The Drowned God's Bastard
Chapter I:
The salty wind howled a mournful song as it whipped across the rocky shores of Pyke, the ancestral seat of House Greyjoy. And with the wind came rain, lashing against the stone walls of the castle, mirroring the storm raging within its young prince.
Percy Jackson, bastard son of Balon Greyjoy, ran along the windswept cliffs, just above the churning expanse of the Sunset Sea. His sea-green eyes, mirroring the turbulent waters below, held a depth of longing and a restless energy that belied his eighteen years. The harsh Ironborn upbringing had forged him into a warrior. Yet, beneath the hardened exterior, a different kind of storm brewed.
Unlike his siblings, born of salt and iron, Percy carried a strange power within him, a gift from the Drowned God of his people. He could feel the pulse of the ocean in his veins, hear the whispers of the waves, command the tides with a mere thought. This hidden strength set him apart from his kin, fueling the whispers of "demon spawn" that followed him like shadows.
Today, however, there was no denying his power.
The air was thick with the screams of the dying and the roar of the storm. The salt stung Percy's eyes as he scrambled down the jagged cliffside, his grip faltering on the rain-slicked rocks. Below him, a monstrous kraken wreaked havoc, its tentacles lashing out at the Ironborn warriors who desperately tried to defend their home. It had already crushed two longships in its grip, and the Ironborn were losing their nerve.
"To me!" Percy roared, his voice a thunderclap above the storm. "To the sea! We will not let this beast defeat us!"
A handful, the bravest among them, rallied to his call. They formed a wall, their faces grim but determined. Percy led the charge, his sword carving a path through the chaos. He could feel the power of the water surging within him, his every movement infused with its strength and fury.
Reaching the edge of the beach, where jagged rocks met the raging surf, Percy paused only a moment. He could see the kraken more clearly now, its massive form a dark shadow against the churning waves. Its eyes, glowing with an eerie light, locked onto him, a silent challenge echoing across the sound.
Despite everything, Percy grinned. He had tasted the salt on his lips before he could walk, learned to swim before he could speak.
Without hesitation, he plunged into the churning sea, the cold water embracing him like a long-lost friend. As he sank deeper, he could feel the pull of the kraken, the immense power of the creature resonating like a ringing bell.
He surfaced amidst the tumultuous waves, his lungs burning, his heart pounding. Summoning the power within him, Percy raised his hands, feeling the current answer his call. The water around him swirled and churned, rising before him. He pushed his will into the sea, commanding the waves to crash against the kraken's monstrous form.
The creature roared in defiance, its tentacles thrashing, lunging at Percy with its gaping maw filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth. But Percy was ready. He dove back beneath the waves, the water parting before him like a loyal servant. He swam with the speed and agility of a dolphin, weaving through the kraken's tentacles.
As he came back around, he raised his hands, forming a whirlpool that pulled the beast towards him. The creature roared, its tentacles flailing, but it was no match.
Percy emerged beneath the beast. Riptide, his trusty sword, hummed with anticipation in his hand. He could hear the whispers of the waves, guiding him, urging him on.
With a mighty kick, he burst upward, landing on the kraken's massive head, seawater cascading down his armor. The creature roared, flailing, trying to dislodge the audacious warrior who dared challenge it.
Percy held on tight, his legs braced against the slick skin. He raised Riptide high above his head, the blade glinting in the dim light.
"The Drowned God sends his regards!" Percy roared, plunging the sword deep into the kraken's eye.
With a shuddering groan, the kraken's movements ceased, its body falling limp in the water. Percy released his grip, pushing off the massive corpse as it began its descent into the depths. The storm had abated, leaving behind an eerie calm. The only sound now was the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore and the distant cheers on the cliffs above.
Percy swam back to the beach, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. As he dragged himself onto the sand, he was met by a wall of faces. His father, Balon, stood at the forefront, his expression unreadable. Beside him was Theon, his lips curled in a sneer that barely concealed the envy burning in his eyes. But then there was Yara, her face beaming with pride, her arms outstretched towards him.
"Percy!" she cried, rushing forward to embrace him. "You were magnificent!"
Percy hugged her back, the warmth of her affection washing over him.
"Thank you," he murmured.
As they parted, Balon stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Percy. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions, every Ironborn warrior holding their breath, waiting for the Lord Reaper's judgement. A lifetime of slights and snubs echoed in Percy's ears, the sting of being the bastard of Pyke, a constant shadow to Balon's legitimate heirs. He had grown accustomed to the hushed whispers, the averted gazes, the unspoken disdain that clung to him like the ever-present sea mist.
Finally, the king spoke, his voice gruff but carrying a weight Percy had never heard before. "You have defended our home, Percy of House Greyjoy. For that, you have my thanks."
The words, simple and direct, struck Percy like a bolt of lightning. Never in his eighteen years had Balon acknowledged him as a son, let alone offered praise.
The Ironborn around them exchanged surprised glances, whispers of "demon spawn" replaced by murmurs of awe and respect. Even Theon, who stood behind their father, his face a mask of thinly veiled jealousy, couldn't hide his astonishment.
Percy felt a surge of conflicting emotions—pride, disbelief, and a bittersweet longing for the acceptance he had always craved. It was a victory hard-won, a validation forged in blood and salt. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Percy fell to one knee, bowing his head.
"Thank you... father," he rasped, the word feeling foreign on his tongue.
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Balon's face, the barest hint of a softened edge in his stern demeanor. He nodded curtly, then turned back towards the castle, his voice booming across the beach.
"We feast tonight," he declared, his words carrying the weight of a royal decree. "In honor of my son, and the monster he slew."
-Ω-
The Great Hall of Pyke roared with the revelry of a victorious people. Fires blazed in iron braziers, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls adorned with the kraken sigil of House Greyjoy. A fitting decoration for the night. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted boar, mounds of shellfish, and flagons of ale. The Ironborn raised their voices in raucous songs, their laughter echoing off the rafters.
Percy sat at the high table, a place of honor beside his father. The weight of Balon's gaze felt heavier than any armor he had ever worn. But it was like a double-edged sword, a validation of his strength, but also a reminder of the expectations that now rested upon his shoulders.
"You fought bravely, boy," Balon grunted, his voice barely audible over the din of the feast. "The Drowned God has blessed you with a rare gift."
Percy nodded, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "I am his servant, father," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "I only wield the power he grants me."
Balon's lips curled into a wry smile. "Power is power," he said, "whether it comes from the gods or the devil. Use it wisely. It can be a weapon, a shield, or a crown. The choice is yours."
Percy nodded.
Theon sat beside Percy, picking at his food. It nearly made Percy burst out in laughter at how obviously his younger half-brother's jealousy simmered beneath the surface.
"You were lucky, brother," Theon said, his voice laced with bitterness. "The kraken was wounded and disoriented. Any fool could have landed the killing blow."
Percy met his Theon's gaze, his eyes cold and unflinching. "Perhaps," he said, "but it was I who faced the beast, not you. It was I who dove into the storm, not you. And it was I who earned the Drowned God's favor, not you."
Theon flushed with anger, his hand tightening around his goblet. But before he could retort, Yara intervened, her voice cutting through the tension like a whip.
"Enough," she said, her eyes flashing with warning. "We are here to celebrate our victory, not to bicker like children. Let us raise a toast to Percy, the Kraken's Bane, and to the future of the Iron Islands!"
The hall erupted in cheers as the Ironborn raised their goblets in unison. Percy acknowledged the tribute with a nod, his heart swelling with pride. He had earned his place among his people, not through bloodline or birthright, but through courage and strength.
As the feast progressed, Balon rose to address the gathering. His voice boomed across the hall, silencing the revelers.
"We have tasted victory today," he declared, "but it is only the beginning. The greenlanders are weak and divided. Robert Baratheon festers like a fattening swine on the Iron Throne. It is time to reclaim what is rightfully ours."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the eager faces of his warriors. "I propose we raise our fleet," he announced, his voice ringing with resolve. "We shall strike at their weakest point, their undefended shores. We shall take what we want, burn what we cannot take, and teach the greenlanders to fear the Ironborn once more."
Cheers of approval filled the hall as the Ironborn warriors banged their fists on the tables and stamped their feet.
"To King Balon!" They shouted. "To the Old Way!"
"We shall not sow! We shall not work the land, toll the mines!" Balon continued, his bony hand finding Percy's shoulder. "Together, Westeros shall pay the iron price!"
The cheers turned into a thunderous roar, the Ironborn warriors chanting Balon's and Percy's names, their voices mingling with the crashing waves outside. Percy could do nothing but bask in the adulation, his heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration.
Balon's declaration hung heavy in the air, a promise of blood and iron. Percy knew that this was his father's way of testing him, of proving his loyalty to the Iron Islands. He had earned his place at the feast, but to truly secure it, he would have to spill blood in the name of the Drowned God.
As the night wore on, the revelry grew louder, fueled by the promise of plunder. Percy found himself surrounded by boisterous warriors, their voices slurring as they toasted his victory. He matched their enthusiasm with forced smiles and hearty laughter, but his mind was already racing ahead, strategizing the upcoming invasion.
He sought out Yara, finding her in a quiet corner of the hall, her gaze fixed on the fire crackling in the hearth. She turned as he approached, a warm smile gracing her lips.
"You look troubled, brother," she said.
Percy sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "I am," he admitted. "War... it's bold, ambitious. But I fear the cost will be high."
Yara nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "They are a proud and resilient people. They will not yield easily."
Percy met her gaze, a silent question hanging between them. Did she share his reservations? Or was she, like their father, blinded by ambition and the lust for power?
Yara, as if sensing his unspoken thoughts, reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "I know you worry, Percy," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "But we do not fear the storm. We embrace it. And we will emerge from it stronger than ever."
He chuckled, the sound hollow in the vast hall. "Perhaps," he said, "but even the strongest storm can leave behind wreckage."
Yara's smile widened, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Then we shall simply rebuild, stronger than before. Besides," she added with a wink, "at least now I can call you 'brother' in front of father without being reprimanded."
Percy laughed, a genuine laugh. "Perhaps there is some good to come from this war after all," he said, raising his goblet in a silent toast to his sister.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of celebration and strategizing. Percy found himself pulled into discussions with the other Ironborn captains, his sharp mind analyzing their strengths and weaknesses, plotting the course of their invasion. He felt a thrill of anticipation, a sense of purpose that had been missing from his life.
As the feast drew to a close, Percy made his way to the highest tower of Pyke. He leaned against the battlements, the wind whipping at his cloak, the scent of the sea filling his lungs. Below him, the Iron Fleet was already preparing for war, the longships being loaded with supplies, the warriors sharpening their weapons.
Percy looked towards the horizon, his eyes fixed on the faint outline of the mainland. He could feel the pull of destiny, the call of adventure. But as he gazed out at the vast expanse of the sea, his thoughts drifted to his mother, the woman he had never known. She had died giving birth to him, a sacrifice that had forever marked him as an outsider. He had no memories of her, only the stories whispered by the servants, tales of a fierce warrior woman who had loved the sea as fiercely as he did.
He wondered if she would be proud of him, of the man he was becoming. He had embraced the Ironborn ways, but he had also forged his own path, one guided by the whispers of the waves and the echoes of a forgotten past. He was the Drowned God's Reaver, a child of the storm, a warrior with the power to command the sea.
Closing his eyes, he searched for the pulse of the ocean in his veins, listening to the rhythm of the tides echoing the beat of his own heart.
Author's Event:
Hi all! Excited to show you my take on Percy in Westeros! I hope you enjoyed this introduction to his character, and are excited for what's to come :) As you can probably tell, we are starting off with my spin on the Greyjoy Rebellion. You can find me in the discord in my bio!