5 A Quick Death

Iron Islands,

Orkmont,

Paxter Redwyne ran a gaze around himself, seeing nothing but death and rage all around. The proud knights of the Reach lay dead, bent and broken, under the feet of heathens and raging barbaric men who knew naught but slaughter, pillage and rape. Their cheers as they jumped across ships, slaughtering many men were only jarring to the Lord of the Arbour.

He turned his gaze to Edric who had dropped his battleaxe now and only stood there with a small smile etched on his face, the Lord Blacktyde knew full well that this battle was already done and over with and was now observing his own wounds, running a hand across his blood smeared chest.

"So 'my lord' Redwyne, what's your decision?" His words held a slight bit of ridicule, Edric would be fine either way after all, even if the man did not surrender, it would hardly be to his detriment.

Paxter scowled, pulling on the reins of his horse while at the same time raising his incredibly large lance, calling it a polearm would fit better. There was just one thing this ironborn had overlooked in his arrogance, the momentum and the vitality of his men was in no small credit to himself. As Paxter saw it, if he were to die, the ironborn under his command would break down and become easy pickings.

"I see." Edric Blacktyde smiled, clearly pleased with the development, leaning down to pick up one of the many spears laid throughout the deck, among corpses of some finely dressed knights.... perhaps smaller lords.

There were few things in this world better than witnessing one of the mainland lords fall off their high horses as the hubris of their self-appointed greatness collapsed around them.

He spun the spear around a few times, walking about the deck, all the time observing Paxter Redywne.

And then,

"Hiyah!" With a slight cry, Lord Redwyne charged at the Lord Blacktyde, his head lowered as he positioned the polearm straight for his opponent's heart.

"....Bloody retard." Edric shook his head, taking a step forward while at the same time pulling back the arm which held the spear.

The next moment, the spear was thrown, swishing through the air at insane speeds before piercing Paxter's armour as if it had never been there. The Lord was thrown off his horse, flying through the air for a good few seconds and then, with a thud, he crashed down, gasping for air as he clawed at his armour, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief with blood welling up his throat as he choked and coughed.

The horse grew fearful and averted course, the beast of nature knew when to back off. The same could not be said for it's master.

Edric Blacktyde raised a hand to the air, "Well look at that, lads! We fucked em up!" He laughed heartily, ignoring the pain from the numerous wounds he had accumulated throughout the battle.

All around, ironborn cheered loudly and audibly, shouting about how mainlanders were too big of pussies to actually be able to beat them on equal grounds as they raised their weapons to the skies.

They had won this.

As the commander fell, so did the morale of the Redwyne forces and what remained after the initial onslaught became easy pickings for the vicious ironborn who now fought with renewed vigour, it did a number to see their own lord kill the other one.

To say that it had been a victory born solely of their desire and morale however, would be somewhat wrong. Lord Paxter Redwyne, had indeed been right about one thing. As mighty as the ironborn were, this battle would have had a greatly different outcome if not for the presence of the Blacktyde Lord.

And, most importantly, while not many would know, it was also not a victory born of blind charges, the decision to board ships had been imperative in securing this insane victory.

The ironborn were not smart, they were not one for precise tactics and thought out war manoeuvres but even they could tell, this was a victory they to a great extent, owed to Edric Blacktyde.

And then, IT started.

One of the many ironborn there, raised his foot and stomped it down on the wooden corpse littered deck of one of the Redwyne ships. Another followed in his steps, then another, and another, if the drumming of the Redwyne was a sound worth noting and of great majesty then what echoed across the battlefield now could only be described as.... grandiose!

Metal boots met with wooden floors and booms followed, the ironborn stomped in silence, paying their respects to the Lord Blacktyde and then, they all cheered.

As before, those of the Redwyne that survived were once more left with shocked eyes and gaping mouths.

There was no cheer of Greyjoy. In it's place, there was only,

"Blacktyde! Blacktyde! BLACKTYDE!! BLACKTYDE!!!..."

-x-X-x-

Under the grey cloudy sky and above the raging dark sea, rough and hardy men could be seen boarding mighty beasts of wood and iron with excited and expectant gazes, each held varying weapons, bows, swords, spears, axes, whatever they fancied.

Their armour, was only chest plates, shoulder, elbow and knee paddings with warm clothes much similar to coats worn over them. Their gazes fierce, they hungered for battle, they longed to fight under the man that led them now.

When their King and his King too had abandoned them all, he'd lead them to victory against a seemingly hopeless foe. They believed in the Drowned God, a Deity of the Sea that expressed his own will and mood through the sea, seeing the sea turn from calm to raging along with the Lord Blacktyde made a deep impression on the, some might say, obsessively religious ironborn.

But then again, their religion WAS mostly rape, pillage, slaughter and sacrifice.

Currently aboard the largest of the ships in the now, ironborn fleet, that same Blacktyde sat atop a crate on the deck with a somewhat thoughtful expression on his face. Some men stood near him, while others were far too busy manning their new fleet.

"Captain, we can go for the Reach or Westerlands, maybe even the North with the mainlanders away to Pyke." A man with a short beard and a bald head suggested calmly. The Greyjoy had left them to die here anyway so it was only right to leave them to die as well.

"No." Edric answered simply and shortly, the man could only nod his head in acceptance, he'd be damned if he disobeyed him. The eyes of Edric himself were fixed on the corpse of Paxter Redwyne, he'd ordered for all others to be thrown to the sea, both ironborn and mainlander.

But, it wasn't out of being 'calculating' or something, it was because the ironborn didn't believe in burials or cremations, being thrown to the sea was the only 'burial' an ironborn would ever need.

Edric touched his chest, a total of 5 arrows were sticking out of him at the moment but his men didn't dare to call that out, what with him appearing completely unbothered by their presence. Not to mention the numerous other wounds on his figure.

Clicking his tongue, the Blacktyde gestured with his hand, "Bring me a torch and check the hull, these pompous cunts should have some good drinks somewhere." One of the younger ironborn was quick to obey his command, running off and returning with a torch within a matter of moments.

The ironborn around him observed in awe and admiration, not uttering a single word as Edric pulled out the arrows one after the other, using the burning hot flames to burn the wound close with gritted teeth. Cauterization like this was by no means safe but the arrows hampered his mobility, the wounds themselves were bearable for now.

One might wonder why he was concerned with mobility. The fighting was over after all, wasn't it? The answer to that was, no. It was far from over.

Handing the torch back to the boy, Edric stood up and walked to the forefront,

"Men! Women! Ironborn! This war is far from over. The Greyjoy may have abandoned us all but we sail for Pyke! This is our land! We're not cowards that are going to give it up just to save our own hides!" He shouted out orders with his arms behind his back, his 'army' paused whatever they were up to to listen, and obey if need be.

And hearing his words, they agreed wholeheartedly.

They would not be like the cowardly Greyjoy that hid behind tall walls, leaving the rest of their home to burn, no, they were going to do as they'd done for thousands of years, the world would fear the ironborn reavers.

"Aye!"

Their agreement was voiced by the banging of metal against wood once more. At the same time, the sea raged and roared, waves rose high and while this would scare any other man, it only served to spur the ironborn on.

Edric smiled, pleased with his people, he was not ashamed of their ways nor did he reject them, they were HIS people, he would bleed for them if need be.

"How many did we lose?" He asked with his back turned to his crew, only observing the horizon with an emotionless face. If not for the high waves, it may have been possible to see the siege of Pyke from Orkmont's shores.

"For 6,000 of the mainlanders, we lost 1,000, my lord." One of the crew reported dutifully, they had somewhat outnumbered the enemy, only by 2,000 though.

"What is dead may never die." Edric closed his eyes in respect, for those that had fallen following him, they had died for their homeland and perhaps that was what they desired, he could only hope so.

"Aye, my lord. What is dead may never die." Some among the ironborn understood that Lord Blacktyde was a somewhat passionate man.

"Well, let's prepare a little surprise for the mainlanders eh?" Edric turned around with a grin plastered on his face, his eyes fixed on the corpses of Lord Paxter Redwyne and several other lords piled up in one of the corners.

A few hours later, a fleet of over hundred warships, man-made beasts of war, sailed out of Orkmont, filled to the brim with armed ironborn, and at the head of this fleet, aboard the visibly larger flagship, a man with short white hair and a beard of the same size and colour, stood with a serious expression on his face, his hands behind his back and an expectant glint in his green eyes.

-x-X-x-

Iron Islands,

Pyke,

The island of Pyke was something of a capital for the iron islands and the majestic castle erected there was the seat of ironborn kings. It was a sparsely populated island with little to no fertile soil and only short grass accompanied by uneven land and strange rock formations.

Currently however, this 'dead' island was anything but dead. Thousands of tents had been erected across the fields and men in suits of iron marched here and there, flying different banners, representing whichever house they were from. The tents too, to some degree, seemed to show which house was occupying them.

The gigantic stone castle that had been erected atop a mountain stood tall and proud, a trench had been dug out around one side while the other was just a steep fall. Taking this heavily manned castle was proving to be a highly difficult task, it did consist of several high rising stone structures erected atop land formations isolated from the main landmass with only bridges connecting them after all.

Robert Baratheon stood outside the castle, fully armoured. The mighty King appeared akin to beast with his horned helmet and large warhammer, a stag branded on his chest plate. Many men of similar colours stood behind him, as did many with other colours. The force present on this island was by no means small but, it was all but irrelevant seeing the small bridge which only allowed a miniscule amount of man passage at any given time.

This however, was at the moment not important at all, for now at least.

At one of the beaches of Pyke, a man with the sigil of House Glover, silver mailed fist on scarlet, observed the sea with an apprehensive flint in his eyes. Lord Galbart, Head of House Glover, let out a small relieved sigh seeing the Redwyne fleet make it's way to Pyke. They needed all the men they could get.

With that, he turned around to leave only to be stopped by the horrified gasp of an Ambrose soldier. This did confuse him, House Ambrose was a banner of House Tyrell, didn't those southerner cunts pride themselves on bravery?

"What is it, boy?" He asked with a slightly annoyed expression, it was no secret that northerners didn't like southerners.

"M-My Lord." The boy frantically pointed to the ships, stuttering with a pale face.

Galbart turned around once more, curious about what could throw a man into such panic and fear only for his eyes to widen in astute shock and disbelief, "By the Gods..."

There, atop the ships that soared over high tidal waves, splashing about water, the men standing were not the Redwyne. No, the armour made it more than apparent who they were.

But that was not what scared the boy so, not by any means, it would only serve to enrage him. Many of those that came from the Reach, as well as those that believed in the Seven let out fearful noises, paling in sheer horror at the grisly spectacle visible even from there.

Lord Paxter Redwyne, as well as several lords that had accompanied him before, hung from the hulls, hanging from flaming seven pointed stars, their insides hanging freely from slit stomachs inside which the heads had been shoved.

Someone, whoever it was, was spitting in the face of the Seven.

Of course, while Galbart was quick to leave seeing ironborn manning the ships, the reach men were far too shocked and horrified to even move, even as the ships came closer, ran ashore and a shout echoed,

"Ironborn! With me!"

How could they have expected something of such...horror? Such...defiance?

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