He'd had four sons of fighting age that morning. Now he had one, and he wasn't entirely sure of even that.
House Grimm of Greyshield had been founded nearly two thousand years ago, when King Garth Gardener the Seventh had settled the Misty Isles with his strongest warriors to defend against the Ironborn reavers. In those two thousand years the Grimms had battled all sorts of enemies, from the Iron Kings to the Durrandons to the Lannisters of the Rock and the Martells of Dorne, and they had lived to tell the tales.
Now it seemed their line was coming to an end.
The Ironborn attack had come out of nowhere, more longships than Lord Guthor Grimm had ever seen streaking up the Mander. His own ships had barely been able to deploy before they were swamped by the swift vessels of the Greyjoys, overrun quickly. His heir Horras' ship had been the last to go down, boarded and then burned by three of the Ironborn vessels as Guthor watched from where he was rallying the men at Grimston to defend the walls of the castle. Guthor was a realist; he knew his oldest would never have stopped fighting for his ship until the breath left his lungs.
Horras was dead. So were Lyman and Loras.
His twins had been among the first to rally at the gates when the Ironborn flung them open. Guthor had joined them there with his best men, the sea-green banner with its iron studs and longships waving as he tried to prevent the squids from breaching his gates. It had all been for naught, though, as the sheer number of pillagers had overrun the defenders of Grimston's gates. Lyman had died first, cut down by an armored warrior carrying a sword with a moonstone-pommel and peculiar blade. Loras had tried to avenge his twin and met the same fate, his throat slashed cleanly by that same odd blade.
It was only when the blade had driven into Guthor's guts that he'd recognized it as Valyrian steel.
He should never have tried to take on the man who slew his sons; Guthor was an old man, plagued by gout and half a dozen old wounds he'd taken in the wars he'd fought. But the Lord of Greyshield had known he was going to die, and in the last touch of energy that had given him he had barreled into the Valyrian steel knight.
The fight had been savage but short.
Guthor was dying he knew; his old hands couldn't hold all the blood pouring out of his old body. He had never feared death in the prime of his life, and he didn't fear it now at death's doorstep. The sound of feminine screams sounded form inside his keep, and Guthor knew in his heart they belonged to his daughters. His second oldest son Oswell was in there somewhere, trying to protect what remained of the Grimm dynasty. Guthor had tried to rise to his feet and assist his son but had been unable, his body no longer able to match the warrior he was at heart. He prayed to the Seven that his youngest children and his wife, the third of his long life, would be able to somehow escape.
Leaning against the walls of the castle his family had ruled for generations, Guthor didn't dwell on the death of his House. Instead he looked to the top of Grimston's keep, to the watchtower. A fire roared in its brazier, one the Lord of Greyshield knew would be seen by the other watchtowers, passing the signal of this attack on down the line to the mainland of the Reach. Before long it would reach Highgarden, and the Tyrells would rally their men and throw the Ironborn back into the sea.
His dying heart filled with pride at the thought. House Grimm would die today, of that there was no doubt, but they had carried out the job they had had for two thousand years. They had been the shield of the Reach, battling the reavers and giving the other Lords and Ladies of the Reach the warning that they themselves hadn't had.
House Grimm had fulfilled their duty, from the beginning to the end.
Guthor of Greyshield died with a smile on his face.
Word reached King's Landing in a flock of ravens.
Tyrion Lannister was handling his duties as regent as capably as his long-dead father had handled being Hand of the King. The halfman was smart, smarter than anyone Colmar the Grey had ever met, and he didn't let the scoffs and jests at his diminutive stature stop him. The Lion of Lannister was driven and willing, and the Grandmaester of the Iron Throne knew Aegon had chosen well—even if the main reason for the selection had been Tyrion's last name and not his capabilities.
But managing a realm during a sixteen year peace was one thing. Managing a realm at war was quite another. Colmar hoped the Lion Lord wouldn't falter.
"Word has reached us from the Shield Isles as well, my Lords and lady," the deformed Grandmaster said, taking his seat in the Small Council chamber and tossing several rolls of parchment onto the table in front of him. "The Shield Isles were attacked as well. Greyshield, Greenshield and Southshield have been overrun. Only Oakenshield was able to turn back the original attack, having the benefit of being the closest to land. Old Oak on the coast was taken as well, and the reavers are swarming Blackcrown."
Tyrion's tone was serious, something Colmar rarely heard. "What of Oldtown and the Arbor?"
"Both have been left unmolested; the Ironborn knew chances of taking either were slim. The Redwyne Fleet sailed to try and liberate the taken islands but were met with heavy opposition and turned back. Lord Paxter pleads for naval aide."
Bronze Yohn Royce grunted. "The squids have been unmolested for years; they took next to no losses in the Rebellion. They've been waiting, watching…"
"Growing," Tyrion finished.
Alysanne Lefford met Colmar's eyes, worry evident in them. "What of Highgarden?"
The entire council knew she was truly asking after Rhaenys and the Princess' children. They had been Colmar's primary concern as well. "Highgarden was forewarned in plenty of time and left untouched. Lord Mace has called his banners, though he too requests military aide."
Bronze Yohn raised an eyebrow. "He has more men than any other region, and he requests our own?"
Colmar didn't answer; Bronze Yohn hadn't been looking for one anyway. The Lord of Runestone had never been fond of Mace Tyrell, a sentiment shared by many of the veterans on both sides of the Rebellion. Instead, the Grandmaester gestured towards another of the parchments. "The reavers have hit the Riverlands and Westerlands as well. Kanet was taken and sacked, as was the Crag. Seagard was attacked but Lord Jason threw them back into the sea; Balon's heir Rodrik Greyjoy fell outside Seagard's walls. Lord Edmure has called his own banners."
Alysanne was a smart woman; Colamr had seen that the moment he first met her. Her eyes were calculating and fierce. "They cannot hope to hold out long. Even with our strongest fighters at the Wall they are outrageously outnumbered."
Ser Manfred Darke grunted, face a deeper scowl than normal. He and Ser Roland Storm had been selected to remain at King's Landing and protect the remaining Targaryens; neither had been pleased about missing the war but the selection made sense. Roland was a deadly blade and Manfred as fiercely loyal as a man could be. "The cunts don't mean to hold the territory."
Stannis Baratheon's scowl was nearly as deep as Manfred's. "The Ironborn have a stronger navy than both the Redwyne's and the Crown individually. They mean to reave the coastal castles and cities, taking loot and salt wives, and whisk them away to the Iron Islands. With their own fleets on patrol there will be no getting them back unless we send the Royal Fleet to merge with the Redwyne's."
Tyrion took a gulp of wine. "Balon Greyjoy has always hated being a vassal; it's why he makes such a piss poor one." He turned to Alysanne for a moment before turning back. "Forgive my language, My Lady. He is nothing like his father; he wants to return to their so called Old Way, which is just a religious excuse to rape and murder."
Stannis ground his jaw. "We must respond to this threat. If we let the heathens raid at will nothing will be safe."
Colmar and several others nodded. "I agree."
"We must, you are correct. Grandmaester, send word to the other regions to closely guard their coasts, and send word to the King of the happenings south of the Neck. Lord Stannis, you ate boot leather before yielding a castle in the last war; I suppose fishing for squid is well within your capabilities."
Stannis' brow twitched. The Lord of Storm's End had yet to grow fully accustomed to Tyrion's witticism and humor, and Colmar secretly doubted he ever would. "I'll take the fleet from Dragonstone and merge with the Redwyne's."
"Leave some of the ships here, Lord Stannis." All eyes turned to Alysanne, who's own were clouded in thought. "There is something off about all of this."
Lord Varys' chittering voice was heard for the first time. "Lady Alysanne has a point; Balon Greyjoy and his three sons went reaving in Essos for a long while this year, though they did little actual reaving. My little birds say he had several meetings with different men, but were unable to overhear their conversations. They took heavy precautions."
Tyrion was eyeing the Spider closely. "Who were these men?"
"I could not say. The songs I heard were incomplete; both parties were very careful to leave no indications of what they were speaking of or who the second party was."
Bronze Yohn's brows were furled. "Could it be a coalition of free Cities?"
"No," ground out Ser Manfred. "We provide them with a large portion of their goods trade; they do not attack paying clients. The Eastern shits are pompous and greedy but not stupid."
"Then who?"
Manfred shrugged. "I don't bloody know. It could be something or nothing at all."
The conversation waged on over the issue for several hours, Alysanne leading the argument for leaving a strong naval presence on the Eastern coast while Stannis argued that they needed to worry with the current threat for now, as he would need a strong navy to counter the Ironborn's superior experience at naval warfare.
Tyrion lead them to compromise in the end, wearing Stannis down to leaving ten high quality ships and crews to defend the eastern coast while he took the rest to the west and the Ironborn. Colmar was tasked with alerting the lords to the ongoing issues and passing orders to Edmure Tully and Jason Mallister to assemble a force at Seagard. Once Stannis broke the Iron Fleet they were to invade Pyke, while the Reach and Mace Tyrell would invade Great and Old Wyke. Word was sent to Prince Doran in Dorne, requesting he task Oberyn with collecting a force of Dornishmen to assist the Reach while simultaneously strengthening his own port cities.
The council adjourned in the late hours of the nigh. As they shuffled out of the Small Council Chamber Colmar couldn't help but notice the apprehension still on Alysanne's face.
He wondered why it was echoed in his own chest.