Viserys VI
There was hardly a roof to any of the houses on Pyke. Tywin Lannister had one of the few exceptions as his headquarters and the Usurper had declined politely when the Lord of Casterly Rock offered to give it up to his overlord.
"Your duties as Warden make this the best location for you," he assured Tywin. "There's what's left of a village perhaps a mile closer to port, I'm sure my squire can see that it's made habitable for me."
"As you think best, your grace," the older man replied drily.
"Not that I won't be here most days anyway." Robert had lifted a cut of pork onto his plate and started cutting it. "You lay a good table, war-camp or not."
The Lannister had puffed up at the flattery, then offered more wine.
"The fighting here must have been terrible," Viserys noted an hour later as tent-clothes were laced down over what had once been a fisherman's cottage, he thought.
Robert shook his head, looking up from the papers he'd been brought by the King's Men already on Pyke. "This wasn't fighting, lad."
"But this entire village was burned out."
"Gleaning."
Viserys frowned. "What?"
"The Lion turned his men loose to sack the island," Jorah Mormont explained, carefully not looking at Ser Gerion. "They'll have looted everything portable and burned the rest."
"Deliberately or otherwise." Gerion rubbed his chin. "Soldiers always seem to set fires given half a chance."
"Then this is what it's like all across Pyke?"
"Probably." The Lannister gave Viserys a harsh look. "It's what your father would have done to King's Landing, if my nephew hadn't stopped him, so wipe that look off your face."
"Gerion." Having returned to the parchments, the Usurper didn't look up again nor raise his voice. "Please convey my invitation to your brother and nephew to dine with me on the morrow at mid-day."
"Of course, your grace." The knight bowed and departed, with another withering look at Viserys.
Robert waited until the sound of the horse hooves had faded before adding quietly. "Doesn't make it right, though."
"Then why don't you do something about it?"
"I can't unscramble eggs, Viserys. And there are limits to what a king can demand of his lords, at least if he expects to be king for very much longer. I believe he'll have cause to stop doing this soon though, and to perhaps think more cautiously about it in the future."
"What do you have in mind, your grace?" asked Mormont.
Rather than answering, Robert shook his head and began giving instructions to the King's Men. The wind chose that moment to pick up and Viserys had to climb the wall to help the men with the tent-cloths or they might have lost it entirely.
That night there was a sound like thunder. Startled awake, Viserys sat up and listened to the wind. He'd expected no storm, but no further thunder rolled and after several minutes he lay back down and went back to sleep.
Shortly after dawn the next morning, the murderer of Viserys' father rode up to the cottage, horse lathered.
Robert raised a mug of ale in casual salute to the golden-haired man. "Jaime, you're up early. Do you want some bacon? Viserys, take care of that!"
With a scowl, Viserys unwrapped more bacon from the supply bag and cut a thick slice off, putting it in the frying pan.
"I thaink you, your grace." The Lannister bowed deeply to the Usurper and then clasped hands with his uncle. "Sir, the Sea Tower of Pyke has collapsed overnight."
"Imagine that."
Viserys was far from the only one who noticed the unsurprised tone of Robert's voice. Taking advantage of Jaime's distraction, the squire leant over and spat on the bacon, which sizzled.
"Was this your doing, your grace?"
"You might think that, but I couldn't possibly comment. Has it given the men in the other towers any second thoughts?"
"I would hope so," Jaime replied. "My father ventures to suggest that you might wish to join him at his camp."
"As soon as I've broken my fast."
Viserys flipped the bacon onto a slab of half-leavened flatbread and pressed a second flatbread on top of it, creating what Robert called a 'bacon sandwich'. "Your breakfast, Ser Jaime."
The Lannister gave him a startled look. "I'd heard you were the king's squire, Viserys."
"I have to do something with my life."
"Yes..." Jaime eyed the sandwich carefully and then bit into it cautiously. He swallowed and Viserys hoped he'd managed to keep his face from showing satisfaction. "I never thought I'd see the day you made my breakfast for me."
Tywin XII
Precisely as Tywin had expected, Robert Baratheon had complete rejected the idea of sitting on the Seastone Chair. Instead he ordered that it be carried down to one of the carracks docked at the port. If he was a gambling man, Tywin would have laid a substantial amount of gold on the chances of the ancient stone throne being lost overboard out in deep waters.
Instead, Robert sat on a simple chair, draped with no more than his cloak. "All of Balon's children?" he asked coolly.
Chained in front of him, the tall and beak-nosed Aeron Greyjoy nodded grimly. "Aye. The Storm God claimed two of my brothers, two nephews and even young Asha."
Revenge tasted sweet. Balon Greyjoy's firstborn son Rodrik had died at the first battle of Seagard. With the death of Euron at the hands of Tyrion, the once feared Lords of the Iron Isles were reduced to only one survivor.
The only fly in the ointment was that Robert's means of destroying the Seatower remained a secret. The claim that it was an act of the Ironborn's hated Storm God was clearly a convenient lie - the Baratheons' siege train would be a factor in any further conflicts.
"I will bend the knee to you as Lord of the Iron Islands," Aeron promised.
Robert raised one coal-black eyebrow. "Bend your knee if you will, but you will not be lord of the Iron Islands."
"I crave your pardon, your grace. As Lord of Pyke then."
"Remove his chains." The King placed one hand on the haft of his hammer. "I offered Balon the chance to preserve your House if every adult Greyjoy took the black. Why would I be more generous to you."
Aeron swallowed. "There is no one else. I am the last of the Greyjoys."
"Yes... you're also a traitor. You followed Balon to the end." Robert shook his head. "Take the black. Make yourself useful to Westeros, for once."
Colour leached from the Greyjoy's face. "No."
"No?"
"Trial by combat, that's my right! Let the gods decide!"
"The gods seem to have already spoken." Jaime pointed out to where the Seatower should have stood.
Robert grimaced. "That is the law, yes. Very well. Do you stand for yourself or do you have a champion, Aeron Greyjoy."
The man looked around but none of the other Ironborn who'd surrendered would meet his eyes. "Myself."
Jaime walked over to where the Ironborn had been disarmed and produced Aeron's sword. He threw the scabbarded weapon across to Aeron and then bowed to Robert. "Your grace, if I may champion you?"
Tywin watched in pride as Jaime clearly dominated the duel, crippling Aeron's sword arm and then relieving the man of his head without receiving so much as a scratch.
"Who will rule the Iron Islands in his place?" asked another of the Ironborn.
Robert rose to his feet and lifted his hammer, resting it across his shoulder. "There will be no one lord and you will look to no king but myself and my heirs."
"You take the islands for yourself?"
"Have I not paid the iron price?" The King glared at them and then shook his head. "But no. Ruling you from the Easterlands would never work. Pyke and Saltcliffe will become part of the Westerlands and the other islands will be divided between the Riverlands and the North." He looked over to Tywin. "I trust the wealth of the mines here and on Saltcliffe will make up for only receiving two islands out of seven?"
Victory soured in Tywin's mouth as he recalled his orders to wreck both islands, including the mines. Especially the mines. He nodded, reluctantly. At least no one on either island would dare challenge the Lannisters after the way they'd been treated so far.