for battle. Tyrion watched with worry, with Varys lowering his head mournfully. Randyll was permitted to return to Horn Hill to assemble his troops. Oberyn, meanwhile, was rather curious at the recent events unravelling before him.
"The meeting of the Small Council is postponed," Tywin said coolly. "We will discuss the matter at a later date until this rebellion is dealt with."
The royal councilors were dismissed, leaving Tyrion, Varys and Oberyn alone in the Tower of the Hand.
'Daveth, please don't let your rage consume you,' Tyrion thoughtfully pleaded. 'The realm needs you. Myrcella and Tommen need you, I need you… Sansa needs you.'
######
Somewhere near Riverrun…
Near the ancestral Tully stronghold, a Northern lord and his bannermen were marching up the Kingsroad. Their sigils stood high, a red flayed man hanging upside-down on a white X-shaped cross on a black field. Lord Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort and one of Lord Robb Stark's top generals, had been marching from Harrenhal with his men to attend his liege lord's wedding to Talisa Maegyr—but by the time he had arrived, the ceremony was over. But that was not the reason for his arrival. In his hand was a rolled up piece of paper, the seal of Winterfell remaining intact. He had received one earlier with a waxed-seal from the Dreadfort as well.
Upon their arrival, Roose dismounted from his horse and marched towards Riverrun with his man-at-arms Locke to deliver the news. What felt like hours scouring through the halls, Roose finds Robb, Talisa, Catelyn, Lord Edmure Tully and the Blackfish along with most of the Northern host around the fire within the Great Hall enjoying themselves.
"Lord Bolton," Lord Greatjon Umber greeted in a bellowed laughter. "I fear you have missed the ceremony!"
Roose gave no expression. "My apologies for being late, Lord Stark, but that's not the reason why I am here."
Robb's cheerful look soon turned serious. Something was wrong. The Lord of the Dreadfort decided it was best to present Robb with the rolled message.
"What is it?" the Young Wolf asked.
"News from Winterfell," Roose stated plainly.
Robb took the parchment from Roose and broke the seal and begun unwrapping it to see what the message entailed. His bride, Talisa, looked over his shoulder to see what could possibly trouble her husband. Robb Stark examined the note carefully, before a hangdog look on his face washed over him.
"This cannot be true…" Robb murmured dreadfully.
"We've had ravens from White Harbor, Barrowtown and the Dreadfort, my lord," Roose informed the Young Wolf, his arms crossed in front of him. "Balon Greyjoy has attacked the North, seizing Moat Cailin and trapping our armies south of the Neck."
Robb began to pace as his bannermen shouted and cursed. Grey Wind's head rose in the sudden commotion.
"Recently… another raven arrived from King's Landing not long after," he continued. "King Daveth Baratheon is calling on all the high lords of Westeros to gather their forces for battle."
"Treasonous whores!" Greatjon Umber bellowed, slamming one hand against the wall. "They'll rue the day they decided to attack us!"
Lord Rickard Karstark appeared to agree. "Balon Greyjoy will pay for this outrage!"
Robb's hands were starting to shake. "What about my brothers?" he asked.
Roose shook his head. "We received no word from Winterfell lately."
Catelyn's jaw clenched. "And what of Theon?"
"We don't know, my lady. But you can never trust a Greyjoy for long—"
"I must go north at once."
Robb stood so quickly that he nearly knocked over one of the servant maids, causing Grey Wind to hop to his feet.
"Our armies are stuck below the Neck, my lord," Roose reminded Robb.
"How can I call myself Warden of the North if I can't defend it?" the Young Wolf got right in his face, veins pulsing in his neck. "How can I ask my own men to follow me if I can't—?!"
"You are Warden of the North!" the Lord of the Dreadfort interrupted. "But that doesn't mean you have to do everything yourself. Let me send word to my bastard son at the Dreadfort. He can raise a small scouting party to investigate before the new moon. For us to get back north now, we will need ships. The King's own uncle Lord Stannis has more than 200 at his disposal. Go to King's Landing, convince your brother-in-law to lend us his ships."
Robb's eyes flickered. "If Theon has betrayed me…" his shook his head. His voice was soft, but was filled in anger at the ironborn's act of provocation. "I'll force some answers out of him."
Roose nodded and took his leave. Once Bolton left, Robb turned to his men.
"My lords, our time of leisure is over. Our home is under siege. Let's push Balon Greyjoy and his men out of the North!"
The soldiers of Houses Umber, Glover, Karstark, Bolton, Mormont and attendees of the Riverlands rallied to Robb Stark's call to arms. As they prepared themselves for the inevitable march, Robb had already begun making preparations to head to King's Landing to ask for Daveth's ships.
'Gods hear me,' Robb prayed in deep thought to himself. 'Please do not let the ironborn reach Winterfell. Spare my brothers. Please.'
His mind raced with unimaginable images of what devastation awaited him back in the North, but his thoughts soon changed from his two younger brothers and subjects at Winterfell to Theon Greyjoy.
'You'd better have a good explanation for this, Theon. I will never forgive you if you've truly turned traitor!'
######
At Deepwood Motte…
Yara Greyjoy had strolled around the fortress of Deepwood Motte, having captured it from House Glover and House Woods rather easily. Of the raiding party she took with her, Yara's side experienced minimal losses as the Glover garrison was utterly wiped out. Robett Glover had been clapped in irons, his wife and children tossed into prison as the ironborn brutalized and terrorized House Glover's ancestral lands.
"You fuckin' bitch!" Robett cursed.
Yara finished sipping a goblet of ale. "Aww, poor Greenlander," she mocked. "Sad that you were taken completely by surprise? Ha! Such a shame. I expected much from you."
The acting Lord of Deepwood Motte tried to rush her, but his chains held him down. Yara simply ignored Robett and took a bite of a piece of bacon and bread. Still something bothered her. Where was her brother? Where was Theon? Yara had given her last surviving brother to take part of the ironborn's traditions, but Theon continued protesting the notion that the Old Way would only bring about the demise of House Greyjoy, the Iron Islands… their way of life.
Deep down, Yara felt conflicted about where her youngest brother's loyalties actually lie. But she couldn't let such thoughts disturb her from her victory.
"When I get out of these chains, you ironborn will face the consequences," Robett continued spewing his threats.
Yara was soon getting bored. "Lock him and his family at Ten Towers on Harlaw," she commanded men.
The ironborn guard nodded and dragged Robett to his feet and out of the main hall.
"This isn't over, ironborn bitch! You hear me?! This isn't over!"
Yara sighed in relief when she heard the doors slammed shut behind her. She had secured the Iron Islands a base of operations for their invasion of the North, yet still close to tidal flats near the Bay of Ice just in case of a quick getaway. But that was plan B. Yara wiped the ale and grease from her mouth with her sleeve and stood up, looking out the window.
"Little brother," Yara pondered as if her feelings were hurt, "why didn't you come with me?"
Such questions only remained unsaid. The Second Greyjoy Rebellion had begun, and the ironborn had already taken control of Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte. "We Do Not Sow" are the words of House Greyjoy, reaving and plundering was their traditional way of life to sustain themselves back on the Iron Islands. To them, there was no other way. But even someone like Yara did have her doubts. Regardless, Yara stood firm and ready, willing to pay the iron price for as long as her body still drew breath.
######
Author's Note: The Oathkeeper erupts in fury and once he learned of Balon Greyjoy's second rebellion he was sent over the edge! His anger was like no man had ever seen before! The call has been sent, and armies will begin to mobilize against the Second Greyjoy Rebellion. The first phase would be the initial reaction of people learning about the ironborn attack on Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte. Baratheon and Stark reactions are rather different than others. What do you guys think? Thoughts? Let me know.
Guest #4: I thought Stannis was Master of Ships.
―He was under Robert before Jon Arryn died and Stannis eventually left for Dragonstone when Robert and the royal party ventured North.
Guest #3: This is good. Maybe you can have Daveth use some of Stannis' ships to give the Ironborn a taste of their own medicine. Use Ironborn tactics on the Ironborn and see how they feel like it when Ironborn villages and castles are being raided and pillaged.
―Psychological warfare has its effects, though I wouldn't be certain as to whether or not the ironborn themselves would be affected by it as some mainlanders would. Though the notion of using the enemy's tactics against them would be ironic. Daveth would probably have Stannis utilize the Royal Fleet to bombard the Iron Islands to rubble.
Guest #2: great story
―Thanks.
BioHazard82: Another good chapter.
―Thanks.
Guest #1: I hope that thé king will make them meet their god
―The deepest, darkest corners of the Seven Hells are about to be brought to bear on the Iron Islands.
Felon GT: Oath keeper must set some kind of horrid example to iron born. Crucify like the romans, or impale like blade the Impaler, behadment, or how about castration before death
―I'm sure he has something else in mind if you catch my drift.
C.E.W (continued): Sorry clicked the enter button by accident
Anyway, since the Neck is blocked off, the best way to move to enter the North to drive the Ironborn out is by ships. The largest navies in the west sea of Westeros, are the Lannisters and the Redwynes, of the Redwyne fleet is larger and more battle equipped. The best fleet in the east sea of Westeros is the royal fleet commanded by Stannis Baratheon. The Redwyne could regroup with the Lannister fleet to counteract the Ironborn fleet to at least keep them from attack further south. Stannis Baratheon could use his fleet to move the Stark forces into the North using White Harbor, and possibly a portion of troops from the Vale considering it is on the way from the Riverlands to White Harbor. Daveth, Randyll Tarly and Oberyn Martell can start mobilizing the rest of the armies in preparation for an invasion of the Iron Islands.
―No worries. Fighting the ironborn by ships will be tough, but almost every Westeros mainlander knows they aren't disciplined and are rather predictable. The Royal Fleet, Redwyne Fleet and newly-rebuilt Lannister Fleet should be able to harass the Iron Fleet long enough for Daveth and the Northern vanguard to join in once Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte is liberated. Oberyn, however, will likely remain behind at King's Landing... obviously not interested since asking to fight the ironborn wasn't part of the deal that was made between Daveth and Dorne.
C.E.W: Daveth is rallying the Kingdoms for war, no doubt he's got in his head to wipe out the Ironborn after their attack on Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte. Although Daveth might be disappointed that he may not get the chance to kill the one Ironborn he hates the most, and the only one he wants to kill more than Balon Greyjoy. The mastermind of the Burning of the Lannister fleet at Casterly Rock, the murderer of his friends that day, and the grand architect of his torture... Euron Greyjoy. Theon Greyjoy is still a mystery, he didn't go with Yara and due to the protests she mentioned about the failings of Balon's planned invasion, I'd say he didn't go to the Stony Shore like canon. I guess he won't raise a sword and can't pick a side.
―Indeed he might; some psychological scars are often difficult to heal even with the passage of time. The memories are still on his mind every day, and he still hides it from most around him - though at least a few have their suspicions. But whatever Daveth has in mind should serve as a reminder to any who would oppose him like his grandfather Lord Tywin did when the Reynes and Tarbecks rebelled against the Lannisters. Theon Greyjoy is still the wildcard here; I'll be certain to include him in more chapters now that the Second Greyjoy Rebellion is in full swing.
RHatch89: The Ironborn are in for a rude awakening :)
―A very BIG rude awakening.
mpowers045: The Ironborn will regret the day they invade the North
―You reap what you sow, right? What goes around comes around. The ironborn will face the full fury of the North and the Oathkeeper's wrath.
Patty 4577: This was something I should have suggested in the beginning. But have Theon as the mole. Or in this stage have him occupy Winterfell. But in a way that screws up the Ironborn.
―If either scenario were to take place, then the next few chapters will have to be structured and carefully written. Wouldn't want to screw anything up.
The Three Stoogies: o man I am on the edge of my seat I can't wait to see what Daveth does to the ironbrone I have a feeling he will make what his grandfather did look like a children's tale keep up the great work
―Thanks. Will do.
Moshi: The Ironborn are doomed. How bloody moronic they are, Daveth has called on all of the Kingdoms, which will descend on the Iron Islands and wipe them out. I hope Theon has kept true to his beliefs on how foolish his father is and gone to Winterfell to warn Bran and Rickon. Though, the Ironborn won't be able to have an easy time holding the Moat with the crannogmen about. Please tell me that they will begin to mount a resistance.
―From what I could tell, the crannogmen don't march into open battle and if invaded they rely on retreating their crannogs deeper into the swamps. The crannogmen will likely use guerrilla tactics, poisoned arrows, and their superior knowledge of the difficult swampy terrain to bleed the invaders through attrition. For ten thousand years, the crannogmen have proven to be very difficult to conquer. So in short, yes the crannogmen will mount a resistance and try to draw the ironborn into their domain-where they have the advantage.