77 AC
Salt spear
Maron greyjoy Pov
The salt-laced wind whipped through my hair, carrying the tang of the sea and the promise of longships dancing on northern waves. Beneath my boots, the deck of the Black Wind vibrated with the steady rhythm of oars, a familiar heartbeat that resonated deep within my bones. Behind us, a formidable shadow stretched across the churning grey – two hundred and fifty longships, a black tide poised to crash against the green shores of the North.
A grim satisfaction settled in my gut. Finally. A chance to show these soft, green landers the true meaning of strength, the iron will that had carved our kingdom from the unforgiving waves. They spoke of honor and chivalry, of flowery words and knelt knees. We spoke of iron and salt, of what a man could take with his own two hands. Their gods were silent stones; ours roared with the crashing surf.
Beside me, Tytos Lannister stood at the railing, his crimson cloak snapping in the wind. His face, a reflection of his brother Tymond's proud features, held a tightly controlled anticipation. He was a lion leashed, eager for the hunt. These mainlanders, even the fiercest among them, lacked the true grit forged in the crucible of the Iron Islands. They fought for land and titles; we fought for the thrill of the raid, for the taking, for the very breath in our lungs.
"Two days, you reckon?" Tytos's voice cut through the wind, his gaze fixed on the distant, hazy outline that must be Blaze Water Bay. His accent, so different from the harsh drawl of the isles, still held a certain authority. He was a lion, after all, even if one accustomed to manicured gardens rather than storm-lashed cliffs.
I grunted, my eyes narrowed as I studied the horizon. "Aye. With a fair wind. Blaze Water Bay… a fitting name for what we're about to unleash." A flicker of a grim smile touched my lips. Let their waters burn with the fury of the Drowned God's chosen.
Tytos shifted, his curiosity evident. "So, what's the strategy, then, Lord Commander?" He used the title with a hint of deference, a mainland courtesy I neither expected nor particularly cared for. But he was a useful tool, this lion, his men adding to the sheer weight of our assault.
I turned to him, the spray of the sea misting my weathered face. "Simple, Lannister. As soon as the Black Wind cuts through the mouth of Blaze Water Bay, the fleet splits. I'll take one hundred and fifty of our fastest ships – my own bannermen, the Drumm, the Botley, the Goodbrother – and strike hard and fast. Bear Island first. Show those Bears what happens when you defy the ironThrone. Then Deepwood Motte, pluck the Glovers like ripe fruit. Finally, Sea Dragon Point."
I gestured towards the remaining longships, their black sails stark against the grey sky. "You, Lannister, will command the other hundred. Your task is no less vital. Head to Flint's Finger first. Silence their watchfires. Then north to Frost Keep on the Stony Shore. Leave no stone unturned, no soul unblooded. We will sow chaos and fear along their entire western coast, preventing them from sending aid east. By the time they even realize the true extent of our attack, their shores will be aflame, and the northern shore will be crippled." The wind carried my words out over the waves, a promise of fire and ruin for the green landers. The game had begun.
Tytos shifted, a shadow of doubt crossing his face. "What of their fleet, though? The Northmen are no strangers to the sea. What if they challenge us?" He gestured towards the massed longships, a silent question hanging in the air.
I scoffed, a harsh bark of laughter that mingled with the cries of the gulls overhead. "Their fleet? What fleet? A few fishing boats and a handful of longships hugging their coast, clinging to their shores like frightened children to their mother's skirts. What can their measly fifty ships do against two hundred and fifty ironborn reavers, sailing under the banner of the Kraken? They'll be scattered like leaves in a storm, sunk to the bottom of the sea to feed the crabs and the Drowned God."
Tytos Lannister's brow furrowed deeper, his gaze fixed on the churning water ahead, as if he could already see phantom sails on the horizon. "I think… I think there will be more than fifty," he said slowly, his voice laced with a caution that grated on my ironborn sensibilities. "We know nothing truly of what the North is capable of. All the news that reaches the South, all we hear, comes filtered through the accounts of merchants, men more concerned with profit than with the strength of lords."
He turned to me, his green eyes earnest. "My house has tried for decades to place reliable spies within the Northern keeps, to gain some understanding of their defenses, their numbers. Every single one has vanished. Gone without a trace. It is as if the very land swallows them whole. That kind of silence… it speaks volumes, Lord Greyjoy. It suggests a discipline, a vigilance that fifty longships might not be enough to overcome easily."
Tytos shifted uneasily, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. "I think… I think we should be cautious in our approach. To underestimate them based on a lack of information could be a grave mistake. Perhaps a more… measured advance?" His suggestion hung in the salty air, a discordant note in the ironborn war song I already had playing in my head.
"Cautious? Lannister, you sound like a craven merchant yourself! What is there to fear from a land of ice and wolves? Their ships are nothing compared to our longships, their sailors soft hands who've never tasted the true fury of the sea. Fifty or five hundred, it matters little. The ironborn in their prime can take any shore."
Tytos's jaw tightened, a flicker of Lannister pride in his eyes. "Pride is a poor substitute for knowledge, Lord Greyjoy. And the silence from the North is unsettling. It speaks of a people who keep their secrets well, who do not broadcast their strengths. Missing spies… that is not the mark of a weak foe, but a wary one."
"Wary or weak, the result will be the same," I retorted, my gaze sweeping across the vast expanse of the sea. "They have had their time of peace, their soft southern ways creeping into their frozen kingdom. It has made them complacent. We will be the storm that wakes them, the iron fist that shatters their illusions of safety."
"And if that storm breaks against a hidden reef?" Tytos countered, his voice firm despite my dismissiveness. "What then, Lord Greyjoy? What if their numbers are greater than we suspect? What if those missing spies stumbled upon something we cannot yet imagine? A cautious approach allows us to assess, to adapt."
"Adapt? We are ironborn! We don't adapt, we conquer!" I slammed my fist on the railing, the wood groaning under the impact. "Hesitation is death on the waves, Lannister. We strike hard, we strike fast, before they even have time to organize their pitiful defenses. Fear is our greatest weapon, and it is best served hot and sudden."
Tytos remained unconvinced, his gaze still troubled. "But a swift strike against an unseen enemy… it is like swinging blindly in the dark. Intelligence, Lord Greyjoy, is as vital as any axe. We sail into their waters blind, relying only on outdated rumors and the boasts of merchants."
"Rumors enough to know they are not sea-faring folk!" I roared, my patience wearing thin with this landlubber's trepidation. "Their strength is in the frozen earth beneath their feet, not the waves. Let them keep their secrets on land. The sea is our domain, and in our domain, we are unmatched."
"Perhaps," Tytos conceded, a hint of steel entering his voice. "But even the mightiest lion can be brought down by a pack of unseen wolves. I simply urge caution, Lord Greyjoy. For the sake of our men, for the sake of victory."
I grunted, turning back to the horizon. "Your caution is noted, Lannister. But my course is set. We raid, we take, we return with plunder and glory. That is the iron way. And it has served us well for centuries. Worry about your land-bound wolves. The sea belongs to the kraken."
Tytos fell silent then, his gaze fixed on the approaching coastline. Whether he was convinced or simply resigned, I couldn't say. But as the first tendrils of Blaze Water Bay began to appear on the horizon, a grim anticipation settled over the Black Wind. Soon enough, we would both see who was right. The sea would have its say.
Two days of sailing, the iron rhythm of the oars a constant pulse beneath my feet. The salt spray had long since dried on my leathers, leaving a white crust that spoke of the miles devoured. Now, the jagged silhouette of Cape Kraken loomed to starboard, a final tooth guarding the entrance to Blaze Water Bay. The green land was drawing near, the air growing thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the clean, sharp tang of the open sea.
A grim anticipation coiled in my gut. This was it. The moment the ironborn would once again taste mainland blood, would remind the Greenlanders that the sea was ours to plunder. I could almost feel the thrill of the raid, the satisfying crunch of steel on bone, the terrified screams of the green landers as their false sense of security shattered.
Then, just as the Black Wind began to round the final promontory of Cape Kraken, as the wide expanse of Blaze Water Bay opened before us, a sound ripped through the air, sharp and violent. It wasn't the familiar crack of a sail catching the wind or the groan of timbers under strain. This was the unmistakable roar of thunder, but not the natural fury of a storm. This thunder echoed from the west, from the direction of Flint's Finger, a distant yet ominous pronouncement.
Before I could even fully process the incongruous sound, a collective shout went up from the ships closest to the Black Wind. I followed their horrified gazes. Off to our port side, one of our own longships, a sturdy vessel bearing the black sails of House Drumm, shuddered violently. Then, with a sickening crack that echoed across the water, its mainmast splintered and crashed down, rigging snapping like brittle bones, the sail collapsing into a tangled mess. A collective gasp rippled through the fleet. This was no accident. Something was terribly wrong.