King Daeron Stark
His dreams were plagued by visions of the battle that had ended in defeat once more. He always saw his nephew's life be snapped away from him, the kinslayer's sword thrust through him, the vision often changed to the day when his world had changed forever. The day he had learnt of Daemon's death and his crowning as King of the North. It seemed as if it happened just the other day, there were times when he half expected to turn a corner and see Daemon or Aemon standing there joking with either Daeron himself or Aegor, but no there was nobody there usually, and Daeron often felt mad after such things.
The grief was overpowering sometimes, the guilt even more so, if only he had taken the time to think through the kinslayer's plans when they had all been at Riverrun, perhaps Aemon would now sit the throne and all would be well with the world. But no, his arrogance had gotten the better of him, he had thought that he had played the kinslayer, and now Aemon was rotting in the ground in Winterfell whilst the Targaryens continued to sit the throne that did not rightfully belong to them. It was becoming too much for Daeron, each day since the war had ended he would wake up with the bone crushing grief and guilt, and it would only intensify when he saw either Barbrey or his nephew Aegon, he was responsible for Aemon's death no one else but he, and it was torture.
Dacey though, she had helped him pull through this, just as she had when Arianne had died, she stood beside through all the anger and the grief, and was always there to lend a helping hand when it all became too much, behind closed doors, he was still the king after all. He knew now that he had not always been the best of husbands or even fathers, he had allowed his grief to consume him, and he had not paid the slightest bit of attention to his family other than for the most important of matters. He felt guilty about that, and yet Dacey remained steadfast behind him in her support and her love. He knew not what he would do without her.
When word had come that the houses Borrell and Longthorpe were in open rebellion against House Sunderland, Daeron had leapt at the chance to take his mind away from the doubts that haunted him still. He knew that he could not go himself, not this time the matter was not big enough for the King of the North and the Iron Islands to venture forth from Winterfell, but Aegor had gone. At twenty and four it was far past time that Aegor learnt what it meant to fight in proper battle, and so Daeron had written to Lord Manderly and instructed him to call his banners, whilst Aegor would march with men from Winterfell, using the northern fleet they had sailed for the Three Sisters.
According to the reports that Daeron received back from both his uncle Beron and Rickard Karstark of the Winter's Guard, Aegor conducted himself in a manner befitting a prince of winter, and led the men superbly. So much so that the men at the feast held to celebrate their victory just could not stop singing his son's praises, Aegor had blushed during the feast, but Daeron had felt a sense of pride in his son, his son who had become a man when he was not looking. He knew he needed to make amends with his son, for the distance he had unintentionally put between them during his mourning, but he knew not how to do so.
The Aegor he saw today was so different from the Aegor he had known when his son had been a child. As a child, Aegor could be soothed with soft words and a gentle reminder of who he was, and how he should act, the Aegor of today was a man grown with a family of his own, with a straight set of values and morals, and with his own principles as well. There was one thing Daeron knew about his son though, he would make a very, very good king when his time came, and for that Daeron was glad.
Still, the matter of the future wars that would be waged, that Daeron would have to wage until his great nephew sat the throne or one of his great nephew's descendants sat the throne, took up much of Daeron's time. When he was neither with council nor spending time with his family, he was cooped up in his solar going over everything he knew about the Targaryen regime as it was under his friend Prince Maekar, he spent hours looking over the strengths and weaknesses of the regime, and how he could use both to his advantage.
He looked to see which lords in the southern kingdom had had their loyalty in the Targaryens shaking, and he found that there would be some very useful allies in the conflicts to come. House Frey, Smallwood, Shawney and Butterwell all in the Riverlands would be useful allies to have, in the Westerlands House Reyne remained a staunch supporter of the Black Dragon and yet they dare not act whilst Lord Robb remained in the black cells. There were other houses, hidden in the shadows waiting and watching for the opportune moment, when that moment came, Daeron knew they would be able to seize the advantage.
As he heard the shouts of children coming from the courtyard outside, Daeron smiled slightly. He knew that his children thought him distant, perhaps he was a bit distant, but he was still so very, very proud in all of them. Aegor who was an heir any lord would be proud of, Daena so fierce just like her namesake who was a proud princess, Elaena with her rare gift and how she carried the burden it placed on her so well, Jorah and Brandon those two boys would make fine soldiers one day Daeron knew, Jorah was betrothed to Lord Davos Sunderland's granddaughter and when he came of age would become Prince of the Three Sisters. And then there was Lyanna and Beron the younger two of his children both of whom were handfuls, but provided countless hours of delight both for Daeron, his wife and the people of Winterfell. There was also of course the new addition to their family, their ever growing collection of wolf pups, Dacey had given birth three moons past to a baby boy whom they had named Jonnel, Jonnel had a large tuft of brown hair and his mother's brown eyes, and he was one of the most beautiful children Daeron had ever seen. After the birth Maester Tywin had pulled Daeron aside and told him that Dacey would not be able to bear anymore children after Jonnel's birth, something during the birth had made that happen, and as such Daeron was not willing to lose his wife and so he agreed to leave his wife's chambers empty of his presence for a while until she was ready.
There was a knock on the door that took Daeron away from the window and back into his chair, before he called for whoever it was to enter. In came the council, High Steward Edwyle Stark, master of coin Lord Jonnel Manderly, High Shadow Lord Ethan Glover, Admiral of the narrow sea and master of ships Lord Beron Stark, Grand Maester Tywin and of course Lord Commander of the Winter's Guard Theon Stark, Daeron's own brother. Daeron nodded at the men and bid them sit, the chairs had already been put in place for them. Daeron spoke first as was his custom. "My lords I thank you for coming today. We have much to discuss, I would hear the most pressing issue first."
Edwyle spoke first, his voice serious as it always was. "The Night's Watch has written to report that there has been a growing presence of Wildlings close to the wall, Lord Commander Storm is not certain whether or not the wildlings mean to invade or whether they are simply gathering for some sort of festival. He writes that if the Wildlings do mean to invade, he is not confident that the Watch can repel them on its own, and requests reassurances that Your Grace will aid the watch should the wildlings cross over in any great number."
Daeron nods at that, the Night's Watch and the Wall are all important concerns in the north, especially at Winterfell, Daeron was raised to believe that there is honour in serving the Watch, he was also taught that when a request for aid came from Castle Black it was his duty as the Stark in Winterfell to respond to it, something he has passed onto all of his children and siblings. He is silent for a moment and then says. "Very well, write to Lord Commander Storm and tell him that at the first sight of a wildling raiding part of any considerable size he should write to Winterfell, and we shall muster and march. I want word sent to Lord Hothar Umber; tell him to be ready as well." Edwyle nods and Daeron goes on. "What else is there for us to discuss my lords?"
Lord Manderly speaks next, and his voice seems hesitant. "There is one thing Your Grace. The Sealord of Bravos has written to me to express his most sincere apologies about the cutting off of trade with Winterfell. He writes that the Iron Bank is pressuring and threatening him with possible death and certain replacement if he continues to allow trade with us. He believes that the Targaryens are responsible for this."
There is a fair bit of murmuring at this and Daeron is silent for a moment contemplating what Lord Jonnel Manderly has just said, so Maekar has decided to play dirty now has he? Very well my friend two can play at that game. "Very well, write to the Sealord and tell him that I accept and understand the reasons for why trade with Bravos has had to be stopped. I want you to begin research into finding out how much it would cost to set up our own bank, it is time we stopped relying on foreigners if we wished for a loan." Lord Manderly nods and then Daeron says. "Lord Beron, I want you to sail to Tyrosh, and speak with the Archon there, and tell him the time has come for him to move." The words were cryptic but his uncle understood them all the same.
One more issue was needed to be discussed in council today, and of course Grand Maester Tywin was the one to bring it up. "Your Grace I do not mean to be a pest, but I must ask what you mean to do with Daemon Blackfyre. Do you mean to keep him here or do you wish for him to go to the citadel to learn the true arts of healing?"
Daeron sighed, this had been an ever pressing matter for some time, ever since his nephew had come to Winterfell from the south, he had expressed a desire to become a maester. Of course had things been different Daeron would have fully agreed to allow his nephew to pursue his passion, as it was though if Daemon went south he was like to be captured and then executed, and that was something Daeron could not allow, hence his nephew had spent the past seven years here in Winterfell, slowly becoming a maester in all but name. "I believe Daemon should remain here for the time being. What with the potential threat of a wildling raid, I do not wish to run the risk of him being killed before he knows how to defend himself properly. He is not causing anybody any trouble here, and to send him to Oldtown would be akin to suicide." There was a general murmur of consensus before they were all dismissed, though Daeron did ask Theon to go and get Aegor. His son had been spending more time with his wife as of late than in the council sessions, and Daeron was beginning to get concerned, he needed to know that everything was alright.
When his son entered the room he looked tired and haggard, as if he had not slept for some time. His voice sounded hoarse when he spoke. "You asked for me father?"
His son's direwolf was slumped at his feet, panting softly. "Are you well son? You have not been coming to the council sessions for the past few moons, and have been spending much more time with Delena than with your children." It was true, Daeron had seen Elaena and Daena spending more time playing with little Rhaenrya and Maege than Aegor had.
His son sighed and his direwolf whined. "I did not mean to father, I promise you. It is only that, Delena is not well, she has been having pains ever since the miscarriage and I know not what to do about it Maester Tywin simply says that the pains will pass, but I am not convinced."
Daeron looks at his son and sees the worry on his face, soothingly he says. "Maester Tywin has been serving our family since I was a lad son, he knows what he's talking about. It is best that you put your trust in him, rather than pointlessly worrying over something out of your control."
His son nods and bows and then heads to the door, but before he leaves Aegor turns to him and says. "You might do well to listen your own advice father."
Lord Rodrick Greyjoy
Five years had passed since he had become Lord of the Iron Islands, the second most powerful man in the kingdom of the north and the Iron Islands. It had been a long hard road to help his people recover after the events of the second Blackfyre war. The Lannisters had done much damage to his lands and those of his people, but with help from Winterfell and from the bounty they had taken during their raiding, they had managed to pay for the repairs and as such the islands were brimming with life once more. The islands had prospered so far during these few years of peace since the war had ended, and Rodrick felt happy and content for once.
He knew he had a lot to live up to, as the son of Dagon Greyjoy and the grandson of the legendary Quellon Greyjoy, he had always felt the weight of expectation on his shoulders, never more so than when he was sat holding court and he could feel all the eyes in the room looking at him and seeing whether he was a worthy successor to his father and grandfather. As of now he felt that he had done a good job as a lord, a lord in peacetime, something that was often quite difficult for Ironborn men to do, his father had been known to say. He had helped bring trade back to the Islands, and had filled the coffers with gold a plenty.
He found his thoughts wandering towards the activities of the Iron Fleet in the years following the ending of the second Blackfyre war, With there being no continent wide war for them to be used in, King Daeron Stark had given Rodrick permission to do what he wished with the fleet. With this in mind Rodrick had decided to go for some exploring, he had taken the fleet trading to places such as Ibben and Asshai beyond the shadow. Places that were just as exotic and beautiful as the tales he had heard as a child. He had also used the fleet to crush a minor rebellion in the Summer Islands, sacking the towns around the coast and killing the leader of the rebels in single combat himself, thus proving he could be as ruthless as his father.
Lord Derrick Botley, a young and ambitious man had gotten some foolish ideas into his head about perhaps being deserving of wedding Rodrick's sister Asha, and had attempted to abscond with her. His sister had not been willing to go at all, and when Rodrick had found out about it all, he had been most angry, Botley now hung from the crow cage from the top of Nagga's hill, and was burned with the morning sun and flayed in the light of the moon. House Botley now faced potential eradication as well, for Derrick's brothers were deeply angered by what Rodrick had done, though they dare not rebel openly, no in fact they had decided to use secrecy to try and get other lords to rebel against Pyke. So far they were failing miserably, still Rodrick kept one eye on them to make sure they did nothing rash.
The other eye he kept on his own family. His first born son and heir Harren had just wed Alannys Harlaw, and his good daughter had just given birth to twins, a boy they had named Daeron and a girl they had named Dacey in honour of the King and Queen. Whilst his first born was enjoying being a father and all that came with it, his second and third sons Balon and Euron were both plotting something of their own, something that was making Rodrick very uncomfortable, both boys had always been too clever by half Euron more so, Balon would need to be sent north to the Wall soon enough. As for his siblings, that was where his true headache lay. His brother Victarion was dead, killed by pirates of the coast of the Stepstones, his brother Theon was brooding somewhere on Pyke itself, where Rodrick knew not. His sisters Asha and Jeyne remained on Pyke no one seemed interested in their hand and that was beginning to grate on Rodrick. His other sister Bethany and his brother Daemon had both been killed during the fighting in the Three Sisters by those scum on the sheep shit filled islands. They had been avenged but still the anger burned in Rodrick.
He had been tempted to sail for the Three Sisters when news had reached him, but his uncles Harras and Maron had advised against that, stating that such a move would be costly and that the war would be over by the time the fleet go to the islands. Besides, as it had later turned out, Aegor Stark heir to the northern kingdom had won the war and crushed the rebellion, putting the rebels to the sword. And Prince Jorah Stark was now Prince of the Three Sisters what with his betrothal to Lord Davos Sunderland's granddaughter. Thus making him the most powerful vassal house to Winterfell as well as the King's own son.
That fact continued to grate on Rodrick's nerves, that a boy no older than his cousin Berrick could be the most powerful vassal lord to his uncle, and be his son as well. A certain case could be made that Pyke's pleas would not be taken as seriously now, especially with how withdrawn his uncle had supposedly become as of late following Aemon Blackfyre's death. Very worrying, he had sent his uncle Harras off to Winterfell to meet with the King himself, and to see whether his uncle was still fit for ruling, or if not perhaps the time would come to break off and be independent. Just in the days of Harren the Black, he wondered often how much wrath they would face from Winterfell, if his uncle was too busy with the dragons and their wars.
It was this reasoning that had led to him calling a meeting with his most trusted advisors, with his uncle Harras still in the north heading towards Winterfell, those that came to his solar included his wife Elaena, his uncles Maron and Dorros and maester Theodore. All knew what he had been thinking for some time, and each had been called here to make their own views made clear before all. Rodrick spoke first. "I thank you all for coming, you know why we meet today. To discuss amongst other things Winterfell and the King, and whether we can sustain ourselves as an independent kingdom."
His uncle Dorros spoke first as was his custom. "I believe we can my lord. Stark has not looked toward this side of his kingdom in sometime, he is too busy fighting over that damnable Iron chair to care a whit about us. The time is right I say, we have ships and we have strength and gold."
His uncle Maron however, took a much more cautious approach. "I do not think that a wise thing to do my lord. We have prospered under the leadership of Daeron Stark and Winterfell, the Winter Dragon has allowed us to continue our raiding and pillaging in the lands that do not cross his. Our coffers have never been so full. It would be foolish to break away now, and would only result in thousands of pointless deaths."
It seemed his wife was in agreement with what uncle Maron had said. "Whilst I would usually agree with your views on most issues my lord, I must disagree on this point and agree with Lord Maron. We have prospered as a people under the guidance and leadership of King Daeron Stark. Never before have the Ironborn been so feared and respected. Besides, do we truly wish to wake the Winter Dragon from his slumber; he will be looking for someone to hurt with Aemon Blackfyre dead, we do not want to be arrow fodder for him."
Rodrick was silent for a long moment considering what had been said, whilst he knew that it was his pride and the values his father had instilled in him that wished for the Ironborn to be completely free, he also saw the sense in what both his wife and uncle had said. There was no point in warring needlessly if it could be avoided, and Winterfell had been kind to the Ironborn for some time now, there was no need to repay that kindness with treachery. Sighing, Rodrick spoke then. "Very well, Maester Theodore send word to my uncle Harras, tell him that his mission is at an end, I want him to come home. I shall head to Winterfell myself to meet with mine own nuncle."
The maester seemed nervous all of a sudden and Rodrick began to feel a flutter in his stomach. "Very well then my lord. But before I leave there is something you must know. The maester on Orkmont has writ me to inform me that Botley's brothers are being feasted in Lord Tawney's hall and it seems as if that they might sway him to their side."
Rodrick felt his insides tighten then. If Tawney joined the Botley brothers Orkmont would belong to them, and then there could be war. Keeping his voice as calm as possible Rodrick replied. "Very well tell the maester to keep an ear out for what they discuss, and if he hears anything noteworthy, he is to report it to you, and then we shall take it from there."
With that he dismisses the maester and his two uncles, leaving just himself and his wife. Elaena comes and sits in his lap, and begins playing with his curls. She asks curiously. "What do you intend to do with the Botley brothers my love?"
Rodrick is silent for a long moment and then he eventually says. "If Tawney joins them it will mean war, a war they will not win. But I will kill them all, if they join forces, if they do not I will have them arrested and then tried for treason."
"A good plan my love." Elaena says as she begins kissing him. In between kisses she asks. "Were you truly serious about breaking away from Winterfell my love?"
Rodrick sighs against his wife's mouth and says. "No my love, not at all. I merely needed to see what way Dorros would go. I do not trust the man, but still it was an appealing option."
They make love that night, and a few weeks later word comes from Orkmont, and the Botley brothers and Lord Tawney are arrested for treason, and are hanged two days after that. The Iron Islands are once again shown that Lord Rodrick Greyjoy is no push over, when his uncle Harras returns from the north, he brings with him the tale that the northern lords are still fiercely loyal to the Winter Dragon and that the man himself seems in much better spirits. Ready for a fight should the need arise. Rodrick is glad that he decided against breaking away if that is the case, he is a good warrior but he is nowhere near the warrior or Commander Daeron Stark is. No one in Westeros is, no one comes even close to matching him.
He sets sail for the Stony Shore some two moons after another grandson is born to him, this time named Vickon, he greets Steffon Cassel Lord of Stony Shore as if they are old friends, and spends sometime in the port town being feasted and entertained. He beds a woman he has not seen in years during his stay, her brown hair and violet eyes enchanting him just as they did when he was a lad. He arrives in Winterfell some three weeks after that, on a blisteringly hot summer day, where his clothes stick to his sweat covered skin. He is greeted in the courtyard by his uncle Daeron Stark, King of the North and Iron Islands the Winter Dragon, his uncle has lines on his face but still seems strong and composed. His grip is like iron as is his voice when he greets Rodrick. "Ah Lord Greyjoy it has been far too long, welcome to Winterfell."