Maekar
Oldtown
The battle was over, and the Ironborn were defeated. The sea around them bore gruesome evidence of the fierce battle. Debris from shattered ships floated on the surface, some slowly sinking beneath the waves. The bodies of the dead bobbed lifelessly, their once-proud banners now submerged in blood-streaked water. The air was thick with the stench of smoke, salt, and death.
Robb had stayed back in Seagard with half of the Northern army. He, along with his uncle, took the fleet and headed for the Shield Islands, where the Ironborn fleet had last been spotted. Upon arriving, they found no sign of the enemy, so they pressed ahead and near Oldtown, they discovered the Ironborn locked in a fierce battle with the royal fleet.
They attacked, encircling the Ironborn with the royal fleet. He himself had slain Victarion Greyjoy.
Now, he sailed the battered Lady Lyanna towards Oldtown, accompanied by the remnants of the royal and Stark fleets. From a distance, Oldtown was a sight of devastation. Wildfire still burned, casting a sickly green glow over the city. The Citadel looked damaged as well, a part of its ancient walls scorched and crumbling. It seemed some Ironborn had breached the Citadel, though not the city itself.
He had also learned some shocking news. According to his new friend Monford Velaryon, Euron Greyjoy had abducted his brother.
'Is he alive?' he wondered. If Aegon died, would that make him the crown prince? Many in the South, especially the former loyalists, considered him a bastard.
'Would my sister be made heir?' he thought with a bitter laugh, imagining how history might repeat itself.
The ships did not dock at the main piers, fearing the unstable docks. Instead, they used rowboats to reach the shore. He quickly made his way to the Wolf of the Sea, his uncle's ship, which was docked at a more stable section of the port. There, he found Uncle Ned, who looked worse for wear.
"Uncle, are you...?" he started to say but stopped when he saw that one of Ned's eyes was gone, covered by a hastily wrapped bandage.
Uncle Ned chuckled, though the effort made him wince. "Lost an eye," he said simply.
He sighed, relief flooding him. Despite the injury, his uncle was alive. "What happened?" he asked, his voice full of concern.
"One of them got lucky," Ned replied.
"We'll get you to a maester," he said, helping his uncle up and off the ship.
.
.
.
After getting Uncle Ned to the maester and making sure he was fine, he fell asleep in the chamber that had been provided for his uncle.
Waking up, he saw that Uncle Ned was in bed with a bandage around his eyes, drinking soup while the maester examined him.
"Will he be alright, Maester?" he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.
The maester was startled but quickly composed himself. "He will be fine, my lor... my prince," he replied.
He turned to his uncle. "You're going to look great in an eye patch. Uncle Brandon will be jealous."
Uncle Ned laughed, a hearty sound despite his condition. "Aha, hahaha, for sure. I'm just wondering how I'm going to explain this to Ashara and Arya."
"That is for you to deal with, Uncle," he said with a grin.
He stayed with him for a while, talking about various things to take his mind off the injury. They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened to reveal Monford Velaryon. "Prince Maekar, Lord Hightower will be holding a council to discuss our next steps. He asked if you and Lord Eddard could attend."
Uncle Ned looked at him and then to Monford. "My nephew will attend in my stead. My head aches too much to move."
Monford nodded and turned to him.
"Lead the way," he said, rising to his feet.
Monford led him through the Hightower. As they walked, people around them began to whisper.
"That's him."
"The bastard prince."
"Hush, don't say that."
He paid no mind to the whispers. Only weak men were offended by such things.
Monford led him to a chamber where several lords from near the Hightower and those in the royal fleet were gathered. The chatter in the room stopped as he entered.
He spoke first, a grin on his face. "Good morrow, my lords."
"Good morrow to you as well, Prin... Prince Maekar," Lord Leyton Hightower greeted.
Lord Hightower looked exactly like he imagined him to be; he had white hair and had white mane around his weathered face. He wore a long, flowing robe of dark green and silver, the colors of his house.
'The old man finally decided to come down from his tower,' he thought, hiding his amusement.
Leyton Hightower gestured to a seat. "Please, join us. We have much to discuss."
He took his seat, noting the serious expressions on the faces of the gathered lords.
Lord Leyton began, "The Ironborn have been defeated. The city and the Citadel have been damaged but nothing too severe."
"Victarion Greyjoy, who led the fleet, was killed by Prince Maekar himself."
This statement caused many murmurs in the room, some lords clearly impressed and some displeased.
"Lord Hightower, if I may," he began, standing up.
Lord Leyton nodded, giving him the floor. "My brother, the crown prince, has been taken by Euron Greyjoy. We spotted his ship near the Citadel as we were engaging with the Iron Fleet."
"Yes, he was there," Hightower affirmed. "He used wildfire on the city walls and then inside the Citadel."
"Inside the Citadel? Why?" he asked, perplexed.
"I do not know, my prince. They are sifting through the debris. An entire section has caved in," Lord Baelor, Lord Leyton's son and heir, answered.
He considered this. "I see. Euron was after something inside the Citadel."
Monford interjected, "What of Maron?"
"He was with Euron in the Citadel. Witnesses inside spotted a young man in Greyjoy colors with Euron," Lord Leyton responded.
"We need to find out what he was looking for in the Citadel. That may be the key to finding my brother," he stated firmly.
"Yes, the prince is right," several men inside agreed.
They talked about more mundane matters after that: ship salvaging, repairs, and logistics. As his uncle's representative, he had to sit through it all.
.
.
.
By the afternoon, a servant arrived and informed him that Lord Hightower had requested his presence in the Citadel.
He quickly made his way out of the Hightower to the Citadel. The journey there was a grim one. The city bore the scars of the recent battle, with buildings partially collapsed and streets littered with debris. Fires had burned through some sections of the town, leaving charred ruins and the lingering smell of smoke. People were trying to rebuild, clearing rubble and repairing what they could. Lord Leyton was right: the damages were not severe, but there was still a lot to repair.
Arriving at the Citadel, he was quickly taken inside. The ancient structure had suffered some damage, with sections of its outer walls scorched and breached. Inside, the halls were filled with the sound of hurried footsteps and the clinking of tools as maesters and workers labored to clear the debris.
He was led further down into the underground chambers of the Citadel. The air grew cooler and damper as they descended. The maester guiding him explained that this was where old artifacts were stored. He asked what kind of artifacts, but the maester did not answer.
They reached a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands, which creaked open to reveal a dark, vault-like room.
The room was dimly lit by a few torches, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The air was thick with dust, and the floor was strewn with rubble. Shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and curious artifacts. The remnants of a collapsed ceiling lay in one corner, where workers were still clearing away the debris.
He saw Monford and Lord Leyton standing near the workers.
"Ah, Prince Maekar," Lord Leyton greeted him.
"Prince Maekar," Monford echoed.
"Lord Hightower, Lord Velaryon," Maekar replied, acknowledging them both.
"We are almost through," Lord Leyton said, motioning to the men removing the rubble.
The workers removed the rubble enough for a person to get through. Some guards entered first, followed by a few maesters. When it was confirmed safe, Lord Leyton, his son Baelor, Monford, and Maekar entered one by one.
The large chamber inside was dimly lit, filled with the scent of damp stone and old, forgotten things. Shelves lined the walls, some broken and others still standing, holding relics and ancient scrolls.
"What could Euron have been after here?" Lord Leyton asked, turning to the Maester named Gerald.
"We will have to search, my lord," Gerald replied.
"Then do it," Lord Leyton ordered, his voice echoing through the chamber.
As they moved further inside, Maekar spotted something unusual—a figure in Greyjoy colors lying on the ground.
'Ah Maron,' he thought.
On the ground lay Maron Greyjoy, dead. His body was still and lifeless, his throat slashed.
"Over here," he called out. Everyone converged on him.
"Dear gods," Lord Leyton said, his voice filled with horror.
Baelor leaned down to inspect the body. "He died from a slash to the throat," he confirmed.
Suddenly, they heard sounds coming from the right. The guards became alert and moved in the direction of the noise. It sounded like a man groaning in pain.
They soon found the source of the sound—a man in blue robes, with lips stained the same color.
"Who are you?" Lord Leyton asked.
"He is close to death, Lord Hightower," one of the guards said.
Monford quickly approached the man and asked urgently, "Where is Euron going?"
He asked again, this time in Valyrian.
The man did not answer, his eyes glazed with pain and exhaustion.
"Check his tongue," he suggested.
Monford checked his mouth. "It's cut off," he said.
Then they noticed the man was writing something on the floor with the small pool of blood near him. They watched as he scrawled out a word, his hand shaking.
"What is he writing?" Baelor asked.
"Looks like Valyrian," Lord Leyton said, squinting at the crude letters.
"Skagos," both Maekar and Monford said together.
"Why the fuck is Euron going to that frozen island?" Monford asked, bewildered.
They had no immediate answer. Maekar's mind raced with possibilities. Skagos was a remote and dangerous place, known for its savage inhabitants and isolation. After some time, they returned to Leyton's solar, the atmosphere tense with the weight of their discovery.
"So, Prince Aegon and Euron are in Skagos," Baelor said, breaking the silence.
"The man was lying. Why would Euron go to Skagos?" Monford countered, his voice filled with skepticism.
"I have to agree with Lord Velaryon. It's absurd," Lord Leyton added, shaking his head.
As they argued, Maekar's mind raced. He remembered a certain theory from his previous life about something hiding in Skagos. He also recalled that Euron possessed a Dragonbinder, and suddenly, it all came together.
'Oh gods,' he thought, his heart pounding.
He turned to the arguing men and made a quick decision.
"I will go," he said, which silenced the room instantly.
"I will go to Skagos and search for my brother."
"My prince, like I said, it's absurd. Why would Euron even—" Lord Leyton began, but Maekar interrupted.
"And that's all we have. My ship is the fastest and is intact. While I search, you end this damn rebellion."
"We only have to send word to the remaining fleets in the Narrow Sea, my prince, like the Manderlys. Euron will not step foot on Skagos if that is where he is going," Baelor said.
"I have made my decision, Lord Baelor. The ships in the Narrow Sea might capture Euron and save my brother, but there is always a chance Euron might slip past like he has done in this entire conflict. Let's not take any chances."
He turned to Lord Leyton. "My lord, send word to the Manderlys and the Graftons. If Euron is near the northern Narrow Sea, then perhaps they can capture him. Otherwise, tell them to send ships to Skagos."
Lord Leyton nodded, seeing the determination in his eyes. "I shall also make your ship prepared to leave as soon as possible."
"Thank you. With luck, I shall return with my brother," he said, leaving the room.
As he walked through the corridors, his heart pounded in his chest. He didn't care about Aegon personally, but the thought of Euron Greyjoy getting his hands on a dragon terrified him.
.
.