32 The hammer strikes, the fire tells

For the unit's name, it won't be the 'real' winner of the vote. It was a bit too farfetched and unsymbolic for the world of asoiaf itself (It was pretty good but for irl imo). The second most voted comment had several combinations inside of it, so I picked my favorite one.

RexHarris, YOU are the chosen one.

——————

The arrival on the shores of Pyke was late at night. Along the way, I recounted to my father the unfolding of the siege which I led. Tywin also told me about how he laid siege on the keep of house Sunderly.

Like me, but a little differently, he was met with quite a bit of resistance from lord Sunderly. But by being rough around the edges, as well as with the participation of Amory Lorch and Cregor Clegane, things ended up working out as planned.

My father only had this keep to take care of, smaller and with weaker structures than lord Saltcliffe's. And still, he didn't go a single iota easier on them. No massacre, which could have created heaps of controversy among the allies, took place. Only flashy executions, torture in the open, and part of their tiny keep turned into ruins.

Despite that, given what I took from the ruling lord of this island, house Saltcliffe won't fare much better than the Sunderlys. The long-term repercussions will be multiple and that was the goal.

No gold, no slaves, barely enough food for the inhabitants of the island, a single longship left, and no proper army… It's difficult to go back on your feet, after that. If they lived in shit before, now it will be worse than that.

Tywin didn't seem to interpellate me about the venom in any way or stop me from participating in the siege of Pyke. But actually, I knew that he learned about my training involving various poisons. And for a long time, at that. For him, seeing me manage that situation is surely nothing but the logical result of my past efforts. Not a miracle or a feat to be praised.

Upon arriving, we were told to move our siege weapons along the coast up to the rallying point. And once we got there, a small siege camp barely finished being built laid before us. Many tents, a few temporary meager wooden fortifications, and campfires were spread everywhere.

After speaking with king Robert, we learned that house Wynch had surrendered in the morning. And earlier in the afternoon, king Robert took care of the very stubborn house Botley. He had most of their keep destroyed, as for at least half the town of Lordsport beneath it.

And me who worried about being seen in a bad light by the king… From the start, he didn't give a single f*ck. In the end, had I been totally merciless, Ned Stark alone may have been a torn in the legitimacy of our future demands. Then again, I don't think that I would have destroyed the town out of the blue as Robert did. And neither did I have the means to quickly bring down the castle.

Afterward, later in the afternoon, their forces made a first attempt at storming the southern wall separating them from the castle of Pyke. But this attempt ended as a failure.

The wall held firm no matter what was used against it, and so the king decided to build a camp while every trebuchet are constantly at work to level the wall. So far, unfortunately, this hasn't worked out that well. Some spots are weakened, but the siege has been brought to a stop of uncertain duration.

But fortunately for them, we have now arrived and the entire scale of our forces is not to be underestimated. With our many trebuchets joining theirs, this blocked situation could change soon.

Suffice to say that with so much help brought to the siege, the king and some of the other lords welcomed us with open arms. Among the various allies, the most arrogant and uninformed towards us have been forced to see that we are not to be taken lightly in any way. The lion has taken no nap since the Rains.

Of course, as always, some avoid us because of our reputation while others flatter us with a fake smile. The usual behaviors. Even still, I never forget the faces and names of vicious little liars.

We've also been told that Stannis Baratheon, ser Barristan Selmy, and most of the Reachmen haven't arrived yet. Fights occurring on larger islands will likely take several more days to finish, if not a week or two. While waiting for their arrival, or until the end if the siege is cut short by our arrival, our army has therefore become more important and primordial to it.

Before going to bed, I decided to go to the campfires and greet some of my acquaintances, friends, allies, and more or less distant family members. I met small lords from the North there like Jorah Mormont, who is not yet a knight despite his advanced age. There are a lot of fifty and more names day squires, but it's still quite a shame when you fight alongside knights of less than twenty.

I also met lord Mallister of Seagard, who also successfully defended his castle against the Ironborns at the end of the rebellion. He told me how he slew Rodrik Greyjoy and I narrated Euron's death.

Now, after touring a dozen groups and drinking a few cups of wine and northern beers, I find myself chatting with my brother and those who have fought alongside him since they arrived on Pyke.

When I arrived, Jaime was in the company of some of the Kingsguards, important members of the Gold Cloaks, as well as knights close to lord Stark. From the Gold Cloaks, I met its new commander ser Janos Slynt who recently succeeded Manly Stokeworth after his death. There was also a certain Jacelyn Bywater from the Gold Cloaks, seems like a brave one. And there was the captain of Eddard's guards too, a certain Jory Cassel.

This man, Jory Cassel, constantly wears a wry smile and likes joking while eating next to the fire. I would describe him as a calm, likable man who smells horribly of unfiltered honor. A bad smell, in my opinion. From what Jaime told me, he is also a fairly decent swordsman. But not nearly as much as me or my brother.

While speaking with him, this Jory Cassel made me narrate my war stories one after the other. Of course, he didn't fail to tell me some of his in passing. But he also told me about some other stories which I didn't know about. For example, the fact that at the end of the war, his father died while fighting alongside lord Stark at the tower of joy.

And the last story just made me laugh a little along with my brother, making me stifle my laughter under my cup of wine. After coming to my senses, realizing that it made me miss his last sentence, I repeat what he just said to be sure that I understood correctly.

''So you are telling me that at your lord's wedding, during the bedding ceremony, you tore lady Catelyn's gown in hustle with all your strength ?''

After taking another sip of beer, Jory laughs a little before answering me with a bit of shame.

''Aye, I ripped it all down to her ankle. Made her nearly as naked as the day she was born. That got some to laugh, though not lady Stark.''

Reimagining the scene with Jory and Catelyn a second time, I simply can't stop myself from chuckling some more before teasing him a bit about it.

''Oh my… Quite bold of you to act as such with your lord's wife.''

It seems to further embarrass him, that story surely not have been part of his usual behavior. But still, he keeps his smile at the thought of this old memory of his.

''As bold as a drunk man can get when wine got the better of him. Tradition or not, I may have lacked a bit of subtlety. But outside of that... A wonderful feast, that was. A much-needed happy moment. It got me to loosen up, more than I planned…''

Well, I'm not the only one who screwed up after drinking too much, it seems. Although I'm not necessarily looking for small gossip of no political aspect in general, this one made my day.

As we continue to discuss various topics to relax before tomorrow's fights, Jaime begins to tell me about another man invited here by the king. He decides to point his finger at the man in question so that I can see him.

''Tell me, brother. Have you seen Thoros of Myr, over there ?''

I feel like I once heard of that name, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

Turning around to see this so-called Thoros of Myr indicated by my brother, I then see a man standing out from the lot. Thoros is a more or less fat man with partial baldness and a smooth-looking face.

He seems to have told a joke just before, having made his entire audience laugh. Some of the men laughing alongside him look like guards of mine. Thoros must surely have just met them.

And he is dressed in… flapping red robes.

Strange outfit.

''Hmmm… No, I don't think so. Who is he ?''

Jaime looks over the man in question and takes another sip of wine before answering me.

''He is a good jester, that one. The king brought him here for that reason, and because he sees the man as a great friend. The two of them are even drinking companions.''

Oh yes ? I haven't heard of him until now. The few bits of information that come to me from Kings Landings never mentioned him. He shouldn't be important, but hey I'll ask anyway.

''Really, he is that close to the king ? You got me curious. Could you tell me more about him ?''

It makes my brother think for a moment, seemingly trying with some difficulty to remember details about the man in robes.

''Sure… Hum, this Thoros has some good jokes. He told me how he became a red priest because the robes would hide wine stains.''

''A curious man, to be sure. And… Wait. A red priest, you said ?''

Red priest as in Melisandre and all that human barbecue stuff ? I hope not.

''Yes, a 'red priest' as in a funny sect of illuminated. He serves some kind of fire god or whatnot, I think. A curiosity from Essos. He once tried to convert the mad king to it, but to no avail. Robert decided to keep the bugger in the Red Keep because the two of them get along well. And now that I think about it, Thoros told us earlier that he would show us a magic trick during the siege. Who knows, that may be worth a look.''

So he really is one of those red priests serving R'hllor, huh. I don't know how to feel about being near that sort of person. I still remember that in the tv show, shadow and fire magic portrayed by that false god's representants seem fairly dangerous and deathly.

Weird to see one up close, and precisely now.

''I see…''

After letting my gaze linger on him for a few more seconds, Thoros seems to turn his gaze to me. As we shortly stare into each other's eyes, the priest seems to suddenly remember something before looking at me oddly.

The weird way in which he is watching me doesn't make me feel good at all. I don't like to be stared at, as if one was looking directly into my soul. His staring is something new to me, different from those of hatred, envy, or pride. It's more like a scientist observing his latest discovery.

And I don't like it, not one bit. Yet, it is so weird and unexpected that I don't know how to react to it, except for frowning and averting my gaze from his.

As I look away from him, however, I feel his gaze still fixed on me. This situation is strange... too strange for my taste.

Given the late hour and deciding to put an end to this unpleasant moment as soon as possible, I take my leave towards the tent which was built to be my personal quarters for the night to come. Before that, I turn to Jaime to say goodbye.

''If you will excuse me, brother. But I'm afraid to need a good night of rest. I better be somewhat fresh for the siege. It wouldn't do any good to be a sleepy head when the time to fight arises.''

After drinking an umpteenth sip of wine for the evening, my older brother then starts to look at me with a mischievous smile.

Sigh, I know that look. You better not start doing the smart ass with one of those lines of yours, brother. You just can't win any argument…

''I understand, little brother. Considering his age, Leonard the O so Unshaken may have to sleep early. You still have to grow up a bit in some aspects, after all. Well, at least, you hold your cup better than before.''

… You f*cker.

Alright, this needs a verbal slap where it hurts. No mercy for thee, dear kingslayer.

''Ha. Ha. Very funny, my lovely backstabbing brother. But I have grown enough, perhaps more than you ever did. I took my responsibilities, even those which I didn't like at all, to become the man which the future of our house needs. Now far from me the idea of criticizing your decisions, but I'm more of an elder brother for our siblings than you ever have been. So try to think before talking, next time. Alright ?''

My only response is Jaime's silence wearing a frozen blank smile, before blankly staring into his empty cup of wine.

Deciding not to leave him in his all-too-familiar state of embarrassment, I thus pat his upper back in a friendly way.

''O brother, you always knew how to start an argument… but never how to finish it. See you tomorrow.''

After these last words given to my internally sobbing brother, I hasten to go to my personal tent to go and have a nice sleep.

But as I am about to enter my quarters, I hear a man addressing himself to me. His voice coming from right behind me, I thus turn to face him. And there he is, Thoros of Myr. A strange man with a strange stare.

''Please wait, lord Leonard. I have to tell you something.''

So he had something to tell me ? Is that the reason for his unpleasant staring ? That can't be as simple as that…

''What do you want from me, Thoros of Myr ? It better be worth troubling me, as I was about to go sleeping.''

Slightly embarrassed, Thoros clears his throat before picking up where he left off.

''It could be quite important for you, my lord. I wasn't sure, until today. But… your coat, recent deeds, age, and new title… Yes, I'm sure of it now. You are the one I saw in the flames.''

Huh ? How could he receive a vision of me, when I'm not even supposed to be from this world ? I thought… Wasn't I exempted from such things ? Maybe, I should hear what he has to say.

''A vision of me ? Explain yourself.''

His eyes then turn to the campfire where he had just come from, reminiscing about something before speaking.

''Oftentimes, the few visions I get are quite blurry and don't let me see enough to understand its content. However, this one was far longer than any vision I ever had. In the flames, an entire fate had unfolded before my eyes. YOUR fate, my lord.''

A long vision about my fate ? Now, that's oddly specific.

''Continue.''

His gaze becomes serious, before moving away from the fire to meet mine.

''Then let me tell you what I saw… A young lion bathed in gold and blood, with piles of skulls appearing all around it as time passes. Its unshaken form is staring at an ever-changing myriad of ice and fire. Prying eyes stare back at the beast of gold, but most of those are either blind to it or clothed in mist. And then, I saw the lion's demise… The proud beast burning alive after getting blinded by the light.''

''…''

What ?

…

My demise ? Am I to die ? By fire ?

How could this be…

But how ? A dragon's fire ? R'hllor ? A red priest ? Wildfire ? A flaming sword ? Something else ? Or just a simple fire ?

How could I possibly die with my ongoing plans and those which I intend to start soon ? All this planning, scheming, and plotting…

I don't understand…

I just don't understand.

As my thoughts run wild in panic, the red priest snaps me out of it by talking again. This time, his tone is softer and calmer.

''I do not know of which light is to blind you in this manner, my lord. But who knows, seeking yourself the Heart of Fire might save you. As a first step, one just has to believe.''

He is genuine in his words… But seriously ? Telling me to pray to his Lord of Light when the notion of light itself seems to be part of the reason for my death ? Being also named the Heart of Fire, it could even be the sole reason for my demise.

Ridiculous. Totally ridiculous.

Argh… And I hate with a passion how he seems to know it all about my fate, as if my life was just a bad show for every fake gods living around to see.

As for skulls ? We all see plenty of death, in this world. Ice and fire ? I don't see anything more than an analogy to me messing with the so-called plot. Prying eyes ? Spying is common, I don't see any problem there.

Nothing of this makes much sense. Those are banalities mixed with nonsensical bits and pieces.

How does he want me to believe this fallacious tale, anyway ? No, I don't buy it. If a red priest can be wrong while choosing the fated hero of their sect, so could another be by predicting my death. Those 'priests' don't have the absolute knowledge. They are barely even able to understand what they see in their prophetic fire.

That's it, trusting all this baseless fanatic heresy would be foolish as well as against my faith. It was a waste of time and stress.

This is NOT my fate.

''My lor-''

With a cold gaze fixed on his, I tell him the bottom of my thought.

''Stop. I have enough of your utter nonsense.''

Not looking like he wanted to leave right away, the priest gives a slightly sympathetic smile before answering.

''Sorry if I offended you, my lord. That was certainly not my intention.''

As my cold gaze intensifies, I slowly walk toward him with a scowl.

''Screw you, Thoros of Myr. Screw your order, screw your god, and screw destiny too. I'm the only wielder of my fate, with the Crone Above as sole witness. So I will ask you to kindly GET OUT OF MY SIGHT. NOW.''

While stepping back at the same cadence with which I advance towards him, Thoros of Myr sighs before speaking to me one last time.

''I must be a terrible priest, huh. Then I shall go back to drinking. Farewell, my lord. Oh and… May the Lord of Light protect you, for the night is dark and full of terrors.''

After he's finally gone away from me, I sigh in frustration at this sh*tty situation and retreat to my tent. A short night of sleep awaits me, followed by a day of siege which promises to be long.

The only certain thing is that I would like to be finished here as soon as possible. I can't see myself hanging around here for weeks on end. Fights themselves are somewhat enjoyable, waiting less so.

Well… let's see what tomorrow shall be made of.

Thus passed one of the loudest nights of my life. Considering that the firing of trebuchets never stopped, my delicate hearing kept me awake for an entire quarter of the night.

The only positive point would be that I only got up tired, no longer attacked by any symptoms of the venom of the day before. The night, as short as it may have been, was restorative to me.

Then, from morning to afternoon, almost seven long hours of boredom followed one another. During this time, no combat took place. Only the trebuchets were at work. This lasted until lord Balon lost patience and sent a great part of his troops, which held the castle until then, outside the wall to face us.

It happened twenty minutes ago, and we are now all fiercely fighting in front of the wall. Knights, guards, squires, and other warriors coming from different corners of Westeros are all shedding the Ironmen's blood beneath the southern wall separating us from the castle of Pyke.

Being still at a good distance from the wall, the trebuchets are still working nonstop and sending rocks after rocks on this tall and well-guarded wall.

Now, as I'm raising my gaze above the battlefield, I'm assisting amazed by a true sight to behold. A rock, scarcely bigger than the previous ones, is being thrown into the highest tower of the wall. And then, the thundering sound of tons of shattering stones.

What follows is a large cloud of dust spreading everywhere on the battlefield, blinding everyone for two to three minutes. But even if we no longer see each other, during this short time, the fighting continues.

''YHAAAAAAAAA !!''

Out of nowhere, a figure then appears within two meters of me, charging in my direction with axe and shield in hand. But having been warned by my danger sense, I simply dodge out of habit without even bothering to look at his incoming figure.

Once in front of me, I take advantage of the low visibility to grab him from behind and slit his throat after brandishing my dagger.

''What is dead may nev-Argh…''

The Ironborn drops to his knees before falling with his back on the ground, axe still in hand. Afterward, two other little friends of his came to join him on the ground, before the cloud finally dissipated.

As the entire landscape is once again visible to all, a real scene of carnage unfolds before us. The entire tower had crumbled along with parts of the surrounding wall, falling on the main forces of the Ironborns. Maron Greyjoy, the second son of Balon and commander of these troops, certainly died under these ruins along with hundreds of his men. An thus falls another Greyjoy.

Faced with this scene of desolation having severely weakened the rest of the rebels, the allied troops see their morale strengthened and shout before returning to battle.

''WHAAAAAAAAAAaaaaa !!!''

Axes and shields fall, blood is shed, deafening cries echo everywhere around, while heads and hands are cut left and right.

From a distance, I see many familiar faces fighting as if this day was their last. These are no longer fights to survive, but for glory and honor. Everywhere, the knights of Westeros are swinging their swords as if they are having a blast.

King Robert Baratheon is crushing skulls and destroying chests with his warhammer, alongside a fiercely fighting Eddard Stark. All the while, Jaime, Roland, and Aegys are giving their all into their swordsmanship and killing their foes in series.

As the battles taking place in the front line end, I see three men charging before the others and passing the breach in high colors.

The first is Thoros of Myr, seemingly going in some kind of pockets before rapidly coating his sword with a substance. From what I could see, this looks like a very minor dose of wildfire.

So the red priest possesses wildfire, huh. Not wanting to spread the word to men like Varys and Petyr, I didn't want to have anything to do with the hidden wildfire reserves at Kings Landing. However rare, valuable and useful it may be, so is the importance of precise planning.

But if that man either has a supplier or his own small hideout to store wildfire… That changes everything. I could try to learn more about it, and maybe get some while avoiding any negative repercussions.

The problem would then be to find competent people to handle and recreate wildfire. A new opportunity coming with new problems to be solved… I will have even more things to do after the rebellion, I guess.

And thus, Thoros runs forward with his flaming sword brandished straight upwards with its tip pointing straight at the sky, in such a theatrical fashion that it etches an unforgettable image into everyone's mind.

The second to pass through the breach is the old Jorah Mormont, lord of Bear Island, following closely the flaming sword wielding priest. And directly after, it is the turn of Jacelyn Bywater of the Gold Cloaks.

Their most striking similarity, for me, would be that the two of them are adults and squires. As they are still to be knighted, I can more or less understand their need for glory. This desire to be recognized by the king must have pushed them to charge head first toward the castle. They would then have a chance to be directly knighted by him.

Considering that many Ironborns should be inside the castle of Pyke, they are as brave as reckless. It would be a damn miracle if one of them does not end up dying.

Very quickly, we all charge group by group, moving from the wall towards the entrance of the castle. Once I arrive in front of the castle, before following the movement of the troops towards the interior of the old castle of Pyke, I quickly take a good glance at it as a whole.

What I see is a series of keeps, towers, and outbuildings perched precariously atop a row of three barren islands and a dozen small sea stacks joined by swaying rope bridges.

The towers ahead of us look to be made out of the same rocks as the island. Its structures seem to grow up out of the sea stacks in a perfectly symmetrical manner, as if naturally being part of those. The grey-black rock of the sea stacks and islets literally seems to be merging into the castle walls which are made of the same weathered dark drab stones. Where the two join one another, great lines of green lichen spread over both.

The biggest part of the castle stands on the cliff of the exposed headland, before us, protected by the now fallen wall which extends in a crescent from cliff to cliff before circling out into the sea. It continues to rear up out of the water to protect the first of the stacks. This wall used to be flanked by six tall and imposing tours, but one of those has just been brought down.

Stables, kennels, and livestock are located all around us, on the edges of the headland now wet in Ironmen's blood. When the battle is over, our numerous forces will surely take away all of those sheep and other livestock.

Having finished to briefly assess the surroundings after a duel, I focus again on the entrance and charge alongside Robert's assembled army through it. There is no apparent resistance at the entrance of the castle, the enemy troops being too disoriented to have time to properly barricade it. In the end, we just have to follow and slaughter the few fleeing Ironborns who were retreating to the castle.

Oh they did try to close the gates, but the brave trio at the front of our massive formations arrived so quickly that they all had to prepare to fight in a hurry. Following that, our sheer numbers arriving at once, we end up easily breaching into the castle of Pyke.

Even still, the insides of the castle are well guarded and this causes our progress to be heavily slowed down. With our overwhelming numbers, we don't lose the advantage at any point, but time still passes as we encounter more than solid enemy defensive blocks.

After a time, the battles continue until the heart of the castle is taken under our control. We thus begin to march on the great stone bridge leading to the first and largest islet where the last fights shall take place. All the islet is covered by the Great Keep, a massive stone structure, right up to its vertiginous edges.

The wooden gate leading to it, however, has been closed before our arrival. In addition, some archers are positioned on the ramparts of the keep, losing their arrows towards the front line.

''BRING THE RAM !!!''

The bridge being wide enough for this, the door then receives blow after blow from the ram. The gate thus slowly weakens until it slams open, allowing our forces to charge towards the last Ironborns defending their king.

''CHARGE !''

''WHAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaa !!!''

At the front, his sword still coated in wildfire, Thoros of Myr is the first to charge in the Great Keep too, followed by the two squires eager to be knighted. The fourth one seems to be… a crazy rushing Roland charging like a damn bull. Has becoming a knight gone to his head, or something ?

Once the bulk of our forces starts walking down its long hallway, we all find ourselves tight to each other while facing an even denser crowd of defenders. We have to slowly fight our way in the long and smoky Great Wall leading to the Seastone Chair.

In a place where footsteps are enough to create annoying echoes, the shouts of knights and warriors combined with clashes of swords and axes create an almost infernal cacophony of endless noises.

Being nearly glued to each other, I'm forced to use my dagger more often to stab and slit the throats of enemies. There is simply no room for full-fledged duels to take place here. While the path is nearly as narrow as it is long, the ever-increasing crowd makes it even more difficult to take a single step in any direction. We can only do our best to fight and advance ever further.

Our way to the end of the Great Hall has just begun, and already, our surroundings are getting scarcely lit by multiple fireplaces which fill the entire hallway with their heavy smoke. It goes into my mouth and nose, filling my lungs and making me cough dryly.

*Cough*

*COUGH*

*COUGH*

*Cough* *Cough*

And I'm apparently not the sole victim of this nerve-wracking sensation, as others seem to be coughing loudly.

Small fights follow one another, barely making us move forward minute by minute. In this situation, it is impossible for me to have reference points in regards to the hallway, or even related to our formation which seems to have become nothing more than an incomprehensible heap.

At this stage, I don't even know if I'm at the front of the formation or the back. The Ironborns are mingled all over the place between us as the crowd intensifies, any front lines disappearing in the process.

In the middle of this big mess, the stones of the ground begin to soak up the accumulations of wet puddles of blood. Blood is projected left and right, repainting people, walls, and ceilings in crimson red. No matter how the original armors were, we all end up drenched in blood from head to toes.

In this most disconcerting scene, I occasionally glimpse at allies dying or being seriously injured. Jacelyn looks like he just lost his right hand, while Sean took another minor blow to the head. If he survives, he will surely have new scars. I then see Herrock Kenning losing his left hand before screaming hysterically. And lastly, not far from me, I just saw Jory Cassel nearly losing his eye and receiving a deep cut on the face

''HAAAAAAAaaaaaaa !! My hand ! MY HAND !!!''

And time passes that way for nearly an hour before abruptly calming down with the Ironborns quickly getting fewer and fewer.

When I can finally stop fighting, I lean against the wall for a moment to close my eyes and quickly rest. With the fatigue, the lack of light, the irritated lungs, and the endless fights... All of this slowly put me on the edges and made some symptoms of the venom slightly come back.

In this state, I have been saved three times in a row by my danger sense alone. And I feel somewhat ashamed to have been pushed that far. But hoping to have it all simple is wishful thinking, I believe.

It's just the way it is. You do your best, but there can always be better. I'm imperfect, but mayhaps already more perfect in some ways than many people here, if not most people.

At least, I come out of it with nothing but a couple of scratches, being mostly covered in enemy blood. Perhaps, I should be somewhat proud of myself for that reason. But I can't seem to be able to do that anymore. I realize that something is now blocking me from feeling that way.

The Unshaken…

Do I truly deserve to be called as such ? This is nothing more than an image that I let the world see, while I'm hiding my pain and weaknesses in silence, behind a stoic face. I'm ready to dirty my hands, to do what has to do done, to cut out certain feelings when it's needed. Sometimes, I truly feel nothing at all. Yet, I'm less unshaken than my father is, with the large shadow of his reputation cast upon us all. I can finally understand how uncle Tygett must have felt… So how am I to feel proud, now that I carry a name which I fail to see how I could ever deserve to the fullest ?

In the end, although it serves to strengthen my image in Westeros, it is in a sense more of a curse than a gift. If I want to feel some pride again, I'll have to be more than I currently am. I'll have to be above all others and keep that place.

… A cursed gift to fight for.

But enough grumpiness and gloomy thoughts for today. It is a moment of victory, glory, and soon gains. After two months of raids, retribution is finally ours. But depts are still to be paid, hefty ones. So I turn around and walk with a firm step towards the Seastone Chair.

Arriving in front of the old throne, I look at it in all its splendor dating back thousands of years. This throne, carved into the shape of a kraken, is entirely made of oily black stone. If I remember my lessons correctly, it is said to have been found fully formed on the shore of Old Wyk, by the very first Ironmen.

At the feet of this ancient throne, I see lord Balon Greyjoy chained and kneeling before the king. He looks weak and incredibly small when compared to the towering Robert Baratheon or even the Seastone Chair itself. Yet, Balon's gaze is fierce and full of undying pride.

Lord Greyjoy's two last children alive, Theon and Asha, are kneeled a bit further behind them. The young Theon seems to be between ten and eleven names day, his older sister being thirteen. Even though the two of them look like younger versions of their tv show counterparts, their hair and eyes colors are several shades darker.

At first, I can't hear what king Robert and lord Balon are saying to each other. But once close enough, I manage to follow the rest of the conversation. I thus go to stand next to my father to attend it. Lord Eddard Stark is also present, to the right of the king.

The proud, yet weak, voice of the self-proclaimed king of the Iron Islands is then heard.

''You may take my head, but you cannot name me traitor. No Greyjoy ever swore fealty to a Baratheon.''

This assertion makes Robert slightly tremble in anger. He thus grips his warhammer firmly before looking at lord Greyjoy dead in the eyes, with a great deal of annoyance, and no respect whatsoever.

''Swear one now or lose that stubborn head of yours.''

Although he remains serious, Balon's facial expressions betray a growing hesitation. He should be hesitating between kneeling and dying. I doubt a dead man can rise again, though. And this is a man who wishes to rise again along with his people. There is no doubt about it.

These few seconds of hesitation, however, seem to be too much for Robert who begins to raise his warhammer upwards. Five more seconds and it will be the end of the Lord of Pyke and the Iron Islands.

Only five little seconds…

But it was enough to make the honorable lord Stark, O so great living definition of honor at all cost, react and try to change the outcome for his weird sense of justice.

Although I don't approve of his mentality, due to my plans, there is a high probability that it would be counterproductive for me to try to have lord Greyjoy killed. A living Balon will ensure with certainty that the North has at least one enemy to weaken it in the future.

And this result is essential, combined with the planned weakening of all the great houses except mine. It's a crucial part of my plans, an aspect that makes everything else possible and easier.

But I can use this moment to confuse a certain naive lord about me, my personality, and my intentions. This is an important aspect of politics that I also helped Lynesse to develop.

The lords of the Reach and Dorne may be rightfully seen as snakes and vipers, but lions can get as sly as both when they want to.

''Wait, NO ! Don't do this, your grace.''

The movement of Robert's warhammer comes to an abrupt halt before the king looks at his childhood friend while frowning.

''He deserves to die, Ned. Balon is another Ironborn cunt, just like the Botleys and the others. Defying my rule, installing his own kingship, breaking the king's peace... Yesterday, you stopped me from destroying all of Lordsport. That much, I could understand. But now ? A fealty for a head. I made a fair offer and he had the nerve to hesitate.''

''Aye, your grace. That offer was more than fair. But give him some time to respond. To hesitate is no sin, and there would be no honor to kill him for such reason... I like to think of you as better than them, better than the Ironborns.''

After holding his friend's gaze for a while, Robert lowers his weapon slightly before heaving a sigh.

''You became too soft, Ned.''

Just now his tone was calmer, but with a hint of hesitation still more or less apparent. So I decided it was time for me to step in and play it the Petyr style.

My father knowing me more and more in-depth, I only have to give him a certain look so that he understands my intention. After frowning during a second of contemplation, he finally nods, allowing me thus to intervene in the matter.

After taking two steps forward, I therefore address myself directly to king Robert Baratheon.

''If I may, your grace.''

At my words, his eyes avert themselves from lord Stark before landing on me. Having recently started to appreciate me, at least enough not to treat me like sh*t, he ends up allowing me to speak after a small grunt.

''State your mind, Leonard.''

My eyes then alternate between Edward and Balon, giving my false opinion with a more than sincere look. That's enough to fool everyone here except my father.

''Lord Stark is right, I believe. Damage was done and most Greyjoys died. Justice has been made... It goes without saying that debts are still to be settled, however, lord Balon's head shall not be the price demanded by house Lannister.''

My sudden support for lord Stark causes the king's eyebrows to rise in astonishment, as he mentally reevaluates his image of me before turning to his friend again.

Eddard looks at me with apparent gratitude and nods in silent thanks for my support. Naturally, I nod back at him while giving him a fake smile.

That's how you become a 'good guy' in the eyes of an honor-driven fool. And what I just gained will be useful, considering how easily he is ready to antagonize my family, after a couple of accusations made by his wife and a few words on an old book.

The king ends up giving in and lets Balon the time to think about his own fate.

''Argh, FINE. In the name of Lyanna, but only this time... *Sigh* You just found a friend in my brother-in-law, Ned, it seems.''

After turning to the chained lord, Robert states the time of reflection allowed.

''One minute, nothing more.''

However, after ten seconds of waiting, the king gets already tired of it and loses his temper again.

''Have you gone deaf ? BOW BEFORE YOUR KING AND SWEAR FEALTY, YA SH*T !''

And so did Balon did, a Greyjoy swearing fealty to a Baratheon for the first time. But that did not make the king forget lord Greyjoy's pride, his past relentlessness, and his hesitation to swear fealty. Therefore, he decides to take an additional measure concerning the terms of Balon's return to the king's peace.

''Your son will go to Winterfell as a hostage and serve house Stark. Rebel again and he shall be put to the sword.''

While the lord in question bitterly accepts this decision in silence, Robert leaves to discuss terms with lord Stark first. Meanwhile, I start to talk with my father about what we should be asking for. We already decided on what we would be demanding, but…

I just got a new idea.

With how things have turned out to be, there are risks for their future actions to not correspond to what I'm expecting them to be. I have no clue how this war was supposed to take place, but one cannot ever be too cautious. So, this idea would prevent any possible bad impact to fall upon the Westerlands.

''Father, we should make another demand.''

This makes Tywin raise an eyebrow, before wondering what's on my mind.

''Which is ? We planned to demand lord Balon to finance the biggest possible part of the repairs to be made on our land, along with as much gold as the king let us take, the thralls and salt wives identified as coming from the Westerlands to be brought back to Lannisport, and enough longships to replace each of our bannermen's burned ships. What else would you have me ask for, Leonard ?''

''Theon Greyjoy has been given to lord Stark as a hostage, but what about us ? We were the ones who suffered the most from this rebellion, after all. We should have our own insurance, our own hostage.''

This shifts my gaze to Theon, as well as the other child of house Greyjoy by his side.

''And you are thinking about the girl, I presume.''

''Precisely. We would take her as a captive and have her married to… a Lannister of the port, perhaps. Or distant kin like the Lantells and whatnot. We would thus gain a hostage and an 'arranged' marriage to a great house. With everything it entails… Under such conditions, lord Greyjoy will think twice before attacking us once more.''

After a short moment of reflection, a gleam passes through my father's eyes. What is he up to...

Once the king is done with Eddard Stark, Tywin walks up to him to talk privately about our demands. The conversation lasts for three to four minutes until Robert ends up seemingly shocked and begins to laugh all out.

''BWHAHAHAHA !! I LOVE IT ! This is a wonderful idea ! Go on, lord Lannister. Go on and announce it to him.''

My lord father then walks towards Balon before addressing him with seriousness and contentment.

''Today, I will obtain reparation for the acts perpetrated by you Ironborns on my lands. For this reason, your daughter is to come to Casterly Rock under our custody, and… marry my son Tyrion.''

Oh… The sly old man, I should have seen that coming…

Two birds with one stone. My father thought of my reasoning as a good one but decided to take advantage of this to solve another problem. At least, a problem in his eyes.

In Tywin's opinion, Tyrion's informal marriage to Tysha surely remained a failure to rectify. He couldn't catch the girl to pass her off as a greedy wh*re. But if my younger brother is formally married to Asha, the old wedding ceremony will therefore be rendered null and void.

What's more, his past marriage proposals to other nobles involving Tyrion all failed miserably. But here ? It's not even arranged anymore, it's imposed.

What my father must perceive as a thorn in the reputation of the Lannisters will therefore be removed, the problem being solved. Having Tyrion married to one of the great houses, even though this is with the Greyjoys, would look better for our family's reputation. Well done, I guess...

That doesn't seem to sit well with Balon Greyjoy, though.

''What ? I heard of him being a dwarf ! My daughter… T-TO A DWARF ? I won't stand this blatant disrespect towards my house !''

''Nonsense, as if you had a choice in the matter. Your daughter, Asha Greyjoy, will marry my son Tyrion and BREED. That will be the end of it.''

With Balon having no other choice but to accept what is imposed on him, as well as with the authorization of the king, we were thus able to settle our debts. Paid in full and some more.

After further discussion, Robert announced that a Lannisport tournament would be held once all fighting still taking place on the Iron Islands had ceased.

The king then knighted Jacelyn Bywater, in honor of his hand lost in battle. A hand for a knighthood... Not a comforting exchange, in my humble opinion. Was it me, I would have preferred to keep the hand.

Once everything is settled, I can finally leave the castle to march toward our ships. Two days in the Iron Islands were enough to make me homesick. Everything is so beautiful in Casterly Rock and Lannisport that one would almost forget the misery and chaos present in other places.

Before passing the ruins of the wall, I find myself face to face with the glorious trio having recently become knights. They look exhausted, especially Sean who has been hurt again. At this point, should the young redhead be further injured, his face would then turn into nothing but scars. Even still, they are there waiting dutifully for me.

Remembering my promise, I then stand in front of Roland to have it fulfilled.

''Ser Roland, as I promised yesterday, it is now time for you to name the men which I placed under your command. Choose well, ser, for they shall wear that name until the end.''

''Hmmm… There can only be one suitable name… THE HORN WARRIORS !!!''

Aegys and I exchange a blank stare before turning back to Roland with a deadpanned face. Our response is simultaneous and concise.

'' ''No.'' ''

Roland's face full of pride turns to despair, surely feeling betrayed that we disregard his choice to such an extent.

''Oh come on ! It's a nice name…''

The silver-haired knight shakes his head from side to side, flatly denying his friend and rival's assertion before coming up with his own idea.

''No, this is the opposite of 'nice'. The Gold Shields would be better.''

Hearing the word 'shield' come out of Aegys mouth, the Fair Isle bastard finds himself utterly horrified.

''What ?! Please, my lord, don't name the unit after my greatest rival's symbol…''

A little shyly, having remained silent until then, Sean decides to voice his opinion.

''I liked the Horn Warriors, though.''

While I pretend not to have heard anything, Aegys decides to respond somewhat firmly to the young redhead knight.

''Shut up, Sean.''

Looking a little annoyed, and with a blank stare reminding me of Jaime after losing an argument, Sean simply agrees to shut up.

''Okay…''

But enough bickering for today. So I give my final decision along with a new idea.

''Alright, calm down. All of you. I got a better idea, a more symbolic one. Until now, Lannisters were more renowned for the Rains, red ones. But I want that unit to become stronger and fiercer than all others, dare I say undefeatable, eventually one day surpassing the reputation of the Rains. The men shall thus be a new kind of rain, more representative to the lions of the Rock… The Golden Rain.''

I don't know if I just told some bullsh*t or not, but it's way better and has the awaited effect on Roland, Aegys, and Sean. The three of them end up liking this new name and accepting it without any issue.

As this small matter is settled, we then leave this place in the direction of our ships. We are finished here.

On our way there, passing near the remains of our camp, I see a fire measly lit with a few stiving embers active since last night. My eyes linger on this weakened fire that lingers, again and again, reminding me of the bitter words I have decided to deny.

It angers me to the core of my being, my ever cells wanting to rebel against a cruel lie that will haunt them forever. My blood boils and my fists clench, from that same primal anger, brought to life by an insatiable desire to survive. No, to live.

Fates want me to burn, but who decided that ? Who has the right to carve my destiny in stone ? Nobody.

I shall have it my way. And should I one day burn, so will my future foes down to the last one.

All of this is mine to decide, mine to destroy and rebuild however I see fit. Any act, any move can change a fate. Few things are unshaken and fate surely isn't.

So watch me O god of seven, watch me R'hllor, watch me other ungodly higher beings, watch me prying eyes… watch me as I deny a false destiny and carve it on my own.

My destiny, my choice, my path.

''It starts now.''