A/N Hello again, everyone! I thought it necessary to add a note to the beginning of this chapter in order to provide a warning that it will feature some darker content than the rest of our story has so far. While violence is no stranger to A Tale of Two Dragons, this chapter features implied violence of a sort that has not yet appeared. I took care to write this in a way that I felt did justice to the horrors of war and the subsequent mistreatment of innocents, but without including anything gratuitous. Please feel free to contact me if you felt it still went too far, or with suggestions for the future. I'd like to thank all the readers for continuing this journey with us.
Veron I
The storm had come. For years, since his return from reaving, Dalton had claimed that Westeros would tear itself asunder. The death of Viserys I had been the spark necessary to set off the conflagration. Perhaps Dalton truly does see what other men do not, Veron thought to himself. Most of the Ironborn seem to think so; they claim the Drowned God himself whispers in his ear. Even as a child, Dalton had always been different, always picking fights with older boys and volunteering to row aboard ships as young as five. Veron had idolized him in their youth, his older brother who could command the respect of men many times his age. Born only a year after his elder brother, the two of them had become inseparable. Dalton had encouraged him to row with him, fight with him, and explore Pyke with him, and Veron had been happy to oblige. In return for allowing him to join in his adventures, Dalton commanded obedience. Veron learned very quickly that he was to be his brother's right hand, and that there was no room for two to lead. I am fairly certain that my acceptance of those conditions is why we've remained close, Veron thought.
Since their childhood, not much had changed. As the 129th year since Aegon's conquest drew to a close, and the realm began to bleed, the brothers counted 16 and 15 name days respectively. As Dalton had built ships, assembled crews, and prepared his strategy, Veron had remained at his side. As Dalton had waited for ravens bearing offers of alliance, Veron had trained. Their preparations had finally paid off, as ravens did indeed come from King's Landing. The first offer came from the usurper, Aegon II, and had offered to name his brother a place on the Small Council as master of ships and of the admiralty if he would agree to sail his longships around Westeros and engage the Velaryons, who had declared for Rhaenyra. Dalton had handed the letter to Veron after he had finished scanning it, grinning a smile that sent a chill down his spine.
"The Greens must be desperate to offer an Ironborn a seat on the Small Council. It has taken over a century for the Dragons to beg aid from the Krakens."
Veron, having finished scanning the letter, raised his eyes to meet Dalton's. "Will you accept?" He knew the answer before Dalton had even spoken.
"Of course not, brother. Why lose men and ships to Dorne's whirlpools in exchange for a greenlander's titles? I'd much rather pay the iron price in exchange for something much more valuable…" Dalton drew a knife and stabbed it into a map that lay spread before both of them, its black blade swaying from the force of the impact. Veron followed the blade to where it had embedded itself in the table. It had pierced straight through where Lannisport was marked on the map. He nodded his approval. Dalton's lips parted to reveal another toothy grin. "The best part is, the Dragon Queen will be begging us to pillage her own lands. We will pay the iron price for every bit of gold wrenched from the hands of these Westermen. While their men go to die for the usurper, we will rule the Sunset Sea, as our forefathers did." Chuckling, he then added: "We will show their women what it is like to lay with true men, as opposed to those spineless milk-drinkers. I'm sure they'll be ever so grateful." He gave Veron a slap on the back. "There will be plenty of salt wives for the taking when we sail. I promise to leave some of the homelier ones for you, brother."
Veron nodded, smiling. He hoped his brother didn't catch the lack of enthusiasm at the prospect. He had learned very quickly to keep that aspect of himself hidden. We've always been close, Dalton, but every man needs a few secrets. Veron knew with the coming campaign that he'd finally have to stop putting off the taking of a salt wife. Or several, he thought grimly. He realized that he had been thinking for too long. "Perhaps this time I'll beat you to the comely ones. You cheated last time, taking that corsair king's daughter for yourself while I ran him through!"
Dalton nodded, his eyes glazing over as he clearly took a moment to reminisce. Veron let out a sigh internally. Good, nothing amiss. The corsair's daughter always does the trick. Her death had been unfortunate, lost overboard in a storm. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought. She did seem miserable. As Veron turned to leave, he felt Dalton's hand grip his shoulder.
"Give orders for ravens to be sent, brother. It is time for our fleet to begin amassing. I want to see at least one longship from every lord in Lordsport's harbor by the end of the moon. I expect the Dragon Queen's offer to arrive soon."
Dalton had been proven correct once more as a raven arrived, this time from Dragonstone. The Dragon Queen had indeed come to bargain with the Kraken. The words she used, however, pleased the Lord Reaper of Pyke and the Iron Isles a good deal more than her half-brother's had. Within, her request was simple:
Lord Paramount Dalton Greyjoy,
I have little doubt that my treacherous brother has written to you, attempting to sway you to his cause. I have little doubt that they mean to use you to break my blockade of the capital. In response, I have written to ask you to declare for my cause instead. While King's Landing is many leagues from Pyke, Lannisport and Oldtown are not so far. Bring Fire and Blood to my enemies and I will see you rewarded for your service.
Signed,
Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.
Rhaenyra's letter proved to be exactly what Dalton had wished to receive. When, seated on the Seastone Chair, he read it to the assembled Lords and Reavers within Pyke's great hall, their roar shook the stones of the keep. He stood and raised Nightfall, his Valyrian steel sword, its moonstone pommel glinting, and shouted: "It has been too long since the sight of longships off the coast of Westeros meant death and terror for the greenlanders! The Sunset Sea longs for its true masters to return. The Westerman have quit hiding behind their walls and have sallied forth for their King, but they have left their castles and cities open to our wrath. We shall make their riches, their lands, and their women our own! We are Ironborn! We DO NOT SOW! Follow me, and I promise I will make legends out of all of you, and we each will prove ourselves true sons of the Drowned God!"
Veron had never seen men raised to such a fever pitch. They began to shout his brother's name continuously, before clearing a path for him to walk out of the great hall. Veron strode alongside his brother as they exited, following just behind and to the right, as was customary by this point. Gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, Veron tried to maintain his composure. As excited as I am, it still wouldn't do for me to follow my brother out grinning like an idiot. Besides, the 'Grinning Kraken' sounds like the name for a fool, not the brother of the Red Kraken himself. Their journey took them across Pyke's great bridge, to the enclosed fields beyond, and past the kennels and outbuildings until they arrived at the stables. Mounting their horses, they rode the distance to Lordsport in what felt like a record time. Veron was pleased to finally be able to dismount; as he never felt truly comfortable in the saddle, especially compared to how he felt on the deck of his own Misery. Fortunately he could spot his longship's sails from where it was moored in the port. Soon we will be out to sea, he thought. The sounds of waves, gulls and the shouts of sailors preparing to embark never failed to make Veron feel alive.
Dismounting, the lords and captains gathered in a large ring near the quays housing their ships. Once all had assembled, Dalton began to share the specifics of his plan. "The greenlanders of the Westerlands are well-known for their riches. As I already mentioned, Lord Jason Lannister has departed Casterly Rock with thousands of his knights and sworn swords in order to invade the Riverlands. This presents a perfect opportunity for us, my lords. The Lannisters maintain a fleet of galleys at Lannisport. If we are able to take the city, and burn their fleet, we will cripple their ability to strike back, and will open the entire coast to our reaving. Once Lannisport is ashes, we will take Fair Isle, in order to secure it as a base for the fleet. After those two opening moves, I will turn you each loose to seek your own fortunes. Your reaving will bring honor to the Drowned God!" Turning to the Drowned Priests in attendance, he knelt, allowing one to pour salt water upon his head. Veron followed, feeling the cool seawater trickle down his cheeks. Each lord and captain in attendance repeated this process, before breaking into groups and seeking out their own ships. As Veron approached the Misery, his eyes narrowed.
"You three were not supposed to be here." He said, trying to keep his tone even and not betray the smile he felt tugging at his cheeks. His three younger sisters stood in a line, waiting on the quay that separated his Misery from Dalton's Red Tide. Each of them sported hair as black as the dresses they wore, their dark eyes sparkling mischievously. Alannys, the eldest, wore a golden necklace fashioned into the shape of a kraken around her neck. Closing the distance between them, Dalton took ahold of the necklace around his sister's neck. "And how did you come about owning this bauble, Alannys?"
Her cheeks flushing red, she mumbled: "I- I had it fashioned for your departure, brother." Dalton frowned, before letting it drop.
"Our house pays the Iron Price for such things, sister. Only Greenlander whores should bedeck themselves so. The next time you wear such things, I want to hear they were ripped from the hands of their previous owner."
Nodding her head quickly, Alannys showed she understood. Dalton, satisfied, nodded curtly to his three sisters before climbing the gangway onto his ship to supervise its launching. Veron stopped, facing his three sisters. Keeping his face straight, he faced each of them with a cool expression, watching them squirm under his gaze. Deciding he'd tormented them enough, his hands shot out to grab Morgana, the youngest. He lifted her into the air, swinging her around as she screeched with laughter. Asha and Alannys quickly began to sport grins, and when he finally placed Morgana back down, all three accepted his invitation for a hug. He gave each sister a kiss atop the head, before finally separating to climb aboard the Misery. I've never understood why Dalton must treat them so coldly. Mayhaps he thinks legends don't love their sisters. He smiled internally. It is a good thing I'm no legend, then. He gave orders for the ship to disembark, and it quickly did so, taking its place in the long line of longships slowly exiting Lordsport and heading out to sea.
It had taken the better part of a week to assemble the full fleet off of the coasts of the Iron Islands and to sail it to the outskirts of Lannisport. They had waited until nightfall to sail between Fair Isle and the mainland, in order to mask their approach. The Drowned God must have approved of their endeavors, as they had been almost entirely concealed by heavy fog that rolled off the deep sea as they sailed nearest to the shore. Once they had passed through the strait, the fleet gathered en masse just out of sight of the shore and organized itself into battle formation. They greased the oarlocks in order to minimize noise and rowed towards where they estimated Lannisport would be. Soon, lights along the shore became visible, with a large lighthouse standing tall above the bay. Veron strained, attempting to see the Rock in the distance, and was shocked to find that some of the stars in the night sky were actually lights shining from the top of the Rock less than two miles away. It was far bigger than he could have even imagined. It is good Dalton had no intention of storming the Rock itself. Our siege works would resemble the works of ants to those at the top.
The fleet broke into smaller divisions as it approached the harbor itself. Veron was pleased that all remained quiet. It seemed they had yet to be spotted. They had been ordered to maintain strict silence, as well as to only use the lights of the city to find their way to the target. The torchlit walls of Lannisport grew closer and closer, and Veron was able to make out that the beach was perhaps only fifty feet away. The fleet was large enough that many of its ships would be landing outside the walls, and tasked with scaling the walls and opening the gates to allow for the entrance of the army. Dalton had opted to lead around twenty longships into the harbor itself to neutralize its galleys and other vessels before securing the docks. At fifteen feet out, they withdrew the oars into the vessel. Merrick, a particularly zealous crewmate, jumped and disappeared entirely into the water. He resurfaced sputtering, and the crew had to suppress chuckles at his annoyed appearance. He is lucky he couldn't afford plate. Otherwise that'd have been the last we'd have seen of him. Veron had worn plate while they were out at sea, harboring no fear of the waves. If the Drowned God decides it is my time, no amount of effort on my part will undo that verdict. He had once more affixed his plate, its jet black appearance designed to inspire fear in his enemies. It was lined with gold to complete the Greyjoy colors. Alongside the armor itself he had chosen a sturdy shield and longsword, figuring that the extra protection would allow for him to make sure he didn't suffer any needless wounds in the upcoming battle.
Other men had begun to jump into the waves to guide the craft to shore, and Veron jumped in alongside them. The water was cold, but refreshing. Veron's heart had begun to beat quickly in anticipation for the coming battle, and as they guided the boat to shore, the rest of the crew disembarked, several nocking arrows in order to deal with any guards that thought to take a look over the ramparts. Alongside them, dozens of other boats were landing along the beach, disgorging thousands of men. Veron raised his sword, and ten groups of fifteen men each advanced, bearing ladders with hooked ends and throwing them against the walls. When the first several ladders went up, Veron heard the shouts begin from within the walls. Faces appeared in the battlements, and a horn was blown. Tommard, one of the best bowmen on the Misery, quickly loosed an arrow that found the neck of a guardsmen, who fell backwards out of sight.
Veron grabbed the nearest ladder andbegan to ascend, followed closely by Merrick, an axe in his teeth, who dripped salt water as he climbed. Reaching the top quickly, Veron heaved himself over the battlements onto the wall. Before him lay the body of the guardsman, still choking on his lifeblood as his eyes glazed over. Several other men in red cloaks and gambesons advanced, in order to stop the intruders from gaining control of the wall. The first rushed Veron, screaming, but Veron was able to catch his spear between his shield and side, and before the man could react had driven his sword into his throat. Gurgling, his opponent fell. The limited space of the wall assisted the Ironborn climbing up, as the Lannisport guardsmen could not advance more than two abreast to confront the attackers. Another guardsman advanced, bringing his sword down in a savage slash, but Veron turned it with his shield and responded with a powerful upward cut of his own that took the man's arm nearly off at the shoulder. By now, near a dozen Ironborn had reached the walkway, and the guardsmen were falling quickly.
Reaching the nearest guardhouse, Veron was shocked to find the door hadn't been bolted. He opened it, finding the passageway abandoned. He took the stairs to the ground floor quickly, opening the door, and was stunned to see the city guardsmen fleeing from the walls. A horn blasted in the distance, as the Greyjoy banner was unfurled at the gatehouse to the cheers of the men on both sides of the wall. The gate was unbarred and pulled open, and a tide of men surged through. Some guardsmen who hadn't lost their nerve rushed to intercept them, but against the better equipped and experienced Ironborn were quickly cut to pieces. This is pathetic, even for the Greenlanders, he thought, as the Ironborn quickly formed into their designated units (based off of what ships they had arrived on) and began to advance down the cobbled streets deeper into the city.
Veron himself led his own crew, along with Balon Wynch and Melwick Myre and their crews. Advancing down a wide street, they approached what looked to be a major market square. If the garrison refuses to fight, our army may begin the sack too early. It would be unwise to allow our forces to disperse too quickly. He gave orders to Wynch that the men were not to sack the city until an all-clear was given, but he was certain his orders were going to only be partially followed, as flames had already begun to dance amongst the buildings closest to the walls and screams had begun to echo along the cobblestone. Entering the square, Veron found the first major opposition to his advance. Across the square, a hedge of spears faced him, comprised mostly of city guardsmen, along with more heavily armored Lannister infantry (outfitted with mail). Atop a horse facing him was a Greenlander knight with a red cloak and red plate, with a golden lion embossed on the breast plate. A lion emerges from its den, he smirked. Let us see if it can dance with a Kraken. The knight raised his sword, then pointed it at the assembled Ironborn and ordered his spear wall to advance. Veron raised his blade. "Archers! Nock! I want as many of those spearmen dropped as is possible! Break up that formation!"
A chorus of "Aye, captain!" rang out, and arrows began to fly in deadly arcs across the square, many finding their targets. The spearmen began to drop, tripping up their comrades as they advanced. The knight was wise to present us with a spear wall. My men operate much better in open spaces, and aren't accustomed to fighting so closely. It is fortunate we have archers. After a second volley further diminished the cohesiveness of their enemy, Veron raised his sword once more.
"What is dead MAY NEVER DIE" he cried, and advanced towards the enemy. His men responded with cries of "but will rise again, HARDER and STRONGER!" and charged. It took a few moments to cross the cobblestones before smashing into the spearwall. Veron used his shield to deflect a spear thrust, worming his way between the upraised spears of two different men and bringing his blade down across the face of one. The man fell screaming. The other, his spear now useless for this range, dropped it to draw his dagger, but Veron had already driven his sword through the man's gambeson into his innards, dropping him. He advanced, a spear striking his breastplate before scraping off. To his right and left, his men fought their way through the spear wall, with Melwick Myre burying his axe in the head of a Lannister guardsmen. The men of the enemy formation began to waver, fighting a desperate battle that was rapidly turning against them. Their back ranks began to break off, running. The knight in the rear cursed and ordered them to hold, but only the professional soldiers had the discipline to do so. As Veron broke through, he advanced on the knight, who dropped his visor and urged his destrier to canter towards him. Veron picked up a spear from a fallen guardsmen and threw it with all his might at the horse, which screamed in agony as it pierced its neck, throwing the knight from the saddle.
The knight landed on the cobblestone with a deafening crash, and Veron cleared the distance between them quickly, jumping on top of the man before he could climb to his feet. Ripping the knight's visor open, he drove his blade into a terrified emerald eye. Roaring, he surveyed the scene. It appeared organized resistance was collapsing, as fires were spreading throughout the city and he didn't see any other groups of enemy soldiers approaching. The survivors are likely either preparing to defend their homes or gathering at the keep. Taking a deep breath, he stood. Time to find Dalton, he thought to himself.
He found the Red Kraken in the keep's courtyard. After securing the docks, his brother had made straight for the keep, using a broken ship mast as a makeshift ram to force the gates. Dalton was giving orders to the lords Goodbrother and Harlaw as Veron arrived. From their vantage point atop the hill, they could see Lannisport glowing orange-red as flames from untended fires spread throughout the city. Dalton turned to face him as he advanced, his war helm glowing in the firelight. The helm was a masterpiece, forged to look like the head of a kraken, its tentacles hanging golden like a grotesque beard. Dalton had had rubies set in the tentacles, so as to evoke the image of them dripping blood. His brother removed his helm, his dark eyes shining in the light of the fires below. "The city is ours, Veron. They were completely unprepared, as I expected. We even managed to capture the majority of the ships in the harbor, both cogs and war galleys. I plan to send them to the Isles tomorrow to be crewed and added to the fleet. The loot from their holds alone would make this sack worth our time. But that is just the beginning. My men tell me the city's storehouses are full of foodstuffs and other exports. Several wagon loads of gold have also been discovered, along with several armories of war equipment. Material and gold enough to have raised another army. A shame we took it first. I am certain the Drowned God smiles on us tonight."
Veron smiled. He may not have bought into the way many men worshipped his brother, but he would be a fool to deny his talent for command. Removing his helmet, he clapped his brother on the soldier. "Well done, brother. I am only ashamed that I couldn't have been present to take this keep alongside you."
Dalton shrugged. "It was barely a fight worth being present for. Most of the Lannister forces had already shattered before we reached the gates. Its most formidable occupant was its Lady. When we broke into the hall, she shot one of my men with a crossbow she had loaded herself, before 'cursing us to the Seven Hells' and insisting her son would take our heads. You can imagine how pleased I was when I got word my own brother had slain him. That shut her up." Dalton nodded towards a woman staring blankly into the distance a dozen or so paces from them. "She's a bit old for my taste, but you can have her if you wish, Veron. It may do you good for your first salt wife to be a woman of experience."
Veron forced a chuckle. "Despite your generosity, I would prefer someone who is not the age of our nan, Dalton. I'm sure somewhere in this city I can find someone a bit better." Dalton raised his eyebrow at the idea.
"I'll believe such things when I see them. For now, if you want to continue your search, you're welcome to accompany me. I've received word that one of the manses below is home to the mistress of Lord Jason Lannister himself. I simply must make her acquaintance." Turning, Dalton gripped the hilt of Nightfall, and began strolling out of the keep. He directed his men to continue to strip it of valuables in his absence. Once through the gates, they took the main road down from the keep to a wide street that was already strewn with corpses. The buildings along this street were particularly ornate; each was several stories, and sat within low walls that enclosed small gardens, greenhouses, fountains, and other displays of Greenlander opulence. Upon reaching a particularly ostentatious manse, they were directed inside by two men standing guard at the doors. Within, they entered a parlor bedecked with rich tapestries, Myrish rugs, exotic furniture, and lit by a golden brazier that was wrought to depict dancing lions. Four women had been forced to kneel on a rug. Each had hair of beaten gold that fell curly past their shoulders, and emerald eyes. Two had freckles splashed across their faces.
The three youngest flinched when Dalton spoke. "What fair lionesses you all are! Each a jewel of the West to be sure…"
He was cut off by the eldest woman. "You'll hold your tongue, scum, if you know what is good for you. You may have taken this city unawares, but the moment my lion returns, you will be forced to flee to your Gods forsaken Isles. I have the favor of Lord Jason Lannister himself, and I assure you, his wroth will be terrifying should we be mistreated."
Dalton chuckled, his dark eyes sparkling. "The lioness does indeed have a bite. I confess, I'd have been sorely disappointed if I'd not been so lashed. You see, I have never had the opportunity to bed a lioness, let alone four. And if the eldest was worthy of the Lord of Casterly Rock, I am sure she will not disappoint." He turned to Veron. "I'm sorry brother, but each of these morsels is simply too enticing to give up. I hope you can forgive me."
Veron breathed an internal sigh of relief. He gave Dalton a cold glance before turning to exit the manse, leaving his brother to his fun. Four more salt wives in one night. Good thing no one is keeping count except for Dalton himself. Wandering, he found his way into an abandoned manse and began rummaging around its halls. When he found an untouched wine barrel in the cellar, he breathed a sigh of relief. Pouring himself two full skins, he was pleased to find it was a spiced honey wine of the Lannisport variety. Making his way to a secluded garden in the rear of the manse, he unfastened enough of his armor in order to sit comfortably underneath the boughs of an apple tree. The night sky was black with smoke, and glowed orange from the light of flames. Drinking deeply, Veron could almost imagine he was somewhere else; a bonfire on the beach of a Basilisk Isle perhaps. Taking another deep gulp, he found himself taking solace in the warm drunkenness that he was settling into. Soon I'll have to take a salt wife of my own, he thought bitterly. It is either that or face blades in the dark. At times he wondered if he'd be better off leaving his brother's side for somewhere else. A harsh laugh escaped from his lips. I can only imagine my brother's face if I ever actually told him why I don't take salt wives. Since Veron had first begun to understand what it felt like to want someone, he had known he was different than the other boys around him. What a sick jape, he thought. The Red Kraken, the lover of a thousand women, and his brother, lover of none.