The Iron Islands, Pyke, 290 AC, Second Moon
The journey to the rallying point at Seagard had taken nearly three weeks, but the combined host of the North and Riverlands was an impressive sight. Lord Eddard Stark commanded the Northern forces with his usual stoic determination, while Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard provided crucial naval support and local knowledge of the Iron Islands' defenses.
Aerian stood beside his father in the command tent, studying the maps spread across the table. Other Northern lords were present, Lord Roose Bolton, his pale eyes betraying nothing; Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor, his bulk filling his chair; and several others. But it was clear that the Aurelius forces, with their superior equipment and discipline, had drawn considerable attention.
"The Lannisters are assembling a fleet to assault Pyke directly," Ned Stark announced, his grey eyes surveying the gathered lords. "King Robert will lead the main assault with Lord Tywin's forces. Our role is to secure Great Wyk and Harlaw, cutting off Balon's supply lines and reinforcements."
Lord Bolton's voice was soft as winter snow. "The Ironborn fight fiercely on their home islands. We should expect heavy resistance."
"Then we'll give them heavy casualties," Tharren replied firmly. "My men are ready for whatever the Ironborn can throw at us."
Ned nodded approvingly. "House Aurelius has proven itself in battle before. I'm assigning your forces to the vanguard for the assault on Great Wyk. Lord Bolton, you'll support them with your men. Lord Manderly, your ships will provide transportation and naval support."
As the meeting concluded and the lords dispersed to prepare their men, Ned called Tharren and Aerian aside. The Warden of the North regarded them both with a thoughtful expression.
"Lord Tharren, I've heard impressive things about your son," Ned said, glancing at Aerian. "They say he has a mind for strategy beyond his years."
"He does," Tharren confirmed with pride. "Aerian has been instrumental in planning our house's growth and military preparations."
Ned studied Aerian for a long moment. "How old are you now, boy?"
"Thirteen, Lord Stark," Aerian replied respectfully.
"Thirteen," Ned repeated, a hint of something—perhaps memory—crossing his face. Aerian knew he was likely thinking of his own son Robb, who was around seven years old now. "You're too young to fight on the front lines, but your father speaks highly of your tactical mind. I want you in the command tent during the assault. Observe, learn, and if you see something we miss, speak up."
"Thank you, Lord Stark. I'm honored," Aerian said, bowing his head.
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The assault on Great Wyk began at dawn three days later. The Manderly ships cut through the grey waters of the Sunset Sea, their hulls packed with Northern soldiers ready for battle. Aerian stood on the deck of the lead boat alongside his father and Sir Lancelot, watching as the rocky shores of Great Wyk grew closer.
The Ironborn were waiting for them. As the ships approached the beaches, a hail of arrows darkened the sky. Men fell screaming as the iron-tipped shafts found their marks, but the Northern forces pressed on with grim determination.
"Shields!" Lancelot roared, and the Aurelius knights raised their shields in perfect formation, creating a wall of steel that deflected most of the incoming arrows.
The moment the ships beached, the ramps dropped, and the Northern forces surged forward. Aerian remained on the ship as ordered, but his eyes tracked every movement of the battle with intense focus. Kael stood beside him, the great white tiger's muscles tensed, sensing his companion's anticipation.
The Ironborn defenders were fierce, their axes and swords seeking Northern blood with savage fury. But the Aurelius knights were better equipped, better trained, and fought with a discipline that the wild Ironborn couldn't match.
Sir Lancelot led the charge, his sword flashing in the morning light as he cut down three Ironborn in quick succession. Sir Gawain fought beside him, his strength legendary even among the Round Table knights as he cleaved through enemy shields and armor alike.
Tharren fought with Frostclaw at his side, the massive white tiger a terrifying sight as it pounced on Ironborn warriors, its claws and fangs tearing through leather and flesh. The combination of lord and beast was devastating, breaking the Ironborn line wherever they appeared.
From his vantage point, Aerian noticed something the other commanders might have missed. A group of Ironborn was attempting to flank the Northern forces from a rocky outcrop to the east, using the terrain to mask their movement.
"Father!" Aerian called out, pointing toward the outcrop. "Flanking force, two hundred men, moving through the rocks!"
Tharren followed his son's gaze and immediately understood the danger. He turned to one of his captains. "Take three hundred men and cut them off! Don't let them reach our rear!"
The captain saluted and quickly assembled a detachment, moving to intercept the flanking force before they could spring their trap. The Ironborn, realizing they'd been spotted, abandoned stealth for speed, but they were too late. The Aurelius soldiers met them head-on, and the ensuing clash was brief but brutal.
By midday, the beach was secured, and the Northern forces began their advance inland. The Ironborn fought for every inch of ground, but they were being systematically pushed back. The superior steel of the Aurelius weapons proved decisive, Northern swords cut through Ironborn axes, and the armor forged in Frosthold's improved forges turned aside blows that would have been fatal.
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That evening, as the Northern forces made camp, the commanders gathered to assess the day's progress. Lord Bolton reported minimal casualties among his men, though his voice held no emotion as he described the deaths. Lord Manderly was pleased with the naval support's effectiveness, and Tharren reported that House Aurelius had lost only thirty-seven men, with another sixty wounded.
"Thirty-seven," Ned Stark repeated, impressed despite himself. "Against Ironborn defending their own lands. Your men fight exceptionally well, Lord Tharren."
"They're well-trained and well-equipped," Tharren replied. "But credit also goes to my son. His warning about the flanking force saved us from a much bloodier engagement."
Ned looked at Aerian with newfound respect. "You have sharp eyes, young Aurelius. That observation likely saved a hundred lives or more."
Aerian inclined his head. "I was simply watching the battle, Lord Stark. The Ironborn are predictable; they favor aggression and flanking maneuvers. Once you know their tendencies, you can anticipate their moves."
Lord Bolton's pale eyes fixed on Aerian with something that might have been interest. "Predictable, you say? Tell me, young lord, what do you think they'll do tomorrow?"
Aerian considered the question carefully, aware that all the lords were now watching him. "They'll fall back to the fortified settlements inland. The coastal defenses are lost, so they'll try to make us pay for every village and keep. But they're running out of supplies, and the naval blockade has cut them off from resupply. I'd estimate they can hold out for another two weeks at most before hunger forces them to surrender or make a desperate counterattack."
"A desperate counterattack would be suicide," Lord Manderly observed.
"Yes," Aerian agreed. "Which means they'll likely surrender. Balon Greyjoy is proud, but he's not suicidal. Once Pyke falls to King Robert's forces, the other islands will capitulate quickly."
Ned Stark nodded slowly. "Your son reads the battlefield like a book, Lord Tharren. I see why you trust his counsel."
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Over the next week, Aerian's predictions proved accurate. The Ironborn fell back to their settlements, fighting fiercely but unable to stop the Northern advance. House Aurelius continued to lead the vanguard, and their reputation grew with each engagement.
The turning point came when news arrived that King Robert's forces had successfully assaulted Pyke. Balon Greyjoy's sons, Rodrik and Maron, had been killed in the fighting, and Balon himself had been forced to bend the knee. The rebellion was effectively over.
In the aftermath, as the Northern forces prepared to return home, Aerian found himself summoned to Lord Stark's tent once more. This time, Ned was alone, sitting behind a desk with a thoughtful expression.
"Sit, Aerian," Ned said, gesturing to a chair.
Aerian sat, curious about what the Warden of the North wanted to discuss privately.
"I've been thinking about your performance during this campaign," Ned began. "You're young, but you have a gift for strategy and observation. Your father has raised you well."
"Thank you, Lord Stark."
Ned leaned forward slightly. "I have a son, Robb, who's about seven years old now. In a few years, I'll need to find him suitable companions and mentors to help prepare him for lordship. Would you be interested in spending some time at Winterfell? You could help train with our master-at-arms, and perhaps share some of your knowledge with Robb when the time comes."
Aerian's mind raced. This was an opportunity to forge closer ties with House Stark and potentially influence the next generation of Northern leadership. But it would also mean time away from Frosthold and his own plans.
"I'm honored by the offer, Lord Stark," Aerian replied carefully. "But I have responsibilities to my own house that I cannot neglect. Perhaps in a few years, when my sister is older and can help manage affairs at Frosthold, I could accept your invitation."
Ned nodded, seeming to understand. "A fair answer. The offer stands whenever you're ready. House Stark remembers its friends, Lord Aerian, and House Aurelius has proven itself a valuable ally."
"As has House Stark," Aerian replied diplomatically.
As Aerian left the tent, he couldn't help but feel satisfied. House Aurelius had emerged from the Greyjoy Rebellion with enhanced prestige, minimal casualties, and the respect of the Warden of the North. More importantly, they had demonstrated that their military might was not a fluke from Robert's Rebellion; they were a consistent, reliable force.
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The journey back to Frosthold took another three weeks, but the mood among the Aurelius forces was jubilant. They had fought well, proven themselves once more, and were returning home with honor and glory.
As the walls of Frosthold came into view, Aerian felt a sense of accomplishment. The Greyjoy Rebellion had been precisely what he needed, another opportunity to build House Aurelius's reputation and demonstrate their worth to the realm.
In the courtyard, Lilliana and Loreth waited to greet them, relief evident on their faces. Tharren dismounted and embraced his wife, while Loreth ran to Aerian, throwing her arms around him.
"You came back!" she exclaimed happily.
"I promised I would," Aerian said, ruffling her hair. "And I brought you something."
He handed her a small carved wooden kraken, taken from one of the Ironborn settlements. Loreth examined it with wide eyes, delighted by the gift.
That evening, a feast was held to celebrate their return. The great hall was filled with laughter, music, and the sounds of soldiers recounting their tales of battle. Sir Lancelot and the other knights were lauded as heroes, and Tharren was praised for his leadership.
But as Aerian sat at the high table, his mind was already turning to the future. The Greyjoy Rebellion was over, but it was just one chapter in a much longer story. There were still years to go before the events of the main timeline would begin, and he intended to use every moment to prepare.
'Eight more years,' he thought to himself, sipping his wine. 'Eight years until Robert comes to Winterfell and everything changes. Eight years to build an empire that can weather any storm.'
He glanced around the hall at his family, his knights, and his people. House Aurelius was strong now, but they would need to be even stronger for what was to come.