200 gems = bonus chapter
Fully support the story at:
patreon.com/FanFictionPremium
***
Torches burned red, illuminating the hall where all the captains and lords of the Iron Islands were gathered. Around the long tables ran Lord Hewett's former servants who had become slave labourers. White-skinned, plain-skinned men, now dressed in simple shirts and trousers instead of the rich robes the Lord of the Oak Shield had dressed them in. All their former clothes had been removed and they were dressed in rags.
Now, instead of Highgarden banners and Lord Hewett's arms, the walls were decorated with black and gold flags with krakens, red and black with battle horns, black and grey leviathans, silver scythes on black fields, yellow with dark green pines, and many others.
The tables were decorated with many dishes - blood meat, stuffed ducks and boars, roasted seagulls and pigeons, the best wines, deep plates filled with fruit from the Summer Isles, and baskets of crabs. To Theon's relief, it was all prepared by the ship's cooks. The castle cooks had either been killed in the assault, or Greyjoy had prevented them from cooking.
As befitted a king, he sat on a high platform, dressed in a simple quilted doublet with a golden kraken embroidered on his chest. Behind his back rested a short, fur-lined cloak, and on his head rested a crown.
To Theon's left sat his uncle, Victarion Greyjoy. Instead of armour, they wore ceremonial robes with the insignia of the Lords of the Iron Islands. The Iron Fleet captain himself didn't really want to wear woollen doublets and leather boots, but the king reminded him that it wasn't a good idea to dine at the high platform in armour.
On the other side of the king sat his brother-in-law Graydon Goodbrather. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and an already thick moustache. Like the other occupants of the high platform, he was dressed in everyday clothes, wearing only a gorget with the Goodbrather family crest engraved on it - a black horn with a golden border.
Ironborn don't like to dress richly. Long poverty had taken its toll, Theon was sure of it. Existence determines consciousness, and geography, location, and climate influence peoples' traditions and ways of life.
If it had been Theon's will, Graydon's father would have sat in his son's place, but Lord Gorold Goodbrather had stayed in the Iron Islands, sending his three twin sons to war. He had already lost one of them in a battle against the Spacious fleet - Gren Goodbrather was killed by an arrow and went straight down in his armour.
There was one detail in the large, circular room that was the feasting hall that caught everyone's attention without exception. Above his head, on a chandelier firmly embedded in the stone ceiling, was nailed a man in grey robes. First the seven-pointed cross was tied to the chandelier, and then the maester himself was tied to it, his hands and feet nailed into the wood. The chandelier was large enough to hold the man and the cross, and it was set firmly into the ceiling so that it would not fall down under such a load.
- Why did you do that to him? - asked a surprised Victarion when the king ordered the maester to be pinned to the chandelier.
- I tried to send ravens to Highgarden and Bor (Arbor).
- And why on the seven-pointed cross? - asked the captain of the Iron Victory again.
-Because you promised, uncle. And promises must always be kept.
While Victarion wondered how Theon knew what he'd said to the Maester, Greyjoy watched his soldiers lower the chandelier, tie the cross to it, and then, to the screams, pin the Maester to it.
- If the chandelier falls, Maester Gawain, you will surely die. So don't swing too hard, though I realise it's a divine pleasure. Restrain your sinful impulses, that's what the Seven-Pointed Star teaches you, isn't it? - Theon smiled.
The Maester could answer nothing. The chandelier was once again hung from the ceiling and swayed rather frequently. Apparently he hadn't heeded Theon's wise advice.
Occasionally drops of blood fell down onto the ironborn seated at the tables, but they paid no attention to it.
One of Victarion's closest men, Nuth the Barber, a long-legged and stout man in boiled leather and wielding an axe, was groping a lush girl with a pretty face. Theon recognised her as Falia Flowers, the damsel that had tried to pry at Theon with her charms.
Not that Theon was a faithful husband, but he had no intention of having concubines. He had little interest in carnal pleasures lately. His thoughts were on the war and what would come after it.
Halleck 'The Destroyer' had put on Lord Hewett's robes and was chatting merrily with Lord Urras Sanderly. Apparently the topic was their recent visit to the shores of Mandera.
Theon's squire, Erich Harlow was playing axe games with a young ironborn unknown to the king.
In the feasting hall, smoke - biting and unpleasant - gradually filled the space. Greyjoy's eyes glazed unpleasantly for a second, but he blinked stiffly and restrained himself from getting up and going out for some fresh air. It was not yet time.
Lord Savaine Botley smilingly patted the sirloin of his new seafaring wife, while Harras Harlow, seated beside him, looked grimly at everyone, wrapped in a long cloak made from another man's banner.
Ralph Lame, who had managed to return from the Lonely Light and bring the heads of traitors to the king, was singing a mate's song in a corner of the hall and quarrelling with one of the free captains. Rodrik Sparr, small and wiry, dressed in gold, was greedily savouring the food on the table.
The nephew-king looked at his uncle:
-Pora- He uttered only one word, but Victarion understood it all.
The captain of the Iron Fleet stood up from the high platform and lowered himself down. Everyone took notice.
Greyjoy himself rose as well, holding back the gnashing of teeth from the flaring pain in his chest.
- THEON, THEON, THEON, THEON, THEON, THEON! - shouted his name to his subjects as soon as he stood firmly.
With a wave of his hand, calming the men, Greyjoy proclaimed:
-Today is a glorious day! Today we celebrate our great victory!
-Yes!!! - the ironborn agreed with him.
- And today some have earned my honour and my reward. Arise, Nute the Barber!
Named by the king, Nute immediately threw off his muddied knees and stood before the king. Greyjoy briefly lifted his lips in a smile, but at the same moment returned his face to indifference.
- From now on, you are Lord of the Green Shield. Rise from your knees, Lord Noot,' one of the captains of the Iron Fleet, now a lord, stood up. Of course, it would be undesirable for any of the captains to be a lord, but that was okay. It can be tolerated, especially since Nuth is one of Victarion's closest friends.
The Grey Shield was given to Ralph the Lame and the Southern Shield was given to Rodrik Sparr. All of them were captains of the Iron Fleet and everyone noticed it.
- My uncle, Victarion deserved better! - Theon said to everyone in the hall,' from now on he is Lord of Oak Shield. All other islands of the Shield Islands and their lords are subject to him as suzerain from now on.
- VICTARION! - the people honoured the new Lord. Especially the Iron Fleet captains, impressed by the spectacle, shouted the loudest. Many of them lit a flame of desire to get their own share of the conquered lands.
- Now drink, eat and fuck! Soon you will all follow my uncle to take Arbor! You will plunder every unprotected village or town on Mandera!
'''''''''''''''''''''''''"'
Sitting on his horse, Robb Stark pondered. His shabby army was marching along the Mountain Road, heading towards the Twins. Unfortunately, the constant rainstorms had made it impossible to get back to Riverrun through the fords - they were flooded. It's easier and safer to go through the Freys' fiefdom - the Twins.
He has a pregnant wife waiting there, whom he has sent to the Twins with a hundred guardsmen to keep her safe. If anything happens, she will quickly be beyond the Isthmus, where the hands of the Iron Throne cannot reach. No southern king had yet been able to conquer the North, though they had tried many times.
The Freys were one of the Tully's strongest vassals and had lost the least in the war. Their lands were not plundered, and the commanders of the Old Ferret's armies were careful to spare every knight and footsoldier. Considering their marriage to the Starks, they were left very much on the plus side, which could not help but cause resentment from the other lords of the Riverlands. Especially Edmure Tully, who had already made some careless remarks about the Freys being up to something. And anyway, a Frey wife is woe in the family. The King of the North grinned.
'It's a good thing my mother stayed at Winterfell,' he thought, 'I have someone to look after the North and my younger brother, Rickon, in my absence. Only, how will she take my decree to legitimise Jon and make him my heir?'
In fact, he thought the situation with the lords of the Riverlands was a good one - two of the strongest families were related to him, and the houses were feuding with each other. No doubt they would see Robb as a third party who could change things. That is to say, in the future he will be expected to try to influence his decisions from his mother and wife.
Right now, the Freys are on a roll and the only thing separating them from gaining power over all of Trident is the attitude of the other lords. Despite his many marriages, Lord Gemini is despised and there are many jokes and taunts about his family.
'My son is bound to marry one of the Mallisters.'
By marrying the third most powerful family in the Riverlands, the Starks would greatly consolidate their power. For now, it rests on Edmure Tully's oath, but who knows what will cross his mind every minute.
'It'll be lucky if he dies,' a sneaky thought crept in. - 'We could put Riverrun Rickon on the throne.'
Brinden Tully is old and childless. The Blackfish could be feared.
Shaking his head thoughtfully, Stark turned his attention to the direwolf that jogged beside him.
'He played a great part in my victory over the Vale.'
The victory gave him confidence in the future of his kingdom - there was still hope of defending the Trident and for the future breadbasket of the North, the Grim Wolf would fight to the end.
While the armies of the East and West have laid siege to Harrenhal, Robb has defeated the Valeans and is now hurrying across the Twins. No doubt he has a conversation with Walder Frey waiting for him.
He had lost three thousand of the thirteen taken in the battle. Small losses compared to the Valley's ten thousand man army destroyed. But even they are weighty, considering the armada of Spacers beneath the walls of Harren Black's castle.
Lord Tarly is a veteran of several wars and the man who managed to defeat the Trident Demon, Robert Baratheon.
And how to defeat him Robb Stark didn't really know. Small bands of rivermen are already operating against the enemy army, attacking stealthily, killing sentries and plundering the rear with provisions. Once Blackfish gets involved, the trouble for Tarly will only increase.
With the ironborn now plundering the Mandera coasts, many lords will want to send units to defend their lands.
Once the Tarly army has thinned enough, Stark plans to stage a general battle.
Defeating the Tarlys will give Stark a temporary victory in the war. It will take time for them to raise a new army, but winter is coming. It promises to be long and cold, and the war will be postponed for years. And what will happen next?
Even the Old Gods don't know what comes next.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''"'
Jon awoke to the cold touches of the wind and the quiet conversations of the guardsmen accompanying him. His face wrinkled reflexively and Snow immediately rose from the ground, looking around. A burning fire, several dozen guardsmen in boiled leathers and bearing Stark crests.
'Now I'm a Stark too, not Snow,' came the depressing thought. Ghost stood beside him.
Once, as a boy, he had realised his position in this world. A bastard who was lucky his father hadn't dumped him in the nearest ditch to disgrace the honour of the Stark family. But Eddard Stark took him into his castle, gave him shelter, and raised him alongside his legitimate children. And now, Robb has made him his heir, legitimising him.
He takes away Rickon's inheritance rights and now Lady Catelyn hates him more than ever. But if that's what the King of the North decides, who dares challenge his decision? Apparently, even his mother no longer has power over him.
After warming his hands, drinking wine, and filling his stomach with a quick meal, Stark ordered him to move on. Winterfell was a day's journey away.
Winter was too close in the North, the first snows would fall, and the roads would be impassable. It would take weeks, if not months, for the trampled paths to appear.
The cold wind whipping against his face did not favour memories, but thoughts of the past persisted in his head. How he had long pretended to be his own among the strangers in the wildlings' haven, hating them inside. His younger brother had been killed by the wildlings of the Outlands, and he had no love for Brandon's killers.
He was sent with a band of wildlings beyond the Wall. Many suspected him of treachery, but Jon was persuasive and good at hiding his emotions.
He slept with one of the wildlings, but that didn't stop him from slitting her throat in the night. He killed half the troop, but bad luck caught up with him - they heard him and a fight broke out. He was unable to kill the whole troop, got wounded, and survived only by a miracle. He managed to get on the horse of the old man he had killed in the abandoned town.
By the time he reached Castle Black, the wound had become inflamed and festered. When he reached the Wall, he had a fever. Then, in a dream, he came to him.
- Spread your wings, Snow,' cawed a three-eyed raven perched on the branch of a heartwood tree.
He was in Winterfell, Jon knew that for sure - the mantis of the heart of the North could not be confused or forgotten. On all sides, ravens surrounded him. And they were all cawing, and only one spoke:
- 'Spread your wings, Snow,' the crow with the third eye on its forehead laughed nastily, 'Wings are your salvation.
He wandered around, not realising what was happening. Hundreds of pairs of small beady eyes were watching his movements, and it was frightening.
The birds seemed to be fed up with it:
-Fly, Snow,‖ proclaimed a crow with three eyes, and, unhooking itself from the branch of a chartreuse tree, flew straight at Jon. There was a loud 'kar!' and the bastard was attacked from all sides.
The cursed creatures swarmed him from all sides, beak fighting and pushing at him.
- Spread your wings and become what you were never meant to be! - The three-eyed crow appeared before his eyes. The sharp beak pierced his forehead and Snow fell into the pond, plunging into the water.
He awoke before the assault on Castle Black. The Wildlings had gathered as a horde, intending to break through the Wall. But the King of the North sent five hundred soldiers to help the sentries. The assault was bloodied, and those who tried to break through from the other side were slaughtered before they could climb the stone walls of Castle Black.
And it was after the failed wildling assault that the Northern commander announced the King of the North's desire to take Stark out of the Watch, as per the treaty with the former Lord Commander. The problem was that Gior Mormont had died beyond the Wall, and a new Lord Commander had not yet been elected. So the election began...
John was forbidden to take part in them by the commander of those northern men, probably the same age as the bastard, with a beard and a black cloak with white suns. Harrion Karstark.
Denys Mallister won the election. And immediately invalidated the Stark oath, speaking of some ancient precedent and a treaty with the King of the North. Jon was traded for a hundred recruits now being trained by Ser Alliser Thorne.
And now Jon is on his way to Winterfell. Where Lady Stark's hatred awaits him, his little brother Rickon not yet realising he's been outbid for his inheritance, and his old, shabby bedchamber.
The castle was gloomy, like its current mistress - Lady Catelyn still grieving for her dead children and husband. Winterfell was ruled by Maester Luwin.
When Jon first rode into Winterfell, he was immediately approached by the stableboy, a huge man, nearly seven feet tall:
-Milord,' he muttered, taking the reins in his hands and leading the horse into the stable. A coiffed head, hands clean of hair, and a reddish beard that hadn't been there before.
John Stark eyed him for moments, trying to see if he'd seen him. Then his mouth dropped open slightly in surprise.
He recognised him as that stupid and constantly repeating one word stableboy.
Hodor.