Yohn Royce stood by the side in the long and austere High Hall of the Eyrie while Lady Lysa Arryn held court. He stared at the proceedings in displeasure while keeping himself far away from the happenings of the court. He intentionally put the distance from the woman sitting on the throne of Eyrie, taking care to be away from the gaze of Lady Lysa. The High Hall, with its soaring columns and the infamous Moon Door at its centre, was a place meant to inspire awe and reverence. The hall had stood as a testament to many great lords, and through the many Arryns who sat on the throne, they were tested in their courage, honour and commitment to upholding the long legacy of House Arryn.
But looking upon the current state of the High Hall, Yohn couldn't help but be so disappointed. The grandeur of the setting seemed to mock the farce unfolding within it.
Lady Lysa Arryn, born a Tully but now the widowed Lady of the Vale, presided from the white marble throne of the Arryns. Her gown of blue and white, embroidered with the crescent moon and falcon of House Arryn, shimmered in the pale light streaming through the hall's high windows. She held herself with an air of regal command, but to Yohn's seasoned eyes, it was a poor façade. Her pale face was flushed, her gestures exaggerated, and her voice, shrill and unsteady, rang across the chamber like a cracked bell. In her eyes, he saw a mad woman drunk on power. Her erratic behaviour was a dark spot on House Arryn and the throne of the Eyrie.
The Eyrie, which had shined with the presence of Lord Jon Arryn, was now reduced to a place of mummery of the worst kind. The good name his friend Jon Arryn had amassed over his long and tragic life was being undone by Lysa Arryn. It made him grit his teeth, but he was forced to watch from the sidelines despite wanting to do better to Jon Arryn's memory.
Despite his discomfort and disapproval of the madwoman sitting on the throne of the Eyrie, he respected the law of the land far too much to act openly against the Riverlander woman. For ill or for good, Lysa Arryn was the natural head of House Arryn in the absence of a male member with a majority. The only surviving male Arryn of the main branch of House Arryn was Lord Robert, who could not take up the reins of power due to his young age.
"Ser Vardis," she commanded, pointing a trembling finger at a stout knight clad in the silver-and-blue livery of House Arryn.
Yohn's eyes fell on the household captain of House Arryn. He could see the man was reluctant to step forward, but he did so nonetheless because it was his duty. It pained him to see an honourable knight like Ser Vardis Egen bound to a madwoman.
'The gods must be punishing us all for some slight to their will.' Yohn thought with a grimace.
"This man," she declared, indicating a weathered shepherd kneeling before her in the High Hall, "has dared to trespass upon my lands, grazing his sheep on my mountain meadows. What say you, my lords? Should he not be cast out into the world below?"
Yohn gritted his teeth and arrested himself from saying something he'd regret. To throw someone from the Moon Door for grazing sheep in Arryn lands was not grounds for execution. It was not even grounds for a full court hearing. A small fine or a verbal reprimand was more than enough.
'This mad bint will sully the good name of the Vale and House Arryn.' Yohn thought with a scowl as his gaze fell on merchants, squires and knights from faraway lands present in the court.
The shepherd's face was ashen, his hands clasped together, his eyes downcast, and tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Mercy, milady. The snows claimed me' flock's grassland. I meant no harm to your lands."
Lysa's lips curled in disdain as she glared haughtily at the shepherd from her throne.
"The Moon Door hunger for justice, does it not?" she asked the assembled knights and lords.
Her laughter followed, brittle and manic, echoing in the vast hall before the assembled courtiers from across the Vale.
Yohn shifted uncomfortably. His thick arms were crossed over his breastplate, the bronze runes of his house glinting faintly. House Royce of Runestone had always prided itself on its ancient lineage and steadfast honour. And yet here he was, watching the lady of Eyrie toy with the lives of her subjects as if they were pawns on a cyvasse board.
"My lady. Perhaps a lesser sentence is reasonable, say ten lashes. The shepherd will appreciate your mercy and will always remember your mercy for the rest of his life." Maester Coleman advised gently with a hopeful look on his aged face.
Lysa's eyes flashed with irritation.
"Mercy? You'd have me show mercy to a trespasser in my lands? Are my lands open to every riffraff Maester?" she asked in a clipped tone.
"No, my lady."
"This is how justice will be done under my reign." Lysa said pompously, preening like a peacock on the throne while young Robert watched all of this with interest from her lap.
Yohn turned away from the further proceedings of the court and stared intently through the window, his thoughts taking him away from the travesty of justice unfolding in the High Hall. There were ample reasons to suspect something untoward had happened to Jon Arryn. While he didn't believe the drivel Lysa Arryn was spouting, he suspected enemies hidden in the shadows had struck a blow at Lord Arryn. It was either the Targaryen loyalists or someone much closer to home.
In his opinion, the primary suspect was Peter Baelish. The man's illicit dealings with some Essosi of questionable repute had already come to his attention. Then, there was the man's proximity to House Grafton and the Gulltown merchants. He took the accusations made by Lord Stark very seriously, as did Jon Arryn. Lord Jon had passed away right after he issued orders to investigate the dealings of Lord Baelish. This made him suspicious of Baelish, but he had no evidence to support his claim.
Besides, any evidence gathered was useless, considering no one had heard from the man for weeks.
"My lord."
Yohn froze at the whispered voice coming from his back. He cursed himself for dropping his guard in the High Hall. The times were not conducive for such lapses to be afforded.
Thankfully, when he set his eyes on the man calling for his attention, it was none other than Mychel Redfort, the youngest son of Lord Horton Redfort.
"Mychel." Yohn whispered back.
The last he heard, Lord Horton's youngest was squiring for Ser Lyn Corbray.
"My father wishes to speak with you discreetly."
"What is this about?" Yohn asked curiously.
"He did not say, my lord. He only said it was urgent." Mychel answered while his eyes were darting across the hall, keeping a lookout.
"I shall meet him at the stables near the sept." Yohn whispered back.
Mychel withdrew from his side with a nod, leaving Yohn to ponder what Lord Redfort had to say. He suspected it had something to do with his request. But Lord Horton had neither confirmed nor denied taking up the task he requested from the man.
House Redfort was a proud and ancient house. If he had any other course available to him, he'd have taken it and not bothered Lord Redfort with the task. But his movements were watched closely, and he needed someone he could trust to complete the task. He took one last look at the miscarriage of justice unfolding in the court before turning away.
He slowly made himself scarce from the High Hall and made his way to the sept adjacent to the Eyrie. There was a small stable adjacent to the sept, and to his relief, Lord Horton was already present inside the stable. The guards standing close to the stables all wore the Redfort heraldry, and they gave ample privacy in the stable.
"When you said Lord Arryn gave you a task to look into Petyr Baelish's dealings with Myrish pirates, I was sceptical. But now I know I shouldn't have doubted you, Yohn." Lord Horton grunted with an apologetic look.
"So, you found something?" Yohn breathed.
"Lord Arryn was right to suspect Baelish. That snake betrayed us all, Yohn. I sent my cousin, an acolyte of the Citadel, to investigate the activities in the Fingers. He painted a dreary picture of the new faces in the region and their strange activities."
"I see. So, the Starks were right. We were betrayed by one of our own, and we can safely suspect that Lord Arryn was betrayed by Baelish or one of his cohorts." Yohn breathed with suppressed rage.
"I do not know the extent of Baelish's reach and involvement in all of this. However, I received a raven yesterday that requires our attention."
"What is it?" Yohn asked curiously.
"I received word about dragons attacking the Fingers."
"Dragons!" Yohn was taken aback by this development. "All dragons are dead."
"No, Yohn." Lord Horton said grimly, "I also would've dismissed this as rumours made by fishermen's wives. But we live in an age where boats can fly, and walls crumble before magic."
"Dragons, my friend, have returned. Dragons of ice and fire."
******
The sea churned restlessly, just like Euron's mind. The Silence swiftly cut through the waves with a group of black-sailed ships hugging close to his ship as they neared Dragonstone. The air carried the acrid smell of salt and smoke thanks to the burning remains of enemy ships floating in the sea. Half-burnt planks littered the way of the Silence. At the bottom of the sea, the bodies of merchants and those loyal to Stannis Baratheon rested in their watery graves. The few who managed to survive the carnage hugged the planks for dear life, but his men quickly ensured they never lasted long with their crossbows.
Euron stood at the helm of his ship, watching his men clear the path for the bulk of the Targaryen fleet to sail into Dragonstone unopposed.
It was the Red Priestess who predicted he'd face little opposition if he were to attack Dragonstone's northeastern shores. Her prediction was sound, and he managed to punch through the few patrolling ships in the region with ease, paving the way for the bulk of the fleet to safely sail into the island's shores.
Now, it was a matter of safeguarding the flanks of the fleet while the army safely rowed into the shores. He watched from the bow of the Silence as more ships in the fleet row the Unsullied and the sellswords to the shore. The fleet had swelled with ships from the Stepstones and beyond, a patchwork armada bound together by bloodlust and greed. They were not disciplined soldiers but killers and marauders who thrived in chaos.
But the chaos was where he thrived. Though he only had a handful of ships bound to him through loyal captains, he was still in a place that could elevate him to a more powerful position. A couple of years ago, he was spending his time raiding merchant ships and Essosi shores. Now, he was so close to his destiny he could smell the scent of unfiltered power every morning when he woke up.
He was already close to achieving command over the entire fleet. But first, he had to prove his mettle in the sea.
As the first glimmers of dawn broke through the storm clouds, the royal fleet stationed at Dragonstone came into view. Sleek galleys, their decks bristling with ballistae and archers, formed a defensive line in the bay. Euron's grin widened. They were prepared for an assault, but not for him.
"Signal the fleet," he barked to his deckhands.
A horn sounded, deep and mournful, echoing over the waves. Across the fleet, horns started blowing, forcing captains and crews into action, hoisting black sails and readying weapons. Euron's plan was simple. Hit fast, hit hard, and sow confusion in the enemy without giving them time to gather.
Dragonstone had three major harbours hosting the Royal Fleet. His plan was simple. He'd attack one while the Unsullied and the sellswords landed safely on the shores. He disliked being a distraction, but he was intent on using this opportunity to announce his return to Westeros.
'What better way to announce my return than the screams of sailors and the wails of their women?' Euron thought with a wicked grin.
The Silence surged forward, leading the charge. The first clash came swiftly. A royal galley moved to intercept, its commander eager to protect the bay. Euron's crew hollered as they closed the distance. Arrows flew from both sides, a deadly hail that darkened the sky. The Silence's hull absorbed the worst of it while grappling hooks shot out, snagging the enemy galley and pulling it close. The crossbowmen and the archers on his ship ensured the enemy was forced to stay in defence as they peppered the enemy with a hail of arrows.
Euron himself leapt onto the enemy's deck, wielding his axe with brutal efficiency. His men followed when his boots landed on the deck with a thud, a tide of Ironborn warriors spilling onto the galley. Stannis' men fought valiantly, but they were outmatched by the savagery of his people. Euron's laughter rang out as he swung his axe, cleaving through the flesh of a Baratheon sailor. He smacked the butt of his axe against the chin of a sailor before slamming a dagger straight in between the ribs. Euron ducked, allowing a short sword to sail harmlessly past his head. He slammed his axe straight into the foot of his attacker, making the man scream. He moved in immediately, tackling the sailor onto the floorboard before driving his dagger into the throat of the sailor.
Euron was back on his feet and watched with glee as the battle raged on. Within minutes, the enemy ship was aflame, her crew dead or dying. Euron returned to the Silence, leaving the burning wreckage behind.
The battle in the bay intensified. Ships collided, steel clashed, and screams echoed across the water. Euron's fleet had the advantage of surprise, their ferocity unmatched by the royal host. Firepots hurled by catapults ignited sails and set decks ablaze, turning the bay into a fiery graveyard. Euron directed the chaos from the Silence, his commands cutting through the discord, reaping souls in large numbers.
The Silence manoeuvred through the battle, evading arrows and ramming smaller vessels aside. His eyes fell on a larger ship heavily manned with its deck filled with soldiers. Just like that, he found his next target. He veered off his ship into the smoke of the burning ships and let his men unleash death upon the enemy using arrows. All around him, the screams of men filled the sea, and he was determined to paint it with the blood of his enemies.
He went on to employ the scorpions against the enemy ship. He only managed to get in a few hits, but one was deep and low enough to slow down the enemy so that the Silence could catch up. As soon as they were close to the ship, they used grappling hooks to bring it closer and boarded the ship. The fighting was fierce; the royal soldiers were well-trained and determined to protect their ship. But Euron's men fought like demons, their weapons spilling the blood of his enemies. Blood slicked the deck as the Silence's crew overwhelmed the defenders. Euron observed all of this from his ship with great glee.
"Bring down their ship!" Euron roared over the clashing steel and screams of men.
Some of the unlucky souls from the ship managed to board the Silence. Euron took great pleasure in smashing the skull open of a particular enthusiastic soldier who dared to attack him. Drenched in the blood of his enemies, Euron looked upon the destruction he wrought upon the Royal Fleet.
Euron raised his axe high in the air.
"Press the attack!"
The Ironborn and the pirates under his command surged forward, their bloodlust unquenched. The remaining royal ships attempted to retreat, but the Iron Fleet gave no quarter. By the time the sun climbed higher in the sky, the bay belonged to Euron Greyjoy.
With the sea secured, the next phase of the plan began. Rowboats were lowered, and Ironborn warriors rowed toward Dragonstone's shores. The harbour loomed in the distance, its landing grounds now wide open and without any defence. He had brought siege engines and wild men from the Basilisk Isles, who delighted in destruction. Now, it was time for him to purge any remaining Baratheon loyalists and claim the harbour for his use. The wreckage of enemy ships was difficult to navigate, but he had the best sailors in the world under his command.
The Ironborn and pirates landed on the rocky beaches, their boots crunching against the black sand. Euron led the charge into the inland from the shores, taking great care in cutting down the meagre resistance that tried to disrupt his charge. His men brought forth battering rams and grappling hooks to breach any fortifications. But they were used sparingly as there were not many fortifications in the harbour.
They cut a bloody swathe through the harbour, sparing no one from the cold greeting of steel. He allowed the crew of Silence to gorge themselves in the blood of men and carry off the women for pleasure. It was the old way, and he wasn't so petty as to deny his men this boon. The men from Basilisk Isle in his ships were most insistent on burning the harbour to the ground. But since he wanted the harbour intact for landing more troops and hosting his fleet, he allowed the men to attack a nearby fishing village to burn, rape and plunder.
By the time the sun started sinking into the horizon, more ships bearing the Targaryen banner sailed into the harbour, landing the Unsullied armies. In the coming days, he gathered more galleys to sail into the harbour from the Narrow Sea with the rest of the army.
The war was just beginning.
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