Battle of Blazewater Bay
Maekar
Starkport
Maekar watched the docks, his eyes scanning the bustling activity as men and women prepared for the impending Ironborn attack. The plan was to meet the Ironborn at sea and use their new ships to crush and defeat them.
He was confident that the new ships and the sailors, who had been in training for years, would be able to defeat the Ironborn. They had the element of surprise, after all.
He saw Robb approach in full armor. "Let us leave for the cove," Robb said, motioning to the horses nearby.
He nodded. Uncle Ned had assigned him and Robb to lead one of the galleons, the Lady Lyanna. He wondered who would be leading the Ironborn fleet here. With all of Balon's sons alive, considering the Ironborn thought the Northerners weak when it came to the sea, he could imagine Theon leading the fleet.
They made their way to the hidden docks where the galleons were moored. The sight of the majestic ships filled him with pride. The time had come to take them to the sea.
The fleet's battle formation was meticulously planned. The five galleons, including the Lady Lyanna, were positioned at the center of the formation. They were to lead the fleet and be the first to assault the enemy ships using the Frostfire weapons installed on them. Behind them were twenty war galleys, their sleek designs built for speed and maneuverability. Ten dromonds, heavy and formidable, flanked the war galleys, ready to provide additional firepower and support.
As they sailed out to sea, Robb stood beside him, watching the fading silhouette of Greycliff Castle. "Why would the squids rebel?" Robb asked, his voice tinged with confusion.
"They are Ironborn. They are not known for their wits," he replied, a hint of disdain in his voice.
Robb laughed, the sound cutting through the tension. Maekar, however, remained focused, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He twirled his spear absentmindedly, the weight of it familiar and comforting in his hand.
After a few hours of tense sailing, the lookout's cry rang out once more, this time with more urgency. "Ironborn fleet, straight ahead!"
Maekar and Robb exchanged a determined look. Maekar moved to the front of the Lady Lyanna's deck, his spear in hand, and called for the attention of the crew. The sailors and soldiers gathered around.
"Men of the North," Maekar began, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves, "for too long the Ironborn have plagued our people, raiding our coasts, and spreading fear and destruction. They have tormented our western coast, thinking they can come and go as they please, leaving nothing but ash and sorrow in their wake."
He paused, letting his words sink in, then continued with rising fervor, "But today, we strike back! Today, we show them that the North is not to be trifled with! Today, we instill the fear of the North and its people into their very bones!"
A roar of approval erupted from the crew, their cheers echoing across the water. The sight of the determined faces around him filled him with a fierce pride. He raised his spear high, the glint of steel catching the sunlight. "For Winterfell! For the North!"
"For Winterfell! For the North!" the crew shouted back, their voices a powerful chorus of unity and strength.
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Theon
Blazewater Bay
Theon stood on the deck of the Iron Bitch, watching the so-called Stark fleet approach. One of the sailors next to him, a grizzled man with a weathered face, pointed to the five ships leading the fleet. "What sort of ship is that?" he asked, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of unease.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to discern the nature of the approaching vessels. "I don't know," he whispered, a sense of foreboding creeping over him. But then he straightened, forcing confidence into his voice. "Do not worry. What do the Northerners know of shipbuilding?" he declared, though the certainty in his voice was slowly waning as the ships drew closer.
As the strange new ships in the front approached, Theon prepared for the inevitable clash. He watched, confusion turning to horror, as the ships began to spew flames from weapons mounted on their sides and from ballistae whose heads exploded upon impact.
He saw a ship heading toward his, and before he could give the order to change course, a burst of fire—the same fire that was destroying his fleet—erupted from it. Unnatural fire arced through the sky before hitting the side of his ship. The fire spread with terrifying speed, engulfing the wooden vessel in a matter of seconds. Sailors screamed as they were caught in the inferno, their bodies writhing and blackening as the flames consumed them.
His eyes widened as he saw bolts from the ballistae strike a nearby ship, the explosion of fire spreading like wildfire across the deck. Men leapt overboard in a desperate attempt to escape the blazing inferno, their screams echoing across the water. The sea itself seemed to catch fire where the flames hit, creating patches of burning oil that clung to anything it touched.
"By the Drowned God!" he muttered, unable to believe what he was seeing. He felt the heat of the flames even from his position, the searing light reflecting off the water and turning the battlefield into a nightmarish scene of fire and death.
His heart pounded as he realized that the Northerners had brought more than just ships—they had brought a weapon of unparalleled destruction. He could see the other Ironborn vessels struggling, their crews in chaos as the flames spread. Ships were ablaze, masts toppling, and men were burning alive or drowning as they tried to flee the inferno.
Another burst of flame struck his ship. He was thrown to the deck, the smell of burning wood and flesh filling his nostrils. He scrambled to his feet, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the carnage around him. His confidence was shattered, replaced by a stark realization of the deadly trap they had sailed into.
"Prince Theon! We're losing ships fast!" one of his crew shouted, panic evident in his voice.
Theon could only stare in disbelief as the Stark fleet continued their assault, the new ships methodically unleashing their fiery wrath upon them. The once-confident smirk was gone, replaced by a look of sheer terror. He couldn't think, couldn't strategize; all he could do was watch as his fleet was systematically destroyed.
His ship shuddered violently again; they were being boarded. He scrambled to his feet, still reeling from the fire attack, and saw a figure who looked like a Stark cutting through his crew with a spear. The man moved with deadly precision, each thrust and strike claiming another life.
He took up his sword, his heart pounding in his chest. He approached the man, his steps shaky but determined. As he got closer, he realized who this deadly warrior was—the prince he had been ordered to take alive.
The prince turned to face him, his spear glistening with the blood of his men. His first swing was wild, fueled by desperation. The prince parried effortlessly, countering with a swift jab to Theon's leg. Pain shot through him as the spear pierced his flesh, and he staggered back, barely keeping his balance.
They circled each other, Theon trying to find an opening. He lunged again, but the prince sidestepped and struck Theon's arm with the butt of his spear, numbing it and causing his sword to slip slightly in his grip. He tried to swing again, but the prince was faster, his spear slashing across his other leg, dropping him to one knee.
His strikes became more frantic, but each one was met with a swift, precise counter. The prince seemed to be toying with him, inflicting painful but non-lethal wounds. Theon's arms and legs were soon covered in cuts, his movements growing sluggish and desperate.
"Fight me properly!" he yelled, but his voice lacked the conviction he wished it had. He swung wildly, but the prince caught his sword with his spear, then took hold of his arm and twisted it, sending the sword clattering across the deck.
He fell to the ground, gasping for breath, his body wracked with pain. He looked up at the prince, who stood over him, his face cold and devoid of pity.
"I surrender," Theon croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Good," the prince replied coldly. He turned to his men. "Kill them all."
His eyes widened in horror as he saw the northmen move to execute the remaining Ironborn crew. Before he could react, a sharp blow to the back of his head sent him sprawling into unconsciousness. The last thing he remembered was the cold, merciless gaze of the northern prince and the screams of his dying men.
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Read up to chapter 23 here :
p.a.t.r.eon.com/Illusiveone (check the chapter summary i have it there as well)