Chapter 11

The next day at dawn, the atmosphere at Pyke was heavy with tension and finality. Balon Greyjoy, stripped of his titles and defiance, was brought out to the courtyard where a somber crowd had gathered. The sea wind carried the echoes of the past battles, a reminder of the rebellion that had led to this moment.

Ser Ilyn Payne, the royal executioner, stood ready with his greatsword. His expression was as cold and unyielding as the blade he wielded. King Robert Baratheon watched from a raised platform, flanked by his loyal lords and knights.

Balon was forced to his knees, his eyes scanning the crowd one last time, perhaps seeking a glimpse of his son, Theon, who was now under the custody of the crown. But Theon was nowhere to be seen, kept away from this grim spectacle.

As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Robert raised his hand, giving the signal. Ser Ilyn Payne stepped forward, his greatsword glinting in the morning light. With a swift, practiced motion, he brought the blade down, and the rebellion of Balon Greyjoy came to its ultimate end.

The crowd remained silent, the weight of the execution hanging in the air. Robert turned away, his mind already on the task of rebuilding and securing his kingdom. The lords dispersed, each carrying with them the reminder of what defiance against the Iron Throne would cost.

In the silence that followed, the Seven Kingdoms took a collective breath, knowing that one chapter had closed, but many more challenges lay ahead.

—-

An hour later, King Robert convened a smaller council within the walls of Pyke. His Hand, Jon Arryn, stood at his side, along with Tywin Lannister, Brynden Tully representing his brother Hoster, Mace Tyrell, and Cregan Stark, accompanied by his uncle and Regent, Ned Stark. The air was thick with the scent of sea salt and blood, but the mood in the room was one of grim satisfaction.

Before them lay several chests brimming with gold, plundered from the coffers of the Greyjoys. The spoils of war were to be divided among the victors.

"Let's settle this quickly," Robert said, his voice echoing in the stone chamber. "The North, the Westerlands, the Riverlands, the Reach, the Stormlands, and the Crownlands. Each of you shall take your due share of the gold."

As the chests were opened, and the gold distributed, the lords murmured their approval, each assessing their share with careful eyes. Cregan Stark, though young, held his composure with the poise of a seasoned lord, his uncle Ned nodding in approval.

Once the division of the spoils was settled, Robert leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he considered their next topic. "Now, we must decide what to do with the Iron Islands themselves."

Tywin Lannister was the first to speak, his voice cold and calculating. "The Ironborn have proven themselves treacherous. Their lands should be heavily garrisoned and their fleets dismantled. We must ensure they never rise against us again."

Mace Tyrell, blustering as usual, chimed in. "We should place a loyal warden over the Iron Islands, someone who can keep them in check and ensure they pay proper homage to the throne."

Brynden Tully nodded thoughtfully. "And we must ensure the people of the Iron Islands are brought to heel. They must understand the consequences of rebellion."

Jon Arryn, ever the peacemaker, offered a more measured approach. "We should also consider a path to integration. If we can win over the Ironborn and show them the benefits of peace and loyalty, it may prevent future insurrections."

Cregan, silent until now, finally spoke up, his voice carrying the weight of Northern pragmatism. "The Ironborn respect strength above all else. We must show them that the price of rebellion is severe. But we must also offer them a path forward, a reason to stay loyal. Destroy their fleets, garrison their lands, but also show them that loyalty to the crown brings prosperity."

Robert listened, his expression a mixture of contemplation and resolve. "We will garrison their lands and dismantle their fleets. We'll place a loyal warden over them, someone strong enough to command their respect and ensure their obedience. But we'll also offer them a chance to prove their loyalty to the crown. If they betray us again, there will be no mercy."

Cregan, ever strategic, interjected. "Your Grace, instead of placing a new Warden, consider integrating the Iron Islands within the Westerlands. Their strategic position and resources could be better managed under the firm control of the Lannisters. Lord Tywin Lannister has the means and the resolve to keep the Ironborn in check. This integration would ensure a closer watch on them and a stronger unity within the realm."

Tywin's eyes gleamed with interest at Cregan's suggestion, seeing the potential advantages in such an arrangement. Robert, contemplating the proposal, saw the wisdom in it, recognizing the strength of the Westerlands and Tywin's capability to enforce loyalty.

Tywin, however, also saw through Cregan's maneuver. The Iron Islands, with their centuries of tradition in raiding and reaving, lacked the infrastructure such as trades or farms that would make them economically viable. Integrating the Iron Islands into the realm would be a massive financial undertaking, one that would drain resources from even the wealthiest of houses. But Tywin also knew he couldn't refuse the king's decision, even if that king was his son-in-law.

"Very well, Your Grace," Tywin said, his voice measured. "House Lannister will take on the responsibility of bringing the Iron Islands to heel and ensuring their loyalty to the crown."

Robert nodded, satisfied with the resolution. "Good. The realm needs stability, and I trust you, Tywin, to make sure the Ironborn understand their place."

Tywin's gaze shifted to Cregan, a silent acknowledgment of the political play. Cregan returned the look with a neutral expression, his thoughts unreadable but his resolve clear. The Demon Wolf had set the pieces in motion, and now it was time for the realm to see the consequences of his strategic insight.

Robert, seizing the moment to shift from the grim to the celebratory, raised his voice with newfound enthusiasm. "In honor of this news and to celebrate our hard-won victory," he proclaimed, "a grand tourney will be held outside the newly rebuilt Lannisport."

A murmur of approval rippled through the lords, their spirits lifting at the prospect of festivities. Robert's eyes sparkled with excitement as he continued, "And it will be paid for by the Lannisters, of course."

Tywin, ever composed, nodded his assent, though a flicker of calculation crossed his eyes. "The wealth of House Lannister is at the service of the realm, Your Grace," he replied smoothly.

Cregan, however, stepped forward, his demeanor respectful but resolute. "Your Grace," he began, "I must apologize on behalf of House Stark. We cannot attend the festivities in King's Landing. When we left for this campaign, my uncle Ned's wife, Catelyn, had recently confirmed she was with child. We would like to return to Winterfell as soon as possible, as surely my cousin would be born by now. Our duty to our family calls us back home."

Robert's expression softened as he heard Cregan's words. He nodded in understanding, his voice warm. "Family comes first, Cregan. I understand. You and your kin have fought valiantly for the realm. Return to Winterfell with my blessing."

Ned Stark, standing beside his nephew, gave Robert a grateful nod. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said. "The North will always be ready to answer your call, but now we must see to our own."

Robert turned to Ned, his oldest friend, and a warm smile spread across his face. "Meet me later for a drink, Ned," he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "We'll celebrate your newest child and toast to you for raising Cregan to be a fine warrior."

Ned returned the smile, a rare moment of relief and camaraderie in the midst of the grim aftermath. "I'll be there, Robert. We have much to discuss and more to celebrate."

—

Alone in Cregan's tent at the Northern Camp, Ned Stark sat with Benjen, Arthur Dayne, and Dacey Mormont-Stark. The atmosphere was tense but filled with a sense of accomplishment. Ned began to relate the events and discussions that had taken place among the lords.

"Cregan's suggestion about integrating the Iron Islands into the Westerlands was met with serious consideration," Ned said, his voice steady. "The idea is to break the Ironborn's rebellious spirit and ensure they are kept in check by a powerful and loyal kingdom."

Dacey Mormont-Stark, curiosity evident in her eyes, asked, "Why not integrate the Iron Islands into the North? We have fought and bled to bring them to heel."

Ned turned to Dacey, his expression thoughtful. "The North is vast and difficult to govern as it is. Adding the Iron Islands would stretch our resources and manpower thin. Additionally, the Ironborn need to be watched closely, and the Westerlands, with their wealth and power, are better equipped to handle that responsibility. It ensures the Ironborn remain subdued and less likely to rebel again."

Cregan, standing beside Ned, nodded in agreement and elaborated further. "The Ironborn have spent centuries raiding and reaving others, so much so that it's become a part of their culture. 'We do not sow' are not just words they say; they literally mean it. There are no farms or any other infrastructure on the Iron Islands that can be a reliable source of income. They survive by taking from others. Governing them would require more than just military might; it would require a complete restructuring of their way of life, something the North cannot afford to undertake."

Dacey looked between them, absorbing their reasoning. "I see your point. The Ironborn need a firm hand, and the Westerlands are better suited for that role. It will ensure they are kept in check and prevent any future rebellions."

Cregan nodded in agreement. "Indeed," he said. "We will use our share of the gold to rebuild the stronghold of Sea Dragon Point and strengthen the defenses of our Western Coast. The Ironborn may be subdued for now, but we must remain vigilant." 

With a shared sense of purpose, they began to make plans for the future, ensuring the security and prosperity of the North.

—

As the day drew to a close, the campfires of the Northern army flickered against the encroaching darkness. Laughter and the clinking of tankards filled the air as the soldiers celebrated their hard-won victory. In the midst of the revelry, a group of bards gathered, their instruments at the ready. The flickering firelight cast long shadows as they began to sing a new song, one that had already begun to spread through the camp.

The melody was haunting and powerful, capturing the essence of the fierce battle that had taken place. The bards' voices rose and fell in harmony, recounting the tale of the Demon Wolf, Cregan Stark, and his epic duel with Dagmer Cleftjaw.

"From the frozen lands of winter's might,

Came the Demon Wolf, fierce in fight.

With Red Rain and Nightfall in hand,

He brought terror to the Ironborn's land.

Dagmer Cleftjaw, strong and bold,

Stood his ground, defiant and cold.

But the young wolf, with courage and skill,

Struck down his foe, bending iron to his will.

With a howl that echoed through the night,

The Demon Wolf led his men to the fight.

The Ironborn fell, their spirits broken,

As the Northern might was clearly spoken.

In the halls of Pyke, the victors stand,

Bringing peace to a troubled land.

The Demon Wolf, with eyes of ice,

Stood tall, his valor a worthy price."

The song's final notes lingered in the air, and the gathered soldiers erupted in cheers and applause. The bards bowed graciously, their song a testament to the bravery and strength of Cregan Stark and his men. As the night wore on, the camp continued to celebrate, the story of the Demon Wolf's triumph spreading far and wide, ensuring that his legend would endure for generations to come.

—

Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon sat together, reminiscing about the old times. The atmosphere was warm, filled with the camaraderie of long-standing friendship. 

Robert raised his cup, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "To the good old days, Ned," he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Ned raised his own cup, masking his true feelings behind a facade of camaraderie. "To the good old days," he echoed, clinking his cup against Robert's. 

As they shared stories and laughter, the memories of their shared past brought a sense of bittersweet nostalgia, reminding them of the bond they once shared.

—

Jaime Lannister approached Ser Arthur Dayne, a mixture of respect and curiosity in his eyes. "Ser Arthur," he began, his voice carrying the weight of years of unsaid words. "There's something I've been meaning to talk you about... the sack at King's Landing."

Ser Arthur regarded Jaime with a solemn nod, acknowledging the gravity of the topic. "Go ahead, Jaime," he replied, his voice calm but tinged with sorrow. "What is it you wish to talk about?"

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Jaime continued, "I... I know you've heard stories about what happened that day. I know you weren't there, but..." He paused, searching for the right words. "I know you migh have heard from Princess Elia, and you... you know what I did."

Jaime took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Arthur. "I killed the Mad King," he confessed, his voice heavy with the weight of his admission. "I stabbed him in the back to stop him from burning down King's Landing. It was... it was the only thing I could do to save the city and the people." 

Arthur's expression softened as he listened to Jaime's confession. He placed a reassuring hand on Jaime's shoulder. "You did what you thought was right in a moment of crisis," he said, his tone understanding. "Sometimes, the path of honor is not always clear, but we must live with the choices we make."

Arthur then shared a solemn revelation with Jaime, recounting a conversation he had with Princess Elia about that fateful day. "Princess Elia spoke of your valor," he began, his voice carrying the weight of the memory. "She witnessed your courage as you faced the Mountain, even after losing your sword hand. She knows that she and her children are alive today because of you, Jaime."

Arthur paused, his gaze meeting Jaime's with solemn conviction. "Your actions that day were the embodiment of knighthood," he continued. "You upheld the values of honor and chivalry, proving that true courage lies not just in strength of arms, but in the strength of character."

Jaime, visibly moved by Arthur's words, felt a sense of validation wash over him. It was a validation he had long sought, a confirmation that his deeds had not gone unnoticed or unappreciated. As he absorbed Arthur's words, he realized that, despite his flaws and mistakes, he had, in that moment, fulfilled the true essence of knighthood.

Seeking to change the subject, lest his emotions overwhelm him, Jaime cleared his throat. "Speaking of valor," he began, "have you heard the latest song the bards are singing about your nephew, Cregan?"

Arthur nodded with a slight smile, acknowledging Jaime's unspoken gratitude. "It's good to be recognized for one's valor, especially in times like these," he replied, his tone warm and reassuring.

Jaime nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Indeed, Ser Arthur," he said. "Your training has undoubtedly shaped Cregan into the formidable warrior he is today."

Arthur's smile widened, a glimmer of pride shining in his eyes. "Ah, yes, I do have an eye for talent, don't I?" he replied with a hint of jest. "After all, you were my squire once, weren't you, Jaime?" 

Jaime chuckled, a wry grin playing on his lips. "Indeed, Ser Arthur, and the best one you've ever had, if I may say so myself," he quipped, his tone lighthearted.

Arthur's expression softened, and he placed a hand on Jaime's shoulder. "You are, Jaime. The fact that you learned to fight with your left hand after losing your right is proof enough of that. It takes a true knight to adapt and persevere in the face of such adversity."

Jaime nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "Thank you, Arthur. Your words mean more than you know," he said sincerely.

As the night wore on, Jaime and Arthur continued to drink and reminisce, sharing stories of happier times. The camaraderie between them provided a brief respite from the harsh realities of war, a reminder of the bonds forged in blood and honor. The warmth of their friendship and the shared memories of past glories made the night one to remember, even in the shadow of the battles yet to come.

—

Early the next morning, Ser Jorah Mormont, newly knighted, made his way through the Northern camp towards Cregan Stark's tent. The sun had barely risen, casting a pale light over the assembled forces. Jorah's mind was still abuzz with the events of the previous day, but he quickly focused as he approached the tent, where he was summoned for a meeting.

Upon entering, he found Cregan seated at a sturdy wooden table, with Ned Stark and Benjen Stark standing nearby. The atmosphere inside was one of quiet intensity, the air heavy with the weight of their recent victory and the challenges that lay ahead.

"Lord Cregan," Jorah greeted with a respectful nod, then turned to acknowledge the others. "Lord Eddard, Lord Benjen."

Cregan looked up from the maps and documents spread across the table and gestured for Jorah to join them. "Ser Jorah," he began, his tone measured and commanding, "thank you for coming. We have much to discuss regarding our next steps."

Ned stepped forward, his expression as serious as ever. "Your bravery at the breach was commendable, Jorah," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "We have a crucial task for you."

Jorah felt a surge of determination. "I'm ready to serve, my lords," he replied, his voice steady and resolute. "What would you have me do?"

Cregan stepped forward, his expression serious. "The Northern share of the spoils of war will be put to good use," he began. "We plan to strengthen the Western shores of the North. This will primarily include the reconstruction of the stronghold of Sea Dragon Point, which, once completed, will be Benjen's seat."

Benjen nodded, a determined look on his face. "I'll make sure Sea Dragon Point stands strong. The North will be ready for anything."

Jorah smiled, genuinely happy for Benjen. "It's good to see you taking on such a vital role, Lord Benjen. And with you being Lord of Sea Dragon Point, Dacey will be closer to Bear Island. It's a win for all of us."

Cregan continued, "However, the other ports will also need to be expanded. Primary among them is the Bear Islands, which belongs to House Mormont. Jorah, your family has always been loyal and steadfast. The Bear Islands must be fortified to ensure our western coast remains secure."

Jorah nodded, understanding the weight of the responsibility. "House Mormont stands ready, Lord Cregan," he said with resolve. "We will do whatever it takes to protect the North."

Jorah had originally planned to go south to take part in the tourney being held at Lannisport, hoping to earn a name for himself and win some gold, something that would greatly help with the running of Bear Island. But with this important task before him, Jorah began to rethink his plan. Duty to the North outweighed personal glory, and he knew where his priorities must lie.

—

An hour later, Cregan, along with Ned and Arthur, presented themselves before the king to take their leave from Pyke. Robert stood with a goblet of wine in hand, his mood considerably lighter after their earlier discussions and the resolution of the rebellion.

Ned stepped forward first, giving a respectful nod. "Your Grace, we are ready to depart. The North needs tending, and we have much to rebuild."

Robert grinned, clapping Ned on the shoulder. "Aye, you Starks are always eager to get back to the cold and the wolves. But before you go, join me for a drink. It's not every day we have a victory like this to celebrate, and I want to toast to your newest addition." He turned his gaze to Cregan, his smile widening. "And to your nephew, who has proven himself a fine warrior."

Cregan inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you, Your Grace. It has been an honor to fight alongside you."

Ned, standing proudly beside them, added, "Cregan has shown great promise, Your Grace. The North is in capable hands."

Robert raised his goblet high. "To House Stark and the Demon Wolf! May the North always stand strong."

As they all took a drink, the mood was a mix of camaraderie and relief. The rebellion was over, and for the moment, peace reigned in the realm. But each of them knew that the challenges were far from over, and there would always be new battles to fight and new threats to face.

Ned, ever the pragmatic one, spoke up again. "Your Grace, we must also make plans to rebuild. The North has suffered, and we will need resources to restore what was lost."

Robert nodded thoughtfully. "You will have the support of the crown, Ned. Whatever you need, just ask. The North has proven its loyalty time and again."

Cregan, seizing the moment, added, "We will use our share of the gold to rebuild the stronghold of Sea Dragon Point and strengthen the defenses of our western coast." Then, he continued, stating that the effort of rebuilding would be much easier if 'The Gift' was returned to the North.

"Our efforts to rebuild will be greatly enhanced if 'The Gift' is rightfully returned to the North," Cregan stated firmly. "The lands south of the Wall were gifted to the Night's Watch to support them in guarding the realm. But as we've seen, the Night's Watch has been neglected and weakened. It's time these lands are put to better use, in the service of the North."

Ned Stark nodded in agreement. "The resources of 'The Gift' could greatly aid us in our efforts to rebuild and fortify our defenses. It's only right that they are returned to the North, where they belong."

Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, raised an eyebrow, his expression cautious. "Ned, you know that the 'The Gift' was given to the Night's Watch, and it has remained under their jurisdiction for centuries. To alter that now would set a dangerous precedent."

Ned's tone remained firm as he addressed Jon Arryn. "Times have changed, Jon. The North has been a steadfast ally in this war, and the resources of 'The Gift' are needed to secure our borders from the wildlings that sneak into the North and protect the realm. It's a matter of necessity."

Jon Arryn, ever the voice of reason, paused to consider Ned's words. He understood the strategic importance of securing the borders, but he also knew the delicate balance that must be maintained among the regions of the realm. "I understand your concerns, Ned," he replied, his tone measured. "But we must ensure that the interests of all the regions are taken into account. 'The Gift' has historically been a resource for the Nights Watch."

However Robert, who was in high spirits in the aftermath of the war, was more than happy to acquiesce to the Starks' demands. "You're right, Ned," he agreed with a broad grin. "The North has proven its loyalty time and again. The resources of 'The Gift' are yours to use as you see fit. Let us secure the borders and protect the realm together."

Ned nodded, grateful for the king's support. "Thank you, Your Grace. The North will ensure that 'The Gift' is put to good use in service of the realm."

With the matter settled, they turned their focus to the task ahead.

—

The Northern Fleet set sail from Pyke, their longships cutting through the choppy waters of the Sunset Sea. The grey skies overhead seemed to echo the somber yet resolute mood of the Northern warriors. They had accomplished their mission, but the scars of battle were still fresh, and the weight of what lay ahead was heavy on their shoulders.

Cregan Stark stood at the prow of his ship, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Beside him, Ned Stark and Arthur Dayne shared a quiet conversation, discussing the plans for the North's rebuilding and future defenses. The wind whipped through their hair, carrying the salty tang of the sea.

As the fleet moved further from Pyke, the imposing silhouette of the castle slowly faded from view. The Ironborn stronghold was now behind them, its rebellion quashed, but the memory of the fierce battles fought there would linger for a long time.

Benjen Stark, standing with Dacey Mormont-Stark near the ship's mast, looked back at the distant island. "We did what we came to do," he said, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Now it's time to focus on our home."

Dacey nodded, her expression firm. "The North will rise stronger from this. We've faced worse and come through it."

As the ships sailed on, the men and women of the Northern Army began to settle into the rhythm of the journey. Some tended to their wounds, while others exchanged stories of bravery and loss. The camaraderie that had been forged in the fires of battle would serve them well in the days to come.

Cregan, still at the prow, allowed himself a moment of reflection. The title "Demon Wolf" echoed in his mind, a testament to the ruthless determination he had shown. He knew that his actions had not been without controversy, but they had been necessary for the safety and strength of the North.

Ned joined him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You did well, Cregan," he said. "The North is proud of you."

Cregan gave a small nod, his resolve unwavering. "We have much to do, Uncle. The rebuilding, the defenses... We can't afford to let our guard down."

"We won't," Ned replied. "We'll make sure the North is ready for whatever comes next."

As the fleet continued its journey home, the Northern warriors knew that their work was far from over. But they sailed with a sense of purpose and unity, ready to face the challenges ahead and secure the future of their beloved homeland.

---

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