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123 AC, Pyke, Iron Islands
Rhaenys Velaryon had seen much in her life, and yet every few hours she spent with the Potters, she felt like she had to re-evaluate her knowledge of the world. To think that this had all started with them being worried about Rhaena spending time with a sorcerer, and it ended with a presumably dead god, and the sorcerer, who had been so jovial during their talks, looking solemnly at the body of the boy who had once hosted a god.
Corlys was sitting near what remained of the docks, staring at the sea with a lost look, as if he could find the answers that could somehow explain what they had seen. She had once thought that dragons were the strongest beings in the known world, that they were fire and power given flesh, which was why her family ruled over the Seven Kingdoms.
She knew differently now, and now, so did Corlys. The power that the sorcerer displayed, the power that the Drowned God showed through Dalton Greyjoy, easily outstripped that of Meleys, perhaps even Balerion, the black dread, in his prime.
Rhaenys looked at the devastation around her. Pyke looked like it was in ruins. The Docks were mostly gone, and most of the ships were destroyed from the battle. Most of the settlements between the fortress of Pyke and the shore were damaged in some way.
The sky above was still grey, the sea oddly still, with no waves in sight. Rhaenys found herself walking away to properly look at the damage sustained during the battle. It wasn't as bad as she thought it would have been, and that was entirely because of the nature of the island. Most of the battle started from the cliff where the Fortress of Pyke stood, emerging into the small docks near the bottom of the cliff, and thankfully not the main ones in the village of Lordsport, which was where they had been brought on the island.
It was ironic, in a way, that the very hostile nature of the island had protected it from the brunt of a battle. There were bound to be casualties, likely in the main fortress, but not truly elsewhere. There were dozens of structures, each on a different hill, separated by bridges. The largest one, where the Greyjoys lived, happened to be where most of the battle took place. A few of the other structures looked damaged, but not severely so, not like the main fortress, which looked like half of it was gone.
Speaking of the main fortress, she very much doubted that it would be rebuilt, or that it could be rebuilt. The cost would be too high. The transportation of the materials alone would be dangerous enough and costly enough to beggar most lords, and the Greyjoys had never been particularly intelligent.
It was only when she entered its ruins that she started to see the casualties. There were a few servants, but most were armoured men; it was far less than what should have been in the fortress of a Lord Paramount. She tried not to react to every corpse she saw at the devastation that a single man caused. After all, she was a descendant of the Conqueror, who had wiped out entire houses on his own.
Rhaenys found herself in the Great Hall, staring at what remained of the infamous Sea Stone Chair. It looked like it was melted somehow, dead in every sense that mattered. It was as if the stone were lesser in some way. There was some black liquid on the ground, looking very similar to blood. She felt her boots crunching with every move she made as she approached the dead throne. She knelt down to take a better look and heard a voice behind her speak up, "I wouldn't touch it."
She turned and saw the golden-haired woman, the sorcerer's wife, and if what he said was true, the woman who had slain the Drowned God. She hadn't thought much of the woman, who remained silent, reading her book, choosing to focus on the sorcerer instead. That was a mistake. "Is it still dangerous?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Objects tend to remember, like a scar. The wound might be gone, but certain curses can remain. A chair which a god had spread his influence through for thousands of years, well, that is bound to be a very impressive scar indeed. It would be better to leave things be… For now."
"You killed the Drowned God," Rhaenys stated without prompting.
The golden-haired woman giggled in amusement, "Gods are very complicated things. No two gods are unique, not truly unique, and some are as different as you are to a tree. Men often worship what they think is powerful, what could help them, and that is far more powerful than you might think. The human spirit is mighty indeed. Some gods are born to it, some are an idea given form, and some are just powerful beings who exist outside of the material world. They all feed for it, nonetheless."
"And what was the Drowned God?"
The woman snorted, "I haven't the faintest idea. All that Harry and I discovered during the attack, that it was a being of energy." At Rhaenys' confused look, she elaborated, "Imagine a creature of fire. What we did was take away the fire, slowly while it wasn't noticed, until it became barely more than a spark, which Harry extinguished."
Rhaenys did not know what to say to that. The woman spoke of killing a god as if it were winning some sort of spar in the training yard. There was no pride in her voice, no victory, just a quiet satisfaction at a slain threat.
Still, it was a large contrast from her husband's reactions, "I saw your husband near Dalton Greyjoy's body. He did not look happy."
The golden-haired woman chuckled, "Harry hates war, and he especially hates seeing dead children. For all of the fact that the child was possessed, given the fleshcraft employed, he would have died in a year at the most, even sooner if the god had channelled his energy consistently. It didn't help that the situation wasn't as straightforward as he expected."
"How so?" the Dragonrider questioned, feeling curious.
"He realised in the end that the god was not after power, at least not only. The prophecy that the boy uttered in the end changed things. The Drowned God was afraid of something that was coming, and it acted in desperation of that feared future. Sure, Harry would have killed it regardless, given that it attacked us first, but looking back, he was a bit too aggressive, given the reputation of that particular deity."
"It was an evil god," Rhaenys reaffirmed.
The Potter Lady snorted in amusement, "Good and evil are human constructs, not divine ones. But that's a very long conversation to have. It doesn't matter anymore. There won't be any Ironborn in a while."
"I don't understand," she said.
"Have you ever wondered how the Ironborn hadn't been exterminated before? They certainly were a threat, especially to the Westerlands, Riverlands, and the North. Despite what you think, gods do have an influence, even if it's normally subtle. For the Ironborn, for example, the Drowned God ensured that the sea would help them, that it would hinder their enemies, and that they would find good places to plunder. It's a very subtle form of help, a wave here and there, a favourable gust of wind, but it had kept the Ironborn alive for centuries. And now it is gone."
"And without the protection of the Drowned God, they will start to lose at sea. In a few years, decades, perhaps, they'll either adapt to their new way of life or die. A culture of reavers would not survive for long on its own, would it?"
The woman nodded, "Exactly. It's why Harry and I will likely not repair this fortress. The leak from the cursed throne aside, it will be a symbol for all of the Iron Islands that the Drowned God has perished, that their way of life would have to change."
Rhaenys did not know why she was surprised by the fact that the Potters could repair an entire fortress by themselves. Looking back, it did make sense. After all, they had built their manse in a day, if the rumours were to be believed, and she'd seen it. It was quite large and very well built. That alone would have made them very valuable to any governing body if they offered that service. She could almost imagine Harrenhall being rebuilt once more in a matter of days. It would likely make House Strong the most powerful house in the Riverlands.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar screech in the distance. Meleys had arrived, after a very long flight, obviously distressed. It flew through the destroyed ceiling of the fortress and landed with a loud thud in the middle of the collapsed throne room. Rhaenys momentarily panicked at the thought of the fortress collapsing even further, but thankfully, nothing occurred.
Of course, that was when she felt the alarm her dragon felt, and it turned to glare at the destroyed throne, ready to attack it. Rhaenys quickly ran at her and softly caressed her snout, "Lykiri, Meleys! Lykiri!"
It took some soothing, but Meleys calmed down, even if it was still glaring at the remains of the Sea Stone Chain. The sorceress looked amused. "Your dragons have the ability to sense magic. It knows that the chair is something powerful and malicious. It's like looking at a rotting corpse of a monster."
Rhaenys' reply was swallowed by the appearance of a young woman, who limped into the Great Hall. The two women walked very quickly towards her and caught her as she almost fell. The girl looked at the molten throne with hope in her eyes, "Is he gone?"
"You mean Dalton Greyjoy?" Rhaenys answered.
The woman nodded, obviously trembling, "Aye! But he's no boy. Lord Blacktyde stabbed him in the heart. It's true, I've seen it with my own eyes. The monster just laughed at him and cut his head off in a single strike. I worked in the kitchen with my mother. She tried to poison it, to rid the world of it, after what he did to Father. He ate it and did not care. He… He killed her and…"
The woman just kept sobbing, before finally seeing the dragon, obviously recognising that she was in the midst of royalty, and kneeling in panic despite her injuries, "Princess!"
Rhaenys quickly helped her up, "My dear girl, courtesies have their place, and this is not one of them. Do you know if there are any other survivors?"
The former kitchen maid nodded very quickly, "The dungeons. The Lord sent everyone who opposed him as a heretic of the Drowned God. Those who resisted, he killed, nobles or commonfolk alike. The dungeons are full."
"What of Dalton's brother, Veron?" Rhaenys asked.
"Lord Blacktyde's son killed him, your Grace, when they came to look for his cousin. Lord Dalton killed him for that, and he and Lord Blacktyde duelled."
Rhaenys hummed, "It seems that House Greyjoy is extinct now, and likely so is House Blacktyde. Very well, take us to the dungeons."
The young maid nodded and slowly took them into the depths of the ruined fortress, guiding them past shattered stone and half-flooded corridors. The damage here was more subtle; she didn't see collapsed walls or broken towers, but hairline cracks running through the old foundations. She could see it collapsing completely after a few years.
They found the dungeons easily enough. The path was narrow and twisted, the steps uneven and damp. The iron gate had been dislodged from the wall. There were prisoners, just as the girl had said, over a hundred at the very least, with groups of dozens or more, huddled together in what cells remained. They looked half-starved, too tired to rise, and some barely turned their heads at the sound of her boots. But one man did. He pushed himself to his feet, tall and thin, with cheeks hollowed by hunger and salt, and a coat that had once been fine, now little more than rags. A faint emblem still clung to the fabric, barely visible through the grime, a double-bladed scythe. She immediately recognised it as one of the emblems of one of the many branches of House Harlaw.
He clutched the bars and spoke in a hoarse voice, "Is he dead?"
"Yes," Rhaenys answered simply.
For a moment, he stood there in silence, and then he laughed, sharp and breathless, before beginning to jump up and down like a child freed from a nightmare, "He's dead! I knew it! Praise House Targaryen. Praise House Velaryon. They saved us."
She could feel the rest of the prisoners stirring, some echoing his laughter, some not even reacting at all. Rhaenys stepped closer to the man, only to see him stepping out of the cell as if afraid it might pull him back in, "I was meant to be his regent. His mother was my sister, you see. One night, he just woke up and claimed that the sea had crowned him. Said the Drowned God had chosen him. I didn't believe him until the next day; he had grown to be almost a man grown. He was a boy of ten! TEN! Something was wrong. It started when the Maester died, just as he prepared to send a raven to the Citadel, asking for help. The boy stabbed him in the heart and threw him into the ocean. Ships started to shrink. He declared anyone who spoke against him a heretic and locked them here."
"And you let a boy take over the island?" Rhaenys asked.
"What choice did we have? Half of the guards were fanatically loyal to him. We thought that we had a chance when Lord Blacktyde came in. You didn't see what he did to him. He slit his throat on the steps of the Great Hall and called it a sacrifice. Then he took the man's heart and burned it in a brazier, right there before the Sea Stone Chair. The guards didn't even flinch. He had them all wrapped around his little finger. Fanatics, the lot of them."
"And now?"
"I have a ship," the Harlaw lord muttered, voice rough with disuse. "Hidden in Lordsport. Had a ship, perhaps. I'll see if it's still there. I'll take whoever I can and sail for Harlaw. These people have suffered alongside me, and I have promised them a better life should we survive it. I will honour that promise. My uncle's keep is large enough to accommodate them, I think."
Rhaenys nodded, "Very well. We'll search the ruins for survivors, and then we'll help you reach your ship."
The man gave her a grateful look, but it was hollow.
And so, Rhaenys turned from the dungeon, with a witch by her side, and over a hundred prisoners by her back. She commanded Meleys to fly and rest near the port, and yet as she witnessed the devastation, she murmured, "The boy had all but saved his enemies by keeping them there, and it was his followers who fell in the battle."
The Potter lady seemed amused by it, "The world has a strange sense of irony, I suppose."
As they approached, they found her husband staring at the sea, and the sorcerer in question, who had just battled a god and won, entertaining a few children near the docks. Despite herself, she couldn't help but ask, "Why does he act this way?"
The golden-haired woman gave her a knowing look but still asked, "Whatever do you mean?"
"He acts so childishly, so quick to mischief and laughter. It's hard to compare him with the man who stood up to a god."
Her answer was a sad smile, "Do you think you'd like it if he always acted like he did when fighting a god? What do you think would happen if he spoke to anyone?"
Rhaenys shuddered at the thought, and the woman continued, "You see it now. I am powerful. But Harry… His grasp of magic, his understanding of the world, is simply extraordinary. I have seen him fight entities so far surpassing that little spat with the Drowned God. I've seen Demons run at the mention of his name. If people knew even a fragment of what he could do, they would run away screaming, because during this fight, he was holding back… a lot. His act is, in a way, the way he wishes the world would see him. When you see what we have seen, when you know what we know, you truly understand how precious the innocence of a child is, how a little joy could change the world. I suppose there is also Harry's yearning for a childhood he never got to enjoy. His youth was mostly bound by prophecies and a war unlike anything you had seen before, and perhaps this act is a way to recapture it."
The lady of Driftmark did not know how to respond to that and instead stood in silence. The woman then continued, "There's also the fact that he thinks it's funny to mess with people while acting this way."
Rhaenys burst into laughter at that last statement and shook her head. She'd never understand him, not truly. Instead, Rhaenys turned away and walked to her husband, who still sat near the edge of the ruined dock, watching the sea with a strange calmness in his eyes. They would have to make a decision soon, about Rhaena, about the Potters, about what came next. Whether to allow their granddaughter to spend time with the sorcerer who had just battled a god.
Where the Potters walked, dangers followed. She could see that now. And yet, she could feel, in her blood, that the world had shifted with what happened. Something was different, and the Drowned God had feared something as well. Perhaps having the Potters as allies would aid them.
After all, what could possibly be more dangerous than killing a god?
But not now. Not today. The sky was still grey, the salt still heavy in the air, and her limbs ached with too much thought. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go home."
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AN: Well, that's the small Iron Islands adventure finished. I decided to end it with a slow chapter, given how eventful the previous chapter was. Still, I think I rushed through it a bit. I thought about making it a discovery-type thing, but I couldn't exactly get it to work properly, so I settled for this, something that I do regret a bit. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.