Upon receiving the news that the Royal Fleet and the White Harbor fleet had converged at Oldtown, Euron Greyjoy did not call for his captains to prepare a defense. Instead, he immediately led his remaining personal warships away from the Shield Islands, retreating toward the heart of the Iron Islands.
He could deceive the world, but he could not deceive his own blood.
The dark, pulsing connection he had shared with the kraken, the ancient monster of the deep had been severed shortly after he orchestrated the death of Robb Stark. It was as if the sea itself had taken offense. Now, only when he was near Pyke Island could he catch a vague, taunting glimpse in his dreams of that massive silhouette hidden within the crushing pressure of the oceanic abyss. To think he could still command it as an extension of his own will was a fool's hope, and Euron was no fool.
For the sake of his ambition, and to prevent the Ironborn lords from smelling his weakness, he had dispatched Victarion to Meereen with the Iron Fleet. He had sent his brother with the dragon horn - the Hellhorn, hoping a dragon would compensate for the silence of the kraken.
As it turned out, Victarion had sailed straight into the jaws of the Stag and the Merman. The Iron Fleet was a memory, the dragon horn was lost, and the "puppet" Euron had painstakingly cultivated through torture to monitor his brother had been silenced.
Now, like a stray dog with its tail between its legs, the Crow's Eye sat in the smoke-filled Great Hall of Pyke, listening to the whispers carried by the salt wind. His rule was a castle of sand. Aeron Damphair was preaching heresy against him, claiming the Drowned God had rejected Euron. Asha Greyjoy was gathering the Harlaws at Ten Towers, preparing a rebellion to reclaim her father's Driftwood Crown.
Then, the Direwolf and the Stag arrived at his doorstep.
Stannis Baratheon stood on the deck of the Fury, his face a mask of cold discipline. He continuously issued orders, directing the Royal Fleet and the White Harbor ships to weave a net of wood and iron around Pyke Island.
The King was in a foul mood. He hadn't wanted this campaign. After Euron fled the Shield Islands, Stannis had intended to return to King's Landing to stabilize the Iron Throne. He believed the Ironborn would eventually tear themselves apart in a civil war.
However, Lord Wyman Manderly had ruthlessly dismantled the King's logic with a few pointed remarks about "Stewardship" and "Justice for the Reach." Under the gaze of the Tyrell and Hightower vassals, Stannis had been forced to lead his troops north to maintain the prestige of the crown.
The assault on Lordsport was a masterclass in naval bombardment. Massive galleys fired barrels of burning pitch from their stern-mounted catapults. The harbor became a landscape of firebirds and exploding timber. Within an hour, the Allied forces had seized the port, clearing the road to Pyke City.
This was not Stannis's first time on these stones. Eleven years ago, he had landed here with Robert to suppress Balon Greyjoy. Robert had been a man of easy mercy; he had allowed Balon to kneel and keep his head.
Stannis was not Robert. He believed only the Law could bring peace.
He set up a command tent on the rocky shallows. Batch after batch of prisoners were escorted before him for judgment.
"Your Majesty," a sergeant reported, "this one has three salt wives. His home was filled with silver candlesticks and silk looted from the Reach."
Stannis's jaw twitched. "Hanging."
The queue of sinners stretched past the edge of the camp.
"Your Majesty," another report came, "this woman participated in the raids. She brought back two slaves and a bag of silver."
The girl was no more than sixteen, her skin wheat-colored and rough from the sea. She held her head high with a stubborn, Ironborn pride.
"Do you plead guilty?" Stannis asked.
"I paid the Iron Price," she spat. "It is the way of my people."
"Are you willing to take the black?" Stannis asked, his voice weary. "The Night's Watch needs warriors. They will take you."
The girl responded with a string of obscenities that made the Queen's Men reach for their swords.
"Hanging," Stannis said, waving his hand.
Lord Manderly, meanwhile, watched the executions with a look of pure, unadulterated delight. "Hang that one over there," he directed the soldiers. "That frame looks sturdy enough for a reaver."
Crows gathered in the sky, a black cloud waiting for the feast. As the catapults outside Pyke City grew in number, the gallows along the coast multiplied until they covered the shore as far as the eye could see.
Pyke City was a fortress merged with the cliffs, its towers linked by swaying rope bridges over the churning sea. Euron's banner, a black iron crown supported by two crows over a single red-pupiled eye fluttered defiantly.
"Brown Tooth" Torwold stood atop the walls, watching the stones whistle overhead. He dropped his trousers and urinated toward the base of the wall in a gesture of crude provocation. "Come and get it, you Northern trash!"
Thump. Bang. CRASH.
The wall beneath him shuddered. A massive stone projectile smashed into the masonry, and a section of the parapet collapsed.
"Nice aim, Dirty Tooth!" Lucas Codd laughed, gripping a blood-stained axe.
Torwold didn't have time to retort. Through the dust, he saw the Northmen surging toward the breach. These were Karstark men. Their broad shields were painted with the [White Sunburst], and their spearheads glinted through the gaps in their formation. They looked like a massive, silver-spined hedgehog rolling toward the gap.
"Throw the wood! Crush them!" an Ironborn sergeant roared.
Torwold lifted a heavy stone and hurled it. It struck the Karstark phalanx with a sickening crack of bone. One "white spot" on the hedgehog disappeared as a soldier was pulled back, but the gap was instantly filled by the next man in line.
Whirrr--
A swarm of arrows blotted out the sun. Torwold rolled behind a pillar, his shield vibrating as a dozen shafts thudded into the wood.
"Motherfucker..." Torwold gasped. He stood up to charge, only to find the breach filled with the corpses of his brothers. Lucas Codd lay nearby, looking like a literal porcupine.
Swoosh!
A massive stone struck the pillar, sending shards of masonry slicing into Torwold's face. Before he could clear his eyes, three silver spears thrust forward in unison.
"Fu-"
Blood gushed from his mouth. Torwold's vision went black.
"Pah!" Harrion Karstark spat, withdrawing his spear from the reaver's throat. He raised his bloodied blade. "CHARGE! Take the stone bridge! Don't let a single kraken escape!"
The Allied forces flooded Pyke City like a deluge, a tidal wave of steel and vengeance.
High in the Sea Tower, Euron Greyjoy watched the smoke rise. He saw the "Wizard's" banners entering his Great Hall. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes were already looking toward the harbor.
"Have the Silence ready," Euron whispered to the mongrel behind him. "It is time to leave this rock to the ghosts."
[Target Status: Euron Greyjoy (Fleeing).]
[Reputation: The Reach (Loyalty: High), The North (Vengeance: Satisfied).]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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