New Chapter.

Lannisters and Greyjoys.

Peace, if it ever exists, will not be based on the fear of war, but on the love of peace. It will not be the abstaining from an act, but the coming of a state of mind.

--Herman Wouk, The Winds of War

297AC. 7th Moon.

Westray.

Westray was a small fishing village about a 2 day ride from Lannisport, numbering less than 700 people dealing with fishing while fearing the rather close proximity to not just the open seas which could invite the Ironborn, but also rumors of the Mountain after what happened at Oxcross.

And yet…

The town had been similarly desecrated. Down to the very last of it's people.

Another village pillaged by the violent Gregor Clegane.

When news reached Tyrion Lannister, he decided to take matters into his own hands. If Cersei Lannister wanted a fight, then he would give it to her.


The North.

Ned Stark stood outside Winterfell with a grim look on his face.

Next to him stood his wife, and on his other side was his heir.

A few feet away were some of his major bannermen as they watched for the arrival of Yara Greyjoy who was being escorted by some newer members of house Mormont.

Theon Greyjoy stared down his older sister for the first time since he could barely remember.

She moved like she owned the place.

Yara Greyjoy had dark eyes and black hair cut short, just like Theon himself. But her face was thin, with a big, sharp nose seemingly too large for her face, and wind-chafed skin. On her neck is a faded pink scar.

Her shoulders were stiff straight as she stared at the congregation in front of her, many looking at her with either disgust or with sneers. She did not care though. She only came here for two people.

The Lord of Winterfell who stared intensely with his peculiar and unnatural grey Stark eyes, and then the one who reminded her so much of her own mother.

He stood a little further to the side. Tall, well fed. He didn't look as if he'd been treated unfairly by the greenlanders.

But was he worthy?

Or was he as useless as she suspected?

"My Lord. We arrived as fast as we could."

A Mormont cousin dropped to his knees with a bow and the Lady Mormont nodded approvingly where she stood a few feet behind the Lord of Winterfell.

"You may rise."

Ned Stark commanded, before moving his eyes towards the main reason for his being here.

"Yara Greyjoy. Daughter of Balon Greyjoy. I hear you brought news."

Yara stared at the man in front of her, her lips quirking in slight distaste and fear.

"Lord Stark. On behalf of myself and my people, we'd like you to help us murder an uncle or two."

The courtyard was quiet, and Yara Greyjoy smirked viciously like the Ironborn everybody knew and hated.


Yara Greyjoy sat in the solar, eyes focused on Theon Greyjoy who stared right back at her where he stood next to Robb Stark as she seemingly ignored the Lord of Winterfell seated behind his dark oak table.

The Maester of Winterfell frowned disapprovingly while Benjen Stark stood in the corner and watched like the silent sentinel he was.

"At least you don't look like a cunt."

Theon blinked even as Yara's heavy Ironborn accent washed over him.

"Excuse me?"

He furrowed his brows and she scoffed, forcing herself to relax into the chair as she crossed her arms.

"You were a terrible baby. Bawling all night and never sleeping, and I was forced to be in the same nursery as you were by our mother. One night, you just wouldn't shut up. Crying like a dying pig you were."

Robb snorted unexpectedly, and when Theon turned offended eyes on him, he coughed into his hands.

But Yara continued, uncaring of where she was and in the presence of who she was.

Of course, this could all be bravado in the face of an enemy, but she would show no fear.

"You don't seem to have changed. Thank the Drowned god for that. Especially if you wish to become the Lord of Pyke. We don't need some flowery maiden."

Theon opened his mouth to refute her sentences as she smirked when Lord Stark finally cut in before things could come to blows.

"Lady Greyjoy, tell me about your uncle."

Yara sniffed.

"I ain't no Lady, Lord Stark."

Robb crossed his arms where he stood by Theon. She had almost sounded like Arya. Even their names had the same letters. He almost shivered at the thought of them both meeting.

Then again, Arya seemed to have taken to enjoying the company of Arrana Umber. At the thought of the Umber lady, his lips quirked slightly.

"Euron Greyjoy has the approval of the drowned men and a large number of my father's bannermen. They are tired of being looked down on by the rest of Westeros."

Robb scoffed.

"And whose fault is that?"

Yara turned to him with a glare which he returned unconcerned and Lord Stark cleared his throat.

"I will not have squabbles in my solar from either of you. Tell me about Euron."

Yara sneered at Robb one last time before turning to the Lord of Winterfell.

"Very suspicious, that immediately after my father supposedly threw himself down into Pyke, he returns and summons a Kingsmoot."

Theon frowned.

"You think uncle Euron killed father?"

Yara scoffed bitterly.

"Who else would have? Many of the Lords haven't been happy with our lot in life although they would never dare bring it up with father or even do anything behind his back. They fear the Targaryens more than ever and there's talk of fucking dragons now! Euron has fed on their fear. Turned it into paranoia. Promised them all they could want. He has plans for the rest of the Kingdoms. He has plans to get what he wants."

"He should know he'd never be acknowledged as King. That title belongs to the Targaryens. And he holds no power either. That belongs to Theon."

Lord Stark gestured at a slightly startled Theon and Yara glared unimpressed at him before returning her gaze on the older man.

"Perhaps. But he doesn't care. To our uncle, Theon does not deserve the title. He believes he has spent too much time here and has forgotten our ways. I believe so too."

She glanced half-heartedly at her brother, watching his fists tighten and she fought down a smirk even as Lord Stark frowned.

"But it doesn't mean he had a right to steal from my line. The Iron Islands are going to war, Lord Stark. I don't k ow what my uncle has planned. He is… different. He feels different. Paler than ever… his lips tinted blue and he is so sure of his success. I came here to… ask… for help."

Yara gritted her teeth, ignoring the smirk from the young Stark cunt.

"As much as I despise many of the Lords of the Iron Islands, it is my home still. We need your help, and we need to get Theon to the Iron Islands as fast as possible. He needs to bring himself to the disciples of the Drowned god since they will not bring themselves to him. He needs to be baptized in our ways and then swear allegiance to the Iron Throne. Euron Greyjoy already has the ears of many of the Lords. Who knows what he has hidden."


Theon breathed in and out as he let go of the arrow, watching it whip across the yard and hit the bulls eye perfectly.

It had become so easy for him now.

If he wanted to, he was sure he could do it with his eyes closed. But not today.

With his mind caught up in a mess.

Not only was his father dead, but now his uncle had dared steal what belonged to him.

And now… his sister was here.

"Not bad. I would have thought you'd given up on bows and arrows. Father never liked it. Thought it was weak in the face of swords and axes."

He tried to ignore her for a moment. Her accent so strange to his ears. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the Ironborn accent.

Over the years he had spent in Winterfell, he had forced his accent out of his speech. He wasn't so stupid that he hadn't noticed the sneers and distrustful looks many threw at him the first few moons of his arrival in Winterfell.

He had never truly known how hated his people were when he was younger. But experiencing it in the North… he would never admit how horrified he had been.

What was wrong with following the Drowned god? What was wrong with taking what you wanted forcefully? Or with having salt-wives?

It was their way of life!

His father had thought and beaten it into him.

His brothers had sneered and japed when he questioned everything about him like the curious child he was. Over time, he had grown to just accept what was as is. It had suited him better too. Made life easier for him. Made things easier too, and so he had embraced the Ironborn lifestyle as his.

Until the war that is…

"What do you want?"

He grunted as he fired again, the arrow landing in the bulls eyes.

"Perhaps I wanted to look at you. If you're worthy of the Ironborn or not."

Theon turned, giving her his signature smirk that had made many a maiden turn into spluttering mess.

"And? Are you done?"

Yara stared at him, unimpressed.

"I don't think you are worthy."

Theon's smirk fell off even as a small ache of hurt hit him in his chest for a millisecond and it was gone, replaced with a heavy dislike for the girl who was supposed to be his older sister.

"Yes well, who fucking cares what you think?"

He turned away, ignoring her amused bark of laughter.

"Oh? Is the little princess offended?"

"Shut the fuck up! Are you pained you won't be Lady of Pyke? Is that it? Well it's not my fault you have a cunt between your legs and not balls."

He sneered, ignoring the look of fury that crossed her eyes.

Yara breathed in and out, trying to rein in her temper. She knew many people were watching them at the moment.

They all thought she was oblivious to their stares and points, but she could feel it as they all practiced.

But Yara wasn't here for them. She was here for Theon Greyjoy.

"Do you even know what it takes to be Lord of Pyke? While you have been pampered and babies in the North, the rest of us had to fight to be who we became! You might hate our ways, but do not forget they have become yours now!"

Theon glared balefully at her.

"Do you truly believe I have not thought of what it means to be the most hated Lord of the Seven Kingdoms?"

He spat back angrily at her, startling the equally tall girl.

"Do you think I haven't thought about home? About father and mother? Father had the right to send me letters, whether checked or not by Lord Stark all these years, but he didn't. And mother? I cannot even remember her face anymore! What of the Iron Islands? What are the people like? What is my station there? Am I even remembered? Will they accept me as it's Lord or not?? I have thought this through, many times! But at the end of the day, it does not matter. It matters not what they think of me. It matters not if they want another person. I don't give a fuck if it's Euron fucking Greyjoy they want! They will have me instead! I will be the Lord of Pyke! Whether they want me or not! I will lead them how I see fit! Whether it be by force or not! It is me!"

He barked out, standing eye to eye with his sister, a look of steel in his dark eyes that impressed Yara Greyjoy into silence.

Around them, many of the soldiers and guards that had watched Theon Greyjoy grow up from the sarcastic Ironborn shit into the still sarcastic Ironborn shit nodded in respect, small amused smiles across their faces as they finally looked away from the sibling duo.

Nearby, Robb Stark smiled at his brother in all but blood before he grunted slightly as Smalljon Umber let out a booming laugh, slapping him across the shoulder, almost throwing him into the snows of the ground.

"Ha! Now that takes some balls! The Greyjoy cunt looks ready to kick him between the legs! Ahhh… sisters! They really are a problem—"

"Did you say something, brother?"

Robb and Smalljon stifled as Arrana Umber stood behind them, impressive hips cocked to the side as she crossed her arms, watching both men turn.

Smalljon laughed weakly.

"Sweet sister. I had not realized you were here! But… why are you here?"

He looked around shifty eyes while Robb stared at the beautiful Umber quietly.

"Perhaps I would love a spar. Just the two of us? Like old days?"

She smiled sharply and Smalljon got even paler as his sister whipped her long braid from side to side.

"A-ah… yes… but sister I cannot help you with that. Father has requested my presence in a moment. Perhaps Robb could spar you ey?"

Robb snapped out of his reverie as Umber brown eyes settled on him.

"Me? I cannot possibly—"

"Fight a woman? Is that it? Or have I heard lies about you sparring with your sister, Lady Dayne?"

Robb spluttered quietly even as Smalljon quietly excused himself from the conversation as well as the yard.

"My Lady… I cannot—"

"You fear my father's words then? Do not worry. He will not be offended if the heir of Winterfell sparred with his precious daughter."

She cut him off again, this time with a sly smile that did wonders to Robb's insides even as she walked over to grab a blunt sword, swinging it back and forth before nodding in acceptance and turning back to her opponent.

"So what will it be, My Lord?"

Robb slowly picked another sword, even as a small smile grew across his face.

"Very well then."

They met halfway, crossing swords with bright eyes.


Later that evening.

Smalljon roared away with laughter over the music playing in the hall even as others in the hall ate, drank and laughed away.

"Arrana is no ordinary lady, is she?"

He smirked proudly as he watched the young heir of Winterfell wince as he massaged his shoulder while nursing a bruise on his cheek.

"You could have warned me instead of running off like a coward!"

Robb glared before doubling over in his seat slightly, holding his side while Smalljon enjoyed his mead joyfully.

"When it comes to my sister, I have no need to warn others! She does the warning all by herself! Umber ladies enjoy inflicting pain, you know? I am stronger, but Arrana? She will find your weak spots wherever they may be."

Smalljon then leaned closer towards Robb who anticipated a secret.

"You're quite lucky she did not hit you between the legs. I hear it has become a trend between highborn ladies now to do that to whoever makes them unhappy."

Both of them winced and subconsciously closed their legs.

Robb might have won the spar… he was not considered one of the best for nothing, but it did not mean Arrana didn't give as good as she could.

Even with the pain he was feeling, he couldn't stop the smile growing across his lips.

After the feast, his father would meet with some of the Lords of the North and together, they planned to take the fight to the Iron Islands.

Hopefully it did not turn out to be a fight. But Robb had been feeling idle ever since his sister went South.

A melancholic feeling settled in his heart as he thought of Lyarra.

He downed his drink and stood up, excusing himself from the slowly growing delegation of Northern heirs and sons as he quietly slunk out the door.

Theon was nowhere to be found, as usual. His sister on the other hand was in the hall, looking at any and everything distrustfully even as she drank and eyed some of the maid servants in a way that so reminded him of her brother.

The cold night air would have made many shiver, but Robb was a Stark and had grown very accustomed to the weather. It made him ponder whether or not Lyarra was getting used to the weather of the South or not. Then again, she had Stark and Dayne blood.

He smiled amusedly even as he turned down the hallway, only to stop as he spotted Arrana Umber walking towards his direction.

He played with the thought of walking off before she spotted him but he was no craven.

Clearing his throat and drawing her attention as they met halfway and he bowed respectfully.

"Lady Umber."

Arrana's lips quirked in amusement.

"Heir Stark."

"Please, call me Robb."

"I don't think I should."

Robb stifled a pout of disappointment.

"Why not?"

"You are my father's liege lord's son."

"Perhaps. But I am asking you to call me by my name."

Arrana cocked her hips to the side, a hand on her waist which attracted his attention much to her growing amusement.

"Are you… commanding me?"

She took a step closer, standing almost and inch or two taller, but Robb decided he did not mind that at all. Her 6 feet made her very much appealing in fact. And besides, he would grow taller soon.

"Perhaps I am."

Arrana laughed quietly and Robb swallowed as her face moved closer to his.

"Very well then… Robb Stark of Winterfell."

She took another step back, curtseying and then walking off to her destination.

He was motionless for a second, before he turned on his heels, watching her go with a stiff tent in his trousers.

Yes.

Yes he liked this woman.

Very much.


The Westerlands.
Ashemark.
Brothel.

The screams of the white beneath him felt so much like music to his ears.

It made his blood sing as he pressed the smelted knife into the skin of her chest, holding her down into the bed as her screams brought heat to his groin.

And then he was thrown to the ground, landing with a pained grunt, hair askew and breathing heavily while sweat ran down the sides of his face.

Anyone who saw Joffrey Lannister would think he had been having the time of his life between the legs of white, but no… it was much worse.

"Tammy!"

Madame Anne shrieked as she rushed towards the blonde haired and green eyed girl with a bleeding chest.

"Oh my! Tammy! By the seven! Mia! Call for the healer!"

Joffrey was still caught up in his lustful adrenaline as fury filled him and he got to his feet, staring at the guard who had pulled him off his toy.

"How dare you touch me you wretch! I shall have you hanged!"

Madame Anne turned to Joffrey with an hateful look she tried to cover up.

"My Lord… we do not condone torture as a form of pleasure in this place. You will have to forgive us but we have to take care of Tammy—"

"Her name is Cella to me! And she promised to fulfill whatever it is I want!"

Joffrey snarled, stomping his feet on the ground. He tried to take a step forward even as Tammy shivered in pain and fear but the guard stood in front of him, and Joffrey's anger increased.

"Out of the way or I shall have all of your tongues cut for this! I am Lord Marbrand! You are, all of you beneath me!"

He screamed to no avail, but Madam Anne had enough.

Yes, he was the Lord of Ashemark, but many nobles also enjoyed the company of their pleasure house. If he tries to go after any of them, she would just have to call in favors and a lot of blackmail she had on them.

Turning to the guard, she tilted her head towards the door even as a healer rushed in and immediately began working on her patient.

"Escort him out."

The guard needed no telling twice as he grasped tightly on the shoulder of Joffrey Marbrand and pushed him as harmlessly as he could until they were outside the pleasure house and Joffrey's shrieks of anger was all that could be heard even as they closed the door on him.

How dare they?!

How dare they!!!!

Fury rose up, bubbling just beneath his skin. But not just that. Lustful adrenaline that set him on fire as he shook where he stood.

He would ensure they all suffered when he was done with them. He would have them all as his playthings!

With an angry shriek, he matched over to his horse, people stepping out of his way as he rode towards Ashemark with clouded eyes.


Warning!!! Mentions of Attempted Rape!!! Warning

Myrcella smiled fondly as she left Tommen to his cats and books in his room.

The twins would be 14 soon and Myrcella idly wondered whether or not her mother had already begun planning betrothals for her.

A feeling of distaste settled in her. Ever since that day she caught her mother with Cousin Lucion, she hadn't been able to spend much time in her presence.

How could she do that to their father? So soon after his death??

Who could she even talk to… the only person she fully trusted in this place was her brother Tommen, but he had no idea what was going on and Myrcella did not dare change that.

She had heard of the things happening in the Westerlands. Some type of internal war. She did not truly understand it, but she suspected her mother knew more than she let on.

Myrcella did not want a war to happen. She just wanted everything to go back to the way it was! Before her father had died… before mother had turned into… whatever it was she was now!

Myrcella stifled a sniffle where she stood in the empty hallway, staring out through the large window down sniffle.

She had never felt so alone.

She stifled a shaky breath, closing her eyes to stop any tears from escaping when she heard footsteps and turned.

Joffrey.

An icy feeling settled in her as she saw the look in his eyes.

They were dark and clouded and he looked ruffled and almost wild.

"Myrcella…"

He breathed out with an almost anticipatory breath and Myrcella swallowed, taking a step back.

"J-Joffrey? What are you doing here?"

She internally prayed for someone… anyone… to come find her even as he matched over, grasping onto her wrists.

"Let go of me!"

Joffrey sneered as he practically drank in her features.

"Shut up Cella! You have been avoiding me."

He leaned closer, his nose laying on the crook of her neck as he took a long sniff and Myrcella shook with fear.

And then she felt his tongue on her skin, and that was enough for her as she tried to push him away but he was stronger.

She let out a scream, but Joffrey grunted slightly, holding a hand to her mouth as he grasped the bodice of her gown and ripped it, exposing parts of her skin as tears ran down her face.

Joffrey's eyes darkened with lust as he ran his hands over her exposed skin, pressing her against the wall.

Myrcella whimpered and cried desperately and Joffrey felt himself harden even more.

She was crying for him!

He reveled in the power he felt in that moment.

Just then, Myrcella remembered something her father had taught her.

If a man ever gave her unwanted attentions, she could hit him between the legs.

And so, without a though, she pulled her leg and raised it up with as much force as she could, which was not much unfortunately, but it was enough to fell Joffrey for a moment as he dropped to his knees with a pained shout, and Myrcella took to her heels, down the hallway, panic and fear filling her.

But then, he caught up to her again, and this time he was angry.

He held her against the wall, his hands tightened around her neck and squeezing the very life force out of her, fury in his eyes.

"You bitch!!!"

He screeched with a red manic face.

Myrcella didn't want to die.

But she could feel it.

She scratched desperately at his hands and then at his face, making him stumble, but then he bulked her with him.

And then a mistake was made… or perhaps it was help for Myrcella.

Right next to them was a large window, and as Joffrey stumbled, Myrcella tried getting out of his hands by turning and then a scuffle began.

A scuffle that did not last long, as Joffrey suddenly found himself slipping as his sister pushed him off the edge of the window.

A look of surprise appeared on his face, and then an horrific scream as he fell… and fell… and fell… down the hilly terrain.

To his death.

Myrcella could only watch with conviction and horror, at the body that lay so far away but she could still see because she knew what it was.

Splattered to the ground…

Bile filled her and she couldn't stop herself from vomiting out the same window as her adrenaline finally left her and she sank to the ground.

Joffrey had tried to… had tried to…

She stifled a sob.

She had just…

Joffrey was dead.

Oh gods!

Joffrey was dead!

Her mother!

Her mother had always loved Joffrey above all! What would she… what would…

He'd had to die… it was a good thing… he'd needed to die…

She kept telling herself even as she ran down the hallway, making sure to avoid everyone as she went back to Tommen's rooms.

He was the only one she could trust. The only one who wouldn't hate her. Who wouldn't…

She swallowed a sob even as Tommen gasped, standing up and staring at his sister's bruised self and ripped dress.

"Cella—"

"No time to talk, Tommen… we have to leave… now!"

Tommen blinked in confusion as his sister moved to grab his hand, pulling him towards the door.

"What?"

"Tommen… mother would kill me! We have to leave!"


That night, the Marbrand twins escaped in the darkness, covered as discreetly as they could and the only thing they carried was Tommen's beloved cat Ser Pounce.

They would reach Casterly Rock in a week. But by then, Cersei Lannisters fury was already inculpable.


Missive from the Prince of Pentos.

His Highness King Rhaegar Targaryen,

This letter is to inform your highness of the death of the former Magister Illyrio Mopatis.

After the letter we received from Westeros of the attempted murder of the soon to be princess, Lady Lyarra Dayne, we brought him to justice and judged him guilty of his crimes. He was executed immediately. His daughter who had been severely burnt was found in his manse and it was realized she had been dead for a while now and no one knew as her body had been rotting even before she died and Mopatis did not care according to his servants.

Once again, we beg for lenience and forgiveness on behalf of our small nation. Mopatis does not represent us and we hope the day comes where Westeros and Pentos have no barriers such as this unfortunate predicament, between us.

Prince Arenno of Pentos.


That's it for now!

The North has answered the calls and know Euron is on the move. This arc won't take too long, trust me. It's more of Theon's arc if you've noticed. Obviously the Iron Islands don't know what to expect of a North raised Ironborn and Yara is not exactly happy either. But no one truly knows what Euron plans though, not even you guys hehe. Anyways, I particularly enjoyed Theon and Yara's small talk.

Let's not forget Robb and Arrana too.

And then, Myrcella and Joffrey! Joffrey fucked up didn't he?!

I would have put Cersei's pov in this but it would have been redundant since her pov would also be in the next one.

Next chapter, The winds blow with tension in the Westerlands and the Iron Islands.

Cersei's fury is known and Tyrion ponders on whether or not this would turn even more violent. The rest of the Lannisters react to Westerland news.

Lyarra and Aegon prepare to leave Summertown while the King receives news on the Iron Islands.