-Chapter 23-

Hi everyone, I've been waiting all day for you to pass the 500 stone mark and you've finally done it congratulations to you and thank you for all the support you give me.

Ghostrider0002

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-Chapter 23-

-3rd Person POV-

Balon stood on the highest tower of Pyke, his gaze fixed on the churning sea below.

The salty wind whipped his weathered face and played with his graying hair, but he did not move.

The news of the battle between Ronnet and Stannis had reached him early this morning, carried by one of his fastest ravens.

Ronnet... The name left a bitter taste in his mouth, the image of Harlaw Island ravaged by that man still haunted him.

The Greyjoys had ruled the Iron Islands for generations, and now this little upstart lord dared to overstep his rank.

He unfolded the letter again, the words seeming to dance before his eyes. Ronnet had defeated nearly 70,000 men with only 50,000, and he had lost only a third of his forces.

Stannis, one of the most respected strategists in Westeros, had lost almost 60,000 men, and half of them were now prisoners... It was inconceivable.

How could such a disaster have occurred?

Balon clenched the parchment in his hand, letting his frustration burst forth. Ronnet might have won this victory, but it did not matter; Balon's ships were already en route to the North, ready to pillage and conquer.

Stannis and Ronnet could fight as much as they wanted in the South; it would not affect his plans.

And yet, a sense of unease had settled in the pit of his stomach.

One question persisted in his mind:

Ronnet was more dangerous than he had imagined. If this lord could inflict such a defeat on Stannis, what could he do to the Greyjoy fleet if they met at sea?

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-POV Balon Greyjoy-

"Father?" A soft voice interrupted his thoughts; it was his daughter, Asha.

"Father, are you all right? You seem troubled," asked Asha.

Balon slowly turned to her, the cruel glint in his eyes meeting hers.

"I am thinking, Asha, about the future of the Iron Islands... About what we must do," I said, my mind never leaving my growing concerns about Ronnet Connington's rise.

'This man could end the war before we even reach the North to pillage,' I thought without revealing what worried me to my daughter.

Asha nodded, understanding that it was best not to push further for now.

Balon put the letter back in his pocket, his thoughts swirling around Ronnet and the uncertain future of the Iron Islands.

---

-3rd Person POV-

The gold adornments of the throne room seemed dull to Cersei on this dreary morning; the reflections of the sun through the high windows only emphasized the gravity of the situation.

The news of Ronnet's crushing victory had spread across the Seven Kingdoms like wildfire.

Yet it was not the news itself that concerned Cersei, but what it evoked in her.

Ronnet, once a friend, a confidant, they had shared intense moments, laughter, and secrets, but all that had been shattered by the betrayal of her own brother, Jaime, who had pushed Ronald Storm, Ronnet's son, from the tower after discovering their affair.

Since that day, everything had been different, the pain in Ronnet's eyes when he had looked at her after the tragedy still haunted her.

Cersei had always been a woman of power, but in this moment, she felt vulnerable.

Hatred and love mingled in her heart, forming a bitter potion.

She hated Ronnet for leaving her life after that incident, but she needed him and wished more than anything for him to return to her side.

The door suddenly opened, pulling Cersei from her thoughts. Littlefinger entered, his sly smile betraying an exaggerated confidence.

He had just returned from his mission to Ronnet and was reporting the threats made by the Griffon.

"The Griffon is more determined than ever," began Littlefinger in a suave voice.

"He is ready to do anything to avenge his son, and he made it clear that if the Lannisters do not submit, he will seek other alliances, perhaps even with the wolf of the North."

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"He demands the title of Supreme Lord of the Stormlands within a week, giving you a week to send the ravens," said Littlefinger.

The mention of Robb Stark made Cersei shudder. She knew that an alliance between the Griffon and the Wolf would be an insurmountable threat to the Lannisters. She had to think quickly and find a solution to prevent this from happening.

"I cannot let that happen, Petyr," she murmured, her lips trembling.

Littlefinger approached, his inscrutable gaze fixed on her.

"So what will you do, Your Grace?" he asked.

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

"I will try to bring him back, I will try to convince Ronnet that despite everything that has happened, his place is by my side."

It was a herculean task, but Cersei was determined. She had to avoid this deadly alliance at all costs and bring Ronnet back into her life, and she was willing to do anything to achieve it.

The tents were pitched in a circle, a sea of white and gray fabric in the middle of a vast plain. Robb, sitting on an improvised throne, heard the murmurs and whispers among his men.

The news had just reached them; Ronnet Connington had triumphed over Stannis, reducing an army of 70,000 men to 10,000, taking 30,000 captive, all with only 50,000 of his own troops.

The faces of the Northern men were marked by respect, some even by fear. The Griffon was already a legend, an imposing figure on the chessboard of the war of the kings.

Robb, for his part, was conflicted. He admired Ronnet's military talent, his ability to maneuver and destroy an enemy with such efficiency.

It was the kind of victory every commander wished to achieve, the demonstration of perfect mastery of the art of war.

But there was also an underlying apprehension. Ronnet was unpredictable, first loyal to the king, then to the queen, then to Renly, and yesterday fighting Stannis to "avenge" the death of his king.

No one was stupid, and everyone knew who Ronnet was really fighting for; he was only fighting for himself, so who could say on which side he would stand tomorrow? Could the interests of the Starks and the Griffon align?

His military advisor, Ser Rodrik Cassel, stepped forward, breaking his reflections.

"It's an impressive victory, my king. The Griffon is clearly a top-notch tactician."

Robb nodded, "Yes, but he's also a man we need to watch closely. His ambition could well turn towards the North."

Ser Rodrik raised his eyebrows.

"Do you think he might try to ally with Cersei? After everything that happened between them?"

The Wolf took a deep breath and said, "War makes yesterday's enemies today's allies. We must be prepared for any eventuality."

Night fell, and Robb found himself alone, the stars shining above him.

The Griffon's victory changed the game; the pieces were moving on the board, and Robb had to find a way to protect his new kingdom.

Could an alliance with the Griffon be the solution? Only time would tell.

---

-POV Stannis-

The candle flames flickered, casting moving shadows on the walls of the tent.

It seemed fitting, given the precarious position I found myself in.

The warmth of the fire failed to dispel the cold I felt deep within me.

Defeat... A word I had never thought to see associated with my name, and yet, here I am, reduced to gathering the pieces of my army, humiliated by a man I had gravely underestimated... Ronnet Connington... The Bloody Griffon...

His name had been looping in my mind since my return to Dragonstone, like a mocking chant, his strategy, his audacity, his combat skill... All qualities I had missed, and all his qualities had surpassed me.

The whispers of the lords under my command were constant, like the buzzing of a swarm of bees.

'They doubt me, and who could blame them?' I thought, for even I doubted my judgment and whether I was truly the Prince that was Promised, Azor Ahai.

I had promised a glorious victory, and instead, I led them to a massacre, a real slaughter where we lost 60,000 men, the best warriors, the most loyal knights, all fallen under the Griffon's blade.

Every time I close my eyes, I see the battlefield, the piled bodies, the blood-soaked ground. I felt like the ground would open beneath my feet and swallow me whole, so heavy was the weight of my shame.

My underestimation of Ronnet Connington had cost me dearly, very dearly. I had neglected the importance of rest, strategy, and knowledge of the enemy.

Today, I am determined to correct my mistakes. I have sent messengers to all corners of Westeros to hire mercenaries, a method I found dishonorable but used because I had to bounce back quickly.

I couldn't stay on a defeat, and I had to reassure my men that I was still the man they had chosen to crown king.

The mercenaries gathered towards Dragonstone like a swarm of rats after cheese, and in less than a month, I had six thousand men ready to fight for gold.

Adding the fifteen thousand men of my royal army, most of whom had fled Storm's End with me, and Salladhor Saan's ships, I could hope for a rematch by taking the capital and becoming the true king of Westeros.

The truth is, I am shaken to my core... A part of me doubts my ability to regain the upper hand. The shame, the anger, the bitterness... They weigh heavily on my heart.

The temptation to give up is great, but every time that thought crosses my mind, an inner voice reminds me that I am Stannis Baratheon, the true king of Westeros, and I will not surrender without a fight.

For the kingdom, for my honor, and to erase the humiliation inflicted upon me by the Griffon.

But one thing is certain... I will never underestimate Ronnet Connington again.

The next time we face each other, I will be ready... And I will defeat him.