Chapter 102 - Chapter 98: Visitor

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 98: 𝖁𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖔𝖗

[Pyke fortress]

The winds of the Sunset Sea crashed violently against the cliffs of Pyke, sending foam spraying against the black rocks.

On their islands, the ironborn had spent years living in a strange mixture of calm and conflict. The war had taken its toll on them, and although they still retained some coastal strongholds in the north and west, maintaining those positions had become more of a burden than an advantage.

They held small fortresses, costly and difficult to sustain, which served only to alert their neighbors and increasingly complicate their raids, so their men returned with fewer spoils and fewer ships.

In Pyke, the self-proclaimed King Balon Greyjoy continued clinging to his title and his grand ambitions, though his real power crumbled day by day, while his daughter, Asha, continued leading occasional raids and searching for information about her missing brother, though her efforts seemed in vain.

Only rumors circulated about Theon Greyjoy. It was said that he had still been in Winterfell when Robb Stark returned and reclaimed the fortress, though instead of executing him, he chose to take him prisoner. Robb seemed convinced that he might prove useful in negotiating with the ironborn, or at least that was what the Young Wolf kept telling himself to justify his sentimentality.

However, fate once again proved itself a cruel lover, and Theon vanished from his cell without a trace, while no one in Robb's court could explain how it had happened.

Robb entrusted his search to Ramsay Bolton, the son of his former enemy, who had gradually earned his trust and was beginning to influence increasingly important decisions.

If Vlad knew, and he would know, he would laugh for hours.

The most recent event on the islands had been the return of one of the captains who had participated in raids upon the Westerlands. The man, tall, pot-bellied, and with rotten teeth, laughed boisterously as he recounted his exploits. He was missing one ear, and his men called him "Marlo the One-Eyed" with irony.

Among his tales, Marlo mentioned something that caught Balon's attention. The Impaler Lord had landed in Westeros alongside his Targaryen whore and claimed Casterly Rock with barely any resistance.

Some even claimed he had used magic to open the fortress gates, though neither Balon nor his captains gave credence to such stories, dismissing them as simple peasant exaggerations.

Even so, the appearance of such a prolific warlord so close to their shores could represent an opportunity, depending on how one looked at it. Balon intended to begin by offering an alliance, attempting to purchase the services of that man and his armies to conquer valuable territory on the mainland.

And if he refused to cooperate, he would discover why the words of House Greyjoy were "We Do Not Sow."

It was Asha who interrupted his scheming upon returning from Westeros barely two days earlier, exhausted, covered in blood, and frowning, though she brought detailed information about their new neighbor.

—Dear daughter —he greeted with a dry smile— How went the attack on Highgarden?

—Difficult. We nearly lost another ship —Asha replied as she removed her gloves— Every coastal fortress is on alert, and there are troops in every harbor of the Reach and the old western ports.

Balon frowned, but said nothing, so she continued:

—On my way home, I made a detour toward Lannisport —she went on while removing her gloves— I wanted to see whether the rumors about the Impaler Lord were true, and damn me if they are. His fleet is enormous, more than twice the size of ours. I assure you, we do not want that monster as our neighbor. Do you have a plan?

Balon seemed thoughtful, though he found no reason to change his mind.

—We will negotiate —he replied without hesitation— Perhaps we can use him to seize some fortress in the Reach or the Riverlands.

Asha looked at him in disbelief.

—That is madness —she replied, shaking her head— That man has proclaimed himself king. I highly doubt he will involve himself in skirmishes that do not benefit him.

An unfamiliar voice rose from the shadows of the hall.

—In that, your daughter is correct —the voice commented in a magnetic masculine tone.

Both turned instantly and, beside the liquor shelves, found a man observing the aligned bottles with disdain, as though evaluating a particularly disappointing collection.

His tone was calm, almost amused.

—Wine from Dorne, mead from Winterfell, and a few bottles from Highgarden —he enumerated contemptuously— All stolen, obviously, and of dreadful quality. But what else could I expect from the ironborn?

The stranger turned toward them without hurry, as though he were in his own hall. He stood over six feet tall, with blond hair slicked back and golden eyes that gleamed even beneath the dim light of the chamber, while his perfectly tailored dark three-piece suit contrasted almost insultingly with the damp, harsh atmosphere of Pyke.

Asha might have noticed his attractiveness under other circumstances, had he not been an intruder who had entered her father's hall as though Pyke's defenses were a joke.

—Though, coming from your kind —he continued with a sneer of contempt— I consider it almost courteous to enter here and not find your father fucking a goat.

Balon stepped forward, his face reddening with fury.

—Who in the hell are you to speak like that in my hall? —Balon demanded.

The intruder did not so much as flinch, but calmly walked toward Balon and made a slight motion with his hand as he answered in an even voice.

—Don't breathe —he ordered calmly.

Balon stopped dead, and his expression shifted from rage to confusion before twisting into pure panic as he fell to his knees, clutching at his throat with both hands while desperately trying to draw in air that could no longer enter his lungs.

—Gu...—Asha tried to shout, but the stranger turned toward her with the same calm, making another slight gesture with his hand.

—Do not move —he said without changing tone.

Asha became completely immobile, her lips parted and body rigid, unable to make a sound, while Vlad watched Balon writhe on the floor before slowly turning his gaze back to her.

Her eyes, wide with terror, never left him as he began to approach slowly, until he stood directly before her, his figure momentarily blurring into a reddish haze that gradually enveloped her completely before a firm hand, with long and sharpened nails, gently brushed against her neck.

—I'm not much of a fan of monologues, but I have the feeling that if I let you speak, you'll start screaming —he said calmly— and, frankly, I'm already tired of the voices of the ironborn, so I'll do my own evil monologue.

He let out a brief laugh as he watched her.

—I've spent nearly two weeks looking for a reasonable excuse to reduce this island to ashes —he continued with insulting calm— Not that I needed one, but it would look better if I were provoked.

He leaned toward her, and his tone became almost kind.

—Imagine my surprise when I receive news of your men attacking my new lands —he added without taking his eyes off her.

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, leaving a clean cut as he pulled away. Blood slowly trailed down her skin while Vlad smiled.

—I couldn't have asked for a better pretext —he said softly, clearly amused.

He stepped back and observed her in silence for several seconds.

—Even so, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt —he continued calmly— Everything I knew of you were stories and rumors, so I spent the last four days in this pigsty, observing. From your fortresses to the homes of your peasants.

His expression hardened.

—And I can say without fear of being mistaken that all ironborn are filth —he declared with certainty.

Vlad was not lying.

For the past four days, he had moved through Pyke in disguise, traveling through taverns, villages, docks, and fortresses to observe firsthand how the ironborn truly lived.

He had seen how they drank, how they ruled, how they treated their women, and how they raised their children, and the more he observed, the more evident it became that their society could barely be considered a functional civilization.

Frankly, the ironborn were little more than barbarians.

Their entire culture revolved around raiding, violence, and rape. They possessed no identity of their own built through knowledge, art, or development; everything they had was stolen from other peoples. Their wealth, clothing, wines, jewels, and even many of their luxuries were not products of effort or ingenuity, but simple trophies seized and repurposed as convenient.

That same logic extended to the women captured during their raids, turned into salt wives, who in practice were little more than slaves without control over their own lives.

Vlad had witnessed the murders of young girls in the streets without anyone seeming particularly surprised, just as he had also observed that the treatment of girls born among peasants was hardly more encouraging.

The more time he spent among them, the clearer it became that ironborn culture offered nothing worth preserving.

He had no intention of allowing such rot to take root within his domains.

But Asha scarcely seemed to hear him, too focused on watching her father writhe on the floor, his hands clutching at his throat as he fought uselessly to breathe. Vlad noticed her stare and let out a brief ironic laugh.

—Surely you don't truly care about your father —he remarked with open mockery.

Asha turned her gaze toward him, her teeth clenched and hatred burning in her eyes, though no matter how hard she tried, she could not force out a word, as the restraint upon her voice remained intact. Vlad noticed and, with a faint smile, withdrew his compulsion as easily as he had imposed it.

—You may speak —he murmured with false courtesy— but you will not alert anyone.

Asha lunged at him, suppressing a scream, her hands first reaching for his throat and then for the hilt of her sword, though her own body still responded with unnatural clumsiness.

—I do not know who you are, sorcerer —she spat through gritted teeth, forcing each word— but if you do not release my father, there is no trick that will stop all the ironborn from tearing you apart piece by piece.

Vlad laughed, as though he had just heard something absurd.

—I cannot believe the Kraken's daughter is actually a daddy's little girl —he replied contemptuously, observing her with open disdain— Do you truly think that pathetic band of miserable, syphilitic pirates would lift a finger for your father?

—Release me —Asha insisted, struggling in frustration— If you have courage, do it and fight me with honor.

Vlad looked at her in disbelief before leaning down toward Balon, lifting him effortlessly and examining him up and down as though evaluating something unpleasant.

—Honor, did you say? You? A Greyjoy? —he scoffed with contempt— That has to be the most hypocritical thing I've ever heard in my life.

—Release me, damn you! —Asha shouted in another attempt to assert herself, though her voice came out ragged.

Vlad then raised one hand, allowing Balon to finally breathe again, while his expression lost some of its initial amusement.

—It seems you do not understand the situation, Asha Greyjoy —he declared in a more serious tone— I am not just some sorcerer who came here to torment you. I am Vlad Drakul, and I have come to destroy your entire bloodline.

Surprise crossed Asha's face for a brief instant upon hearing that name. Even on the Iron Islands, rumors of the so-called Impaler Lord had already begun to spread, and though most had always seemed little more than exaggerations, one thing had remained constant in nearly every tale: his violence and cruelty.

However, Asha Greyjoy had not survived so many years on the islands by showing weakness, so her initial shock gradually faded, replaced by caution, as her breathing steadied and her mind began reorganizing the situation.

Now she needed to weigh every word carefully if she wished to negotiate for her life and her father's.

----

First of all, thank you once again for being here this week. I truly appreciate all of your continued support.

As I mentioned before, today's chapter serves as a direct transition into the destruction of Pyke arc.

At this point, Vlad has already made it quite clear that his true plans regarding the Ironborn were always centered around destroying them, but not simply out of conquest or ambition. It was primarily because of what they represent as a culture. If Vlad had arrived at the Iron Islands and found a brutal but functional society, one with some form of internal honor or values beyond raiding, he might have reconsidered certain extremes. But the Ironborn are, in essence, exactly what they are described as: pirates, raiders, and rapists.

Honestly, I never felt the Greyjoys were particularly important in the larger story, not even in the original canon, which is why I have not focused heavily on them so far. That does not mean there will not be exceptions. Euron, for example, will have a much more significant role, and while he will not be a direct threat to Vlad, he can absolutely become a serious obstacle to certain plans.

I also want to give special thanks to the user SilentKing1 for reminding me about some of the more lovecraftian elements within A Song of Ice and Fire lore, because that gave me several very interesting ideas that I absolutely plan to use later on.

As I said, the destruction of Pyke will be Vlad's true introduction to Westeros. Taking Casterly Rock was merely the appetizer; destroying Pyke will be the main course, making it clear that he could conquer the Seven Kingdoms if he truly wished to do so.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for many involved in the political game, Vlad does not actually want to rule Westeros, or at the very least, he has no desire to waste time on full conquest when the Long Night is approaching.

This next chapter was also an interesting challenge for me as a writer because I wanted to portray the destruction of Pyke in a way that did not feel overly cliché. It would have been easy to simply show Vlad destroying everything from his own perspective with dragons, fire, and overwhelming magical power, but that felt far too predictable.

So I tried to approach it in a more interesting way, and honestly, I think it turned out pretty well.

I hope you all enjoy what comes next.

Thank you once again for being here this week, and I'll see you in the next chapter.