Lord Criston Borrell
Cold, that was anyone from outside of the Three Sisters thought of the islands where Criston Borrell Lord of House Borrell lived. It was sickening to him, for years his people had done their time fighting for the Falcons in their mountain tops with their gods' damned honour and pride, thinking they were better than everyone, and then the dragons had come and the falcons no longer flew free. The dragons they had come and thought themselves all above the rest simply because of their winged monstrosities and then those beasts had died and now the dragons were cowering before the wolves, liked whipped curs. Some of his commanders had asked him why he was rebelling, or whom he was rebelling against Winterfell or Lord Sunderland, in truth Criston himself was not entirely sure, all he knew was that with all the chaos in the realm at the moment, now was perhaps the best chance they would get at freedom and independence, but Davos Sunderland was too much of an old woman to see it, and so he would pay the price for his follies with blood.
Desmond Longthorpe however, held no such qualms about rebelling. Winterfell was preoccupied with the Blackfyres, and besides Daeron Stark had never really paid all that much attention to the Sisters beforehand, and so Longthorpe had suggested they stage their rebellion now. There were risks, good things always had risks attached to them, but Criston was certain they could triumph, rebel, and force Sunderland's hand, Sunderland was an old done man, his grandson a green boy with no experience in war, it should be an easy fight, that was what they had predicted and so it had been. Together House Borrell and House Longthorpe had managed to muster some 2,000 men against the 1,500 men that House Sunderland had levied, though of course House Sunderland's retainers had always been notoriously fickle when it came to such things as payment and such and so in the time it had taken Sunderland to raise his men, some of the key holdfasts and villages amongst the islands already belonged to House Borrell.
Oakshield had fallen relatively bloodlessly, the leader of that village was an old friend of Criston's and so when he had come knocking had managed to convince the vast majority of his fellow villagers to bend the knee to Criston, there had of course been the odd old fool who would refuse to submit, they had been made an example of and their heads still decorated the village walls. Fallorn had fallen to Criston's forces as well, though that battle had been a hard fought one, some of Criston's own men came from the village and as such were reluctant to fight their kinsmen, still once the chief of the village had fallen to the arrows and fire, the rest came along and bent the knee like the good sheep that they were. With Fallorn bent, Sweetsister now belonged completely to the alliance, and Criston moved his men to Longsister to aid Desmond in the taking of the island completely. Whilst Sweetsister held Sisterton to strike the city now without the full control of the villages and their chiefs their campaign would fall flat on its arse.
Longthorpe was a much more uphill battle, the village chiefs were loyal not to House Longthorpe but more to themselves, Criston had thought that perhaps they could use the village rivalries to their benefit, but no, the onetime such divisions could have come in handy, the chiefs bandied together and began a raiding campaign of the combined alliance's storage supplies. That had caused some tension amongst the generals within the army, some had been in favour of ending the fighting there and then, others had wanted to strike the villages and burn them to the ground to send a message. Criston had offered a third option, one that he thought all would be able to abide by. Single combat with the leader of the village alliance, if the alliance champion won the duel, the villagers would join them in their march, if the villages champion won, then the alliance would move on. The idea was debated for a long time, before it was eventually approved. Criston suggested himself as the champion, he knew he was by far and away the best swordsman in the islands, and would stand a much better chance of winning than any champion the villagers would send out.
The villagers had agreed and had of course sent their biggest fighter for the duel, a man known simply as Strongaxe, a big brute of a man who fought with an axe. He was strong Criston would give him that; the blows he had dealt Criston had hurt like nothing that he had ever felt before either on the battlefield or in the training yard. Still what Strongaxe had in strength he lacked in discipline, he exhausted himself going for the big swings and the death blows early on, all the while Criston blocked the swings or allowed them to strike his body, or his armour, and watched as the man tired out. When he was sure that Strongaxe would not retaliate he put all of his effort into his sword swings. That was how he won the duel, swinging and hacking away at Strongaxe's defences like his life depended on it. Truly it did, and eventually with a parry and then a thrust Strongaxe fell to the ground dead, Criston's sword buried in his throat.
After that, the village chiefs agreed to bend the knee to them and on they marched conquering the remaining villages on the outskirts of Longthorpe that had not joined the village alliance. With that they set their sights on Littlesister the seat of House Torrent. Lord Borros Torrent was an old man, who was very, very proud and brooded on every insult he had supposedly been dealt, there was a history of bad blood between the Torrents and the Sunderlands, and Criston had thought that perhaps that could be used. However, it seemed Borros Torrent's loyalty had remained in check, for whatever reason, and so now his island would fall victim to their progress. And so it had, it had taken the burning of Tor, Gor, and Lor before Borros Torrent stirred himself from his castle to send his men to fight, and that battle had been short and swift, ending with the end of House Torrent as Borros and his son and grandson were all slain when the castle was stormed.
With the levies of House Torrent, they set their eyes for Sisterton, and soon enough Criston would become king, and sit the throne of a thousand waves as had been his right from birth, as the last true descendant of the Lady of the Waves. Soon enough he would get justice for all the wrongs done to his family and his people over the years. He could taste it, he could smell it. Victory, ah a beautiful thing.
The battle began with their boats docking in on the port of Sisterton, the ship guards were all Borrell men and so their presence went unquestioned, those who thought to raise the alarm were either silenced or killed. On they marched, through the port bringing down those who were of uncertain loyalty, until they reached the gates of the port that would bring them into Sisterton proper. There they found the city watch commander stood waiting for them. Ser Garin Stone, a sour man and an old one as well. "Lord Borrell, Lord Longthorpe. Pray tell me what you are doing here at this late hour? And with such a big force of men as well?"
Criston snorted. "Do not pretend you do not know why we are here Ser Garin. You know full well about the rebellion, and as such I would ask that you respectively move aside, so we do not have to kill you."
Ser Garin smiled slightly then. "Aye, whilst it is true that I knew about your rebellion I must confess that I find it highly inappropriate of me to defect from my position simply because you are bedding my niece Lord Criston and as such I must fight you."
"With what army Stone? The city watch is not behind you." Lord Longthorpe said impatiently.
Ser Garin smiled once more, slyly this time. "Oh but are they not Lord Desmond? Tell me who are those people I see coming from the distance behind you?"
And as soon as those words had left his mouth, there was a horn blown and battle began once more. The city watch of Sisterton numbered only some 500 men, but they were trained warriors, and so the fighting was bloody. Hacking and slashing Criston fought, bloodying his sword, and chopping men to pieces, the fighting continued, he took a few blows to his hands and legs, as well as his chest, his armour was dented in several places. Eventually though, the combined forces of Longsister, Sweetsister and Littlesister overwhelmed the city watch of Sisterton, and the battle came to an end, Ser Garin Stone himself was found with his body cut into a thousand tiny pieces, blood leaked into the wood and spilled over into the water, Criston sighed, such a good man, he could have been useful. "Kick his body over. Let the sharks feast on him." Criston said.
"What of the men Sunderland will surely have sent down to investigate the ruckus that happened here?" Lord Desmond asked.
Criston sighed. "What men? The Strength of the Three Sisters is here, Sunderland's men are now ours. He has at best some 20 men in his castle. We take it now, and we kill him and his grandchildren."
With that the army snakes its way up the hill towards the Sunderland castle, when the monstrosity comes into sight, Criston feels an old hatred emerge, still he pushed that aside and when they get to the gates he says. "The gates shall open for us soon enough, when the carnage begins I want it known that the man's granddaughter is to remain alive. She shall be my crowning glory." The gates opened shortly afterwards, and those men who fought them were put to the sword, Criston sat on his horse and watched as moons of planning came to life right in front of his eyes. I have avenged you father, you can rest in peace now. Criston thought as he saw the castle burnt and its possessions torn or stolen, the gold would be plundered the women raped, but that was the way of war.
Eventually Criston found himself sat in the throne of waves, the seat where his ancestor the Lady of Waves had sat when she had raised the three sisters from the ocean bed. Lord Davos Sunderland was brought before him coughing and spluttering, his clothes covered in blood, his eyes hardened though when he saw Criston sat in his throne. "Ah Lord Davos, how nice of you to join us. I trust you know why you are here? As of now, House Sunderland is at an end. Your Grandsons are dead, and your granddaughter will be my wife."
"You are a traitor my lord. Winterfell will never stand for this, nor shall the gods." Davos Sunderland replied.
Criston laughed at that. "Ah my lord, you are mistaken if you think that Winterfell will do anything about this. Daeron Stark is too busy grieving over his dead nephew to care about us. Our independence will be secure once the pirates are brought in. Your time is done, as for the gods, there is only one, she is the Lady of the Waves."
Later on Criston will be stood by the waterside, watching as Lord Davos Sunderland, the last male of House Sunderland, is given to the waves as befitting a man of his age and rank, and if keeping with the old traditions of the islands. Criston says a short prayer and then walks back into the castle, where he walks into the main hall and sits on the throne, and for the first time in a long, long time, Criston Borrell smiles.
Prince Aegor Stark
Winterfell it seemed had been in the grips of mourning for so very long, it had become suffocating. After the news of the war had come, Winterfell had respectively mourned the son of the man they had come to view as one of their own, the brother of their king, and then Aegor's father had returned from war and the mourning had ended on his orders. And yet it seemed to Aegor as if his father had never really followed his own advice. His father spent hours locked away with his council discussing gods alone knows what, most likely another war strategy or how to sit Aegor's goodbrother Aegon on the throne, something that had caused Aegor many sleepless nights. For whilst he could understand why his father held to his oath to Daemon Blackfyre, the thought of more war and blood really was not something that held huge appeal to Aegor, especially for the cost that this would have for the small folk.
Daeron Stark was spending a lot of time in a state of grief over Aemon Blackfyre, Aegor knew this from the lines around his father's eyes and the haggard look to his face, the only other time he had seen his father like this was when Aegor's mother had died, all those years ago. Now though, it seemed as if his father would not come out of this funk he was in, and it worried Aegor greatly. He had spoken with those closest to his father, and they had all said the same thing. His stepmother Dacey, had told him to simply leave his father be, for bringing up Aemon would simply enrage him more, and that would not be good for anyone, his uncle Edwyle had told him to leave his father be and that his father would figure it out by himself, something his uncle Theon had agreed on. Aegor could not understand why they were all so confident that his father would eventually return to the man he had been before the war, as far as Aegor could tell his father was so immersed in his grief and planning his revenge that he did not seem to think on anything else.
That deeply angered Aegor sometimes, for it felt to him as if his father was placing more importance on his dead brother's family than his own. Daena had managed to do well for herself she was comforting Aegon to the best of her abilities, whilst their father groomed him for the kingship, Elaena had fallen grievously ill and had to be nursed back to health vigorously not by Maester Tywin but by Aegor's goodbrother Daemon, something was deeply angered about, and had been so tempted to bring up with his father, but had not done so on his wife's advice. His wife, gods how his wife had suffered these past few moons, she had been with child shortly after Rhaenrya's third birthday, and the whole castle had been excited about the possibility of yet another birth, even Aegor's father had been temporarily brought out of his stupor, but then Delena had given birth to a stillborn, and all had gone quiet, his father, gods damn it, his father had looked disappointed more than anything, that Aegor had never hated him so much, than he had in that moment. Delena had gone into her shell then, not speaking, barely eating and barely doing anything, so much so that she had fallen ill. Aegor had spent as much time as he could with her and the children, and yet his father continued to demand he attend council meetings and court sessions, and Aegor had argued with him about that, saying that he needed to be with Delena to make sure she got better, and his father had said that there was nothing more he could do for her, which had led to Aegor snapping at his father that. "Is that why you left mother to die? You didn't even come and see her before she gave birth to Elaena." That had resulted in his father hitting him very, very hard but Aegor would not apologise for saying what he had said, it was what he truly thought.
For whilst he loved his step mother fiercely, she was not his mother, and though she had helped him overcome his grief, there was a part of him that was still deeply resentful of the fact that she was alive whilst his own mother was not. There was also a part of him, that hated his father for moving on so quickly from his mother to Dacey, a part that thought that perhaps his father had never loved his mother, and that she was not remembered by anyone, in a way deserving of the sort of person she was. Daena was too young to remember their mother, and Elaena was the reason why their mother had died, though she was not. Aegor sometimes felt as if he was the only one in the whole of the north who missed his mother, and at times that became too much for him, far too much for him to bear on his own.
Of course he could not very well go off to Dorne to spend some time with his cousins. The minute he did, he would more than likely be taken prisoner and thrown in Ghaston Grey, for though his cousins would remain staunchly loyal to his mother's memory, they also had to make sure they were not seen as aiding a traitor which was what Aegor would be in the south. And so he held off meeting his cousins, and let the anger boil inside of him, the resentment, that he could only remove from his system by sparring with people in the training yard, and yet as he was the heir to the kingdom of winter, none would dare harm him, and so he found himself often sparring with his uncle and some of the other warriors of the Winter's Guard, knowing they would fight him without as much restraint, and as such he found such sparring more useful and a better way to vent his anger and frustration, than drink or any of the other vices that could be open to him as a prince.
Aegor shook his head and brought his mind back to the matters at hand, he was in yet another court session, and he was listening to Hothar Umber the giant Lord of Last Hearth speaking about Wildlings. "They are moving in far greater numbers Your Grace. The crows are not being very efficient in stopping raiding parties from moving over that damned wall. Soon enough they will come further south."
Aegor watched as his father blinked and then said. "Very well Lord Umber, I shall send some fifty men with you, to aid in defeating this wildlings before they even pass Last Hearth, and I shall send word to Karhold as well, we shall need to deal with these people before they become an infestation. I shall also write to the Lord Commander and ask him to increase patrols if he has not done so already."
Lord Umber nodded his thanks and then another man stood up. This man was big and broad shouldered, with a mop of grey hair, he looked like a beggar, but Aegor had learnt long ago that appearances could be very, very deceptive. "Your Grace, I am Mors Snow, I am a farmer in the Wolfswood, and I have come to state that there has been some great moving of elk and deer from the wood, due to the presence of animals not seen this side of the wall since before the dragons came."
There was a lot of murmuring at the man's words, and then Aegor's father spoke. "And what sort of animals are these that are roaming the wood my good man?"
The man swallowed and then said. "Direwolves, aurochs, shadow cats and other such creatures Your Grace. They are scaring away or taking all the prey for themselves and leaving me and mine with nothing."
There was increased murmuring at that, and Aegor briefly looked down at Serron, his own direwolf and saw that Serron's ears had perked up. Daeron Stark spoke solemnly then. "Very well my good man. I shall send some men into the wood to help you deal with these pests for now. Jory!" The captain of their household guard Jory Poole stepped forward. "I want you to ride with thirty of our best men along with Mors here and see to it that these beasts do not cause any further damage." Once Jory had nodded, Mors Snow moved away and then court was filled with the voices of the countless nobles who had come to attend and watch. The noise continued until, Aegor's father spoke once more clear and loud, commanding. "I believe there is one more issue we must discuss today in court. Lord Strickland."
Lord Luthor Strickland, the exiled goodfather of Daemon Blackfyre, was a hunched man of nearly fifty years, he had a mop of brown hair and seedy black eyes. He had come as an emissary from Aegor's namesake Bittersteel across the narrow sea, to discuss matters regarding another war, the matters had been discussed to death in council, and as such this setting was merely a show for the court. "Thank you Your Grace. As you know, I have come from Tyrosh as a representative of the Golden Company to ask you when you believe you shall be ready to march for war once more, to seat the rightful king on the throne."
There was a large amount of murmuring at that, Aegor caught a quick glance at Aegon, and saw that his goodbrother was stood stock still listening intently. The boy had not been included in some of the more heated discussions that had been had on the issue, he was far too compulsive and rash. Aegor's father was silent and then when he spoke the whole room went deathly silent. "Very well Lord Strickland, I shall give you a straight answer as you have asked me a straight question. As such, following the last war, the north and Iron Islands have been recuperating and are nearly back to our fully strength, the Iron Fleet has been replenished as has the northern fleets in White Harbour and Stony Shore. I say if we give it another, two to three years we should be ready to march once more and this time we will succeed."
Lord Strickland nodded and then said. "That is very good Your Grace. I know Ser Aegor will be very happy to hear that."
"Now what of my nephews and nieces in Tyrosh how do they fare? And what of Aerion Targaryen?" Aegor's father asked, and there was some murmuring there.
Lord Strickland, was silent for a moment and then he replied. "They are all well Your Grace, Princes Haegon, Monterys and Maegon continue to train and fight bravely, and the girls are very well looked after. With regards to Aerion Targaryen, I am sure you know that he wed Shiera Blackfyre, as such they have had a boy whom they have named Aenar. As such Aerion has fought and proved himself worthy of membership of the Golden Company."
With that court came to an end, and Aegor returned to his chambers, where he found his wife and children sleeping softly. He smiled at the image, he loved them dearly, truly he did, he would do anything for them, to see them safe. Delena, she looked so serene and peaceful whilst she slept, it was as if the pain of the past few moons had not happened. Aegor would do anything to take away her pain, to make it so that their child had lived, to make it so that he could shoulder her pain. Still there was no point dwelling on the past, and when there was a knock on the door, summoning him to his father's solar, he felt something akin to dread stirring up inside of him. His father said nothing but passed him a letter that bore the seal of House Sunderland, as he read it he felt his stomach drop, once he had finished reading it, his father looked at him and simply said. "You shall ride for White Harbour along with Aegon and three of the Winter's Guard, for White Harbour, and then you shall sail for Sisterton and deal with Lord Borrell. Lord Manderly has been notified."