[Chapter Size: 2700 Words.]
Third Person POV.
North.
...
...
Daemon agreed to spend the night in the castle, while Ygritte joined them in their room, with Daemon alongside Val.
Daemon had a letter from White Harbor in hand at that moment as he sat in front of a desk.
He then opened the letter, which came directly from Lord Manderly — and not from his uncle — something Daemon found ridiculous, considering such an attitude from that man.
The letter was quite simple.
Upon reading it, Daemon couldn't help but grimace, with Lord Manderly wanting to schedule a meeting in White Harbor. They themselves already knew he was within Tallhart territory and had conquered both Hornwood and Cerwyn lands.
But there was something in the letter that made Daemon consider going to White Harbor: the representative of the Iron Bank at the port, which wasn't all that surprising after his meeting with the keyholders in Braavos.
Given that he had entered the North with 180,000 people behind him and a dragon, obviously they would be seeking him out after witnessing his strength. There was no one better in the Seven Kingdoms for them to try to officially support for the throne.
That was what Daemon hoped.
With that, Daemon no longer wished to concern himself with it and made his way to bed.
The next day, he summoned Tormund before sunrise, giving him a task both simple and important — one that caught the giant by surprise.
He would be given command of five thousand men to head west, hunting down all the ironborn they could find in the region.
At that order, Tormund merely laughed and began to roar with laughter after hearing Daemon out.
"Hahahahahaha! Very well, then let's deal with this, Daemon," he said, while Daemon nodded, approving the self-proclaimed giant's response.
Daemon returned to the castle and found young Cerwyn waiting for him, somehow knowing he had stepped out.
"Is there a problem?" he asked the boy.
"No… I just… if you need me for anything," he murmured.
"No, it's all right. Let's stay in the castle. This is also an opportunity for you to meet Lord Tallhart for now, make friends with him. You need to have some connections in the North," Daemon advised.
At the same time, Daemon knew the boy, somehow, wanted to grow closer to him. It was obvious the boy wanted to become a squire, and his mother had probably advised him to insist on it — which would be an honor for anyone, especially when he would be campaigning to conquer the realm.
Daemon could understand. And thinking about it made him truly consider that he would need a squire in the conquest of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Maybe Lafy would be better," he murmured, somewhat regretful for not bringing Lucis's brother.
He would be perfect. But he would leave that to be made official in Winterfell. Daemon knew he would need to grant a certain prestige to the free folk before the Seven Kingdoms, beyond the lands he promised in the North.
Having a squire like that boy would be good to represent the free folk and help the Seven Kingdoms better accept their inclusion. Either way, Daemon turned back to the boy, who was still standing in place.
"Let's have our first meal of the day," Jon said, and the boy nodded, walking up to him as they entered the castle. He looked at a few servants before heading to the hall.
"Call my wives, tell them I'm waiting for them," Daemon requested, as they continued toward the main hall.
He ended up going to the high table with Grey, with the Tallharts indicating he was an honored guest, which was quite expected — regardless of whether or not they were supporting Daemon in his conquest.
The two members of House Tallhart followed to the high table with their wives, while Jon had Val and Ygritte with Grey Cerwyn, and to his left were the Tallharts. None of them complained about Val and Ygritte at the table, while Daemon was surprised to learn that Benfred was expecting a child — which was quite expected in times of war.
Daemon would also have to produce an heir soon. That would strengthen his allies' confidence in his cause.
But he also couldn't give a child to Val or Ygritte and had always been careful to avoid that. He would first need to father a child who could inherit the Iron Throne.
And that child would have to be with Daenerys.
He would have to speak with her when they arrived at Winterfell.
The first meal of the day ended, and Daemon left the castle to supervise his troops, training his men and charting new routes they would follow. Especially those who would march with Tormund.
The 5,000 men began leaving the army and advanced westward. Benfred offered men — more than five hundred of them — to accompany Tormund as they moved toward the west coast of the North. Although they didn't like following a "wildling," they had no choice.
And Daemon had to manage the other 5,000 troops toward the south — armies.
Daemon continued carrying out his duties and commanding his troops, while the two Tallharts spent days discussing what to do.
"I will be heading south in search of one of the ironborn, along with the remnants of the Boltons who fled. I still have to hunt Ramsay Snow," Jon was discussing with his men.
He had secretly sent some of his direwolves, along with a special group, to go north.
"You are going after Theon's sister. That woman... I want her executed in Winterfell." Jon couldn't be there, but he counted on his men for the task.
It was on the third day that they finally had to give an answer, summoning Daemon to announce:
"We have agreed to serve House Targaryen. Your Majesty, Daemon Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms. House Tallhart recognizes your right to rule over the North and all other realms."
Benfred and Leobald knelt before Daemon, declaring this to the key members of the castle, while Daemon stood before them.
"That is good. I hope to see you fighting at my side. I know the southern war was exhausting and full of losses. Your father died fighting for Robb. But I promise, you will be well rewarded, and your names will be among those who had the courage to raise their blades for my cause," Daemon said with a satisfied smile.
"Not fighting at your side would be a regret we'd carry for the rest of our lives, my king. My house is at peace now. There are no more invaders. And I... am expecting a child. If I fall in the middle of battle, then I will be content. I hope my children and grandchildren hear tales of me fighting in the south at your side, and I will be content with that," Benfred said.
Daemon offered no flowery words, as if he were certain Benfred would survive. War was chaotic, and even with all his powers, Daemon couldn't control who lived or died on the battlefield.
"I accept your words, Lord Tallhart. From now on, you'll be fighting by my side. I wanted to know if you'd like to take part in the siege at Dustin — the castle currently surrounded by ironborn. Even the Boltons are cautious when passing through the region, but we're going to launch a direct assault," Daemon said.
The man looked at him for a moment and nodded.
"It will be an honor. I will fight at your side," he said.
"Great. Let's get ready to move out, then. We leave tomorrow."
"I'll gather a thousand Tallhart men to assist you, Your Majesty," Lord Tallhart said resolutely.
The next day, everyone was marching south, with Daemon now personally accompanied by Benfred Tallhart and Grey Cerwyn at his side, advancing toward the southern part of the kingdom.
"Hey! We should be leaving the North now," complained none other than Lord Rodrik Harlaw.
He could see many of the men who followed him looking terrified.
"Do you really think everyone in the North is dead?" Tristifer Botley, who overheard, didn't believe it.
"What do you think, Tristifer? We're receiving reports of a dragon destroying everything, while at the same time we're losing contact with our men in the North..." Rodrik paused before continuing.
"The more of them that show up, the more they're terrified, saying they're being slaughtered by a northern army and a dragon. Do you really believe they're all making this up at the same time? That they're coordinating a lie?"
"You have to understand, I know it was reported over a moon ago that a northern army was rising while they mercilessly slaughtered our men on Bear Island. But to believe we're being massacred, Lord Harlaw? I didn't believe those stories," Tristifer said.
"Say that to our friends who are north of here. All the men who were under my niece's command fled from Tallhart territory and are being hunted. Can you say that to the hundreds we've found trying to take shelter with our group?" Rodrik muttered.
"You think...?" Tristifer now sounded cautious at the mention of Asha.
"I don't know... but I fear for my niece's fate..." he said.
"I don't believe Asha is dead or in danger!" Tristifer growled at Lord Harlaw's implication.
"You think I don't want my niece to be safe, you idiot?!" Rodrik snarled.
"But I won't continue with this madness... Stay here. I'm returning to the Iron Islands. I won't stand idle here in the middle of a siege while our men are being butchered in the North... I'm tired of staring at these walls without being able to breach them!" Lord Harlaw scoffed.
"Wait. You can't be serious. Balon Greyjoy would execute you for desertion!!" Tristifer said sternly.
"I'm going to meet with Victarion. He'll understand the situation and will also call for us to retreat, regroup. We don't know how many men we've lost or what's really happening in the North... we don't even know how many ships we still have. We've already taken a lot from the North. We're loaded with slaves and resources," Rodrik said.
"I hope you're right," Tristifer merely sighed, unable to stop Lord Harlaw.
He wasn't going to leave, but he couldn't stop his commander from doing so either. Though he found it cowardly, there was nothing he could do as he saw the cautious look in Lord Harlaw's eyes.
In the end, Rodrik Harlaw went to his tent, preparing to rest when there was nothing to be done in front of Castle Dustin, a siege that had gone on for moons without successfully breaching the fortress.
His eyes closed, and the next moment he awoke to the sound of thunder that startled him. He opened his eyes with some difficulty.
"A storm..." he murmured, but he sensed something was wrong when screams echoed from outside, and his men would hardly act that way over rain.
The light outside seemed far too bright to be just campfires burning in the middle of the downpour, which was strange.
He found it odd, and a man quickly entered his tent with an urgent expression.
"Lord Harlaw! We're under attack!" he shouted, and Rodrik wasted no time, quickly preparing himself, grabbing the family's ancestral sword, and rushing outside.
What he found was chaos. In the middle of heavy rain, strong winds, and lightning, men were screaming and fighting against others clad in armor bearing the sigils of Cerwyn, Tallhart, and even men wearing Lannister and Tyrell garments — which was bizarre.
All of them had glowing paint on their chests, seemingly shining in the dark. Rodrik could barely see through the rain, but even his own camp was overrun with enemies and total confusion.
He saw what could only be described as a wildling charging at him. He swiftly drew his sword, blocking the attack and easily cutting the man down, shielding himself from the rain with one hand and searching for more enemies.
He kept trying to figure out what was happening and regain control of his men, but all he saw was death and disorder in a storm that made any organized reaction impossible.
"How did they get here? They invaded the camp in the middle of chaos... Where did this storm come from?!"
He was certain his sleep was light enough to prevent an assassination, or even an attack like this on the camp.
"Why wasn't I warned? How had they already entered the camp without anyone alerting me, even in this storm?" he shouted in fury, watching tents burning with oil that resisted the rain.
The only distant sight was the light inside the castle, above the walls. Rain, battle cries, and screams of pain were all that could be heard, if he tried to rely on his ears at all.
He kept cutting down more attackers who came at him — Tallhart men and other wildlings wearing the armor of southern houses, which shouldn't belong to them.
He tried to rally his men in the chaos, managing to gather a few to fight by his side. And they fought — they fought hard — taking down more and more enemies in the mud, while their companions fell, until only he remained.
And the tired look in his eyes came as he killed the last man, driving his sword into the enemy's neck and bracing himself for the next.
There was a blonde woman in a helmet standing before him as the rain poured down on her. She held a common sword in her hands.
It was obvious she was his enemy. And she had marked him.
"I don't fall to a woman," he sneered, seeing her stare at him as an opponent.
Though he didn't want to dwell on the fact that she was a woman, he braced himself — right now, she was his enemy.
The woman stepped forward, advancing as their blades clashed.
Compared to his Valyrian steel sword, Nightfall, the blade she wielded was far inferior, already beginning to crack from the first impacts against his weapon — though her skill surprised Lord Harlaw.
He saw it after they exchanged a few more blows, and then he disarmed her, casting her sword aside with a mocking grin.
"Giving up?" he asked, still surprised she had such skill with a sword, despite being a woman.
She gave no reply as she drew another sword from her waist — a Valyrian steel blade as well.
That made Rodrik raise an eyebrow.
"Who are you? And why do you have a weapon like that?"
Without answering, they began crossing blades again. His initial advantage vanished as she too wielded Valyrian steel — and proved herself faster and stronger.
Already exhausted from the long fight, he found himself cornered.
The blow, when it came, was expected — the woman drove the sword into his belly, piercing straight through him.
With the pain, Lord Harlaw lost all strength and any will to strike back.
She pulled the blade free as blood and entrails poured out, then delivered the finishing blow, severing his head.
Val looked with interest at the sword lying in the mud and picked it up, storing it, as it was made of the same material as the sword Daemon had given her.
She would show it to him later.
Meanwhile, Daemon sat atop his horse, watching the battle unfold before him. Despite the storm and the night, he used his magical sight to observe the entire fight with a satisfied look as they slaughtered the ironborn in the middle of the tempest he had conjured with Thu'um.
The storm was so fierce it made even identifying enemies difficult, and he had used it to sneak into the enemy camp by surprise.
Daemon had also been careful to apply a special glowing mark to the clothing of his companions, making them faintly shine in the dark — marking them as allies.
The ironborn, by contrast, failed to notice this and sometimes attacked one another, killing their own men as they ran through the rain, trying to slay anything in the chaos.
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