Battle of Seagard's Waters

It was dark outside, with everyone still asleep. The loud banging on my door quickly jolted me awake.

"Who is it?!" I shouted, my voice rough with sleep.

"It's me, my lord!" came the urgent voice of my maester.

"Come in!" I called out, giving him permission to enter.

He entered swiftly, handing me a letter. "A letter from the Hand of the King, my lord."

I took the letter from his hand and broke the seal. As I read through it, my expression grew more serious.

To Torrhen Stark, Lord of Moat Cailin,

I trust this letter finds you well, though I bring troubling news from the western shores. The Ironborn have grown bold once again, and the treachery of Balon Greyjoy has become known to us all. He now fancies himself a king, styling himself as the King of the Iron Islands, and seeks to plunge the realm into chaos.

Lannisport has been attacked and raided on Balon's orders. The fleet of 50 ships under the command of Rodrik Greyjoy, Balon's son, was last sighted departing from the western coast, and word from our scouts indicates it may be heading northward.

If the Ironborn are permitted to strike at the Riverlands and the North unchecked, they could wreak havoc on the lands and disrupt the peace we have fought so hard to maintain.

King Robert commands you to intercept this fleet, destroy it if you can, and drive the Ironborn from the North back to their desolate islands. We cannot allow Balon to press his claims or gain any foothold on the mainland.

The realm must stand united against this rebellion, and your swift action is vital to ensuring the security of the Riverlands and the North, as well as the stability of the kingdom. Lord Stannis will move around Dorne with the Royal fleet and the Redwyne fleet to deal with the Iron fleet in the South.

I trust in your strategic mind and the strength of your forces, Lord Torrhen. May the Gods watch over you in this endeavor.

By order of King Robert Baratheon,

Jon Arryn

Hand of the King, Lord of The Eyrie, Defender of The Vale, and Warden of the East.

I handed the letter back to the maester. "Prepare all the galleys, 15 caravels, and carracks, along with the men and provisions. We set sail in three hours."

I quickly donned my armor and readied myself. This would be my first battle, and I needed to be prepared.

Timeskip: Six Hours

As we navigated through the canal, I ordered the men to raise boom chains to block any naval entry by the Ironborn. My goal was to intercept Rodrik Greyjoy in open sea, where our superior firepower and maneuverability would give us an advantage.

Battling near the coasts would be more challenging but not impossible. The Ironborn fleet typically relied on longbows, and they had around 100 in their ranks.

The Ironborn fleet posed little threat to the Reach due to the Redwyne fleet and to the Iron Throne because of the Royal fleet and their heavy galleys.

Stannis would likely have around 280 galleys moving around Dorne to the South. Balon's rebellion stemmed from overconfidence, having attacked and burned the Lannister fleet of around 30 ships, mistakenly believing the Iron Throne's power was waning.

Their mistake could turn to my advantage. I needed more wood, particularly oak and larch trees, to expand my port, and I intended to claim these resources if victorious.

Rodrik was likely heading toward Seagard. I had already sent a warning to the Mallisters about the potential Ironborn attack. Once Rodrik neared the shore, I planned to cut off his escape route with a crossing the T formation.

I took a deep breath, hoping everything would go according to plan.

Timeskip

POV: 3rd Person

The sun was high in the horizon when Torrhen Stark's fleet came into view of the retreating Ironborn ships. The sea was choppy, with a brisk wind carrying the salty scent of the ocean and the faint metallic tang of impending battle. Torrhen stood at the prow of his flagship, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the enemy vessels.

"Thirty-six ships, my lord," the captain reported, his voice grim. "It seems Lord Mallister has already bloodied them."

Torrhen nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Good. Let's finish what he started. Signal the caravels to advance and harass. I want those Ironborn ships drawn out and scattered."

As the orders were relayed, the fleet sprang into action. The sleek caravels, built for speed and maneuverability, darted forward like arrows loosed from a bow. They weaved between the larger ships, their crews working in perfect unison to close the distance to the Ironborn fleet.

Ironborn Perspective

Aboard the Sea Bitch, Rodrik Greyjoy felt the weight of impending doom pressing down on him. The chaos of the failed raid on Seagard had already taken a toll, and now the Northern fleet bore down on them with relentless precision. Rodrik's men were weary, their spirits dampened by the sight of their battered ships and the growing realization that escape might be impossible.

Rodrik slammed his fist on the rail, frustration etched on his face. "Damned greenlanders!" he spat. "Form up! We'll send these wolves to the Drowned God!"

His first mate, a grizzled veteran named Ulf, approached with a worried expression. "Lord Rodrik, we've lost men and ships already. We can't hold them off."

Rodrik's eyes blazed with stubborn defiance. "Hold them! If we die, we die fighting. We'll make them pay for every inch of sea!"

Northern perspective

The Ironborn ships, still licking their wounds from the failed raid on Seagard, struggled to organize. Some captains, eager for glory or driven by fear, broke formation to engage the swift caravels that nipped at their heels.

Torrhen watched the chaos unfold with a keen eye. "Now," he commanded. "Send in the galleys. Cut off their retreat and prepare the scorpions."

The heavily armed galleys, which had been holding back, surged forward. They moved in a wide arc, their oars churning the water to foam as they sought to encircle the Ironborn fleet. The trap was sprung.

As the galleys closed in, the first volleys of arrows arced through the air. The sky darkened momentarily as hundreds of shafts rained down upon the Ironborn ships. Men screamed and fell, some tumbling into the churning waters below.

But it was the scorpions that truly turned the tide. Massive bolts, each as long as a man, whistled through the air with terrifying accuracy. They punched through the hulls of Ironborn ships, splintering wood and skewering men. One particularly well-aimed shot took out the Sea Bitch's steering oar, leaving Rodrik Greyjoy's flagship wallowing in the waves.

Rodrik Greyjoy roared in defiance. "Return fire! Show these cravens how true Ironborn fight!"

The air filled with the twang of bowstrings as the Ironborn longbowmen loosed their own volleys. Arrows clattered against wooden hulls and shields, finding flesh where they could.

Yet, the Northern ships, with their higher sides and better armor, weathered the storm far better than their foes. The Ironborn arrows, while deadly, were no match for the devastating power of the scorpions.

Torrhen's voice cut through the chaos. "Bring up the carracks! I want those catapults and ballistae firing as soon as they're in range!"

The massive carracks, floating fortresses bristling with siege weapons, lumbered into position. With a thunderous crack, the first stone flew from a catapult, arcing high into the air before crashing down onto an Ironborn ship. The vessel's mast splintered, sending men tumbling into the rigging.

More projectiles followed—stones, flaming pitch, and even chained shots designed to tear through rigging and sails. The ballistae on the carracks, even more powerful than the scorpions on the galleys, launched enormous bolts that could pierce multiple ships in a single shot. The Ironborn fleet, caught between the harassing caravels and the encircling galleys, now found itself under relentless bombardment from the carracks.

Rodrik Greyjoy, his face streaked with blood and grime, bellowed orders to his captains. "Break through their lines! We'll not die like rats in a trap!"

A group of Ironborn ships, led by the crippled Sea Bitch, formed a wedge and drove toward a perceived weak point in the Northern formation. But their charge was met with a wall of scorpion bolts and ballista fire. Ships were holed below the waterline, their crews frantically trying to plug the leaks even as more bolts rained down upon them.

Torrhen saw the Ironborn's desperation. "Focus fire on their flagship," he commanded. "Let's end this quickly."

The Northern ships concentrated their most powerful weapons on the Sea Bitch. Scorpion bolts raked its decks, while ballista shots tore through its hull. A flaming projectile from a catapult set its sails ablaze. Within minutes, the pride of the Ironborn fleet was reduced to a burning wreck.

As the sun began to set, casting a blood-red glow over the carnage-strewn waters, the last of the Ironborn resistance crumbled. Rodrik Greyjoy, pulled from the wreckage of his ship, was brought before Torrhen Stark in chains.

Torrhen surveyed the beaten man before him, then turned his gaze to the horizon where the last of the burning Ironborn ships were slipping beneath the waves. "Your father's rebellion ends here, Greyjoy," he said quietly. "The people of the mainland remember, and we do not forgive easily."

With the battle won, Torrhen set about the grim task of counting his losses and securing the prisoners. Thanks to the overwhelming firepower of his fleet, Northern casualties were surprisingly light. Messengers were dispatched to Seagard and Casterly Rock, where the king was temporarily residing, bearing news of the decisive victory.