AN: Hey all, so it has been a while, sort of. Well not really that long. Still, it's been some time, and here is the next chapter. Thanks for continuing to read and support the story, I really appreciate it, and thank to those who messaged me and pushed me to update. I'll admit I do need a push and a prompt sometimes, otherwise I get distracted.
All that said, I hope you all enjoy the chapter and leave a review at the end. A part of me suspects that this might prove a divisive chapter. Though I do hope that you all enjoy it. Still, criticism, as long as it is useful and explained and constructive, is welcome.
Also on top of that, please do feel free to PM me if you have anything you want to ask or request.
Thanks for reading, and please do check out my other stories!
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or Percy Jackson.
( - )
(Last Time)
"So what are you going to do?" Ned asked, his brow furrowed as he looked questioningly at Jeor. This was a lot of information to digest, with it having been delivered in a very short amount of time.
"We're heading out on one more patrol when the current one gets back. The largest one yet, and whilst we're on it we are going to capture one of the Wights and bring them south so we can show the king absolute proof of the threat!" Jeor grunted, shifting about in his seat now as he gave Ned a stead look. "And you'll be coming with us!"
Ned nodded at that, still trying to wrap his mind about everything he had heard as he did so.
( - )
Chapter 23
( - )
(With Tytan)
The mid-morning sun shone down upon him as he walked forward, the rays of light bouncing off of his gleaming, silver plate armour, and mail hauberk.
Raising his helmeted head, his sea green eyes peered out of the thin slits in the visor of his helmet as he looked up at the clear blue sky far above him.
He was ready.
He was clad in his castle forged plate armour, his Valyrian steel sword belted and sheathed on his hip, and a black, gold embroidered cloak flowing from his armour shoulders, and whipping about behind him in the breeze.
His armour was truly a work of art. His right pauldron had been shaped to looking like a roaring lion's head and was accented with gold. His left pauldron meanwhile had been crafted into a snarling stag's head and had been embossed with silver. His breastplate had a prancing, crowned stag on it, inlaid in gold. Then finally, to finish off his ensemble, his helm had been crafted to have the likeness of his own face on the visor, and a pair of sharp antlers protruding from it and jabbing upwards at the sky.
He looked like a king.
Letting out a breath, mist exploded forth from his mouth, streaming out of the gaps in his helmet.
Glancing back, he could see the giant army arrayed behind him.
His army.
Twenty thousand men, all of them stood waiting in units, and wearing armour and mail; nobles, knights, heavy cavalry, light cavalry, longbow men, pikemen, crossbowmen, halberd wielding infantry, men at arms.
There were tens of thousands of them spread out behind him. All of them standing patiently in orderly file; their captains and Lords watching over them, as they, and the rest of the army looked to him, their king, for the signal to attack.
Turning to face forward again, he looked up at the Eyrie and its only entrance, the Bloody Gate, in front of him. At the sight of it he let out another deep breath.
This was it, he had assembled his army, twenty thousand at his back, and ten thousand waiting half a mile away as reinforcements. Furthermore he knew he had an entire fleet and thousands of marines awaiting his word too, half a mile out and in the bay. The captains standing on deck waiting and listening for the horns and battle drums to sound.
Immediately behind him, his personal guard waited, all of them, including his Uncle Jamie, wearing plate armour of the own, their hands clasping their weapons tensely as they, like the rest of his army, awaited his command.
Rolling his shoulders, he took his first step forward.
His armour was heavy and warm. For a normal person the sheer weight would restrict their movements and slow them down.
For him however, the weight meant little.
He might have been technically born a human in this world, but spiritually he was a Demigod, and that was something that, with his current incarnation, would never change.
Gods didn't have DNA, their powers were not biological they were spiritual and were thus enshrined within a person's soul.
Had Percy bathed in the River Lethe before he had been reborn, his spirt, his soul would have been cleansed and made fresh and new. He would have been reborn, like so many millions before him, with no memories, and no powers.
That hadn't been the case though.
Instead of bathing in the River Lethe, he had hurled himself into the Sea of Chaos.
Tightening his hands into fists, he let out another breath.
"Your Majesty," Tywin Lannister prompted from a dozen metres behind him, the aged Lion of Casterly Rock sitting astride a large, armour black destrier along with a number of other High Lords, including Randyl Tarly.
His squire, and Percy's brother, Joffrey, sitting on a horse behind their grandfather wearing his own armour. The other Lord's guards, retainers and squires all waiting alongside the sneer teen. The sight of him reminded Percy, he hadn't spoken to the brat since he arrived at the camp. What did that say about him?
Did not loyalty; familial loyalty and his loyalty define him as a person?
It was his fatal flaw.
What did it say then the fact that he had barely paid Joffrey, or his other brother Tommen, or his sister Myrcella, any mind for a long time. Did that mean he was different now? Had his years in Tartarus and time here in Westeros changed him so much, that the loyalty to his friends that had once defined him, defined him no more?
Percy shook his head at that thought, he was getting distracted.
"I know," said Percy softly in response to his grandfather a few moments later. Shifting about as he took another few steps forward, before he looked back and raised his visor, revealing his sharp features, and the grim expression on his face as he observed the mounted and waiting Lords, and his personal guard. "Ready yourselves."
"Ready ourselves for what?" Tywin replied with a hint of impatience, his brow furrowing as he kept a tight hold on his horse's reins, keeping it under control as it shifted about nervously beneath him.
From where he was stood, Percy could hear the reason for the horse's complaints. The plate armour Tywin was wearing, along with the man himself, was a considerable weight, especially for prolonged periods of times.
Ignoring this, and his grandfather's words, Percy instead turned back to the Bloody Gate. His intense green eyes surveyed the gorge within which the fortified gate sat, as well as the numerous towers, battlements and batteries that had been setup by the defenders.
Truly he could understand why this gate was called, the Bloody Gate. It would cost the lives thousands of men to take the gate by force, all while under the constant assault of the defenders.
Behind the gate, and looming in the distance, he could see the palatial, fortified citadel, the Eyrie, and the colourful banners and tabards and uniforms of those defending it as they lined the defences in front of him, and the narrow pathway that led all the way up to the citadel far above.
So far above them in fact; that the trebuchets, mangonels and ballistae that they had brought with them and set up behind the main battle lines didn't have a chance of reaching their target.
A tight smile spread across his face at that thought, even as he heard the waiting Lords behind him start to mutter amongst one another, and the waiting troops shift about as their nervousness and impatience began to show.
He could understand their nerves.
Fortunately though, they did not have to wait for long.
Taking another deep breath, Percy drew on the power within him. His skin tingling even as he felt the tell-tale pulling feeling in his gut.
This was it, it was time to show the world what he, Percy Jackson, or as they knew him here, Tytan Baratheon, was capable of!
It was time to change the world as they knew it, and show them just what a Demigod son of Poseidon, the Lord of the Sea, the Earth shaker, was able to do!
Pulling power that dwelled just beneath the surface of his skin, Percy raised his foot and then slammed it down on the rocky ground below him, his sea green eyes locked on the Bloody Gate, and the Eyrie, even as he released the pent up energy and directed it at his targets.
In response to his actions, a shudder went across the earth all around him. A shockwave that sent cracks and fissures through the ground immediately around him. The shockwave not just flowing through the earth, but through the air as well, the sheer force of it staggering the entire army behind him, and panicking the horses.
The shockwave from that single step, having been felt by everyone for miles around.
For the marines and sailors on the water, nearly half a mile off of the coast, the force of the shockwave caused their ships, a fleet of over fifty, to suddenly begin to rock about madly in the suddenly rough waters, even as the sea itself became wilder and more ferocious. Waves lapping over the sides of their vessels causing many of those on board to latch onto any solid object they could reach in order to steady themselves, the men calling out in shock, panic and confusion as they did so.
Percy though did pay the reactions of those behind him any mind, instead he focused entirely on what was ahead of him, even as he drew on the magic rich earth beneath him and his own might.
Letting out another breath, Percy took a another steep forwards only now he raised his armoured arms, and then brought his gauntleted hands down and slammed them into the ground below him with an explosion of force.
Looking up, Percy watched on with cold resolve, the shouts of shock from those behind him and the screams of panic from those in front of him falling on deaf ears as he instead focused on what he had just wrought.
Before his very eyes he could see the gorge within which the Blood Gate was based collapsing in on itself, massive rocks falling down on the waiting defender, even as faces of the nearby mountains crumbled, broke apart and began to slide down and crush those below.
Narrowing his eyes, Percy clenched his hands into fists, shattering the rock beneath him.
In response great spires of rock erupted forth from the earth, even as the mountains in front of him continued to crumble and collapse. A cloud of dust forming, even as the Bloody Gate, and the gorge within which it lay, was buried in a mass of rubble and rock.
Behind the Bloody Gate, Percy watched on sadly as he saw the narrow mountain pass that lead up to the Eyrie started to collapse in many different places; rivers of scree and rocks flowing down the mountain like water and swamping the mountain pass, washing away the battlements and defenders with brutal efficiency as it did so.
Ignoring the ground below him as it continued to quake as wave after wave of seismic energy flowed through him and into the earth, causing a powerful localised earthquake in front of him, Percy continued to stare resolutely up at the Eyrie.
His lips set in a firm line as he saw the mountain continue to crumble; giant rents and fissures forming on its face, even as hundreds, if not thousands, of tonnes of rock and rubble fell to earth.
From where he was stood he could see the cracks growing and expanding, even as the walls of the Eyrie stated to crack and collapse as well, whole swathes of the citadel sliding off the mountain peak and crashing down to the earth below. A mighty fortress that must have taken countless years to build, destroyed in a matter of minutes.
How many thousands had just died, how many innocents?
Not all those that had resided in the Eyrie had been guilty; they hadn't all been mercenaries, or sellswords, or traitorous nobles. There must have been servants just doing their jobs and trying to make a life for themselves, and professional, and peasant, soldiers just doing their duty for their feudal Lord, children innocently playing, and families sheltering from the Crown's retribution.
Pushing his feelings of guilt down, Percy instead closed his eyes and continued to release waves of seismic energy into the ground, focusing it into the area in front of him as he created an incredibly intense, localised earthquake, a bead of sweat running down his face as he attempted to mitigate the backlash the rest of the surrounding area would face, even as the mountain range within which the Eyrie sat collapsed in on itself.
( - )
(With Tywin)
Keeping a tight grip on his panicking horse, Tywin Lannister could only look on in shock and awe as, Tytan, his grandson shook the very earth.
He had never been a particularly religious man. Sure he had believed in the Seven Divines and paid tribute when necessary. But it had been a cynical faith, one he only really kept up because it was expected of him. Personally he had always viewed himself as a realist, and gods and magic as fanciful nonsense that was only useful as it allowed the Lords and nobles to use it to control the peasantry and the lowborn rabble.
Sure when he had first seen what it eldest grandson, Tytan, was capable of he had been shocked, awed even. But they had been fanciful parlour tricks, nothing more. The kind of things that were entertaining but which had no practical use.
Blessed by the Seven, that was the propaganda his daughter had used to explain away her son's abilities and crush any accusations of heresy.
He had thought it contrived nonsense of course, and had instead put the boy's abilities down to his bloodline, and the ancient Valyrian blood in his veins; blood that nearly every noble in the south had after years of interbreeding, breeding true.
He had put it out of his mind at the time, and had only begun to ponder again on what it meant, and what he was capable of, when Tytan had gotten his hands on a dragon egg and hatched, Ozymandias.
An odd, foreign name for a dragon, but one that thankfully didn't harken back to the names the Targaryen's had given their dragons. He had been pleased that such a connection was not being encouraged; after all the actions of the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen, had forever tainted that fallen House.
Still, despite everything he had previously thought, Tywin couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him. His mouth opening and closing as he, for the first time in his life, found himself lost for words.
The Eyrie, the ancient and impregnable seat of House Arryn, was collapsing in on itself.
His grandson, through the force of his will and the power born of his blood alone, was destroying one of the most iconic fortresses in the known world.
In his mind he could only liken it to his complete and utter decimation of House Reyne and the destruction of Castermere.
No, this was on a grander scale.
This was more along the lines of the destruction of Harrenhal.
Just like how Aegon the Conqueror had bathed the mightiest fortress in the land in fire, killing all inside and reducing the once magnificent castle to a burnt ruin, forever carving his name and deeds in history. So too was Tytan Baratheon, of both Houses Baratheon and Lannister doing the same.
This, this was Tytan's legacy. This was his message to all those that would oppose him.
Complete and utter ruin!
A cold smile spread across Tywin's face at that thought, even as he got his horse under control, his focus entirely on the armoured Tytan as he stood up, his black cloak billowing about him in the breeze. The still collapsing mountains behind him acting as a backdrop as he turned to face his army.
It was magnificent!
( - )
(With Randyll Tarly)
For perhaps the first time in his life Randyll Tarly felt true fear, even as the earth stopped shaking and the mighty warrior king, Tytan Baratheon, turned to look at his assembled forces.
Tytan had showed him what he had in mind. Randyll had confronted the young king, and asked about the strategy; looking back on it his actions had bordered on rudeness as he spoke to the king like he was a child, a novice to the ways of war.
He had doubted his king.
Wrenching the reins of his horse harshly to get it under control, Randyll couldn't look away from the king, even as he raised a gauntleted arm and gestured behind him at the dust covered scene of devastation.
"Forward all forces! Keep the line steady and the approach slow!" Tytan's voice boomed out, his words sounding out incredibly loudly, despite the sounds of falling rubble and screaming echoing out behind him. "Crush any who still resist! Dig out and help, or capture any who don't resist but still live!"
A silence followed his words.
Randyll could see the apprehension on the faces of the other Lords, and could feel the fear and nervousness sweeping through the ranks of soldiers behind him.
Never before had anyone seen destruction or power on this scale before. It was beyond human. In fact it teetered on the realms of the gods.
Already Randyll could picture the stories and songs that would be sung of this day, the fall of the Eyrie, and the moment King Tytan the first of his name, solidified his position as the most powerful king to have ever lived.
This was a day that would forever go down in the annals of history.
Behind him Randyll could hear captains shouting out orders, and the great clamour that came with hundreds of armoured men moving.
Turning in his saddle Randyll was not surprised to see that the first ones to respond to the king's orders were his Goldcloaks. Thousands of mail clad men, with gold cloaks were moving forward in formation, flooding passed the other units and the Lords as they marched towards the scene of devastation.
The king's personal army, one of the largest in the land.
When Randyll had first heard of what the king was doing; requisitioning Harrenhal, and using it to recruit and train thousands of new Goldcloaks, he had scoffed.
The city watch had always been a joke to the professional soldiers of the Seven Kingdoms. They were all pomp and no power. They were only good for beating up drunks, they had no place on the field of battle.
That was what he had thought.
Now though, as the thousands of Goldcloaks swept passed him, and flowed around the king and his personal guard, Randyll couldn't help but be awed by their resolve, their loyalty, their sense of duty!
These men had just seen a mountain being levelled due the action of a single man. Despite this though, they did not hesitate to obey that very man's orders, in fact they leapt to it with almost fanatic loyalty. Rank after rank of armoured soldiers marching across the shattered ground and towards the broken mountains, in spite of the dust still stymieing their vision.
It was commendable.
"Lord Tarly, you heard my orders did you not!?" Tytan's voice sounded out again. Randyll's eyes flicking back to the king at the sound of his voice, even as he saw the man's personal guard surrounding him, his Uncle helping the king onto a horse, even as Tytan looked over at him.
"Yes, your Majesty. I apologise for my slow response." Randyll replied at once, gripping his reins tightly as he did so. "I was just surprised by what happened, I'll see to the men at once!"
"Good see my orders through, Lord Tarly, and you too, Lord Lannister." Tytan replied, sitting astride his warhorse now, his personal guard all mounting up around him. "Make sure there is order, and that our causalities are minimal. I believe I got most of them, but not all."
"Yes, my king," Randyll replied, the other Lords around him echoing the sentiment, even as some of them turned and started barking orders to their waiting men.
They had come here expecting harsh and brutal fight. Instead all they had to do was clean up the remaining resistance, those that had survived the king's fury.
( - )
(With Tytan, a few minutes earlier)
Slumping slightly, Percy nearly collapsed.
In fact, were it not for Jamie steadying him, and Luke, Matthias and Ubba bringing over the horses and helping him mount, he might have fallen.
Beneath his helmet his face was soaked in sweat, and his limbs were all burning.
He was exhausted. In fact he was so fatigued that he doubted he could even lift a sword, let along swing one.
"Are you alright, Tytan?" Jamie muttered, as he mounted his own horse.
"Tytan?" Percy muttered in response, before blinking. "I mean yes, I'm fine. Just a little tired, it took more out of me than I thought it would." Tytan continued, shifting about in his saddle and trying to make himself comfortable. His armour suddenly felt three times heavier than it had done before.
"Just a little tired, he levels a mountain and he's only a little tired." Matthias spoke up sarcastically, riding over to Tytan and up alongside him, offering him some support, even as Tytan sagged slightly in his saddle.
"I might have over done it," Tytan replied tiredly. A slight smile on his face as he saw his personal guard, his friends, form up protectively around him. "Still, at least this way our own forces will not suffer considerable losses, that and it makes a point."
"Aye it makes a point, 'fuck with me and I'll bring your own castle down on your head'!" Luke chuckled.
"Well it is message that most, if not all will, take to heart." Jamie nodded, moving his horse up to and alongside his nephews even as the Goldcloaks continued to flood around them, and they themselves approached the still staring Lords.
"I hope so, I hope this is the last time we have to fight for a while. Now should be a time of consolidation, not war." Tytan replied softly, his face twisting into an expression of regret at the thought of all those who had just died, even as internally he knew his actions had saved the lives of thousands of loyal soldiers.
War was a terrible thing.
Looking forward, Tytan quickly noted how none of the Lords had followed his orders, instead they all continued to watch him; expressions of fear, awe, surprise and concern on their faces as he slowly approached them.
"Lord Tarly, you heard my orders did you not!?" Tytan called out, his gaze shifting to the balding, lord from the Reach, beside whom sat the mounted, and portly Lord Tyrell, his fat, future father in law looking practically cationic as he stared at Tytan in fearful awe.
"Yes, your Majesty. I apologise for my slow response." Randyll replied at once, an inscrutable expression sliding off his face as he instead gave him a short, dutiful bow. "I was just surprised by what happened, I'll see to the men at once!"
"Good see my orders through, Lord Tarly, and you too, Lord Lannister." Tytan nodded, waving a hand to the two Lords, not missing the sharp, interested expression on his grandfather's face, nor the scared shitless expression on his brother's pale, waxy face as he did so.
"Yes, my king," Lord Tarly said at once, before he turned and started shouting order to his men and the men of the Reach.
As he did this, the other High Lords jumped into action too, most of them moving away to call out orders to their subordinates and mobilise their own small forces.
"An impressive display, grandson." Tywin said mildly, as Tytan and his guard came level with him. The aged Lion of Casterly Rock not moving from where he had previously been as he instead waited for Tytan, his retainers acting in his stead as they mobilised his forces for him. The thunder of armoured feet sounding out all around them as thousands of men followed the Goldcloaks' lead. "Consider me surprised, I had never realised you were capable of wielding such power…"
"A wise king knows what he should share, and what he should keep to himself, Lord Tywin." Tytan nodded curtly. He wasn't all that fond of his grandfather, and did not appreciate his attempts to ingratiate himself, and remind Tytan of their relationship.
"Indeed," Tywin said softly, watching Tytan carefully as he urged his mount onwards, his guards following after him.
Noticeably Tywin didn't even give his eldest son a second glance, instead his attention was on Tytan to the exclusion of all else.
"Brother," Tytan said softly, his helmeted head shifting over to look at the still terrified Joffrey. "I hope you have been doing well under Lord Tywin's tutelage, and learned both restraint, and wisdom."
"T-Tytan…" Joffrey stuttered out nervously.
"He's doing well, but there is still a lot he needs to learn before he can become worthy of being the next Lord of Casterly Rock." Tywin cut in smoothly.
"I see," Tytan nodded, a number of the other High Lords joining Tytan now too as their forces all mobilised, whilst he himself headed back to the camp. "Come, let us gather in the command tent; I have some good Dornish wine waiting!"
Those around him murmured their assent, or their enthusiasm. More of them joining his growing entourage as he rode through the respectfully silent and bowing reinforcements and into the camp.
The Capital of the Vale had fallen, and he needed rest.
He didn't want any of these vipers to realise just how weary he truly was. It would take away from the mystique of his display, and it would be a show of weakness he couldn't afford them seeing.
No, for now he would rest, and entertain the nobles. Putting on an act of nonchalance as he recovered his energy.
Besides, he trusted the captains and commanders he had put in charge of this forces. They knew what to do. On top of which all that remained to do in the Vale was to secure the kingdom, purge the few remaining rebels, and then place a new House as Warden. He had time to rest up for a while.
( - )
(In Dorne, with Ivar)
Sitting down in the feasting hall, in the Tower of Joy, Ivar absentmindedly played about with the goblet of wine in his hands. His cold blue eyes surveying the rowdy crowd present.
The hall was pretty packed, not only were his men and Viserys here, but so too was Prince Oberyn and several Dornish nobles, all of whom were drinking, eating and laughing with a number of minor Lords and nobles from the Riverlands, Westerlands, Crownlands and Stormlands.
There were around one hundred and fifty odd men in the room in total, one hundred of whom were nobles and their entourages. All of whom were drinking and laughing as they feasted and toasted one another.
They were all letting off steam, after a week of nothing but discussions and plotting as these men conspired against the king and the kingdom, all of them eventually agreeing to support Viserys Targaryen and planning out a coup against the current king. Hence the celebrations.
Oberyn Martel himself, the brother of Doran Martel, the Prince of Dorne was amongst their number. He had been the hardest to convince, but eventually, after several days of debate and offers, he had agreed to support the cause, and had even obliquely stated that he would depose his brother to do so and take on the mantel of ruler himself in order to ensure the full support of Dorne.
All in all their mission had been a success. In total they had managed to gather twenty nobles of differing ranks from the Westerlands, Stormlands, Crownlands, Riverlands and Dorne; all of whom either had a grudge against the Crown, loyalty to House Targaryen, or something to gain from Tytan's fall.
Continuing to play about with his goblet, Ivar looked up at the roof, his cold blue eyes locking onto a golden eyed hawk that was perched amongst the dusty rafters, seemingly watching the partying nobles and soldiers below.
A slight smile played around his lips as he surveyed the watching bird for a moment, before without a word he looked away and over at the crowd of feasting men.
"Ivar!" The whiny, nasally voice of Viserys sounded out all of a sudden. The gaunt, silver haired man waltzing over to him through the crowd. The man's usually pale cheeks flushed with alcohol, and his dour, petulant expression replaced with a look of drunken joy. "Why are you just sitting around, you should be celebrating!"
"I'll only celebrate when the job is done…, my king." Ivar replied, pasting a smile across his face as he gave a short bow to the arrogant Targaryen.
"Who cares about that, you love drinking don't you! Come drink with me, as your king I command it!" Viserys shouted joyfully, his voice catching the attention of the other men in the hall.
Watching Viserys closely, Ivar smiled and raised his goblet.
In response the gathered men cheered and laughed, a few whores that had been brought along joining in as they started shrieking with laughter.
"To a job well done!" Ivar said loudly, pushing himself up to his feet now, much to the enthusiasm of the very drunk men.
Around the room, the rest of Ivar's men got up too, all of them noticeably more sober than the others feasters.
From where he was sat at a nearby table, a half-naked girl on his lap, a very drunk Oberyn tensed up slightly, his glazed, dark eyes flicking backwards and forwards as if he could suddenly sense that something bad was going to happen.
"Ha ha, yes Ivar, to glory of House Targaryen, and the fall of Tytan fucking Baratheon, to Blood and Fire!" Viserys laughed, his wine sloshing about in his goblet, even as his supporters, those he had gathered after many months of lobbying, bribing, persuading and hobnobbing, laughed along with him. All of them drunk on not just alcohol, but on the success and wealth that they were sure to claim for themselves in the future.
Ivar smiled at that, and raised his goblet higher in the air, receiving a roar of enthusiasm as he did so.
Only for him to drop it moments later, wine sloshing about before it spattered across the floor, followed by the silver goblet clattering loudly across the stone floor.
"Ivar…" Viserys began drunkenly, a mixture of amusement, anger and confusion on his face as he looked at the blonde Valeman, only for his violet eyes to suddenly widen as he saw Ivar's hand grab onto the handle of his sword, before with nary a sound or a word he drew it and slashed Viserys across the face in a single fluid motion.
At once chaos and confusion reigned as those loyal to Ivar unsheathed their swords and daggers and fell upon those loyal to either themselves or the Targaryen's. The sober and armed attackers rapidly gaining the advantage, despite being outnumbered two to one.
Screams and shouts soon filled the hall as Ivar bulled forward and slashed down another man, a noble from the Crownlands. Blood spraying across the room as the blade nearly decapitated him, spattering Ivar's face and clothes.
The blonde warrior ignored this though as he instead continued to hack and slash at anybody in reach, even as he advanced on the now standing, but still drunk, Dornish Prince.
In response Oberyn, despite being drunk, had pulled a pair of twin daggers from somewhere on his person and was moving to meet Ivar. The chaos and confusion going on all around him, not deterring the Dornish man as he slashed one of his attackers across the face, before ramming a knife into his chest.
"Traitor!" Oberyn roared, drunken anger filling his voice as he shoved the dying man away and then charged at Ivar, bulling forward and attempting to get in close so as to give himself the advantage and stop Ivar from bringing his longsword to bear.
Ivar though was ready. With a bellow he punched a nearby man in the face with the hilt of his sword, breaking his nose and jaw, and then grabbed and flung him into the oncoming Dornish Prince's path, making Oberyn dodge to avoid them living, screaming projectile.
Following this up, Ivar swung his sword around and slashed Oberyn across his arm, his blade biting deep into the Dornish Prince's flesh, almost to the bone, and forcing him to drop one of his daggers.
"You call me the traitor, you're the one who turned on your king!" Ivar shouted back, delivering kick to Oberyn's chest, launching the injured man back and over a nearby table.
All around them the slaughter continued as Ivar's men ploughed into the remaining plotters with brutal, remorseless efficiency.
The plan had originally supposed to have been done using fire. Ivar originally had wanted to get all of them drunk and then set a fire in the hall and bolt the doors, locking the occupants inside. After which Ivar and his men would have waited outside, ready to kill anyone who managed to escape.
That plan however had been scuppered after Ivar had surveyed the tower. The stone walls would not burn, and with there being a stone floor too and little in the way of furniture save a few tables and benches, there was not enough to set a big enough fire to kill the occupants. On top of which with their being a hundred of them, it was unlikely that they would be able to keep them all in the hall.
Hence why the plan had changed.
Stepping forwards Ivar smacked away Oberyn's remaining dagger with his sword, and stamped on his manhood with his booted foot.
Crying out in agony, Oberyn, a renowned soldier in his own right, couldn't help but clutch his manhood, even as his arm continued to bleed all over the stone slabs beneath him, and his men and fellow conspirators continued to die.
"Y-You tricked me!" Oberyn spat out accusingly.
"I tempted you, it's your own fault for being stupid enough to agree to treason." Ivar spat, before without another word he thrust his sword forward and through Oberyn's throat. Blood spraying out of the wound, and the Prince's dark eyes glaring accusingly at Ivar, even as with a gurgling sound he died.
"Finish off the rest of the traitors!" Ivar shouted to his men, even as they continued to hack and slash at the still living conspirators.
Turning around, Ivar didn't spare the dead Viper of Dorne even a passing glance as he instead walked over to where Viserys, still living, was trying to clamber to his feet, one of his hands clutching his bloody face.
"Ivar!" Viserys spat, his voice filled with pain as he stared up at the blonde man in horror. "Why?"
"For my king of course, and by king, I mean, King Tytan." Ivar said simply, his gaze devoid of any guilt or regret. "And because I think you're a little shit!"
"It was a trap…" Viserys muttered to himself softly, his hand still clasping at his ruined face.
"Yes, you were little more than bait; bait that I used to gather those still loyal to your House, or those who could be persuaded to betray the king. That's all you were boy, bait, a prize that I could use to get those men to gather up and isolate themselves in order to maintain the secrecy of their conspiracy." Ivar replied blandly, the tip of his sword at Viserys's neck now. "It was my idea, but Tytan wholeheartedly supported it. Why just execute you, when we can use you to rout out traitors?"
"You'll burn for this…" Viserys hissed.
"I doubt it." Ivar replied blandly. Behind him he could hear the sounds of slaughter fading away as his men continued their grisly work.
To aid with the plan they had drugged the wine.
This was not a battle or an ambush, it was premeditated, and well planned out massacre.
"So what now, back to prison?" Viserys asked hollowly.
He no longer sounded afraid, but instead just resigned.
"No." Said Ivar. "You're now more useful dead. We'll need to create a story that benefits us, and what better story than the noble Prince Oberyn finding out about and attempting to stop a coup, only for him to die in the attempt, killed by the cowardly, Targaryen Prince, Viserys…."
"You think anyone will believe that?" Viserys muttered, meeting Ivar's gaze, his face a bloody ruin.
"They'll believe what we tell them," Ivar shrugged, before, without another word he thrust his sword forward and through Viserys's throat, killing him in an instant.
"Lord Ivar, the remaining traitors are dead." One of his men said, marching over to Ivar with a bloodied blade.
"Good, now it's time to arrange the corpses and send a missive in Oberyn's name to his brother requesting reinforcement to stop a terrible coup against the Crown." Ivar said softly, pulling his sword out of Viserys's throat with a wet, squelching sound.
Overhead, the golden eyed hawk let loose a single cry, before without another sound it took to the skies and flew out of one of the windows and off in the direction of the Vale.
( - )
AN: So what do you all think? Plenty of action and things happening, eh!
That said just to clarify, I am aware that in the first section I use the name Percy not Tytan, I did that for a reason. It was not a mistake!
Other than that I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It all but concludes two plot lines, though there will be some clearing and a few other bits and pieces to cover in the next few chapters, but for the most part it is done! From here I will probably start playing around with more character interactions and development in King's Landing and Westeros. That said things are still going off in the far north, and the east plenty of exciting stuff! Plus there is also the aftermath of this chapter, and the impact of Tytan/ Percy's other changes, including an increased navy and the impact that that would have both home and abroad.
Either way there is plenty of stuff to come!
That said, on another note I do have a question. What do people think of my other Percy Jackson/ Game of Thrones story 'The Frozen Throne'. I am pondering on it's fate, and was wondering whether I could get some thoughts and opinions if possible?
Other than that, thanks for reading and all the support! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and congratulation to the many that guessed what ploy I had in mind in regards to Ivar.
Thanks for reading, and please do read some of my other stories if you have the chance!
Catch you all later.
Greed720