Off the coast of Seagard…
The Northmen had long arrived at the castle of Seagard in the Riverlands. The seat of House Mallister, a vassal house holding fealty to House Tully of Riverrun, Seagard was not only the largest and only port on the west coast of the Riverlands, but it also maintained a small fleet of half a dozen war longships and two war galleys under the command of their liege lord Lord Jason Mallister. Regarded as one of the most stalwart, reliable and honorable of the river lords, Jason was responsible for leading the victorious defense of Seagard against an attack by the ironborn forces led by Balon Greyjoy's eldest son Rodrik Greyjoy and killed him personally.
The Lord of Seagard personally welcomed the northern forces and made the preparations for the inevitable invasion of the Iron Islands itself, reinforcing the combined Royal Fleet, Lannister Fleet and Redwyne Fleet with a fraction of his own vessels. A small fraction of the Redwyne and Lannister fleet picked up the Northmen and set sail immediately afterwards, with only a few Seagard vessels remaining behind to defend the shores from any aggressors.
Onboard the vessel Wolfsbane, Robb Stark sat in his quarters with his great-uncle Ser Brynden Tully and his wife Talisa. He was still troubled about Daveth's outburst at him back at Moat Cailin – listening to his childhood friend/brother-in-law chastise him upon the Young Stag learning of his two political blunders. It still baffled Robb how Daveth switched from being calm and patient to cold and ruthless. He must've suspected that's the Lannister in him talking then. Or was it the Baratheon? He shook his head, staying focused on the inevitable naval battle.
"You looked troubled," Brynden said. "Still bothered about what the King said to you?"
Robb sighed. "I've never seen Daveth act like that before. Yes, I made a mistake but was it really necessary to lash out at me like that in front of my own men?"
"Pay no mind to that, I'd say. His father King Robert was like that for many years, even while leading the rebellion against the Mad King. Nowadays it's Daveth's turn to vent a bit now and then. Whatever he said to you back at Moat Cailin, you know deep down he didn't mean it. You're like a brother to him, the only true friend he's got left in this miserable world. He'll be back to his old self in no time once this is done."
"Saying he'd 'beat the shit out of me' if he wasn't married to Sansa was one way of putting it."
The Blackfish shook his head and placed a hand on his great-nephew's shoulder. "You two are each like your fathers. Ned was honorable, kind and well-loved by all the North. Robert was headstrong, strong and a charismatic man who turned enemies into friends."
"Such a high praise, uncle," replied Robb.
Brynden laughed. "That wasn't meant as a compliment," he explained. "You see, Robb, being a ruler means not everyone has to be an honorable, shining knight from those blasted songs and stories. Being a King means there's a lot of heavy burdens and responsibilities that comes with it, sometimes you have to make… hard decisions that are sometimes considered harsh, cruel or even dishonorable. That's how it is in the south. And Daveth carries with him the fate of all Seven Kingdoms on his shoulders every day. Maybe he intended to be hard on you just to keep you alive."
The Young Wolf shook his head. "If so, then he has on odd way with words."
"Nothing's ever easy in times of war; something I learned at your age during the War of the Ninepenny Kings," the Blackfish admitted. "Judging the actions and behavior of your royal brother-in-law, the decision he makes are tough but also fair. Can't be too lenient, but can't be too strict either. Having a rigid sense of honor works doesn't work so well if you were born in the center of it all."
Robb wasn't sure if he'd ever understand it, not fully. "I'll need to think about it some more. Not sure if I'll ever understand the southern court."
"Neither do I. I might not now him that well, but Daveth may end up surprising you at some point." With that, Brynden Tully left the room – leaving Robb and Talisa alone.
Robb was left to ponder his great-uncle's words, whilst rubbing his temples. He took a brief moment to look back at his wife Talisa, who was busy writing a letter.
"Who are you writing?" he asked curiously.
"My mother."
Robb looked over Talisa's shoulder to examine the letter, but he couldn't understand the dialect or even the language of what it was she was writing.
"Is that Valyrian?"
"Gaaa (Say hello for me)," she answers.
"'Gaaa'?"
"Rytsas (Hello)."
"Ritsas," Robb tried to repeat.
Talisa rolled her eyes and smiled. "That was close enough," she laughed.
The Young Wolf scratched the back of his head, apparently knowing he still has much to learn about foreign languages. It wasn't necessarily his strong suit, but considering his wife Talisa was from Volantis she'd be able to teach him how to understand High Valyrian and Low Valyrian in no time at all.
"Does your mother know her daughter's a Westerosi highborn lady?" he asked.
"Not yet, no," she shook her head cryptically. "I'm sure there will be many surprises for her. Will you come with me to Volantis one day? When all this is over?"
Robb nodded. "I will. I promise."
"I know she'd love to meet you… and her grandchild."
Robb sat there for a moment in his cabin, pondering until… 'Wait, what?' he thought. The Lord of Winterfell blinked several times as Talisa's words were slowly starting to sink in. Once he fully processed Talisa's words, Robb gave a small laugh, turning his head towards her as he stood up.
"What now?" he asked speechlessly. "Are you… are you certain?"
Talisa decided to put the ink and quill down onto the small desk in their small, private cabin. "Are you angry with me?" she asked.
"Angry?" Robb walked towards Talisa, kneeling down so they were at eye-level. He gently cupped her cheek with his hand, reassuring her. "You are my darling wife."
Embracing the hand on her cheek, Talisa smiled. "And I have your heir inside me, my lord, a son or daughter."
"Maybe one of each?"
"Don't get greedy," Talisa laughed causing Robb to join in. She kissed his hand. "I know it's not much considering, but could you leave the war at sea for just one night?"
"I love you," the Young Wolf proclaimed. "Do you hear me? I love you."
As Robb kissed Talisa, he lifted her up off the chair and brought her to the bed. While they were busy undressing each other, eager to recreate the act of procreation they had begun months ago. For only a brief moment, Robb Stark and his wife Talisa had forgotten about the horrors of war just for the sake of losing themselves in each other's company.
######
Somewhere in the Sunset Sea…
Waves crashed against the tens of war galleys and longships. Among the vessels sailing through the water, a fully-recovered King Daveth I Baratheon stood with his arms crossed on the deck of King Robert's Hammer, flagship of the Royal Fleet and its largest naval war vessel. He stared into the distant oceans through fog and mist.
Among the crew, only a dozen battle-hardened veterans and experienced soldiers handpicked by the Young Stag himself maintained their balance, whilst a few newcomers had either shaky legs or were vomiting over the side due to sea sickness. The rest were stationed on other ships such as Lionstar, Lady Lyanna, Bold Wind, and the Seaswift.
Accompanying him was the Master of Ships, Lord Randyll Tarly. The Lord of Hornhill stood alongside Daveth in examining the vast open ocean readying themselves for battle. At their current pace, with the wind pushing their sails they should be able to make it to the Iron Islands in three days' time.
"Never thought I'd find myself heading back to the Iron Islands after such a long time," Daveth mentioned.
Randyll noticed. "There are no easy choices in war, Your Grace. You'd best steel yourself in the long run, considering who we're up against. Based on the information your… 'guest' has provided, the ironborn will most certainly have the advantage."
"I know. The ironborn are fierce warriors and unparalleled combatants so long as they're at sea. They will no doubt hold a strategic advantage over us, but in the end the ironborn are… predictable. They're not soldiers. They severely lack discipline and strategy."
"And that gives us the tactical advantage," the Lord of Hornhill pointed out. "The granaries harvested from the Reach for our troops have been stowed away aboard the Seaswift, each has been distributed among the ships. The Bold Wind and Lionstar will reinforce our supply lines should we face an immediate attack. We're only a small token force, considering the rest will no doubt come into direct contact with the bulk of the Iron Fleet."
"A momentary distraction while we strike from behind or exposed flanks, catching the Iron Fleet by surprise…" Daveth mused closely. "What of the modifications made to our ships? Will they be as effective?"
"With the recent installments to each of our ships, the fleet should be able to both inflict significant damage without sacrificing speed or mobility. Ironborn ships are strong in the front, but weak in the middle. Once we encircle them, we should be able to expose their vulnerable points and attack them there hard."
"Hmmm. And what sort of strategy do you suggest we employ should we overextend our lines, Lord Tarly?"
"Should it ever occur, then I would advise you to get some of the sturdiest of these vessels behind us to move further ahead of the Sunset Sea until they've reached a certain distance. If the head of the line is ambushed, for instance, then the tail will never be able to reinforce it in time."
"I see."
"With your permission, Your Grace, flogging lazy or incompetent oarsmen has a marked effect on mobility; works just as well with infantry."
'A bit extreme, considering some of these men have been fighting since Moat Cailin or even Deepwood Motte… but at the same time, we can't afford to have anything or anyone slowing us down as it might complicate our formation,' Daveth contemplated. "Permission granted," he sighed reluctantly.
Randyll nodded his head, yet remained silent. To nearly all, he was a fearsomely intimidating man yet one of the finest generals in the Seven Kingdoms. He was a military man, strict with his subordinates. Daveth understood why Randyll had to be strict, yet there needed to be a sense of balance; can't be too lenient or too strict either. It was a rather difficult line to walk on – but Daveth was determined to see it through.
It wouldn't be long before a young lad of seventeen years of age approached the two. "All the other captains have been given their orders, father," he reported.
Randyll nodded. "Very good," he said before turning to Daveth. "Your Grace, I believe you know my son."
"Your Grace."
Daveth eyed the young Tarly up and down. "You must be Dickon Tarly, are you not?"
"I am, Your Grace," Dickon nodded.
"You have that look about you, the makings of a soldier. Lord Randyll speaks highly of you, Dickon. Your father is a fine soldier, one of the best generals this country has ever seen. He defeated my father during the Battle of Ashford twenty years ago. My uncle Lord Stannis told me it was the only battle father ever lost. Can you deliver on the battlefield when the time comes?"
"My son is athletic, a skilled hunter and an excellent swordsman," Randyll vouched for his second son. "And a worthy successor to inherit my lands and our family's ancestral sword Heartsbane when I'm gone, Your Grace. He will deliver."
Daveth returned his gaze to the ocean. "Hmmm. We shall see, Lord Tarly. In due time, we shall see. Lord Tarly."
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"You and the other captains, Ser Kevan Lannister, Ser Lucius Blackmyre, Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Harys Swyft remember the instructions I gave you?"
"We have."
Daveth glanced over his shoulder. "Show our enemies what happens when they go too far. When we make landfall, every ironborn is to be put to the sword. Tear down their castles. Destroy the Iron Islands."
######
At Pyke…
It is a dark and stormy night. King Balon Greyjoy was absolutely livid, yet fiercely stubborn. Not only did he receive word that both Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin were liberated by the mainlanders, but the full might of Westeros would soon be brought down on the Iron Islands once more – only harder and stronger than the last. In the Great Hall, Balon stood at the fireplace with his back to Yara.
"You disappointed me, Yara. You failed me," he chastised his daughter. "I tasked you with seizing the lands, taking the strongholds. Yet you couldn't hold a single one."
Yara felt increasingly agitated. "The Glovers had 4,000 men while I had only 200!"
"And the ironborn under your command? Were they not tasked with holding Deepwood Motte whatever the cost?"
"Almost all of them died fighting to a man."
"What is dead may never die," Balon proclaimed proudly.
"What is dead may never die," Yara repeated.
Yara turns and places the piece of paper she was reading from on a table.
"But my men did. Our invasion died when we lost Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin. My uncle Victarion will be mounting a strong defense of the Iron Islands, but that'll only slow our enemies down not stop them."
Balon shook his head. "Then we will take more strongholds on the mainland," he insisted.
Yara couldn't believe her ears. She wanted to yell and scream at her father, feeling that deep down Theon had been right despite their father choosing to ignore his warnings; yet even so she couldn't help but suspect that her only living brother had defected to the other side – possibly seeking asylum in exchange for protection.
"Why?" she pressed. "What for? For more pinecones and rocks and more bodies of our fallen?"
Balon turned to face his daughter. "Because I order it, because I demand it."
"If the Young Stag and Young Wolf land their troops here, then their numbers will be much larger than Robert Baratheon's ever was! My own uncle Victarion is out there right now staging a final stand in an attempt to keep them at bay! We can defeat anyone at sea, father, but we'll never hold lands and castles against mainland armies."
"Not if our captains defy my orders, give up the lands I have taken, abandon the strongholds I have seized, and sacrifice our men on a foolish attempt to save their own skins," the Kraken King glared at her.
Yara stood her ground. "I won't apologize for doing what needs to be done. I'm not sacrificing my men on a desperate suicide mission."
"Yet your own brother Theon is no longer with us. Where is he now?"
"Where is your kingdom?!" she argued, finally losing her patience. "We took those castles because the northerners were away. This war is over! The last time we provoked them too far, I watched from that window as they breached our walls and knocked down our towers! I lost two of my brothers that day, Rodrik and Maron, and I can never get them back!"
"And I lost three sons!" the Lord Reaper of Pyke shouted back. "The Second Greyjoy Rebellion, they call it. Well, the Young Stag will have to be reminded what happens when you face a kraken in its element. When you rule the Iron Islands, Yara, you can wage all the peace you want," he said before getting in her face. "But for now, shut your mouth and obey or I will make another heir who will. Get back to your ship and rendezvous with the rest of the fleet."
Balon exited the hall before Yara could even respond. Fed up with her father's arrogance, Yara stormed out to gather what was left of her forces to the Black Wind and join up with Lord Captain Victarion Greyjoy's armada led by the Iron Victory.
'Drowned God be damned!' she thought bitterly. 'Suicide or no, I'm going to find my little brother and I'm going to bring him home!'
As the rains poured and the waves battered the Iron Islands, Yara climbed aboard the Black Wind with her crew and set sail to the open waters. Each of her men set their spitfires and scorpion bolts into place, getting themselves ready for what seemed to be an intense naval warfare against the approaching mainlanders. Yara no longer cared about reaving or pillaging along the western coasts; her only concern was the safety of her crew, the survival of her people… and the life of her only surviving sibling. She'll stage a daring rescue attempt or die trying.
######
Off the coast of Pyke…
Some distant miles away from the Iron Islands, the Iron Victory was joined on all sides by the Iron Fleet. On deck stood Lord Captain Victarion Greyjoy, having survived his tumble down the hillside during the brutal siege at Moat Cailin against Daveth Baratheon and Robb Stark. He gripped his battleaxe with both hands, though his left still bothered him slightly as it has recently become infected. Rain poured and thunder boomed across the skies above, yet the ironborn maintained perfect balance as the waves shook their ships.
Despite limited visibility, Victarion had his men on stand-by ready to fiercely defend the Iron Islands from the mainland invaders seeking to destroy them.
"Won't be long now," he suggested. "We'll give the greenlanders a fight they will never forget."
"There's glory enough for us to go around," Ralf Stonehouse proclaimed. "Their numbers won't make a difference if they can't get past us, Lord Captain. We have the seas, they don't. We have the key advantage: our prowess at sea is unrivaled. What is dead may never die."
"What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger. Get the captains and their crews into position."
"At once!"
As Red Ralf left to return to his vessel Red Jester, Victarion stared out into the distance. In the fog and mist, he narrowed his eyes and spotted several ships led by the Fury.
'Stannis Baratheon,' Victarion gritted his teeth. "To arms, men! Get the ships moving to intercept! Here they come!"
######
Author's Note: Well, the royalists and northern armies are now en route to invade the Iron Islands and the conclusion marks the beginning of the first naval encounter between Victarion Grejoy and Stannis Baratheon. He knows Stannis all too well and remembers the humiliation at Fair Isle. With Robb and Daveth moving to reinforce them, what do you think will happen next? The next two or three chapters will include some naval battles on the Sunset Sea before the invasion of the Iron Island formally begins. By calculating the Royal Fleet's est. 290 ships with the Redwyne Fleet's 200, the Lannister Fleet's 20-30 (according to George R.R. Martin) and three of House Mallister's, the royalists have the largest naval force in Westeros with a combined 523 warships compared to the Iron Fleet's 200 (under Balon's command). Thoughts? Let me know.
Shrednector15: This is a really good story. Can't wait for the next chapter. Keep up the great work. Question: have you thought of doing another oc game of thrones story, maybe pre-rebellion? It would be interesting to see your take on a story like that.
―Thanks. I haven't honestly given a lot of making another OC Game of Thrones story; probably perhaps not wanting to split time off of one story to focus on another to the point where I'd leave one of them on an indefinite hiatus and eventually losing interest. I think it's best to focus on one story at a time before moving on to the next.
ZeUsMcLeodZeUs: Quick question, why is Stannis Baratheon not master of ships or on the small council?
―I'm pretty sure I answered this already, but I'll reiterate what I might've said earlier: Stannis Baratheon resigned his post on the Small Council as Master of Ships following the death of Jon Arryn and remained at Dragonstone from then point on.
kira444: Um...this is a late question, but will the red priestess that healed Daveth as a child make an appearance again?
―Yes.
BioHazard82: Another good chapter.
―Thanks.
The Three Stoogies: a great chapter keep up the great work
―Thanks.
Alistair Lannister: Well, the Ironborn are screwed. Goodbye, Balon, Victarion and Yara. Hopefully not Theon, but it doesn't look really good for him. If both Daveth and Stannis are commanding they are pretty much finished. The Ironborn are not soldiers, they're undisciplined. They're great at sea but if the Battle of Fair isle is anything to go by, they're honestly very predicatable. They're sort of similar to the Dothraki in that way. Battle of Qohor anyone? When you have an army that is highly disciplined and trained you can probably defeat anyone. I say Probably it never always happens. Also if Euron does come back, he's not gonna be able to have the resources there to build his 1,000 ships if Daveth plans on razing the Iron Islands to the ground, and if he launches an invasion well, Daveth's gonna bring the Fury of House Baratheon. So, it's not really looking good for the Greyjoys right now.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.
Patty 4577: And Euron comes and kills them all.
―Euron will be introduced in a future chapter. Now is not the time just yet.