The Beginning of an End

As we finalized our preparations for departure, I noticed white sails on the horizon. House Manderly's banners flapped in the morning breeze, their fleet gleaming under the rising sun as they neared. The sea lay still, but the tension in the air was palpable. A low murmur spread through the men as they recognized the massive war galleys of White Harbor approaching.

The harbor bustled with activity. Ships of all sizes jostled for position, armor clanged, and sailors barked orders. It was the chaotic symphony of an army readying for war. I stood on the deck of my flagship, Moat's Vengeance, surveying the scene. The weight of command pressed down on my shoulders, but I welcomed it. This was what I had prepared for since taking charge of Moat Cailin.

"Eddard's finally decided to join us," I muttered, glancing at the pier where Robert stood, a beaming grin plastered across his face. Always eager for battle, Robert's excitement radiated, even as the rest of us held a more tempered outlook.

Robert's figure dominated the pier, his booming voice cutting through the din as he shouted orders and laughed with his men. The king was in his element, thriving on the promise of battle. I admired his spirit, even as I worried about the consequences of his recklessness.

The Manderly flagship, larger than the rest, docked with practiced ease. Its hull kissed the pier, and the ramp lowered. Eddard Stark disembarked, clad in his usual somber attire, his grey cloak flowing in the sea breeze. He walked with purpose toward Robert, his face stoic, though I could sense the warmth of reunion in his eyes.

I studied him closely as he approached. Eddard carried himself with a quiet dignity that commanded respect. His face, weathered by the harsh North, bore the lines of a man who had seen more than most. Yet his gaze remained sharp, driven by an unwavering sense of duty.

Robert's laughter boomed again as he clasped Eddard's arm, pulling him into a brotherly embrace. "Ned! About bloody time you got here! I was beginning to think the North had frozen you solid."

The contrast between them was striking. Robert, loud and boisterous, his beard wild and belly straining against his armor, stood in stark contrast to Eddard's quiet, composed demeanor. Yet the bond between them was unmistakable, forged through rebellion and tempered by years of brotherhood.

Eddard allowed a small smile. "I wouldn't miss this, Robert. The Ironborn have troubled us long enough."

"Aye, that they have," Robert replied, his arm gesturing grandly toward the ships behind him, including mine. "We'll show them what happens when they stir the lion and the wolf together."

As I observed their exchange, I couldn't help but reflect on the intricate web of alliances binding the Seven Kingdoms. Robert and Eddard's friendship was a pillar of stability for the realm. But even the strongest pillars could falter under enough strain.

Eddard's eyes swept the fleet, assessing the combined strength. His gaze found me, and he approached. "Torrhen," he greeted, clasping my shoulder. "It seems we'll be sailing together."

I straightened under his gaze. Despite five years having passed, I had always felt a mixture of regret and sadness in his presence, as he always reminded me of my family. "It's good to see you, Eddard," I replied. "With you and the Manderlys, we stand a better chance."

"You've done well gathering your forces," he remarked, his eyes briefly lingering on my ships. "Moat Cailin thrives under your watch."

I let out a modest chuckle. "The swamps have their advantages. But Balon Greyjoy won't surrender without a fight."

Eddard's expression darkened. "No, he won't. But we'll make sure he pays for every life he's taken."

His words carried a weight that settled between us. We both understood the cost of war, the blood that would spill, and the scars left behind. Yet we knew this conflict was necessary. The Ironborn threat had to be quashed.

With nothing more to say, we watched as the final preparations unfolded. The harbor swarmed with activity—supplies loaded, weapons sharpened, and ships readied for war. Sailors scampered up masts, unfurling sails. The air thickened with the smell of salt, sweat, and the sharp tang of iron.

I returned to my ship to oversee the last details. My men worked efficiently, aware of the gravity of what lay ahead. I had handpicked and trained them for naval warfare, and I trusted in their ability. As I moved among them, I saw a mix of excitement and apprehension in their faces. For many, this would be their first real battle.

Within the hour, our fleet—over 400 ships strong—set sail. The sight was awe-inspiring. The Redwyne fleet's 200 warships sailed alongside Stannis' royal fleet and the smaller but formidable Manderly force of 30 ships. My 104 ships held their own in this formidable armada, bound for Pyke.

As we left the harbor, the reality of what we were about to undertake sank in. The sea stretched before us, vast and unforgiving. The rhythmic creak of timber and the splash of waves became a steady backdrop to the tension gripping us all.

I stood at the bow of Moat's Vengeance, eyes on the horizon. The weight of command grew heavier. The lives of every man aboard rested in my hands, and I silently vowed to lead them with wisdom and courage, to bring as many home as possible.

The voyage was long, and the mood aboard remained tense. Sailors whispered prayers to the old gods and the new, while some spoke in low tones of the glory they sought. I moved among them, offering words of encouragement, ensuring they saw me not just as their commander, but as one of them.

As the weeks passed, we encountered challenges. A sudden storm off the Westerlands tested our sailors, and a skirmish with Ironborn longships near Fair Isle kept our forces sharp. Through it all, our fleet held together, with Stannis proving a capable naval commander.

When Pyke finally came into view, jagged cliffs rising from the sea, I felt the weight of the battle ahead. At the island's peak, the ancient castle loomed, its towers connected by swaying bridges. Below, the Ironborn scrambled to prepare their defenses.

Our first task was the naval blockade. Stannis led, maneuvering to cut off any escape. I positioned my fleet, sealing every gap. The Ironborn, known for their slippery tactics, would find no way out.

The first enemy ships emerged from hidden coves, attacking with the ferocity of cornered animals. Our ships collided, arrows flew, and the sea turned red with blood. I barked orders as my men unleashed volleys of arrows, then braced as we rammed a bold Ironborn longship. The impact was bone-rattling. I led the charge aboard, my sword cutting through their crew.

The battle raged on, brutal and unrelenting. Stannis' flagship held against multiple enemies, the Redwyne fleet pushed them back, and Robert's warhammer swung as he led a boarding party himself. We pressed them hard, and by day's end, we had shattered the Ironborn fleet.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a fiery glow over the water, victory was ours. The Ironborn retreated to the safety of their harbors, leaving the seas around Pyke under our control. But this was only the beginning.

I gathered my captains aboard Moat's Vengeance for a council of war. They bore the weariness of battle, but their determination remained. Tomorrow, the siege of Pyke would begin in earnest.

As I stood on deck, gazing at Pyke's shadowy silhouette, I knew the Ironborn would fight to the last. The siege would be long and brutal, but we had won a critical victory today. As I retired to my cabin, exhaustion pulling me into a restless sleep, I allowed myself a moment of pride. We had faced the Ironborn navy and prevailed. Whatever lay ahead, we would meet it with the confidence born of today's triumph.

The final chapter of Balon Greyjoy's rebellion had begun.

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Author's Note

Recommend a better name for Torrhen's flagship. I will change the name later. Also, suggest a new name for the lordship. The most liked suggestion will be chosen.