16 Chapter- 15

Previously in this story:

MC came with the Idea of the Versailles treaty on Ironborn

While Alaric and co were busy counting fish on the shores and trying their best to kidnap—ahm freeing shipwrights and shipbuilders with a burning heart from the tyranny of Greyjoy rule. The Navy of the seven kingdoms was also busy dragging their ships from shallow water to deep water.

Meanwhile, general Alyn got himself a new task; the young general shuddered at the mere thought of it. He was sure this was his last journey. He could not understand where he had offended the young lordling; the other two boys of lord stark were not as problematic him. They had been going around the camp interested in swords and spears, not mouth and ears. He could only grit his teeth and pray to both old and the new gods. He rode as quick as he could towards Pyke.

In Lordport, Botley castle and the surrounding settlements, not a single brick was left intact by Attacking armies before moving onto the siege of Castle of Pyke. Even the sept of Lordsport was destroyed brick by brick. One of the Northern Kidnapper—ahm, a dutiful Northern slave liberator noted the next day after the sacking.

In the vicinity of Castle Pyke, both sides again fought another battle, but there is always a big but. Fierce they might, yet they were effortlessly thrown back like loose sand trapped in the fist by the combined forces of the Crownlands, Northmen and the Stormlords.

Yet the first thing in the morning, the combined armies of the Kingdoms did erect as many siege engines as they could before the general attack on the castle Pyke. The King had enough trebuchets up in the next two days.

For the next two days, Stones after Stones like rain bashed upon the walls without interruption.

Scores of archers traded rain of arrows and harvested lives in a continuous barrage of the arrows until archers on both sides ran out of strength to pull.

The Ironborn had the cover of walls, while the Northmen improvised a wall of the shields and makeshift boards upon sticks tied together then fixed on the ground to provide the cover for the archers. The only relief was the lack of a moat.

"Sieges are bloody and dull affair, what do you say, Ned? all we do is sit around and watch others play around like fools," King asked, his bright blue eyes at the soldiers hiding behind makeshift cover.

"A bloody harvester of lives, I say! Your Grace," clad in the grey of his house, Ned affirmed.

The King had wanted to dig at the foundation of the walls, but the land here is as hard as stubborn Ironborn.

After a while, archers withdrew from the ground battlements. All they could do was bask in the cold, harsh salty sea breeze.

When the archers fell silent, trebuchets roared, stones flew up in a beautiful arc forcing the defenders away from the wall until another batch of archers arrived to take the positions. The Infantry armed to the teeth could only watch the excitement from afar until the wall would collapse or the gates fall; they could not even rest in the day.

Clad in grey with the emblem of bear on the chest plate Jorah Mormont stood with his ancestral blade longclaw in hand and a drunk priest by his side. He had enjoyed the company of the drunken priest. These past three days, he had all kinds of rumours. The most outrageous is a rumour 'when the King whores in the whore house the priest, drunk as a skunk, preaches sermons of fire lord beside him.' Still, give the man a chance this drunk as skunk priest would convince Lord of the Seven Hells himself into whoring and drinking.

Jorah had noticed the priest standing all day with them awaiting, for the breach, a sword in right hand and a bottle in left.

Boom!!!! A loud bang echoed in the air. The southern part of the wall collapsed along with the tower, and beneath it, Maron Greyjoy defending this side of the wall.

Before anyone could come to their senses or react.

The Drunken priest had already ignited his sword coated in wildfire and lunged at the breach roaring like madmen in heat.

Jorah was only a second late to react.

Next, You all know the rest.

The Drunken priest with a burning sword broke into the castle killing, scaring maiming men with a sword behind Mormont lad from the North hacking and slashing the valyrian steel his way forward threw the cheap armours into the soft flesh, leaving behind only the corpses and blood.

Soon rest of the army followed like madmen chasing after a snatched prize.

Soon after an hour or two, Balon Greyjoy was dragged with a crown made of sticks above his head in chains from his throne room then thrown at the legs of the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Balon Greyjoy looked up; chains clattered against the floor," you may take my head, but you cannot name me traitor. No Greyjoy ever swore fealty to a Baratheon.

"Then swear one now or lose that stubborn head of yours," the King replied.

Balon Greyjoy immediately swore an oath witnessed by every nobleman from Crownlands and the North. It's better to bend the knee and live than die and lose everything. There will always be another day and another chance.

So King Balon lost his title and fell down to lord of the Iron Islands.

"Too bad! You surrendered too early. I wanted to flatten your islands with corpses and build another with skulls." The King sighed in utter disappointment.

"Your Grace, we should do away with his head! Let them hold his funeral and another moot, and we deal with whoever replaces him. Roose Bolton interjected, his voice ever soft and small.

"This will do more harm than good," Ned objected. "We don't know who will take his place; I say we let him continue to hold his seat, and I take his son as my ward in Winterfell as a guarantee of his continued good behaviour." Ned wanted to quickly wrap this up and pack his bags back to the North and save everyone from more misery of war. Maybe the young Greyjoy could be raised as honourable men who would go on to rule the Iron Islands with Honor.

Before the King could think or speak, another voice interrupted his thought process.

Alyn knelt on one knee, "Your Grace! Men have bled in your name, they have died in your name, some of them will never return complete, and they continue to serve in your name, but it would be a grave injustice if the lords of Iron islands are not to receive punishment for a war they started."

Alyn gave a speech so impassioned almost all the Northmen banged their boots on the ground, especially the mountain clan chiefs.

No one hates the Ironborn with a passion more than the mountain clans. The Ironborn occupy the second spot in the list of the most hated enemy of mountain clans.

Lord Stark fixed his eyes upon him to see what game he was playing. He even wanted to stop him but thought better of it because he already knew the mouth would be his but not the words.

"What do you mean to say? Speak without shiny words," the King's bright blue eyes narrowed at the young Northerner as he gestured the man to get up. He still had a good impression of him after the landing battle.

"Your Grace, if you do not punish them, it will set a dangerous precedent. Rebels in future won't think of consequences when they rebel against you."

"If someone dares, I would just smash their heads with my hammer," the King pounded his chest in the declaration. "But I would still like to hear what you wish to propose."

Since he had the King's attention, Alyn finally proposed four punishments.

1— Break all the ships in the Iron fleet

2— Pay 2 million golden Dragons.

3— Free all the thralls under the captivity of Ironborn

4— Lords of Iron Islands are not allowed to raise more than ten ships per lord.

Lord Balon's face turned purple in anger, " You dare motherfucker! Ironmen are not so easy to bully," he exploded with the most vicious vocabulary he could find.

Author's note

Sorry I was a little late in uploading. I was away from PC and was working on my own original idea.

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