A/N: Here is the second part of the aforementioned split chapter, with a summary of the happenings in the other kingdoms, and the final confrontation in the Iron Isles. After this will be the long-promised coronation ceremony.

Thanks to Wobb Nox, filipinosberman, FieryMatter and Ascalon on SB for beta-ing.

Chapter LXX: End of an Era

40 AC
Ninth Moon
Winterfell

Arin oversaw the ruined landscape of Winterfell, capital of the North and the once-proud seat of power of House Stark, an ancient house claiming its origins from the time of the Long Night through Brandon the Builder. Its mighty walls were now nothing more than half-melted slag, violet embers still burning in the chilly weather, large swathes of Wintertown burned and looted, ruins of houses and shops as far as the eye could see. The glass gardens themselves were intact, harvested for every scrap of food they held.

The city stank of blood, piss and guts, a potent mixture of scents that would easily churn anyone's stomach. Anyone that is, except for Arin Rada, not the Black Fox who lived to see such devastation over his long life.

"It's really sobering, isn't it?" Arin said, "To see such devastation firsthand in your own home?"

"Yes… I never thought I'd live to see the day Winterfell was truly brought low," Eckard muttered, a tone of disbelief in his words, "Just goes to show no house rules forever, eh?"

Arin merely shrugged with understanding.

"Your people did well to hold out until we got here," Arin said.

"All our preparations were for this moment. Of course we'd hold out for your aid," Eckard smirked.

Over the past eleven months, Arin Rada waged a relentless war of conquest to reunify the continent under his rule, starting with the Reach, the Stormlands and the Crownlands. Dorne's armies fought many battles with the defenders who valiantly resisted until their bitter defeat.

The defenders in those regions made use of multiple layers of forts, traps and trenches to slow down the invaders, and their wagon forts - essentially wagons arranged in a circle or square - heavily negated the Dornish cavalry advantage as their knights sallied forth to combat Dornish cataphracts.

Edmund was the brave and intrepid commander, every bit the Bloodhand's worthy successor, striking with such ferocity he rivalled the ancient heroes of the Dawn Age. Brandyll Tarly was by his side, the Hero of the Reach lending his sagaciousness to complement the King's strength.

The Stormlords and Crownlords were determined fighters, but lacking the experienced generals they lost in the recent war with Dorne, they were severely handicapped this time round.

When these regions were pacified after much bloodshed and scorching by fire, Arin took three months to consolidate his gains before expanding into the Riverlands, then the Vale and then the Westerlands, conscripting vassal lords who yet retained their titles into his armies. Fundamentally, their levies were of inferior quality, but filled out their numbers to pose immense pressure on their remaining enemies.

The conscripted lords and their levies were used as cannon fodder, to smoke out traps and ambush sites aplenty in both the Vale and the Westerlands, the treacherous mountainous terrain an ambusher's dream come true. Once they served their purpose, Castenkair and Dornish firethrowers would smoke them out.

House Royce fought valiantly, using hit-and-run tactics and his homeland's terrain to his advantage, the Lannister branch families doing the same.

Yet they only delayed the inevitable and succumbed in the end.

Then came the fight for the North.

While House Rada fought battles elsewhere, House Blodfeld made its move, striking at strongholds like White Harbour and extending their controlled territory all the way to the northernmost boundaries of the Barrowlands and gaining control of one of the North's most prosperous cities. This move shocked the Northern lords who, up until now, only saw House Blodfeld adopt a defensive stance, and permanently cemented in their minds the infallible truth that Eckard Blodfeld was a traitor to their people and their kingdom.

The war for the North would begin with a three-pronged invasion, saturating the region with sheer numbers - 250,000 against 30,000. 80,000 would assault the western coast, taking on House Stark's more loyal vassal houses from Mormont of Bear Island to House Forrester of Ironrath; 80,000 would take the eastern coast to handle the likes of Houses Bolton, Karstark and Whitehill; the remaining 90,000 would assault House Stark head-on, surrounding and besieging Winterfell while waiting for the rest of the armies to deal with the rest of the opposition.

The siege of Winterfell was both climatic and anticlimactic; the walls were scorched with dragonfire until they melted to slag, the gates falling down with immense force. And then the armies flooded in, dealing with any and all who dared resist to the bitter end.

Six of the Seven Kingdoms had fallen to the Black Fox. With the mighty Dragon Castenkair on their side, it was simply a matter of how long before their downfall, hastening a conquest that would otherwise take many years.

And blessed as he may be, even the legendary Black Fox could not hope to live forever.

Arin Rada, determined to build a solid foundation for his new empire, to avoid making the same mistakes as Aegon the Conqueror and countless other kings before him, enacted several policies for his conquest that had far-reaching consequences for centuries to come.

- The Great Houses and any lineage with exceptionally long histories were to be exterminated without question.
- Younger houses who have surrendered after bitter fighting are allowed to be spared, but the remaining survivors will be exiled to Essos without question.
- Minor houses who have surrendered and accepted the new rule must follow the new laws accordingly, and any and all attempt at defying said laws constitutes grounds for demotion to Smallfolk, exile or execution.
- Nobles will no longer be permitted to start any kind of skirmishes for any reason, and will retain private armies solely to defend their own fiefdoms. Legal disputes must be resolved in court.
- The Faith is to be permanently disbarred from secular court politics, and shall never again persecute any deviancy from established doctrine.
- The Citadel shall be permanently disbanded, and all its knowledge publicly shared for everyone to read and copy.

Needless to say, countless power vacuums ensued in the wake of the merciless purgings of the nobility and the Faith's high-ranking septons. For the latter, Arin espoused the fact that the Faith had become a mockery of its original purpose, fit only to serve the self-serving, greedy tyrants who twist the Seven's words to their own benefit, tarnishing the holy mission their forebears set out to fulfil. It did not help that ample evidence of their misdeeds from molestation of young Septons to seeking out forbidden carnal desires was brought to light, further worsening their reputation in the eyes of their own Andal followers.

Even worse, the Citadel had incriminating records of stealing information from the countless lords and ladies their followers obtained, and the fact the high-ranking Archmaesters were of Hightower blood fuelled popular belief that the Maesters were puppets of House Hightower of Oldtown. Thus, no one protested their disbandment.

As for the Night's Watch, it was forced to submit to House Blodfeld, assimilated as an official military arm under its control to help with expansion efforts into the True North. Many of the Rangers vehemently opposed terms to allow Free Folk tradesmen down south, however, going as far as to raid several patrols and caravans bringing in food relief for the starving Northmen. By the auspices of the ruling Lord Commander, fully half the Night's Watch had to be purged.

House Hightower, House Gardener, House Royce, House Grafton, House Tully, House Lannister's cadet houses, House Stark, House Bolton, House Mormont, Umber, Karstark, all of them were extinguished with no survivors.

What remained of House Baratheon under the leadership of Argella Baratheon fled with her surviving daughters to Essos and renounced her ancestral claim to Storm's End, unwilling to suffer the same betrayal by her lords decades past.

They never returned.

Castan Reyne, puppet ruler of the Westerlands, was promptly deposed and sent into exile, where he ran afoul of mercenary gangs and paid the ultimate price. With all his sisters married into other houses there was no one left to carry on their legacy.

House Targaryen was permitted exile, after Lady Regent Aerea Targaryen, wife of Maekar, pleaded for clemency for the little children and their drakes. Houses Celtigar and Velaryon followed, and they sailed further than Daeria, last seen heading for the Red Wastes with their troops, their little drakes and as many weapons and supplies as they could carry.

They too would never return.

"How stands the North's army and navy?" Asked Arin.

"We've only half the North's troop strength remaining, including Gosmerch's; nowhere enough for a proper campaign, but they'll be ready to fight, at least once we've healed the wounded," Said Eckard, "For the Navy, we've the entirety of Gosmerch's naval might, and adding the ships we've commandeered, that's… roughly fifty-eight ships."

Eckard trailed off at the end, the lacklustre naval might of the North an eternal sore spot for him.

"Eckard, pass the word," Arin ordered, "We rest and recuperate, and on the Eleventh Moon we strike at the Iron Islands."

"As you command," Eckard bowed.

IIOII

40 AC
Twelfth Moon
Iron Islands

Despite the desires of the generals to hastily initiate their invasion of the Iron Isles, Arin Rada was adamant they consolidate their gains in the North first. For this, he was forced to delay for another three months to ensure assimilation of the North went smoothly.

Old laws were discarded and new laws drafted in accordance with the Dornish code of law, and ailing infrastructure was built to help save the North from starvation. New magistrates had to be appointed, their bureaucratic staff and the military reorganised, all in preparation for the invasion of the Iron Isles.

The rest of the three months was uneventful, the Ironborn under Lodos content to stay in their own territory.

And finally, in the last month of the year, the invasion began in earnest.

When the invasion of the Iron Islands began, they faced all manner of eldritch creatures from the depths of the sea, and blessed reavers bearing the gifts of the Drowned God. Armoured with chitin and shells harder than steel, most troops had trouble cutting them down. Magic and enchanted steel gave them the edge they needed, allowing them to push through.

Yet the battle at sea was a mercilessly punishing affair. Not only did giant sea creatures like krakens assault the fleets, the very ocean itself seemed to work against the invaders, giant torrential waves causing ships to overturn and capsize. The Hydromancers would be a great help, but their powers did not extend to the ocean, and thus they were as powerless as a regular grunt.

Sailors that survived were pulled down by underwater demons who cannibalised their corpses, mauling them beyond recognition. There was little anyone could do for them, save offering prayers.

Some fleets managed to survive and made landfall, wasting no time fighting the cursed reavers for every inch of island. Unable to land the majority of their troops, the invaders struggled to bring their full might to bear.

And in the centre of the isles themselves was the Drowned God, patron god of the Ironborn and commander of the vast oceans, a repulsive mass of flesh assembled as a gargantuan mockery of a kraken with too many teeth and eyes and spiked tentacles. With the ocean his domain, none save the gods could contest him.

"Of course, it always has to be a bloody god making trouble."

Such was Arin Rada grumblings as he witnessed the living god unleash his powers.

"My Lord, we cannot keep this up! We have to retreat!" A panicked sailor shouted.

"We cannot run, and we cannot hide. So long as the Drowned God lives, he will cause trouble for all of us and our descendants," Arin explained.

"But…"

"Don't worry. They will come," Arin stated, in a tone that left no room for doubt.

Then Balerion poured forth from a crimson rift, breathing a huge gout of flames that incinerated thousands of demons in the boiling ocean waters. Mother Rhoyne emerged, summoning her sword of water and slicing away some tentacles which quickly regenerated.

"Leave already!" The Drowned God screamed, "This is my domain, and you are intruding on it!"

Both the Mother Rhoyne and Balerion contemptuously answered by renewing their attack, subjecting him to a merciless barrage of rapid-fire attacks that forced him on the defensive. Each time he tried to attack, his strikes were rebuffed like an ant against a swatter. Any attack that landed was ineffectual, little more than a tiny scratch.

"What is this!? Why won't you die!? Why does the Storm God choose to make a nuisance of himself right now!?"

Overhead, storm clouds gathered, and lightning and thunder struck at the Drowned God and his servants, alleviating pressure from the invaders as they initiated a counterattack, determined to make up for their earlier failures.

The strikes by the Storm God were rather ineffectual as a whole against the Drowned God, but they provided ample distraction while the heavy-hitters dealt damage, and as the Drowned God was forced to endure a one-sided bullying, the time came for the fight to end.

"Good bye, Drowned God."

Rhoynamhari thrust her sword into the Drowned God's eyes, and Balerion unleashed fire shaped like a ballista bolt, skewering his brain. At once a gout of black shadow poured forth from his maw as it did from the mouths of his blessed followers, screams of anguish and gratitude echoing throughout the heavens and the mortal realm.

Then the Drowned God crumbled to ash, the skies cleared and the seas became calm, the underwater demons vanished like air.

With the Drowned God's death, all the Ironborn became catatonic with shock, slumping down where they stood. The invaders however remained vigilant, tense and highly strung while looking for potential threats.

Once it was fully confirmed that there were no remaining enemies, the invaders slumped in relief, cheering jubilantly for the end of a days-long battle that claimed so many men. In fact, the Ironborn themselves were relieved, happy that the tyranny finally ended. Many were not enthused at having to submit to a foreign power, but they accepted it without complaint, knowing full well the reality of their position.

"This feels… exceedingly anticlimactic," Huang Xue remarked with a wry smile.

"Well, considering all the excitement we've had the past few years, there has to be a limit somewhere," Arin shrugged, "Come, let's get inside the castle proper."

As they made their way to the throne room of Pyke castle, they found the withered, glassy-eyed form of Lodos the Twice-Drowned, lifeless and unmoving. He was promptly carried away to be burned, forever denied the embrace of the seas.

Then they came upon the Seastone Chair, carved in the shape of a great kraken. It radiated malice in spades, and Arin knew it was used to influence past generations of Greyiron rulers. With Dawn in hand he lifted it high and swung it down, cracking the chair into pieces.

A great gout of black mist erupted from the wreckage like a volcanic eruption, subsiding as quickly as it happened. Once the mist vanished, the chair crumbled into a fine powder, easily blown away by the wind.

The Driftwood Crown, once the symbol of Ironborn Kings - a wretched knot of roughshod driftwood - was burned in a brazier without pomp or ceremony.

And now, there was only one thing to do.

"Find me someone who can take charge of the Iron Isles," Arin ordered, "And one more thing. My coronation is to take place at the dawn of the new year."

Huang Xue smiled gleefully.

"As His Majesty commands."