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The Stark by Dscot

I do not own this story.

CH12

It has been three months since I arrived at Pyke, and I must say, I am thoroughly impressed with Theon Snow's setup and encampment. Utilizing the wood salvaged from remnants of the Ironborn boats and the buildings from Lordsport, he constructed a makeshift wall that separated us from the Pyke Castle.

In the past two months, I have executed a campaign against the Ironborn clergy, every single drowned priest that was captured was brought to Pyke. The Ironborn considered drowning a holy experience. I will turn this sacred rite of theirs into a nightmare. By the time I leave this island every holy man of this culture will fear water and fear drowning.

Using waterboarding techniques. I will have every Ironborn priest repeatedly experience the symptom of drowning, until they fear drowning. I will use this method until they are afraid of the sea or until their minds break. Most of them already had their minds broken. Babbling to themselves, they would shake and weep when we took them to the docks. They would not even look at the ocean, their eyes filled with fear as they try to curl in a ball and try to disappear into themselves.

The noble who ruled fortifications who didn't surrender were dragged to Pyke. I also had the noble families that did surrender their castles to us peacefully transported to Pyke to witness what I was about to do. Choosing one of my prisoners at random, I had the defiant noble dragged in full view of Pyke castle. After receiving no response to my demands to surrender the castle. After giving my prisoner 10 lashes, I ordered him to be crucified. Every day at noon in the view of the castle, I ordered the inhabitants of the castle to surrender when they didn't. I repeated this process, I repeated until I had crucified all my prisoners. Some of the northern Lords protested, when I had a 12-year-old boy, crucified. I said he had the opportunity to surrender because his age does not protect him. As a cancellation, I also had his adviser crucified alongside him.

After my demonstration, I had the cooperative nobles sent back to their castles, restricting their movements and placing a heavy guard in the castle, for their protection of course. They were ordered to collect provisions and treasure to be handed over to one of my men as tribute. Two days after the last prisoner who was crucified he finally died. That night I had all the corpses who are still hanging on the cross, covered in pitch, I burned them away, they will never be able to have their last Ironborn rite. The next day, I escalated the siege by taking the N.R.N Hungry Wolf and sailed it to the foundation stone that held part of the castle.

For an hour and a half I used the cannons. It's a constant fire to obliterate the already eroded foundation, destroying that part of the castle furthest out in the sea. I watch as the damage smashed into the foundation, holding another part of the castle as it falls into the ocean. The second foundation didn't collapse, but I could see the damage was done to the castle as several parts of it collapsed. Before I continue in my destruction of the next section of the castle, I checked on the safety readings on the cannons. I noticed a buildup of magic, needing a while to dissipate safely on the cannon barrels. I had learned my lesson with my Bodyguards. So when I was designing and crafting the cannons, I built-in redundant safety feature. I probably can get away with using the cannons for another 15 minutes safely. After that if I continue to use the cannon it will start to overheat and I would have to take it apart and replace the burnt runic arrays or continue to use it until it explodes and vaporizes everything in a kilometer.

0000

The population of the Ironborn on the island of Pyke had been decimated, reduced by nearly half, by the time I set foot upon its shores. Theon, fueled by righteous fury, swept through Lordsport, liberating the thralls and handing them weapons. Empowering them to exact their long-awaited vengeance upon their former masters.

Lordsport, once the stronghold of Ironborn dominance, now a ghost town. Most of the buildings are burnt out or had Ironborn corpses as well as thralls who collaborated with the slavers hanging off of them. After us the thralls are the second largest population in the port.

Fear pierced the hearts of the Ironborn,they found themselves caught in the crosshairs of the thralls' relentless pursuit. Many met their end, victims of the thralls' wrath. For those who managed to escape, their days were numbered. Groups of thralls, armored, and armed roamed the countryside, looking for Ironborn that were in hiding.

The atrocious acts inflicted upon the Ironborn by these newly liberated slaves drew the attention of several northern Lords, who sought to intervene. Yet I vehemently opposed their interference. I saw this as an opportunity to thin the population of the Ironborn, allowing the thralls to carry out their vengeance, thus ensuring that my desires were fulfilled while keeping my hands clean from the bloodshed and carnage that befell the Ironborn small folk.

I proclaim "No one was here to intervene on the thrall's behalf." "I will not have them be stopped in seeking justice." Ned and several other northern Lords kept saying," This is not Justice, this is vengeance." But I stood my ground, replying to them, "No, this is justice. This is Ironborn justice." I could see the confusion in their eyes, the disbelief at my audacity.

"I am allowing the Ironborn to experience what they all talk about." I continued, my voice resolute. "For too long, they have boasted about paying the iron price, about taking what they desire through force and conquest. Now, I am giving them a taste of their own medicine." My words hung heavy in the air, challenging the very foundations of their moral compasses. The northern Lords, so accustomed to a different code of honor, could not fathom my reasoning. But to me, it made perfect sense.

"I am allowing their thralls to pay the iron price for their freedom," I proclaimed, my conviction unwavering. "These oppressed individuals have suffered under the rule of the Ironborn for far too long. By empowering them to reclaim their lives through force, I am restoring justice to their world."

I could see the dissent in their eyes, the disagreement etched upon their faces. But I remained unyielding, refusing to let their doubts cloud my purpose.

"The Ironborn have long thrived on the suffering of others," I declared, my voice carrying to the surrounding soldiers "Now, they shall taste the bitter fruits of their actions." Pointing at corpses swinging from branches of a tree. "This is justice. This is their vaunted iron price." "Let the Ironborn reaped what they had sown."

0000

I ended up speaking with my mother later in the night, using the magical mirror that kept us connected. She was happy to see me and informed me of what was going on in the north, and asked me how the campaign against the Ironborn was going. I told her that we were camped at Pyke, laying siege to its castle.

I recounted the arguments I had with several of the lords, including Ned, about my treatment of the prisoners that were captured from around the iron island and I had brought to Pyke.

The latest one was about the freed slaves. They foolishly believed that we should not have let them seek vengeance against their former masters. A smile pressed my lips as I explained to her how I justified the actions of the slaves, who were slaughtering Ironborns left and right.

I told her that I explained to Ned and the other Lords that the slaves were merely following Ironborn traditions, they are paying the iron price for their freedom. My mother, being the astute woman she is, couldn't help but be amused by my justification. She wholeheartedly agreed with my cunning idea of allowing the thralls to seek their long-awaited vengeance against their former masters. "Oh, how delightfully vindictive you are, my son"

Taking a more serious tone, I told her it was truly disheartening that there are those who dare to question my actions in dealing with the ironborn. I pounded the table "How can anyone not see the necessity of dismantling a culture built on pillaging, plundering, and causing endless suffering?" I reasoned, "By dismantling their culture, by striking at the very core of their existence, I am ensuring the safety and prosperity of the North."

As she did when I was younger, my mother possessed an uncanny ability to communicate with me in a way that ignited my dormant introspection. When my thoughts consumed me and blinded me to the consequences of my actions, my mother's voice would cut through the noise like a beacon of clarity. We spent several hours going through different solutions. Sometimes I had trouble seeing the forest for the trees . When talking to my mother, it always clarifies and helps me think of my actions in a new and different light.

Before I finished my conversation with my mother, she informed me that Maisie wished to speak to me. She looked off screen, listening to someone speaking before she turned back and with a hint of a smirk she said "Apparently, she had some time critical information that couldn't wait."

Finally, Maisie's face appeared in the mirror, her voice crackling through the magical connection, filled with an air of triumph and excitement. She wasted no time in revealing her grand achievement - in the "capture" of the Dreadfort. She informed me that not only had she managed to conquer the fortress, but she had also secured it with a battalion of formidable Stark men who were assigned to her. Boasting about how she bravely crushed the defenders who in the beginning of her tail, had twice as many soldiers as her, and towards the end had three times as many. I had to roll my eyes at that, since most of the Bolton forces were on the Isles. I had them divided and stationed with my most loyal forces to oversee them. They were positioned in the front lines, in each siege and battle. On top of that my intelligence officer had informed me in his report, the Bolton forces at the castle didn't put up any resistance and had the gate open at the sight of the direwolf banners.

That wasn't all, with Sybelle help she had begun my instructions to relocate the castle's inhabitants and even the townsfolk from the surrounding area to a safer location. I couldn't help but smile as I told her "I'm proud of your resourcefulness and efficiency. And congratulations on your heroic victory against the dastardly Boltons." I could hear Sybelle snickering in the background.

A second later Sybelle took the mirror- she informed me she had employed a small army of 25 golems to dismantle the fortress. The image of these towering, stone creatures tearing down the once-impregnable walls of Dreed Fort brought a smile to my face.

0000

I found myself busy the next few days, I was busy reading reports from my agents, about the state of the rest of Westeros. When I was interrupted by a mirror call from my sister, she wanted to discuss my massive construction project I had planned for after the Dreadfort was disassembled.

Sybelle, the epitome of a genius when it comes to using runes. Her mastery of the runic language is nothing short of extraordinary, leaving me in awe of her unparalleled understanding and ability to create complex arrays that I could only dream of.

I was a practitioner of the old tongue and used it while speaking to my siblings while they were growing up, so we could practice and be efficient in the language. Sybelle took to the language like a fish in water. Sybelle using her understanding of the old tongue, she was able to effortlessly decipher ancient texts and unlock their hidden meanings. Her intuitive grasp of the runic language and her innovative designs, she breathes new life into a language that has remained dormant for centuries.

As her mentor, I have had the honor of witnessing her growth and development, standing witness to her rapid ascent into the realm of runic greatness. Teaching her has been a breeze, for she possesses an innate understanding of the runic language, effortlessly grasping concepts that would take others years to comprehend.

I was reminiscing about the projects we collaborated on when I had the privilege of teaching her. One particular project caught her attention. She was determined to unlock the secret to flight. I vividly recall sharing with her the concept of runic arrays, powerful symbols that hold the potential to defy gravity and enable human beings to soar through the skies. I spoke of magnificent aircraft gliding effortlessly through the air, defying the laws of nature. I described extraordinary vessels traversing the vast expanse of space, venturing into uncharted territories among the stars.

Sybelle took these ideas and ran with it. She immersed herself in research, delving deep into the mysteries of aviation and aerospace engineering. Her passion fueled her relentless pursuit of knowledge, as she sought to unravel the secrets of flight and explore the boundless possibilities that awaited her. Her indomitable spirit was contagious, inspiring even my youngest brother, Jacks, to join her.

I was abruptly pulled away from my conversation with my sister, her voices growing quiet through the communication mirror, as a messenger abruptly barged into my tent. With an urgent tone in his voice, he revealed the news that Stannis Baratheon had finally mustered his forces and made landfall at Lordsport.

A wave of annoyance washed over me as I absorbed this information. Last I heard Stannis only was able to salvage 58 of his almost 200 ships. It seemed the Redwyne fleet lost to Euron ambush in the first clash. Lord Paxter was able to save more than half his fleet, and as they fled, they ran into Stannis' depleted fleet. There was rumor that he was able to trap and kill Euron Greyjoy in the shield islands. While Euron was distracted in plundering Lord Hewett's Town. The reports was not clear if Euron was dead. I still did not expect Stannis to arrive, thinking that it would take longer to gather Robert and his forces. Then I realized that the messenger didn't say anything about Robert only mentioning Stannis.

0000

I gather my officers and the northern lords around me. I need them to see that I will not relinquish command of this siege, not to him or anyone else.

Stannis and his entourage barged into my tent, their presence demanding attention. I watched as he scanned the room, his cold gaze landing on me. With a hint of sarcasm, I greeted him, "Prince Stannis, welcome to the siege of Pyke. I'm delighted to have you join us, and I'm sure your forces will prove to be of great assistance."

His teeth ground together in frustration as he retorted, "Prince Leon, the war is over, Balon Greyjoy has written to Robert to surrender, and Robert has graciously accepted his surrender." A wave of anger surged through me as I processed his words. That goddamn Greyjoy, I had not expected that worm Balon to write to Robert to surrender.

"Your forces are to leave the Iron Islands and return to the North," Stannis continued, his voice dripping with superiority. "Robert thanks you for your efforts." while holding out a scroll for me to take. "Robert has invited you to King's Landing to celebrate his victory over the Ironborn."

My vision blurred with rage, and I couldn't help but seethe at his audacity. "Robert's victory?" I scoffed, my voice laced with sarcasm. "I don't recall seeing Robert or any Southern forces during this war." For a fleeting moment, a rare smile crept onto Stannis' face. "Well Robert did end the war, since Balon Greyjoy surrendered to Robert, not to you," he taunted, relishing in his perceived triumph.

Of course, I couldn't end the day without receiving yet another unpleasant news. It seems Catelyn Stark didn't simply stumble down the steps and crack her head open. Trust the Ironborn to be incompetent, foolish, and blatantly ignorant enough to not even realize that Catelyn had vibrant, fiery red hair, not the dull, dark brown of the stupid septa who actually fell down the steps and died. How can one be so utterly clueless?

Catelyn Stark, that obnoxious woman, she manage to find a secret passage in the castle and hide from the Ironborn. I have no idea how she discovered it. She got herself stuck in that passage, and it took her almost a week to find an exit spraining her foot in her attempt. After finally making her way out and she eventually made her way to Moat Cailin, then to Winterfell. And here I was, naively hoping that she had met her demise, sparing me from her wretched presence. I took a deep breath, realizing I wasn't really mad at catlyn and her survival more of the issue that I was dealing with in the present.

0000

I have commanded that those thralls lacking the blood of the First Men be transported to the city of King's Landing. There, amidst the bustling streets and whispered secrets of the capital, they shall weave my narratives to the population. The whispers will spread, like wildfire, from the common folk to the lords and ladies.

The chaos will swirl around them, like a tempest unleashed upon the shores of King's Landing. The influx of these unwanted souls, devoid of a clear purpose or place, will cast a shadow over the realm. The streets will teem with unfamiliar faces, their stories of the horror's they had experienced under the Ironborn. How Prince Leon was on the verge of eliminating them before Robert pardoned Balon Greyjoy, and welcome the Iornborn back into the realm. Their stories will be heard by sympathetic ears, since the Ironborn has pillaged several southern cities, and their impact on trade was already being felt in Kings Landing.

When the tales reach the ears of King Robert and the ever-loyal Jon, they will have to spend time soothing the populace. They will either have to suppress the former slaves, or have to deal with a consequence of the fact that they made peace with the Ironborn. Their victory of announcing the end of the war will not be so well received by the populace, as they planned.