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Betad by
The Unbound
Chapter 20: The Iron Price
– Stannis Baratheon –
It was an odd feeling to be the returning 'hero' as he disembarked his temporary ship, the entire Iron Fleet in Blackwater Bay. The crowds cheered his name, the men told tales of his valour and heroics
After the Rebellion, it was Robert who got all the glory. He understood, logically. He'd spent much of it being blockaded within Storm's End, and even he would admit that he had not covered himself in glory. It was Davos and Stark who lifted the Blockade, Davos smuggling food inside to prevent them from starving or surrendering and Stark who finally lifted it. Robert had scoffed at him being outsmarted by the Tyrells, and was furious at the two runaway Targaryens escaping him at Dragonstone and then sent him to lord over Dragonstone to get rid of him. He was half convinced that his appointment to Master of Ships was Robert's idea of a joke.
So, no. After the Rebellion, there had been no glory for Stannis. Even after he destroyed much of the Iron Fleet during the first rebellion, Robert had shrugged and gone back to ignoring him. This all left Stannis entirely unprepared to have so many people cheering his name. Still, he didn't let it concern him as he directed his men. They had captives to transfer, and there was always more work to do. He'd already made a tally of how much it would cost to repair the Royal Fleet from the damage they took during both the blockade of the Iron Islands and during the Kraken battle.
Even as he worked, he felt a minute smile cross his lips at the cheering. The threat of the Iron Islands was no real concern for the people of King's Landing, but it seemed word had already spread far and wide. Heading to the Red Keep after ensuring everything was running smoothly.
"Your Grace," Stannis greeted with a respectful nod as he arrived. He had expected to be led to either the throne room or the small council chamber, but instead, he was taken to a small office where Orys was working. He hadn't missed that Margaery left moments before he arrived, giving him a sweet smile as she departed. Orys gave him a welcoming smile, gesturing for him to sit. He was tactful enough not to mention Orys' still ruffled hair and top, his crown hanging from the back of his chair.
"Uncle, welcome back to civilisations. You have my utmost gratitude for handling this matter so swiftly," Orys said, putting away his quill and straightening up the papers he was working on. "Your reports have explained a lot, but I'd like you to explain things from your perspective and what you know of Euron."
"Of course," Stannis agreed, well aware that his reports had likely sounded like something out of a bards tall tale. Taking the offered seat, he was quick to explain what little he understood of the events. He knew ships and naval combat, but the matter of the ritual and Euron's powers was entirely beyond his expertise.
He could tell Orys was taking his report seriously, and it wasn't long before the reason why became clear. They had similar reports from the North, speaking of the strange and dark powers the Boltons had used in their taking of Winterfell.
"I've brought the rebelling 'Captains' back to King's Landing for judgment, along with the captured fleet," Stannis finished, watching his nephew sigh quietly as he rubbed his chin.
"I need your advice, Uncle. What should be done with the Ironborn? In truth, I know little about them and I am left divided on their fates," Orys admitted.
"Robert was too soft on them after their first rebellion. Aside from the taking of Balon's son, they got a slap on the wrist for attempting open rebellion," Stannis replied instantly. "They have a culture of rape and theft that is simply incompatible with the rest of Westeros. If we do not punish them severely, you'll be facing another rebellion when they have finished licking their wounds. It may take decades, with their fleet captured and so many of their captains dead at the hands of Euron's ritual, but it will happen."
"I suspected as much. You did well to capture their fleet, but this problem goes far deeper. It's baked into their society at a cultural and religious level," Orys agreed with a groan, running his hand through his hair. "I won't leave them as a knife at my back, or at the backs of my heirs."
"Wise, Your Grace," Stannis agreed, pleased to see Orys take his words to heart.
"I'll need to think on this, and call a Small Council meeting before I hold court and deal with this publicly. I have some… ideas, but this is going to be trouble either way," Orys admitted. "You're to be honoured as the champion and hero of this rebellion. Ask what you will of me, and if it is within my capabilities, it will be done."
Stannis thought for a moment, brows furrowed.
"Can you truly heal?" Stannis asked, and Orys' eyes widened in realisation.
"Of course, Shireen! I should have thought of that sooner, damn it. Have her brought to King's Landing. This isn't your reward, I won't leave my cousin suffering," Orys swore, looking almost embarrassed. Stannis did not blame him; he could only imagine how much work would come from becoming the King of a kingdom once run by Robert. How many issues had built up while Robert feasted and hunted? It wasn't like Shireen's situation was getting actively worse, so it was understandable how it would fall to the back of Orys' mind with so much to do.
"Then I would like Davos Seaworth honoured. He was instrumental in the blockade of the Iron Islands, but his lowborn origin often leaves him forgotten," Stannis decided. As a man who had been denied his rightful glory all too many times, he would not let such a talented man under his command suffer the same fate.
Orys paused, and then his lips twitched.
"You trust the Onion Knight?" Orys asked, and Stannis nodded.
"With my life. He has paid for his past crimes, and his talent on the seas is unmatched," Stannis agreed. Orys continued, and Stannis listened carefully as Orys began to lay out his plan for the Iron Islands. Despite his stoic nature, Stannis could not restrain the single laugh that left him at the audacity of Orys' plan, but he could also not deny that it had potential.
Mostly, he was laughing at the thought of Davos' face when he heard.
"With our support, he will see it done, Your Grace," Stannis agreed, pleased to know that the Ironborn problem was going to be finally addressed.
"Good. Frankly, the North, Riverlands and Westerlands all have a vested interest in seeing the Ironborn raids come to a stop so garnering more support for this should not be hard. Frankly, nobody liked the Ironborn before they decided to raid the entire western shores of Westeros, let alone after," Orys mused. "But I'm afraid your reward for such good work is going to be more work, Uncle. I need a new Master of Laws to put the city into order and you're it."
"Master of Laws? What has Renly done?" Stannis asked immediately, frowning deeply.
"Nothing, that's the problem," Orys replied dryly. Ah, that would do it. "Corruption is at an all-time high, with Littlefinger turning the Goldcloaks into his private thugs through Slynt. Slynt is off to the wall, and Littlefinger is with the Stranger, but their mess remains. Garlen Tyrell is the new Commander of the Watch, and he's doing a fine job, but this needs more than just a new commander. Even Garlen has admitted that it is going to take a full reformation to salvage the Goldcloaks. For that, I need a Master of Laws whom I can rely on, and even Renly understands that it simply isn't him. He's stepping down willingly."
Damn it, Robert. The world remained unfair as his older brother ran off to Storm's End and ignored the mess he'd left in his wake.
"I serve where I am required, Your Grace," Stannis replied. "Who will become the Master of Ships?"
"Manderly, to placate the North after Eddard is let go, or Redwyne. I haven't decided yet," Orys explained.
"Lord Redwyne would make a fine Master of Ships," Stannis admitted, a frown touching his lips. Never did he believe such words would leave his mouth. "I do not believe Manderly would be a better choice."
"Understood. Redwyne it is. I can placate the North in other ways, and we are coming to their aid with the Bolton situation, so Eddard's release will not be too controversial beyond some grumbling," Orys replied. "If for no other reason than because he'll be needed in the North to put things back into order."
The conversation lulled for a moment, both in thought.
"So, how does it feel to be the hero, the Krakenbane?" Orys finally asked, and Stannis paused as he considered his response.
"It is troublesome. People keep interrupting my work to badger me for details. A bard has taken to following me around," Stannis finally admitted. How was he meant to get anything done with such frivolous distractions? "But I suspect you know that already, Orys the Blessed."
"Why do you think I'm hiding in here? I get swarmed whenever I enter the public parts of the Red Keep, but I have too much to do to play host to every minor highborn and merchant who wants to meet me," Orys snorted in agreement. "I had hoped crafting the Chalice of the Mother would distract them from me and send them to the Grand Sept instead, but it's had the opposite effect."
"You believed forging a divine relic would cause you to get less attention?" Stannis asked after a moment.
"With the benefit of hindsight, I see the flaw in my plan," Orys admitted with a quiet laugh. It was almost reassuring to see such clear evidence of Orys being Robert's son. He may be smarter and more diligent than his father, but there were some undeniable similarities beyond the inherited hair and eyes.
That said, thank the Seven that they chose Orys to bless rather than his father. He shuddered to consider what Robert would have done with any kind of mystical powers.
– Orys Baratheon –
I'll admit, there were some arguments about my plan for the Ironborn but after the Small Council meeting ended, I believe I was able to convince, or placate, my council into agreeing with my idea. I was right to think that both Lord Stark and Grandfather would support it, if reluctantly in the case of Grandfather, because they are the closest to the Iron Islands. The Riverlands should follow behind, but we have no Riverlanders on the Council at the moment.
I might have to talk to Edmure Tully, but he went North to meet with his sister and bring her to King's Landing safely. They should be back any day now. The attacks on their group cut down considerably once they got through the Twins. Briefly frowning, I make a mental note to make a new way to get into the North in the future because Frey has already pissed me off. The old bastard closed the Twins and demanded exorbitant payments from the Starks to cross. Apparently, he'd tried to get Lady Catelyn to agree to betroth one of her children to a Fray in exchange for passage, and the Blackfish nearly beat the old man for it. I suppose Blackfish had to pass through twice and got conned each time, so I'd be pissed as well.
Well, either way, once more, my court shall get their spectacle as I stare down at them from my throne. Stannis' honouring was a swift affair because, as much as he craves recognition, he doesn't want the public spectacle that comes with it. The crown is paying for a new flagship for him to replace the sunk Fury, and I presented him with a Valyrian steel medal of honour. The first of its kind, handcrafted by the King in honour of exemplary deeds of service. Stannis' medal depicts a stag slaying a kraken, and is pinned to his chest as he stands proud.
My announcement of Renly's retirement and Stannis taking the role was easily accepted, as was Paxter's rise to the Master of Ships. I suspect many would grumble about another Tyrell Loyalist being honoured if not for the fact that Paxter has decorated himself in glory. Stannis may have gotten the lions share, or stags share I suppose, but House Redwyne and the Redwyne fleet were essential in this war and Paxter himself rammed the Kraken with his own ship so he's the secondary hero of this war. He has a smaller medal, depicting the Redwyne sigil in honour of his service. It's modest, to not take away from Stannis, but also honours and keeps the second largest fleet happy.
And maybe, just maybe, I did it to prevent another Battle of Ashford situation. Mace enjoys reminding the world that he defeated my father at Ashford, but I've heard my father grumble enough to know that the battle was essentially over before Mace even arrived. It was Lord Randyll Tarly who defeated him, and he takes great offence to people thinking he lost a fight to the Fat Flower of Highgarden, instead of a commander he actually respects. Mace can't claim this victory when the medal has the Redwyne symbol on it.
There's more to honour, but I've arranged for a feast and celebration of the heroes of the Kraken Rebellion to take place after my wedding. It gives time for the various figures to make their way here, and to also recover from the chaos.
But after the honours and the rewards come the less pleasant part of the aftermath, as the captured Ironborn Captains and Lords are led into the court in chains. In truth, there are not as many as one would expect. Euron called for them all to take part in the Drowned Gods ritual, and many of the rebelling captains met their ends at the hands of one of their own. Stannis admitted that even with the aid of the captured Ironborn, they had trouble identifying the butchered and defiled remains of many of them.
Some of them look defiant, some almost look smug despite their chains, and others look entirely broken. They saw Euron call upon a kraken, the legendary beast of their god, and then watched that same kraken be sent to the depths by my uncle. Victarion, despite his situation, is one of the ones who looks almost self-assured. I can see it already, he expects me to repeat my father's actions and force him to bend the knee as Balon once did.
"Get on with it, greenlander," one of the Ironborn shouts, to the gasps and disgust of the court. Ah, a volunteer. Nodding to Stannis, he drags the man out to the front and announces him.
"Lord Dunstan Drumm, Lord of Old Wyk and Captain of the Thunderer," I start, seeing him straighten up and shrug off Stannis' hand. "You led the Thunderer on both raids against the North and Riverlands, and sank two ships from the Royal Fleet, killing over a hundred sailors."
"Aye, I did," Dunstan agrees, head held high. Stannis' reports are very detailed so I have far more details to work with.
"As such, I find you guilty of high treason for your part in Balon's rebellion," I continue, watching his confident stare falter. "So the choice is yours. Death, or the Night's Watch."
His eyes widen at my unmoving words, and his head snaps back to Victarion, who seems equally caught off guard.
"I'm not becoming a fucking Crow, you can't-" Dunstan starts, and I simply nod.
"Death, it is. Headsman, if you would be so kind," I order with a complete lack of sympathy. I made sure the Courts knew what was going to happen today, so there are no youths in the crowd. Instead, just highborns who came to see the Ironborn pay for their countless crimes against Westeros. Dunstan struggles and shouts, but the shackles are tight, and he is heavily outnumbered. The smug Ironborn pale as they watch his head be swiftly removed.
There is a time for mercy, but this is not it. His two sons shout and curse, but I'm not worried about reprisals from House Drumm. Denys Drumm, Dunstan's eldest, screams and curses, fighting against his shackles and even trying to break free to charge me. A minute later, his head is in the same basket as his father's. Donnel Drumm, the youngest and last living Drumm, takes the black, and with that, the House Drumm is extinct, their lands and wealth confiscated, including one bright red Valyrian Steel blade.
It was unwise of Drumm to have their entire line take part in the Rebellion, but convenient for me. Watching one of their most famous Houses be wiped out in a matter of minutes does a lot to silence the Ironborn. Victarion is outright sweating as he realises that this isn't going to be nearly as simple as last time.
Last time, they got away with their rebellion because they'd never sworn oaths to the Crown. They survived by bending the knee. This time, it is treason, plain and simple. As I announce the dissolution of House Drumm, cheers from the highborn make the Ironborn realise just how unwelcome they are here.
I leave the big names for last as the surviving Ironborn all face the same choice. Take the black or face the headsman's block. Many choose the Black, fearing my mute executioners' axe, some choose to die standing to prove how brave the Ironborn are. Truly, they were impressive in the few seconds before the axe removed their heads. Some even managed not to piss themselves.
Eventually, it comes Rodrik Harlaw, 'the Reader', as literacy is so rare amongst the Ironborn that the fact that Rodrik can actually read means he needs a nickname for it. I suspect they mean it as an insult.
"You did not lead the Sea Song into battle against the Royal Fleet, though you did lead several raids in the Shields," I say, getting a nod from him.
"I did," Rodrik agrees. He's seen several captains try to lie, including his own heir and cousin, Harras Harlaw. He's also seen me ruthlessly execute anyone who tried lying, as Stannis' reports are treated like divine scripture. "I advised Balon not to attack the Iron Fleet, and to banish Euron once more. It was why I wasn't at the ritual, I didn't trust Euron."
"The Sea Fury is to be given to Lord Hewett, and your house will pay reparations to the Houses affected by your raid. Nightfall will be returned to House Harlaw," I decide. A part of me wants to keep the Valyrian steel blade that Harras wielded, but it is important to show that those who did not take part in the actual rebellion won't face the same fate. Rodrik frowns deeply at the loss of his ship and winces at the reparations, but does not protest.
Finally, the last remaining Greyjoys.
Victarion and Asha Greyjoy are led forward, and while Victarion is openly sweating now, having seen countless renowned captains lose their lives, Asha only glares at me.
"Victarion Greyjoy. You led the Iron Victory on several recorded raids along the Westerlands, and after the Royal Fleet arrived, captured two Redwyne ships and one Royal longship, executing the crew," I say, my voice a little rough from how much I've had to say those words in some variation. "As such, you are guilty of high treason and can either take the Black or face your end. Choose."
"I- I advised my brother not to rebel!" Victarion starts, an undercurrent of fear in his tone. Whatever confidence he had coming into here died with so many of his fellow captains. nearly every House in the Iron Islands is getting a new Lord, it seems, because so many died either from Euron, the battles or the headsmans block, or took the Black.
"And yet you attacked the Royal Fleet all the same. I understand the need to support your brother, but that does not excuse treason. Choose," I repeat, unyielding and unimpressed by his excuses.
He goes to speak, but he trails off and stares down at his feet. When he mutters his answer, Stannis has to repeat it for us to hear as Victarion chooses the Night's Watch. There's laughter as he's shuffled off to join the other future Night's Watch recruits, much to his anger.
This is just a fraction of the actual captives. Only the captains found themselves judged by me, Stannis will handle their crew as the new Master of Laws. I think he's looking forward to it.
In my case, I am just happy that I only have one last case. The only female captain brought before me, Asha Greyjoy. She's braver than her uncle, but then she knows her charges are less serious.
"Asha Greyjoy. You led the Black Wind and attempted to raid Bear Island but were driven away, and later raided Fair Isle in the Westerlands. You also attempted to bypass the blockade, resulting in your capture and the sinking of your ship," I read off, seeing her face flush with embarrassment that two of her three crimes were failed attempts.
Apparently, she had the pleasure of being one of the first Ironborn to face the Bear Maiden of House Mormont, several of her crew being torn apart by a giant bear.
"I did," Asha says, chin held high as she stares at me defiantly. "Raiding is my people's way. We do not sow."
"The words of House Greyjoy," I acknowledge. "Which leads me neatly to the next point. I, Orys Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm of Westeros, declare the Great House Greyjoy dissolved for inciting two rebellions in such a short timeframe. Their lands, the Castle of Pyke, and their wealth are to be claimed by the crown."
Gasps fill the hall, but in truth? Greyjoy is a Great House in name only. They get the title but to say they are on the same level as House Lannister or Stark is a joke. They're raiders and criminals, barely tolerated. If I was announcing the dissolution of any other Great House, the result would be far more powerful, but House Greyjoy will find no support here.
"You can't!" Asha shouts, fury in her eyes.
"I can," I reply simply. "Isn't it your culture to pay the Iron Price? My fleets smashed yours, my Uncle captured Pyke in my name. Consider the Iron Price paid, Captain."
She stares up at me with a mixture of genuine hatred and disbelief, but I don't let her respond as I move on to my next announcement, taking advantage of the jubilant court. Many of the nobles here are people who have had to deal with the Ironborn over the decades, and seeing the ancient thorn in their backsides finally plucked out and tossed into the trash is true catharsis for them.
"Something the Ironborn have seemed to forgotten is that they are part of the Seven Kingdoms. For years, they've paid lip service and the slightest homage to their oaths while raiding, raping and murdering along our coasts. This ends today," I announce grandly, catching their attention. "By Royal Decree, I declare an end to the taking of 'Salt Wives' and 'Thralls', slaves by any other name. The Ironborn are not above the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, and slavery is and has always been outlawed within our lands. I will not permit them to use what they think passes for fancy words to skirt these laws any longer. The Iron Fleet is to be confiscated, and a limit placed upon how many fishing and trading vessels they are permitted to hold."
The Ironborn can only stare in horror at the announcement of the systematic dissolution of their very culture. Some look offended, others defiant, but the smarter ones? Rodrik and Asha know a simple truth. I'm giving the Ironborn the rope they'll hang themselves with. By declaring this, I have all the reason I need to put every single Ironborn who tries to cling to their old ways to death. If they try building more ships and go over the strict limit I will place upon them, I'll burn their entire fleet to ash with them still on board. Today, their culture starts its slow but inevitable demise.
Opposite the horrified Ironborn, my court cheer my name. This humiliation of the Ironborn is exactly what they came here to see.
Announcing the fate of the fleet passes easily. A quarter of it is being given to the North as part of their reparations, split between Manderly in White Harbour and the House Mormont of Bear Island. Some are being given to Lannisport, Dragonstone or the Shields, and the rest are being confiscated by the Royal Fleet to recoup our losses. It will take time for all the parties to train up the naval experts needed to fully utilise them, but the important thing is that the Ironborn don't have them anymore. The Redwyne Fleet doesn't get any of them, but they won't complain about that since their Lord just became Master of Ships and was gifted Red Rain since he was the one to best the ships from House Drumm. It seemed fitting.
Today has been a bloody day, but as I told my grandfather… I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty if it is necessary for the good of the realm. Thankfully, Ironborn blood washes away all too easily.
"To ensure that my decrees are followed within the Iron Islands, I am creating a new position. The Lord Admiral and Royal Castellan of Pyke," I continue. "This man will be my hand within the Iron Islands, overseeing the Iron Islands for the next twenty-five years. After this timeframe, if the Iron Islands have shown that they can adapt, I will permit them to hold a… modified Kingsmoot, a Lordsmoot, to select a new Great House to rule the Iron Islands in my name."
Asha pauses at that, eyes narrowed in clear ambition. She's smart enough to know that she's barely getting a slap on the wrist personally, because the sinking of her ship and dissolution of her house was punishment enough. It doesn't surprise me that she's already trying to find a way to undo this, and if she could win the Lordsmoot, that would be a way to restore her house and reclaim Pyke.
"Under the advice of my Uncle Stannis, I have chosen Ser Davos Seaworth to fulfil this role," I continue, hiding my amusement at the double-take Davos gives me as he rapidly looks between me and Stannis in bafflement. "Ser Davos, will you accept this noble duty?"
Davos looks to Stannis, who just nods once.
"I-I will, milor- Your Grace," Davos stumbles, several sneers thrown his way from his near-slip. Some of the Highborns feel offended, but I see it fade quickly because… well, who the fuck wants to spend the next twenty-five years babysitting the Iron Islands? It's an honourable position, but one that is going to come with a mountain of issues and unpleasantness. The fact is, Davos is going to be targeted by the Ironborn who want to cling to their dying ways, and there's every chance they'll kill him.
And if they do? The Ironborn culture will die far faster for it. I hope Davos succeeds with our support, but if he fails and is slain, the seas around the Iron Islands will run red with Ironborn blood.
"Then I announce the formation of the Noble House Seaworth of Pyke, for your heroic deeds in the Kraken Rebellion and your loyal service to House Baratheon," I continue. "You have my trust and the crown's support in this endeavour, Lord Seaworth."
Despite the chaos, I swear I see Stannis disguise a laugh with a fake cough as he pats the truly befuddled Davos on the shoulder. In truth, Davos is a better match for this position than any 'greenlander' Lord. The Ironborn are barely a step above criminals, and Davos' own criminal background will leave him in a far better position to handle the underhanded and rougher Ironborn. They don't play the game like we do, so I need someone who knows the seedier tactics to handle them.
In addition, the Ironborn as a whole will serve as a reminder to Dorne and the North that just because they like to keep their distance, it doesn't mean they aren't a part of the Seven Kingdoms. It's less of a concern with the North, but Dorne pay the same lip service to the crown that the Iron Islands have. Arianne seems to be planning to change that, and I approve, of course, but that doesn't mean the rest of Dorne will.
"Now, to quote my honoured father… I need a bloody drink," I finally say, rising from my throne with a boyish smile to a smattering of laughter. "Tonight has been a long, bloody night, but I can only hope that future generations will look upon it as the start of a new era of naval peace and supremacy."
Leaving to the applause of my court, I don't let my exhaustion show until I'm out of the room. What a day. I need a drink, actually fuck a drink, I need Margaery. Today has been far too stressful for my liking.
And I'm going to have to do it all over again when we're done with the fucking Boltons and Lysa Arryn's madness. Ugh.
"Orys!" Margaery says cheerfully as I enter the room, brightening up as she finishes braiding Myrcella's hair. "How did the court go?"
"About as well as it could," I admit, ruffling Mycella's neatly combed hair as she swats at my hand playfully. "I was hoping to steal you away. I need a distraction right now. You don't mind, right, Mycella?"
"Yes, I do!" Myrcella squawks.
"Great, thanks," I reply, getting a playful pout from her and a giggle from Margaery.
"I'd be honoured to distract you, Orys," Margaery says, the look in her eyes promising more than just a night of talking.
"Are you two going to kiss?" Myrcella asks, ducking under the pillow I picked up and threw at her lazily.
"Probably," I admit.
"Definitely," Margaery corrects, making Myrcella's nose scrunch up.
"Weird. I'm gonna go and find Arya and Balerion," Myrcella finally says, standing up.
"Keep her out of trouble, Ser Brienne," I request, getting a bow from the until-now silent knight.
"I'll do my best, Your Grace," Brienne replies with a wry smile. I'm well aware that Myrcella seems to seek out trouble at this point. Myrcella just sticks her tongue out as she heads off to find her other friends, leaving me and Margaery to our late-night stroll, with me clearing one of the small royal gardens so we can have some privacy.
"Ser Barristan, if anyone comes looking for me for anything less than the end of the world, hit them with a stick or something. I am done for today," I order, getting a chuckle from my ever-present bodyguard.
"I'll see what I can do, Your Grace. Don't stay up too late, you have training at sunrise tomorrow," Barristan reminds me cruelly. I swear the man is a secret sadist.
"Was the court that bad?" Margaery asks, taking my hand as we finally get some alone time.
"Well, I just dissolved an entire culture and several Houses, and had a lot of Ironborn executed. Your Uncle is the Master of Ships now, Stannis is taking over for Renly, and Paxter was the obvious pick for his old position. I gave him Red Rain, a Valyrian Steel blade as well," I explain, catching her up on the footnotes.
"Ahh, I wondered why Grandmother insisted that none of the younger Tyrells attend," Margaery realises, leading me to a bench. "I take it that it was… bloody?"
"I pity the cleaning staff. The Ironborn seemed under the impression I'd slap them on the wrists and call it a day. Now, effectively every House in the Iron Islands needs a new Lord," I admit with a tired shrug. She just guides me to lie down with my head in her lap.
"Good. You did what had to be done, just like with Littlefinger," Margaery assures me, stroking my hair. "Future generations will look back on tonight as the end to one of the biggest menaces of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Mhmm. I won't leave the Ironborn to build up strength and rebel again, whether against me or our children," I agree. "They signed their own death warrants; I simply delivered them the sentence they earned. I won't lose any sleep over it, only the mountain of work that comes with it."
Margaery giggles softly as she strokes my hair, letting me relax after a long day. In truth, it almost lulls me to sleep as she runs her fingers through my hair before something makes me snap to attention again as her other hand finds something else to massage.
My eyes snap open as her hand snakes into my pants, seeing her impish grin, but after a moment, I relax again. Fuck it, I've earned it.
– Cersei Baratheon –
Orys had made a new position, something he seemed to be doing quite a lot.
The Court Chronicler was a simple position, in theory. Orys wanted to ensure that every court session was recorded, accurately and in great detail. These records would be kept within the Red Keep to ensure that future generations had a true chronicle of the events at each court. It also meant he could review them to ensure he didn't forget any interactions he had with the many petitioners. Promises and decisions were kept in writing, instead of being a matter of verbal oaths.
She knew more than a few people were baffled when she was picked for this position, instead of a Maester. Pycelle had grumbled about it, but he was bought with Lannister gold, and his complaints never went beyond offended huffing. Many also assumed that it was simply a temporary appointment while so much was going on, but they didn't understand.
The Court Chronicler was writing the one true history of the Iron Throne's dealings. What she wrote down was how history would remember it. And that? That was power. Robert was baffled at the idea of her being pleased at being given such a… time-consuming position, but he was happy enough for her.
Mostly because she'd suggested that Orys make Mya Stone the Master of the Horse for House Baratheon of King's Landing. The bastard girl was good with animals, and it would do well to have someone trustworthy looking after Orys' stallion. It was a fancy title, pleasing Robert, but also the job of a servant, which worked for Mya, who wanted to make her own way in the world.
"My Lady, the ravens have been sent," one of her new underlings reported, getting a pleased nod from her. This was the second part of the Court Chronicler.
To send ravens and messengers with the details of important court decisions to the Great Houses. It wasn't truly needed this time, since most of the Great Houses had a presence here, but it was good to get them used to such things. When a court decision affected one particular land, she'd be the one sending word to that kingdom's Great House.
Her word was the King's word. And soon, they'd learn to take her word as undisputable fact.
– Bonus Scene — Asha Greyjoy
The Greenlander King thought he was funny. There was no other explanation for it.
Sitting in her small estate, she stared at the wall in disbelief at how things had changed. She'd been on Uncle Victarion's side, attacking the Royal Fleet was a really stupid fucking idea. It didn't matter how much they wanted to go back to the old ways; picking a fight with a much larger force was always going to be a dumb idea.
The reason she'd been captured was simple. She was hoping to sail all the way to King's Landing and grab someone as a hostage to end the Blockade. The smarter ones, the captains who hadn't eaten the shit Euron was trying to serve them, knew they were fucked. If they wanted any kind of power at the negotiating table, they needed leverage that they just didn't have.
Of course, that plan had sunk with the Black Wind. Outsmarted by the fucking Onion Knight. Or was it Onion Lord now? They'd left a weakness in their line, something she thought she could use to break through and escape. Instead, she'd gotten through only to find a second, much stronger line and the hole she'd just passed through rapidly closing.
She didn't even get to see the rest of the war, only hearing tales of the Kraken Euron unleashed, and how fucking Stannis had slain it and stormed Pyke. She knew her father was dead the moment she saw those sickening clouds above Pyke. Apparently, the mist was made of the blood that Euron drew from the bodies of his many sacrifices.
Victarion believed they'd be slapped on the wrist. That they could push the blame onto her father and Euron, escaping any serious punishment. He thought he'd be dragged before the King in chains, and leave the Lord Reaper of Pyke. Instead, he was off to the Wall, where he could freeze his balls off fighting and dying for the fucking North.
She hoped that she would get that same slap on the wrist since she hadn't actually attacked the Royal Fleet beyond her attempt to escape the blockade. Well, she had, but in the worst way. She thought she'd be returning to Pyke as the last Greyjoy, winning by default. Instead, she was Lady Asha Greyjoy of the House Greyjoy… of King's Landing. Her tiny estate? Bought with gold dragons taken from Pyke's treasury. As she said, the King thought he was funny.
She knew all too well that she was being kept around as a political tool. The guards and servant at her estate answered only to the King. She imagined he had plans for her when the 'Lordsmoot' finally came around. Or maybe plans for her children, when he married her off to some Greenlander lord and expected her to lie down and spread her legs.
The Lordsmoot was a smart move, even she could admit that. He'd softened the immense blow to the Iron Islands by dangling it in front of them. Every House would be wondering if they could become the next Great House, and that would keep the smarter, cooler heads in line. She hated it, but she could imagine how many of them would be attaching their lips to the ass of the Onion Lord to show how nice they could play. When other Houses tried to return to their traditions, it would be those same ambitious Ironborns who stabbed them in the back and exposed their plans.
Would she even recognise the Iron Islands in twenty-five years?
What hurt the most was that if she wanted what was rightfully hers, if she wanted to reclaim Pyke for House Greyjoy, she was going to have to do the same. Pucker up and kiss the feet and ass of the Greenlander King, who had just destroyed her Great House and culture.
Or she could plot against him, and watch as he lazily ordered her head removed in that same bored tone he'd used when executing some of the strongest captains the Ironborn had. She had no delusions about pulling off some miraculous, masterful scheme that freed the Iron Islands from under his finger. At best, she maybe managed to kill someone that was apparently fucking blessed by the very Greenlander gods, and then the Seven Kingdoms ripped her people apart limb from limb.
No, if she ever wanted to sit on the Seastone Chair, she needed to… how did the King describe it? 'Show that she could adapt' to the new way of life. Throwing her goblet at the wall, she let out a shout of frustration, cursing Euron's name for the mountain of shit his plans had gotten them in.
Author's Note: Can you tell that Orys doesn't exactly love his Ironborn subjects?
Written: 27/09/2025